#even though hes not even in this one help
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gimme a hand
okay so i saw a silly tiktok abt how guys take nudes wrong and thought our lovely best friend reader could help eddie take some !! i am a little tipsy so pls excuse any mistakes
mdni. 18+. smut. like, literally just smut. fem!reader x eddie.
“so.. how are things with you and.. whatshername?” clicking your fingers in his face.
eddie scoffs, batting your hand away, “chrissy is her name,” correcting your childish behaviour, “and it’s good, we’ve been.. texting a little,” shrugging nonchalantly.
you and eddie had been best friends for years, though these hang outs were few and far between now. both too busy with the perils of adult life to sit around and smoke weed all day, like you used to.
that meant that your relationship had skewed a bit, no longer as close as you once were. though you still tried to feign an interest in his, mostly nonexistent, love life.
he understood though, your life was far too interesting to care about the very small roster of girls he was seeing.
“texting?” you exclaim, stubbing the embers of the joint out into the ashtray, “so you haven’t seen her since?”
eddie shakes his head, realising that what he had thought was an exciting update, was actually just a pathetic retelling of a long text thread.
“i think we’re just.. testing the waters,” brushing off your disappointment. he contemplates even telling you anymore but what kind of a best friend would he be if he didn’t at least tell you all the details. “she sent me pictures the other day,” wriggling his eyebrows.
“pictures?” a slight mocking tone to your voice that he doesn’t like, “what kinda pictures?”
his face scrunches up, cheeks flaming red, as if it wasn’t obvious. “you know.. naughty ones.”
you whistle, blowing the air from your cheeks in the most sarcastic manner, “naughty pictures.. wow eddie, you’re really moving up in the world. did you send any back?”
his head dips, regretful of ever sharing this with you. you had never had a lack of choice for guys lining up for you. even back in high school. of course you wouldn’t understand.
“no..” shrugging again, “i don’t.. don’t know how.”
“you don’t know how to send nudes?” utter shock rippling through your voice, “didn’t i teach you anything?”
“not how to send nudes!” he hits back, getting increasingly frustrated that you’d rather mock him than help him get laid for once.
“i can help you if you want,” you offer, “i don’t have to watch.. i can just.. guide you?” proposing the question as if it were a completely standard conversation for you two to be having.
“really?” his eyes bright and full of hope.
eddie really liked chrissy, she was sweet and the times they had hung out, they got on well. he just wasn’t equipped to match her flirting, afraid he’d overthink himself into losing her.
“sure,” you smile, grabbing his phone as you stand from the couch, “come on,” beckoning for him to follow you down the corridor to the bathroom.
you bundle into the trailers tiny bathroom, poised in front of the mirror with his phone in hand.
“you stand here..” you instruct, guiding him by the shoulders, “you need to get hard,” grinning as you look at him through the mirror, “i’ll stand outside and just.. tell you what to do, okay?”
eddie’s too high for this, wondering how you’d gone from a joint and a couple of beers to now helping him sext the girl he liked.
you disappear outside, shoving his phone into his chest, the knob clicking quietly as the realisation of what the hell he was doing sets in.
“so..” he poises, swiping onto the camera, posing himself in the dirty mirror, “pull my pants down, right?” wanting to make sure that he got nothing wrong.
“yeah, but not all the way, just like.. a little bit.”
okay, he thinks. tugging his sweatpants down just beneath his balls, his boxers following suit. he was getting hard just thinking about it, the fact that you were instructing him what to do wasn’t helping.
his fingers wraps around the base of his cock, pumping his fist a few times, stifling the groan that had settled in his throat.
this was already weird enough, he didn’t need to make it weirder.
“okay..” his voice quivering, “what now?”
you tut, “pull your shirt up.. or off, it looks bad otherwise.”
eddie does as you ask, taking his shirt off and tossing it into the floor with the rest of his dirty clothes. he peers at the image through the screen, inwardly cringing at how stupid he looked.
“i don’t know,” though his dick was already stiff, aching for him to continue. “i look stupid,” he frowns, attempting to position the phone differently, although nothing seemed to help his pathetic stature.
“no you don’t,” your voice rings through the door, “now you gotta pose it.. make it look good, sexy.”
his eyes squeeze shut, wishing you’d stop talking with that low growl in your voice. this was for chrissy’s benefit, not his. getting off to the sound of your voice while trying to arouse another girl was not the plan.
eddie exhales, opening his eyes to reposition the phone, closer to the mirror. his fist begging to move and finish the job.
nothing helped, in fact, it looked worse than before. chrissy’d block him if he dared sent anything like this.
fuck, he felt like a pervert. this was wrong. twisted.
“have you done it?” you call.
“no,” he gulps, frowning at the image of himself in the mirror.
you huff, knuckles wrapping against the door, “i’m gonna come in, okay?” giving him no time to think before you appear next to him in the mirror.
your eyes fall straight to his cock, widening every so slightly, “wow.. okay,” chuckling awkwardly as you snap back into it. “you have to..” your hand lowers his phone, straightening the camera position for him.
his breath is jagged, on the edge of exploding and splattering all over his bathroom. whatever buzz he had had from the weed had dissipated, replaced by the hazy tingly sensation of your hand near his cock.
“and then..” you look to him, in person this time, not through the safety of the mirror, before wrapping your fingers around the ones that were still lingering around his cock. “do this..” voice trailing off into a low whisper, using his fist to pump his already leaking cock.
a strangled gasp leaves his mouth, heat searing through his body. mind too fuzzy to truly comprehend the shit he was seeing and feeling.
the heat of your body presses against his back, delicate fingers still travelling the length of his cock, “film it,” not once letting your eyes fall from the side of his face while his stay firmly on the mirror in front.
maybe this way he could pretend it wasn’t real, that he was just watching some video and you weren’t actually jerking him off by-proxy.
eddie, ever obedient, presses the record button, sighing into his phone as your his hand continues to move.
his knees almost buckle, kept afloat by the sound of you panting into his ear. it was almost too much, his brain collapsing into itself as your hand takes over, ignoring the phone in his hand to continue making him whine and quiver like that.
the weight of your body presses him into the cold china basin, eyes travelling from his face to his dick and right back up again.
you could’ve told him to jump right now and he would’ve. other hand reaching around to grab onto whatever part of you he could get a grip on.
your lips trace against his neck, lingering against the skin. he couldn’t keep the phone straight, the video would just be some big blur of him groaning and the sink. not that it matters. not while you’re touching him.
“is this good?” you ask, breath tickling against his ear.
eddie nods rapidly, “good.. so good,” fingers twisting around your shirt as his eyes flutter closed. “fuck,” he gasps, the phone slipping from his hand onto the counter when your thumb circles the tip of his dick. an otherworldly feeling he had never been able to feel before.
“yeah?” you grit, pulling his hand, signalling for him to turn. his bones were jelly, body mailable and under your control. his back now pressed against the sink, foreheads pressed together.
one hand holds onto your hip while the other finds your cheek, lazily trying to connect your lips. your knee slides between his legs, spreading them just enough for your other hand to creep between and grab his balls.
“ohh shit,” eddie wails, kissing at your bottom lip, sucking at the skin.
nothing felt real, waiting for his alarm to pull him out of this fucked dream to a sticky puddle and a new perspective on your friendship.
your expert fingers fondle his balls while the other fists his dick, pre-cum making your fingers glisten and move with ease.
his throat squeaks, the most pitiful noise a grown man could’ve made, his bottom lip still latched onto yours.
ten years of friendship and yet the two of you had never even kissed before. wishing you wouldn’t have wasted so much time on actually doing it. a newfound adoration for the sweet taste of your lips and the friction of your palm rubbing against his cock.
“i’m gonna cum,” he babbles, stomach flipping, waves of pleasure crashing through his tingling limbs.
you don’t respond to his whining, your nose brushes over his as his breaths become shallow and staggered. a iron clad grip on your shirt as he teeters over the edge, hips stuttering into your palm.
“ohh fuck,” eddie mewls, bursting all over your hand, “shit.. fuck, oh god,” your eyes dark, gazing down at your hand still wrapped around him, somewhat proud of what you’ve achieved.
he lets go of his hold on your body, hurriedly trying to find the counter to ground himself. his head a million miles away on mars, his lack of thoughts disrupted by the sound of the water running.
chest still heaving as he braves a look at you, watching his release swirl down the drain. you’re chewing on your bottom lip, a sudden realisation that you had just made your best friend cum maybe. he doesn’t really want to ask. hoping you won’t regret it.
eddie picks up his phone, stopping the recording, his thumb shooting straight to the tiny trash can until you grab his wrist.
“don’t delete it,” a fire within your eyes, twisting the screen in your direction, “i wanna watch.”’
his finger hovers over the play button, looking to you though your eyes are trained on the screen, waiting for him to press play.
the video starts, shaky footage as the audio of his pathetic grunts and gasps fill the tiny bathroom. eddie can’t bring himself to watch, forcing himself to watch you rather than the video.
you’re smiling to yourself, smug at the sight of you making him crumble. he wants to be embarrassed, can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks and yet, he doesn’t turn it off.
“maybe don’t send that..” you remark, finding his eye, that mischievous sparkle that eddie hadn’t seen in years, reappearing.
he needed to feel you, in the way that you had felt him. cock already reawakening when your lips twitch into a smirk.
shit.
#eddie munson#eddie munson smut#eddie munson one shot#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fic#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson stranger things
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I guess here's another prompt.
Thanks to an overprotective Fright Knight shadowing him all the time Danny has a reputation similar to Alastor (The Radio Demon). Now Danny isn't aware of any of it since the only reason he's even visiting Gotham is to check in on Jazz and maybe drop off some of their dad's fudge but it's still Gotham and Fright Knight is working overtime after realizing there were way too many threats to the young prince/king gathered in a single city but back to the Radio Demon part of the prompt.
Danny gets clocked as something odd from the very beginning but nobody really cares. He's just another meta, a nobody that was easily dismissed until some of the local criminals operating around Jazz's apartment vanished. That one mugger who thought about going after Danny is just gone. The pickpocket who thought he was an easy target is nowhere to be found and it just kind of snowballs from there with little things adding up over time until finally rumors start flying around about a supervillain going missing. I'm using Scarecrow as an example but it could be anybody really with one or two rumors joking about the new meta being behind all of the disappearances since a street kid swears they saw Danny getting gassed during one of Scarecrow's attacks. Then Bane goes missing too and there're even more rumors about Danny being involved somehow and it only gets worse when he's seen talking with Mr. Freeze just hours before the man and his wife disappear. The street kids start thinking he's something supernatural. The thugs and goons swear Danny's some sort of demon. The working girls share stories about how a simple deal with him could change your life. The supervillains are slowly growing terrified because if you're unlucky enough to hear it then sometimes late at night when he's out for a walk an old TV or a nearby car radio will suddenly broadcast the sounds of someone screaming.
Danny isn't aware of any of it though because he's listening to music during his walks and other than helping a few people here and there he hasn't really had to go ghost for anything whenever he's visiting Jazz. Fright Knight is the one going around tagging any sort of potential threat with Soul Shredder and even he's baffled about some random radio being able to tap into his pocket dimension for a few seconds every other night.
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Watch Your Mouth
Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader
Summary: Joel teaches you to keep quiet during sex.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Silence kink. Size kink. Breeding kink. Age gap. Joel is a lot more experienced (!) Finger sucking. Orgasm denial. Soft dom!Joel x10000.
Word count: 1.9k
Maybe a hand was too much.
A kiss to stifle your cries, a tongue between your lips to steal any trace of a whimper before it could ever leave. Joel knew by the way your wet, pliant hole stretched wider and wider for him with each thrust that you’d eventually quiet down—but he needed silence now.
And he’d get it when he clamped his palm over your mouth. At first, your brows lifted with surprise, then pinched inward like you didn’t understand, then twitched again, involuntarily, when the head of his cock cleared a path straight toward your cervix. You whimpered into his hand and made a point to dig your heels even deeper in his back. Joel had promised he’d be better about that.
“‘M’sorry,” he mumbled.
Another stab. Another whimper, only louder this time.
“Sorry, baby, I’m—” Joel stopped to fight back a groan of his own, before pressing his palm down with even more force, “—sorry, jus’ need ya real quiet right now, okay?”
You tried to nod, but the weight and stricture of his grip were as heavy as lead against your face. Add to that the soft, sawing motions of his cock going in and out of your cunt and the nudge of his oversized tip at your cervix, and it was all you could do to just lay there and take it. Joel knew this was brand new to you—he’d been your first not too long ago and the only partner since—so he eased back and lifted his hand when you gave it a tug.
Grey stubble was already licking at the corners of your mouth with Joel’s minuscule kisses of reassurance when you giggled and squeezed him tighter between your legs:
“I’m tryin’, Joel. Really, I am,” you whispered.
“I know, sweet pea,” he whispered back, “I know.”
He took the palm he’d used to stifle your moans and smoothed it over your cheek, coming to rest at one side so he could kiss you fully. Maybe a hand was too much.
He’d inculcate restraint some other way, and if it didn’t come easy, a few more fucks on the forest floor like this one would probably do the trick. Your mouth opened up for his tongue just like your cunt would open up for more of his cum and the rest of your body would surely follow suit, learning to control the noises of pleasure as needed.
“Good girl,” Joel murmured against your lips, feeling you clench around him and expel a breath rather than whine. He withdrew himself to the tip, then plunged back in, “Such a good, perfect girl for me, ain’t ya, sweetheart?”
At length, you yelped into his mouth. You couldn’t help it. Rather than reprimand you with words or smother your lips with his palm, though, Joel kept fucking you gently.
“‘S’okay, pretty girl, it’s okay. I know that feels good.”
His mouth was next to your ear now, praises audible to no one else but you. It added a whole new dimension to your pleasure; Joel could tell from the way your walls constricted around him and choked him, sucked him in. The feeling nearly elicited a groan from his chest, but of course, he had all the resolve of a seasoned professional. Decades and decades of practice had done that for him.
“Joel,” you mewled.
Your face was screwed up in a grimace, eyes likely to be brimming with tears any second now. Joel slowed his pace once more, felt a pang of guilt for how big he felt inside you—how those decades and decades of practice set you drastically apart from each other in experience—and this time, he didn’t try to muffle your whines. He just stroked the top of your cheek with one thumb, and with the other, snaked a path between your body and his.
Admittedly, Joel was still learning about yours. He wasn’t sure if the whimpers you’d made were born wholly of pleasure or just a sense of being stretched out and filled. Because you yourself were still learning to be vocal, Joel figured he’d give the latter a stab. He started thumbing your clit in an attempt to alleviate some of the pressure.
It worked, and it didn’t.
Your walls parted easily beneath the quiet ministrations of his thumb, opening yourself more to Joel’s thrusts, but they also tore a scream out of your throat—the kind that was liable to stir the leaves on every tree and alert any clicker within a two-mile radius to your presence.
The kind of outcome Joel had been trying to prevent when he’d brought you on patrol with him in the first place. The kind of sound he was trying to fuck out of your body completely; teach you to keep quiet and still for when the two of you inevitably got bored during perimeter watch and rolled the sleeping bag out to fuck.
Joel tensed above you and cast a quick look around. Sure, he’d picked a decently safe spot, but then you—
“Joel, I—”
Without thinking, the man stopped and stuck the first thing he could possibly fit in your mouth: his thumb. Whatever you’d been trying to say to him was promptly lost in a hum against his knuckle, lips enveloping the thick, callused digit like some tangy-flavored lolly. Joel’s hips sank back into yours, slowly, and he felt the reverberations of another moan spill over his finger.
He swallowed and stared. That shouldn’t have been nearly as sexy as you’d just made it seem, especially when your life and his hung in such a precarious position.
Joel dragged his cock back out and happened to graze a sensitive, spongy ridge inside you, which made you moan again. You hollowed your cheeks and gritted your teeth a bit more against his thumb, gripping Joel’s forearm for support as he continued to fuck you.
And, had you stayed like that a moment longer, you probably would’ve seen a shiny string of drool start to pool and stretch and fall out from one side of his mouth. Instead, Joel switched hands and popped the thumb that had been toying with your clit into your mouth, eyes glazed over with desire as they drank in the sight of you sucking his thumb again. The tip was still soaked with your warmth and slipped easily past your parted lips.
Another sound bubbled up your throat when you got a taste—Joel had always been in the habit of kissing you after eating you out, so you were well-acquainted with the flavor, but never had he fed you your own arousal on his finger. This felt obscene, something more than just pornographic as those deep, brown, lust-addled irises remained glued to where your lips closed around him.
“Y’like that, huh?” he said, voice reduced to a whisper once more while you nipped and suckled at the skin.
You bobbed your head to indicate yes, opened your mouth to tell him softly that you liked it so much—loved the taste and grit of his finger on your tongue, in fact. You wanted to show him you could be vocal, too, when Joel’s frame rose over yours a little more and seemed to blanket it entirely. Like he wanted to shield you, in a way.
“Shhhh, shhh…keep suckin’ like that. Stay still, okay?” Joel murmured, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out that this was a test. He was nodding, rutting gently between your legs, wedging his thumb deeper inside the wet, velvety contours of your mouth and waiting for a look from you to say that you understood.
You weren’t sure if you did, but you nodded anyway. Joel’s thumb made a wonderful sort of makeshift gag as he continued to thrust inside of you, his body somehow lowering to get even closer to yours. When he’d gotten sufficiently near, he pressed a kiss to the side of your mouth—now stuffed with his thumb and leaking spit—and muttered something about how good you were for him, how nicely you fit around his cock. Then he tilted his hips and proceeded to pound you into the ground like an animal in heat. The only thing separating your ass from the patch of grass underneath it was a flimsy little blanket, and the only thing tethering you to earth, it seemed, was Joel’s cock. Your ankles locked behind his back, and his nose settled next to yours, breathing hard.
Even if he knew how to suppress his moans, the panting and strangled gasps were far beyond Joel’s control—as were the filthy, perverse words pouring out of his mouth.
“‘S’all mine, ain’t she, hon? Tell me this pussy’s mine.”
“Tell me she’s mine to fuck, stuff full’a cum, right here.”
And he gestured to the spot where your body stopped and his began, squelching noises punctuating each new thrust. Neither one of you minded the sound right now, especially when you knew where this was headed next.
Joel was grinning against your skin before he kissed it.
“She wants a baby, doesn’t she, honey? Wants me to put a baby in her and make that belly swell up pretty?”
You knew just as well as Joel that neither of you wanted children in a world like this—thoughts of breeding only occurred to you both when you were about to cum. Particularly when Joel’s thumb was slipping out of your mouth and his fingers were pinching either side of your face in a single grip, lips moving above yours. Making you meet his gaze as he squeezed your cheeks in a pout.
“You want my babies, baby?” Joel mumbled.
You felt a familiar twitch in his cock. You nodded.
Joel pinched harder and shook his head, unsatisfied.
“Say, ‘I want your babies, Joel.’”
“I want your babies, Joel.”
“Say, ‘I’ll be nice and quiet if you cum inside me.’”
“I’ll be nice and quiet if you cum inside me, please, Joel.”
Your voice was already hoarse from how low you had to whisper, how hard Joel’s broad and hefty stomach was pressing into your own, stealing the breath from your lungs and wreaking havoc on your brain as you struggled for air and imagined a world where your tummy was a little rounder. Plugged up with his cum one day and growing bigger with his child there inside you the next. The thought was dizzying in the abstract, enticing to the slightest degree in reality, and if you had to guess from the expression of the man currently sweating, grunting, and rutting into your body, you’d bet he felt the same.
It really was a shame you had to stay so quiet.
But, whether a clicker was five miles away or standing directly over his shoulder, Joel didn’t seem to care at all. Soft, silent reserve cast aside for the time being and hips slamming a bruising pace against your own, Joel seemed fine to let out sounds to show he was right about to cum. Grunts and whimpers were spilling left and right off his filthy, pretty tongue; his eyes were all but rolling back.
Truly, he couldn’t look more magnificent if he tried.
“Fuck, baby, I’m— I’m so close. Gonna fill you up.”
