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soulofapatrick · 4 months

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Nothing Changes - Aaron Hotchner x female reader

Summary: You wake the next morning to an empty bed and panic

Words: 1.3K

Warnings: None; fluffy

Notes: I'm really sorry for writing so much Hotch, I'm rewatching criminal minds and all these story ideas for him have been on my mind

Waking up to an empty bed, I feel my heart sink as the realization hits me: Hotch isn’t lying beside me anymore. Panic flutters in my chest as my mind races through a flurry of thoughts. Of course, he left. He couldn’t stay, not without risking our jobs, our reputations, and maybe even our friendship. What if one of the team found out? What would they think of me? They’d probably assume I’m taking advantage of Hotch, especially considering it’s only been two years since Haley’s passing. The man seems to still be grieving, and here I am, complicating things even more.

The distant sound of the shower running breaks through my panic, and relief floods through me, mingling with a tinge of nervousness. Maybe he hadn’t left entirely. Maybe there’s still a chance, a hope that last night wasn’t just a fleeting moment of weakness, but something more. Last night was the first time we gave in to the building sexual tension between us.

His clothes are still strewn across my room, a tangible reminder of the intimacy we shared. I can’t help but replay the events of last night in my mind—the way his touch ignited a fire within me, the way his eyes held mine with an intensity I couldn’t ignore. The way he was so gentle yet so dominant, knowing how to work my body right.

As I slowly come to wakefulness, the sound of the shower grows louder, filling the empty space with its steady rhythm. Part of me longs to join him, to lose myself in the warmth of his embrace once more. But another part of me hesitates, afraid of what this newfound connection might mean for us both.

Before I can decide both of our phones are ringing, the shrill sound makes my head hurt and I’m groaning, burying my face in the pillow Hotch had previously slept on. The phones ring till they stop and I count to four before both start ringing again, ruining the peace this almost domestic moment.

I’m smacking the bed in faint protest before wriggling over to the nearest phone and answering, “Yeah?”

No one speaks for a second before I recognise JJ clearing her throat, “We need you in, we’ve got a case.” There’s amusement in her tone that has me frowning before my heart drops for the second time this morning.

“JJ…” I pause, swallowing thickly, “This is Hotch’s phone, isn’t it?” I groan, turning my head to look at the bedside table to see my phone sitting there, “Oh god!”

“I won’t say a word,” She pauses and I hear her stifle a small laugh, I won’t tell if you tell me all about it on girls night.”

“Deal.” I reluctantly agree before hanging up and throwing Hotch’s phone somewhere on the bed.

I climb out of bed, feeling the cool air against my skin as I pad to the bathroom, wearing nothing but Hotch’s button up I throw on haphazardly, not bothering to do it up.

Hotch stands under the shower, his silhouette obscured by the mist, like a figure emerging from a dream. The gentle stream of water traces the contours of his body, sculpting shadows and highlights that accentuate every line and sinew. Droplets cling to his skin, glistening like diamonds in the soft light filtering through the steam.

His shoulders, broad and powerful, bear the weight of countless burdens, yet in this moment, they seem almost weightless, as if the water washes away the weight of the world. The water cascades over his chest, tracing the ripple of muscle, each movement a testament to strength and resilience.

His jawline is sharp, chiseled, a portrait of determination and resolve. The water courses over it, tracing the curve of his lips, the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corners. There’s a vulnerability in that smile, a glimpse of the man behind the stoic facade, and it steals my breath away.

His eyes, closed in peaceful repose, are hidden from view, yet I can imagine them so clearly—deep pools of darkness, windows to a soul that has weathered storms and emerged unbroken. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, and in that moment, I feel as though I can see straight into his.

Every inch of him is a study in contrasts—the strength and vulnerability, the resilience and tenderness—all wrapped up in one beautiful, complex package. And as I watch him, bathed in the gentle embrace of the water, I feel something stir within me, something deep and unspoken.

It’s as if with each droplet that falls, my heart beats a little faster, my breath catches a little tighter. In that moment, I realize just how deeply I’ve fallen for him, how every part of me longs to reach out and touch him, to pull him close and never let go.

I give in to that want, stepping towards the shower, the warm water enveloping me like a comforting embrace. With a quick motion, I shrug off his shirt, feeling the fabric slip from my skin, and I step under the water next to him. Droplets cascade over us, mingling with the steam, as I close the distance between us.

My fingers tremble as I reach out, brushing lightly up his toned bicep, tracing the contours of muscle beneath his skin. A small sound escapes him, a mixture of surprise and pleasure, as he looks down to meet my gaze. His cognac eyes soften as they meet mine, warmth and affection swirling within their depths.

His hands find my hips, fingers tracing patterns against my skin, as if mapping out the curves and contours of my body. There’s a tenderness in his touch, a gentleness that belies the strength of the man before me. With each caress, he stirs something deep within me, igniting a fire that burns brighter with each passing moment.

I feel a surge of longing, an ache that resonates deep within my soul, as his touch sends shivers coursing through me. It’s as if every nerve in my body is alight with electricity, every sense heightened by the intensity of his presence.

And then, without hesitation, he pulls me flush against him, his lips finding mine in a searing kiss. It’s a collision of desire and longing, a meeting of souls bound together by the undeniable pull of attraction. His lips are soft against mine, a gentle exploration that sets my heart ablaze.

“Can we just stay here?” I mumble, pulling away from the kiss to rest my head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath my cheek. I don’t care if we’re late, if I have to dry my hair before we leave, if we miss the plane. I don’t care for anything except the safety of Hotch’s strong arms wrapped around me.

“I don’t suppose the only reason you came in was to shower with me, was it?” He hooks a finger under my chin and makes me look up at him, an eyebrow raise and an amused look on his face.

“No,” I can’t help but pout, drawing a chuckle from him and he ducks down to press a kiss to my forehead, “we have a case.”

“Well,” he brushes my now wet hair from my face, “We have about an hour.”

“It takes me 45 on a good day Hotch.” I grumble and his eyes widen a little in disbelief as I’ve never told anyone where I live let alone how long it takes me to get to work until now. Until the very man I’ve been dreaming of for months is standing, very, very naked in my shower.

“Alright sweetheart, we’ll pick up some coffee on the way in.” My heart flutters at the pet name, my cheeks heating up and I’m burying my face in his muscular chest, “Sweetheart?”

“What happens when we enter the office?” I mumble against his chest.

“Nothing has to change.”

“Nothing has to change?”

“I promise”

Criminal Minds Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

@guacam011y @rosaliedepp @kajjaka

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sukunasun · 11 months

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TANGLED WEB | SPIDERMAN 2099 GETO SUGURU X READER

"i'm worried about you," you said to him then. it's not that there's anything wrong with him. flaky, yes. forgetful, sometimes. but it's starting to become increasingly clear that he's not all he seems to be.

suguru moves around his lab with soft, padded steps as the room is slowly lit by a hundred holographic screens. he's programmed it that way so it doesn't spook him. he hasn't had a good night's sleep in the last ten years. well, maybe forever actually, but he's stopped counting the all-nighters.

jumping from universe to universe does that to you, where time becomes a jumbled mess of past, present, and future. doesn't help that more of them explode into being each day. he's seen himself as a child in one and an old man in another, happily easing himself into his lazy chair while his beautiful wife grumbles on about how he needs to exercise more or his limbs will start creaking.

that one hurts a little too much he'll admit. would rather not think about a life where he'd been happy and perfectly content. instead, he taps on a few buttons by a console, sifting through screens, and moving windows out of the way with a swipe of his hand. news footage, maps, weapon inventory, plans and projects he's left on hold, some of them dating back years before he ever resorted to this life—bringing about order to chaos. there was no swinging from death-defying heights, no bank robbery chases and saving cats from trees, no...putting the multiverse back together, piece by fragmented piece.

his fingers grasp at the spandex of his mask, tugging it loose til his skin feels that familiar brush of fresh air. letting his hair fall down his shoulders and back, breathing a sigh of relief when he feels the tension leaving his scalp.

a video plays before him, lighting up his face from the dim. he remembers recording it at your wedding dress fitting. it wasn't necessary he told you, the dress, the rings, the reception, thinking he'd been above all these ritualistic traditions. now it's all he holds onto really, standing by the same spot, with the same video playing on a loop.

"sorry, it's been a while," he speaks, his roughened voice echoing around the walls. he makes a motion with his fingers and the video blows up in size. pixels painting a picture of your smiling face, a soft, love-filled gaze focused on him. or it seems that way. back when you still loved him anyway.

"hey," you say, a little self-conscious, "do we have to do this?" palming the material of your dress nervously, your engagement ring twinkling. he feels the phantom weight of the one he used to wear on his finger all the time. so much so that he rubs a thumb over the empty space, feeling only his suit there.

he's removed his voice from the clip, only because it allows him to talk to you—at least some semblance of it—like he does now, "not if you don't want to...i just miss you is all," he replies.

"what kind of an answer is that?" his heart clenches at your laugh ringing through. a younger him would have said something funny when he should have been better with his words. should have told you how beautiful you were, how much you meant to him. but they always get caught in his throat.

he's ignoring the fact that there are hundreds of other spidermans surrounding him behind these walls and any of them could waltz right in. watching the tough leader of spider society talk to an old tape of his ex-wife. they'd see just how...lonely he is.

two of them sit in a corner somewhere doing whatever task he's given them for the day. and they know there's nothing they could do about it. because he's got an oh-so-impossible plan of rewriting the canon. changing the outcome. for this is not up to technology or anything that isn't you and your wish to love him again.

and if he knows anything about multiverse travel, is that it's heartbreaking. how often he's lived in different shoes, loving a different you every time. multiple lifetimes, occurrences, origins, and resolutions. reliving the first time he held your hand, the first kiss, the first time he took you in his college dorm, how it was awkward and messy, but he'd cradled you in his arms when your body was a sweaty, blissed-out mess after, the expression on your face so rewarding he couldn't feel the sting of the scratch marks you've left all over his back.

you were hot to the touch one moment, a rousing sight, perfect in every way. and then you were cold, losing all colour, and grasping at him with your final breath seconds later. suguru realizes he was no longer in the comfort of an old junky room but on a street corner. buildings crumbling and him barely withstanding the weight of rubble on his back. his naked skin now in his suit drenched with blood. he swore it was just a glitch, but he saw with his very eyes, each of his timelines colliding and ripping apart, each tangent leading back to his inevitable loss. losing everything. losing you.

so they keep working on it. and he keeps watching you on a screen. shrugging and slumping his body and averting his eyes away because he can't bear to face you. always guilty and for what, he doesn't exactly know. can't pinpoint the moment he felt you slip through his fingers. only that he couldn't be the person you needed him to be.

"pathetic right?" he says, timing it right for the moment you reply with a—

"i forgive you," you say, hand reaching out to his. and he pauses the video there, placing his own hand against the screen and watching it glitch when his fingers make a hole through the display, plunging through and feeling only emptiness in return. at the very least, it buzzes around his form and it feels warm, but it's nothing compared to the way you'd hold him.

"promise?" he whispers, knowing you won't reply, and that the answer is already there. but he pulls his hand away, rewinds it, and starts all over again.

——————————————————

he still dreams about you. on the rare occasions he does manage to fall asleep.

but they're not scenes and sounds he's conjuring up, a random bunch of no-names his consciousness collected throughout the day, hazy blobs of red and blue. it's only ever one thing. a moment from his past he can't let go off.

vividly he sees you standing in the rain. in nothing but a pair of jeans and a tshirt. huff . huff. his breaths are labored. here in the cold of night, they puff out in short gasps of white.

it all feels so real. in the flesh. in his suit. hanging upside down on what appears to be tangled strands of webbing in his grasp. body covered in black spandex, red covering the pads of his hands and feet, thick lines spanning across broad shoulders and chest, an angular pattern of a spider sitting right in the middle.

"so tell me spiderman...you've got a million eyes and ghastly fangs?" cupping his head gently, you're fingers move on their own accord. thumbs caressing over the material, feeling the flat planes and deep grooves of his features. a strong nose, soft cheeks...shaping and sculpting him in your mind's eye.

"go ahead," he whispers, his voice hoarse and ...desperate, "take it off and find out..." screw it, he thinks, he can have this, just this once. he's allowed to. it's just a dream anyway. spiderman is everything he's not. he's done more with the suit on than when it was left crumpled and untouched in his closet.

tugging at his mask, the hem starts to peel away from his neck. sliding and stretching over his throat. tucking folds moving upwards with every pull. pale skin revealed, now blooming red the moment you ease it over his adam's apple, over the cut of his jaw, and finally the edge grazes past his lips.

he gasps. mouth parting with every exhale, his fangs retracting and peeking from beneath, his chest rising and falling in time with his rapid breaths, his thumping heart. "thank you, for saving me," you whisper, before pressing your lips to his, feeling them part as his tongue slips inside the warmth of your mouth. fuck, this is exhilarating. even though it could just be from the last time he kissed you, the taste of you is unlike any other, forever etched in his memory.

——————————————————

in that restaurant you like—the one serving the huge rice bowls and unlimited tea refills—you eyed the new injury he's gotten that week. he should have tried to hide it at least. but scarily enough, it was probably the best his efforts could afford. it'd been a bruise on his cheek, no bigger than a few centimeters, and knuckles so raw, so red, the skin splits down the middle of those nubby slopes.

