#need a trip to hope county | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heartthrobin · 1 year

Text

please love me, like the wave does the shore

aaron hotchner x female!reader

wc: 7.9k

warnings: fake!dating, SO much pining, mentions of murder, only one bed, Hotch is very whipped lol, this is so cliché it should be a crime

an: the moment y’all have been waiting for! i hope you kids enjoy! this will probably become a lil series so stay tuned for part 2 :)

summary: murders along the glistening white coast of Cape Cod was not a good look for anybody. especially not the BAU. the case needs a turn around, a big break, but most importantly: a Mr and Mrs.

Portraits of grinning faces watched you from the whiteboard.

Women’s eyes twinkling. Husband’s grinning to the camera. At their wedding, in the woods during a camping trip, on a birthday.

"We have fucking nothing!"

Names and dates lined the edges of what used to be treasured memories in red marker. Memories each couple was not around to remember anymore.

"We have the profile." Hotch's voice was stern. It made the hair on your arms stand on end.

Outside, the ocean crashed loudly against the shore. Seagulls gabbled in the distance near the dock.

"You know that's not enough."

Chatham was one of the most influential and wealthy suburbs in Cape Cod, if not the whole state. Discovering strung out bodies on the crisp white beaches almost five times that month wasn't fitting for the shoreline that housed some of the most elaborate mansions in the county.

The BAU had been in Cape Cod for nearly three weeks. Two weeks too long in the bureau's opinion: a view shared by the team.

Derek slammed his hand loudly against the white board, over a photo of a tall, cream, wood-boarded resort sprawled over the edge of the coast. Seagull's Rest: Couples Retreat and Spa.

"Seagull's Rest is the only place that connects them.” He huffed, pressing his finger into the printed photo. “Every day that passes is another honeymooning couple that's in danger."

Emily sighed somewhere behind you. David lingered by the edge of the desk where Spencer was driving his eyes over some Greek mythology textbook, working the human sacrifice angle he’d been insistent on sharing with you over coffee that morning.

Police chatter busied the space between you and the other agents.

"Morgan," you pressed, "we have no idea what that even means. It could be maids, spa staff ... for all we know, it could even be other guests."

The room was warm, bright: through the window you could overlook the ocean. A scene too beautiful to deserve the blood painted across it’s portrait.

Nights dissolved into mornings at the sheriff's station. Coffee mugs finding purchase in the maze of photos, medical reports, staff lists: all leading back to the one place all four couples were spending their vacation.

"You know what this means, don't you?" David's voice carried over from behind you. You turned to face him, his gaze set hard upon Hotch's.

The team leader's jaw was tight.

He looked like he was considering David's words closely, sucking in a breath like it hurt him to do so.

Emily's chair squeaked where she leaned forward in it, "What is he talking about?"

Hotch's narrow eyes turned to face the team again. "We need to go in. Work the case from the inside."

"Undercover?" You probed, jaw loosening in surprise.

The team hadn't worked an undercover project in almost two years. Everyone understood that they were a last resort, when general good-old detective work wasn't doing the trick.

Hotch nodded stiffly.

"We're gonna need a couple to go in. Two of us. The pair has to match the preference of the unsub."

There was a heavy quiet before a collective understanding, a collective resignation.

"Fine." Derek nodded. He turned to face the board again. "The husbands, what are we looking for?"

"Alpha males, domineering personalities." David lifted a photo off the desk, examining it closer. "All high-power careers, wealthy. They have a handle on these women. Other couple's in the course with them reported the husband being out of touch, unaffectionate."

Spencer rose to stand, "But no specific physical traits. Unlike the women, they share a specific appearance: the hair, the height, the body shape. They all look like—"

Cold passed over your whole body from the highest point on your head. Like ice water had flooded your shoes.

"Like me."

Teeth sunk into the corner of your lip, the metal taste of blood nipped at your tongue.

It was impossible not to feel the weight of the team’s gaze, how they flickered quickly between where you sat and the photos against the board.

Spencer shrugged, nodding slowly. "Yes, like you."

You chuckled softly, missing most of the humor in the situation as you sunk further back into your chair. "I guess that's settled then."

It wouldn't be your first time working undercover, but you couldn’t say you were as experienced as your colleagues.

You'd joined the BAU last, working every possible hour and chasing down every possible lead to try stay in one of the most coveted positions at the bureau.

It definitely wasn't the easiest thing you’d ever done.

Yes, the team was welcoming - Emily worked hard to make you feel at home, empathizing with you about the difficulty of transitioning into such a team: a team that knows each other's every move and every thought before they themselves have moved or thought - and Spencer was always a friendly face.

Derek was considerate and David was a genius in the line of duty, a marvel to watch work.

What really made it difficult, was Hotch.

In the beginning, he was wary of you. You could feel him lingering when you worked, every decision you made or observation you gathered was held under the magnifying glass of Aaron Hotchner.

With time, he eased up. Trusted you with more, scrutinized over less.

It was then that the next - considerably more concerning - problem began, when you began to miss having his presence over your shoulder.

When your eyes began to linger over his hands where they rested on his holster, or fixate quietly when he brought that steaming morning mug to his lips - sipping oh, so gently.

You were so sure he'd kiss with the same tenderness. The thought kept you up at night.

The feelings you so embarrassingly held for your boss were pushed deep into the corners of your brain.

You felt secure in the knowledge that you acted as casual as possible. Nobody had mentioned anything, and the thought of Hotch ever catching even an inkling of an idea would be enough to never walk back into BAU headquarters ever again.

The only person who really knew anything was Emily.

It had slipped after a drunken night out, on the couch in her apartment, your fat tears staining her blouse: "he's so fucking hot I can't do this!"

And there he was. Silhouette dark against the cast of the sunlight through the window, looking down at you from his towering height. "You're sure you're ready for this?"

His voice wrapped carefully around your throat and you almost choked on its softness.

You coughed instead. "Ready as I'll ever be."

He nodded once, turning back to Derek. "The male?"

Derek shook his head, "Rossi and I went over there a couple days ago to question the owners. They know we're FBI."

The room turned to Spencer, who blinked big hazel eyes at the room innocuously.

You did little to suppress the giggle that bubbled out from your chest. Your heart knocked loudly when you felt Hotch's eyes flicker over his shoulder back at you.

"You wanna be our dominant alpha, Reid?" Emily's lips tugged into a playful grin, clicking the end of her pen loudly.

Soft laughter permeated the room, David knocked Spencer’s shoulder teasingly.

Spencer flushed a light pink, his gaze finding purchase at the open space between his two feet. "Yes. Very funny."

It took more than a few seconds for you to realize that without Spencer, there stood only one other possible candidate.

Your eyes climbed the length of Hotch's long black blazer sleeve. When you reached the top you found him already looking at you. You shivered.

"I suppose that means it’s me then."

Purposefully avoiding his gaze, you found Emily staring right at you - a grin curling up at the corners of her mouth.

"Mr and Mrs Hotchner." David chirped, a mischievous edge to his words. "Congratulations."

You managed to squeak out a sarcastic "thanks Rossi" but Hotch stayed quiet. It made you want to sink into the crevice of your desk chair.

Instead, he turned back to Spencer.

"Get Garcia on the line. She needs to set up aliases and get us registered for the next couple's course as soon as possible."

Spencer nodded once before disappearing into the next room wordlessly.

Next, he turned to you - sucking all the breath out your lungs.

God, he made it so hard to act normal when he showed up in that fucking suit and that perfectly professional haircut.

"I want you to go over the backgrounds of the women again. Get a feel for the unsub's preference, there may be a personality type that he likes best. I'll do the same with the men." You nodded, going to stand and finding yourself always just a little too far from his chest.

"While we're away, the rest of you need to work off the intel we feed. Let's solve this before there's more bodies."

Agents began moving in every direction: out the door, back towards boxes of evidence, but Emily crossed the room to you: eyes wide and alight with mischief.

She grabbed your hand, pulling you from the room and leaving Hotch behind. "This is going to be so fucking good."

Your stomach churned.

Just shy of two days later, you found yourself sitting in the front seat of a Mercedes Benz - god knows the bureau has its ways - only two streets down from Shellshore drive, where tucked into the curve sat Seagull's Rest: the beautiful lodge on the Cape Cod coast that offered couple's courses for new and old marriages that delve into the depths of the soul and connect partners in love and touch.

At least that's what the pamphlet said as it stared up at you from your lap.

It sat at the top of the stack of case files, documents and photos hidden beneath. You pulled out the ID from the midst of the stack.

The photo you'd taken the previous afternoon glimmered up at you: Mrs Eleanor Thompson.

With less than a couple inches of space dividing you, in the driver's seat, sat Hotch.

Penelope was talking over the car speaker.

"I signed you guys up for the Honeymooner's Retreat. It's six days long, but I'm sure you'll be out by then. There are five other couples doing this course with you, you'll find their names in the documents I sent. All their records are clean."

"Garcia, I want you to cross reference all the course instructors with anybody who has—"

Hotch's voice faded from your surroundings, your brain stuttering electrically as your eyes raked over his outfit.

A tight fit black polo that was hugging his chest and chino pants begging for relief over those long thighs.

The last two days had been painful.

You'd slept almost nothing: tossing and turning for hours over the idea that you'd soon be in much closer proximity to Aaron Hotchner than you'd ever been. Too close.

Emily had tried to calm you down, "just ... focus on the case, okay? whatever happens happens."

It was easy for her to say.

Her legs didn't liquify every time Hotch sent small praise her way, like they did on you, and she didn’t have flashing images of taking care of him in the way he never does himself plague her in the small moments of quiet throughout her day.

Making him breakfast, or taking his blazer off after a long case ... undoing the buttons down his shirt—

"They're expecting you for check in at five o clock."

Your eyes found the digital clock on the dashboard, it blinked red at you: 16:47

"Thank you Garcia."

"Yeah," you added quickly, "Thanks Garcia."

"Good luck lovebirds." The teasing lilt in her voice did nothing to calm the high power washing machine your stomach had transformed to.

Heat rushed over your face.

You could feeling Hotch watching you from the corner of his eye. "Are you sure you're ready to do this?"

Sliding your stack of pages into the Louis Vutton handbag at your feet, you forced a smile to press up into your lips.

"To marry you, Hotch?" You feigned a soft sigh, "I've only waited all my life."

The bubbling in your stomach simmered only slightly when Hotch rolled his eyes, what was almost a smile teasing at his lips. "I'll take that as a yes."

The car rumbled to a start beneath you, the expensive engine purring.

"We know what to look for. Keep your eyes on the guests, the instructors, anybody we interact with."

It was hard to focus on Hotch's advice when his wide hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly.

But you nodded anyways.

It felt like less than a few seconds before the car was being pulled into a luxurious white cobblestone driveway. A sign etched in ivory-coloured wood overhead marked the road: Welcome to Seagull’s Rest.

Bellboys stood in the distance under a grand arched entrance in cream uniforms, luxury cars stretched out in every direction of the parking lot.

The car rumbled to a stop. A valet attendant was already approaching before you’d even a second to gather what was left of your courage.

Hotch turned to you, slow and deliberate as was his manner, leaning precariously over the console. "Remember, we're being watched."

The door opened abruptly on your side, you glanced up to meet the face of the young man holding open the door. He couldn't be older than twenty.

He smiled. "Good afternoon and welcome to the Seagull's Rest."

Your eyes flickered back as Hotch climbed out from the other side, you smiled up at the boy before lifting the end of the olive-green sundress you'd been coerced into wearing and stepped out.

Hotch had rounded the car before you'd even straightened out. He tossed the keys at the attendant.

You were taken aback by how quickly he could escape his usually impeccable manners.

"Be careful with the luggage. There's things in there worth twelve times your salary."

You sucked in a sharp breath when he took your hand into his, sliding his fingers between yours. His palm was pressed so firmly you thought you might collapse.

He made matters worse when he cleared his throat loudly, "Come on, honey, let's go."

The reception was a bright open room, preceded by a tall oak arch, and a high ceiling loomed over the expensive wood of the front desk.

A small framed woman stood behind it, smiling as you approached. "Good afternoon, welcome to Seagull's Rest."

Hotch only nodded curtly in greeting, pulling you abruptly up against his side so that his hand wrapped over your waist. You only hoped he couldn’t hear your heart thumping hysterically against your ribs.

"James and Eleanor Thompson." He grumbled, "We're here for the Honeymooner's Retreat."

"Of course sir, if I could see some identification please?"

Hotch slid over the two fake ID's and the woman began to tap away at the computer.

Your eyes slid up to the view from the window beyond the desk, how the sun was almost setting over the ocean visible through the crystal-clear window.

Unsure if it was driven by purpose or simply instinct, your arms snaked up to rest around Hotch's hips, letting your head lull against the side of his chest just softly.

His chest swelled. You tried not to read into it.

"Baby," it took a moment, presumable for Hotch to realize you were referring to him, but he hummed in response, not looking down at you.

"Hm?"

You motioned to the window, "Look how beautiful it is. You couldn't have chosen a better spot."

Instead of Hotch, the woman at the front desk spoke in response.

"We boast one of the best spots along our coast. The morning yoga sessions are spectacular if that's something you enjoy, and we have cocktail evening tonight at our restaurant on the beach." Her voice dripped in sugar, sliding the two ID's and the keycard to the room back over the counter.

"That sounds wonderful—"

Hotch's stern voice pierced through your own, "Yes, well, we'll see."

The woman - Leslie, as her tag suggested - glanced carefully between Hotch and yourself. She offered you a quietly sympathetic look before meeting Hotch's face again.

"Y-Yes, of course sir."

You stayed quiet after that, allowing her to direct James and Eleanor to their room. Second floor at the end of the hallway.

Hotch huffed dramatically, grabbing the cards from the desk.

His hand slid from your waist and you almost had enough time to mourn the loss of his warmth against your side before that large hand wove itself back between yours - simultaneously warming and chilling every blood vessel in your body.

Hotch pulled you in the direction of the elevator. Nothing was said between you, only the swish of your dress and the heavy step of his leather shoes against the floors.

You two followed the corridor as instructed, gaze flickering curiously up to your fake husband every few moments before your interest caught the better of you.