Featherlight clusters of soft grey hair were now darkened with sweat. They rested comfortably across his forehead. Under them, two thick brows furrowed in concentration.
“Gonna knock you up,” he added through gritted teeth.
That part was not a threat, but a promise.
You felt a tug and a pinch in your own stomach, signaling your oncoming release. You spread your legs wider for Joel, pressed a kiss to his jaw when he leaned in closer, made room for him to spill his load just how he wanted, and when it seemed he was a second from his peak—
A twig snapped nearby.
Both of you froze in place.
#JOEL MILLER TELLING ME TO SHUT MY F*CKING MOUTH MIGHT ACTUALLY HEAL ME#OR MAKE ME MUCH MUCH WORSE#POTENTIALLY#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller imagine#joel miller one shot#joel miller#joel miller tlou#joel miller fic#joel miller fanfiction#joel tlou#the last of us fic#the last of us#tlou
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nipple piercing with Gojo 💭💭
I don't know if you accept suggestions, but if so, if you can, can you accept mine? please
satoru was obsessed with your boobs, and those obsessions got even bigger when you got your nipples pierced, drooling trickling down his chin every time he looked at them. the way your nipples always looked like they were hard because of the metal around them was enough to send blood rushing through his dick and somehow his dick inside of you every single time.
he couldn't help it. he knew you said you wanted to try something different and not bother them too much, but he just had to. how could he resist your prettiest asset at the moment? latching himself onto your breasts just to suck on them; he loved it so much he never wanted to let go.
or the way that they bounced while he was inside of you, fucking you against the headboard, his dick deep inside of you to the point he could barely breathe, his eyes staying on your tits to see how they react whenever he did something.
satoru couldn't help it. as much as he loved and was obsessed with everything you did, if you changed something or decided to get something new done to whatever part of your body, he was going to be infatuated with it for at least two weeks. they just looked too pretty for him to ignore, especially the piercing choice.
even though it was just a heart, it got him hard to see how your nipples were decorated. even seeing them poke through your shirt while you walked around the house made him hard, he wanted to pull you, not his lap, and fuck you right then and there. he didn't know why he loved them so much; he just did.
satoru wasn't the only one horny about the new enhancement on your nipples, you were just as turned on as him when it came to your new jewelry. ever since getting them pierced, your nipples were more sensitive and reactive; the slightest touch sent shivers down your spine and pleasurable tingles in between your thighs.
even after having them healed, your nipples were still sensitive; whenever satoru would suck on them, your eyes would close as you buried yourself in the pleasure, and you would cum, which was obviously new; you didn't even know you could do that. not only did they look good on you, but they also made you feel good and gave you a new experience that had your stomach twirling and your legs cramping up.
he was never going to let you forget that you had him because he was latched onto you all the time because of them. he never got tired of having your boobs in his face. the sensation of having them was nothing compared to satoru sucking on them all the time; he could not let them go, and he was so intrigued by how you reacted whenever he did anything.
a slight touch on them made you jump, and him sucking on them made you moan and cum. imagine how tall his dick stood up when he slid his hand in between your thighs and felt how wet you were, practically dripping down your leg. he was all smiles; he realized how sensitive to the touch you were before you even realized that, making sure to lick, suck, or touch them whenever he was inside you so that he could feel your walls clamp around him.
making sure you felt every sensation that ran on and through your body, making sure your back arched whenever he laid the slightest touch on top of them. you were so glad his infatuation brought you pleasure.
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk x reader#jjk x you#x reader#jujustsu kaisen x reader#gojo satoru#jjk satoru#satoru gojo#gojou satoru x reader#satorugojo#jujutsu satoru#gojo#jjk gojo#gojo x reader#jujutsu gojo#gojo smut#jujustu kaisen#gojo jjk#satoru smut#jujutsu kaisen satoru
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You're not her...
I've been seeing a good bit of fics where the reader is left for another woman and people around them are encouraging it. While I do love a good angst, I would simply pass away. Your girl, Riddle, is weak.
Especially if it's my baby boy Simon.... I can't. I love the idea, but as someone who is an absolute crybaby, I wouldn't survive being reader...
So what if that happened to nurse reader's partner left them for a fellow recruit and when everyone starts being like "good for him", the 141 isn't having any of it?
The others on base seemed honestly happy that your heart had absolutely been broken. I mean, you weren't exactly around him as much as she was. You couldn't see the undeniable chemistry there was. You had tried to put on a brave face. But when John had come in for some ointment for a burn and you were falling apart, he gathered up his boys.
Something needed to be done. A point to prove not just to you or your ex or that woman who had chosen to pursue a very much taken man, but to the hold damn unit. Your ex didn't leave you because there was someone else. He left you because he didn't deserve you in the first place.
In hand to hand, Johnny doesn't hold back. Not only does your ex absolutely get his ass handed to him on the mat over and over again, but does it in front of his new girl and everyone else. How embarrassing. Doesn't exactly help that Kyle is on the sidelines talking so much shit that she begins to get the ick. I mean, could he not honestly win one match? Wonder what that says about a man who can't even hold his own? It even gets cringier when your ex tries to place the blame on the drills from yesterday with a certain Ghost.
Simon is already hard as a lieutenant. But add in the factor that the recruit he currently has running drills is the same recruit who hurt his favorite little nurse? The boy would be lucky to crawl out of there. The second an exercise or drill is not made to absolute perfection, Simon has him running it all over again. It almost
John is already starting the transfer papers the first time he catches your eyes the least bit misty. You don't have to see that rubbish and since the prick and slag couldn't have the decency to wait until he had broken up with you properly instead of telling you that even though he was with you, he had fallen for another woman, then they'll be sent to completely different units. John lists the reason for transfer as a liability. If they were so proud of their "love" before, let them keep that same energy.
And Kyle.... Sweet shit talkin' Kyle. Who plants seeds around the entire base. Nowhere are these two lovebird safe from judgment. All of the female recruits have ostracized their fellow female soldier while receiving lewd looks and calls from the males. I mean if she was easy enough to fuck a taken man, then she must be an easy lay. And here comes Kyle, telling your ex 'man-to-man' about seeing his girl with other officers. Kyle is the most gentle when it comes to the 141. But the motherfucker knows a thing or two about psychological warfare.
After your ex and the girl are suddenly, very mysteriously sent elsewhere, everyone starts flocking to you. Offering reassurances on what a bullet you dodged. How, from what they heard, they had broken up shortly after being relocated to separate bases. The boys see your confidence creep back in. Your smile is a little brighter. A little more pep in your step.
You wouldn't tell anyone how your ex had e-mailed you. Complaining about the new base. Explaining how he had ended things and just wanted you back. How he regretted ever letting her get to him, as if she were the only one at fault for kindling the relationship.
It also didn't help that a certain member of the 141 had come by your station, wondering if you wanted to grab a drink when you were off of your shift.
#simon ghost riley#call of duty#captain john price#kyle gaz garrick#john soap mactavish#angst with a happy ending
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JADEEEE i'd love to see an interaction between hotch and teacher!reader outside of school? maybe jack sees her first and step away from hotch for a moment to say hi, hotch gets scared when he realizes jack left but reader comes with him just a moment later because she's panicking too like 'why are you alone? where's your dad?' and jack takes her to him. is that ok??? i hope so! love you <3333
I love you ty for your request! —Hotch flirts with Jack’s favourite teacher, because he’s never as subtle as he should be. fem, 2k
Jack reads a couple of books a week now his dad is home more often. His mom used to read to him some because he loves them, but she preferred to tell her own on the fly. His dad isn’t as good a story teller, and when he does try the stories don’t end up very happy, so they read. Sometimes two or three books a night if they're short ones.
With Jack’s library card they can borrow ten books. With his dad’s, another ten. Twenty altogether, enough to last the month if they’re careful or if dad gets called away a lot, which he usually does.
“Can I look for Super Pup?” Jack asks his dad.
Aaron sits on a chair a little too small for him in the kids section. “What?” he asks, looking up from the back of the large picture book Jack’s just handed him.
“Super Pup?”
“I’ll help, buddy.” Hotch looks like he’s going to stand, then hesitates. “In a second. Don’t go where I can’t see you, Jackers.”
Hotch is tired. He didn’t come home until very late, but he’d woken Aunt Jess anyway and, when Jack woke, there his dad was sleeping in the beanbag by his bed. He’s sore all over now and exhausted from a restless night. Jack feels sorry, as much as he can for being six nearly seven, but he also knows that his dad doesn’t mind the hurting. It was nice to wake up together after a few days apart.
And now he’s brought him to the library, and after that they’ll go for groceries. Jack should be quick. If they get home before dinner time his dad will ask him if he wants to nap together, which is the best. They just lay there in the big bed with the fan on and snooze until it’s too late to cook, so his dad breaks out the takeout menus, and promises he won’t do it again with a quick hug from behind.
As though it makes him a terrible parent for feeding his kid. Jack can’t know how guilty it makes Hotch feel to do it, and Hotch doesn’t seem to notice how much Jack loves these days where his dad is exhausted and totally his.
Jack runs around looking for Super Pup. Hotch’s phone beeps in his pocket, and he fights to keep his eyes open.
A ways away, you browse the fiction section in a crouch, knees somehow totally under your skirt, flicking aside spines of skinny books for something you can read at lunch time. Something that doesn’t require much attention, and could be read in short intervals. You used to demand a half hour to yourself when you first started teaching, but that was before the lonely kids started cropping up. Kids with no friends, or sad smiles, who want company and quiet alike.
You reach for a pink-spined Japanese translation as a little hand pats your elbow. You’re so used to kids you say, “What’s up?” before you remember you aren’t at work.
You turn in your crouch to look behind you. “Oh, hi, Jack! What are you doing here?”
“Me and dad are looking for books.”
You smile at him genuinely, happy to see your favourite student, even if you’re terrified on the inside at the prospect of his father. He’s the most gentlemanly man you’ve ever met. He’s arduous in how respectful he is, he’s understanding, and he’s tall, dark, and handsome. It is a chilling collection of traits. You stumble whenever you have to talk to him.
But Jack is easy. You and Jack talk every day. “What sorts of books? Just for fun?”
“I want to read Super Pup.”
The kids love Super Pup and his magic bark. You stand promptly, suddenly much taller than Jack as you brush down your skirt. “Wait,” you say. Mr. Hotchner gets called away for work all the time, but he wouldn’t leave Jack alone, would he? “Where’s your dad? You’re not by yourself, are you?”
Jack laughs. “No! I’m looking for Super Pup! Dad’s tired.”
You can’t decipher exactly what those two things have to do with each other, but you can guess how panicked his dad will be to find Jack so far from the kid’s section. Fiction is the other side of the library. “How did you end up over here?” You offer your hand. “Should we go back and find your dad?”
“I saw your skirt, Miss L/N. I like the flowers.”
He takes your hand, clumsy to your gentleness. “Thanks, honey. Let’s go find dad before he calls his scary friends and has your name on the news.”
You get to the kids section slowly. Endearingly so, but nerve-wracking, too, because Mr. Hotchner can be intimidating. Jack likes holding your hand, you think, clinging to your fingers as he guides you across the library, past the staircase down to the first floor, and back to the kids section.
“Jack?” Mr. Hotchner asks loudly, turned away from you both near the graphic novel selection. “Jack.”
“Mr. Hotchner,” you say.
“Dad!”
He spins on his heel. His shoulders relax noticeably, but the stress in his gaze remains.
“Jack, I said stay where I can see you,” he says, not half as scolding as he could be as Jack lets go of your hand and runs to his legs, where he stops. “Please, buddy. You gotta listen to me.”
Jack turns between you and his dad with a smile, “But look, it’s Miss L/N.”
“I can see,” he says softly.
Mr. Hotchner leans down, taking Jack up into his arms with impressive ease, and begins the walk to you where you’ve stayed.
“I hope he didn’t interrupt you,” he says.
“Please,” you say, “he’s my favourite. Just–” You wince. “Don’t tell anybody at school I said that, Jack. Please.”
“I think we can keep this secret,” Mr. Hotchner says.
“He was just telling me that you’re looking for Super Pup. If you don’t find it, we have copies at the school library. And we can always order you one.”
Mr. Hotchner gives you a small, and what you know to be rare, smile. “I don’t think he even looked.”
“I did look!” Jack disagrees, though his disagreement barely has any attitude to it, a credit to his upbringing.
“You clearly weren’t looking in the right place.”
“I was too. How would you know, you were sleeping!”
“I wasn’t sleeping,” Mr. Hotchner says to you.
You tuck your hands behind your back. “It’s okay, Mr. Hotchner, I believe you. In my classroom we like to say we’re resting our eyes.”
“Aaron,” he says, as he says whenever you speak to each other, and as you always forget to call him. Not a demand but a suggestion you’d swear to be bordering affectionate.
You’ve been Jack’s teacher for two months this year, and almost the entire year previously. In the summer when they leave, you’ll find out if you’re moving up a grade with him, but until then, you’ve made the most of such a nice kid, and you aren’t shy to tell that to Aaron. You don’t mind that Jack spends his lunch time with you. He embodies all of the reasons that pushed you to become a teacher in the first place.
And his father is a good reason to stay. He’s one of the only nice (hot) dads.
You do worry often that he can read your expression. His lips have quirked into a bemused smile, what’s so funny? He’s terrifying.
“Aaron,” you rush to say, and fill the silence you’ve made, “It’s nice to see you.”
“It’s nice to see you, too. You’ll see me on Monday, so you’ll be sick of me by Tuesday.”
You rock ever so gently on your heels. “You aren’t working.”
“It’s Jack’s birthday.”
You nod, pleased. “I know! I know, we already talked about what cupcakes he wants, didn’t we? Everybody’s gonna have rainbow sprinkle, and for a treat we’re going to watch a movie before lunch.”
“Do you do that for every kid?”
“I do.”
“How do you afford it?” He lowers his gaze. “I just mean, it’s expensive to do that for every birthday.”
“Luckily for me and unluckily for the kids, quite a few of them have birthdays outside of term time. Thirty students is three trays of ten, and that doesn’t usually break the bank, even if things get tight. But… I don’t know, I guess I just have to make room when it does. It’s special to feel special, and,” —you smile, exuberant and a little shy at once, clutching your elbow in your hand— “Jack always makes everybody else feel special. ”
The boy in question turns into his fathers chest, pleased beyond words.
Aaron gives you a long, long look. “Thank you,” he says.
“Oh, you’re welcome.”
You say goodbye to Aaron and Jack and wish them both a good weekend, which you spend wondering what the pressure of Aaron’s hand would be like on your shoulder, and if you should be ashamed of yourself for thinking about it at all. He seems like he’d give a good hug. You catch yourself picturing him opening a door and ban yourself from thinking of him at all.
Monday morning, you stand at the door ushering your students inside, and you can’t help beaming when Jack and Aaron arrive.
“Aw, Jack, where’s your birthday badge?” you ask, fall air nipping your nose.
“He was feeling too shy,” Aaron says. He’s in casual dress again. Some men should be banned from half-zips, it’s inhumane.
“You were?” You bend just a bit, hand in your pocket. “Well, I thought you might be, so I brought my badge from home. It’s super shiny, bud. What do you think?”
You show Jack the badge, It’s My Birthday in silver against a rainbow backdrop.
Maybe it was silly to bring, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t want to wear one, and maybe he should. He deserves for all his friends to give him some attention, and to have them fight over who gets to sit with him at lunch.
“We have something for you,” Jack says.
You stand straight. “You do?”
Aaron hadn’t been expecting to be the one to give it to you, that much is obvious. He hesitates for a second before he passes you a small brown box, the top of which is made up of four leaves folded into a dome. You have an inkling of what it might me.
“Thank you… Can I open it now?” you ask.
“I think you should wait for lunch,” Aaron says.
You raise your eyebrows but abide by his suggestion, murmuring another thank you as Aaron bends to give Jack a hug. “Have a good day. I’ll be here to pick you up, I promise,” he says.
It’s a great day. The kids are excited for cupcakes and overjoyed to get them before lunch. Not a crumb goes uneaten, and as they all sing for Jack with his borrowed badge, he’s actually happy for the attention. He doesn’t eat with you at lunch, which is a great thing even if you love his company.
Alone, you fold back the leaves of your mysterious box and smile like an idiot when you confirm what’s inside. A cupcake slightly more sophisticated than rainbow sprinkle spreads icing across the brown carrier, and a business card leans against the other side.
The front of the card is as you’d expected it to be spelling out Aaron’s contact details from work, and you combust thinking he wants you to call him, but it’s the back that you’d been meant to see. You read it as you fold down the leaves of the cupcake carrier,
Thirty students, three trays of ten. What does that leave for you? —Aaron.
Flirt, you think firmly, happily. He’s such a flirt.
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner blurb#aaron hotchner drabble#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fanfiction#hotch x reader#hotch#hotch x you#hotch blurb#hotch drabble#criminal minds
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So This Is Love
jason todd x fem!reader
aka you show each other what love is supposed to be like
4 in 1 blurbs
warnings: section 1: close-call panic attack for j, mentions of ptsd for j // section 2: implied sexual activity // section 3: mild angst w comfort // section 4: implied ptsd for j
He feels like his heart might burst through his chest.
The nightmare wasn’t anything unusual for him, but it did feel particularly vivid tonight. It was more of a memory than anything, though. That same one that plays on a loop in his head throughout the night the more he tries to push it away during the day. It was the last thwack of the crowbar that had him jolt awake in bed.
You shift in your spot next to him, opening your eyes to see his rattled state. If he’d been in a clearer frame of mind he would’ve lied to you. He would’ve expertly leveled his breathing and told you everything was fine and to go back to sleep.
But instead, he looks over at you with wide eyes, chest heaving and shaking like he might start hyperventilating at any moment.
You shoot up from the bed, instantly on alert. This isn’t the first time he’s had one of these nightmares around you, so it’s not hard for you to guess where this is coming from.
“Jay? What’s—what do you need?” You know better than to try and touch him unprompted right now, you’ve panicked enough yourself to know that sudden contact only makes it worse.
“I—I can’t, I—” Now he really looks like he’s about to lose all control of his breathing.
You sit up further, moving onto your knees. “Here, let me—can I see your hand?” you ask gently, holding your own out.
He extends it to you without question, a tiny act of vulnerability that he couldn’t have dreamed of doing in this state before he met you.
You flip his hand over, palm-up and start tracing lines over it in the moonlight. You’re looking at his hand quite intently like there’s something very important on it. It’s enough to make him question what the hell you’re doing.
“I can read palms.” You tell him, simply.
“What?” His voice almost breaks, like he’s right at the edge of tears.
“Yeah, my friend taught me. I can tell the future and everything.” You look up at him, fingers not stopping their trailing. “Do you wanna hear yours?”
All he can do is nod.
You smile and start to inspect his hand carefully, tracing over calluses and a few tiny scars. You draw your finger across the short, deep line parallel to his fingers.
“This one…see the way it curves upwards right there?” He nods. “That means you’re very resourceful and ambitious. Like a leader.” His breathing starts to slow as he watches you, trying to focus on what you’re showing him in the dim light from the window.
“And this one,” you trace the line that curves downwards in the middle, “This one says that you’re strong and stubborn, which I can confirm,” he huffs out a laugh. It’s little but it’s genuine. “But it also means that you’re resilient. You’re built to overcome things and bounce back even stronger because of them. Which I can also confirm.”
He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. He takes in a deep breath, watching you draw patterns across the base of his palm.
The sensation soothes him in a way that he frankly didn’t know he could be soothed. He figures he usually can’t, except when it’s you. He tries to match your breathing, syncing up with you. If anyone else tried to get this close to him when he was on the verge of a panic attack they’d get punched, at best.
But you…you always know how to help him. He’s considered in the past that he did something really right somewhere down the line and you were sent to him as reward. He’d racked his mind for hours of every good thing he’d ever done, trying to find one that could explain your presence in his life. For anything that could explain why he deserved you. He poured and poured over every memory he could dig up but couldn’t find any good he’d ever done that surmounted to a single piece of the good in your heart.