"it's really fine," he brushes you off and you noticed the slight wince in his expression, giving it away. if he were better at acting you wouldn't catch how his arms rested on the table, placing most of his weight on it and shielding his torso from you. just underneath his shirt, two broken ribs sealed themselves back beneath skin and muscle at a snail's pace, a bullet wound in his shoulder closed up inch by inch. felt the dermis stitching itself back segment by segment in circular motions.

you sighed heavily. he didn't miss the disappointment laced in your features. "i think we should break up, you're...hiding things from me." a part of him knew it was coming, but where does he even begin. he's left these things out for a reason. spiderman doesn't have a place in all this. that...version of himself is his own burden to bear.

geto suguru was your boyfriend, unmasked and uncovered. the one who has a strict hair care routine and likes spending his time cooped up in a lab. less mad scientist and more aloof inventor who's dedicated his life to a cause. he's charming, intelligent, and sexier than he should be—"are you sure you're not lying to me about your job? i don't think researchers do pull-ups at work," you squeeze at the swell of his arms in wonder, palms pressed into his pecs, admiring the bulk, the brawn, down the curve of his slim little waist.

geto however, can only blush. chuckling to himself nervously whilst grateful the cut of muscles is enough to distract you.

you've mentioned it once or twice. that it's just a bonus he's so hot, the real appeal is where on most days he's dorky....disheveled. and so captivating. drooping eyebags kissing the steam wafting from his mug, coffee today, because he needs the extra boost. how he's scratching at his toothpaste-stained shirt while a blanket hangs over his head in the mornings. when warm light hits just right, you notice the alluring streak of silver hairs, shining against dark locks. swooping and silky. oh how does stress look this lustrous...this indulgent. trotting about his messy kitchen with a lazy, drowsy gait.

"where the fuck is it," he mumbles, noisily wading through last night's clutter for..."my thingy!" he exclaims. because everything's a 'thingy' at this hour. when his brain is still fuzzy and he's got no energy. he's brandishing what happens to be a teaspoon like he's found the holy grail. and yes, it is that important because "this teaspoon isn't like any other teaspoon, it's actually perfectly accurate in measuring the amount of sugar i like," he's so particular.

sometimes he goes back there, he'd swing past heavy traffic and crowded streets from below. a route he knows by heart. by instinct. awed and frightened faces alike, feasting their eyes upon a masked man and his reflected grief in skyscraping windows. regrets when he'd been fighting crime and it slipped his mind. he promises he'll be early from now on, hoping to see you waiting for him by that same table and maybe this time, you wouldn't want to end things.

#ANGST. be warned.#sunpiece #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fic #geto suguru #jjk geto #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto fic #geto suguru fic #my taste in men is hot villain with a cause. bonus is hes got broad shoulders and the strength of ten men.#spiderman suguru

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starqueensthings · 1 year

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I was going to wait to post this until Mama Echo Monday, but fck it. Happy Star Wars Day, Pals!

Pairing: GN!Reader x Echo. No mention of Reader’s appearance/gender (with the exception of "an unladylike grunt" mentioned once to describe exertion).

POV: 2nd person, 4641 words.

Summary: Echo and SquadMedic!Reader share their first kiss after he makes an unplanned trip to the MedBay.

Warnings: Slightly whumpy as Echo gets injured while completing some ship repairs, mentions of blood and medical procedures (stitches specifically), mentions of Echo's traumatic past, mentions of the anxieties he deals with regularly now in regards to medical treatment.

Rating: SFW, fluffier than a fkn cotton ball

A/N: I am not a doctor. I’m not even close to a doctor. I don’t know if any of the medical words/references make any sense but I did my best with the tools I had LOL

Huge thank you to the always incredible @staycalmandhugaclone for beta reading, your time and feedback was so appreciated.

You hummed quietly along to the song warbling from the radio in the corner as you flattened the last of the dozen cardboard boxes that had, up until this morning, housed the carefully packaged restock of your MedBay supplies. Hunter had long since asked you to start keeping the empty boxes, as they worked well for kindling and the squad had taken to settling down after missions with a bonfire wherever possible. But storing bulky boxes in your already cramped closet of a MedBay had proven a challenge in itself, as the only method for storing such clutter was to have them sandwiched tightly between the wall and the arm of your bulky treatment chair.

“Don't get stressed, it's gonna get figured out…” you sang to yourself. The fluffy pop song filling the quiet corners of the room was not your regular cup of tea, but was surprisingly successful at pulling a small wiggle from your hips, and the occasional snap from your dusty fingers. “Deep conversations at the Waffle House...” You sashayed across the room to the beat of the song, heading towards the wall of cabinets opposite the door.

“But you knowwwww it’s always love,” you chorused, holding an invisible microphone in front of your mouth with your right hand, while your left latched each of the cupboards closed.

The clunk clunk of approaching heavy footsteps (the kind that could only belong to the large metallic feet of Echo) were masked by the reverie that the radio always seemed to put you in, and you were momentarily deaf to everything else.

“Um… Mesh’la? Mesh’la?”

A sudden sharp intake of breath tugged heavily at your throat as your body jerked in surprise. You spun around towards the door, ready to adorn the person who’d induced your cardiac arrest with the most vehement glare you could muster… but the distress on the face of the man slumped in the doorway wiped every ounce of ire from your mind immediately.

“Sorry,” Echo mumbled from the doorway where he had paused. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

The urge to clamp your hand over your thundering heart was immediately robbed from you as your eyes registered his visible torment, and his even more obvious need for medical attention. “Maker,” you hissed, your eyes widening and your lips parting.

“So it is that bad...” he grumbled, correctly reading the shock on your face and triggering his shoulders to sag.

You closed the space between you in a brisk walk, your brows knitted tightly in concern and focus. Echo had his hand clamped over his right cheek, though the pressure he was applying from his palm was nowhere near enough to stem the flow of blood now cascading down his jaw and dripping onto his chest plate.

“Let me see,” you instructed gently, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and slowly tugging his arm downwards.

You had no choice but to ignore the loop-de-loop that your heart did in your chest as a result of your contact with his skin; Echo had had that effect on you from the get-go. For obvious reasons (and not), he was unlike any man you’d ever come across before. Sure, his cybernetics and past experiences made him unique enough as an individual, but it was more than that. He had a distinctive, polite sort of grace about him; a warmth that emanated from deep in his person that you’d never encountered before. There was just something about the way his eyes seemed to caress your features as he listened to you ramble about whatever topic it was that you needed to vent about that particular day; something about the way that his smile tugged just a little more on his left cheek than his right when Wrecker got him laughing hard enough; something about the little smirk on his lips, and nod of his head that he sent your way every morning before he was awake enough to voice a greeting.

Simply having him in close proximity somehow simultaneously calmed and excited you, wiping your mind of all coherent thought, while your heart was jolted into overdrive. It was particularly bad in the moments like this one where your skin brushed against his, as your body always seemed to take it as a cue to throw composure out the window, doping your blood with enough hormones to make your hands tremble. And then there was the fact that time did not seem to be a concrete concept when you two were together; you could have happily spent a continuous decade passing tool after tool over his shoulder as he patched up the ship, or three weeks collecting firewood from the nearby forest, or simply reading side by side in the cockpit chairs.

You cleared your throat quietly, trying to rid your insides of the butterflies that had launched into a fluttering dance routine at his touch, so you could focus on his injury. “Tech told me to come see you,” Echo mumbled through an expression laced with fear as his arm fell to his side. “He said something about a flap being ‘full thickness’?”

Now free from the pressure of his palm, the laceration on his cheek began to leak freely the moment it was exposed. Barely a breath later saw your fingertips quickly cloaked in the same red carnage that had seeped through the cracks of his own fingers. As you gently pulled at the loose overhang of skin, you reached around to the waist pouch on your lower back, yanked the zipper open, and deftly retrieved a handful of sterile gauze packs. With a quick rip of the paper packet, you unfolded a fresh square of linen and immediately pressed it against his cheek. He winced lightly against the pain of the pressure you applied, but did not pull away from your touch.

While one left hand continued to hold the gauze in place against the warmth of his oozing cheek, your other reached for his elbow, pulling on it gently until he took a step forwards through the threshold of the door and into the MedBay. Somewhat awkwardly, as you were walking backwards and at a drastically reduced speed, you guided him towards the treatment chair and sat him on the worn albeit squashy cushion on the seat (an addition you incorporated upon first seeing the cold and rigid equipment).

“What in the name of Mandalore’s moon happened to you?” you asked him, reaching for his hand again and gesturing for him to hold the gauze in place for you.

He swallowed with apparent difficulty, his eyes flickering anxiously around the room, glaring at each piece of diagnostic equipment mounted on the walls around him. The MedBay was Echo’s least favourite area of the ship, and he had already apologetically admitted that he only visited it when he absolutely needed to. “The machines and stuff kinda freak me out,” he had divulged quietly halfway through the generic physical you had put him through shortly after you joined the squad.

Thanks to your research and the details in his medical chart, you were well aware before joining the crew that he had had several limbs replaced by cybernetic machinery in the past, but it wasn’t until several weeks after, in a whispered night-watch conversation on the ramp of the Marauder, that Hunter explained how… and why. Echo’s recurring MedBay anxiety, or the “Med Dreads” as you had comically labeled it since, became immediately validated and unspokenly understood.

“Your cheek, hun. What happened?” you probed again when he failed to answer you, deliberately keeping your tone light and warm as it usually helped diminish his anxiety.

“I… uh… got cut.” He answered your question in a mumble, forcing the lump of anxiety down his throat for a second time and sending you a fleeting glance.

“Well I can see that, Captain Obvious,” you quipped with a smile and a small eye roll as you took the saturated material out from under his hand and replaced it with a fresh one.

After tossing the used fabric into the biohazardous waste bin beside the chair, you reached around your waist into the pouch again, this time retrieving the travel sized bottle of your go-to wound disinfectant: a neon orange effervescent solution that smelled strongly like iron, and worked remarkably well at cleaning superficial wounds with minimal pain. You held the gauze over the opening in the bottle and tipped it upside down thrice. Once satisfied with the level of saturation, you screwed the lid back on and returned the bottle to your pouch.

Your fingers wrapped tenderly around his wrist again, tugging it away from his cheek and collecting the soiled linen from his fingers. The bleeding had almost entirely subsided, blood now seeping out from under the flap of skin in droplet form, as opposed to the crimson river it had been when he first walked in.

“It’s… it’s Corporal.”

Had you not seen his lips move out of the corner of your eye, his murmur of words would have been completely lost amongst the incoherent chatter of the radio hosts.

“Pardon?” you asked him, stopping the movements of your hands to give him your undivided attention.

You were surprised to see a small smile begin to tug at the corners of his mouth as he turned his gaze back to you. “It’s Corporal,” he repeated. “Corporal Obvious.”

The upswing in his demeanor took you by surprise, momentarily blanking your mind of a response as a smile worked its way across your own face. You peered into his twinkly eyes for a breath of a moment, basking in the warmth that they smothered you in every time that they fell on you. “Oh, my apologies, sir…” you chirred with a smirk, resuming your careful wiping motions across his injured cheek. “Apparently you’re Corporal Funnyguy today, too.”

A small laugh left his nose in something of a soft snort, triggering the butterflies in your stomach to resume their tortuous, internal flap-about. Your cheeks began to burn as the echo of his laugh; you loved when he laughed, particularly if it was you that had managed to pull it out of him.

In an effort to keep the giddy smile off your face, you bit down on the insides of your cheeks, deliberately keeping your eyes away from his until you could regain your composure. After discarding the gauze in your hands, you turned your attention back to the laceration on his cheek, prodding it gently and tugging on each end to observe its reaction to various degrees of tension. Now that the area was cleaned of the carnage, the injury was thrown into sharp relief, and you were internally grateful you’d removed the mirror from this room months ago. Echo was a tough cookie but was notoriously squeamish with blood and injuries, and whatever it was that had cut him, left a clean albeit deep wound, extending from his cheekbone outwards to his ear.

“Hmm,” you hummed, placing your hands on your hips and wiggling your nose as you thought about the best method to close the wound. “It’s definitely full thickness, unfortunately,” you intoned. “I’ll have to E-Mag stitch it, hun.”

His shoulders sank dramatically, and a heavy sigh left his mouth as he tipped his head back in exasperation. You swallowed against the sadness and empathy building in your chest, placing what you hoped was a calming hand on this shoulder. He nibbled gently on his bottom lip before looking back at you, his eyes now framed with small creases of suppressed fear and contempt.

“Can’t you just use a bacta patch?” he asked you, failing to entirely stifle the desperate plea in his tone. “Or some of that fancy tape you have?” His eyes darted around the room again, this time almost frantically, as if visually finding the tape would be enough to convince you to use it, but his silent petitions were met with nothing but a poignant shake of your head. The inevitable, and likely infinite, list of alternatives he was sure to propose, as he so frequently had in the past, were no match for the dismissive explanation waiting patiently on your tongue.

“Echo, hun, we've been over this before. Bacta is a great tool, but it isn’t the end-all and be-all.” You spoke quietly, trying to catch eye contact again by shifting your weight and tipping your head until your face was in his line of sight. “The laceration is deep into the epidermal layer, and skin always heals from the bottom upwards. If we put a patch on, it will limit the amount of breathing your wound can do while it’s healing, and the chance of forming a compound infection increases pretty drastically.”

You watched the ghosts of unvoiced arguments shift his expression as he turned his face away from you again, his amber eyes flickering back and forth between the rebuttals that only he could hear; sorting through the rolodex of bargaining chips in his mind, searching for anything to help him obtain a fast pass out of this chair, and away from the prospect of foreign tools near his body. But despite the crease between his heavy brows deepening to that of dark chasm, he remained quiet, the only motions of his mouth being the mollifying nibble of his bottom lip.

“I promise, once the stitches dissolve, we’ll put some bacta gel on to prevent scarring, and you’ll never know it happened,” you offered warmly, standing up straight and retracting your hand from his shoulder. “But for now, I’ll give you a pain injection to numb the area and you won’t feel a th—”

“No pain injection,” he interrupted, snapping his head around to stare at you.

You stifled your sigh just enough for it to leave your mouth as nothing more than a poignant exhale drenched in sympathy. “Echo,” you started, cowering only slightly under the intensity of his stare. “We've been over this too. You know the stitcher is more uncomfortable than the injector. It'll be more comf—”

“No injection. I don’t need it, or want it.”

“Come on, Corporal Toughguy,” you pleaded, hoping that adding a dash of humour to the situation might soften his refusal. “I’m a whizz with the injector, ask anyone! And you can even load the vial yourself, if you want, so you know exactly what’s going in—”

“Still no, and always no.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and challenged your pleading eyes with the flick of a dark eyebrow, wordlessly reinforcing that this was a battle you were not going to win, and he would out-stubborn you into the ground. Little did he know, the intensity of his warm eyes directed at you so piercingly, had almost entirely diminished your resolve, and a smile was working its way back across your face before you could stop it.