"You're a little too good at playing the asshole, James." Your hand squeezed gently against his, "Something you want to tell me?"

He shook his head, "Nothing comes to mind."

The luggage was already waiting at the foot of the bed when Hotch pushed the door open, allowing you to step in first.

A gasp escaped you.

The room had to be the most exquisite thing you’d seen in all your life.

It was lined in crisp white and cream decor, a velvet couch along the one wall and a sprawling balcony that overlooked the ocean - the sound of the waves filling every crevice of the space.

There was a thud and you turned to find Hotch opening his briefcase, pulling out the neatly packed pressed shirts that lay within.

"Hotch—"

Quicker than it took you to blink in fright, Hotch's hand closed over your mouth. He shook his head, tapping his ear. "Wires." He mouthed.

You nodded quickly, feeling stupid.

His hand dropped and embarrassment flushed hot over your neck. You looked away from him.

This wasn't a holiday and Hotch wasn't your husband.

Eight people were dead.

Unease burnt at your chest, the same kind that had been building with every passing day and every piling body. You moved in silent to unpack your own handbag where you'd placed your files.

Hotch watched you carefully, as you leaned over the bag - silhouette forming against the red and purple tones of the picturesque sky behind you.

He stared a little longer than necessary, capturing the view to his mind.

It was something he found himself doing too often. Whenever he could find a moment, an excuse. His gaze would linger on your frame, your face.

When your fingers would twitch against your necklace or when you laughed a little too loudly for the Quantico office when Spencer told his terrible, very specifically not funny jokes.

But he was Aaron Hotchner, BAU Unit Chief, and nothing if not the epitome of professionalism.

He planted himself far enough from the line to where he could go about his day and pretend like he didn't lose sleep at night thinking about you.

"James, did you pack the charger?" Your voice was loud, but wavered slightly. You didn't look up to his face as you usually did.

Hotch tried to convince himself that he didn’t notice.

"Yes, honey, it's in the side pocket."

There was no charger and definitely no need to ask about one besides making casual conversation in the case that wires tapped the room.

Reminded of the very real circumstance, Hotch abandoned the shirts on the bed to move around the room.

Behind him you were doing the same.

He lifted lamp shades, checked under drawers, desks and the headboard for any listening device that could have been planted before they came in.

You shuffled around behind the television stand and at the railings of the curtain before slipping into the bathroom.

Twenty minutes passed in silence before Hotch climbed back to his feet from where he was crouched down under the bed frame.

"We should be in the clear." He announced to you where you still occupied the bathroom.

"Check what I found." You emerged, sundress flittering around your ankles.

He cursed the sway of the material. Somehow you'd arrived in that green dress to the sheriff's station and it had made every nerve connecting his body to his brain turn fuzzy and the man of steel that was Aaron Hotchner was having a harder time than usual keeping his eyes to himself.

You waved a white envelope at him, "It was stuck to the window."

Hotch took it from you, it was addressed to a Mr and Mrs Thompson.

"That's us." He muttered, finger sliding to break its seal.

You stood against his side, close enough to read the letter where he slid it out but also just close enough to make Hotch's head spin from the waft of your perfume.

Good afternoon Mr J and Mrs E Thompson,

We welcome you to Seagull's Rest and want to thank you for choosing to participate in our Honeymooner's Retreat. The next few days will work to strengthen the bond of love and trust between any new married couple, and of course up the intimacy!

Tonight we will be hosting a champagne evening where you will be afforded the opportunity to meet the couples that you'll be spending the next six days with.

Meet us at the Pelican Perch Restaurant on floor 1 at six o clock. We look forward to meeting you!

Kindly, Seagull Rest Staff.

The page crinkled beneath his fingers.

"This is perfect." He muttered, looking sideways at you. "It'll give us a chance to see the unsub in a social environment if he's here."

The unknown subject (unsub) was clarified before you and Hotch had left the station that morning.

David's voice still rung in his ears:

"Someone who is calm and casual in social settings, easy to get along with but holds a position that allows people to trust them. It's what he uses to lure two people at a time to their deaths."

You glanced up at the antique clock on the wall hanging above the television. "That means we should leave soon."

Hotch nodded, "Leave the packing, we'll do that when we get back."

The sun was disappearing behind the glittering ocean surface when the door shut behind you and Hotch again.

His hand slipped down over your wrist before sliding into your grasp, between your fingers and over your knuckles.

Hotch could spend all night convincing himself that holding your hand was imperative to maintaining your cover because you were married and that was in the best interest of the case, but it would still do little to calm the way his heart began to beat from his throat when your grip tightened gently around his.

You made small talk on the walk down to the restaurant, as any couple would.

Mentioning the spa and the interior designs of the glamorous hallways you passed on the walk down to the Pelican Perch restaurant on the water.

The views of the lodging was almost nothing compared to when you two walked under the green vine archway into the restaurant.

Hotch heard your little gasp beside him and was sure it made his heart grow two sizes.

Above your heads hung a glittering maze of white fairy lights overviewing a large wooden floor with tables set in every corner. The bar glittered with bottles of every colour, size and shape that lined the shelves and the wide stacking doors were opened out onto the shoreline.

A soft jazz played and near the center of the room, ten chairs were stacked in a semi-circle around a small podium.

"This is so beautiful." You whispered, almost so soft he didn't hear it.

He looked down at you, enamored by the way the lights reflected off your eyes and your lips were parted in surprise.

"It is." But his eyes never left you.

Already, three or four couples had taken seats, keening over each other as if they two were the only people in the room.

It was almost six. Hotch tugged your hand gently in the direction of the expensive looking chairs, leaning down close to your ear: "Keep your eyes on the people."

You giggled as if he'd said something naughty, putting on a good show for the surrounding guests before leaning down to sit.

The lull of the music in the room almost convinced you that it was all real.

That as you sat and Hotch settled his arm over your thighs, pulling you close against him: that it was because he wanted, not needed, to be there.

Your eyes flickered over the people, a man and a woman were ushering people to take their seats and a tall thin waiter was sauntering around with a tray of champagne glasses.

You took two from his tray, handing the other to Hotch. He gave you a look to remind you to be careful, you could practically hear him chiding "remember, we're on the job."

The champagne was as close to velvet as you'd ever tasted, sliding down your throat far too easily as the man and woman took to the podium in front of you.

The room quietened.

"Good evening to all our lovely young couples!" The man's voice was smooth, warm.

He was older, every spit of hair from his body a stark shining white. The woman was the same, they matched the decor of the resort in the cream beach sets they adorned.

Wrinkles crinkled around her eyes when she smiled, "We're so glad to have you with us. Thirty years ago, we opened the Seagull's Rest to help any couple who felt they needed a place to connect with nature and each other, and since then it's become not only a home to us - but a home to every couple who steps through our doors."

You met Hotch's eye. Owners.

Laurie and Howard Ralph. The founders of the Seagull's Rest.

Howard spoke again: "every class is taught by a qualified, friendly and helpful instructor to make you feel safe in what Laurie and I like to call the education of love."

You'd seen their photos in files and on your tablet, somehow they looked even more pretentious in person.

While you knew you weren't looking for an unsub team, their demeanors didn't put them completely out of range for being possibly responsible.

At least that's as far as your brain could conjure up with Hotch's wide thumb rubbing circles into the side of your thigh - a motion you weren’t entirely convinced he realized he was making.

"We'd like to start off the evening with a few introductions, just to break the ice between you."

They were looking down the line of people, pointing to a Hispanic couple closest to the edge. "How about you two? Tell us your names, where you're from, how you met and your favourite thing about your partner."

The man stuttered, looking to his wife for support. She smiled up at him and you couldn't help the momentary swooping ache to have somebody to look at in that warm, soft way.

"Well I'm Alice and this is my husband Marco." She patted him fondly on the chest, "We're from New York."

"We met when we were kids, we lived next door to each other for fifteen years." The husband was a shyer speaker, but his adoration for his wife leaked through his words. "Before she left for college I asked her to be my girlfriend. The rest is history, I guess."

Laurie and Howard smiled plastically, like the grin was surgically attached there.

"That's lovely, and your favourite thing about one another?" Laurie pressed, before adding, "Remember ladies and gentlemen, this experience is about making yourself vulnerable to each other and to yourself!"

"I love how he can make me feel brand new after a terrible day."

"I love the way she knows me in little ways that nobody else does."

Slowly, the couples spoke down the line.

You were introduced to the Taylors, the Andersons, the Fletchers, the Schmidts.

As the line drew shorter, your breath grew faster.

Of course you knew your story, you'd had it drilled into your brain for the last two days, but your favourite thing about Hotch?

No, you corrected yourself, not Hotch. James.

Your brain fished for a lie, dipping past the bundles of things you loved about Hotch that could so easily be picked from the bush.

But would it be so out of line to admit something honest, something he'd never even realize was true?

Eyes fell on you.

Hotch cleared his throat, his grip over your thigh tightened.

"We're the Thompsons. I'm James and this is Eleanor. We're from Colorado."

His voice was strong, stern. Someone who didn't know Hotch might say it was how he always sounded, but there he held a jagged edge to his tone. "We met at—"

"Woah, woah," Howard interrupted, chuckling nervously. "James, you're running a bit away with us here. Why don't you let your wife tell us how you met?"

Hotch mustered the audacity to look affronted. "Alright."

You fought hard to suppress a laugh. Hotch was an abnormally good actor.

He turned to you, "Darling?"

You sighed, practically scribbling ditzy airhead over your forehead and lifting a hand to fiddle with the buttons on his polo, "Well, I met James in my last year at college—"

"Screwing the professor, very classy."

The whisper came from somewhere to your left and surprised you.

It was soft enough that you were sure Howard and Laurie hadn't heard.

The look on Hotch's face, however, proved that he had. He'd grown completely stiff under your hand.

You fought to regain composure, "H-He was working at a law firm that I was doing an internship at. It was love at first sight, right baby?" You patted his chest slowly.

He nodded, eyes darting anywhere but you.

The owners nodded, urging you to continue. "That's beautiful."

You looked up, met with the side of Hotch's face - he didn't look like he was going to speak first.

"My favourite thing about James is ..." your mind flickering between some cliché or just spitting out what you really wanted to. "The way he looks out for me. Always makes sure I'm safe, even if it's risking himself."

It was mild enough to pass off for just a casual comment but nearly specific enough that if he knew how you felt that he'd catch on.

He pulled his gaze from where it was fixated on the foot of the podium, sinking it into yours and making the room feel suddenly ten degrees warmer.

"My favourite thing about Eleanor is her laugh."

It was short and sweet and deep down you really hoped it was laced in truth.

By the time you looked away from your partner, the introductions had already moved down a couple. Judging by the way the tall blonde woman who'd just announced herself as Jade Atkins was staring at you, you could already gage that she'd been the one to make the professor comment.

You could still feel Hotch's anger radiating off of him. He was hard, tense and his jaw was set tightly.

Hotch was older than you, sure. You knew that.

It was one of the things that assured - plagued - you that he would never reciprocate your feeling.

He was mature and worldly, handsome in a way no man you knew could even remotely compare.

You were younger, not that much, but still. Enough that you could be looked at sideways by stuck-up bitches like Jade Atkins.

You knew you'd never be afforded a chance ... but then why did Hotch look so angry?

He knew he was older, but he also had to know that he left a trail of swooning women wherever he went?

"James ..." you whispered.

He looked quickly down at you, clearly of the impression that it was enough of a response.

"What's wrong?"

The word looked like they hurt forcing itself from his mouth. "Nothing."

You bit the corner of your bottom lip slowly, turning over his response in your mind.

Before you could find the sense to stop yourself, you reached up and took Hotch's jaw into your grasp, pulling it down closer to your face.

Following hesitantly until he was practically leaning over, you whispered into his ear: "ignore her, she just wishes her husband wasn't a cheating alcoholic."

You pressed a warm peck against his upper cheek, close to his eye and pretended that the brush of his almost-there stubble didn't make your heart swoop down into your stomach.

Letting go, Hotch straightened out again. He looked calmer, almost like he could smile.

His eyes flickered over the man, taking in his form. It took him a moment before he whispered back, "You're right."

Within a couple minutes, the last of the couples finished their introductions and the Ralph's were speaking again.

"Thank you all, again, for coming. Please, spend the rest of the evening getting to know each other, enjoying more of our champagne—"

"Imported straight from France!" Howard interjected and the couples laughed sporadically,

"—and savor the rest of your week."

Around you, couples rose from their seats. You detangled yourself from Hotch and did the same.

Initially, you had the full intention of floating around the room together, connected at the arm to analyze the guests quietly.

However, almost immediately, the women had dissected from their husbands to form a small group by the balcony.

The men had done the same, converging near the bar.

Blinking in surprise, you look up to Hotch for further instruction.

He nods towards the women, "You should go join them."

Your face crinkled in reluctance, "Don't make me go over there, James ... our friend isn't even supposed to be a woman."

Amusement was alight in his brown eyes, but his mouth remained a thin line.

"Then," he almost made you jump when his wide hand closed softly over your cheek, dragging the side of his thumb down your face, "go enjoy the company. I'll focus on the men."

Sparked by Hotch's warm touch, slightly dizzy on it, you nodded softly before turning to the women.

It was cool out on the balcony and the women greeted when you joined the circle.

You took a long gulp from your second glass of champagne, listening only half-committed to Patricia Anderson's story about their new condo on the Los Angeles beachfront.

"So, Eleanor was it?"

Recognizing the voice as the one who'd whispered brashly behind you not more than twenty minutes previously, you turned to the woman.

Your grip tightened around your champagne glass.

"Yes. Jenna, right?"

The woman gathered the nerve to look affronted, her tennis skirt swayed with the breeze over long bronzed legs.

"Jade, actually. Jade Atkins." She cleared her throat, "My husband is Richard Atkins, he owns all the Sonja Hotels north of the equator, I'm sure you've heard of him."

Another woman - Anne Schmidt - indulged her. "That's amazing, Elijah and I stayed there a couple months ago in Switzerland."

Jade nodded, looking proud, but seemingly intent on swerving the conversation your way.