There was a time when he would’ve thought—when he did think that you were only in his life to be taken away as soon as he felt safe. That would certainly be in line with previous experiences. But you showed him quickly that you have this way about you…it makes those loud thoughts in the back of his head shut up and just listen. Listen to your words, your breathing, your footsteps, your laugh…anything he could. Because it turns out, when he listens, he feels safe.
He’s quiet for a long time, contentedly watching you work. He notices that at some point you’d stopped tracing the lines and began drawing designs instead.
He breaks the silence after several minutes, softly commenting, “You don’t know how to read palms.”
“No, I do not.”
But you continued to leave your invisible art on the palm of his hand just the same, both of you taking comfort in the sound of the other's breathing and the soothing feeling of each other’s skin.
The radio plays lightly in the background, surrounding your night with soft ambience. You’re working at the cutting board with tomatoes as Jason leans against the counter next to you, having just finished getting the pasta set up on the stove.
His hands find your hips, resting them there as he watches you work over your shoulder.
“Watch your thumb.” He comments when the knife gets a little too close for his liking.
You shrug him off, “I know how to do it.”
He eyes the way the knife stutters as you cut through the tomato, slicing through not very cleanly at all. “Doesn’t look like it.”
You ignore him, elbowing him gently in the abdomen. He’s joking, but he’s not. The skill level you’re displaying is only above Bruce and slightly below Tim, which is not great.
“Will you let me do it?” he asks you when he realizes there’s going to be no improvement.
“Fine.” You relent with faux annoyance.
You switch over to the stovetop, keeping a careful eye on the pasta as it cooks. It’s quiet for a moment as he works, chopping with much more efficiency than you had.
“You didn’t have to stay here tonight, you know.” You say quietly, still intently watching the stove.
In spite of the music, your low volume does nothing to faze him as he continues his actions, “Why wouldn’t I?”
You stir the contents of the saucepan around. “Well, I know Roy wanted you to go out…”
“Not missing much.” He mumbles, opening up the above cabinet to get out plates.
You lull your head to the side, “Come on, he’s your best friend.”
Jason frowns. “He’s not my best friend.”
You turn your head towards him, “No?”
He meets your gaze, frown consistent. “No. You are.” He says it like he’s confused that you don’t know that.
“Oh.” You smile, “You’re my best friend too.”
His eyes soften at that, a light smile gracing his lips. He knew that, and he knew you’d say it, but hearing it out loud just…does something to him.
You flick the stove top off, prompting him to on instinct reach for the Marinara jar and crack it open for you. He hands it to you and you accept with a smile, twisting it open the rest of the way as you turn back to the stove. The jar sputters as you open, spitting out sauce.
“Oh, shit.” You hiss, when the splatter hits your shirt.
He takes one glance at the mess on your shirt and pulls his own shirt off his back. He’s tugging yours off just as fast, replacing it with his. You’ve barely processed what happened as he scans your body, eyes lingering on where his shirt stops at your thighs. “Can you wear this to bed tonight?” He asks, hands running over your waist.
You laugh, “Really?”
He meets your eyes, face serious. “Yes.” He squeezes your hip, “You look good.”
“In your shirt.” You say with a knowing smile.
“In my shirt.” He confirms.
You turn back to the stove to dish out the salsa, his hands skimming around your thighs as you do. He watches you as you work, though rather than watching your hands he’s fixated on the size of his shirt over you and how fucking good you look right now.
“Or…” He sweeps his eyes over your legs before looking back up at you again. “Did’ya turn the stove off?”
You tilt your head at him, “I did…?”
He grins at you, lifting you up by your thighs til you’re a head above him. “Good.” He maneuvers you over to the counter, setting you on top. He brings your wrist up to his mouth to press a delicate kiss before dropping to his knees.
You’ve been laying in bed for at least three hours, bordering on sleep but never quite falling in. You and Jason had a little spat, though nothing insurmountable, it was still the biggest fight you’ve had to date. You’d tried going out (at night) to see your friend that was having a hard time, and yeah, you should’ve told Jason you were going. It was only five blocks, give or take, but in Gotham at eleven o’clock at night, it’s a risk to say the least.
You should’ve told Jason, you know. But he wouldn’t have let you go or would’ve insisted on putting hold on patrolling to accompany you. You always feel bad when he does that—people could be getting hurt somewhere because you needed your boyfriend to walk you down the street. Unfortunately, it didn’t matter in the end because he caught you red handed before you’d even made it a full block away. Of all the nights for him to come home early, it had to be this one.
He dropped down from the rooftop behind you and scared the absolute hell out of you, and you didn’t even have time to be relieved that it was just him because he was on you in a flash.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” His voice was hard through the modulator, a rare tone for him to use with you.
“I just—my friend—” he sounded tired and angry, sure signs that he’d really not had a good night so far which was probably all the more reason that you shouldn’t have been out by yourself in the middle of the night.
“What are you—no! Go home. Now.” You would’ve, you really would’ve, but your friend called you crying about her boyfriend cheating on her again and she needed the in person support.
“Ja—” You’d cut yourself off, “It’s down the street, it’s fine—” He dropped his shoulders in a huff and faced you dead-on. You didn’t need him to take his helmet off to know exactly how he was looking at you.
He dropped down and hooked his arm around the back of your legs, lifting you off the ground with no discernible effort. “Wha—”
He started walking before you were even fully planted on his shoulder, arm wrapping around your legs to hold you in place.
“Hood! I am so fucking serious, put me down!” You swatted at his back and struggled in his grip, though in the back of your mind you knew it was a pointless effort. Even if you were a match in size, whatever mood he’d been pushed in was enough to guarantee that you had no chance.
He ignored you, not even pretending that you were giving him any difficulty with your squirming. He marched you back down the block to your apartment, not stopping until you’re outside your door. He set you down in between him and the entrance, digging into his pocket for his key.
He kicked the door shut behind him, finally letting you go. He wordlessly grabbed one of his spare guns and two cartridges of ammo from inside the closet by the door and turned back to you with a firm stance. “Stay here.”
You immediately tried to push past him again, at that point more angry about him dragging you back here than about having to duck out on your friend. He stopped you, holding you by the arms, which led you to respond by raising your voice at him, “Jason!”
But he didn’t waste any time letting you know how it is, “I will lock you in this fucking apartment. Stay. Here.” Him cursing at you like that was very rare and not a particularly good sign, so through your anger you’d made the decision that it was better to relent, for now. Your posture dropped and you frowned at him resentfully, a visible cue that you were giving in without you having to say it.
He stayed true to his word and locked the door on his way out, though knowing you could easily unlock it from the inside. You’d trudged into your bedroom, slamming the door behind you.
Now you lay on Jason’s usual side of the bed, partially because you do miss him, partially because the bed feels a little less empty when you can’t see all the empty space. You know he was just trying to keep you safe after what was probably a rough start to the night, so you feel less than great that you’d yelled at him.
Your dwelling over the memory is interrupted by a quiet creak of the bedroom door. You blink up at him blearily, “Jay?” You sit up, furrowing your brow. You didn’t even hear him come home. “What’s wrong?” You figure he must be hurt to come in here—it’s not unknown for him to sleep on the couch if he feels like he did something wrong or upset you.
Your eyes attempt to adjust to the darkness, scanning over him for any injuries. He’s out of his armor and in his regular clothes which means he must have showered already. And you know from dozens of nights patching him up that he always tends to his injuries before showering.
This leaves you confused, as you look up at him, waiting for an answer. “I can’t…I don’t want to sleep without you.” He whispers, eyes on the floor.
You shuffle back into your usual spot near the wall and hold your hand out to him expectantly. You’re still a bit cross with him, but you miss him too much to care right now.
It takes him a second to move, but he eventually lingers away from the door and makes his way to the bed. He takes your hand as he climbs onto the bed, letting go only when you lay down after him, staring up at the ceiling next to him.
You weren’t entirely expecting him to wrap his arms around you and tug you into his chest. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’d assumed he would lay on his side and you on yours and that would be enough for him to fall asleep with. Instead, he tightens his arms and buries his face into the crook of your neck. You lay there in silence for a couple minutes, both thinking.
“You’re mad.” He mumbles into your shoulder after a while. You know he feels badly about the dispute, you knew it while it was still happening. As hard as he tries, he’s not very good at hiding his emotions. Not with you, anyways.
You shrug slightly. “Barely. I’ll get over it. This is more important.”
He picks his head up to look at you, “I love you. You know that?”
You wiggle out of his grip a bit, making him frown. You use the new space to flip over to face him, before placing his arm back around your waist. You peek up at him, looking him in the eyes, “I do. You know I love you. Even when we fight.”
He looks at you like he’s a bit thrown off by your words. “I’m sorry. It was just…it was a rough night…I—I’m sorry.” He tells you dolefully.
You shake your head, frowning. “Don’t be. I should’ve texted you.”
“It—yeah. Please. I just worry about you.” He looks so sad and it makes you feel somehow worse.
“I know,” you whisper, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He kisses your forehead, not moving away after.
You feel like you can finally relax and your tense body doesn’t take long to slacken in his hold. Soon after, he does the same, both of you closing your eyes. You feel your heart slow and your mind starts to find a space of peace.
Before you crash out, you mumble out, “I’m going to be a little passive aggressive in the morning, though.”
“I’d hope so.”
Jason didn’t get it at first.
Honestly, he didn’t really realize that you noticed things about him that even he didn’t see.
Your neighbor was having their place remodeled and you knew there would be construction going on near your apartment all day.
Jason didn’t really care, planning to bury his head under the pillow and trying to sleep through it. You however, seemed very adamant about getting out of the apartment that day. You’d left hours before the construction crew had even gotten there, telling him it was a nice day out.
It was an alright day, but he let you have your way.
You held his hand as you walked down the street, looking into shop windows and commenting on things you think he’d like.
You led him into a book store excitedly, telling him about how the author he’d been binging had just published something new. He didn’t even know that.
You were browsing the sections, flipping through books as you went. You peered across the shop at a kid holding an absolutely massive pile of books, who was clearly struggling to keep them in his arms.
His mother tried to help him but he shook his head and strided away independently, albeit very slowly. The weight of the books though, did get the best of him, and you could tell by the quivering in his arms that he was going to drop them.
“Loud noise.” You said quickly, seemingly out of the blue. Jason turned to you, confused, before seeing the stack the books splat flat onto the ground. It was indeed a loud noise.
He tilts his head at you, though you’re still busy watching the little boy as he throws his head back in frustration.
“What was that?”
You look at him, “He dropped his books.”
“Yeah, I saw. But why—”
His question gets cut off by the kid bursting into tears, wailing. You turn back to look at him, your gaze getting caught by the new book you’d been telling him about. “Ooh!”
You grab his hand and pull him over with you, smiling widely when you have the book in your hands. The sight of you makes him feel so warm so fast that he forgets about the odd interaction all together.
A couple hours later, you sit outside a cafe and eat lunch together, his back to the road, you sitting diagnal to him.
He’s telling you about the shit Damian got in trouble for at school last week, holding your hand with his right hand and eating with his left.
“He thinks he’s not going to get expelled for pulling shit like that every other week, it’s ridiculous.” He says, tossing his napkin down on the table.
Your smile is wavers as your eyes move past his shoulder looking down the block before widening, “Car—”
The sudden noise startles him enough to make him visibly jump, hand flying to where his holster would be. He looks over at the fender bender, shoulders relaxing.
He turns back to you to find your eyes looking far more worried than they should. You seem to be scanning his face, looking for something and he’s about to ask you what’s wrong when it sinks in.
He does get scared by unexpected loud sounds, doesn’t he? He never really thinks of it until it happens, but his mind is trained to expect gunshots or crowbars making impact.
It doesn’t happen often, but it noticeably takes a little piece out of him when it does.
“You…” he tries, but falters. He’s not even sure he’s processing this right.
He’s never seriously tried to fathom that you love him half as much as he loves you, though love doesn’t feel like a strong enough word. He lives and breathes for you, you’ve become a lifeline he’d been stranded without for most of his life. But now you're here and you’re everything, you’re in his head all the time, in every emotion he feels.
He thinks he’s here for you, that he was brought back from the dead because of you. You can’t possibly understand how much his heart is full of you, he doesn’t understand it himself.
He knows you love him, he’s gotten that through his head. But he can’t get a grasp on the idea that he’s equally matched in the who loves who the most battle.
Do you really care that much about him to go out of your way to keep track of things that might startle him? He knows there’s a million things about you that are in the back of his mind at any given time, but surely you don’t operate that same way with him?
Do you?
There’s this burning in his heart that aches and it only gets stronger when he sees you looking at him like that. So genuine. With care, with love.
He squeezes your hand, “I love you. More than anything.”
The look on your face sinks back into that sweet, adorable look that he’s so used to and it makes him want to scream.
You smile that bright smile and it sends his heart rocketing into oblivion. “I love you.” You squeeze his hand back, “More than everything.”
He feels like his heart might burst through his chest.
#jason todd loves his gf#jason todd x reader#jason todd imagine#jason todd x you#red hood imagine#red hood x reader#red hood x you#jason todd/reader#jason todd fanfic#jason todd fanfiction#red hood fanfic#red hood fanfiction#dc x reader#dc imagine#dc fanfic#dc fanfiction
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HARD THOUGHT !
pairing: jungwon x fem!reader
cw: smut, cunnilingus, fingering, squirting, usage of nicknames.
warning: 18+ content, minors dni
a/n: this was requested by anonnie! i hope you enjoy <3
“Don’t fucking move,” Jungwon groans right against your cunt, sending the vibrations up your spine as he spread your folds with his fingers, caressing your clit teasingly, looking up at you for just a second—his lips wet with his drool and your juices, dripping down his chin, “don’t you dare move, kitten,” he chuckles, his gaze dark as he holds on to your thighs tight enough for it to bruise later.
When you said you needed a release, this is exactly what you had asked for. Exam season stressed you out beyond words, and after the last exam of the subject you hated the most, there was no way you’d act calm, especially when Jungwon came to pick you up, clad in the white button up which was attractive as it is, but he had to go a step further by rolling up his sleeves which did nothing to hide his veiny hands.
“You did so well on your exams, let me reward you now, hm?” He said, eyes focused on finding the perfect spot to park his car, his hand squeezing your thigh wasn’t helping either, a low whine leaving your lips, and even though your eyes were closed, you could clearly feel him smirking as he stopped the car.
“Get in the back,” he whispered.
And that’s how you found yourself all spread out for Jungwon, even in the little room that the backseat provided, he made it all work. With your arched back pressed against the door, you tugged on his hair harder, a growl leaving his mouth with how immersed he was in pushing his tongue inside your hole, his rough thumb pad taking care of your clit in a speed which had your legs feeling weak.
“J—Jungwon,” you whined, causing him to hum and chuckle as he felt your body shaking.
He couldn’t help but dig his fingers in the flesh of your thighs, pushing his face closer to your cunt, as if he wanted to suffocate between your legs.
The sensation coursed through your body, your toes curling as the windows started fogging up with your activities and Jungwon had no intentions to stop, lapping up your cunt as if he’d be waiting ages to do this, to taste you, and somehow, each lick and flick of his tongue on your clit felt more intense than the previous one.
“You did so well, so fucking well, kitten,” he mumbled, hair messy as you kept on moaning louder, chanting his name as your thighs shook and you squirmed, but his hold on you was tight enough for you to stay in your place. He could care less about your cunt dripping all over his car seats, he only had one thing in his mind—your cunt.
It was as if he was addicted to your taste, and he ate you out like he meant it, making sure that your whole body could feel his desperation, your mind numbing as you approached your high, and Jungwon wasn’t going to stop, not even when you were throwing your head back and biting your first to stop your moans.
“Fucking hell, let me hear your moans,” he cussed, slapping your cunt while staring at you with dark eyes—a warning for you to behave. You couldn’t help but listen, somehow moaning even louder than before, trying to grab something, anything, which is why you tugged on his hair again, causing him to suck on your clit while fucking his fingers into your wet cunt, still not stopping.
“Jungwon, please,” you cried out, and he only went harder, using his two fingers and thrusting them into your hole so hard, you felt as if you were seeing stars, your sounds reverberating and your mind blanking out even more as he went on, so fucking needy to have a taste of you, and you knew you were gone the second he curled his fingers in your cunt. The last bit of sanity left your body as you squirmed and squirted all over his fingers while he only chuckled and rubbed your clit with his fingers, loving the sight in front of him, letting you breathe for just a second before asking:
“Ready for round two, kitten?”
© Jaylaxies | tumblr
#ria:thoughts#enhypen hard hours#enhypen smut#enha smut#jungwon smit#jungwon hard hours#enhypen scenarios
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Can you do a Azriel request where Azriel exaggerating a bruise his mate got during training to be worse than it is and needing bed rest because he wants to cuddle/kiss but still hasn’t figured out how to ask for cuddles since they’ve been friends for centuries but newly accepted their mate bond?
Sparks
Summary - An injury during training with Cassian ends with Azriel fussing over you, but as always with Azriel, he has another motive.
Warnings - none really, mentions of injury, slight angst, welcome to fluff junction
If anyone would have told Azriel when he had first met you that you would end up as his mate, he would have laughed in their faces.
There were no two people as different as you and Azriel, he was a brooding thing and you were like fresh morning sunshine, opposite in every way imaginable. It also didn't help that he found your stubborn nature to be quite the nuisance.
Those feelings didn't linger long however, you had some strange ability to make those around you feel at ease, perhaps it was your charm or how your eyes sparkled whenever someone spoke to you about something important to them. It didn't take Azriel long at all to become one of the many people who sought comfort in your words, much to the delight of Rhys who always sternly told him to be nicer to you.
Azriel couldn't remember the precise moment he had met you for the first time, he was sure it had been Selene to introduce the two of you, and when she died Rhys had moved you into the River House and you had quite quickly become a pillar of the Inner Circle. Wise. Kind. Truthful.
A force to be reckoned with.
What Azriel could remember however was the moment the bond had snapped for him.
There was a special spot that you often went to when you wanted to be alone, a certain balcony that lay beyond the stained glass doors of Selene's room, a place you had used to sit with her during the night, where you'd either sit in silence and gaze at the stars, or talk about anything that you wished. Selene was your best friend, you had also lost a sister that day.
That evening, as the sun was about to draw the curtains to another performance, when the sky was painted in burnt orange and purple, did Azriel find you there. A gentle song was drifting from your lips from where you sat on a deep set chair, wrapped up in one of Selene's blankets and gazing so far away that Azriel had thought that you were peering into the past. Something about it held his attention, the way that your eyes had softened, how your hair drifted in the gentle breeze, how the sun made your eyes shine like rare diamonds and the way you held yourself for comfort.
It had snapped when he had mistakenly made a noise, being too entranced by you to be careful about where he was stepping, and you had turned your head to see who was in Selene's space with you. The sun was causing you to glow, it hugged the side of your face, and the way you had whispered his name made his entire world spin.
The bond hadn't snapped for you though, you had simply asked him what he was doing and if he wanted to join you. Which he did without hesitation. That night you had both talked through the hours, too entwined with one another to realise the sun peeking through the horizon to welcome another day.
Months had passed and you still had no idea about the bond, and unfortunately it had snapped for you at the worst possible time. When Azriel had been slung over Rhys' shoulder, badly injured, and you had rushed into the room to help Madja only to feel an onslaught of pain the moment the bond blossomed and connected your souls together.
A single look was all Azriel needed to know that it had snapped, the wide eyes of terror and worry and the drifting fingers over the skin where your heart lay.
I'm going to kick your ass for this when you can stand.
Tears had brimmed in your eyes the moment he had laughed at your quip, and then winced from the pain. You had fell to his side, running your fingers through his matted hair, telling him that you weren't going anywhere whilst Madja put him back together.
Azriel had woken in his bed to you curled into his side with your arm flung over his torso, and as soon as he moved an inch, you were awake and alert asking him if he needed anything to which he said he only needed you.
Ever since you'd been rather inseparable.
So when Azriel had felt that jolt of pain throbbing at his shoulder and the emotions to go along with it, he had taken off running to the House of Wind, leaving a rather bewildered Feyre alone in the bakery with bags of pastries that he was meant to bring back to you to halt your incessant begging for them.