“Fine,” you conceded, sticking your tongue out at him fleetingly before turning around and stepping away from the exam chair.

With an unladylike grunt, you retrieved the heavy durasteel case that held the E-Mag stitcher from one of the lower cabinets on the opposite wall. The Republic Cog logo on the lid was almost entirely faded from the constant friction of your hand opening and closing it, but the tool inside was measuredly kept in good repair. With the prod of the button, you brought the stitcher to life while simultaneously doing your best to hide the tool behind your back as you crossed the room towards where Echo sat watching you.

His glazed eyes focused again as you approached, flickering only fleetingly to your hidden hand before another heavy sigh stole over him. You steeled yourself against the dread building inside of you, reminding yourself that your discomfort in this moment was nothing compared to his, and despite the awareness that you were about to cause him moderate to significant physical and emotional pain, this treatment was necessary.

“You sure no pain injection, hun?” you asked him when you returned to his side.

“I’m sure,” he answered with a stoic nod.

“But are you sure sure? For sure, sure?”

“I’m sure sure… for sure… sure?” he answered slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly as his lips curled into a smile. “Maker, that word sounds weird when you say it so many times.”

A huff of a laugh poured from your mouth as you nodded. “I did that to Tech the other day too,” you said with a grin. “I somehow got him to say ‘tinkle’ three times in a row and I think he almost had a seizure.”

Another laugh forced Echo’s injured cheek upwards, though you were pleased to see the creases around his eyes were momentarily free of pain and tension. The look of neutrality, hell even joy on his features was a welcome change to the subdued and forlorn demeanor that the Med-Dreads drowned him in.

You know you let your eyes linger on him for just a little too long, but you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same euphoric pull towards you, that you were feeling towards him in the span of that shared laugh. Father Time had launched into his usual cruel tricks the second that Echo’s crinkled eyes met yours, and suddenly moments could have been hours; years could have been seconds; an eternity could have passed and you wouldn’t have known, for his eyes on you made everything around you make sense, and at the same time, irrelevant.

“Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled, apprehension ghosting behind his eyes as he clutched the armrest of the chair tightly in his pallid hand.

“Okay,” you answered in a determined whisper, gathering the remains of your resolve, and finally pulling the E-mag stitcher from behind your back.

The wad of boxes wedged between the chair and the wall was, unfortunately, precisely where you needed to stand to hold the stitcher at the optimal angle, but you had no intention of delaying or drawing out Echo’s torture any longer than necessary. Eager to start and to finish so that he could be free of the mental and physical turmoil, you opted to lean across his body instead. You heard his breath hitch in his chest as you stepped in between his knees and leaned into his space, but whether his alarm was triggered from the feeling of your body against his, or the fear that enveloped him upon seeing the stitcher, you were not sure.

“Just keep your eyes on me,” you instructed him, giving him one last smile before turning your attention to his cheek.

And he did. And it almost killed you. Watching his eyes water and his muscles tense with each stitch that you guided the tool to feed through his skin sent a wave of guilt and remorse crashing through your stomach to the point where you began desperately searching your brain for something to distract him with.

“I think I’m going to try and get Hunter next,” you declared after the 6th stitch had wracked his tense features with another wince. You paused, offering him the moment of pain-free peace that he refused to verbalize. “What should I try and get him to say? Something attainable... but I kinda want to be on the raunchy side. Any ideas?”

“Hmm,” Echo considered after a long, slow exhale. “How about something like nipple?”

“Nipple!” you chortled. “That’s perfect.”

“It’ll be hard to get him though,” he added against another wince as the tool in your hand threaded another stitch through his skin. “He’s too aware. You’ll have to get him nice and distracted first.”

“Kinda sounds like you’ve done this before,” you suggested quizzically, glancing over at him and cocking an eyebrow.

Echo shrugged a shoulder and let the ghost of a smirk work its way across his lips. “My brother and I had some prankster tendencies back in the day,” he answered cryptically. “Though he was a natural at it, so I always took his lead.”

“Tell me about him,” you probed, grateful for the opportunity of a lengthy and important topic; one that might be enough to steal his awareness from the present pain that you were putting him through.

A surprisingly sad sounding sigh left his mouth as he closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly against unspoken thoughts. “Maybe another day,” he eventually mumbled with a small grimace.

Every cell in your body urged you to protest; to argue with him; to reassure him that you truly did want to know everything about the brother that he only ever mentioned fleetingly; to remind him that you would eagerly listen, with open ears, for as long as he was willing to talk, like he had done for you only countless occasions. But you couldn’t bring yourself to force him into anything at this moment; not while he was already uncomfortable... already desperate to escape this room and the pain you were putting him through.

You sighed quietly to yourself, making a mental note to prompt again later, and pushed the 11th stitch into place.

“Okay, deal,” you answered. “Maybe you and I can take down Hunter as a team? I’ll bring nipples up in a conversation because, let’s be honest, it’d be weird coming from you… but you’ll have to think of a way to get him to say it multiple times.”

“Deal,” he agreed with eyes clamped shut. “What about Cross? Have you managed to get him, yet?”

“No,” you grumbled audibly and dramatically. “I can’t even get him to say one word, let alone the same word repeatedly. I don't think he likes me much to be honest...”

“Nah, it’s not that,” Echo assuaged, opening his eyes again and directing them on to you. “We all love you. Crosshair’s just a severe guy. It takes him a little longer to show his colours than everyone else.”

“Yeah well… so far the only colours I’ve seen of his are ‘snipey’ and ‘cranky’,” you chuckled, shifting your weight slightly so you could rest your elbow on his shoulder. “Oh… and ‘morning-breathy’.”

Pride welled inside of you as Echo laughed again, his chest vibrating below yours with every snicker that left him.

“He does have bad morning breath,” he agreed with a grin. “Not as bad as Wreck though. He could kill a man with that toxic morning gas.”

“Good thing Tech has the cabin ionizer on full blast at night or I think we’d all be dead.”

“That’s why he has it on full blast at night.”

Two things happened in the subsequent moment of shared laughter: you pushed the final stitch through his skin, but before a suppressed sigh of relief could even think about leaving your mouth, Echo’s hand shifted from the arm of the chair and landed gently on your side. He placed it there so softly that, in any other moment, you may have been able to shrug it off as an unprovoked shift of your waist pouch, but being so close to him had increased the sensitivity in your skin- in your very awareness, and there was no denying that was his hand clasped timidly, yet purposefully on your clothed rib cage.

You froze, turning your head slowly to face him. His eyes were fixed on you, and his face donned an expression that you’d never seen on him before: a juxtaposed blend of confidence and apprehension. You slowly straightened up, the breath in your lungs stalling as you watched his eyes dart from your left eye to your right.

You could have sworn you had heard music playing mere seconds ago, but it didn’t seem like your mind was presently able to register anything other than the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. You could have sworn you were just laughing about something… but that couldn’t be true, as there was absolutely nothing inherently comical about the way he was looking at you, nor did there seem to be any air left in your lungs to spare on laughter.

“Thank you,” he breathed, using the gentle hand on your side to pull you a fraction of an inch closer to him.

“For… for what?” you somehow managed to ask.

Hesitation stilled him for only a moment, his cheeks flushing slightly as his eyes darted back and forth between yours again. “For being… you. For being so... you know... awesome.”

If the butterflies rearranging your internal organs like furniture wasn’t enough to end you right then and there, then the addition of his gentle touch under your chin would certainly have been your demise. Tingles radiated from the place where his finger rested on your skin. Your hands, still limply holding the stitcher at your side, began to tremble in anticipation as a force more powerful that gravity pulled you closer and closer to him. Your lips parted slightly as his gaze darted between your eyes again.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered against your lips.

“Yes,” you breathed, your eyes fluttering closed.

A cannon went off somewhere in the depths of your stomach as his lips brushed against yours, testing the waters of your approval; offering you the opportunity to pull away if you wanted, but there was simply nothing else in the entire galaxy that you’d rather be doing. There was simply no better feeling than this; than transferring every ounce of desire in your body into his through means of a kiss.

You pressed your lips more firmly against his, deepening the kiss while the stitcher fell to the floor at your feet with a clunk that no one heard… forgotten, irrelevant. As he probed your lips further apart, your right hand snaked its way up his chest to cup his jaw just below his ear. His hand returned to your side, brushing his thumb tenderly against your ribs, as his tongue made a hesitant entrance into your mouth. You welcomed it immediately, pushing your chest right up against his, impervious to the uncomfortable rigidity of his armour.

“This does not seem an appropriate treatment protocol for a level 2 subdermal laceration.”

You and Echo broke apart immediately, both of you turning deer-in-the-headlight’s expressions to the door where Tech stood wide eyed and slack jawed in the threshold. Echo blushed and hung his head to his chest, as a nervous giggle left your lips.

“Um…” you started, your mind frantically searching for a valid excuse as to why you and Echo had just been unceremoniously draped all over one another, all the while somewhat distracted by the large smears of engine oil across Tech’s forehead. “Well I stitched him first… and then… shifted focus...” Tech deadpanned you, his expression unreadable, and his magnified eyes blinking intermittently behind the lenses of his smeared goggles.

“What was your method of choice?” he eventually asked you, when not even the radio in the corner could puncture the awkward silence in the room.

“S-sorry?” you stuttered. Echo scratched his nose in your peripheral vision but you refused to look at him, lest you return to pieces and pounce on him again.

“What was your chosen method for the laceration repair?” Tech clarified, shifting his goggles on his nose.

“Oh… um. The Electro Magnetic stitcher. It was full thickne—”

“Then I was correct in my initial diagnoses. Good for me.”

He turned and left without another word, his gaze immediately redirected back downwards to the datapad clutched in his dirty hands.

When the sounds of his footsteps faded to nothing, you finally risked a glance back at Echo. His smirking face pulled an embarrassed smile from you immediately, but his eyes remained locked on you as he stood up and reached for your hand.

“Come on,” he spoke quietly, interlacing his fingers with yours and pulling you towards the hallway. “Let’s go for a walk.”

#echo x reader #echo x you #starqueenswrittenworks #bad batch fanfic #bad batch echo #echo bad batch

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elmundodeflor · 30 days

Text

Come here, sit down. I have something important to tell you. A message that could save both our lives.

You’ll have two kids, Gabi and Falco, by the time you’re a little over forty. Well, no, it’s not like you’re gonna be a parent. At least, not in the sense that you’re probably thinking. But you’ll care for them. A lot more than you’ll ever want to admit. You’ll brew them your best tea, tell them bedtime stories about giants from a foreign land.

Gabi, the girl, she’s hotheaded, and reminds you of that time you saw firecrackers on a Marley festival. She gets angry at the world often, but she’s kind. And smart. And has a heart that has so many broken, empty spaces, she can take everyone else in; no questions asked.

Falco would never hurt a fly. He has this soft, warm gaze in his eyes that never deceives, never hides. They both look after me, us, though they’re just that— two children of war. Gabi carries my wheelchair, now holds the cups the same way we do. Falco tells her to shush whenever his instincts warn him, she’s making me talk too much.

I don’t know, I guess all this was to say: don’t listen to me. Ignore everything that you’ve ever been told. You’re not guilty of any of these wounds. It was never fair of you to take so much ache in such a tiny, fragile frame.

When I talk to myself, I’m not talking to you, did you realize? When I feel this huge pull at my chest, it’s like a part of me is breaking yours apart, as well.

I apologize, Levi.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

It’s understandable, that you run behind closed doors if you hear my footsteps. That my words make you tremble, and you go search for mom under the covers. You’re scared of me. I’m your nightmare. A ghost that paces in the darkness and looms in the corners of your sweet, sweet innocence.

Every punch I received, every slash that left my skin burnt open, it made you bleed. Every time I doubted myself, my own will to fight, I shrunk you. I made you smaller.

I turned into a monster. You search for me in the shadows, in the closet, under the bed. I’m everywhere. I’m all of them. I’m all those who hurt you, when all you needed was a pair of arms to stitch you back together.

I’m worse than the sum of every enemy. Titans, the nobles, the underground thugs who tore you to shreds. They were on the outside. But me, Levi— this pain—, it lives within us. It’s buried so deep, that it stings, and it makes every scrap of us sink to our very core.

I’m sorry. I am. Don’t listen to me, okay? When I talk to myself, every choice that I regret, it’s not about you. It was never about you.

Even so, though, why do I feel this way, then? Why is it that, every time I wanna hurt myself, I can hear you shout? Why is it that, whenever I put pressure on my shoulders, I can see your hands clinging at my sleeves?

I’m here, you’re there. So close, yet so far. And even at that, what I wanted to say is that there’s still hope.

There's still hope for the both of us.

I’m your monster, right? So, if you turn the lights up… remember? I disappear.

I can still recall every last bit you. Tender, naïve, hopeful, happy. So, turn the lights up, you little Levi. I want to look up in the mirror and find you there, looking back at me. I want you to take control. To take over the two of us.

Your voice is softer than mine, it has always been. Your voice can speckle the small, ordinary things in life with threads of marvel. It can create worlds, where days are ever-sunny and the air smells of herbs and tea.

Your voice will bring us home. I’m sure. Your voice will fill it with warmth seeping from its windows. I’ve been a monster too long, little Levi, but you’re still there somewhere. So, scream. Scream as loud as you can. Grow all the huge and all the brave that I could never be, for the sake of us both.

Or be tiny. Be tiny, and precious, and never let this sappy old grump rob you of your wide-eyed gaze.

And don’t believe a word I say.

And do what Gabi and Falco do for me. When I’m too weak to walk, they let me rest my hands on their shoulders. When I’m tired, or grey, or sick, they climb to my bed and tell me stories about kids who fought dragons and saved their loved ones. They’re my adults. They clean my shelves, they comb my hair, they heal this crumpled soul of mine.

You see? Maybe I’m not the adult that you’d wished me to be. I don’t always treat ourselves with kindness. I don’t always forgive ourselves for what we’ve done. So please, please, please, take care of me now. Be my adult, if only for a little while. I’m tired, and grey, and sick. And I need you. I need you like I need Gabi and Falco. I need you like I need mom.

And I’m sorry.

I apologize, Levi.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

But for right now, it’s you who has to show me that there’s still hope in this cruel, yet beautiful world.