"Speaking of husbands, yours is quite the catch isn't he?" The chatter of the other women dimmed slightly, the wives sensing the change of direction.

Taking another necessarily big gulp of your champagne, you nodded. "Indeed."

"He's very handsome ... how did you manage to tie him down?"

Her words dripped in condescension.

"Just got lucky, what can I say?"

Jade nodded, twisting a long golden strand between her fingers. Heat was beginning to curl at your cheeks.

"And he's so much older," she laughed airily, lifting her glass to sip at her drink, "but I guess that life insurance money makes him all the more attractive, hey?"

"Oh definitely. He also got a huge penis which helps."

Jade choked loudly around her glass and the women around you burst into fits of high-pitched laughter.

"Don't mind her," Imani Taylor pulled you aside, "All the Botox has gone to her brain."

You smiled kindly at her.

"So a lawyer you said, what's that like?"

Across the room, Hotch was sitting through a similar game of verbal tennis.

A circus of who's car is newer, bigger, better, who's company makes more money or sells more stocks.

He doubted he'd ever been so bored. That's maybe why his eyes flickered so often to where you were talking animatedly with a short woman in a hijab.

A heavy hand against his shoulder sucked him back into the conversation.

A sandy-topped man who Hotch quickly identified as Elijah Schmidt was patting him boyishly, "Don't worry about the girl, Thompson."

He didn't love the idea of you being referred to as girl but said nothing on it.

Clearing his throat, he shook his head vaguely. "Got to keep on eye on them. She can barely feed herself most days, only knows how to spend my money and crash my cars."

The words were bitter, like hot bile on his tongue but he insisted on maintaining a mutual expression. Nobody promised that playing an asshole was going to be any fun.

A handful of the men grimaced at his comment, while the rest just tutted offhandedly.

While the men were far from the nicest he'd met, in the couple minutes he'd spent with them, Hotch was almost sure that his unsub was not among them.

Despite most of their more than patchy backgrounds - mostly corporate scuffles, dug up by Garcia - none of them spoke with the ease that the suspect needed to have, the charisma and the trustworthy character. Hotch's energy was better placed elsewhere.

"Barely feed herself?" A gravelly chuckle filled the space, "Sure doesn't look like it."

Hotch's eyes narrowed on the short bald man laughing to himself, glancing over to where you stood across the room - a fat cigar between his fingers.

He recognized him as the man who sat with the woman who'd commented when you spoke. Richard Atkins.

Turning his whole body to the man, towering over his structure, Hotch's face twisted - his stomach contents boiling hot at the comment.

"I beg your pardon?"

Pulling at the cigar, the end lighting up, the man shrugged. "Just saying, y'know, she doesn't look like she's skipped a meal anytime recently—"

The expression curling onto Hotch's face must've been cause for alarm, if not the way his fist tightened at his side, because almost immediately two other men stepped in.

One at Richard's side, "Hey, hey, Richard, that's enough man."

The other patting Hotch's shoulder, "Thompson ... he's had a couple drinks, just let him go."

Richard seemed to find the situation amusing because he was chortling still to himself. "Of course, of course. My bad, just locker-room talk you know. No harm, no foul."

Seething white anger was tugging on every muscle in his body, and he fought hard to maintain composure - taking a cautionary step towards Richard Atkins.

"I'd watch how you talk about my wife if I were you. Otherwise we're going to have a problem."

Atkins only huffed, turning back to his friend and his cigar. The conversations started up again around him, but Hotch had lost interest.

His wrist watch told him they'd been standing there for almost an hour.

Cleaning out the bottom of his glass, he set it down on the nearest table before excusing himself, offering handshakes and a couple shoulder pats before moving towards the women.

A handful of men followed him, clearly keen to leave as well.

He found you by the railing, laughing gently at something the woman across from you said.

Hotch's arm slid over your waist from behind, dipping his head closer to your ear: "ready to go?"

You nodded, offering a quick goodbye to the woman and some others.

The walk back to the room was quicker than he remembered, or maybe it was the light buzz of champagne against the side of his head and how you were humming something that sounded like Etta James that made it feel too fast.

On return, the prospect of unpacking awaited.

"Anyone interesting among the husbands?" You asked from across the room, lifting shirts and dresses to stack into the open cupboard.

Hotch shook his head, dislodging the secret compartment at the bottom of his suitcase where the case files had been hidden. "The unsub isn't one of them. They're all, for lack of a better word, assholes. Nobody trustworthy enough to follow to your death."

You chuckled lightly, "The women were alright. Except for this one woman, that one who whispered that rubbish when we introduced ourselves."

Hotch's stomach turned at the thought of the woman's words. Screwing the professor, really classy.

The implication on your character made his blood boil.

"Let me guess, Atkins?"

You nodded, "How'd you know?"

"Her husband's a real piece of work too. I'm gonna find something to arrest him for before the end of the week."

Your giggle permeated the space and it worked to ease the knot in Hotch's stomach.

"Don't be so dramatic, James." You draped a towel over your arm, "Mind if I grab the shower first?"

"Of course." Hotch nodded, desperately trying to fan out the image that was quickly rendering in his mind of you in the shower. "I'm gonna phone Garcia."

The bathroom door clicked behind you and you sighed into the emptiness of the room.

You took your time showering, enjoying how the hot water eased the tension over your shoulders, before drying off and slipping into the most appropriate pair of pajamas you'd brought along.

It took some convincing to let yourself pack the silk shorts and tank top, after all: you would be sharing a room with your boss.

Quickly after you'd walked back into the room, Hotch had slipped into the bathroom himself with a towel and pair of pajamas hanging over his arm.

Images of all the people you'd met that very evening sifted through your mind like a deck of cards, flipping through them and filtering the ones you knew couldn't be involved.

The spray of the shower was loud and your mind reached precariously for an image of what Hotch looked like under the fancy head in the shower that had more than enough space for two ... how the hot water was probably gliding over his long strong arms, down his chest and through the happy trail at the base of his stomach leading down towards—

The water shut off and silence echoed across the room.

You heard shuffling behind the door, wondered quietly what he could be doing, but pulled your eyes back to the case file.

The list of connections between the victims and current guests were numerous, too many to be significant as people in this wealth category generally moved in similar groups.

The door clicked open.

"Put that away, you should get some sleep."

"I—" You looked up to meet Hotch's eye and almost swallowed your tongue.

His hair was still wet, drooping over his forehead in a way you'd never seen before, and his blue t-shirt stuck to his chest with dampness. He wore plaid shorts that exposed those long legs that had been so criminally hidden beneath his usual suit pants.

He looked so ... domestic, and it set every nerve ending in your body alight.

"I ... yes, boss. Was just looking." You set the file on the bedside table.

He nodded at you, a warm look on his face. "Want you well rested for tomorrow."

There was a short silence and the look cleared from his features to be replaced by another.

Hotch's eyes flickered between the bed and the couch, and for the first time in more than a while, a look of unsureness occupied his face.

"I ... I think I'll take the couch."

Your heart sunk.

"Why?" The question chased its way out of your mouth before you could reach to snatch it.

"I don't wanna make you ... uncomfortable, considering I'm your superior."

"I mean, the bed is plenty big enough for the both of us, Hotch." You stammered, desperate to be close to him. "It's probably gonna be painful to sleep on that couch anyways."

He hesitated.

"U-Unless you think it's weird, you can sleep on the couch it's fine." You wished you could sink into the sheets and disappear.

But to your surprise, Hotch nodded.

The bed sunk on his side as he lifted the covers, as close to the edge as he could from what you could see.

His head hit the pillow before he leaned over to flick off the light, you took it as a sign to do the same.

There was quiet for a long moment.

The door to the balcony was open, it was just too hot to close it, and the breeze curled over the sheets, wafting the smell of Hotch's shower gel into your face.

It took all you had within you not to sigh loudly and dig your face into his neck.

You thought the conversation had closed for the evening, but Hotch surprised you when his voice emerged from the darkness.

"You did well today. I know you were nervous."

A smile tugged at your lips. He could read you better than you thought he could.

"You've got a lot more practice at the husband thing than I do at the wife thing."

You could almost see the outline of his face against the light of the moon.

"Well, I hope this wife ends up better than the last one."

The memory of finding Hotch's ex-wife's body came starkly into view.

"O-Oh, Hotch." Your hand came to your face in embarrassment, "I'm sorry, I-I shouldn't have—"

"Hey, hey," he stopped you, "it's my fault. It was a bad joke, I shouldn't have made it."

You couldn't help the small giggle that escaped you, "I've never heard you freestyle a joke before, Hotch."

"Wasn't good?"

"It was terrible." You managed around the now growing laugh.

"And yet you're still laughing. Isn't that the goal?"

You shuffled over in the sheets to face him, even though you couldn't see much - the thought that he lingered there in the darkness comforted you.

"Not at that really bad attempt at a joke, I'm laughing at you."

Maybe it was your imagination, but you swore when the light from the lighthouse flickered quickly over Hotch's face that he was grinning.

"I'm glad I amuse you."

"Come on Hotch, you're telling me you don't have a single good dad joke?"

He was quiet a long moment, and for a second you thought you'd pressed too hard.

"Why do you never see elephants hiding in trees?"

Absolutely surprised by the question, you shook your head in the darkness. "Why?"

"Because they're really good at it."

The light from the lighthouse hadn't passed over his face again but now you were sure he was smiling and every muscle in your body twitched to grab his face in the darkness and kiss him until he was oxygen depleted.

"That's the worst joke I've ever heard, Aaron." But you shook with small laughter.

"Worse than the dead wife joke?"

"Okay, maybe not that bad."

Quiet fell again.

"You should go to sleep. We've got a long day tomorrow."

Fishing for the sheets, you lifted to tuck them under your chin. "Goodnight James."

"Goodnight."

Tags:

@montyfandomlove @aurorastuffsstuff @cdizzleswzzlebonzy @pureblood-blake @kad00x @lena-1895 @marimorena06 @farrah-444

#Aaron Hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #criminal minds #fake dating #criminal minds fanfiction #Spencer Reid #emily prentiss #David Rossi #Derek Morgan #penelope garcia #only one bed #mutual pining

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lunarw0rks · 7 months

Text

slasher!graves 🩸 in honor of spooky season !!! w/c; 2.7k

warning(s): implied violence/gore, drugging, fem!reader

endless crop fields surrounded the dirt path, crunching under the tires audibly, overbearing the hum of the pickup's old speakers. as soon as you crossed county lines, only the two local stations played: gospel or vintage country. any tuning of the knob, and it was buzzing static.

mellow country music it is. preferable to a pastor lecturing you about the ins and outs of hell. don't worry father, i'm already there. or i've made it halfway to purgatory — east Texas backroads.

though, you don't need the faceless pastor; the decaying signs along the way are enough. hell is real, God bless, repent — every single one rusted, scratched, peeled in some way.

limitless, barren farmland; half-murky swamp the further east you go.

who's feeding the lumps of livestock you see grazing? what about the herding dogs that lay by rickety fences and intently watch your car pass? if it weren't for the occasional passing truck, you'd assume no one inhabited this county at all.

your pupils retract, blinded by the sun glaring off the hood. vibrant hues of orange and yellow, that would otherwise be soothing if you hadn't been in the driver's seat so long. for once, the lack of traffic and straight and narrow is a blessing, otherwise, you surely would've caused a collision.

the blinding sunset fades over time, indicating that you drove through golden hour instead of lying back and enjoying it. though, the thought of pulling over in this area sounded like a painful ordeal.

from straight, unpaved roads to skinny windy ones with taller grass on the border. as the sky darkens, the foliage is surely full of critters, snakes, and spiders that would crawl and tickle your flesh the second you stepped foot. the thought alone makes you shiver against the leather seats.

as the tires climb a particularly steep hill, the engine sputters, as if hacking and choking from the exertion. please don't let it happen here, is all you can think. the vintage pickup creaks and moans the further along you go — but thankfully doesn't let you down. it's any wonder you've made it this far in your trip.

your fingers reach across the seat, peeling back the page of your guide. the map you snagged at the first — and only — rest stop in the area. a few pages, tainted with coffee and grime, aside from hints of its original eggshell stain. the booklet is rough in texture but still partially legible, so you decided to take what you can get.

besides, once you finished up in the bathroom, bought water, and felt the judgment of the locals, you weren't in a position to ask for a clean map. and the geriatric clerk, brandishing a crucifix and eyes so blue they could pass for pearl, staring at you with grief.

for what, you couldn't wager. your unsaved soul?

your unwise decision to stop there? at least you can agree with the latter.

at last, your finger skimmed the section of road you were supposed to be cruising on. a straight one, like you had been on before. not the thin, windy dirt you're nearly stuck in — which doesn't exist on the map. either you're trespassing in some form, or you really have gotten lost in purgatory.

muttering a curse, you twist and turn your heads in hopes of finding an opening. somewhere, anywhere to turn the truck around and get back on your intended route.

once you spot the first opening, you turn into it. the truck travels down the short path, mud squishing underneath the overworked tires.

up ahead, the first residence you've seen that wasn't moldy or collapsed. three floors, milky paneling, original windows older than two of your lifetimes, and steps sure to give you splinters and creaks under the slightest movement.

from the outside, it's... average.

only slightly unsettling at best, which was a major improvement from the rest of town. frankly, it was shocking there wasn't a higher fence around the perimeter. you imagine this property being prime pickings for bandits and adventurous country teens.

after taking in its appearance for a few moments, you begin to reverse, now feeling the most resistance in the entire trip. the harder you push your foot down on the gas pedal, the deeper the back tires go into the thick mud.

the engine sputtered louder, beginning to spit out smoke from under the hood. considering your efforts, all you'd successfully done was splatter mud on the windows and kill the engine, hopefully not permanently.

you slumped forward and lightly smacked your head against the rim of the steering wheel, cursing yourself for literally ending up deeper in the mud.

through the cracked window of the truck, the windchimes sounded, reminding you of your only way out. raising your head, you laid eyes on the white farmhouse again, taking in its mystifying essence. the decor rustled in the gentle breeze, as did the fuzzy white clusters blowing off the cottonwood trees.

against the unforgiving summer elements, the outmoded residence stood still — as if the stoic constant stuck in the middle of a brewing summer storm.

motionless and deathlike; if a tornado dipped down through the dusky clouds, you were mildly convinced the residence would be the only structure left standing.

as it stands, your options are either to sit in the truck and sulk or take a gamble and knock on the old farmer's door. deciding on the latter, you step out, not bothering to shut the car door behind you, in case you're met with a cliché shotgun barrel for trespassing.

the rickety porch creaked under your weight when you stepped up, occupied with examining its every detail. there were the chimes you heard. some were standard, high-pitched jingles — others made from small animal bones were dull clicks — all suspended with twine.

aside from the roadkill and rocking chair, there were few signs of life in terms of decor. through the windowpanes, you were only met with pearly, lace curtains blocking any view inside.

caving, you raise your fist to the door. it's slathered in the same blanched paint as the rest of the exterior, only riddled with indents and scratches from age. three small knocks against the wood, and you're hoping whoever's behind it won't lead with hostility.

the house settles and croaks from inside, its joints as noisy as the deck you’re standing on. eventually, the door opens. behind it, the owner reveals himself; and it’s not the stereotypical image of an old man with overalls and a noisy coonhound at his side.

your prediction couldn’t have been more inaccurate.