Landing at the House of Wind, his shadows whispered to him where you were and he took off in that direction, following the trails of your scent before walking into the brick wall known as Rhys, "Where is she? What happened?"
Rhys lay a consoling hand on his shoulder, the same one that was throbbing and twisting with discomfort, "She's fine, Az," Rhys told him, his violet gaze burning into the Shadowsinger to make sure that he understood. Azriel loosened a breath and waited for Rhys to continue despite the itching need to find you, "She was training with Cassian, he was a bit rough with her and dislocated her shoulder. Madja is with her now."
As if on cue, a soft groan emitted from down the hall and Azriel moved around Rhys to follow it, peering into each room along the way until his eyes landed on you.
Sweat coated your brow, you had tugged your bottom lip between your teeth to stop your whimpering as Madja held your arm in her hands. A low growl rumbled in his chest, his sight moved to Cassian at your side who looked at him with wide eyes, "Az, I didn't mean to hurt her," Cassian knew how protective Azriel was of you, and since the bond had been newly requited, Cassian also knew how much Azriel was dying to tear him apart in that moment.
To Azriel, Cassian was not his friend in that moment, he was the one who had hurt his mate, his reason for living, and it was making him seethe.
"Az?" A weak voice called to him and Cassian stepped aside to display you fully to him, "It's my fault, I thought I could take a bit more force."
The shadows darted from his shoulders, soaring through the air to pepper your face with comfort and love, slithering through your hair and floating atop your injured shoulder.
Cassian scratched the back of his neck, "I did body slam you into the ground, y/n."
"You body slammed her into the ground?"
Closing your eyes and inhaling deeply, you then glanced to Cassian, face deadpan and stoic, "I'm trying to save your ass from a beating here, Cass."
"Right, I'll just go. You've got it from here, Az?"
A stupid question.
Azriel's burning gaze didn't move from Cassian as he slipped from the room, then all of his attention fell onto you. The Shadowsinger knelt at your side, brushing his thumb over your cheek where the skin had been stained from your tears, "How are you feeling?"
"I'm okay," you strained, "It's just uncomfortable. You came at the perfect time, Madja was just about to pop it back in," you said with a nervous smile directed to the healer who was paying little notice to the two of you.
Unease and nerves flew down the bond and Azriel clasped your fingers around his, "Squeeze it as hard as you need to. I can take it."
"I thought I could too," you grinned and shuffled into an upright position, bracing yourself against his body and gulping down deep breaths, "I'm sorry if I scared you."
With the bond being so new with so much to be explored, Azriel wasn't sure of what you needed. Sure, he had taken care of you during your cycle, he knew that you were affectionate and loved to be held, but it was always you that crawled onto his lap and wrapped your arms around him whenever you needed some contact. Azriel was a touch-starved thing, and he didn't know how to ask for your affection because he was so used to not having any at all and was afraid that you'd deny him.
Now he had the perfect excuse.
Once Madja had twisted your shoulder back into place, an action that made you yelp and groan to the point Azriel had felt his blood boil when looking to the healer, she wrapped it up in a sling and advised that you be on bed rest until it had fully set and healed, which would only take a couple of days.
"Can I take her home?" Madja rolled her eyes playfully and uttered her approval, and Azriel wasted no time in scooping you into his arms, smirking at your glare, "Madja said to rest, so no walking for you."
"My legs don't hurt, Az."
"I don't care," you shouldn't have been complaining really, it was nice to be the one being held for a change, and it was nice that Azriel had made the move to touch you.
It wasn't like you never cuddled or spent days in bed with one another, you had spent many days in his bed with your limbs entwined with his lips searching every single inch of your skin. But when it came to simple acts of affection, Azriel was lost, and it was obvious that he didn't know how to show affection outside of the bedroom.
Landing at the River House, you pleaded with Azriel to put you down, assuring him that you could walk on your own, but he refused, and continued to refuse you as he carried you through the house and up the stairs which led to your shared bedroom.
It was Azriel's really, but he put up quite a fuss after the bond had snapped and you had little choice in the matter. Azriel did have the largest and comfiest bed, confirmed after you had tested every single bed in the house before coming to the conclusion, and all you did was bring your feminine flair to the space and your copious amount of clothes.
Azriel placed you on the edge of the bed, pressing his lips to yours and mumbling, "I'll be right back," he left your lips needing more and you watched him retreat to the bathroom, a squeak of the taps and rushing water sounded and you shuddered with happiness when Azriel reappeared, "Let's get you out of these clothes," clothes that were sweaty and dusted with dirt from the training grounds.
Working carefully, Azriel helped you out of your leathers, he gently lifted the shirt around your injured shoulder and aided you in stepping out of your pants, folding them neatly on the ottoman at the foot of the bed.
The water was the perfect temperature for you and your body disappeared under the bubbles as Azriel lowered you into the tub, stripping his own clothes from his body and stepping in to nestle into the spot behind you and sliding his arms around you, resting your head against his chest and rubbing circles into your skin.
Wincing, you angled yourself, and you weren't able to stop the laugh spurting from your lips when Azriel said, "I'm going to make Cassian cry tomorrow," you sat upright and peered over your shoulder at him.
Azriel didn't meet your eyes, instead he was focusing on his fingers playing with the ends of your dampened hair; his bare chest glistened in the light, his muscles contorted with tense anger, and his jaw ticked. He welcomed the new position you created, wrapping your legs around his torso and pressing your chest up against his; bubbles swarmed around you and you sighed with content when his fingers ran through your hair and down your spine, when his lips peppered along your collarbone.
"What if I need you with me tomorrow?" Azriel straightened, eagerly, and leaned into you, his hands falling on the small of your back, "To take care of me?"
Those hazel orbs brightened, "I'll do whatever you need me to do," a new bond or not, you knew that there was nothing that Azriel wouldn't do for you, "I'll glue myself to you if that will make you feel better."
Through giggles you spoke, "As lovely as that sounds, Az," you brushed a strand of hair from his eyes, "Being in your arms is where I want to be, more for you if anything."
Azriel frowned, "What do you mean?"
"You've been awfully touchy today."
Sitting up a little straighter, "You're hurt," you quirked a brow and he knew from the gentle smirk on your lips that you knew full well what he was doing, and he cracked under the pressure, "Maybe I just wanted an excuse to dote on you a little bit."
Bingo.
Leaning closer to him, being careful of your shoulder, you hovered just in front of his face, noses almost touching, "You don't need an excuse to dote on me, Az. I know it's difficult for you to show affection, but you'll get used to it. If you ever want to kiss me or hold my hand or cuddle me, just do it, you never need to-"
Azriel cut you off by pressing his lips to yours, it was something he had done countless times before, but it felt different, like he was finally embracing the bond enough to stop hiding his love for you. Fingers at the back of your neck, Azriel smirked against your lips, at the fact you hadn't released a breath yet, and then pulled away, "Like that?"
"Yeah, just like that," your voice was a hush above a whisper, "Do more of that."
Grinning, Azriel purred, "Yeah?"
"Mhm," you nodded eagerly, wondering how in the world your mate was so perfect and alluring.
If Selene could see you now, happily mated to Azriel the Shadowsinger, ready to embark on the wild ride of life... you were sure she would have been thrilled about it actually.
Noticing your mind wander, Azriel cupped your cheek, "Where have you gone?"
It's what he always asked when your mind drifted elsewhere, you had told him it was never just a thought, but an image, a memory, so he had stopped asking what you were thinking about but rather where you had gone to.
"To Selene," he pulled you closer to him, running his thumb across your lips, "Do you think she would have been happy about us?"
"Are you happy?" Connecting your eyes, you nodded, softly, "Then yes, she would have been very happy. It was all she ever wanted for you, an all-consuming love and a life of happiness."
The inevitable day of your mating ceremony was bound to happen in the coming months, and whilst you were excited for it and everything that it meant for you and Azriel, the thought of it saddened you, because the one person you had grown up with speaking of marriage and children at least once a week was no longer by your side.
"Do you know how much I love you?"
Azriel had always been good at pulling you from your thoughts, you focused on him, the love of your life, and replied, "I think so, but it wouldn't hurt to hear it again."
After throwing his head back to the edge of the tub with laughter, he settled, "I swear that I couldn't love you more than I do right now, but I know that I will tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. My love for you will never stop growing." Azriel held your face in his hands, stroking the hair from your face, "The sky has nothing on you, my love, you surround my world. You are my world."
Tendrils of shadow moved from his shoulders, peeping over them, flowing down his body into the water and spreading across your thighs. You rested your forehead against his, "You are my home, Az."
With a gentle kiss, Azriel lifted you from the tub, he wrapped a towel around your body and helped you into one of his shirts that engulfed you in the scent of him, and he waited, he waited for you to clamber into the bed and get comfortable before he found his place beside you. Like he would everyday for the rest of his life.
Authors Note
Bath time Az is just ughhhhhhhh
#acotar imagine#acotar#acotar fanfiction#maasverse#fanfiction#azriel x reader#imagine#azriel x you#azriel fanfic#azriel#azriel shadowsinger#azriel acotar#azriel spymaster#azriel x y/n#rhysand#cassian#feyre archeron#azriel fluff#azriel fic#azriel angst#rhys acotar#azriel one shot#azriel drabble#acotar x reader#acotar x you#acotar x y/n
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(what if?) all i need is you
azriel x fem!reader
summary Your first fae cycle is awful. Azriel just wants to help.
word count 3.9K
warnings Hurt/comfort, mild angst (mostly fluff), brief mentions of parents passing away and canon-typical violence, loverboy Az <3
notes I am aware that there are already a million period fics but I’m on my period so here is my (very self-indulgent) contribution <3
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You hadn't expected your first cycle as High Fae to feel so different.
The fatigue, the cramping in your stomach, and the migraines had all been mild at first - isolated enough that you hadn't expected your biannual cycle to be the cause, least of all so soon after being turned fae.
Azriel had noted the signs too. His presence, though not constant, had been a comforting sort of consistent, ever since you'd met in the human lands.
It had been an unnervingly quiet afternoon at Beddor Apothecary. Though, you supposed it was a relief that no villagers had knocked on the doors today with unnerving cuts and bruises.
The shop had been left to you in their will after the Beddors had passed. Not your family by blood, but in a way that perhaps mattered more. Their death had killed a part of your soul, one more difficult to patch than. A well-loved family, healing patients in the village for generations. Killed in a seemingly random fire. It hadn't made sense.
Their daughter, Clare, had been younger than you, far too young to leave so soon. Even as a child, she’d always hung around the shop while you worked, offering tools and cheeky smiles, eyes twinkling with mischief that had remained even as she grew into adulthood.
You’d heard that the fire took mere minutes to consume the house. But you knew that no human flame burned so rapidly.
Lost in thought, you’d jumped at the knock on the door. Patients rarely knocked, knowing the door to be unlocked. Instantly on alert, you’d grabbed the pointed steel spatula near your fingertips, before walking to the door and yanking it open.
Azriel had heard your hammering heart as you walked the short distance to your door, immediately feeling guilty as you eyed him warily. He stood preternaturally still as you quickly scanned over his frame, the distrust in your eyes slowly dissipating as you registered his wings, the siphons on his hands, before you'd craned your neck up to meet his gaze.
The tension had left your shoulders, then.
Feyre had written a few weeks ago, her most recent letter explaining the chronic pain suffered by her friend Azriel, who she’d previously described as “classically handsome” and something about “wingspan” that had flown over your head. Feyre had asked if you’d make a healing salve for him, like you made for her father. You’d readily agreed, looking forward to meeting a new patient, keeping busy to keep your wind from wandering to less-than pleasant thoughts.
This must be him, you’d thought.
In front of you, the large male smiled softly, his voice gentle as he said, “Hello. I’m Azriel, Feyre’s friend.”
He'd left later that evening, holding a generously filled tin that you'd refused payment for. And every two weeks, he returned for a new tin of salve.
Every two weeks, Azriel sat on a wooden stool beside your bench, transfixed as he watched your brilliant mind make the smallest modifications to the formula after asking for feedback.
“May I try something, Azriel?” you'd asked gently, a few visits in. Your hand had hovered above his own as you looked up at him, eyes patient, soft. “The application of the salve makes a difference too. I think that you should be more gentle with yourself,” you’d said, words deliberate.
Their double meaning hadn’t been lost on Azriel. For a moment, he’d considered, before nodding. Azriel’s eyes had snapped shut as he slowly swallowed, throat bobbing. But then, his gaze met yours again, face more open, trusting, as he flipped his hand and lightly pressed his palm on the table. “Please, go ahead.”
He’d watched as you gently pressed the cream into his scars, movements professional but tender, somehow. You’d taken your time, working systematically over the expanse of his hands, explaining your motions as you went, explaining the research with an endearing passion that had Azriel’s lips curving into a small smile, mind nearly forgetting that someone was touching his hands.
Once you'd finished, you’d scanned his face, almost nervous, only to find some emotion swimming in his eyes you hadn't been able to name.
And you’d let the words pour from your heart before you could second-guess them.
“You are brave, Azriel. And there is no shame in feeling pain, in being gentle with yourself.”
He’d stayed longer than usual that night, pressing soft lips to your forehead softly at the threshold. He’d promised to be back in two weeks.
The next time you saw him had been on the battlefield, and everything had changed.
“Here, let me.” A warm palm covered your left hand, wrapping around the knife that you gripped loosely, foggy mind not understanding why the fillet wasn't splitting into pieces.
You nodded distractedly, still glaring at the offending piece of steak on your plate. Your right hand reluctantly slipped out from under Azriel’s, the soothing heat of his palm feeling.With precise, even strokes, Azriel quickly had your meal in bite-sized pieces. You snorted quietly, watching him work. The throbbing at your temple wasn’t so awful that you didn’t register the irony of the Spymaster of the Night Court using his knife skills, honed through centuries of training and battle, to slice meat for his temporarily incapacitated friend.
Lips quirking up, he pushed the plate back toward you, eyes shining with poorly disguised concern.
Azriel knew you were so used to looking out for others that you sometimes struggled to do the same for yourself. Independent, perhaps to a fault.
But the knowledge didn't quell the urge to feed you himself, to look after you the way you deserved. Even if Azriel wasn't sure he deserved the honour of doing so.
“Thanks, Az,”you mumbled, slowly lifting your fork to your mouth.
“Of course,” he replied, voice soft in the way it always seemed to be when he spoke to you.
You tilted your head, eyeing him curiously as you chewed slowly.
Eyes already on you, Azriel scanned your features worriedly.
“I'm okay, Az. I promise. Just not hungry.” You finally swallowed, fork quietly clattering back onto the plate.
“A few more bites, and then you can stop. Please - you need the iron."
You didn't understand why.
“I can't, it-” you stopped suddenly, pushing your chair back, “excuse me.”
Azriel watched you hurry to his bedroom, to the ensuite inside. He hesitated only a moment before he followed after you. If you asked him to, truly wanted him to, he would leave, even if it would kill him.
He found you, forehead leaning against the ceramic basin as you took exhausted, heaving breaths. His shadows swarmed forward, lifting your hair off your overheated neck. A moment later he crouched down, hand moving down your back in broad, sweeping strokes.
Eyes squeezed tightly shut, you concentrated on the feeling of his calloused hands against the thin fabric of your shirt. Familiar. Safe.
“I don't understand why I can't eat. I love your steak,” you mumbled defeatedly, voice breaking in frustration.
“I know, Y/n,” he soothed, “you’re not well, sweetheart.” Azriel's voice was gentle, patient as he explained.
“Hmm. I don't feel well.”
“It's your cycle, angel. You've been more tired this week, not just from the training. The migraines, and now the nausea.” Azriel paused, voice somehow even softer, “it’s all normal. Awful but normal."
A black shadowy tendril darted forward, brushing your neck, providing cooling relief to the hot skin.
You exhaled. “Okay. Thank you, Az.” Turning to him, you added with the most convincing smile you could muster, “you can leave now.”
Azriel's brows furrowed. In your delirium, you reached out a thumb to smooth away the crease.
You rarely touched Azriel’s face. Azriel was your friend; tender face-touching wasn’t really something that friends did. The realisation took a second to register, and you startled, quickly retracting your hand and letting it fall to your lap.
Azriel’s hand engulfed yours a second later, squeezing reassuringly. "Do you want me to leave?" he asked, honestly.
You looked up to his earnest face, hazel eyes patient as ever. “I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. The last man I was with-” you winced, quickly shaking your head. “It doesn't matter,” you trailed off, cheeks heating with embarrassment.
Azriel looked appalled. “He was truly pathetic, then,” he bit out, eyes burning with fury. More calmly, he continued, “you didn't do anything wrong, angel. It’s natural for your body to do this. I hate that you’re in pain, but I’m not uncomfortable. Not at all.”
You smiled at him gratefully, chest feeling lighter.
He reached to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You fought the urge to cringe - it was drenched with sweat, clinging to your face by your eye. But Azriel seemed unfazed, his touch reverent.
Strange.
“Can I take you to bed?”
You opened your mouth to reply, just as a sharp pain tore through your abdomen. You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped your lips.
Just then, Azriel looked pained, too. You wondered why. Was he injured somewhere, too?
“I know it hurts, sweetheart. I'm sorry,” Azriel said, voice sympathetic as his thumb brushed your cheek.
You shifted your focus back to Azriel’'s hand on your back, still moving soothingly along your spine, on taking even breaths. But once the haze cleared, your senses narrowed on the faint metallic tang of blood permeating the air between you.
“Oh. This is-” your voice broke, tears finally slipping out, “you shouldn't be here. You can’t be here, Az.”
At your panicked tone, Azriel pulled away, quickly - reluctantly - giving you space. You averted your gaze, but he nodded, reassuring. “I can go, sweetheart. I will go if you truly want me to.”
You didn't want that, not even a little. But how could you ask him to stay? It was a miracle that he hadn’t already left, given how many times you’d asked, albeit half-heartedly. He rivalled you in sheer stubbornness, though this fact had never made your chest ache in the way it now did.
“But, you once told me there was no shame in feeling pain. That there was no shame in being gentle with yourself,” he paused meaningfully, “there is no shame in asking for help when you need it either, sweetheart. You were the one who helped me learn that.”
You looked up at that, meeting his eyes. Tears were falling in earnest now and you opened your arms, reaching out, voice cracking in a small sob.
You weren’t sure who moved closer first, but you were instantly bundled in Azriel’s arms, sitting across his lap as he held you close. His wings came to wrap around you in a protective embrace, the cool membrane impossibly soothing against the overheated skin of your arms.
Azriel weathered all of it, holding you close as the waves of pain continued piercing through you. His arms around you were firm, steadfast, and Azriel rested his cheek on top of your head, utterly content to hold you like this as long as you needed. He did not falter for a moment as you cried into the soft cotton of his shirt.
As your heaving breaths began to slow, sobs finally growing quieter. you wondered how everything could feel so easy with him. How you could feel so safe. It was rare - you would never be able to find anything like this again.
And that thought had the tears falling fast once again.
Azriel’s arms around you tightened further in response. It should have been impossible.He remained quiet; nothing needed to be said between you, anyway.
In the time you’d known him, you’d quickly learned Azriel wasn't chatty. Yet when he did speak, it was always what you needed to hear, uncomfortable truths or otherwise. But the silences were equally comfortable. Azriel was steady, enduring. You wouldn’t change a thing.
Ear against Azriel’s chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart, you were vaguely aware that time continued to pass. If that fact weighed on Azriel, if his legs had numbed from your weight pressing into them, he certainly didn’t let on.
But you couldn't hide from reality forever. And the blood that you now felt starting to soak through your leggings was a harsh reckoning.
You pulled away, sliding off Azriel's lap as his wings eased from around you, arms following suit.
He smiled at you softly. “Better?”
“Better,” you murmured. You’d let yourself indulge today, but didn’t deserve him. Not even for a moment.
Azriel stood slowly, beginning to walk away from where you sat on the tiled floor.
He’d realised the same.
He was leaving.
It was hard to quell the disappointment beginning to churn through your stomach. You didn’t have the right to be disappointed. Azriel was your friend, and your pain was not his responsibility.