That there’s still hope for the both of us.

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taeminsung · 2 years

Text

backstage..

pairing: jeongin x reader

summary: a grumpy jeongin misses you while on tour, and cannot be bothered to smile until him members give a much needed distraction.

a/n: my dear anon - thank you for your request! please enjoy ♡

Jeongin knew, he really knew, he shouldn’t be in the mood that he was in, yet here he was, tired, annoyed, and grumpy. Touring and seeing Stay was supposed to make him happy, but the thought of having to go do a rehearsal caused a quick sharp intake of breath, followed by a very long exhale that he knew attracted the attention of at least two of his hyungs. He felt bad but didn’t know what to do. Letting his head drop back to the back of the couch, he pulled out his phone again, scrolling through his various apps before opening his notes app to continue working on the lyrics he started the last time he saw you.

Thumbs hovered over the keys as his thoughts drifted back to that day. He promised you a day filled with fun before you had to leave again, but instead the two of you ended up in the studio for hours on end so that he could record the guides for the new comeback songs. Those hours turned into you quietly sleeping on Chan’s couch, not only breaking Jeongin’s heart but also inspiring him to write a new song. He rarely got time with you due to the distance of your relationship, and he hated that after traveling all the way to him, he had to work for most of it. If he was truly honest with him, that day was the beginning of the decline in his mood as he quickly turned around to go on tour.

Rehearsals started before he could get any lyrics written, souring his attitude a bit more. He again knew it was himself that he was frustrated with and not anyone else, but when he saw Changbin and Han messing around, something in him snapped, and the scoff was heard around the empty stadium. All eyes turned to him, and he simply turned and moved to get into position for the next song, trying his best to ignore the stares and whispers of concern around him. Rolling his eyes, he mentally started counting the hours until Chan cornered him into talking about what was going on with him. His fingers moved slowly to his neck, where the necklace you gifted him laid. He just wanted to talk with you before he said something to his members that he really didn’t mean.

Time passed quickly backstage and with only an hour left before the concert, Jeongin tried calling you repeatedly since you weren’t picking up. After the fourth or fifth time, he gave up tossing his phone on the couch, moving to get changed. However, he didn’t miss the way that a staff member said something low to Minho, who quickly moved to whisper something to Felix. The actions rubbed him the wrong way as he assumed they were talking about him and his actions. With a huff he left the room to get changed into his first outfit and hopefully calm down before touching the stage, as he didn’t want Stay to see him like this. His thoughts drifted back to your warm smile and the way you giggled and hide behind him whenever the boys poked fun at the two of you. He desperately missed your smile today.

Entering the room again, he noted the way that every single member stopped talking as soon as he was in view. Snatching up his phone, he again tried phoning you and was only met with the sound of your voice on your message system. Intently listening to the entire thing just to hear your lovely voice, he quietly left a message, I miss you… a lot today, before hanging up and turning to see Hyunjin and Minho close by getting hyped up to get on stage. With one last longing stare at his phone, hoping to see your name light up the screen, he allowed himself to turn to his members and begin to get in the right head space for the show. Throughout the show, he found his hands wandering to that necklace, lingering a few moments before moving back to the dance moves or his side.

When the show was over, and everyone returned backstage, Jeongin started to feel like his world may crash down around him, as again the feeling of grumpiness settled into his bones. In truth, he really didn’t want to sleep alone, but he also didn’t want to be that annoying youngest member was always asking to share a bed on the road. Releasing a shaky breath, he headed toward the other room to change out of his stage cloths, noticing again how everyone started whispering. After a quick scan of the room, he also noted that Chan was no where to be found. Slowly, he left the room and changed into his other cloths, looking at his phone again to see that you hadn’t even tried to reply to him in the house since he called you. The feeling of hollowness entered his chest, and he took a deep breath going back to his members.

Dragging his feet, he returned to the other room, staring at the floor wondering what member would be the most receptive to sharing a room with him. As he was coming to his decision of who to ask, he heard the melody of a voice that he loved so much dance across the room. His eyes snapped up to see you half standing behind Chan explaining to him and Felix how amazing it was to finally see the concert from the audience and how the experience was so much different than being backstage. A smile tugged gingerly at the corners of his mouth as he quickly floated through the room, wrapping his arms around your waist, and spinning you around a few times.

The relief flooded through his body as the sensation of happiness immediately took over him. He felt as though his heart was skipping beats all over the places and he tucked you into his side, planting a long kiss into your hair. Coming back his senses, he turned to see all the members surrounding you both, smiling and greeting you in the ways you had grown close with each of them. Thank you again for getting me the tickets, he heard you sincerely thank everyone in the room, it was such a treat to see this guy on stage from the audience, you finished as he felt your hip bump into him. At the words, he again buried his face into your hair, a blush creeping across his face.

We felt like you needed to have her by your side for the remaining part of the tour Innie, Chan explained with a wide grin on his face. The words sunk into him, and his actions earlier forced his eyes to the ground as he knew that he really did owe a lot to his hyungs and this only added to that very long list. Honestly, we were just over you bring grumpy all the time, Minho shrugged with a small smirk on his lips before going to change out of his stage cloths. Laughter filled the room, as he found you looking up at him with a puzzled look on your face. Jeongin turned pulling you into another crushing hug as he knew that he deserved those words after today. Your arms wrapped around his waist as you melted into him, he relaxed at the light tough of your fingers on his lower back. Later, he mumbled before pressing his lips to yours quickly, before pulling back and looking at your face. Another kiss was planted on your lips before dragging you over to the couch, to cuddle while everyone changed before going back to the hotel. Holding the girl he loved, he let your presence heal the parts of him that needed it.

♡ ── thank you for reading! requests are open.

#stray kids #stray kids i.n #I.N #jeongin #stray kids imagine #jeongin imagine #I.N imagine #skz #skz imagine #stray kids fluff #I.N x reader #jeongin x reader #stray kids x reader #jeongin fluff #I.N fluff #stray kids dream

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queenofmistresses · 17 days

Note

can you do headcannons of blitz and a reader who has c-ptsd? like him accidentally triggering them, and then the reader tells him (or not) about what happened, then him trying his best to comfort whenever another trigger happens or sees them in distress? or smth like that (i have c-ptsd and it’s been a rough week lmao)

a/n Hey lovely! hope that this is good!! sorry you've had a tough week babes, and I hope that this makes it feel a little better!! I used my experience with c-ptsd and how easy it is to get triggered and spiral from the slightest change in other peoples behaviours so I hope it resonates with you... or I hope it doesn't because it's not nice... you know what i mean...

He doesn't even have a fucking client to kill for and he's still at work. I've asked Loona and she said that they haven't had a new client all week. Jesus if he didn't want to spend time with me he should have just said so, I can take it! But why doesn't he? He normally seems to like it. Did I do something? Okay calm down. There's no reason to panic right?! Let's just... make him some lunch and take it in for him and I'm sure he'll explain everything then and it'll be fine!

I desperately try to keep telling myself it'll be fine as I walk into IMP with 2 packed lunches in hand. I drop one of them off on Loona's desk where she's on her phone and she looks up and gives me a small smile, thanking me before she looks back at her phone. Okay so nothing weird there, Loona would know if something was wrong so everything must be fine right?

I lightly tap on the door with a warning and let myself in, trying to smile brightly and walk to the desk. He doesn't even glance up at me. "H-hey Blitzø, I brought lunch!" I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster, which isn't much. He makes a slight grunting noise in acknowledgement and doesn't stop working.

Oh god. I've messed it all up. I don't know what I did but I must have done something. I feel tears filling my eyes as I stand over his desk. Shit. I quickly rush out of the room, shutting the door gently behind me and avoiding making eye contact with Loona as I sniff and wipe my eyes. I feel Loona look at me but I practically run out of the room and the building, heading straight home.

By the time I get there I can barely breathe and I'm heaving in the smallest amounts in the hopes of getting something in. My eyes search the room and I find the smallest corner that I could fit myself into a rush towards it, squeezing myself in and bringing my knees up to bury myself into them.

Now the tears are streaming down my face faster than I can breathe and I want to die and I can't breathe and why can't I fucking breathe? I've started to feel light headed and I don't know how long I've been sat here for but I know that I'm taking up too much space and I need to shrink. My arms tighten around my knees and I pull myself into an impossibly smaller ball and fucking hell it isn't enough. I barely know where I am. Am I 5 years old hiding in my room after being shouted at? Am I 9 years old crying because everyone in my house keeps ignoring me and why does no one ever want me around? Am I 21 with my boyfriend telling me just how stupid and pathetic I am? Am I 23 with my next boyfriend telling me that I'm making shit up just to make myself the victim? I don't know. I can't tell anymore. It's like every moment of my life is happening at once and at the same time my mind is empty and numb and hollow.

Somewhere in the distance I hear a door open but I can't register it over the fog of my mind and the ringing in my ears. Hands touch me and I flinch, pulling away hard. It must just be another part of my mind. But then, I don't know when anyone's touch has felt so gentle. I can hear them talking. Some part of me feels safe at the sound of their voice, and while my head is screaming at me to run and hide, I try to focus on their voice, on what they're saying. To focus on where they're touching me.

The tears slow and I can breathe again and I realise where I am. And more specifically who is holding me so sweetly. I feel his tail wrapped tight around one of my legs, and his arms holding me against his chest. When did he start holding me like this? I didn't even feel him move me around.

“Shh shh it’s okay, it’s just me.” I hear him whisper among a series of sweet sentiments as he tries to reassure me. I look up at him, barely registering how awful I must look, and meet his eyes. He looks so scared, but at the same time I’ve never seen him this soft. “Here there, you’re back!” His voice has turned nervous now as he looks away and scratches the back of his head.

“I- um-” I sniff, "Oh god Blitz you must think I'm so fucking pathetic I'm so fucking sorry." The fear starts to set in again, knowing how this goes every single time. Why was he even here? But now he just looks confused.

"Sorry?! Why are you sorry?? I mean I don't really fucking understand what's going on but I don't think you're pathetic babe. Know who's pathetic? Moxxie. And you are no Moxxie." He looks both serious and distracted at the same time, clearly thinking about Mox for a moment before bringing his attention back to me. “W-what is going on?” He stumbles on his words as he asks and even though it terrifies me to bare my soul to him, I can see the concern on his face and I can’t keep it in.

Next thing I know I’m talking way more than I had planned. Spilling my entire life to him. And he listens. Somehow he doesn’t even interrupt, and Blitzø is the king of interrupting. But he stays quiet, and I can see that he’s absorbing every word.

He holds me for the rest of the night, reassuring me that he’s not going anywhere, apologising for brushing me off and explaining he was trying to come up with an idea for advertisement of the business. I feel exhausted after my breakdown but I force my eyes to stay open as long as possible until I fall asleep, comfortably surrounded by his entire body.

#helluva boss #helluva blitzo #helluvaverse #helluva boss blitz #blitzø #blitzo #helluva blitz #blitz x reader

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thewhumpcaretaker · 27 days

Text

⚜ 𝓑𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓾𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 - 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒱𝐼𝐼𝐼: 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓎 𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝑀𝑒 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you again to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

TW: graphic depiction of drug use, overdose, addiction, relapse, vomiting, crying, panic attack, Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Author's Note: I have not experienced cocaine use, so I am basing this on descriptions I have found online. It may be inaccurate. Also, I'm pretty proud of myself for writing some parts of this chapter, because I am emetophobic and this is the first time I have written that kind of content! So if I glossed over symptoms related to nausea, that is why.

Summary: While he waits for John to return, Vincent spirals terribly until his life is at risk.

At first, there was only pleasure. The great “thank goodness” of the mind, overriding all else, to such an extent that when Vincent tried to think of the gravity of his position, tried to think of what had just happened, tried to think of anything but an incoherent string of plans and celebrations…he failed. There was only “I feel good,” written in hot pink bubble letters across the inside of his skull, and then nothing more until he started to come back to himself, pacing and shaking, some 20 minutes later.

No. Not yet. There couldn’t possibly be that little of this glorious moment of clarity. Not when he was planning to ration the rest. Now he couldn’t ration it. He needed more. Under ordinary circumstances, he could control himself - usually. But these circumstances were frankly ridiculous. The things that everyone thought of him…all else vanished into the simple need to not think that those things were true.

Writing on the sides of crushed paper cups. Finally able to plan. Texting half-assed comebacks that he knew he shouldn’t send. Dancing to the music channel. Ignoring the pain of the bullet wound, so small and far away. Swelling with heat in every limb. Watching more responses come through. Filling up with tiny drums inside his veins. Checking the curtains. Turning gradually brittle with terror. Running to the bathroom. Collapsing against the side of the sink, empty. Curling up in the corner, bleeding from the nose and from torn open stitches. Rocking. Crying.

Ashamed.

John knew now, about all…this. Why did that have to happen? Why were they doing this to him? Why was he doing this to himself? This would ruin the small hope that he had so foolishly started to cherish, of some friendliness between them.

“I’m coming back.” Vincent clung to those words like a lifeline. He held his knees against himself, and listened to the rain. Dog licked at his cheeks, smelling blood. Dog was still here. John wouldn’t leave for good, no matter what the text messages said. Maybe they were right. Maybe John didn’t care about him, but he cared about Dog. He would come back. Even if he was coming back to kill him.

But it had been so long. What if something happened to him? Vincent fought down his nerves and called, despite the cracked screen. The call could not be completed. John was out of range. Over and over he called, getting desperate. Was he…dead?

Vincent was retching again.

When that was done, he dragged himself up and along the wall, towards the door. Outside, puddles had formed along the perimeter of the parking lot, where concrete met asphalt. The lamps in front of each motel room made fiery white lines along the ripples as Vincent waded through them to stand in the open, just reeling stupidly around as if he expected to see John anywhere. But the space beyond those lamps was utterly black, aside from the distant lightning, and the night was frigid. He clutched at his chest. With the numbing starting to recede, the pain returned, along with a horrible tightness. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe, and he was going to die, right here, alone -

And then a figure came out of the trees.