“how can i help you, ma'am?” the voice speaks, oozing a subtle regional twang. casually, he leans against one side of the doorway, blue eyes sweeping you up and down.

younger than expected, and clean despite the gritty environment he lives in. his blond locks are carefully groomed and swept, and an aroma of musk and cedarwood permeates from him.

"i don't mean to be a bother," you stammer a bit, then motion behind you. the man's demeanor remains unbothered by the intrusion. "my truck is stuck in the mud, and i was wondering if you could get it... unstuck?"

he hollows his cheeks as if taking a few moments to consider your request.

but Graves already decided the moment he saw you. with a click of his tongue, a rumble rises through his chest, "no bother in askin' for help, is there? why didn't you just say so?" a faction of a smile spreads on his lips, easing the tension in your shoulders.

you return the break in tension with a small chuckle, biting back the urge to start twiddling your thumbs. he glances at the truck, "i'll pull her out for you. keys in the ignition for me?"

you nod, and he steps out of his relaxed pose. "i would really appreciate that. thank you, sir."

but instead of stepping out toward the vehicle, he moves to the side and flicks his head. "don't mind waiting inside, do you? 'sides, young lady like you shouldn't be shivering."

you really were helpless, or at least, that's how it felt.

the desire to reject is futile and forgotten. before you knew it, you stepped inside and followed him. the entryway was quaint with only a coat rack and mat, and open to the kitchen. the gray and white tiles were patterned like a checkerboard, blended with natural wood cabinets that matched the original wood everywhere else.

in the middle, a circular dining table with two chairs, brandishing hack marks — some fresh, some old. with a scrape, he pulled out a chair for you, and you settled on it.

rather than asking first, he went straight to the vintage refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher. he reached into the ice bucket and dropped a handful of cubes into two glasses, then tipped the pitcher and filled them with lemonade.

you stopped watching when he turned, instead setting your attention on the decor. it was as average as the exterior; a country kitchen that was slightly rough around the edges. Graves slid the glass in front of you, then set his own on the opposite side, sitting instead of heading straight outside to deal with the truck.

he sighed when he sat down again, holding onto the glass but not sipping from it. for a few moments, there was silence between you; a studying stare making you feel like you were in a fishbowl. swallowing dryly, you raised the glass and took a sip from it.

lemonade, a partial punch of citrus, coaxed by tons of added sugar. you let out a polite mhm and smiled, hoping to let your courtesy break the silence again.

"gets awful lonesome out here, don't it?" the man finally spoke, and you took another gulp to pass the time. "can't say i mind the company. not a lot of tourists in these parts, i guess."

you nodded in agreement, eyes darting toward the ticking clock behind his head, "i'm sure it does." you really should be back on the road by now.

he must've noticed your eagerness, because he gave his knee a slap and sat up, "here i am, talkin' your ear off again. should only take a few minutes if you don't mind waiting here."

his footsteps retreated back down the hall, leaving you in silence except for the ticking, which now sounded louder. you glanced down at the glass and swirled it around, deciding it best to finish your drink off before you left the man's seemingly good graces.

once the front door opened and closed, you took a better look around at the kitchen. the knickknacks along the wall, and the dusty china in one of the cabinets.

further along, you skimmed past the doors leading to the rest of the home. the l-shaped staircase came down to the kitchen, steep and rickety. adjacent, was a door similar to the one in the foyer.

when curiosity got the better of you, you stood up and crept over. pressing your ear against it, you heard no one behind it; not even the drone of a television.

you wrapped a hand around the knob and twisted it, pushing the door open. it led to a sitting room of sorts, or perhaps the only living room in the farmhouse. an old-fashioned wood fireplace in the corner, a brown couch against the wall facing the back windows, and the box TV posed on an end table.

the windows had the same sheer, white curtains as the kitchen, blowing gently from the breeze outside. custom shelves covered the other wall, filled to the brim with outlandish decor.

you first stepped closer to the window, seeing his figure outside. there was your truck, still in the same position you'd left it; the door still cracked, and its tires were embedded in mud. and the man, a distance away and moving toward the red barn in the distance — a more powerful, agile stride than he'd shown with you.

thinking nothing of it, you occupied your boredom with snooping. the shelves were what caught your attention, so that's where you ended up.

standing in front of them, you scanned through every item, growing more unsettled the longer you ogled. first, it was ancestral photos old enough to be in black and white, eerie but not abnormal. then, on the second shelf, the appeared uncanny.

quaint, mason jars and teeth.

fangs from coyotes and bobcats alike, mixed with bloodied molars that only could be pried from human mouths. the sight was akin to a gnarly car wreck, causing your morbid curiosity to overtake your sense of danger.

you glanced out the window again, seeing the barn door cracked open, indicating he was still occupied. crouching down, you examined the lowest shelf. the only clutter visible was VHS tapes, thick books, and small chests and boxes.

you took the first one that caught your eye, undoing the clasps and opening the velvety chest. newspaper clippings and passages alike, and a mini-Bible lay in the mess of words.

shaking your head, you set it aside and grabbed one of the tiny boxes, taking off the lid. your blood flow went icy, and your fingers trembled as you set the lid aside and continued processing.

possessions; watches, necklaces, wedding bands, and choppy strands of all hair types. when you noticed the hair, you gasped and ejected the box from your grip.

they weren't belongings; they were trophies.

the front door creaks from across the house, then slams shut again. you scramble to put the lids back on and pinch your finger in one of the latches, reflexively dropping it. all its contents clatter against the wood floor, compromising your cover.

"find somethin' you like?"

his voice appears behind you, effectively sending you into a startle. graves glances at the mess below you, still maintaining an eerie stillness about him.

frantically shaking your head, you begin to feel sweat cake your hairline. you ball your fists and go clammy, taking steps back, "this is my fault— i shouldn't have let my curiosity get the better of me." he remains untouched by your apprehensive shift, only worsening your instinct to run.

but he doesn't lunge or creep closer; all he does is linger by the shelves.

despite how dry your throat is, you gather saliva and gulp tensely, "i should get going. long trip ahead." that's hopeless; you know he didn't move the truck. you would've heard an engine. how far could you make it on foot?

your words come out sluggishly as if your brain is working at half speed. you peer down, stepping around every morbid souvenir — though all you do is stumble, rather than make any distance.

"won't be necessary, sweetheart." his voice echoes, stance unchanging while he observes your struggle.

you grasp at one of the walls, lids drooping as your feet drag. the lemonade he never once put his mouth on, laced with some sort of sedative. it all hit you too late; too late to retch it up or bolt down the hall ahead of him.

eventually, he steps closer, watching as you make an 'attempt' to swat him away. all you do is whack your hand at the air, thoroughly wasting more of your dwindling energy. instead of words, all that comes out are slurs or whimpers of intense turmoil.

your view of the doorway tilts and twists, turning blurred and doubled the further you stagger. a swirl of nausea erupts in your stomach, causing your knees to buckle. your head collides with the edge of the coffee table, leaving you stunned.

as the tranquilizer pumps through you, the drowsiness is indomitable. you roll onto your back and cough, lying at his feet. with the last of your remaining lucidity, you tug on his jean leg, as if in one last ditch effort to get to your feet again.

despite his opportunity to kick away your pleas, Graves stands idle, his neck craned down to watch every moment of it, a sick rendition of his favorite hobby. the most noticeable sensation — the tender skin of your temple throbs from the impact, until any and all discomfort fades away.

eyelids weighed with bricks flutter shut, squirming limbs cease, and the heave of your chest slows into gentle waves of slumber.

"atta' girl."

‧˚₊ divider cred. - cafekitsune ‧₊˚⊹

#what's the verdict fellas #i'm iffy about my dark writing #slasher!graves #phillip graves #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves cod #shadow company #phillip graves x you #graves x reader #philip graves x reader #graves x you #mw2 #call of duty #task force 141 #mw2 fanfic

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toasttt11 · 3 months

Text

one day

clinging to each other

Luke pouted from his spot on the bed watching Grey move around their room grabbing everything she needs to leave for her triple header.

“Are you sure have to go?” Luke whined dramatically as he pouted at his girlfriend.

“Lu baby you have an almost two week road trip too, i’ll be back before for you know.” Grey smiled at her boyfriend while packing her suitcase.

“Aren’t you going to miss me?” Luke crossed his arms still pouting at her.

Grey fondly rolled her eyes standing up from her suitcase and walking over to Luke and laying on top of him, “Of course i’m gonna miss you.”

Luke wrapped his arms around her tightly not wanting to let her go knowing he’s going to miss her like crazy.

“One day we won’t always be miles apart.” Grey whispered hopeful that one day they won’t have to be in diffent county’s most of the time for their careers.

“One day.” Luke promised kissing the top of her head knowing that one day it would be true if she said yes to the ring that’s been in a box, he has hidden in his sock draw since he bought it the day he got his first check from the NHL.

#toasts300celly!#grey thompson au #gt6 #nhl x reader #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes #quinn hughes x reader #luke hughes #quinn hughes #jh86 #luke hughes x reader #formula one x you #formula one x reader #lando norris x reader #red bull f1 #red bull racing

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the-soliloquies-of-sadists · 1 year

Text

#363

“Hey Jimmy. Why don’t you come down off the porch and come over here. We need to have a talk. I see that you have moved back home since your daddy died last summer. Starting to fix things up around here. That’s good. Are you planning on selling or are you going to stick around?... Don’t know? Well your answer will dictate what kind of talk we are going to have…. I recently found out that you are one of those nasty queer boys. I need to know are you going to sell and head back to city life and not coming back? Or, are you going to stay here and be the only queer boy in the county?... What’s it going to be?...

“Oh don’t lie to me and protest that you ain’t no sperm burper. I’ve known it for about ten years.

“Don’t you remember our camping trip? It was your dad, me, and a bunch of us Army vets. Some of us brought sons; we went up to Long Lake to fish. I went alone. Remember that you, me, and you daddy shared a tent? I remember all the men drank heavy one night, and your daddy passed out snoring next to us. I drifted off to sleep only to be woken up by your mouth on my cock. And I pretended to be asleep, but you gave me one hell of a blow job. I remember that night quite well.

“You aren’t the first fag boy I have had swing on it. I’ve been using fags ever since being in the Army. They are less trouble and more obedient than picking up some skank whore.

“So, are you staying or moving back to the city?... Oh, you haven’t decided. Ah. Got it. Let me complicate that decision for you.

“I’ve been going into the city every now and then to have fun. Last weekend I was just turned on to this private sex party called ‘Dads and Fags’ or something like that. You can drop the shocked look. Oh, yeah, I saw my good bud Frank padlock a hood with a blindfold on you before securing you in the sling. You were there all night taking cock after cock. I was one of the first men to dump my load in you. You didn’t even know the cock you sucked many years ago was pumping and dumping a load into you.

“Again, are you sticking around or are you moving back to the city?... Well, your lack of saying anything tells me everything. I will decide for you. You are going to stay here. I need a fag to use on a regular basis. In fact, get the fuck naked and get over here.

“I’m not shitting you faggot! Get naked and over here now!

“…Face my cruiser…. These cuffs ain’t coming off for a while. Now get on your knees. Keep your mouth closed. I want my piss to cover you…. Fuck yes. You belong on your knees.

“Let me tell you how this is going to be. I am marking my territory. I own your sorry ass. You are going to continue straightening this place up. I want to turn your home into a place to fuck. You know I only live a couple miles down the highway. I plan on stopping here when I get off my shift. I want to come here and unwind. Clean out the master bedroom. We’ll turn that into the fuck room with a sling, fuck bench, St. Andrew’s Cross, and a rimseat. I want you here waiting for me hooded. You are to blindfold yourself before I walk in. You’ll be treated like you were at the sex party, as a fuck animal.

“Now get up and bend over my cruiser. I sure hope you are cleaned out, for your sake. Any fag mud will be cleaned off in your mouth afterwards. And there will be no complaints. Spread your legs a little bit.

“Scream boy, I’m going right to the root. There’s no reason for me to pause for you to adjust. Urgh! Your cunt is a gaping hole. No resistance. Good. We’ll work on tightening you up a bit. Fuck does your cunt feel good!

“I’m going to control just about everything in your life. That’s what I do. My last fag boy ran away because he couldn’t handle that control. But I know you will. I’ve seen how you submit to men, anonymous men. You need my control. I control everything in my life. My wife, my job, my farm, and my faggots.

“My control will extend to these holes of yours. I will expect you to accommodate any cock I want in them. Some of the Deputies will want a piece. Naturally you will need to be blindfolded. They require anonymity in order to beat and rape you. This will happen about once a week.

“I will still take you to sex parties like that Dads and Fags from last week. I want you installed to take cock after cock. I want your cunt,… this cunt,… no,… my cunt to be full of the loads of dozens of men. I want you to be gaped so much that you can’t control those loads oozing out and running down your legs. Or if you are secured in the sling, we’ll have a drip pan under you so that cum stew is collected and deposited in your toilet mouth.