You were not his.
The realisation was a punch to your gut, the hurt somehow feeling more debilitating than the cramping sensations that continued to flood your abdomen.
But you’d lived more than two decades of your life without depending on him, on anyone, really. You could learn to do it again, however painful it would be.
Self-aware to a fault, you recognised that you weren’t easy to be with. Least of all, your breakdown today was a glaring indication. And Azriel had endured a difficult childhood, and overcome so much. His life was still complicated, busy, and he deserved someone easier.
You didn’t have a home - your parents passed young and the Beddors had been the closest thing you’d had to a family before they suffered the same fate. And once you’d finally begun to process everything, to tread water, you’d nearly drowned in the cauldron, and turned fae.
Lost in thought, it felt like your other senses had halted, too. It was no wonder you didn't register the familiar baritone cutting through the silence - not the first time, nor the second. Maybe not even the third.
“Y/n?” Azriel tried again, voice gentle. His gaze was worried as you finally heard him and met his eyes.
Azriel was by the door, leaning down and reaching into the top drawer under the large sink countertop.
He’d gotten up, but he hadn’t left.
Your vision became blurry again. Distantly, you registered Azriel moving towards you, carrying something in his hands.
Moving to crouch in front of you, Azriel’s brows furrowed, again.
“I thought you might want to wear a pad,” Azriel explained, unravelling the outer fabric wrapping to reveal a cloth pad inside. Your heart squeezed. “It’s cotton, not hemp. I know you’re allergic,” he added quietly.
It was so matter-of-fact, an explanation rather than an invitation for gratitude. You felt it, anyway.
You’d mentioned your allergy once, months and months ago, when you were still human. Azriel had come in the afternoon, earlier than usual, nearby due to a Spring Court visit. He’d grinned, explaining Cassian’s seasonal allergies and you’d laughed hard before telling Azriel about the time you’d made porridge with hemp seed instead of oatmeal and broken out in hives. Very alarmed at first, he’d eventually chuckled at the sound of your contagious laughter.
It had been a tongue-in-cheek comment, completely insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
A few more tears fell from your eyes.
“Oh no, please don't cry, Y/n. I’m sorry.” Large thumbs moved to swipe under your eyes with a heartbreaking tenderness that had you wanting to cry all over again. You squeezed your eyelids shut.
“Fool. Why are you sorry?” you sniffled exasperatedly. It was misplaced frustration, the true culprit being your own lack of emotional regulation. “You're an angel, Az. Truly.” Under your breath, you mumbled, “your girl will be the luckiest faerie in Prythian.”
Azriel broke out into a wide smile bringing out his dimples, eyes bright and twinkling. He looked at you, gaze knowing in a way that you couldn't even begin to unpack in your current state, lest you come up with a truly delusional answer.
“You deserve to have someone who cares about you as deeply as you do for others. More,” he said easily, eyes sincere.
Flustered, you had averted your gaze. You focused on keeping your hands by your sides and not raising your cold palms to your rapidly overheating face.
“I’m honoured that you trust me enough to care for you like this. Especially after everything,” he said, voice quiet. After Hybern.
“That isn't on you, Azriel. Do not think for one moment that you are responsible, because you are not. I most certainly do not hold you responsible for Hybern’s actions,” you said fiercely.
Azriel’s free hand hung limply by his side. You reached forward holding it between both of your own.
“Despite everything that has changed in my life, I will always be grateful that you are in it.” Perhaps for the first time today, your voice did not waver. The only thing you were truly sure about.
“Thank you,” Azriel said, voice hoarse. “Tell me you know that I feel the same.”
“I do know, Az,” you assured gently. It was true. He had shown you countless times before today, too.
A pause. Then, “do you want me to run you a bath?” Azriel’s eyes searched your face.
“Yes, please. In all honesty, I’m ready for a nap but it would be nice to feel clean,” you mused. Another cramp tore through your stomach, and you winced. Azriel frowned, looking so deeply distressed that you had to laugh. “I’m sure the warm water will help too,” you grinned wryly.
Azriel smiled then. “Good idea.” He walked to the large tub, twisting both bronze taps, testing the temperature with a finger under the faucet, before adjusting again, testing the temperature, repeat.
You watched Azriel fuss over the bath, feeling your heart grow another ten sizes.
When he returned to your side, you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing into his chest. He returned the embrace, folding you in his arms. You grinned.
Azriel felt your smile through his thin cotton shirt and chuckled. “Should I get your clothes?” Azriel asked, before adding, almost shyly, “or you can wear some of mine. If you'd like.”
“Thanks, Az. I’ll wear your cobalt blue henley. If that's okay?"
“My blue... what?”
“Henley,” you repeat, slowly, drawing out both syllables. You pulled back, relaxing your hold to stare at him.
Azriel’s quizzical expression didn’t shift. “I have no clue what that is.”
You burst out laughing, pulling away at last. You reached for his hand, and Azriel swiftly laced your fingers. “Let me show you.”
Leading him from the room, you walked to his large dresser, reaching on tiptoes for the top drawer. Hand on the bronze knob, you pulled the drawer open with a small huff, the contents heavy.
You turned back to look at Azriel with jokingly narrowed eyes, “you own way too many clothes.”
He huffed a silent laugh, hand gesturing to his dresser, curious to see how exactly you would pick out this “blue henley” when you couldn’t actually see the clothes inside.
Your smile became smug, following his train of thought. Maintaining eye contact, you felt around the drawer with your hands, sifting through layers of folded garments with practised ease, before gently pulling out the shirt in question.
You held it up for him, grin unfaltering.
Azriel’s jaw fell open, expression now awed. “How did you know?” he asked quietly, eyes soft.
Smile shrinking, you fought the urge to shirk away from his fond gaze. Your cheeks heated before you admitted, “I… wear it sometimes when Rhys sends you away for longer missions.”
Azriel broke into a broad smile, so bright and radiant that you quickly decided the mild humiliation you felt was worth it. He didn’t say anything, just smiling at you with dimples and sparkling eyes. Looking so handsome that you didn't know what to do with yourself.
So, you kept talking.
“I worry sometimes. Often. I know you are over five hundred years old and you have been doing this job for a long time. But you have all said that we face bigger threats than Hybern. And I know you can handle yourself, Az, but your self-sacrificing tendencies really freak me out,” you say quickly, before pausing for breath.
The exact combination of emotions swirling in his irises was difficult to pinpoint. But his gaze remained warm, safe. It gave you the courage to continue. “Somehow, that shirt always smells like you. Even after I wash it. I wear it to bed sometimes because it just feels like... you’re not as far away,” you finished with a shy smile.
Azriel's gaze did not falter from your face, the love radiating so brightly from him that no creature in Prythian, blind or otherwise, could deny that he regarded you with a reverence unrivalled by even the suns that orbited the galaxy. He closed the gap between you in a single step pulling you to him so fast you stumbled into his chest with a small, startled huff. You quickly braced your palms on his shoulders, balancing yourself.
Azriel pulled back slightly, soft lips placing a gentle kiss on your forehead before he pulled you close once again, sighing contentedly. “I know my job has its risks, and you have every right to worry. But I promise that I will do everything in my power to come back home to you, angel. Always.” He added, less serious, “I am sure Rhys or Cass or Mor or Amren can confirm that I have been much less self-sacrificing since you came into the picture.”
“Oh?”
“You can ask them yourself,” Azriel confirmed. Later, he’d also tell you about the preservation charm he suspected Rhys had placed on that shirt. Reluctantly, Azriel pulled back, but interlaced your hands as he added, “bath first, though. It'll help.”
“Cassian was right. You really are a mother hen,” you grinned, allowing him to lead you back to the bathroom nonetheless.
“Cassian is my biggest hater,” Azriel groaned. “Worst wingman ever,” he mumbled under his breath.
You laughed. “Please. You have never needed a wingman, Azriel. Don’t even pretend like your shadows don't tell you what all the ladies of Prythian think about your wingspan.”
Azriel choked. Then, quickly recovering, "and how would you know?"
“...Guilty.”
Entering the bathroom, Azriel led you to the tub, swarmed by shadowy tendrils. Two distinct black shapes swirled around the taps, twisting them off.
“Thank you,” you whispered, smiling as they swirled happily in response.
A larger cluster of shadows gathered at the tiled surrounds on the opposite end of the tub, swirling around a small wooden tray of small vials. The water itself was now filled with warm and lots of bubbles. You grinned.
A tiny shadow lifted a small brown bottle with a purple label, while its friend twisted off the stopper.
You watched as a few drops of the pale yellow liquid fell into the tub.
“Is that lavender?” you asked, turning to Azriel.
“Yes. Essential oils. I wish I could take credit, but the idea was entirely theirs.” His eyes twinkled as they met yours.
You burst out laughing.
Azriel’s eyes crinkled, the melodic tones of his laughter filling the space, combining with your own, echoing through the chamber. As the tangerine neon light of the sunset poured in through the window, illuminating his beautiful face, you knew this was all you needed.
⋇⋆✦⋆⋇
Thank you for reading 🩷
#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel x y/n#azriel fanfic#azriel imagine#azriel shadow singer#azriel spymaster#acotar
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𝝑𝝔 an: i had 2 requests about babysitting yuuji and they were similar so i did the earlier one i hope its alright. read more!!
“hey, loser, what’s up?”
you smile at the sound of sukuna’s voice, “jus’ reading. what about you?”
you sense him rolling his eyes on the other end of the line at the mention of yet another book you’ve been gushing about.
“‘m still with the old man.” he grumbles, referring to his father, but his tone changes to a more serious one, making you worry, “look, there’s somethin’ i wanna ask you.”
“anything for you, ‘kuna.”
“could you watch yuuji for a couple of hours? jin’s been called from work and i can’t leave the old man alone right now, so…”
“of course! i adore yuuji, y’know that.”
he sighs in relief and chuckles, his fondness seeping through the line, “aren’t you the sweetest little thing? i’ll see you later then.”
“bye, ‘kuna!”
you close your book after bookmarking the page and jump from your bed to prepare and run to sukuna’s place, excited to spend time with his nephew.
jin’s relief when you appear in his doorway, a little out of breath but with a bright beam that matches yuuji’s nonetheless. he quickly gives you a list of things you should remember when watching over the little guy and presses a gentle kiss on both of your foreheads, leaving you a bit flustered and yuuji very happy.
you find it that 5-year old yuuji isn’t that to look after.
he is such a sweet boy; leading you through the house with his chubby fingers snugly wrapped around yours, giving you his big big smile that outshines everyone’s despite missing tooth on the front. he absolutely adores the way you treat him like he and you are on the same level, avoiding hurting him if gets even a little capricious and responding with the same energy he gives off.
yuuji loves to talk a lot, not shying away from anything that comes to his mind, still an unfiltered, naturally unlike his more balanced father and his barely approachable uncle. it’s impossible to be annoyed with him, his innocence and genuine interest in every little thing is so sweet you can’t help the fondness oozing through every word you say to him.
such a helpful boy too; even though he makes a face at the vegetables you put on his plate(jin emphasised on feeding it to him any possible way)he still eats them, distracted by your silly antics. he helps you with the dishes, clumsily drying the plates with his head barely even peeking over the counter. picking up the toys he plays with right after and putting them back in their places. and you can tell that jin, although alone, still does a pretty good job of raising the sweetest boy out of him, which warms your heart.
ruffling the pink tufts of hair on his head, pinching his cheeks lovingly, holding him close as he himself initiates physical contact, always eager to be in your space and accept and give love. throughout the rest of the day you clearly understand that just like falling in love with sukuna it’s just as easy to love little itadori yuuji and you find yourself easily giving in to his charming nature, feeling closer to him and his family than ever before.
when it’s time to go to sleep, he whines a little bit about not being sleepy to which you make a point of reminding him jin’s words(“if you behave extra good today i’ll give you a present, ‘kay?”). he just salutes with the wrong hand and tugs you to the bathroom to brush his teeth.
nestled in the comfort of his bed, with you sitting on your knees by its side, yuuji initiates another conversation, albeit his yawns keep interrupting his minds’ flow.
“d’you think i’ll be like dad and uncle when i grow up?”
your brows raise at the sudden seriousness in the little boy’s tone, “do you wanna be like them, yuuji?”
“of course! they are the coolest!”
you smile at him fondly, stroking the side of his face soothingly, to help him fall asleep faster, “you’ll be even cooler.”
he flashes you his toothless grin once again and closes his eyes.
“night night, yuuji.”
he mumbles something in response and dozes off, clutching his blanket. you kiss his forehead and try to contain another yawn, not even noticing the sleep catching up to you too as you continue gazing at him, lids falling closed a few seconds after.
the silence greeting them while they enter the house makes sukuna frown. jin is still not home, shoes absent from their usual spot, but you’re still there and he can’t help the excitement building up inside of him because he missed you.
he calls your name, yuuji, walking further in, yet still no response. throwing his things on the table in the guest room, sukuna can’t help but observe that his surroundings are neatly cleaned, even more than before. he looks around in the kitchen, knocks in the bathroom, inspects the living room — still no answer. so he decides to check yuuji’s room, maybe you’re playing or something and too distracted to hear him.
the sight that greets him is something new though, stealing the air all the way from his chest as his eyes widen. he slowly steps closer, hissing silently at the annoying squeaky floorboards, and crouches before you. you seem very very uncomfortable in that position, yet the way yuuji’s body is facing yours makes it clear that you were just waiting for the boy to fall asleep and joined him unintentionally. so cute, so warm it melts away the leftover iceberg that is his heart.
his hand caresses your cheek gently before poking it repeatedly, making you stir in your sleep.
“huh? ’kuna?”
he wraps his arms around you, holding you close to his chest as he lifts you up, “was the little shit good to you?”
“yuuji? he was the sweetest.” you blink at him sleepily, nuzzling deeper into his chest. sukuna can’t help the soft smile that stretches on his lips.
“thank you for the help, baby.”
“anytime, ‘kuna.”
#— miya writes!#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#sukuna ryomen x reader#sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna ryomen x you#sukuna x you#cool bf sukuna x loser gf reader#jjk sukuna#sukuna jujutsu kaisen#sukuna ryomen#ryomen sukuna#sukuna#ryomen sukuna x you#sukuna fluff
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Age | Lewis Hamilton
WC: 3.6K
Warning: Age Gap, cursing? kissing
Summery:(REQUESTED) When you fall for your boss who is much older than you.
Masterlist
Getting with Lewis wasn't what you sat out to do, you started working for his LH team, managing their social media and content. They felt like a younger person would best suit the job, Lewis wasn't involved in hiring you. In fact you hadn't seen him until a few weeks after you were hired. When you were sent to film him for content to post on Instagram. Lewis is a very nice man, it's a well known fact. Everyone that has ever
worked with him would tell you this(just don't ask Nico).
You haven't always been drawn to older men; you don't think about age that much. As long as you're both legal and mature, why not? But it wasn't like a kink or a plus in your books. Lewis just drew you in. Maybe it was his confidence, his maturity, or something completely different that captivated you. What you know for sure is that Lewis had your attention the moment you met and talked; there was no denying it. The pull you had, how easy it was for you to talk and have a laugh, was undeniable. Your relationship started professionally, but the more you met, the more you talked, and the more you got to know each other, the closer you got. And when you exchanged personal phone numbers, it was game over. You were calling each other all the time, texting, and FaceTiming. You hadn't reached the point of meeting when there was no reason to. But then Lewis had you travel with him under the guise of needing content, even though Mercedes had its own media managers.
You were denying your feelings. Lewis is an older, more experienced man, and he could have any woman he wants, why would he care or be interested in you, you found no reason for it. All the calls and texting you just convinced yourself is him being nice. Maybe he sees you as a mentee and nothing else.
You were at a hotel room in New York, Lewis had a shoot for one sponsor or the other plus a fashion event to attend. The sponsor stuff was already filmed and done the day before, so that was that. Meaning you'd only photograph Lewis with his outfit to the event and your day of work would be done. Your room was booked in the same hotel as Lewis, definitelydefiantly not as lush as his but it was a five star hotel, your room was amazing. You were lounging a bit in your room until you receive a call that Lewis was
done changing. You hear a knock on the door, you haven't ordered room service, so it came as a surprise.
Getting up from your comfy position on the bed, you open the door to see one of the hotel staff standing in front of you with a clothes bag in hand.
"Hi? How can I help you?" You ask the man, who had a polite smile on his face.
"I was asked to bring this to you." The man tries to hand you the bag but you step back.
"Are you sure you got the right room?" You're certain there must be a mistake why would you be sent a clothes bag
"You're Ms. y/n y/n, right?" You nod with a small yes. The man then smiled bigger and handedhands you the bag again. "Then this is for you."
You hesitate before taking the bag, thanking the man and then closing the door. You open the bag and a dress that is more expensive than anything you own is there waiting for you. Your mouth drops, the dress is stunning, you don't know the brand but it lookslooked amazing. After the shock of seeing the dress wore off you lay it on the bed and find your phone, pressing Lewis's name in the recently calls and press the phone to your ear
"Hello"
"Don't hello me." You say looking at the dress as if it just called you cheap in every language on earth, your tone is not happy and Lewis picks up on it instantly
"What's wrong, love? What did I do?" Lewis has an inkling why you're not happy with him and he's trying not to smile, but he's failing miserably
"You just sent me a dress, for some unknown reason, and I bet it cost an arm and a leg!" You exclaim and Lewis could imagine you pouting as you talk, he lets out a small giggle.
"Look it's from one of my favourite up and coming designers and I saw the design and I instantly thought of you." Lewis defends himself, it's the same designer that designed his clothes for the day.
"So you bought it for me?" You ask in disbelief.
"Yeah." Lewis replied as if it's the most normal thing ever
"Lewis!"
"Yes, baby girl." You instantly stop when you hear the new pet name, Lewis calls you love a lot but that's just because he's British. But this, this new, it got you blushing and struggling to say anything, you're feeling shy and speechless. Damn that man, he knew what he was doing "Seeing as you're not saying anything, I expect to see you in that dress when you come up, also I'll be done in 15 minutes or so."
Lewis hangs up and you're left there staring at the dress, before you sigh. Thankfully you showered this morning, so you just started on your make-up a simple look that will complement the dress nicely, and do your hair. It's more than 15 minutes, but you haven't gotten a call from Lewis or anyone else in the team. Once you're finished and with small heels on you're making your way up to Lewis's suite.
It doesn't take long before the door opens by the designer, she gasps looking at you and grins
"You look stunning" You blush at the praise and walk in
"It's all thanks to you." You wave her compliment off.
"Thanks, but it's the person in the clothes that brings out the beauty of the designs." She tells you and you can't fight the redness in your cheeks. "Lewis is in there."
You go to the room she's pointing at, you're holding your camera equipment bag in your hand. You walk in and see Lewis standing in front of the mirror, inspecting everything about his look. He doesn't look up when you walk in, so you take the moment to take him in, the see-through shirt allows you to see the faint outline of his abs and muscles, his tattoos on show.
Lewis feels your presence, he looks at you and you don't realise it so caught up in checking him out. Happy with himself he takes a moment to look at you, and you're stunning, the dress fits you like a glove, tight in the right places and loose in the right places. He's never seen you so dressed up. Lewis is out of his trace before you are. He clears his throat and your eyes snap to his
All you see in his eyes is amusement, the blush comes back to your cheeks but you ignore it and him and take out your camera.
"You're done right?" You ask him busying yourself. You already know where you want to take the photos, where the best lighting is for everything
"You look stunning, love." Lewis's words once more stun you, and you pause in your actions before you look up at him once more, meeting his coffee coloured eyes.
"It's not practical." You say and stand straight your free hand runs over the dress to smooth out any wrinkles, suddenly feeling insecure. Lewis is always having women thrown at him, models and beauty queens, all stunning, and here you are, just him social media manager/photographer
"It's not meant to be practical, besides after the photos, you're off for the night, and you're coming as my plus one." Lewis states and your eyes go wide
"W-What? No, Lewis I can't go as your plus one." You tell him with a shake to your head.