Sleek with enough rain to soak him to the skin, emerging at first as a disembodied face and hands, the rest of him a part of the darkness in that black suit, he glided smoothly towards Vincent, unstoppable. The emissary of death. Despite looking for John just moments before, he suddenly wanted to run, but found himself rooted to the spot. As the lamplight broke over John’s features, it revealed a face littered with cuts with its lips drawn back into a feral snarl.

For the second time that day, John met him at the center of the parking lot. This time, he halted, stone still, in front of him, and finally spoke in a calm voice that made Vincent wish he would scream and yell instead. “Last night…I didn’t realize. You were trying to use me. To get through this.”

Vincent trembled wildly. He could not possibly run, or fight. “S'il te plaît! [Please!] Please just don’t hurt me, I’m sorry. I did what I had to do.” He closed his eyes, waiting for a muzzle to press into his forehead, for a hand to tighten around his throat.

“What? No. Je ne vais pas vous faire de mal à cause de votre dépendance. Ou pour essayer de s'en sortir. [I am not going to hurt you for having an addiction. Or for trying to cope.]” He felt arms close around his shoulders, pulling him against John’s chest. He was…he was hugging him. A powerful vice grip, colder than his own body after running through the storm, yet so ridiculously welcome. Vincent’s brain seemed to finally fizzle out, once and for all.

“Que…fais-tu…? [What…are you doing…?]”

John pulled away. “Voulez-vous que je m'arrête? [Do you want me to stop?]”

Cold air rushed in between them and the loss of those strong arms around him felt like the clutches of the void. “Non! Reviens, espèce de salaud. Ne me quitte pas. N'ose pas me quitter. [No! Come back, you stupid bastard. Don't leave me. Don't you dare leave me.]” His words gave out into choked sobbing in spite of himself.

And just like that, he was in John’s arms again. He hugged him back this time, burying his head into the crook of his neck as John stroked his back and rocked him. He could not believe it was so simple, to ask for affection and receive it. How could this be? He was almost wailing, grateful for the roar of wind and water to drown out the torrent of emotion that he was pouring over the collar of John’s already soaked suitcoat. He could never live this down, if anyone saw them, and yet, for once, he didn’t care about that at all.

“Allez. Nous allons à l'intérieur. Je ne te lâcherai pas. [Come on. We’re going inside. I won’t let go of you.]” And John pulled away just enough to wrap an arm around his waist and help him back into the motel room.

They stood dripping in the entrance, droplets flowing from both their hair as the warmth washed over them. A furnace, against Vincent’s already overheated body. John stripped off his own coat and then looked questioningly at Vincent, who nodded and allowed himself to be undressed by great, tender hands that peeled away his shirt and then the gauze while being careful of the bullet wound. John sucked in his breath upon seeing the torn open stitches. “We’ll fix it. It’s okay,” he said, and continued to strip off the wet clothes.

He freed his belt with devastating gentleness while averting his eyes from Vincent’s pelvis. He knelt on one knee to pull off Vincent’s shoes, making for a positively knightly picture. He lingered over every touch, yes, but it was not sexual. There was a reverence there, an intimacy. John touched him like he was a very precious object. Despite being out of the rain, Vincent found that rivers were still running down his face.

Standing, he examined the stitches, and pressed a hand against Vincent’s forehead. To Vincent, it felt icy. “…Why are you so overheated?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I made such a terrible mess of things.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“It’s okay. You’ll start again tomorrow.” He paused, and pulled back to examine Vincent’s face. “How much did you take? Do I need to…” To what? It wasn’t clear what they could even do, if it was too much. They certainly couldn’t go to a hospital.

“I think it’s fine. Just…my heart feels…” He shuddered, all the way through the shoulders.

“Damn it. This isn’t a bullet, I don’t know what to do.” John ran a hand through his hair. He was scared. Vincent had never seen him scared before. John, the rock, who handled everything.

“Putain, s'il te plaît, ne dis pas ça. Comprenez-le. [Fuck, please don’t say that. Figure it out.]” John’s instability was ramping up the speed of his heart to a degree that he couldn’t control, that sent pain shooting through his arms and stomach.

Calmness instantly swept over his face again, at the suggestion that it was what Vincent needed. “I will. I have to call someone.”

“Do not call 911, you know better.”

“No, I know. I talked to Marjorie earlier. She knows I have a second person here and has been covering for us. Has a lot of social work connections too. Maybe she can get us a doctor.” He picked up the phone to call the front office.

“Pouah, I don’t want a…” but John was already on the phone and the room was spinning so much. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground trying not to be sick again and John was rubbing his back.

“Shit. Vincent, reste avec moi. Juste pour une demi-heure. Ils seront bientôt là, d'accord? [Vincent, stay with me. Just for half an hour. They’ll be here soon, okay?]”

That pity again, that desperation in John’s voice. He rolled onto his side and scoffed at the situation. Naked on the floor, not able to do the simplest things, even to breathe. What must John think of him now? “Ne me juge pas pour ça. Vous n’avez aucune idée de ce que c’est. [Don’t you judge me for this. You have no idea what it’s like.]”

“Je ne sais pas. Je pense que tu es très courageux pour tout ce que tu affrontes. Et je suis vraiment en colère contre les gens qui te laissent faire comme ça. [I don’t. I think you’re very brave for everything you’re dealing with. And I am fucking pissed at the people who let you get like this.]”

The memory of the text messages flooded over him again, sending something bitter and heavy into the pit of his stomach. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Les choses qu'ils m'ont dites, John… Ce sont des gens horribles. Je ne sais pas comment ils vivent avec eux-mêmes. [The things they said to me, John… They're horrible people. I don't know how they live with themselves.]”

“Ignore les. [Ignore them.]” His voice was strong and dangerous. “Leurs paroles sont destinées à tuer. C’est exactement la même chose que de se faire tirer dessus. Et s’ils te font encore du mal, je les tuerai, tout comme ce dealer qui dort dans la rivière en ce moment. [Their words are meant to kill. It’s just the same as being shot at. And if they hurt you again, I’ll kill them, just like that dealer who’s sleeping in the river now.]”

What a display of loyalty. Gratitude made him affectionate. He took in that viciously protective look, and reached up absently to brush a hand along John’s cheek. “Comme c'est… vraiment doux. Le chevaleresque John Wick frappe à nouveau. [How…genuinely sweet. The chivalrous John Wick strikes again.]” Vincent had no idea how to be sweet back.

Fortunately, it didn’t seem to matter for now. “No time for that. You have to get cool.” John was lifting Vincent’s arm over his shoulders, and stumbling along with him into the violently trashed bathroom, then into the shower. He pressed a waterproof bandage hastily over the now torn-open bullet hole and then icy water stung into Vincent’s skin.

John stood with him, in that water, to keep him upright. Arms still gently around his shoulders. “Je vais t'aider à ralentir ton cœur. [I’m going to help you slow down your heart],” John said, in that calming, flat monotone. “Comme la dernière fois, tu te souviens? [Like last time, remember?]” And he slowly increased the pressure around Vincent until it seemed almost to crush the shaking out of his body. To bring him a physical security.

Through his own fit of shivering, he realized John was shivering too. For a moment, Vincent tried to imagine what John must be going through, having walked or perhaps run for miles through the rain, only to stand with him in freezing water, fearing for his life. It was absolutely wrenching to think about, so he stopped, for his heart’s sake. He would be very good to John later.

He did not know how long they stayed there. Time was lost in a kind of total fear that made each second a chore to endure. The only thing to hang onto was the muscle locked around him, mooring him to Earth. He was getting into that bizarre state again, where the fear was too great for the mind to hold, and everything slipped away into a fuzzy numbness. He could not say that he minded it. It made him cuddly, it made him trace his fingers along the wet folds of the shirt that clung to John’s broad back. “…You are so kind to me. I like you, Mr. Wick,” he said, half dazed.

That gruff voice, speaking softly by his ear, almost sad. “I like you too.”

At some point, he was wrapped in a towel, with smooth and deliberate motions. At some point, he was being carried. John lay him on top of the blankets while he just closed his eyes and blushed. And when he called out, “Restez avec moi [Stay with me],” John settled in beside him, on top of the comforter. That such a gesture could exist between two people, not because of sex or obligation, and not the least bit tainted by pity…it was something he had never experienced before. He stood at the horizon of an unexplored territory, and it made him feel virginal and giddy. He grinned at John with a simple, bashful kind of happiness.

“Personne n'a pris soin de moi ainsi depuis que je suis enfant, à l'exception des domestiques. [No one has taken care of me like this since I was a child, except for servants.]”

“C'est un crime. [That’s a crime.]”

Vincent sighed happily, and let himself sink into the pillows, eyes closed.

“À partir de maintenant, s'il te plaît, dis-moi quand tu souffres de quelque chose. Je t'aiderai. Comment te sens tu maintenant? [From now on, please tell me when you're suffering from something. I will help you. How are you feeling now?]”

His body felt really horrible, but at least John was there and gave a damn. “Je me sens malade. Mon cœur bat vraiment la chamade. Ce n’est cependant pas bien pire que d’habitude. je pense que je vais récupérer. [I feel sick. My heart is really racing.]” He hesitated. “J'ai peur. [I’m scared.]”

“Je ne laisserai rien t’arriver. [I will not let anything happen to you.]”

The trembling was finally subsiding a little. “Merci, John,” he whispered. Did he dare? Why not, after everything else. He leaned his head against John’s shoulder.

“Hey. Reste éveillé, d'accord? [Stay awake, okay?]”

The world dancing and thrummed even behind closed eyelids.

“Vincent!” But the voice was very far away.

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#john wick #john x marquis de gramont #marquis de gramont #john wick fanfic #wickblr #marquis de gramont whumpee #gunshot #angst #emotional whump #hurt/comfort #whump fic #assassin whump #ao3 crosspost #enemies to lovers #ddne #// drugs #// relapse #// addiction #// overdose

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smoshmonker · 8 months

Text

Now That You’re Here With Me

read on Ao3

words: 1621

Crickets quietly chirped outside, punctuating the silence. Delores’ tongue burned with the urge, the need, to ask the question. She almost couldn’t bring herself to do it until, suddenly, it came on its own, as if she were no longer in control of her own mouth.

“Are you all afraid of me?”

Koda’s expression changed first, one of understanding and pity. Somehow, Fernie’s etched, wooden face managed to look confused. Bug’s eyes were wide.

———

Delores sat cross-legged on the foot of her bed, staring quietly out of her window. The waxing crescent moon filtered in pale light, a small comfort in an otherwise dark and empty room.

Her eyes had long since dried, but her stomach still twisted into a thousand knots. So much had happened in the past few hours, filling her with a dread she couldn’t quite shake. Her entire body ached. Digging her fingertips into her forearms, she tried to ignore what felt like the need to crawl out of her own skin. She was stuck, like always.

Closing her eyes, she drew in sharp breath. She had to stop her mind from wandering. The castle was safe. Her friends were all safe in their rooms nearby, most likely sound asleep now, and she was glad for it. A deep, selfish part of her, though, wanted to sneak into their rooms, check on them, make sure they were really all okay. She ignored the urge, focusing all of her energy on the moon, hoping sleep would come for her soon.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there until she heard quiet voices in the hallway. They were voices that she recognized, but before she could react, a knock, barely audible, came at her door. Her heart skipped a beat and she sat up a bit straighter. “Come in!”

“See! I told you she’d be awake.” The voice on the other side spoke with an exaggerated whisper.

The door creaked, opening slowly, as if the person moving it felt as though they were in trouble. At the front was Koda, with a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance on his face (which, if she were being honest, was a look he wore often). Following close behind was Bug, cheeks stained with tears but with some of the brightness back in their now dry eyes. Behind them was Fernie, tall and hulking as usual, but his shoulders hunched slightly, his expression not unlike the one of a kicked puppy.

Delores didn’t try to hide her relief, already noticing that some of the tightness in her chest lessened a little. She smiled slightly. “Hey, guys. Are you okay? What are you doing up?”

They all shuffled into the doorway, and for a moment, her heart felt heavy, reminded of the way her own children used to come to her in the middle of the night, bleary eyed and too upset to speak after a nightmare. Perhaps she didn’t quite need an answer to her question; perhaps, they were feeling exactly the same way she was.

“I ran into Bug in the hallway,” Koda responded, not giving any indication of why either of them were in the hallway at this hour of the night, and Delores didn’t ask. “We heard Fernie humming in his room, and, well, um…it didn’t feel right to not come and see you.”

With all of them staring down at her, she had to really fight for a moment to keep from tearing up. Instead, she smiled. “I’m glad you did.”

Taking that as a full invitation, the three of them made their way inside, Fernie shutting the door behind them. Bug bounced up to the bed, climbing up to sit next to her. “You okay, Delores?”

It was a loaded question for all of them. Something about the earnestness in Bug’s voice made her chuckle breathily and nod. “Yeah. I’m okay now that you guys are here.” She glanced between the three of them. “How about you?”

“Uh, we all can’t sleep, so I guess not very good,” Fernie responded, stating the obvious for them the way he usually did. Delores noticed Bug grimace out of the corner of her eye. Koda bit his bottom lip hard.

Delores offered Koda a slight smile, patting the space next to her on the bed. Bug beckoned Fernie over, too, and with all four of them sitting on the edge of it, the bed sagged quietly. Either none of them noticed, or none of them cared.

Crickets quietly chirped outside, punctuating the silence. Delores’ tongue burned with the urge, the need , to ask the question. She almost couldn’t bring herself to do it until, suddenly, it came on its own, as if she were no longer in control of her own mouth.

“Are you all afraid of me?”

Koda’s expression changed first, one of understanding and pity. Somehow, Fernie’s etched, wooden face managed to look confused. Bug’s eyes were wide.

“Are you kidding?” they whispered, awed as usual. “You were awesome back there, Delores. I can’t believe you never told us you were so cool. Why would we be scared?”

Fernie nodded enthusiastically. “You absolutely obliterated that mimic heart!”

“I wish I had obliterated Krungdar,” she murmured under her breath, and Koda placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Someday,” he said softly. The word felt heavy. She had to close her eyes, lifting her hand to rest on top of his. She remembered how it felt, hours ago, helping Bug channel his spell to reanimate the heart, how they all held onto each other tightly as if they were afraid of letting go.

Koda was right. She should just be happy they were here with her now.