“What do you say faggot? Are you regretting my decision for you to stay here? Don’t answer, you know there is only one answer; it’s the one I let you have….

“Oh fuck. I’m getting close. This is what your life is going to be. You are just two holes for me to use and share. I’ll get you set up to work from home here. No one will step foot on this property unless they are to use you. Oh fuck, here I cum. Here I goddamned cum.

“Ahhh ahhh fuck! Goddamn! I got me a good cunt this time…. Clamp down if you can when I pull out.

“Boy that’s the kind of fucking you can expect going forward. You are to be ready for it when I get off work, make sure your cunt is cleaned for me…

“Damn boy! I didn’t need to remind you to clean me off. You just moved into place. That’s a good boy. Your tongue is really going to town on it.

“Get up, let me take those cuffs off. Damn, you are rock hard. Boy I don’t care if you jack off and cum. But should you cum, you will always perform like you haven’t ejaculated in months. Any sense that you are not living up to your primary role will be dealt with in the most brutal fashion. Let’s go into your house….

“…You’re thanking me? Boy you really do want this life? You better believe I’m gonna give it to you. Let’s get that hood locked on and you blind folded. I have a few calls to make.

“A few of my buds will be glad to hear that I have a new cunt for them to use. They were disappointed when I had to sell my last boy for trying to run away. I’ll save that story for another time.

“Fuck, my load is running down your thigh. Let it do its thing. Trust me, that’s going to happen on a daily basis.”

366 notes · View notes

fortheloveofwonderland · 3 months

Text

Midnight | Chapter 16 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - you travel to South Dakota with Spencer for his next target which leads to a surprising confession of feelings. The BAU make strides in discovering your whereabouts.

Pairing - unsub! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | very eventual happy ending

Warnings - Spencer is trying, drinking, swearing, murder, drink driving, penetrative sex, unprotected sex.

WC - 4.9k

Chapter 16 - Dangerous

Hal’s Used Car Lot, located just outside of Roanoke and only three and a half miles from where the burnt out Volvo was found, was the fourth place of its kind Luke Alvez and Matt Simmons had visited that morning.

It was late when Penelope had dropped the information on them so they’d spent last night compiling lists and calling hospitals which didn’t yield anything. First thing this morning Emily sent Luke and Matt down towards Roanoke to check out several car dealerships and rental places.

JJ and Rossi’s trip out to the Franklin County crime lab hadn’t shed any more light on the situation. No usable evidence was found in the car, all they’d ascertained was that petrol had been used as an accelerant and the crime scene techs had concluded it was arson and not an accidental fire.

Luke stretched his back and rolled his shoulders as he exited the car again, all this driving around aching his muscles. Matt didn’t seem phased as he started across the lot, Luke following behind.

It wasn’t hard to work out who they needed to speak to, the owner Hal Mitchum plastered his face across all the billboards around the lot and it wasn’t like it was a particularly nice face. He was a huge man, at least six six and almost as wide, his broad shoulders barely contained in the suit jacket he wore.

Luke and Matt exchanged a look as they headed to where he was schmoozing a customer on the far side of the lot, throwing out his charm in the hopes of a sale. He looked up at them as they approached, the way his brow furrowed told them he wasn’t pleased about being disturbed.

“Hal Mitchum?” Matt spoke as they neared him.

“Give me a minute fellas, I’m already with a customer.” He smiled at them, a slightly smarmy smile.

“Not customers,” Luke retrieved his credentials. “SSA’s Luke Alvez and Matt Simmons with the FBI.”

Hal straightened up and scrutinised them for a moment or two, clearly perturbed by their presence. He turned to the lady he’d been showcasing one of his cars to and smiled at her.

“Why don’t you head inside and one of my guys can give you some more information on this little puppy. I’ll be right there.” He patted her shoulder and she nodded happily, albeit slightly confused, before heading towards the building.

Hal stepped out from behind the car and folded his thick arms over his chest, eyebrow cocked at the two agents.

“What can I help you with?”

“We’re investigating a possible missing person. We have reason to believe he may have purchased a used car from you in the last couple of weeks.” Matt began.

“He would have paid cash, probably didn’t look around much, he would have been happy with something cheap and reliable. He didn’t have another vehicle to trade.” Luke continued.

“Boys,” Hal clucked. “This here is one of the busiest used car dealerships in Franklin County. You gotta be more specific.”

Luke and Matt exchanged a look and Luke pulled out his phone and brought up a photograph of Spencer, turning the display towards Hal.

“He look familiar to you?” Luke asked, holding his breath while Hal inspected the photo with a furrowed brow.

“You know what, I think he does.” He nodded slowly. “Come inside, I’ll see if I can find his paperwork.”

Luke felt a small weight lift from his shoulders as he and Matt hurriedly followed Hal across the lot. He led them to his office and slid in behind the desk. Luke and Matt took a seat while he rifled through a filing cabinet. Several long minutes passed before he settled on a particular file which he pushed across the desk to the SSA’s.

“Here you go, Andrew Burnett. Brought a little blue Nissan.”

Luke picked up the papers and Matt glanced at it over his shoulder. He looked at the copy of the driver’s licence with a concerned frown. The photograph was most definitely Spencer, however the name was wrong and the licence was issued in the state of Colorado. He looked up at Matt who was frowning too.

“Wasn’t there a couple who checked into Heartland with that name?” Matt lowered his voice but of course Hal could still hear.

“Yeah, Andrew and Rose Burnett.” Luke nodded.

“Oh she was a sweetheart.” Hal spoke up and they both turned to look at him.

“Excuse me?” Matt questioned.

“His wife, Rose. She was a nervous little thing but she had a kind smile.” Hal nodded wistfully.

Luke retrieved his phone again and pulled up your picture which he showed to Hal.

“Was this her?”

“Yeah that’s her.”

“You’re sure?”

“I never forget a pretty face.” Hal gave them that smarmy smile.

“Any idea where they were heading?” Matt asked him now.

“No idea, but he kept saying he needed a car that would do a lot of miles. The Nissan was old but it had been well maintained. It was cheap and reliable, just like he wanted.” Hal leant back in his chair.

“And Rose, did she have any say in it? What was her involvement?” Luke was more keen to get to the bottom of where you fit into all of this.

“She didn’t talk much. You know now I think about it, she seemed like she didn’t want to be here. Kept checking the time, hurrying her husband along. Is he abusive?” Hal raised an eyebrow at the agents and Matt and Luke briefly exchanged a look.

“Why would you say that?” Matt’s brows furrowed.

“I don’t know, she just seemed…scared I guess, followed him around like a stray dog being promised food. Seen it before in abusive relationships.” He shrugged. “You want me to make you a copy of those?”

Ten minutes later Luke and Matt were hopping back into Luke’s SUV with copies of the paperwork and driver’s licence. Luke started the engine but didn’t drive away.

“None of this makes any sense.” Matt was still staring at the licence that bore Spencer’s image. “Fake names, Colorado licences, a burnt out car?”

“If he’d set the fire himself, theoretically, why would he do that?” Luke turned in his seat to look at Matt.

“Because he has something to hide.”

“So pair that with the fake names and licences and the call I got from Y/N from the middle of nowhere and the fact that she’s been calling me from a burner phone. If it weren’t Y/N and Spencer we were talking about, what would you think?” Luke ran his hand over the back of his neck as he spoke.

Matt exhaled, chewing on his bottom lip and looking between the paperwork and Luke.

“I would think they were on the run. I would think these are two people who have committed a crime and are trying to get the hell out of dodge.” Matt admitted with a shake of his head. “We’ve gotta be wrong.”

“I want us to be wrong.” Luke agreed. “But my gut has been telling me since day one that something was off, that there must be something big at play here. I’m really scared that Y/N and Spencer have done something irreparably stupid.”

“We should get back and tell the team what we found.” Matt exhaled again, pulling on his seatbelt.

Luke did the same before putting the car in drive and peeling out of the lot. He did not have a good feeling about this, but unbeknownst to him, it would only get a whole lot worse.

***

When you awoke the next morning, you were alone in bed and honestly you weren’t surprised. Spencer had been the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him last night and you knew from experience that he would most likely have put his walls back up even higher than before. You were prepared for the cold shoulder, maybe even a fight. You at least hoped you could get some coffee in your system first.

Still dressed in yesterday's clothes which you’d slept in, you padded down the stairs towards the kitchen. As you reached the bottom of the steps the smells of strong coffee and sweet syrup and smokey bacon wafted your way through the partially open kitchen door. You rubbed your eyes as you continued forward and tentatively entered the kitchen.

Spencer was standing on the other side of the island, unboxing an array of hot and fresh food on the counter. He glanced up at you and offered you no more than a meagre half-smile before continuing his task.

“McGill’s does take out.” He shrugged. “Figured it would be better than anything I could cook.”

You moved closer, sliding into one of the bar stools and smiling to yourself as you picked up one of the take out coffee cups.

“I also had no idea what you’d want to eat so I pretty much got everything.” He focused on laying out the food and wouldn’t look at you again.

“That was really kind of you.” You dared to speak, taking a sip of the glorious McGill’s coffee.

“S’ok. We don’t need to make a big deal out of it. I was hungry too.” He shrugged, sitting in the chair next to you and started piling food on his plate.

You knew it was a peace offering of sorts. Spencer didn’t have the words to apologise for now he’d been treating you and of course he knew one breakfast wasn’t simply enough but he hoped it was a start.

You ate in silence and Spencer wouldn’t look at you and when he was finished he was quickly slipping out of the chair again. He smoothed out his shirt and swallowed thickly when he finally looked across at you.

“I’ve gotta go up to South Dakota. It’s a really long drive so I was gonna head out soon and I probably won’t be back until tomorrow.” He awkwardly scuffed the toe of his converse on the wooden floor.

“Oh, sure.” You tried not to sound as downtrodden as you felt.

“I mean, I guess you can come. If you want to. Don’t feel like you have to, if you have plans with whatshisname or whatever. It’s your call.” He looked the picture of nerves and you thought it was extremely cute. It was amazing how one small gesture always managed to erase all the bad he'd done.

It probably made you an idiot but you would cling to these moments when you caught a glimpse of the old Spencer as much as you could.

“I don’t think I’m gonna be seeing too much of whatshisname anymore, so I have a free day.” You shrugged, trying to hide the smile from your lips.

“Ok. Cool.” He nodded. “We need to leave in the next half hour so, uh, yeah.”

“Ok.” Your lip involuntarily turned up at the corner as Spencer started backing away.

“Ok. I’m just gonna…” he trailed off, pointing over his shoulder and then he walked into one of the stools. He scrambled to set it right before it fell over and you saw a light blush spread to his cheeks. He shook his head, casting his eyes at the floor, no longer able to look at you. “I, uh, got you some stuff, it's on the couch.”

“Some stuff?” You frowned, getting to your feet as he made it to the door.

“Again, don’t make a big deal out of it, I’m just sick of hearing about you being cold.” With that he slipped through the door and disappeared.

You frowned to yourself as you headed to the living room, knowing you had not once mentioned to Spencer how cold you’d been. You always had a feeling he could read your mind though. On the couch was a large brown paper bag with the Milky Way logo on the side. Your excitement took over and you were quickly diving inside.

You found two large wool knit sweaters, one in a pastel pink colour and another in violet, Spencer’s favourite colour. There was a pair of thick knitted gloves, a scarf that was about four foot long and beanie hat all with matching patterns of stars and moons stitched into them. But that wasn’t all.

At the bottom of the bag sat a small yellow jewellery box which you plucked out with a shaking hand. You ran your fingers over the lid a few times before daring to open it. Nestled inside on a little velvet cushion was a handmade necklace of a rose gold heart hanging on a thin chain. Picking it up from the box and turning it over in your hand, you soon found the etching on the back of the heart.

It was a little crudely done, clearly not something Milky Way usually offered, but you imagined Spencer had been insistent on having them engrave it for him and had probably paid a lot for the privilege. It was just three simple words but words that had to mean so much to you.

Partners in Crime.

Your heart swelled as you held the necklace in your hand, a token of Spencer’s feelings towards you. It meant more to you than he would ever know. You couldn’t wait to put it on and show him that you felt the same. You were a little lost in the gift, and didn’t notice you were being watched until Spencer cleared his throat, startling you out of a reverie.

“Can you stop fawning and get ready now please? We really need to go soon.” He spoke from the doorway.

“Spencer,” you looked up at him, eyes full of tears. “This is so-”

“Don’t,” he shook his head. “It was nothing. Please don’t make it into a thing.”

“Fine.” You rolled your eyes, putting the necklace back in its box. “Can I at least say thank you?”

“You’re welcome.” He muttered under his breath, turning away from you. “Now seriously, hurry up or I will leave without you.”

You watched him leave again in amusement. You felt like maybe you and Spencer had built a bridge, like this could be the start of a whole new chapter for the two of you. Hopefully he didn’t prove you wrong again. But maybe you shouldn’t hold your breath.

***

Rapid City, South Dakota was an exhausting ten hour drive from Crested Butte. But Spencer didn’t seem all that phased by it, in fact he’d seemed more rattled when you’d joined him at the car wearing the necklace he’d gifted you.

Had he expected you not to wear it? Why would he buy it if he thought you wouldn’t? It had clearly flustered him though and he’d averted his eyes and quickly hopped in the car.

Talk had been minimal on the drive. He’d told you about his target, serial murder Jason Durand and the crimes which cops couldn’t pin on him. He’d stopped for gas once and brought you back a burger from the grubby roadside van nearby which you ate as he continued the drive.

You were about an hour outside of Rapid City when he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, landing on the necklace he’d bestowed upon you.

“You didn’t have to wear it, you know.” He spoke quietly, like he didn’t want you to hear him.

“Why wouldn’t I wear it? You brought it for me, presumably for the purpose of me wearing it.” You couldn’t contain your smirk.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “If you didn’t like it or thought it was corny or something.”

“It’s not corny.” You smiled at his obvious nerves. “And I love it.”

“Right, good. That’s good.” He nodded. “But if you don’t want to wear it…”

“If I don’t want to wear it, I won’t.” You finished his sentence for him.

“Good.” He focused back on the road but it was only a few minutes before he spoke again. “What did you mean when you said you don’t think you’ll be seeing too much of mountain man anymore?”