"Why not?" He asked, crossing his arms.
"Because... I just can't, H-I don't want to." You mumble, looking at the floor not meeting his eyes.
"You don't have to walk the carpet with me, just go inside and join me there." Lewis doesn't want to take it personally, he knows being seen with him comes with a lot of packages and you're not even dating yet.
"Okay, yeah, I can do that." You say and look at him and swallow, Lewis had a smile on his face, as his eyes held you in. You cough and wave your camera. "Let's take some photos now.”
Lewis knows how to pose and it doesn't take long before you have the shots you're both happy with, before Lewis leads you to the mirror with his phone in hand.
"Come on, one of us together." Lewis's smile makes it hard for you to refuse, his arm wraps around you pulling you close to his side, you gasp and his quick movement your hand falls onto his chest to stabilise yourself. You look up, and his face is so close to yours, he's facing the mirror, and clicks his phone to capture the look on your face as you look up at him, Licking your lips slightly you face the mirror and
smile, ignoring your fast beating heart, it's so fast Lewis must feel it. You both pose for a few more, all with Lewis's hand one you one way or the other.
The car ride is filled with small talk, as Lewis and the designer talk, they'll walk the red carpet and you'll be dropped at another entrance. You're sitting between Lewis and the designer. You pull at your cuticles an anxious tic you have when you're anxious. Lewis doesn't look at you, before he takes your hand in his. Your heart skips a beat. Lewis only lets go when you arrive, both their doors are open, and before he lets go of your hand he gives it a squeeze and he gets out
Your seat is next to the designer close to where Lewis is sitting, they have all the A-listers sitting next to each other. But Lewis does come to talk to you before the show begins, and makes sure you're okay. But you only get talking after the show. Where the music is playing, people are dancing and the drinks are flowing at the open bar
"Your first show, what do you think?" Lewis asks you, you're both deciding not to drink since you have flights tomorrow.
"It was great." You reply with a smile. "It was so much fun... thank you."
"No worries, did you take any pictures?" Lewis asked and you shook your head no. "We can't have that, come on, I know a spot upstairs"
Lewis doesn't wait or hesitate, he takes your hand in his and leads you through the crowds, he helps you up the stairs like the gentleman he is. The place he takes you to is empty, the lighting is good and the music is faint. Lewis lets go of your hand and takes out his phone.
"Okay, Mr. photographer, where do you want me?" You tease him and move your arms shyly.
"Right here." Lewis moves you to where he wants and you pose, Lewis hypes you up. "You look great love, a little to the right, yes, now move your shoulder to the front, right there, wow, this one looks amazing, look at you posing."
For the next 15 minutes Lewis takes all sorts of photos, the last ones being a close up of your upper body and face. You don't look at the lens for those you look at him, and maybe that's why they're his favourite. You stand even closer to the older man as you look at the photos he took.
"Look at you go, if you even want to switch careers, photography will do you good." You smile and then look up at him, he's already looking at you and for the hundredth time today, your heart starts beating faster. He's so close to you, you can smell his cologne. Is he? Is he moving closer? Or is it just your mind playing tricks on you? You lick your lips and his eyes move from yours down to follow the movement.
You're already wearing heels, so you couldn't tip toe to close the distance, but you didn't have to, because Lewis leans down and presses his lips to yours. Your eyes flutter shut, as a shiver went down your spine. Lewis's lips moved against yours once, twice, thrice before he pulled back all too suddenly. The warmths that overwhelmed you is suddenly gone. Lewis’s hands are gone and he takes a step back, your eyes flutter open and all you see is regret. The insecurity is hitting you hard.
”W-w…”
”I’m so sorry love, I didn’t mean to- I just- I’m sorry.” Lewis found himself unable to find the words, he has liked you for a long time, but here he is after kissing you suddenly doubting himself.
”No, no it’s okay, you don’t have to apologise.” You say and look to the side, your hands wrapped around your middle, you swallow.
”No, I have to, I didn’t ask and I don’t know if you wanted me to kiss you and I just did.” Lewis says and you realise why he stopped, why he looked so regretful. He thought you didn’t like it, that he forced you, he thought you didn't like it. “I’m your boss, and I may have pressured you into it and I never wanted to do something like this, I completely understand if- why? Why are you smiling?”
”Oh Lewis Hamilton, the man you are.” Lewis is now left confused, you step closer to him, and Lewis stands still with his hands down by his sides, as you place your hands on his chest, feeling the muscles under your fingertips. “If you only knew how much you affect me, I just thought it was one-sided, that you see me as a child or something.”
”Believe me baby girl, I see you as the woman you are.” Lewis’s voice drops a few octaves that have you shivering. His hand makes the small of your back home, he pulls you closer so you’re flush against him, a gasp leaves your lips, and his hand moves down to the top of your butt.
”Lewis.” You breathe out, your eyes fluttering.
”Sweetheart.” Those fucking pet names will be the death of you, this time you pull him by the back of his neck down to meet your lips. The soft moanes leaving your lips leave him wanting for more.
You don't know how long you stood there for but by the time you were done with the little make out session you both had to fix your lipstick. The lavish bathroom you both stand in front of the mirror, trying to wipe the lipstick. Exchanging smiles and giggles through the mirror, pumping hips and kisses.
”Lewis stop, we can’t kiss, I have lipstick on.” You say giggling halfheartedly pushing him away.
”Once I got a taste I couldn’t resist.” You blush and tell him to stop once more, before you both leave the bathroom. Going back to the event downstairs you both act as if nothing appended, and somehow you sell it.
Safe to say, you’re stuck to each other’s side. Lewis flies you everywhere and your relationship turns from professional to romantic slowly in front of the others, but to you two, after that night in New York you were dating.
You dreaded the time the media will find out, you know there’s two ways it will go, either they will go after Lewis or they will go after you. And you think they’ll go after you. Your appearance in the paddock was nothing new, but your appearance at dinners with other drivers and wags was new. No one said anything or commented, you got on super well with the wags. You did share your fears with Kika and Alex, they gave you as much advice as they could and told you what to expect. It’s always hard when a driver hard launches or even is just rumoured to be with someone.
You and Lewis didn’t get the chance to hard launch or soft launch, or do any of that sorts. A paparazzi somehow found you while you were on vacation and snapped a lot of pictures of the two of you in intimate positions. Kissing, cuddling, hands all over each other, there was no way of getting out of that one.
So during the next race Lewis walked into the paddock with your hand in his, the fans weren’t 100% who you were when the photos were leaked, but the moment you walked in all your social media was out for everyone to see. The things you were both scared of the most, happened. The fans weren’t happy with the age gap, you were both adults but it seemed like everyone knew why you were dating but you too. And that Lewis is just too nice to know that you’re with him for money. The almost 40 year old didn’t know any better. Like a lot of wags you received a lot of hate, and Lewis hadn’t confirmed a relationship in years, so you were an awaited wag.
You both expected all of this, what you didn’t expect is for every driver that interacted with Lewis to have their social media flooded with messages and comments of people telling them to tell Lewis that you were using him, and that the age gap is disgusting.
Lando was streaming once and he was talking about Mercedes or something when the chat took that turn.
”Come on chat, don’t be mean.” Lando said after he noticed all those comments. “You don’t know y/n and Lewis, they’re perfectly happy and there’s nothing to worry about. Let’s all just care about ourselves.”
Lily and Alex were live on Instagram for one reason or the other and they also got a ton of comments, especially since Lilly was seen hanging out with you a Friday of a race weekend.
“Believe me guys, y/n, is the nicest person ever, she’s so understanding and sweet.” Lilly said to the viewers, after seeing where the comments turned to.
”We’ve actually gone out with them a few times, and they look happy and in love.” Alex added.
”I haven’t been around LEwis much, but I feel like he looks… happier and more content?” Lily said and looked at her boyfriend.
”Yeah, I think George said as well, he looks happy and that this relationship is doing them both a lot of good.” Alex said and Lily nodded with him. “It’s good when you get into a relationship and you become better and happier.”
”Yeah.”
Things like that kept happening, and there were some videos of you and Lewis posted online just being lost in each other while dancing, having dinner or even just walking. The way you’d give each other all the attention when you’re talking is something admirable.
All those things online, affected you, you hated how negative your space online became, how much it became on Lewis’s accounts, and on the other drivers’ accounts as well. What it didn’t affect is your relationship with Lewis.
Lewis wasn’t happy, of course he wasn’t. You’re his girlfriend and his ‘fans’ are attacking you online, he can see how your smile never reached your eyes when you said you were okay. It affected you to some degree.
So he just hugged you tighter, told you he loved you more, and tried everything to keep you away from all that talk.
“What are you doing?” You mumble as you wake up from your slumber, you went back to the hotel after FP2, feeling tired, and Lewis having to stay back for a long meeting. It was almost midnight when he made it back to the room and found you sleeping in the middle of the bed. Lewis stripped to his boxers and slipped beside you. His arms wrapped around you and pulled you closer to him, this roused you from your sleep.
”Just want to hold you.” He said softly and kissed your cheek, you smiled and cracked your eyes open just a little, you turned around so you’re facing him. You cuddle more into him, nuzzling your face in his neck, as he laid on his back.
”How was the meeting?” You asked barely coherent, and Lewis knows you’ll ask again in the morning, that everything that will come out of your mouth right now is just your subconscious and that you will remember nothing.
”It was good, there’s going to be a few changes to the car tomorrow.” Lewis told you rubbing your back.
”Do we like it?” You ask, knowing that your stance on things is his stance on things, when it comes to driving and cars.
”Yeah, but we’ll see tomorrow.”
”Hmm, that’s good.” You fall silent and Lewis thinks you fell asleep before you say a barely audible. “I love you.”
”I love you too, baby girl.”
It took time, but the public came to accept the fact you’re here to stay and you’re not just using him for a week or two, for clout or anything of that sort. IT got better. But it never went away, and you don’t think it will. You don’t plan on breaking up with Lewis any time soon and you don’t think he will. And that’s all that mattered, you’re both happy and content with what you have.
Maintaglist:
@gnatthefly . @mochimommy2002 . @llando4norris . @mrswolffs-blog
#sir lewis hamilton#lewis hamilton fluff#lewis hamilton x reader#lewis x reader#lewis hamilton fanfic#lewis hamilton one shot#lewis#lewis hamilton imagine#lewis hamilton#lewis imagine#lewis one shot#one shot#formula 1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#f1 scenario#f1 x reader#team lh44#lh44#lh44 x reader#lh44 imagine#lh44 one shot#requested
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Aw that max and Julia blurb was soooo cute
Along similar lines could you do post race press conference where Amelia runs up onto the couch and runs to lando instead of Charles and is just all uncle lala obssesed
Lando has just won his first race and even though the rest of the grid wasn't the winning team, everybody celebrated the result for the British driver. It had truly been a long time coming, and the buzz didn't seem to quieten down anytime soon.
Charles was also on the podium, so you and Amélie stood on the side of the press conference to watch while Hervé stayed back in the hospitality.
"Uncle Lala", your little girl said in your arms, pointing to the newest Grand Prix winner o the sofa.
"Lando won today, mon coeur, yes he did", you smiled, tuning around when someone tapped your shoulder.
One of the staff members had found Amélie's stuffed bunny on his way over to the conference and was then giving it back to your little girl, "say Merci, amour", you encouraged.
"Merci", Amélie said once you set her down on the floor.
The little girl was quick to run away from you, easily going under the limit between where you stood and where Charles, Max and Lando stood.
"And the devel- hi, mon ange!", Charles got interrupted by your little girl as she tried to climb on the sofa, "here, I'll help you!", he encouraged her, helping her up.
While Charles thought she wanted to sit on his lap, he was surprised by your daughter as she turned her back to him, wrapping her arms around Lando's neck and kissing his cheek.
"Hi Amélie", Lando smiled, "is this my congratulations kiss? Thank you, little one", Lando cooed, holding her hips now that she was standing up on his legs.
"Lala won, Lala won!", the little girl cheered, delighting everyone inside the room.
"I did, didn't I?", Lando continued, "and Max and your papa were also on the podium!", he checked.
Amélie didn't budge, though, smiling at Lando before she hugged him again, choosing to stay there for the rest of the interview.
"My brothers will never let me admit this, but I think Amélie's favourite uncle is Lando - she's obsessed with him, aren't you, amour?", Charles touched her cheek.
"Amélie is my favourite Leclerc - whenever she walks into McLaren, she always gets a few of our cookies, don't you princess?", Lando brushed her hair away from her eyes.
(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)
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THEIR ACT OF INTIMACY!
featuring: geto suguru. megumi fushiguro. itadori yuuji. nanami kento.
n. a sign of them being very comfortable with you. slighty suggestive in itadori’s part. anw, requests are open! <3
GETO SUGURU. suguru finds it aggravating when the others try to mess up his hair, with the exception of you. after the relationship evolved, you'd sit on the bed with him after he showered and brush the large tangles out of his hair. other times, you might put it up in a bun or another style when he isn't looking. you spend that quiet time talking and enjoying one other's company.
in the quiet of your shared space, suguru sat on the edge of the bed, fresh from the shower, his damp hair a tangle of knots. you approached him with a gentle smile, brush in hand. “you know the rule," suguru said with a hint of playfulness, though his eyes softened at the sight of you. “i know, i know," you replied, taking a seat beside him. "this is a condition comes with me being your girlfriend. i got to brush your hair and you get to play mine.”
as you carefully detangled his hair, the room filled with the sound of your voices, sharing stories and laughter. with each stroke of the brush, suguru felt a sense of calm wash over him, grateful for this quiet moment with you.
once his hair was finally smooth and manageable, you surprised him by styling it into a loose bun, eliciting a surprised gasp from suguru as he caught sight of his reflection. “you did it again, didn't you?" he said, pretending to scold you, though his eyes twinkled with affection. you simply smiled and leaned in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "i can't help it. i love making you look even more handsome."
ITADORI YUUJI. itadori enjoys lying and lounging about naked together. it feels like complete vulnerability, with no walls between you, resyncing your relationship as you melt into each other's body. he has a habit of writing something on your skin as a game in which you have to guess what he wrote down. other times, he simply likes to nap in the afternoon while you tell him a story in bed.
lounging comfortably in your bed, naked and unguarded, itadori traced lazy patterns on your skin with his touch sending shivers down your spine. "guess what i wrote this time," he whispered, his finger leaving a trail of invisible words on your back. you chuckled softly, leaning into his touch. "hmm, let me think..."
as you concentrated, trying to decipher his secret message, itadori pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his warmth enveloping you entirely. then finally, you ventured a guess, feeling his smile against your skin as you spoke the words aloud.
"wrong," he teased, his laughter mingling with yours. “you gotta get it right next time, babe. or else i’ll bite your thighs again.”
with each lighthearted round of the game, the barriers between you appeared to dissolve, leaving only the raw, unfiltered connection to be felt.
MEGUMI FUSHIGURO. megumi has a difficult time opening up to others, and you were the one who showed him that it is acceptable to talk about what he feels together. you understood that him speaking meaningful words in a serious manner to you puts a toll on his ego; not that he doesn’t care, he just wasn't used to it. what surprises you is how effortlessly he drops those words only in the spur of the moment, as if he hasn't been fighting to say them all along. he also brings up topics you've already discussed and gives every single penny of thought to conversations that deepen feelings between the both of you.
in the quiet of the evening, megumi sat beside you, his expression guarded as always. you both were doing your homework together and then, in a moment that took you by surprise, he spoke, his words flowing effortlessly.
"i care about you," he said softly, his eyes meeting yours with a depth of emotion that took your breath away. "more than i can put into words."
"why so suddenly?" you asked, surprised by the unexpected confession. the man paused, his expression earnest as he searched for the right words. "i.. just feel you need to hear them from me." he replied, his voice gentle yet resolute. “sorry..”
you could feel your heart swelling with emotion, touched by the sincerity in his words. "thank you, i care about you too, ‘gumi” you whispered, feeling the weight of his feelings enveloping you like a warm embrace. "i like it when you talk about what you're feeling, you know.” you said gently, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from his face.
you knew that megumi's words had transcended the barriers he had once struggled to break through. and as you leaned in to press a tender kiss to his lips, you realized that sometimes, the most meaningful words are the ones spoken from the heart, even if they come unexpectedly.
NANAMI KENTO. nanami believes there is nothing better than a massage after a long and tiring day. he believes that the best massages are those that he earns without having to ask for them; you just knew he needed one and vice versa.
nanami trudged through the door, weary from the demands of the day. you greeted him with a warm smile, sensing the weight on his shoulders without a word spoken. "rough day?" you asked, already moving towards him with a knowing look. nanami nodded, sinking into their embrace. "you have no idea."
without hesitation, you guided him to the couch and began to knead away the tension that had settled in his muscles. "this is exactly what i needed," the man sighed, feeling the knots slowly unraveling beneath your touch.
you smiled softly, your fingers working with practiced ease. "i could tell. you always carry so much on your shoulders."
as the stress of the day melted away, he found himself falling even more deeply in love with the one who cared for him so effortlessly.
@uzurakis
#.writing#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen fluff#geto suguru x reader#geto x reader#geto suguru#megumi fushiguro x reader#megumi x reader#megumi fushiguro#itadori yuuji x reader#itadori x reader#yuji itadori#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x reader#gojo satoru#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento#nanami x reader#yuuta okkotsu x reader#yuuta x reader#yuuta okkotsu#geto fluff#megumi fluff#fushiguro x reader#jjk gojo
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whatever you say, baby - chs
pairing: vernon x reader
word count: 1.1k
warnings: none? the slightest bit suggestive at the end but like... it's nothing
author's note: part two to this fic! i would recommend reading both for it to make sense :)
You haven’t seen Vernon in four days.
You haven’t seen him since he kissed you — and he’d kissed you a lot.
You’d barely managed to finish the movie without making out on his couch like teenagers. And when it was over, he hadn’t asked you to stay — but he’d kissed you again by his front door.
You’d texted when you’d gotten home safe, as he’d requested. Then you’d woken up the next day to a ‘good morning :)’ text, which was swiftly followed by ‘today is so busy I might die’. And then the two of you had just… moved on.
He sends a Shrek meme and then disappears for hours; you laugh react or send a meme in return. He sends you a picture of a “gnarly” squirrel he sees on campus; you send him a picture of a shitty doodle you drew during one of your lectures. Neither of you brings up what happened. You know he’s got a project due at the end of the week, so you don’t push when his texts are few and far between. Even though you so desperately want to.
Is he thinking about it as much as you are? You can’t get the feeling of his lips out of your mind, and it’s driving you crazy. You want to kiss him again, want to run your fingers through his hair again, want to feel his hands on your waist again.
But you remain in limbo. You don’t ask for an explanation — he doesn’t offer one. And you don’t know how much longer you can ignore it.
Vernonie [8:34pm]: INCOMING VIDEOCALL
Your eyes widen when your screen lights up. You quickly straighten from where you’d been lounging on your couch, tucking your hair behind your ears and hoping for the best. He knows what you look like, you remind yourself, but that doesn’t help the nerves when you finally accept the call.
“Hey, stranger.”
He looks cute, and it makes you sick.
“Hey,” you reply, and you can feel your cheeks heat up for no apparent reason. All he’s done is say hello, but you haven’t seen his face in four days, and the last time you saw him you were —
“What’s up?”
“Nothing,” you say, and then you can’t help but blurt out, “You’ve been busy.” It comes out accusatory, and you regret it immediately.
Vernon looks surprised, and you watch as his eyebrows raise. “Yeah, I had that big project to finish, remember?”
You nod, avoiding eye contact through the screen. “Right.”
He’s quiet again before he says teasingly, “If you missed me you can just say so.”
You know it’s an attempt to lighten the mood, but it hits so deep all of a sudden that you think you might cry. Did he not miss you, too?
You know it’s a cheap move, but you absolutely cannot look at him when he tells you that the kissing had meant nothing, that it was all a mistake. That you’re better off as friends.
“Hey,” he says when you shift your phone so that your face is just out of sight. You can practically hear his pout. “Come back.”
“I’m just gonna go,” you say weakly, and you can see in your peripheral vision the way Vernon sits up straight.