Opening her eyes, she breathed in, and when she breathed out, she smiled. “Thanks, guys. I’m sorry I hid it from you.”

Bug grinned, nudging her shoulder. “Y’know, it’s pretty crazy to see your heroes at work.”

Touched, she smiled a little more. He’d never said that about her before. “Well, I can say the same about you, Bug.”

The goblin’s cheeks darkened a little and they had to look away. Their expression turned slightly solemn and he glanced toward the window. “I never got to tell Gunthar about how much I learned, about everything we did.”

Koda sighed softly, following their gaze out the window. “…I think he knows.”

“How could he possibly know?” Fernie asked, a mix of concern, upset, and confusion in his uncharacteristically quiet voice.

Delores exchanged a look with Koda. “Just a feeling.” Her heart quietly broke as she looked back at Fernie, noticing a small trail of sap traveling down his left cheek. She reached forward, using one finger to wipe it away. “It’s okay to be upset.” By her side, Bug buried his face in her shoulder, his own small frame shaking. Delores put an arm around him, wishing she could stop this pain for them both, but grief was tough. It wasn’t something that could go away in one night.

Suddenly, the sound of quiet sniffling was replaced with quiet singing. Bewildered, she glanced toward Koda, sitting beside her. He was silhouetted by the moon in the window behind him, his chin tilted up slightly, perhaps to look up at the ceiling. His voice was soft and lilting, the way it had been when he’d sung at the Bullywug festival. This time, it didn’t seem improvised. Delores wondered if this was a song he’d learned a long time ago.

Transfixed, Bug lifted their head, face shining with tears as they stared at Koda, mouth slightly open. Fernie watched curiously, his face dry once again. After a few moments of quiet, just listening to Koda’s voice, Fernie made a sound that Delores now recognized as his power-down sound, and he slammed backward into her pillow, laying out across her bed. She couldn’t help but giggle, and Koda grinned.

Gently pulling away from Delores, Bug, with half-lidded eyes, crawled over Fernie, curling up right in the middle of his chest. A moment later, the loud snoring began.

Koda finished his song, and he and Delores locked eyes, a sort of quiet amusement between them. “Looks like they’ve taken over your bed.”

“That’s okay,” she laughed softly, reminded once again of her children, how they’d kick and push at her all night when they slept with her. “I’m actually kind of used to it.” She paused for a moment, then quietly asked, “Will you stay here tonight?”

Frowning, clearly taken aback, Koda glanced back at the other two, then back to Delores, perhaps trying to think of some kind of excuse. Finding none, or perhaps just not having the heart to, he nodded. “Okay.”

Delores smiled and reached forward, taking his hand to give it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you.”

Knowing there was no one else around to see it, he returned the squeeze, then let go. Delores crawled in to lay in the crook of Fernie’s left arm, while Koda attempted to make himself comfortable beside his right arm. Strangely enough, Bug’s snoring and the quiet whir of Fernie’s moving parts were quite comforting. She lifted her gaze.

“Koda?”

“Yeah?”

“That was a beautiful song.”

For a moment, it was quiet, and then he gave a breathy chuckle. “Thanks, Delores.”

Quiet fell again, but this time it was comfortable. Her room was no longer empty and uninviting, but the exact place she wanted to be right now.

Carefully, a moment later, she lifted her head to look at her friends in the pale moonlight. Koda, his long limbs stretched out awkwardly in the limited space he had, turned in slightly toward Fernie’s shoulder, peaceful. Fernie, motionless on his back, moonlight dancing along the lines of his wood. Bug, curled in on himself on Fernie’s chest like a cat, using his arms as a pillow, his mouth wide open, sound asleep.

Delores laid her head down, breathing deeply for the first time in what felt like days. All that mattered was this, right here and now, because no matter what happened next, they’d always have each other.

She closed her eyes, finding solace in being together like she always did.

#smosh #sword af #delores paradise #koda amakiir #fernie #bug #angela giarratana #chanse mccrary #shayne topp #amanda lehan canto #damien haas #sword af got me emotional ok #my post #my writing

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pastanest · 1 year

Text

if you’re wondering why I’m having to repost this, or why you were perhaps previously following me but no longer are, please refer to this post. I was able to retrieve this thanks to @dreatine - thanks so much!! ♡

Spencer Reid x she/her!reader

part two can be found here

Gone - Part One

When he wakes up, the first thing he thinks of you. Or rather, the lack of you. The empty space in the bed beside him, your side of the bed neatly made, an empty glass on your beside table which you filled up each night with water and took to bed with you, and tiny bits and bobs, like a random little elephant ornament you’d bought at a yard sale. Your wardrobe still had a gap in the middle where you’d chosen your outfit. Everything, exactly as you’d left it. Spencer’s side of the room was as organised as he could manage in this situation. His mental state was in an even worse mess, but he knew that would be fixed upon your return, and coming home to a tidy house would make you feel less guilty because it gave the illusion that Spencer had coped far better than you both knew he really had. Not that you should feel guilty about this, not at all, it wasnt your fault, but Spencer knew you. He knew you better than anyone.

His eyes refuse to look at the calendar, the same calendar that was here when you were. The calendar is 2 years out of date, but it doesnt matter, Spencer doesnt need it to know how long it’s been. There are post-it notes from you stuck to the fridge with magnets, which he’ll admit they werent originally. When you’d written them, there was enough adhesive left on them to stay on the fridge, but as the days turned into weeks and then months, they began to drift to the floor; the feathers of a bird that, like you, was nowhere in sight. That was the first sign Spencer couldnt ignore that told him time was passing. He had to pick them up off the floor with shaking hands and use magnets to stick them back where they belonged, exactly where you’d left them, not even a centimetre out of place.

Some of the notes were simple, sweet love notes from you to Spencer. You wrote them whenever he was away on a case, so that when he came home he could tell you were thinking of him, each one had a date and time stamp in the top right corner. Spencer would have kept up every note you’d ever written him, but then there’d be no room for the next time he was away. So every time the fridge door became full, you cleared them and started again with the next case. However, the nature of the notes changed later on. When you approached Spencer with a strange letter you’d received, everything shifted. Only one of the letters was addressed to you, after that every letter was written to Spencer, and each one became more threatening.

Upon the third letter, Spencer took you and the letters to the team, and together they attempted to track down the culprit. Well, the team did, while you stayed inside your guarded house and played video games, crocheted, wrote stories, anything you wanted. Every time Spencer glanced at you while working on the case, you would be smiling at whatever you were doing, happy even in such a scenario. Then again, it’s quite possible you werent taking the letters as seriously as Spencer. You werent an FBI agent, you were a pure, happy soul who was excited about everything in life. In turn, you were the light of Spencer’s. Were, he shakes his head frantically, dont talk about her in past tense, she isnt gone!

After three months and no more threats, the team concluded that their presence must have scared off whoever was stalking you. The stalker was projecting onto you, referring to you only as “Juliet”, so everyone hoped he had found somebody else to fill that role. With you deemed to be safe at home, Spencer went away on his first case in three months. The team had gone away on cases without him during that time, he had stayed home to protect you, just in case. You had essentially forced him to go that time, knowing how much he missed his job of saving lives. You had said he wasting time trying to save a life that was already safe. Spencer requested two guards stay around the house while he was gone, just as a last resort, and you reluctantly agreed.

That was when the notes changed. Spencer hadnt asked you to, but you made the decision to use them as a method of communication with future Spencer. Anything remotely suspicious, anything that put you on edge, you noted it down. You werent paranoid, just careful.

Every single day, Spencer reads those notes from you.

- same man I saw yesterday walked by the house again today. 5’8”, short black hair, sunglasses, not particularly fit. havent seen him in the neighbourhood before.

- didnt see him today, maybe he saw me watching from the window. told the guards about him, they said they’d keep an eye out.

- miss you, Spence.

It wasnt much information to go by, but it was the most he could gather. You had been texting him throughout the day too, but not alerting him of anything suspicious, because you knew he’d come straight home. He should have, he could have saved you. He would have.

That morning, you’d sent him a mirror selfie of you in your pyjamas with one of your countless blankets wrapped around your shoulders.

“Still safe and sound! Cozily awaiting your arrival!” The text below the picture had said, he remembers how much he smiled when he saw it. Tears fill his eyes when he sees that picture now.

There are so many times throughout the day when the vision of you walking around the house, or anywhere he is, in fact, using a blanket as a shawl and smiling at everything. You’re never facing him, and you’re always out of reach. But that’s the most he can get.

When Spencer arrived at the office after that case, the guards that were supposed to be at yours and Spencer’s home were waiting for him, and his blood ran cold.

“What happened?” He asked them immediately, not having the patience to give them a polite greeting first.

The pair of guards looked at each other nervously, fearing Spencer’s tone and stance because he was already so angry. They explained that at lunch and supper time every day, they let you know they were going to grab food, and they were always back within 20 minutes. During the 20 minutes they’d gone at supper time, you had disappeared.

“She was gone, Sir.”

Gone. Not gone, she can never be gone! The entire team drove to Spencer’s house and began examining the scene. The first thing Spencer did was go to the fridge, somehow knowing you would have left something helpful there. He memorised every word, every wobble in any sentence you’d written to let him know you were afraid or uncertain. Your blanket laid at the open front door, and the only prints found at the house were yours. The security cameras had been manually wiped, by you, and Spencer immediately knew you’d been forced to clear it all. He couldnt process anything, his mind had slowed to a level that wasnt even human, it certainly wasnt him. It was like finding out Maeve was missing, except so much worse. You and Spencer had been together for years. You lived together, in this house, where a man had come and taken you. He left the house, needing you more than air and feeling claustrophobic from the lack of both. Derek followed him.

“Kid, we’ll find her, I swear to you.” He told him.

“I was going to propose.” Spencer’s chin wobbled, unable to face Derek as he felt the weight of the ring box in his pocket.

The week before the first threatening letter had arrived, you and Spencer had been walking home from a dinner date, having a very normal, cheerful conversation.

“What do you wanna do when we get home?” You’d asked him, holding onto his arm and looking up at him with wonder in your eyes.

Spencer smiled. “I was thinking pyjamas, video games and ice cream.”

You threw our head back. “Oh, Doctor Spencer Reid, I could MARRY you! Talk dirty to me MORE!”

The two of you burst out laughing, but Spencer’s heart was fluttering. You could marry him? Marriage had been brought up before, but only in serious conversation, when the two of you discussed whether marriage is something you both wanted in the future. It was. But for whatever reason, Spencer had never thought he was lucky enough to be the one you wanted to marry. The day before the first threatening letter, he’d bought you an engagement ring. When the threats began, he promised himself, and mentally promised you, that once you were safe, he would ask you. He had carried it in his pocket every single day since, waiting for the right moment. He had been hyping himself up on the plane home, wanting to ask you the moment he saw you. And now you were gone.

Spencer’s desk is still stacked with information and leads on your case, leads that all went to dead ends. Every trail ran cold, every single one, and after six months, the case was closed. It had to be, the BAU couldnt stick to one case for so long when it was so hopeless. Some members of the team had to work cases during that time in small groups as the time of your absence grew, they’d hoped that they could keep that up while the rest of them worked on trying to find you, but it wasnt enough. The rest of the country needed them, but Spencer needed you.

Hotch had partially reassured Spencer when the case was initially closed.

“If the unsub’s intentions were violent, he wouldnt have cared about the two guards, he would have hurt them to get to her, but he didnt. There was no blood found in your home, he didnt use violence to get her to go with him. She’s still alive, Spencer, and the second something new comes up with this case, you know we will all help you find her.”

Although Aaron made sense in what he was saying, Spencer still suffered, of course he did. Having to work other cases knowing you were still missing, and coming home to a house without you...it was hell.

And in two years, not a single new lead had come up. The weight of the engagement ring that hangs on a chain around Spencer’s neck beneath his shirt weighs him down, but despite you never wearing it, it makes him feel like you are with him, at least a little. That’s the only connection he’s had with you in exactly two years. Today is the anniversary of your disappearance. He’s forced to professionally regard it as a disappearance because there was quite literally no evidence of somebody taking you, but everyone knew that was exactly what had happened. And when Spencer walks into the office to find the entire team waiting to embrace him, he knows that they’re all aware of what day it is, too.

He quietly thanks everyone and goes to his crowded desk, the framed photograph of you sending a stabbing pain through every shard of his shattered heart. A small envelope catches his eye, and he frowns. That wasnt there yesterday, it isnt part of his research. Spencer’s face relaxes when he realises it’s probably a letter from Kate or Emily, someone on the team who isnt here to physically hug Spencer on this devastating anniversary. He opens the envelope carelessly, pulling the letter out and being surprised to find it blank. Frowning again, he turns it over in his hand, and every fibre of his being freezes.

“Juliet is still here. Have you given up?”

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #imagine #imagines #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon

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jmrothwell · 6 months

Note

"It's not that I don't believe in love, I just don't think it's for me." for whatever character you want to make aromantic, because that is what this prompt screams to me.

Carrie was only moderately surprised to find Luke hidden away in a back corner of the library, hunched over a notebook looking like he was trying to focus on what he was working on. She’d seen him too many times now when he actually was in writing mode and could tell he wasn’t. Far too stiff, pencil twirling too much in his hand.

“Hey,” Carrie said as she sat down at the table across from him. He merely grunted, “You know your friends are trying to find you, right?”

“That why you’re here?” He muttered around a disinterested laugh that got Carrie bristling.

“Yes it is. You’ve got Julie and Reggie so upset that Flynn and Alex are both torn about if they want to kill you.”

Luke groaned as he dropped his head into his hands, roughly combing through his hair. “I didn’t mean to worry them.”

“Then maybe answer your phone.” Carrie said and didn’t hide her own derisive sigh as he frantically dug through his pockets and apparently coming up empty.

“Honestly.” Carrie quietly said as she sent off texts on his behalf letting everyone know she’d found him, though she kept his whereabouts secret for now. “So any reason you’re hiding?”

He hesitated, pencil twirling in his fingers again. “Amber asked me out.”

“Wait.” Carrie blinked at the space above Luke’s head, vaguely recalling Amber saying she was going to finally try asking out someone who she thought she didn’t have a chance with. “Amber from Dirty Candi? My Amber?”