“We’re, uh, it wouldn’t have worked out.” You fiddled with your hands in your lap.

“Did you sleep with him?” He asked, his jaw tightening.

“Yes.” You shrugged. “But you slept with Mary.”

“I did.” He sucked in a deep breath. “But I don’t want to again.”

You narrowed your eyes on the side of his face, trying to work out the things he wasn’t saying but he always was so hard to read.

“Spence, if you have something to say, just say it. I can’t read your mind.”

He clutched the wheel more firmly, his back straightening in his chair as he tried to get his words in order in his head.

“I don’t want her or anyone else. So maybe we can just agree that we won’t…sleep with other people anymore.” He was more nervous than you’d ever heard him but after everything he’d put you through you weren’t letting him off so lightly.

“I’m not sure I understand.” You lied, a smirk tugging at your lips.

“Goddammit,” he growled under his breath.

Suddenly he was pulling the car to the side of the interstate and slamming on the brakes, causing you to jerk forward in your chair. He turned to look at you, eyes wide.

“Spencer?” You chewed on your lip, your stomach churning.

“I only want you, ok?” He spat out. “I don’t want us to keep playing these stupid games. If you’re going to wear my ring, my necklace, then you’re mine and no one else’s.”

“Spencer…” you furrowed your brows and he sighed loudly and over dramatically.

“I love you, is that what you want to hear?” He spoke so fast as though he didn’t want you to understand him. “I love you and I think you love me too and we should…be together.”

He looked so frightfully unsure of himself, so much the Spencer you’d known. It made your heart double in size and all the bad things he’d done just slipped away.

“Ok.” You nodded.

“Ok?” He frowned.

“Ok. I don’t want anyone else but you either. I’m yours, Spence. Always have been.” You offered him a meek shrug.

“Ok.” He nodded, turning back to the wheel. “Good. Ok.”

He was soon pulling back onto the road and continued driving without saying another word. You smiled to yourself as you toyed with your necklace.

Maybe you shouldn’t be in love with Spencer, shouldn’t have let him off so easily. Love does make people do crazy things, but following Spencer to the ends of the earth was probably one of the craziest.

***

The twenty four hours that followed were an adrenaline and scotch fuelled blur. The death of Jason Durand had been fast and bloody, and when you’d sliced his throat and felt the hot, sticky substance spurt on your skin, you’d had the biggest grin on your face. Looking up at Spencer, he’d been smiling too.

“That was the hottest thing in the whole world.” He praised you and managed to refrain from jumping your bones in the puddle of Durand’s blood.

You cleaned up, got his body in the trunk and left the house how you’d found it before jumping back in the Nissan in your blood soaked clothes. You found an almost full bottle of scotch on the backseat and turned the radio right up, tilting your chair back and sipping from the bottle as the euphoria consumed you.

Spencer drove at a slightly manic pace, reaching over and taking the bottle from you before having a hefty sip. He drove for no more than twenty minutes along a deserted strip of road west of Rapid City before he was pulling the car to a stop on the grassy verge. When he turned to look at you, his eyes were frantic, a smile on his lips larger than you’d seen on him in a really long time.

He swigged from the bottle again before using his free hand to undo his seatbelt, then yours and then grabbed you by your wrist and pulled you over the centre console and into his lap. His fingers toyed with the gold heart around your neck as you took the bottle from him and sipped it. His hand then trailed down over your stained shirt and you felt him quickly grow hard.

“I can’t wait any longer. I need you.” He bucked against you.

“Then have me.” You shrugged, taking another sip of the scotch.

No sooner had you swallowed, Spencer was kissing you, gripping the back of your neck to keep you close. His other hand was already working on the buttons on your jeans and helped you out of them which was no easy feat in the small car.

You continued to kiss him while helping him free his erection. His fingers edged your panties aside before running between your legs. He hissed when he felt how wet you were already. He moved his thumb to your clit and started rubbing but you were shaking your head, moving to grip the base of his cock and move it between your legs.

“Can’t wait.” You panted against his lips. “Need to feel you.”

Spencer didn’t complain as you started lowering yourself on his member, feeling himself disappear inside of you inch by inch. His head rolled back against the headrest and he moaned deeply once he bottomed out.

You gripped his shoulders and used them as leverage to start moving up and down. The radio was still blaring, masking your moans and it was only seconds before the windows of the car steamed up with your heavy breaths.

Spencer groped your breasts through your shirt soaked in blood as you rode him, keeping eye contact with him as you did so. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been this turned on in his life, he’d missed this, missed you. Mary didn’t hold a candle to you and the way you felt.

He knew as he felt you clenching around him that he never wanted to be with another woman as long as lived. Your rings might be fake, but the symbolism was real. He loved you as though you were his wife and he would until his dying day. You were his everything. Nothing could mess with the two of you, nothing could ever bring you down.

Your grip on his shoulders tightened and he knew you were close. He started rocking his hips up to meet you, desperate for you to reach the peak of pleasure.

You screamed his name into the void as you fell over the edge, practically crumpling in his arms. He held you steady while he continued to thrust up into you until he spilled his seed inside of you.

You stayed like this for a while, Spencer still inside you while you panted against his shoulder. He held you gently, almost lovingly while you caught your breath. After a while he took hold of your jaw and tugged you back to look at him.

“Partners in crime.” He mumbled with a smile.

“Partners in crime. Forever.” You nodded in agreement.

What you didn’t know at the time was that after tonight the two of you really would be bound together forever. That night in a haze of adrenaline brought on from your latest kill, in the front seat of that little Nissan, you and Spencer had created something that would tie you to each other forever. But it would be a while before you knew what happened that night, before you discovered the life you had created on the side of that road.

Spencer kissed you softly before helping you back into your seat. You got back into your jeans while he tucked himself away, taking another sip of the scotch before starting the engine and continuing on his way.

He continued for another half hour before he pulled into the parking lot of the Gold Country Inn in the aptly named Deadwood. Being that he wasn’t covered in blood like you, he secured a room for the two of you for the night.

You showered together, the dead body of Jason Durand still in the trunk of the Nissan for disposal tomorrow. You drank well into the night, exchanging sexual favours until the sun came up.

In the morning you drove out to Nebraska National Forest where he dug a grave and buried your kill before starting the five and a half hundred mile drive back to Crested Butte. Spencer held your hand for the entire drive. And for the first time since you left DC some two weeks ago, you felt at peace, like you’d finally found where you were always meant to be.

It was a classic case of folie à deux, a delusion shared by two people in close association. You’d started to believe what you were doing was justified, that you weren’t doing anything wrong. Spencer’s unwavering faith in his cause had rubbed off on you and there was no going back.

You were Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow, Myra Hindley and Ian Brady, Rosemary and Fred West. You’d go down in history like those who came before you, right by his side.

You’d had a taste and you’d never be the same. Spencer had awoken a dangerous side of you that could no longer be contained. You felt untouchable.

But the one thing all those couples had in common was that they got caught, and you were stupid in thinking that you and Spencer could be any different. Because as the two of you drove back towards your new home, back at Quantico, Penelope Garcia had made a discovery.

She ran down the hall on her too high heels, almost tripping multiple times in her rush to find the team. She shoved open the bullpen door, causing it to swing on its hinges and everyone looked up at her as she fought to catch her breath.

“What’s wrong?” JJ jumped up from her desk and ran to her side. “What have you found?”

“I…I…” she panted, trying to control her breathing. “I put out the APB on the blue Nissan Spencer brought from Hal’s.”

Luke was on his feet, coming closer to Garcia with a frown on his face.

“And?” He encouraged her.

“It’s been spotted a few times here and there but since last weekend it has mostly been in one place. It comes and goes but it’s been picked up on the same camera multiple times.” Her eyes were wide, partly through excitement and partly through fear.

“Where, Garcia?” Rossi was on his feet now too.

“A place called Elk Avenue in the tiny little mountain town of Crested Butte, Colorado.” She spat out.

The team all exchanged glances with one another, Emily who was standing in her office doorway included. It would make sense given the Colorado licence Spencer had used to buy the car but why that particular town?

“We need to check it out.” JJ spoke on behalf of everyone, but looking at Emily.

“We can’t all go, we have cases.” Emily shook her head, looking amongst her team and trying to make a quick decision. Her eyes stayed on Luke longer than the rest while she sighed.

“Alvez?” She cocked her eyebrow at him.

“Yeah?”

“First thing tomorrow, wheels up.” She nodded at him before turning on her heels and storming back into her office.

You and Spencer had no idea the wheels that were currently in motion, like a train off its tracks hurtling towards you and there was no way to slow it down or to move out of its way.

But you wouldn’t go down without a fight, no matter what happened. The BAU couldn’t stop you, not when you’d woken up feeling this dangerous.

This is really my night, gonna take it right now,

Yeah, I'm feelin' like a Mack truck goin' downhill.

The people on the sidelines screaming "Slow down",

But you can't kill my vibe.

I'm a head case, and I'm leading the parade,

Rounding up the maniacs, let 'em out to play.

Once you get a taste, no, you'll never be the same

Bring the creatures to life.

My hand out the window just riding the wave,

My cares in the mirror just fading away.

Yeah, I'm superhuman, don't need to be saved,

Don't press your luck, I woke up feelin' dangerous.

Woke up feelin' dangerous.

(Ba-da-da, da).

Woke up feelin'.

This one's for the misfits,

And all the people on your shit list.

And now we're blowing you a big kiss,

'Cause we don't need you now.

I'm the little thorn hangin' outta your side,

You're digging me a grave 'cause you wish I'd just die.

Turn me to a ghost, now I'm flyin' too high,

And you can't kill my vibe.

My hand out the window just riding the wave,

My cares in the mirror just fading away.

Yeah, I'm superhuman, don't need to be saved,

Don't press your luck, I woke up feelin' dangerous.

Woke up feelin' dangerous.

(Ba-da-da, da).

Woke up feelin'.

They can't mess with us,

We woke up feeling dangerous.

They can't mess with us,

We woke up feeling dangerous.

They can't mess with us,

We woke up feeling dangerous.

They can't mess with us,

We woke up feeling dangerous.

This is really my night, gonna take it right now,

Yeah, I'm feelin' like a Mack truck goin' downhill.

All the people on the sidelines screaming "Slow down",

But you can't kill my vibe.

@bubblebuttwade @jay-2s-world @daddy-dotcom

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #unsub spencer reid #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

98 notes · View notes

idolatrybarbie · 6 months

Text

pairing: marcus pike x fem!reader

word count & rating: 5.4k | explicit - 18+ minor free zone!

summary: it's not stalking if it's a casual curiosity. you would never do anything...you're just nosey. lonely, too, maybe. but that isn't your fault. yes—this is fine. only stalking if he notices. so what exactly happens when he does?

warnings: social isolation, touch starvation, marcus pike is a virgin (there is no virgin-shaming here - do not fear), alcohol, themes of alienation, allusions to failed relationships, everyone in this story is very normal, smut - kissing, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, handjob, protected penetrative vaginal sex(!!!), premature ejaculation, body worship (with mouth), exhibitionism, implied male masturbation, vaginal fingering, very enthusiastic oral sex (f receiving), cum eating, cuddling.

notes: i was depressed and am sick (again) but yesterday was a really good day, so you get a fic. @wannab-urs wanted to see virgin marcus - here he is. this slowly and subtly became a little more kinky than i intended it to lol? my own cat makes an appearance and yes he is really that old. this is also my 400th post to this blog. woohoo, enjoy! :)

He’s your neighbour. Kind of cute. Okay, lie—very cute. You don’t have much on him otherwise. He moved in about three months ago, right at summer’s end. At first, you thought he was a student. You see him around the house and the neighbourhood during weekdays, so that rules out a college schedule.

He likes to read books in the park. Thick novels with colourful covers and lengthy titles. You would think that he’s showing off, peacocking with the way that he’s got a new book in his hands every week. But no, the reading isn’t for show. He moulds them to his liking, dogears the pages and folds over paperbacks; things someone doesn’t do when they’ve got a book in their hands as a lure, a line.

Surprisingly, he seems to be single. You aren’t exactly sure why. There’s no short supply of wealthy single moms in the area, and the man himself is truly gorgeous. Maybe he’s recently divorced, or gay. Maybe it’s his mom’s old house and she’s passed, and he’s only here to settle things up before skipping town again.

You find yourself watching his windows at night, never able to catch a glimpse of him. The house glows orange with the lights still on inside—a welcoming lighthouse in the cold and murky sea of suburbia. When you start thinking like that, watching his house for more than too long, you send yourself to bed. The very last thing you want to be is the obsessed stalker across the street.

A part of you can’t help it. Your other neighbours, despite barely knowing them, don’t seem to like you very much. You have a feeling a certain washing-your-car-in-a-bikini-top incident at the end of this year’s boiling hot August might have something to do with it. With no friends to speak of in this cookie cutter county, you find yourself lonely. When you don’t think about it too hard, that’s justification enough.

This morning, you wake up before the sun. Sparing your eyes the bright glare of house lights, you use a near-dead flashlight to see down the hall. The cat in your care this week lives on a strict schedule. At fourteen human years—eighty in feline—Bender has grown accustomed to routine: breakfast at six-thirty, talk television at eight. Later mornings to early afternoons are a little less structured, leaving him to wander the house or settle in for a nap. Then he eats again at four, followed up by water and a monitored trip to the litter box. After that, he usually sits on the cushioned back of your couch to watch movies with you.

His owner is away in Florida with her grand kids. She’s been leaving him with you for the past six months whenever she needs time away from Virginia to let loose and explore. Bender isn’t really my cat, she’d told you the first time, but her daughter is in New York for school and couldn’t take him this year. You secretly hope that she never does. He’s excellent company.

Professional pet-sitting hadn’t ever been a career that you’d really considered. You’re still not sure if this is a forever thing or a temporary gig to pay the bills. Really, you’d like to put your degree to use in some capacity. But after being laid off so abruptly…well, you aren’t itching to get back out into the workforce quite yet. Especially not when sweet older women pay you a hundred dollars a day to revel in the company of cuddly creatures.