“Hey, no. Wait. Please come back? Let me say something.”
You bite your lip as the tears well up. It takes you a minute, but you manage to take a breath and set your phone back upright to look at him.
“Y/N,” he says gently, and you can see his soft smile through the screen. “Bro.”
You can’t help but smile a bit at that, and he takes that as a sign to continue.
“Did you think I was avoiding you?”
You shrug.
“You think I kissed you and then avoided you on purpose?”
Your heart stutters over itself a bit as he says the words out loud. When he puts it like that, you suppose it sounds a bit silly. Because it’s Vernon, and he would never be so cruel. You shrug again, but you still can’t find it in you to speak.
“Kissing you is probably all I've thought about for the better part of the last few months,” he continues, and your eyes widen. “I wasn't deliberately avoiding you, I just... I was busy, that part’s true, but it seemed like a good time to give you some space anyway because I know you get into your head sometimes, so I thought that would give you some time to process…” He trails off, a hand running through his hair before he adds, quieter, “You know. In case you…”
“In case I what?” It’s the first time you’ve spoken in a few minutes, and you can practically see the way Vernon’s shoulders relax at the sound of your voice again.
He pauses, and then he says softly, “In case you regret it.”
Your eyes widen. “You think I regret it?”
“Do you?”
You shake your head, a bit dizzy as you return, “Do you?”
Vernon’s lip curls up at the side. “No, Y/N. I don’t.”
You’re processing, and he’s quiet as he lets you. He doesn’t regret it. He wanted to kiss you. He…
It’s silent for another moment and then you say, voice small, “But you didn’t ask me to stay.”
“Baby,” he says, and your eyes widen. “That’s definitely not because I didn’t want you to. Like I said, I was giving you space.”
“Baby?”
Vernon freezes. “Shit, sorry. Fuck—“
“It’s okay,” you interrupt, and he relaxes a little.
“Yeah?” He breathes, and you nod. A smile spreads across your lips, warmth spreading through you as it really, truly dawns on you — Vernon likes you back.
“Yeah,” you affirm. “I think I much prefer that to bro.”
“Yeah?” He says again, and you smile. You’re just realizing now that he seems nervous too, and it makes you feel all sorts of warm and fuzzy inside.
“Mhm.”
You stare at one another through the screen. Vernon’s grin spreads the longer you do, and even though you know your cheeks are flushed, you don’t stop the staring contest. He narrows his eyes, and you let out a giggle.
“So…”
“So,” he repeats, and you watch as he adjusts to lie down on his couch. “I finished my project.”
That was not where you thought this conversation was headed. “Oh yeah? Good job, bro.”
Vernon raises his eyebrows at the name, and you flush again.
“It’s habit,” you whine, and he puts on an exaggerated frown.
“That’s fine,” he sighs dramatically, “I was going to say that I can hang out with you now that my project is done, but I can see I’m the only romantic one here, bro.”
You gasp. “I can be romantic!”
Vernon grins, and you immediately know you’ve taken his bait as he teases, “Really?”
“I can!” You insist, and he just smiles even wider.
“Want me to come over so you can show me just how romantic you can be, baby?”
TAGLIST: @tae-bebe @wheeboo @waldau @iluvseokmin @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @seohomrwolf @pan-de-seungcheol @minisugakoobies @wqnwoos @gyuminusone @christinewithluv @darkypooo @lvlystars @bewoyewo
#vernon x reader#chsfic#seventeen x reader#svt x reader#vernon fluff#vernon angst#vernon imagine#seventeen imagine#seventeen imagines#my writing
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SKIN LIKE PUFF PASTRY | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [6]
description: the ONE where you help him grieve another woman + the ONE with the promise
length: 8.04k
warnings: maeves death. grief. Spencer is a sad bby. HOWEVER maybe perhaps some fluff? healing journey! gun, blood, usual cm warnings.
author's note. HERE YOU GO POOKIES. I hope you enjoy now I've put you all out of your misery.
previous chpt | next chpt | series masterlist
'Lacy, oh lacy, skin like puff pastry,
aren't you the sweetest thing on this side of hell?'
The one where you help him grieve another woman.
It killed her walking up those stairs every day. She knew the gift baskets were piling up, had already had a terse conversation with his neighbour about leaving ‘clutter’ in the hallway, to which she thinks she might have swung at the eighty year old woman if she didn’t think it would cause Spencer problems.
He had enough on his plate already. Maeve had died, for fuck sake.
In fact, she almost entirely blew her top when she made it to the top of the steps to see every single one of Garcia’s gift baskets had been moved, the bunches of tulips she’d brought him every other day over the past two weeks gone with little trace other than browning petals scattering his door mat. Even the cookies JJ had baked him, the card Henry had drawn for his uncle Spencer had been moved.
Bugsy stopped for a second, her head snapping to the door to the right where his neighbour, Miss Cavanaugh, had shuffled out of her apartment in her pink dressing gown, her grey, wispy curls flat against her head as if she’d just rolled out of bed.
She blinked at the younger girl through thick, bubble-like glasses, her blue eyes annoyed the minute she saw her standing there.
“You can’t just take people's things, you know, I don’t care if it got in the way of your daily walk, Miriam, those were for Spencer-” Bugsy started, her voice as calm as she could get it even though her scowl spoke for itself.
“I didn’t touch any of his crap, little lady,” Miriam raised her mottled hand, crooked fingers shushing the outrage Bug had been ready to bark at her, and the women sighed when they realised they might just have another argument like their last one, “Kid was poking around at like six in the morning taking it all in, nearly woke up my dog,”
Bugsy rolled her eyes, “God forbid,” Miriam flipped her the finger which made Bugsy’s jaw drop wide open, shuffling back into her apartment muttering to herself, her mail in her mangled hands, “Old bag,” Bug murmured to herself, but her eyes quickly locked back onto Spencer’s door.
He had been out. Well, he had been into his hallway, but it was something.
Her legs felt like jelly when she took hesitant steps towards his doorway, her knuckles gently rapping on the wood, a frog crawling into her throat that she tried clearing with a cough.
“Spencer?” Her voice was soft, melodic, and it made him wince where he sat against the other side of his entrance, his own hair a state of disarray, “It’s me,”
Of course he knew it was her. He didn’t think a day could ever go by where he wouldn’t know her by the sound of her steps alone. Like he’d grown a sixth sense for these sorts of things, like they were linked by some weird Spidey powers like in the comics she’d brought over to his apartment and begged him to read, because even though he could devour a million words a minute (her words not his) it was the art in it she loved and that forced him to slow down and enjoy the pages.
He wanted to tell her to go away, but he couldn’t find it in him to ever be so cruel, to dig himself a bigger trench of regret than he already felt. He couldn’t save Maeve, physically could never get the image of her dying from his ginormous, genius brain that held onto every detail, and on top of it, he knew he deserved none of the kindness Bugsy showered him with. He’d heard her come stand outside his door every single morning, heard her knocking with the same worried call of his name at the same time before breakfast. He heard her sigh after ten or so minutes and leave, her retreating footsteps clunking down the stairs sadly.
She was too good for him. He’d only solidified it that she was so beyond what he deserved, that he could never treat her the way she deserved to be treated, the same way he hadn’t with Maeve.
Spencer’s self loathing was a poison, slowly devouring him every time he heard her voice, felt her approach through the floorboards, when he’d seen the little notes she’d left on the books she’d dropped off outside his door. Usually they were her reviews on them, a list of pros and cons, her general musings, all things they would have chatted over a bagel if things had been normal between them. But he couldn’t remember the last time they’d had breakfast together the way they had like clockwork since she joined the BAU. That was a lie. He could remember, of course he could, it had been four months, three weeks and five days ago, a Monday. He thinks she knocked around 10am. Something like that.
It was the day before she’d flown to London, actually. She had dropped the boys (the boys being Niko and Sergio) off to his apartment, thanked him a bunch of times for looking after them, given him five months worth of cat litter and kibbles and immediately unwrapped a to-go bag of their favourite pastries from the bakery downtown. He remembered it was close to October because she’d bought over maple buns and they only sold at the beginning of Autumn, and he’d asked if she’d be doing anything for Halloween seeing as their usual plans of a horror movie marathon were being put on pause while she was in England. She wasn’t, and she’d asked to call him instead so they could discuss their favourite trick or treating outfits they’d seen.
He’d promised her a call, only another case popped up by the time the thirty-first rolled around, and it had never happened.
Spencer hated how he was able to remember every detail of her face the day she’d left, the warmth of her hug he’d clung onto for months. He hated that day she’d surprised him and he hadn’t even thought to wrap his arms around her because he’d been so stuck feeling the overwhelming shock of seeing her. He hated that he’d made her frown like that, that she had ever doubted that he wanted to see her. But it had felt like he’d been caught cheating, why had it felt like cheating?
He knew why. He knew why seeing her when he was going out to call Maeve had felt like he was double-crossing her.
Not that it mattered anymore, he thought bitterly. Because Maeve was dead. And Bugsy had every right to hate him. But she didn’t. Because she was too good.
He hated himself more than he’d ever thought was possible.
He heard her sigh, but she didn’t repeat herself. Nor did she leave. Instead, he felt the door rattle behind his own spine as she slumped against the wood, sliding to the floor until she unknowingly leaned against him, little more than a few centimetres from his warmth.
He heard her pull out something from her bag, and the tell tale slip of paper over paper told him she’d brought a book with her, pre-empting staying longer this time. Spencer wanted to tell her not to bother, because if he got brave enough to open the door to her and see her face, smell her clothes, feel the softness of her hugs, he thinks if he told her every thought bouncing around that aching skull of his, it would all come crashing down around him, and he wouldn’t ever be able to stop telling her how sorry he was. For all of it. For letting her pull away from him when she was grieving. For letting her kiss him that night Derek brought her over, because it was obvious she wanted to forget the whole thing. For pushing her away when she came back from London. For being rude and cold when she wanted answers. For trying desperately to completely detach himself from her, which had only ever made him want to scream in frustration because it hadn’t worked anyway.
Maeve had died because of him, an innocent woman he’d seen himself falling for if they’d been given the chance had died, and he was still head over heels in terrible, stupid love with Bugsy.
They stayed there, her reading and him aching from the inside out, for about seven minutes before her phone rang. He heard her huff, letting it go to answer phone and settling back down with her novel. That is, until her dial tone sprung back to life and she half growled under her breath, assuming she pressed the answer button, and he heard her voice again.
“Hello?” She said, the slight annoyance bleeding into her words, and Spencer already knew that duty was calling by the way her book thumped to the floor and he could just picture her rubbing over her temple in frustration. “I have an appointment, Hotch, I can be there in a couple hours,” Silence, where he guessed Hotch was chiding her on her tardiness, “No, I know I’m supposed to book these things off- it’s just- it’s a contraceptive implant removal, yeah I really busted my IUD when I broke my arm, it’s not settled since,” Spencer almost smiled on instinct, almost, though he thought even if he did it would look like a bitter grimace because he’d not moved his face in over ten days. But she was a really good liar, and he’d always found that part of her charm. She huffed again, “God, you sound like Emily, yes I’m being safe- we are not having this conversation, Aaron, I’ll get there when I get there,”
With that, perhaps the only person who would ever be allowed to slam the phone down on Aaron Hotchner in a huff did, and they were left alone in silence again.
“You shouldn’t ignore their calls for my sake,” He found his voice, even if it was groggy with misuse. He felt her straighten against the wooden door, her shock palpable through the brief moment of silence that seemed to stretch on for just a second too long, as if she was scrambling not to say something else than what came out.
“Pot, meet kettle,” She murmured back, loud enough he could hear it, and she felt him shuffle behind the door, wanting to smack herself in the face for not feeling him there sooner.
“New case?” He asked, his eyes heavy, his pyjamas days old. He knew he needed to shower, but the minute he’d walked into his apartment everything had felt pointless.
“Yup.” She breathed in, her shoes brushing against his welcome mat with a scratch as she pulled her knees up to her chest, “Although I think Hotch will stick to Penelope making the calls after today,”
Something between a scoff and a sigh came from his throat, something she couldn’t tell if it was good or bad.
“What is it?” He replied, and she remained quiet for a second, picking the skin around her nails.
“I’ll tell you if you open the door,” She bartered, wondering for a second if she’d gone too far and had pushed him back into the hole she was coaxing him out of.
“Blackmail,” Spencer said, all emotion gone from his voice, and Bugsy winced, “A little on the nose for someone who’s grieving,”
But she could sense it. The way his syllable raised on the last word, that he was being cynical, not cruel like she’d worried.
“Think of it as a trade deal,” She humoured him, though she kept her voice soft so he knew she meant no harm, just to cheer him up if it was even possible, “You get your answer, and I get to give you this incredibly boring book that I know you can devour in a half hour and give me the summarised version,”
He smiled. Weakly, and only for a brief few seconds, because if there was anything that warmed him up from the cold, dark, nothingness place he’d found himself in it was her.
He wished he could dislike the fact she did it so easily, wish he could dislike how simple it was to like her, to feel himself wanting her even in that nothingness place he was crawling through as a lone ranger. He wanted to pull her into him tightly, wanted to let her fuss over him, to apologise until his voice ran even more hoarse, but he couldn’t. He feared if he touched her, she’d be marked for death right then and then; that he’d taint her somehow. And that he could never do.
Yet, he bent to her will. He stood up, prompting her to do the same, leaving his door on the latch as he pulled it open a crack, enough for her to jimmy the book through, The Death of Ivan Ilyich, by Leo Tolstoy.
He had read Tolstoy before, of course he had. War and Peace was one of the first books he ever owned in Russian, ironically enough one that he’d read only a few days before they’d driven to Baltimore and he’d met Bugsy for the first time. Yet it was this one she’d given him of all of Tolstoy’s works; the one where the protagonist goes on a journey of acceptance that he’s dying with no explanation as to why.
He thought she might just be the only person who knew how to crawl into the mess of his brain and find something familiar in there. Because this was the same book he’d read when Emily had died.
He would never tell her he already owned it, however. Nor would he call her out for the fact she most certainly didn’t find it boring considering she was so far into it with annotations already scribbled in the margins. He just took it with a lump in his throat, his eyes burning with the idea she was so incredibly her that it felt like he had no option but to drown in it.
“Body’s been found in San Francisco,” She said gently, and he knew she wished he would open the door fully so she could at least see him. Yet he kept the door on the latch. Because if there wasn’t a barrier between them, he wasn’t sure how else he would keep it all in, “You get to know more when you finish the book,”
He sighed, holding the book tight to his chest, and they stood there for a second, the air turning stifling as they both held back a million words behind brave faces, “Will you be gone long?”
“No, only a few days, I hope,” She replied, zipping her bag up and slinging it on her back judging by the sounds coming from her side of the door. She hovered, not wanting to say the wrong thing, but wanting to stay here on his welcome mat because this was the closest they'd been physically and otherwise in months.
“Be safe,” He murmured, and her hand shot through the gap in the doorway, her pinky finger raised to the heavens.
“Promise,” Bugsy said, her heart jack hammering against her ribcage when a long, warm finger wrapped around hers, and they squeezed them together. It was just a little touch, but it was a start. She wished he would open the door so she could beg him to talk to her, even if it meant crawling to her knees, she wasn’t above it whatsoever.
Reluctantly, she let him go, though she noted the way he had held onto her until she did so.
“I have to go,” She said sadly, drawing her hand to her chest like she’d received a Midas touch, and her hand was suddenly valuable after gracing his own.
Her skin felt electric, her breaths felt laboured. She wanted more, but she couldn’t have it.
And with that, it took every ounce of resolve to turn on her heels and head back down to her car.
–
Bugsy stared at the artwork with a grimace, picking hard at her cuticles because the metallic smell was making her stomach turn. Their UnSub had taken to painting with his victims’ blood, canvasses upon canvasses of leeched ichor brushed out to make out an image of the bodies.
Her nose scrunched when another wave of hot, iron wafted up her nose, and she thought about asking Hotch if she could step outside for a moment, knowing he likely wouldn’t question her perhaps ever again after their little phone call.
“What other reasons would he have for separating plasma from the blood?” Hotch asked, and her brow furrowed, her mouth opening to speak before another voice cut her off.
“It’s a habit,”
She swore she gave herself whiplash with how fast her head snapped to the side. She would know his voice anywhere. It sounded lost and desolate, yes, but her eyes swirled with relief when she saw him standing there, looking skittish and tired but alive.
“Reid,” Morgan breathed, the same level of surprise she felt as JJ darted towards him, her arms wrapping around his middle before he could protest.
“Spence,” She said, and they hugged one another tightly, his eyes following over Jennifer’s shoulder to where Bugsy seemed to watch him unsurely, like she was waiting for him to tell her what to do, how to make it better, how to fix it. A girl who had always been so sure of herself now reduced to pining from afar for answers.
“I didn’t expect you back this soon. You sure you're ready?” Hotch asked, an almost identical look of hesitance on his face as Bugsy had on hers, and it was no wonder half of the department said they were two sides of the same coin.
“No but I think I figured something out,” He breathed, moving out of JJ’s embrace towards the boards where the victim profiles were, and he began speaking in that slow, cold tone he’d taken on.
Spencer, to no one's surprise, was able to all but fit their disjointed puzzle pieces together in the space of an hour's flight, and with just a few pointers in Garcia’s direction, they’d got their UnSub.
“And bingo was his name-o, actually his name is Bryan Hughes, he is an AB positive haemophiliac who works as a janitor at the Bay Area Museum of Art. And before you ask, yes his address has been sent to your phones.” Penelope rushed, pinging the information to their phones just as fast as it had appeared on her screen.
“You’re the best baby girl,” Morgan said into the speaker, hanging up the phone as the team stood from their place at the desk, Hotch assigning them tasks as everyone strapped on their kevlars and guns.
She held back for a moment, her eyes assessing him like man approaching a wounded wolf.
“I’m okay-” He was about to say, because he knew what she was going to ask before she thought to do it, except she simply nodded at him, turning on her heel to follow the others, despite him expecting something more Bugsy-like.
It wasn’t like her to leave him without some final word, some final stand, and he was right. Because no sooner had she gotten all of three paces, she whirled back around, heading back towards him with a timid expression, and she all but launched herself into his arms.
He held her tight, the warmth of her body making his eyes well up, because if there was anything that could have made him crack his resolve, it was her touch alone.
She carded her fingrs through his hair, tucking her face into his neck and breathing in deeply.
“I’ll see you when I get back,” She murmured, stopping herself from saying anymore as she released him, well aware of the fact he had tried squeezing her tighter before she’d had to let him go, like he hadn’t wanted her to go. But neither did she.
“Stay safe,” He said on instinct, and she nodded, her eyes trailing over his empty eyes and sallow skin.
She wanted to kiss away every trace of sadness there, but she couldn’t. Wanted to wrap him into a hug so tight she might just stop breathing, but it would have been worth it. Wanted to tuck him into bed and stroke his hair and feed him tea and chocolate and make sure he was kept well, because she’d do anything to make him better.
But she couldn’t. They had a case.
It took every scrap of resolve to let go of Spencer Reid, sheepish and mourning, and leave him in that room alone.
–
She sighed, scrubbing at the back of her hand with the shitty aeroplane soap they had on the jet, the tiny basin doing nothing to help the fact she was all but peeling off the top layer of her epidermis.
Catching Bryan had been messy; he had come at her with a scalpel, she had shot, his blood had sprayed over her arms, soaking right through. Spencer had all but gone white when she’d gotten to the runway, hoping to make it back to Quantico by midnight.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He fretted, despite the fact it was the closest he'd come in weeks to an emotion that wasn't sadness, and he stood little more than a few centimetres away, his fingers twined together, wanting to check her over himself.
She waved him off, “It’s not mine. I’m going to wash up on the plane, don’t worry,” She replied, her expression exhausted, twitching on the spot to stop herself pushing his hair behind his ear. She knew he’d washed it because it looked particularly fluffy, the way it always did when he hadn’t bothered to style it before he left the house, “Are you okay?”
He nodded wordlessly, and took her mini suitcase from her side, wheeling it along the tarmac for her, his face a worried scowl as they boarded the jet.