Luke nodded, eyes glue to the notebook page filled with scribbles in front of him, looking guilty as hell now that Carrie thought about it.

“What’d you say?”

“I turned her down.”

“What? She not good enough for you?”

“No. No, I mean.” Luke rushed to say, still not looking at her. “I’m sure she’s great, Carrie but I don’t think any relationship would be for me.”

“Really? “ Carrie glared at him, her nails digging into her bicep.

“It’s not that I don’t believe in love,” Luke said around the pencil now in his mouth. “I just don’t think it’s for me.”

“What? Like you're cursed or something?” Carrie did her best to not roll her eyes.

He shrugged as he finally glanced up at her, leaning onto the table. “I used to think that, it’s certainly what it seemed like.

“Like no matter how hard I tried to follow the steps I could never get the romance thing right. Not that I didn’t care about Alex, or Julie, or even Reggie but I could tell it wasn’t the same. At first I thought I just hadn’t found the right person or maybe, I dunno, the timing wasn’t right but eventually.”

Carrie nodded along as he spoke, thinking about the on and off again nature of her relationship with Nick and despite herself cut in. How she kept trying to convince him, and herself, that they were meant for each other, because he was the closest she ever felt comfortable dating anyone. “But eventually you started to wonder if you were the one who was broken.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair, looking to the ceiling. “Flynn and Willie keep telling me I’m not, but it’s hard to believe when I don’t fit into the world like everyone else does.”

“Not that you’re asking me, but they’re right.” Carrie said ignoring Luke’s bewildered look, because if he was broken that meant she was. And she sure as hell wasn’t broken. She stood and gestured for him to follow. “Come on, let’s go. Everyone else is only going to wait so long before they come looking for you again.”

Luke didn’t need much more convincing than that, the two of them falling into step. Carrie knew he was on autopilot back to the studio, and she was more than happy to follow. Maybe once they were there, they could have a more in depth conversation with Flynn and Willie.

#julie and the phantoms #luke patterson #carrie wilson #this was tricky. . .

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azems-familiar · 3 months

Text

more of the ascian Azem au beneath the cut: aka i finally wrote the Sundering (and wow was it hard to get the tone right)

They’re standing on a street corner conferring with Elidibus and Lahabrea - or rather, Hades is conferring with them and Azem is only half-paying attention to the conversation, keeping their eye out for their little follower, who they last saw skulking in the shadow of a nearby residential building half-destroyed in the Final Days and yet to be reconstructed. They should try to get her name out of her when she follows them home tonight, Azem thinks absently, and maybe some paperwork to establish their apartment as her current residence. If- if she wants to continue staying with them. Someone will need to have guardianship of her if she’s to be properly taken care of, and she at least seems to allow Azem to help.

The first sign that something is wrong comes from Elidibus. He stops speaking abruptly, turning to stare up at the strange white satellite that’s been visible in the sky off and on since Zodiark was imprisoned. “What is She doing?” he says, voice low - and then his eyes widen behind his mask and he almost sounds like Themis again, younger and far more present, when he says, “No, don’t!”

And the sky fills with Light. There’s a sound, more felt than heard, like shattering glass, like a crystal cracking down the center, and the world warps around them - ripples on water, wind through leaves, sunlight on windows, a reflection that shifts and morphs and grows, the very ground beneath their feet folding in on itself and then stretching apart on a spider’s web of a million invisible fractures. Against the glaring brightness of a magic just as if not more powerful than Zodiark’s creation, a brightness that sears Azem’s very aether, a bitter burn they can feel all the way to their soul, all they can think of is the child, and they sprint in her direction, ignoring the way Hades cries their name.

They barely make it to the building before there’s a grinding sound that seems to come from everywhere at once and the Light turns so bright they can’t do anything but close their eyes and cower away from it, away from the blade that passes by them so close they can feel the wind of its passage against their skin. It isn’t a real blade, it can’t be, but they feel something cleave anyway, and there’s that awful noise like the star itself is tearing apart-

Then all at once, it stops.

The silence in the air is absolute. Azem opens their eyes, slowly, and- and still they stand where they were a moment before, just inside the main entrance of a residential building’s lobby, but there is something inexplicably wrong about it, as if everything around them has somehow…diminished. Become lesser. A drabness, like the haze of grey they’ve lived in since Helios’s death has manifested over the star itself, all color dimmed and the sunlight shading in through a window weak and thin as if it’s falling through a heavy layer of water. And the aether, when they look at the world through that second sight, drifts past in pale streams so faded as to be nearly intangible, like motes of dust in a sunbeam. One spell, were they to cast it by drawing on the star itself the way Helios has always done, might drain those currents entirely dry.

Horror builds in their throat like nausea. This is wrong. This is wrong. Sickly and feeble and empty, a distorted shadow of what should be-

They suck in a shaking breath, turning in a slow circle, and everything is as it was but nothing is as it should be. They- they can barely feel Zodiark’s presence anymore, His power a muffled pulse that echoes across some unimaginable distance. Not long ago they probably would have been glad for the space between them and His overwhelming Darkness, but now they just feel cold.

Footsteps draw their attention and they turn to see- golden hair, red eyes, their little follower, drifting across the floor towards them. Her mask is gone and there is something- different about her, a dullness to her eyes - and in the aether, in the aether she is nothing but a shade, less present than the weakest animal, more a ghost than anything living. She’s not- she’s not a person anymore - the tiny, fragmented soul they can sense would barely elevate her from the classification of ‘arcane entity’. There is no life in the empty gaze she casts briefly over Azem, unrecognizing, before she simply moves on, a spirit borne on the wind.

She looks exactly as Helios had, when he laid there unmoving on the dirt, unseeing and unhearing and gone.

Azem gathers their aether and pulls themself across the aetherial sea to the aetheryte near the Capitol, something desperate clawing its way through them, as if- as if they can prove that this is just an outlier, as if the world will suddenly change - but everywhere they look they see dead faces somehow still walking, empty-eyed husks shuffling through a fragmented reality, all of them walking away as if driven by some echoing impulse. These- these are not Azem’s people, who they love, who they have given their life to shepherding. This is some ghastly mockery, puppets being drawn across an invisible stage, except they recognize the barest traces of aether left behind in many of these bodies.

They can’t- breathe. The air is too thin, the aether is too thin, the star is too thin-

Hydaelyn did this, they think numbly, and it feels like ice freezing slowly over the surface of their soul, sealing them away within. Not Venat - Venat is gone, has to be, if there was any shred of her left she would never have struck such a blow, would never have broken the star and the people the way Hydaelyn has. These faded and frail reflections of life - why would She do this? Light lingers still in the air, a persistent sharpness that sinks into their bones, and they stare up at the sky, at the satellite that mars its even curve, and wonder if Her blow had missed them so deliberately as some sort of punishment.

Bear witness to what your failures have wrought, they can nearly imagine Her saying, with that hardness in Her eyes that Venat had developed the moment she learned about the future. It feels apt. One last lesson to the wayward student who has ever been the lesser choice for their seat: abandon your duty and it will be taken from you.

Perhaps Etheirys should have burned, if this is to be its fate.

Some indeterminate time passes around them. A breeze stirs up; it blows right through them. They are not here. They are not anywhere, adrift on the ice floes of their soul. The sky darkens, the stars spill across it like pinpricks of fire against an endless expanse of ink, and Zodiark and the souls He is made of remain frustratingly out of reach. They do not need to look to know that Amaurot is empty.

A warm hand on their shoulder brings them back to the ground, eventually. They blink away the static and lower their head, wincing against the crick in their neck, almost afraid to turn - but then they do, and standing next to them is Hades, his mask loose around his neck and his cowl down. His eyes ache with unshed tears, but they are alive - he’s alive. Hydaelyn’s blow missed him too. That simple fact - that they are not alone - makes them want to cry, though they don’t.

“...everything is dead,” Azem says, as hollow as the rustling leaves. “I’ve seen the people. What is left of them, the shades they are. But…” They swallow, gaze drifting away from Hades’s face to the silent street behind him, and whisper, “I do not know if they are the condemned ones.”

Hades makes a soft, choked sound almost like a sob and pulls them closer, wrapping his arms around them, and they let him maneuver them until he can rest his head on their shoulder, his face tucked into the crook of their neck, his tears cool on their skin. For a long moment they just- stand there, eyes caught on a faded lavender leaf swirling in little circles over an embossed sidewalk panel, caught in the grooves in the material, and then they slowly let out a breath and slide one arm around his waist, tilting their head sideways to lean their cheek against his temple.

When Lahabrea and Elidibus find them later - the last four living things in all of Etheirys, spared the blade of Light in what cannot in even the most twisted sense be called a mercy - Azem does not let go.

#ramblings #my writing #ffxiv #unsundered azem au #azemet #i guess?? it's technically Not That but the other two parts of the weird polycule are dead. so #i'm just fucking around. this is rough draft #ascian azem au #oc: seleukos

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csbenthusiast · 1 year

Text

Pretty lips - C.Soobin X f!reader

a/n: this was in my drafts for weeks lmao and it was supposed to be out on Soobin’s birthday, but oh well🥲 I finished revising it today tbh and I’m not sure if it’s good enough, but if keep this one more day to myself I’ll go insane. Also, this is very self-inserted, sorry in advance.

English is not my first language, sorry for any possible mistakes and typos(I was very tired lol)!!

Genre: very very fluffy, angst if you squint really hard(not really, Soobin is just worried), a bit suggestive in some parts(but not really, I really don’t know) and the end might be suggestive as well I’m not sure 🥹

CW: mentions of food, kisses, use of pet names(baby, bunny, bubs, sweetheart), Soobin and oc are both shy and whipped for each other; oc tries to make Soobin a birthday surprise, one(?) mention of murder but like, nothing serious, really! I think that’s all! Please let me know if I missed something!!

Word count: 1945(this was long for no reason)

Soobin woke up earlier than he would've liked to. The space next to him, usually filled by his girlfriend, was now empty. The sheets were cold, which meant she left the bed a while ago.

“Baby?” he called, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to make the tiredness go away.

No one answered, though. And by that time, he was fully awake.

He left the warmth of his bed and made his way straight to the bathroom, hoping Y/N was there. But she wasn’t. So he looked for her in every room in the apartament and even checked the pool area, but she was still missing.

The boy tried to contact her, but she ignored all of his calls and texts. Soobin was no longer needy, he was worried and slightly mad.

A few minutes had passed by. He was in the kitchen looking for something to eat and noticed a pink sticky-note on the counter. That was not there yesterday.

Soobin walked up to where the little note was and read it. Turns the girl had warned him after all.

“Good morning, baby! I had an emergency and left early. I’m sorry, but there’s no need to worry about me! I’m sorry and I love you a lot”

“Saying you had an emergency was really not her smartest idea. Damn, y/n, you should’ve woken me up.” he mumbled.

It was Soobin’s birthday and they were supposed to celebrate it together. He knew it wasn’t right, but he couldn’t help but be a little disappointed with it. Had she really forgotten it? Nonetheless, he decided to check up on her.

Soobin grabbed his things and took an uber straight to y/n’s home. He just needed to make sure she was there, safe.

When he got there, he unlocked the door with the spare keys his girlfriend had given him and hoped she was, in fact, there after all.

“She has to be kidding me…” that's what he mumbled after no answers again, sighing and rubbing his neck and checking every corner of the house.

The kitchen was his last hope.

Soobin entered the said room and the scene in front of him made his heart melt: his girlfriend dancing with her headphones on while she baked something.

He swears he fell in love all over again. It might sound silly, but that’s just how it is. Domestic.

“Unbelievable” he whispered, walking towards her, big grin on his face.

Soobin got behind her and placed his hands on her sides, making the girl freeze in her place.

Slowly, she turned around only to see her boyfriend smiling.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Y/n whispered-screamed “Not gonna lie, I thought I was about to get murdered.”

“Then next time don’t listen to music this loud.” Soobin said and bent down to place a kiss on her forehead, but she was quick enough to give him a light smack on his arms after.

“Happy birthday bunny.” she said, embracing him and pecking his cheek.

“Not happy. You left me all alone this early morning. I thought you had forgotten my birthday.” He nuzzled his head on the space between her shoulders, making a giggle light up on her chest.

“I’m sorry” Y/N whined “But it was for legal purposes: surprising my boyfriend. And you were not supposed to follow me here.” she pouted.

“Saying you had an emergency was not your smartest idea, if you want to know my opinion. Plus, you haven’t answered any of my calls, I was worried.”

“How can I make it up to you, baby?”

Soobin’s ears suddenly got as red as a tomato, but the girl decided to brush it off.

“Since it’s my special day, I wouldn’t mind a few kisses,” He said scanning her face, going forward to steal a kiss. Y/N was faster, though; running away from him and giggling like a child.

“Not now! I want you to help me with the cake, which was a surprise, may I say.” she tugged Soobin’s sweater sleeve.

And he gladly did as he was told! Quality time with his lover was one of the things he craved the most.

After a while they ended up in a frosting fight,–previously a competition of who could decorate the cake better– covering them up with icing.

“How can you stand here looking like this?” Serena asked, placing her small hands in each side of the man’s face.

“Like what?”

“Like this!” she gestured, a bit flustered “Like, our faces are a mess and yet you still managed to look gorgeous.”

Blood rushed into Soobin’s cheek once again and he started smiling like a little boy.

“Stop!” he whined, hiding his face.

“Are you shy, baby?” Y/N took a shot to start teasing him with a wide grin on her face.

His body was warm. The girl had him wrapped around her fingers.

Although, in a sudden rush of confidence, he held her face with his much bigger hands and leaned towards for a kiss.

When the girl closed her eyes, he saw that as an opportunity to pay back. He put what was left of the icing on his finger and gently pressed it onto her nose.

“Hey, where is my kiss?!”

“As long as I remember, you did the same to me earlier.” Soobin fake pouted “Plus, you left me all alone, so…”

“Jesus, you make one wrong thing and people can’t forget, can they?” she jokingly rolled her eyes before continuing “I’ll clean up here, please wait in the living room, I will join you right after, baby.”

Soobin’s lips quivered adorably and Y/N’s heart melted.