They aren’t all easy like the old man. Charlie, the St. Bernard you sat last month, is clingier than any ex you’ve ever had. The Fogelmans’ Dalmatian is nice to have for a day or two, but thirty minute runs twice each morning go from exhausting to borderline impossible by day three. Animals are exhausting. When you aren’t sitting, you’re sleeping.

Peeling back the tin lid on a can of wet food, you can already hear the light tap of Bender’s small paws on the floor. He joins you in the kitchen, waiting as he watches you spoon half of the can’s contents onto a dessert plate. You soften it, making it easier to chew before you slide the food over to him. He always takes a comically big first bite.

“If only they could all be like you, huh?”

Bender doesn’t answer, of course. He’s a cat.

Good Morning America rambles away on your flat-screen. You’re waiting for Bender’s owner, his travel carrier already baited with treats. The unopened food cans and his toys are packed away in a grocery bag by the door. When Anne-Marie sends you a text that she’s in the neighbourhood, you gently lead the cat into the carrier. The grated door clinks shut behind him.

Poking a finger through the slats, Bender meets you with his paw.

“Come visit me soon, alright?” you ask. “Maybe your mom can take a long trip to Canada or something.”

Anne-Marie doesn’t have to knock for you to know she’s there, her short shadow visible through the frosted glass beside the door. You stand and turn to open it, greeting her with a smile. She asks after you and tells you about her flight in.

“I hope he’s been a good boy,” she says.

“An angel, as usual,” you reply.

“He’s a little bit of a grump sometimes.”

“Perfectly fine with me. Bender’s always welcome back here.”

Anne-Marie takes the bag of food and toys first, tossing it into the front passenger seat before returning for the carrier. Handing it over, you watch as she walks down the steps and loads him into the backseat of her SUV. She buckles Bender’s glorified plastic box securely in the back, getting in herself. Anne-Marie waves at you from behind the wheel. You wave back.

Watching the vehicle pull away with your furry friend in tow, you see your neighbour’s house for the first time today. The weather is cooling off as winter grows closer. You don’t see him out much anymore, except when he gets home from who-knows-where. Even then, it’s only a glimpse of his short walk to the front door. Today, he’s sitting on his porch. With a fleece sweater zipped to his chin and a vest hugging his torso, you watch as pulls on a pair of muddy boots.

Cold air breezes past you, the draft pulling you back to reality. Just as you’re about to close the door, he peers up. And looks…directly at you. Then your neighbour smiles in acknowledgment.

Making eye contact for a second too long, you shut the door quickly. Leaning against the surface, you replay the last thirty seconds in your head. The car pulled away, he was sat there…he pulled on his boots and saw—

Three sharp knocks land on the other side of your door. You’re too much of an optimist, hoping it’s Anne-Marie again. Glancing at the glass from here, you find the realistic answer. It’s him, up close and personal this time—for the first time. Suddenly, you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

He knocks once again, clearly waiting. There’s nowhere else for you to go. The man is standing at the only reasonable exit point. Caving, you take a breath and open the door.

The first thing you notice is his smell. Earthy-sweetness lingers with him as the familiar stranger smiles at you. Again.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hello,” you return. “…Can I help you?”

“I figured that I’ve lived across the street for a while but never introduced myself,” the man says. He holds out a hand and you take it, his broad palm warming yours. “I’m Marcus.”

You tell him your name, still shaking his hand. When you let go, the smile falters.

“So Marcus, what can I do for you?”

“Well, I was wondering if I could borrow a cup of sugar,” he says.

You glance around the doorway, unsure how to respond. “Um—”

“I’m joking.”

“Oh,” you nod. Shifting your weight from right to left, the tiniest of squeaker toys lands under your foot.

“You've got a dog, right?”

“Sort of,” you say. “I pet-sit sometimes. They aren’t really mine.”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to bring ‘em out for a walk, but I guess—”

“I could still go for a walk,” you say, the words rushing out.

The smile returns to Marcus’ face, strong as ever as he nods. “Sure. Great.”

“Just give me one second.”

You backtrack into the front hall, pulling open your coat closet for a jacket and your shoes. It only takes a minute before you’re joining Marcus on your porch. He leads you down the steps, taking a right onto the sidewalk. This is the direction he drives in from.

“So, pet-sitting,” he says. “Passion or hobby?”

“Well, I get paid for it. Not really a hobby.”

“Monetized hobby,” Marcus corrects himself. “Or is this what you do professionally?”

“In that case, hobby. I lost my job a couple of months ago. Still sort of figuring it out,” you say. Marcus nods. Then you ask, “What about you?”

“Why don’t you guess?”

You hum, thinking back on what you know about him. The car he drives is new, a dark SUV with tinted windows. Whatever he does must pay pretty well. He lives alone, fairly solitary; no kids, no spouse. You’ve seen him bring in a maximum of three grocery bags at once, and yet he hasn’t starved, so he probably doesn’t cook a lot. Sometimes it’s like he’s never home, and others he’s ever-present. That’s a pretty erratic schedule for a business professional.

Giving up on a real answer, you say, “Male stripper.”

He laughs and rolls his eyes. “I wish.” You and him both.

“A cop?” you ask.

“Warmer,” Marcus says. “FBI agent.”

“You’re joking, right? Are you even allowed to tell normal people those things?”

“I mean, sure. You’re not a terrorist, are you?” he asks.

“No,” you say.

“Then we’re fine,” Marcus says. He formally introduces himself. SSA Marcus Pike.

“So, Marcus the FBI agent. What draws you to Fairfax County?”

“The commute. And the house is nice, too.”

“You don’t strike me as a white picket fence kind of guy.” Looking out at the neighbourhood, that’s all there is.

“You don’t seem the type either,” he says. Touché. “When I first started planning the move, it wasn’t supposed to be just me. But uh…some things changed, and I’d already bought the house. Can’t let it go to waste.”

There’s something raw there. It softens his voice a little, taking away that clutch of confidence that seemingly brought him to your door.

You say, “I guess it’s better here than another shit-box apartment.”

“Right? That was my whole life back in Texas,” Marcus says.

“Texas?”

“Not born nor bred,” he says. “I worked in the Art Theft department at the bureau there.”

“Working on crafts for the kiddos?” you ask.

“More like nabbing art thieves, stopping criminal smugglers. Stuff like that.”

You hate to admit that this man probably has more courage in his pinky finger than you possess in your entire being, but at least now you can justify the curiosity.

“So you’re good at catching the bad guys, then,” you say.

“More so good at noticing things,” Marcus explains.

The air changes slightly, goosebumps rising along your skin. You ignore any potential implication. “Like what? Human behaviour?”

“Sure,” Marcus says. “Small stuff. Like if someone’s lying…or if I’m being watched.”

When Marcus doesn’t say anything else, you pause. A finely manicured lawn as your backdrop, you stare at him, disbelieving. You can’t imagine what you look like—the pictured definition of mortification.

“Look, I’m really sorry if I creeped you out. I just—I don’t get out a lot without a job and all, and I don’t really have any friends here. You seemed interesting, but none of that’s an excuse and I should’ve come over and said h—”

He says your name, stopping your rambling. “It’s fine,” Marcus says. “A little odd but…flattering?”

With your heart racing in your chest, you scrub a hand over your face. “Oh my god,” you sigh. “I really am sorry, Marcus. My life isn’t very…normal anymore. It makes you do some weird things.”

You can’t remember the last time you were outside before today. Direct grocery delivery took away any need to get out to the store, and with it your last real connection to the outside world. Except the pets. They keep you from losing it entirely.

“We’ve all got our fair share,” Marcus says. Why is he being so cool about this? He should be calling the police, or in this case, himself.

So you ask, “Why are you trying to make me feel better?”

“Well, if I don’t then you might not want to come over for dinner later."

At seven o’clock, you make your way across the street to Marcus’ front door. You hesitate in knocking, checking the time on your phone again. He says it’s fine, but maybe this is a mistake. You’re not over the embarrassment from earlier. You really don’t know how to carry out social interactions anymore. Maybe it’s for the best if you turn around and quietly slip back into your house…

Before you get the chance, the door before you opens up. Marcus has changed. He’s wearing less layers this time, only a simple white Henley shirt and a dark pair of jeans. Cartoon sharks bite the ankles of his socked feet, and you find yourself smiling when you finally look at his face. God, this man is fucking gorgeous. It almost makes you mad.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hey, come on in.”

He stretches his arm to open the door wider, stepping aside to make room. You take your boots off at the door and note the details of his home. The walls are cherry red, different to the sage green of your place across the street. The wall space in the kitchen is filled with paintings where yours stay bare, all of them neatly hung—Frida Kahlo and Elmina Moisan are the artists you recognize.

Marcus tells you that his mother is Chilean, that he was born over here once his American father could get her stateside. They moved down to Mexico when he finished high school. He’s visited every summer since, and each time he brings back a painting. There are only four here.

"You're missing a few," you say.

"The rest are upstairs," Marcus says.

Maybe you'll see them later.

Tonight, he's making fried rice and soy sauce chicken.

"Or See Yao Gai, if you want to get fancy with it," he says, concentrating on the pan.

Watching Marcus work over the stove is mesmerizing. He knows what to do and exactly when to do it, never letting anything burn or sit too long. You feel more like you're watching a professional chef than a guy that cooks "on occasion.” Even the way he washes rice has technique.

Jesus Christ, get it together.

Before plating the food, Marcus offers you a drink. He pours himself a small glass of something red.

"I'll have what you're having," you nod.

He sits across from you at the table. You imagine yourselves as your respective houses, the cloth runner that sits in the middle of the table acting as the paved street. They say people look like their pets, but homes take on characteristics of the people who live in them. Everything here is warm, like his hand. Vibrant and pleasant. The place smells like him too, all sweet and saffron.

The first bite of dinner explodes with flavour in your mouth.

"This is fucking delicious," you mumble, still chewing.

"Thank you."

"Of course." After a sip of wine, you say, "I mostly sustain myself off of hot pockets and spinach wraps. This is like, gourmet."

"You don't cook at all?" Marcus asks.

"Eh," you shrug. "I used to. A lot, actually. But it's not the same when—"

When what? When there's no love in it? Something like that. There's no one to feed, no one to come home to. So who fucking cares?

"When you're only cooking for yourself."

"I understand." They should sound like empty words, but something in Marcus' eyes tells you he really does.

"It's just…hard, I guess." Oh no, where are you taking this? "To keep caring? I’m sort of—"

"Going through the motions?" he asks.

"Yeah. Exactly," you say.

Marcus scoops another forkful of rice off his plate, chewing before he swallows. He says, "Well you know, I'm right across the street. Maybe twenty feet away? So if you need to, you can always go through the motions over here."

You don’t know exactly what he means, but it sounds nice. Someone to talk to. "One day I might just take you up on that."

When you're both finished, you help Marcus with the dishes and re-organising the table. You're showing yourself to the door with him in tow. You open it and cross over the threshold, the cold hitting you all at once. The sky is much darker than it was only an hour ago. A streetlamp behind you highlights Marcus’ face just so.

"Thanks for dinner. For all of it," you say. "It's been a long time."

"You're always welcome," Marcus says. And then he kisses you. Your hand moves over his shoulders, wrenching him forward to pull his body closer. You both stumble back into his house, the door closing behind you.

His hands remain respectfully north of the equator until you grab them, pulling them down to your hips. You break away from the kiss to say, "I don't usually…um. But do you want to—"

"Yes," he whispers. That's all the confirmation you need.

The combined stumble up to his bedroom has you bumping into walls, almost tripping on the landing. Marcus’ hands are hurried across your body. He can’t seem to make up his mind, palming your ass before he slides his hands over your ribs, squeezing your breast. Right outside his bedroom, he stops you.

“I’ve never done this before,” he says.

“Sex on the first date?”

“Sex…period.” You watch the way he cringes at himself, instinctively holding him closer.

Carefully, you say, “We don’t have to.”

“I want to. I just—it’s good to know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“It’s fine,” you say, giving him a kiss. “And we can take it slow.”

Marcus nods.

Inside the room, he lets you take the lead. You begin with your clothes, shedding your top, socks, and pants. Marcus mirrors you, leaving him shirtless in blue underwear. He’s already on his way to being fully hard, a bulge visible beneath the fabric.

Standing in front of his bed, you wave him over with a light come here. He’s drawn to you, a snake to its charmer, strong arms encircling you in his hold. You revel in the warmth of him. Marcus’ closeness has you leaning into his body, skin-to-skin. It has been so long since you’ve had this. You can’t remember the last time you’ve even had a hand to hold, an arm to brush by accident—so you take it. You revel in it, only god knowing the next time the opportunity will present itself.

“Are you okay?” Marcus asks, breath warm against your ear.

“Yeah, uh… I’m sorry,” you say. “It’s been a long time since I’ve touched somebody.”

The admission makes your stomach twist, Marcus’ face relaxing into a softer shape. Instead of the usual look of pity, he keeps his expression open. When he kisses you again, it’s long and slow; languid passes of his tongue against yours as the pair of you fall to the middle of the duvet. Marcus settles against you, assuring that his weight doesn’t crush yours before he peppers pecks across your mouth and forehead.

You can feel him hard against your thigh, steadily rocking himself into your skin with every smooch. He asks, “Can I touch you?” and you breathe a yes.

His right hand moves from its place on your torso to glide down the side of your body, cupping your ass before Marcus slides two fingers into the band of your panties. He smooths the pads of his fingers over the skin below your stomach, dipping below your pelvis to feel you.

Marcus brushes against your clit. You tilt your hips higher, chasing after the sensation.

“Here?” he asks.

“Little to the left?” you whisper. Adjusting accordingly, your breath catches when he finds it. “Yeah, there.”

Marcus rubs at it with his fingers, drawing tight circles around your clit as you wedge your face in between his shoulder and jaw.

“Can I kiss your neck?”

“Sure.”

Slowly, mindlessly, you peck at Marcus’ skin to ground yourself. Closer to his ear, he smells powdery, like vanilla. You’d like to know if it’s cologne or all him. You gasp when his fingers move to collect some of your wetness, returning to your clit and doubling down on the light pressure. Tongue darting past your lips, you lick him. He groans.