She thanked him as she stepped past him putting it in the overhead luggage, heading straight for the toilets to wash up, Morgan and JJ ducking out of the way when they saw Carrie 2.0 passing by them.
It wasn’t until they were already in the air did she emerge, her change of clothes on her skin that had been rubbed raw, her uniform in a biohazard bag that she swiftly dumped at the back of the jet to keep it out of sight. She threw herself down on the nearest seat, her entire body aching from the long few days, but she didn’t miss the hazel eyes that bore into the side of her head to her right.
She turned to meet their gaze, even though she already knew who it was before she’d even looked. Spencer looked like he was caught between about five different sentences to start with, his eyes trailing down her arms and to her hands that were now squeaky clean.
“You sure you’re okay?” He murmured, and she flipped her palms over for him to see for himself. No cuts. No abrasions. Except her usually marred cuticles she’d been picking at all day.
“Pinkie promised, didn’t I?” She teased, but no humour met his face. He just looked back at her, like he didn’t quite believe her still, like she was a ghost where his best friend should be sat, or a trick of the light. She turned her knees towards him, her sleepy eyes buttery and genuine, as if she was trying to make herself as relaxed as possible, just so he would stop worrying, “Spencer, I’m fine. Didn’t even knick me,”
He stayed quiet for a moment, looking down to his satchel bag where he played with the buckle, the brown leather cold in between his fingers, “I’m sorry I’ve been weird and distant and ignoring you- I just…”
“Spencer,” She tried to interject with a honeyed voice, but he shook his head, a crease forming between his brows when he heard her say his name like that.
“I just worry I’m letting everyone down, but when I saw you covered in blood-” He gulped, willing his eyes not to burn up again with unshed tears.
“Spence, it’s okay,” She cooed, shuffling closer to him in her seat, her hand migrating to his knee, because she didn’t know if he’d want to touch her after she’d had someone else's blood all over her hand. She liked her chances, yet the last thing she wanted was to push him. “No one’s expecting you to go back to normal, I just want to know you’re safe. I owe you as much, I mean you looked after me when Emily was gone,”
“You don’t owe me anything, Bug,” He shook his head again, his brows furrowing and she was quick to correct herself, “Besides, I loved living with you,” He rested his palm over her hand and gave her what he hoped looked like a small smile.
“I didn’t mean it like that, Spence,” She said, flipping her hand over to squeeze his fingers gently, “Did you not think I loved living with you too? I just want to take care of you for me,”
He looked at her, her eyes hopeful as she roved over his clean clothes, his freshly washed hair, his satchel he’d kept tight in his lap, as if checking him over for bruises despite the fact he hadn’t been in the field. The crushing weight over his chest like a fallen log seemed to shift, and with it, her hand soothed the wound, her smile dried his eyes, her warmth engulfed his very core in a blanket.
Spencer knew he was going to be okay if it was him and her. He knew the world was livable again if she was fighting in his corner. But then, when hadn’t she been?
Sensing his ease in attitude, or perhaps she just knew his eyes so well to notice the way they seemed to carry less burden as soon as she’d spoken, she leaned back in her seat, “Besides, the boys miss you. They said you gave them more treats than I do and Niko appreciated you brushing his fur for him,”
He smiled over at her bashfully, his head dropping down to lean on her shoulder as she pressed her cheek to his head.
“Well, if the boys miss me, I guess I have no choice,” He murmured, his eyes heavy the second he rested against her, like she’d sprayed a sedative over him, and he couldn’t help think that her new perfume wasn’t nearly as them as her old one had been. Not that he disliked this one, just that the other one reminded him of morning breakfasts, and movie marathons, and nights when they would bake apple cake at twelve in the morning because she made it how he liked it to a tea.
She chuckled, and it sounded like a hum in his ear, as he curled up to her side, “Get some sleep, I’ll wake you up when we land and I’ll drive us home,”
And it didn’t take much for him to do so, even if something had been right on the tip of his tongue; his apartment had only felt like home when she said it like that.
+1. The one with the promise.
He’d had that dream again.
It had been four months since Maeve died, but he’s had that dream again.
He’d start out in a restaurant, the walls lined top to toe with books, the chandelier the perfect amount of dust that it had character but not tackiness. A waiter would bring him over a menu and an iced tea, his favourite. He’d go to look up to ask why he’d been sat at a restaurant he had no recollection of getting to, and he’d see her staring back at him.
Maeve. Looking healthy and happy, like he hadn’t watched her brains sprayed across that warehouse floor.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” She would say, a glass of some kind of white wine swirling in her hand, her teeth straight and white and pretty when she smiled.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you,” He’d say, though he couldn’t feel his mouth moving, he just knew it had come from him. “Where are we?”
“You promised me a date, so this is it,” Maeve said, a glint in her blue eyes, “First and the last. Let’s make it count,”
His heart would give a jump then, because he’d remember this was the only time he’d ever get to see her. He’d remember that she was dead, that he had never seen her in person like this until the day she’d died.
He’d open his mouth to apologise, to beg for an explanation or forgiveness, whichever one he thought was more pressing, and then the door would swing open.
And Bugsy would walk in.
Donned in the same bluebell dress she’d worn at JJ’s wedding, only her arm wasn’t broken. And she’d walk right up to him, that smile on her face that said she was excited to see him.
And Maeve would look at her, and instead of scowling or sneering like a woman soaking in jealousy would, they would look at one another and grin like they’d known each other decades.
“Car’s out front when you guys are done,” Bugsy would chirp, her eyes warm when she looked down at the dead woman, satiated in genuine happiness to see her, “Don’t keep him too long,”
“One dance, Agent Prentiss, and he’s all yours,” Maeve would reply with a giggle, her brunette locks falling like a waterfall over her shoulder when she’d stand, offering a hand to him to sweep him onto the dancefloor, “You coming, Spencer?”
And his eyes would snap open, returning him back to the horrible reality of his darkened bedroom, his apartment silent other than the sound of Bugsy tossing in the spare room, the way she did when she got too warm in her sleep, and he threw his legs out of bed to go get her some cold water.
But the dream never left him. The same one he’d had for months, since she’d moved in with him to take care of him, make sure he was eating and keeping as happy as he could be.
The sight of her in that blue dress, waiting for him to finish his dance haunted him almost as much as Maeve did.
–
“Why didn’t you tell me you hadn’t been sleeping?” She asked, cornering him in the kitchen once they’d both dropped their go bags in their room and he’d jumped for the kettle to make them both coffee.
He blanked, the mug nearly slipping from his grasp as he plonked it down on the counter in front of her, “Why would you think-”
“Spencer,” She said as a warning, her lip quirking between her teeth as she gnawed at it worriedly.
“I didn’t want you to worry,” He confessed too quickly, scratching the back of his neck the way he did when he was nervous, “I know you worry about me, especially right now, and when you worry, you don’t sleep, and I just thought what’s the point in both of us running on nothing,”
She huffed, and he shuffled around the island to meet her where she stood by the bar stools, looking like she wanted to be cross with him but she couldn’t find it in herself.
“You should have told me, I could have stroked your back the way you liked, or, I don’t know,” She shrugged, looking anywhere but his guilty looking hues, “Smuggled night nurse in your tea,”
“Drugs. Cause that’s way better than my thing,” He teased, and she snickered, and he sighed in relief that she wasn’t really mad at him. He hated lying to her, he’d just wanted to keep his odd dream to himself until he could make sense of it, “Did Dave tell you anything else?”
She shook her head, and he knew she was telling the truth because she seemed to immediately be the one assessing him for anything else she should have been told much sooner.
“Is your head okay?” She asked, putting a gentle hand to his forehead to check for migraine heat, “I know they get worse when you don’t sleep-”
“My head’s fine, Bug,” Spencer replied, grabbing her hand with his long fingertips, pulling them from his face to squeeze at her side with a warming smile, “Promise. I’ll tell you if it gets bad,”
She watched him sceptically for a moment before she leaned over to grab her coffee, taking a long sip, and sighing in delight when it tasted perfect, “I love your memory, did I ever tell you that?”
He chuckled, dodging a rogue Niko that bobbed between his feet because it was almost dinner time for the two miscreants, moving back over to the sink to tidy the granules of sugar he’d spilled, “Many times. But I’d remember your coffee even if I had a normal brain,”
“Humble as always,” She remarked, smiling devilishly when he shot her a glare over his shoulder. It was then that Sergio jumped up onto the counter, the way Spencer had tried scolding him for a million times because of the germs, only for the onyx black cat to flick his tail in his face as if to flip him a middle finger, yowling in the man’s face for his usual dinner of kibble and water.
“Alright, alright,” Spencer sighed, reaching into the cabinet to grab their food, two fluffy bodies immediately weaving in between his long legs with mews and head bumps, because those boys knew how to wrap him around their little finger, “You ought to start being nice to me, boys. One day it’ll probably just be me and you guys, and then you can’t just bat your tails at me like you do your mom-”
“I know I’m turning twenty eight but I still got a few years left kicking, Spence,” Bugsy protested, her brows furrowing when she heard his murmurs, which she hadn’t found entirely odd since he always spoke to the boys when he fed them, except this time it had made her draw back in confusion, “Where am I in this hypothetical bachelor pad you got going on?”
“You’ll be with whatever guy is lucky enough to talk his way into dating you, maybe engaged, maybe married,” He said like it was nothing, despite the fact he’d been thinking about that exact scenario for months. Since Penelope had mentioned just how good British men were in bed, in fact. Because he felt both sick and curious as to whatever it had been that had come out of her mouth in return, “And I’ll look after the boys while the two of you move on, because you’ll feel sorry for taking my only friends away from me when you leave, and I’ll be forced to become a lonely, old cat man,”
“That’s not true,” She said, her face warming when he chuckled cynically, running a hand through his hair, “Spence, you can’t actually believe that?”
“Yes it is, Bugsy, you don’t need to try and make me feel better,” He brushed her off, wiping his knuckles over heavy eyelids, “You and I both like facts, right? It’s a quantifiable fact that zero women except Maeve have ever fallen in love with me in thirty years. Even if we call it twelve years to remove the factor of less meaningful relationships developing before adulthood, that means I’ll be forty two by the time I next get a shot, at which point I’ll be too old and washed up for anyone to find me attractive. Let’s face it, no one is ever going to love me like that again,”
“That’s not true,” She repeated, her chest hammering, her face scrunched into a scowl, “You’re wrong. Quantifiably wrong.”
“You have no data to back that statement up, Bug,” He replied with a dark snicker, and maybe it was the lack of sleep or the idea of her engaged to some other bonehead that had made him so crass, “Can’t make a conclusion without drawing on your evidence, to which you have none,”
“Yes, I do, asshole. I know for a fact that someone is in love with you,” She snapped, and it was like a bolt of lightning had cut through their conversation, blowing up in her face, her entire body freezing the second the words had left her mouth.
She looked at him, her eyes panicked, and all teasing had dropped out of his expression, leaving something confused, “Bug-”
“I don’t know why I said that,” She cut him off, jumping into action and avoiding his burning gaze. But he was fast, and he was pushing off the counter just as quickly as her.
“Bugsy, what do you mean? I don’t understand,” He persisted, darting only a pace behind her when she moved towards the living room to grab her cardigan off the back of the sofa.
She shook her head, “Ignore that, it doesn’t matter,”
“No, what did you mean by that?” Spencer asked, his voice tense because he had never seen her cower away from him like that, her body moving entirely into a state of flight. She shook her head, snatching the white fabric in her fingers and spinning on her heel to head for the doorway. But there he was, blocking her escape, his impossibly tall body stopping her right in her tracks, and she didn’t need to look up to know he had that special Spencer brand of Puppy Eyes.
“I’m going to the store-”
“Bugsy,”
“It doesn’t matter, Spence, just leave it,” She said shakily, trying to duck around him only for him to dodge to the left and stop her advance, “Spence, leave it, please,”
“What did you mean? Just tell me,” He begged, his cadence wary, the sound of it flushing her entire chest with a heat she’d never known. She swore she was going into cardiac arrest, her heartbeat was in her throat, and it made it difficult to swallow, let alone push him away, “Do you know something?”
Her breaths were deep, begging her chest to behave as it damn near spun her vision into dizziness. He was just a man. He was just a boy. How could he have so much control over her entire body when he had barely even touched her? When he had just asked her one tiny little question?
It was unethical, how her stomach rippled with butterflies the second she dared to look at his hazel eyes, round and intense where they never left her face. It should have been illegal for begging to look so good on him.
She took a sigh, shaking her head and looking back to his mismatched socks, chuckling bitterly, and putting her head in her hands. She couldn’t escape from this, her only defence mechanism was to curl into herself like an armadillo against a predator, her attacker being the god's honest truth that he was owed years ago.
“I really,” She cleared her throat, her eyes starting to burn with unshed tears, “I really messed things up with you,”
“What?” Spencer’s hot hands wrapped around her wrists, pulling them away from her face so he could hear her every word clearly, “I thought we were okay now, I thought we were friends again,”
She laughed emptily, her bottom lip quivering, her hands shaking under his touch. He was so warm, he always had been, but it felt as if he was everywhere when he was only really touching the skin of her pulsepoint. She hoped he couldn’t feel just how it beat for him, beat so loud and fast all for him.
“That’s the problem,” She whispered, her glassy eyes meeting his as she gave an unsure breath, gulping loudly. It was like he stared right at her soul, and pleaded it to speak to him. And she had never been able to say no to him, not when he looked like that, “When I came back from London, I came back to tell you that…”
She breathed again, because she felt like she was holding it while she confessed, she knew it was no wonder she felt so dizzy, but she couldn’t look away from him, where his face was morphing into realisation.
“I came to tell you that.. I-I’m in love with you, Spencer,” A single tear dribbled down her cheek, but he let go of her hands quickly to catch it, his lips pressing together in a silenced word, most like ‘oh’. His brows quirked above his nose, his eyes turning into devastation as soon as she’d said it. But it was out there now, so there was no use in trying to keep it in anymore. “I have been, for a while I think, and I wanted to tell you because I thought you might-might-” She gulped, the finger that had brushed the first tear stroking down until it rested under her jaw, the feeling of it damn near making her whine, “I don’t know, I just hoped you would feel anything back- but you don’t have to say anything, I know you’re hurting and so I just kept it in, but every time I see you I feel like I’m choking and I don’t know how to make it stop-”
“Tell me you’re lying,” Spencer said with a biting tone, his eyes honey comb gold and glistening when he looked at her. It couldn’t be true. He never got this lucky. It couldn’t be, he refused-
She shook her head frantically, her eyes pleading and wet, “Never, Spencer. I would never lie to you. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you- I know you’re hurting, I know you’re grieving and I shouldn’t have assumed-“
“I love you too,” He whispered, and it was like her words came to fruition as her voice was robbed, the air leaving her lungs. Her jaw dropped, her wet eyes boring into his chest, his hands skirting up to hold her face in his hands, thumbs stroking over her tear ladened skin, “God, Bug, I’ve loved you for so long, I thought you didn’t want anything like that after that kiss-”
Her expression dropped, eyebrows scrunching together, “What kiss?”
He blanked, for once speechless. Only the kiss he’d torn himself to pieces over for weeks and weeks. “The night- that Derek brought you over when you’d had…” He trailed off, wanting to throttle himself for how dumb he’d been in retrospect, “When you’d had the Molly,”
Her hand slapped over her mouth, his own hands flying to palm at his eyes, because how could he be so incredibly stupid. Ecstasy was a memory suppressant. He knew, he knew better than most, that taking recreational drugs like that robbed you of even the most life shattering moments.
She didn’t remember. How could she? She was so out of it she could barely walk without stumbling over a flat surface. And instead of asking her, instead of simply growing a pair and seeing what she remembered, he’d gotten a girlfriend.
This was all wrong. This was so wrong. The guilt from Maeve dying was a wound that had cut him deep, and yet having Bugsy in his arms so placid and warm and adoring was a salve he had never dreamed would feel so numbing.
“We kissed?” She asked, her eyes blazing with embarrassment, her hand running through her hair in shock horror, “I don’t- how don’t I remember that- that’s all I dreamed of for months-”
“Technically you kissed me,” He explained, despite the fact his cheeks had set on fire hearing her confess even the smallest bit more to him. She loved him. She was in love with him. She had been for months, she said. She loved him. “It would have been wrong if I did anything even if it was all I’d thought of too. And I just thought, because you never mentioned it, that you didn’t want to remember it at all,”
He felt like he’d taken some sort of truth serum, like he should shut himself up any second now because he was spilling his longest kept secret to the one person who should have never been privy to it. But it was okay if she knew. Because she loved him.
She looked at him, and he swore he’d never seen eyes so beautiful, but then he’d always loved her eyes. But the way they looked at him, as if he’d had a bag pulled from over his head, or his glasses had been given the correct prescription, because it was like he suddenly saw just how adoring she looked when she watched him like that.
And despite herself, she laughed.
It was girlish, and carefree, and happy. So, so happy. And he started laughing too. She fell into his chest, her face hot with embarrassment, and he wrapped his arms around her, feeling her giggling into his shirt, shaking her head.
“We’re so fucking stupid,” She said, and it was mumbled, and the sound of it made him smile wider.
“I’m a stupid, stupid man. I’m so sorry, Bug,” He replied, his large hand stroking down the back of her hair though a sour taste crawled up his throat.
He still owed Maeve that dance. Just as he’d told Rossi. Who had told Bugsy, because he knew she had some magic way of getting her way with everyone.
She pulled away, her eyes young and so incredibly pretty when she smiled at him like that. Sensing his hesitation, she tried to pull away from his embrace, worried like it was second nature to her by now that she’d overstepped. Only he didn’t let her. He kept his hand at the back of her head, one under her arm to pin her close to his body, because he wasn’t going to be stupid enough to let her go twice.
“You said you tried to tell me when you got back from London?” He said softly, and she nodded, like her confession had taken everything out of her, “But then when you got here… I was with Maeve,”
She swallowed, worried where he was going, and nodded again wordlessly.
He chewed the inside of his lip, taking a deep breath for courage, “I’m still- I feel terrible if-”
“You can still grieve, Spencer,” She cut him off, knowing what he was struggling to say, and his eyes crawled back up to meet her gaze, “It’s not heinous to need time to think, I know it’s a lot to ask, I never expected you to-”
He cut her off with a kiss to the apple of her cheek, warm and angelic, the feeling of it forcing her mouth shut, because she worried she might just whimper in delight if she didn’t. Her hand flew up to his forearm that moved around to cup neatly under her ear, his fingers weaving into her hair as he kissed again down near her jaw, her eyes fluttering shut. And when she thought it was done, when she thought her luck was spent, he kissed her again, on the cusp of her lips, a ghost breath slipping from a parted mouth, because she thought she might have just died and gone to heaven.
“Bugsy, I love you,” Spencer said, and her heart felt full, so full her eyes welled up all over again because it was everything she had ever wanted, “I just need a little time,”
Her eyelids flicked open, and the bliss written over her face took a knock, her head reeling back like he’d burned her. But, as before, he didn’t let her go, He refused to let her run away again. Not when he had everything he wanted, “That’s not a ‘no’. It’s just a very stupid man who has loved you for longer than you’d know hoping on everything that you’ll be willing to give me a month or two. I want to do this right, you deserve to have this done right, and I want to give you only the best version of myself,”
Spencer’s heart pounded against his slender ribcage as he waited for her response, because he knew he was pushing his luck. But he’d meant every word of it, and he figured if he had any chance at being the guy he’d always told himself she needed, he’d need to be honest with her. They’d need to be honest with each other.
But she smiled at him, sweet and besotted beneath his palm, and he didn’t know why he’d ever doubted her.
“I waited six years, what’s a few months on top of that?” She smirked, her face glowing when he pressed another gentle kiss to her forehead, and he felt how hot her blood ran under his touch. He hoped she couldn’t feel how his did the same.
“I promise. Just a few more months, bug,”
And he meant it. With everything in him, Spencer meant it. He wouldn’t let her go ever again.
--
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#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fic#matthew grey gubler x reader
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