“Let me help, I–”

“Definitely no. Last time you broke my tea mug…I swear it won’t take longer than ten minutes.”

The boy was sulking, but he did what he was told to do.

He sat on the couch and picked their favourite movie and for a few seconds he really tried to pay attention to it, but he was impatient and craving for some kind of affection.

When Soobin was about to get up, a head peeked through the door frame.

“See? I knew you would survive a few minutes without me!” Y/n said, adjusting herself on his side, offering him a slice of cake, snuggling and placing her head on his shoulder. “Oh, Whisper of the heart is my favourite movie!”

“I know.” Soobin whispered and bumped his head on hers.

The girl looked up to see his face, analysing every feature.

“Happy birthday, baby.” she suddenly pecked his cheek “I’m sorry for leaving you behind.”

“It truly is okay, sweetheart. You meant well.” he caressed her hair, putting a piece of it behind her ear. “Thanks for putting so much effort into this.”

“But it’s just a cake, though.”

“It means a lot to me, though.”

Both Soobin’s and y/n’s insides were bubbling with joy and heart aching, in a good way.

The movie was still playing on the background, but the girl’s attention was long gone, now observing her boyfriend’s face.

He noticed that, to be honest. A wide grin painted his face and, perhaps, his ears were red for the nth time.

“What are you looking at, bubs? Is there something on my face?” He spoke, breaking the silence.

“What? No!” she panicked, looking down, embarrassed for being caught.

“Please, say it, baby.” The tall man encouraged her, taking his sweet time and teasing her a little.

Her cheeks were flushing.

Y/N looked at him, glancing at his hand and holding them. Her gaze shifted from his eyes to his mouth.

“You have nice lips, did you know that?” she whispered as if someone besides them would hear it.

His eyes widened at the compliment, but his surprise soon turned into some kind of a nervous laughter.

The girl was confused. Why is laughing?

“You said I had nice lips! Who says that?”

“Well, I do? God, it seems like I’m the romantic one in this relationship.” she huffed getting up.

“It was adorable, though. Don’t be mad, baby.” he said getting up nas well, standing in front of her and, again, adjusting a piece of hair covering her face. “You are adorable…This might be the best birthday I’ve ever had”.

“Yeah? “Why?” She teased, hooking her arms around his neck and bringing him a tad closer.

They were -literally- face to face. Soobin’s breath was fanning against her features; it was uneven, he was nervous despite being together for a few years now.

He unconsciously licked his soft plump lips and looked at her through his lashes before thinking of an answer.

“Because I got to spend it with you. Only you.” he finally said it.

It was cliché, he was aware of that. But it was the truth.

Y/N on the other hand was malfunctioning, –she was just good at hiding it– hypnotised to think of anything.

Her gaze was on Soobin’s lips again and he noticed that. This time, he was anything but subtle about it.

So, this time, he quickly tilted her chin, looking into her eyes and eagerly going for a kiss, a real one this time.

“Stop!” she half-screamed “You have to go in gently, baby.”

“Like this?” Soobin asked, taking a step back before pecking her forehead, nose and cheeks and, finally, locking their lips.

Even though it was a lot calmer and sweeter, Soobin hesitated a little. And the girl noticed.

That’s why she scratched the back of his head, making his worries vanish away.

The kiss was tender, gentle; they were holding each other as if one of them would break. But at the same time, y/n was giddy, letting a few giggles escape. It was messy, a good kind of messy.

Her feathery touches against her boyfriend’s skin made his chest tighten and without much thinking, he brought her closer to his body– as if that was possible.

Cutting off the kiss, Y/n was the first one to pull back. But Soobin was insatiable, in some kind of haze trying his best to reach her lips again, eyes closed the whole time.

“Easy, pretty boy. I need to breathe.” She placed her hands on his shoulders to keep him away.

“I need more. Please, baby, just one more” he took a deep breath, feeling his body grow warm.

“Soobin…”

“Y/n-ie!” he whined like a little kid, making her laugh.

He had an adorable frown painting his features and she couldn’t help but feel captivated by him.

Her fingers drifted from his shoulders to his hair, she slided it through his fluffy blond locks and placed it on his face, tip-toeing to place a swift sweet peck on his lips. This act of love made him chuckle lightly.

It felt so domestic to do that or being that close in the living room with the dim lights.

Soobin took a step back, placing his head on her neck and giving an innocent kiss there, shying away right after.

They stood in the middle of the room for a while, just enjoying the comfortable environment until the boy broke the silence.

“I hope I get to spend more days like this with you.”

“Oh, believe me, bunny, you won’t get away from me that easily.” they chuckled.

“Good, I wasn’t planning on letting you go.” he pressed his forehead against Y/n’s and tickled her waist.

“You do have nice lips, I meant that.”

Soobin rolled his eyes and flashed her a genuine smile, making a quick remark due to the sudden boost of confidence.

“If you like them this much, show your gratitude.”

“Oh, I gladly will”.

#choi soobin #choi soobin x reader #choi soobin x oc #choi soobin imagines #txt x reader #txt imagines #soobin fluff #soobin scenarios #txt scenarios

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jessybarnes · 2 years

Text

Soft Touches and Nose Kisses

Title: Soft Touches and Nose Kisses

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 1,837

Tags: FLUFF, nose kisses, Bucky has a cold, medicine, pills, worried Steve, clingy Bucky, pet names, maybe a curse word or two?, and I think that’s it.

Written For: @stuckybingo, @sebastianstanbingo, and @lgbtqbingo

Squares Filled: N2 - Nose Kisses for Stucky Bingo // O4 - Fluff for Sebastian Stan Bingo // O4 - Stucky for LGBTQ+ Bingo

Beta(s): T. Thompson and A. DiLorenza

Title Card: Yours Truly

Bucky feels awful.

His head is pounding as he forces his eyes open. It's still dark out and the space next to him is empty and cold. Steve isn't back from his solo mission, so it has to be pretty early in the morning still. Bucky rolls over and sure enough, the bold, red numbers on the digital clock read two thirty in the morning.

He shivers and wraps the comforter tighter around his body. The oscillating fan in the corner of their room isn't helping his situation, but he can't bring himself to move. Every time he blinks it feels like someone is hitting him in the head with a hammer and he knows he needs to take some medicine, but the thought of sitting up is less than appealing.

Finally, after a few minutes, he decides that the pain in his head is greater than his stubbornness to stay in his cocoon of blankets. Bucky slowly maneuvers himself so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed and tries to ignore the ache in his muscles as he stands up. He blindly shuffles toward their ensuite bathroom and feels along the wall for the light switch. The room instantly becomes bright and it makes him sneeze almost immediately.

Bucky whimpers and grabs a Kleenex to blow his nose. He tosses it in the trash can next to the toilet and takes a look at himself in the mirror. His eyes are red-rimmed, his skin is clammy, his face is pale, and all he wants is for his boyfriend to come home and hold him.

Not wanting to stand on the cold bathroom tile any longer, he grabs the NyQuil bottle from the medicine cabinet and takes the appropriate dose. As soon as he swallows he feels the familiar painful scratchiness in his throat. God, he hasn’t felt this bad in ages.

Grabbing the box of tissues, he flips the light off and pads down the hallway toward their living room. If he’s going to be miserable, then he might as well do it watching TV.

The soft glow of the early morning infomercials offer Bucky enough light to get himself in a comfortable position. Well, as comfortable as he can be without Steve.

Now that he's more coherent, he takes note of his laundry list of symptoms. Sore throat, headache, sore muscles, probably a fever but he's not getting back up now that he's laying down again, and he doesn't know how it's possible, but one side of his nose is stuffed up while the other is runny.

Bucky now realizes he should have listened to Steve when he told him to get the flu shot, but in his defense, he thought it would make him sick. Well, the jokes on him now.

He can feel the medicine starting to kick in and his eyes begin to droop. A combination of the low volume from the TV and the chorus of the crickets outside finally lull Bucky back to sleep.

Steve sighs as the front door clicks shut behind him. He's beyond exhausted and can't wait to get out of his uniform. He tosses his keys into the small bowl on the table next to him and kicks off his boots. Nothing sounds more appealing right now than curling up next to his love and sleeping the early morning hours away.

That's when he notices the flickering light from the TV screen. Steve frowns and quietly walks into the room. It's unlike Bucky to sleep out here, and he can only hope he hasn't had one of his nightmares. The thought of not being home to comfort his boyfriend makes his heart ache.

Steve stops, his eyes taking in the scene before him. Bucky is sleeping on his back, his mouth open as he snores lightly. The kleenex box from their bathroom is resting on his stomach and there's a pile of tissues strewn haphazardly next to his head, the coffee table, and the floor.

He carefully leans over Bucky, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to his nose as his hand gently touches his cheek. Steve's eyes go wide at how hot his love's skin is to the touch. He doesn't want to, but waking him up to take medicine takes priority.

“Sweetheart?” Steve kisses his nose again, a little harder this time, “come on, baby. I need you to wake up for me, okay?”

Bucky whines and squeezes his eyes tight, “don’t want to.”

His voice is hoarse and when he coughs Steve’s concern deepens. “I know you don’t, honey, but we’ve got to get your fever to come down. You’re burnin’ up.”

Reluctantly, the brunette sits up and holds onto his boyfriend’s waist for support. Truthfully, his only motivation for moving is the realization that if he complies Steve will finally cuddle him, and that’s honestly all he wants. He knows he’s being a bit pathetic, but in his defense, he doesn’t get sick often. And when he does, it’s usually pretty bad.

Steve rubs soothing circles on his back for a moment before tucking his hands under Bucky’s arms and slowly pulling him to his feet. He takes his time to steady him so he doesn’t fall, holding him close to his chest. His metal hand comes to rest over Steve’s heart as he nuzzles into his neck “There we go, Buck. I know you don’t feel good, but I promise as soon as we take your temperature and take some medicine we can go lay down and I’ll hold you until you fall asleep.”

It takes some time, but finally Steve is able to get James back in their bed. He takes the comforter off and assures him that it’s for his own good. “Baby, you can’t have the heavy blanket because all of the heat you’re generating will get trapped and your fever won’t break.”

“But Stevie,” his lip quivers and it’s enough to break the blonde’s heart, “I-I’m so c-cold.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos. “I know. I know you’re cold. Just give me five minutes to take your temperature and get you some medicine and then I’ll warm you up, okay?”

James nods; albeit reluctantly and watches Steve disappear into the bathroom. He’s only gone for a couple of minutes, but for him it’s too long. Finally, he comes back with a glass of water, some cold medicine, and the thermometer.

“Alright, baby, I’m gonna need you to put this under your tongue so we can figure out how high your fever is. Can you open up for me?” Steve waits until Bucky does what he’s asked and carefully slips the tip of the device under his tongue. “That’s good. Now close for me…there we go.”

A few moments later it beeps and Steve holds it under the light so he can see the numbers. James watches his brow crease with worry and clears his throat, “what’s the damage?” His boyfriend turns the thermometer around and it takes a moment for his eyes to focus, but once they do he pouts. “One hundred and one point three? But I don’t wanna be sick.”

“I know, Buck,” Steve sits on the edge of the bed and smooths the hair away from his eyes, “that’s why I need you to take these pills so you can feel better and get some sleep.”

Bucky shakes his head, “but it hurts to swallow.”

“Baby, if you want to feel better you have to take them. The only way you’re going to feel better is by getting sleep, staying hydrated, and occasionally taking cold medicine.” He kisses his nose for the third time since he’s been home and looks into his love’s tired eyes. “Can you do it for me, sweetheart? I swear as soon as you’ve finished this glass of water I’ll wrap my arms around you and hold you as long as you want me to.”

James holds out his hand and waits for his boyfriend to give him the pills and then takes the glass of water in the other one. For a few moments he just stares at the liquid menacingly while Steve rubs his thigh encouragingly. Finally, he sighs, pops the capsules into his mouth, and winces while chugging the entire glass.

Steve takes the empty cup and sets it on the nightstand, a soft smile on his face. “Good job, honey. Thank you. Now, let me get this suit off and then we can snuggle, okay?”

Bucky nods and curls himself into a ball, his body shivering uncontrollably from the lack of covers. Not even five minutes later, strong arms envelope him and it’s the most content he’s felt all night. “...mmm so warm…”

“I got you, Buck.” Steve presses a sweet kiss into the brunette’s hair and holds him as close as possible. “I promise you’ll feel better soon.”

It only takes ten minutes until he hears Bucky snoring lightly again. The blonde lets out a breath of relief and runs his nails gingerly up and down his sweetheart’s back. They stay like that, locked in an embrace until Steve is certain that he’s not going to wake up. Once he’s absolutely sure he pulls away only slightly to watch him sleep.

Bucky’s mouth is open, a little bit of drool pooling on his arm, but Steve doesn’t care. He isn’t shivering anymore, which is good, but his nose is red and raw from constantly blowing it and his lips are chapped from his lack of fluid intake. That’s when he gets an idea. When they were little kids, he’d always been sickly and he remembers how James’ Mom would make him hot tea with lemon.

As carefully as he can without waking him, Steve slides out of bed and quietly makes his way to their kitchen. He gathers the necessary things and starts a pot of boiling water on the stove. Once it’s ready he adds tea bags and begins to stir it. Ten minutes later, the room smells of fresh tea and the lemon that he just finished cutting up. Steve grabs one of the thermoses from the cabinet and fills it up with tea, honey, sugar, and a couple of lemon wedges before closing it up tight so it stays warm.

Making his way back to their bedroom, he’s relieved to find Bucky still sound asleep. He sets the thermos on the bedside table and climbs back under the covers to hold his sweetheart once more.

If there’s anything in this world that he’d do for the rest of his life, it’d be taking care of Bucky. He lives for it. Maybe it’s because he’s been in love with him for as long as can remember, or maybe it’s because he still feels guilty for that fateful day James fell from the train and endured all of the torture from Hydra. Probably a little of both, but whatever the case, he knows he’s finally found his purpose in life.

He’s finally found his home.

#j snow writes #stuckybingo #sebastianstanbingo #lgbtq+ bingo #ssbingo #sebstanbingo #stucky #stevebucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #captain steve rogers #steven grant rogers #captain america #steve x bucky

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