“Does that feel good?”

Gathering your thoughts takes a moment. “Yes, Marcus—don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He watches you now, eyes closed as you’re worked closer to the edge. With Marcus’ free hand, he slides the strap of your bra off your shoulder, pulling the fabric away from your breast.

“Use your mouth,” you instruct him.

Marcus doesn’t need to be told twice, ducking low to take your nipple into his mouth. His lips and fingers working in tandem as your body narrows in on the edge of pleasure. You keep a hand at the back of his head as he licks and sucks your nipple. When he takes the sensitive bud between his teeth, you cry out and tug at Marcus’ hair. You push his mouth closer, closer—you wish he would eat you.

It doesn’t take very long for you to cum. A few more tugs of his teeth at your nipple and a harsher pass over your clit has you seizing against him, lips parted as a harsh noise leaves your mouth. Marcus slows his fingers to an eventual stop. When you look at him again, he’s eyeing the stickiness left between them.

You hold his wrist, pulling it to your mouth and slipping his fingers onto your tongue. Marcus watches you clean them intently, like he’s committing the sight to memory. When your done, he holds your face and kisses your nose. You laugh.

“What else do you want to do?” he asks.

You slide a hand down his stomach, lightly prodding his belly button just to see him flinch. The smile he gives you makes you ache.

Hand hovering close to his clothed cock, you say, “I wanna touch you.”

He nods. “Please.” The single word comes out high and whiny, stoking that fire in your belly once again.

Slipping a hand into his briefs, you feel the wetness at the head of his cock as it smears against the elastic. You start there, taking the sticky tip into your palm to gather some of Marcus’ precum. When you work your hand over the rest of him, the glide is easier, his skin like slick velvet underneath you. It’s your turn to watch as his eyes flutter closed, mouth twisted into a pout as Marcus breathes hard through his nose.

“You can make noise, baby. Let me hear you,” you say.

Marcus gives you a quick nod, eyes opening again when you squeeze him at the base of his shaft. He moans, long and low, lips parted beautifully. You speed up, watching the effects of the faster pace as he curls further into your body. The slope of his nose drags against the skin of your shoulder as he breathes you in.

“Fuck,” Marcus whispers. His curses are said softly into your skin. Suddenly, his upper half draws away from you. “Fuck, wait, wait—”

You don’t realize he’s cumming until the first stripe of spend lands across your hip. Marcus groans, a reluctant purr from the back of his throat that mixes in with another low, “Fuuuuck.” Your hand frozen around him, you wait until he’s done to move.

Immediately, Marcus withdraws from you entirely. His eyes are glued to the cum on your skin, face twisted with something unreadable.

“Hey,” you say, touching your clean hand to his. He looks up at you. “It’s fine. You’re fine.”

“I’m really sorry,” Marcus mutters.

“Why?” you ask. With the shake of your head, you join him closer to the end of the bed. You slide your fingers through the mess of his spend, bringing them to your lips. Again, he watches as you clean it up. “Totally natural. Normal. You felt good, right?”

“Yeah, but—”

“That’s all that matters. I felt good too.”

“Do you still want to…” he trails off.

“If you want to do more, I have no objections,” you say. “And if not.” With a shrug, you quirk your lips up. There’s no pressure here. You’re grateful to have him at all tonight.

“I have an idea,” Marcus says. He shakes off the funk, shoulders rolling back again easily.

“I’d love to hear it.”

Noses close enough to touch, your hands never leave his skin as Marcus confides in you his thoughts. When you say yes, he positions himself below you. Starting at your ankles, he nuzzles his face against your skin, slowly moving upwards as he presses kisses to your calves. Eye-level with your left knee, he readjusts your leg. He lightly slides his tongue over the slot of skin behind the joint, pulling giggles from you as you squirm at the feeling.

From here, Marcus makes sure to take his time. He alternates between soft, wet kisses and flat licks up your thighs. He noses along the sensitive skin, rocking into the mattress every once in a while.

“This is probably bad timing…” he trails off. You wait for Marcus to continue, but he’s too preoccupied licking at the skin of your mid-thigh. Running your hand through his hair, you try to capture his focus again.

“Marcus?”

He looks up at you, those beautiful brown eyes melting your heart and sending it dripping down to your cunt. “I’ve known the whole time. That you were watching me.” Then Marcus returns between your legs, nose at the crux of skin between your thigh and where you need him most.

You can barely map out your words. The anticipation is killing you. “You—you did?”

“Mhm,” he hums. He’s so close now.

“You never said anything.” The bridge of his nose presses directly against you, your hips stuttering against his face. “I would’ve…god, I couldn’t stop,” you confess.

“I kind of liked it,” he whispers to your pussy—a secret between them.

You groan when his nose brushes your clit again, breaking into a light pant when Marcus licks a fat stripe across the lips of your cunt. His words short-circuit your brain. You squeeze your eyes shut, imagining Marcus in this very room, touching himself as you unknowingly watch him in the dark. All those nights with the lights left on. Is that what he was doing?

Marcus slides his tongue directly over your pussy, prodding with care. Forcing yourself to look, your gaze falls from the ceiling to his lowered form. He’s already watching you, drinking in every bite of your lip and crease in your forehead. With your attention on him again, Marcus doubles down on his efforts, making out with your cunt as you whine.

“Please, please, please. Marcus—inside, can you use your fingers?”

“Anything,” he says, slipping two inside of you carefully. “Anything you want.”

They move in tandem with his tongue. Finally having something to grip and clench around has the heat of your second orgasm growing to a full forest fire. Picturing yourself now, you wonder if any of your other neighbours have taken an interest in the new guy in town. If they’re watching now, catching a glimpse of you through his window. The thought has you moaning again, picturing inches of soft, revealed skin and Marcus’ hands on you through the eyes of a stranger.

Marcus fucking you in the dark SUV that occupies the driveway, taking you against the translucent accent window of your front hall. Privacy with that hint of exposure. The delicious subtlety of risk.

Maybe you kind of like it too.

Marcus sucks on your clit and the sensation consumes you, flames licking up your spine. You cum with a shudder and a curse. He slows his hand down, removing his index and middle from you to share another kiss.

“I’d like you inside me,” you whisper.

Teeth gnaw at your insides. You crave the closeness, his warmth. Leaning to the side of the mattress, Marcus pulls open his bedside drawer. He fishes a condom from its depths.

“You’re prepared,” you say with a smile.

Marcus shrugs as he carefully tears the wrapper. “I was a boy scout.”

You sit up to help him put it on, spitting in your palm before you wrap it around his length. “Of course you were.”

He watches your movements, rolling the plastic on at the head before you remove your hand. Marcus slides the condom down the rest of him, keeping the end pinched.

“I was expecting brownie points for that presentation,” he says.

You lean up to meet him on your knees, teasing him with the promise of another kiss. You just miss his lips with your own, planting a peck at the corner of his mouth.

“You don’t get a prize for watching your hot English teacher roll one onto a banana.”

Leveraging his shoulders, you have him seated and straddled in one swift move. Marcus sucks in a gasp as you hover your cunt over him, slicking his cock with your body. He holds himself, lining up to let you sink down easily. The stretch is slight, feeling a pinch as he splits you open. Grasping your shoulders, Marcus moans into the plate of your chest.

Grinding on him slowly, you pet his hair and hold the heat of his face to your skin. “There you go,” you sigh. “How’re you feeling?”

You squeeze around him right as Marcus opens his mouth to answer, words replaced by stuttering breaths. "Good, good. So good,” he says. “Feeling you…fuck. You’re beautiful.” Marcus rocks his hips up into you, taking over the pace as he grows a little frantic. The friction of short hair at the base of him keeps you sated, enjoying the feel as he follows his release.

“Think of you all the time,” he continues. “See you out and—god, ah—you’re always so beautiful. Shit… Always alone. I just—”

Marcus grinds into you a few more times before he spills into the condom, moaning into the kiss you give him. You stay together like that for a minute, reveling in the feeling of him. Then you slide off his lap, Marcus’ limp dick slipping from you. He stands to take the condom off and disappears into the en suite bathroom. When he returns, the two of you bundle up under the covers.

He lets you be little spoon, his hands swiping softly over your stomach. Marcus traces little shapes beside your belly button, lips meeting the top notch of your spine.

“How was that?” you ask, breaking the soft silence.

“An excellent first time,” he says. “More…more than I imagined it could be. Thank you.”

“I’m glad.” You bring your own hand to the arm that wraps around you, feeling him. “It’s kind of a two-way street. I haven’t—I’m not really accustomed to closeness anymore.” His grasp on you has your head abuzz, high on his touch. Then you ask, “You said you saw me?”

“Oh, right,” Marcus says, remembering. “Saw you around the neighbourhood. I was mostly impressed you were able to keep a handle on that Dalmatian without turning into the evil coat lady.” His corny joke still makes you laugh, one more for the night, even as you shake your head. “And…I don’t know. I never saw you with anyone. I kept wanting to come over and say hello. Say anything, really.”

“I would’ve liked that,” you say. “Would still like that. If you came and talked to me.” Talking, fucking, going through the motions.

“I think we’re a little past that,” he says.

“You know what I mean.”

“I’ll always come talk to you.” A beat of silence. “Just you and me, like two lonely people.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories #fic: lover be sweet

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bradshawsbaby · 1 year

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all i wanna do is make love to you

pairing: rhett abbott x girlfriend!reader

author’s note: based on this anonymous prompt! i actually got a couple requests along these lines, so i hope you all enjoy! it’s my first time writing spice for rhett, so please be gentle.

warnings: 18+ for explicit sexual content and language; also, lots of fluff!

Walking down the hallway, your fingers laced through Rhett’s, you felt your heart start thumping a bit more noticeably in your chest and prayed that he wouldn’t notice the way your palms were starting to sweat. You knew it was silly to be getting so worked up, especially considering you didn’t even know where the night was going to lead, but you couldn’t help it.

Hours away from Wabang, this was the first out-of-town rodeo you’d attended with Rhett since the two of you had started dating. It was also the first one where you were the only one in the stands there to cheer him on, his family and the rest of your friends having too much going on back home to make the trip.

Most importantly of all, it was the first one where you and Rhett would be sharing a hotel room for the night.

You had traveled to out-of-town rodeos to support Rhett before, sure, but that had been when the two of you were just friends, and you’d always ended up bunking with one of your girlfriends. This was the first trip the two of you had taken since you’d made things official at the county fair, and the reality that you’d be spending the night with him, alone and away from the prying eyes of your families and neighbors, was suddenly hitting you like a ton of bricks.

Though you and Rhett had been together for a little over a month now, you’d yet to take that final plunge in your relationship. You wanted to more than anything, and you sensed Rhett did as well, but the two of you couldn’t seem to stop hesitating and dancing around each other whenever it came down to it. Although neither of you said a word about it, you knew what it was—there could never be any going back once you took that final step. No matter what, you’d never be just friends again. And there was something a little bit scary about that, even if just friends was never what you had wanted to be.

Those feelings aside, it was also rather challenging to get any proper alone time when the both of you still lived with your families, families who were wonderful as could be, but also nosy in every way. There’d been one blissful afternoon when you’d had the house to yourself and invited Rhett over, thinking it might finally be your chance, only for your parents to come home early from their visit to your grandparents’ ranch. They’d invited Rhett to stay for dinner, but it had been a rather strained meal, your mama making small talk with your boyfriend while your body cried out for him with unsatisfied need. There hadn’t been any other opportunities since then.

Until now.

Tonight, you and Rhett had nothing but time and no one but each other, and your stomach was in knots, wondering if it was finally going to be the night.

You knew that Rhett wanted you. After his last ride, which had put him in first place and guaranteed him a spot on the next leg of the circuit, he’d come to find you in the crowd, crushing your body to his as he kissed you deeply. He always got a bit worked up after a ride, face flushed and pulse racing and skin hot to the touch. But as he’d nipped at your bottom lip and pulled you more tightly against him, you’d also felt an unmistakable signal of his desire pressing against your stomach. It had sent instant shockwaves of need coursing through your body and had you pressing your legs tightly together during the drive back to the hotel, especially when Rhett rested one of his large, beautifully calloused hands on your knee.

He wanted you, and you wanted him. That should have made things simple, but you still couldn’t stop your heart from pounding as you let him lead you down the hallway of the small, mildly seedy hotel he had booked for the night, the only one that had had reservations available.

Rhett squeezed your hand tightly as he came to a halt in front of your room—302—and slid the key card into the panel. As soon as the lock clicked, he glanced down at you with one of those rugged smiles that made you weak in the knees, his thumb lightly caressing the back of your hand as he pushed the door open.

Holding your breath softly, you squeezed his hand in return and stepped into the room with him, reaching out for the light switch as the door swung shut behind you.

Your heart sank in your chest when the lamps flooded the room with light, revealing two queen-sized beds. Two very separate queen-sized beds.

Did Rhett not want to…? Had you stupidly misread the situation? Would he ever want to?

He must have noticed the crestfallen look on your face, the way your eyes were glued to the two beds, the way your lips involuntarily turned downward even as you tried not to let your disappointment show.

“Honeybee,” he whispered, his voice low and husky as he rested a hand on your lower back and leaned in closer. “I just…I didn’t want to make any presumptions about tonight,” he confessed, his breath tickling your cheek as he murmured in your ear.

Turning your head, you tilted your gaze upward to meet his eyes. Those gorgeous blue orbs, usually so calm and serene whenever he was looking at you, now looked more like a stormy sea, a powerful heat and intensity in them as his eyes raked your face and body. Your knees suddenly felt like a newborn calf’s and the butterflies in your stomach started flapping their wings so intensely, you were almost surprised your feet were still anchored to the ground.

In a moment, Rhett’s lips were on yours and your fingers were buried in his hair, tugging slightly on the honeyed locks as he lifted you into his strong arms, wrapping your legs around his waist and supporting your back as he pressed you up against the wall. His lips were hot and hungry against yours, his tongue stroking your bottom lip as he begged entrance into your mouth. You gladly granted it. Your mingled moans filled the air as you clung to him, his insatiable mouth moving from your lips to your chin, then to your jaw and down your throat.

Panting softly, you cradled the back of his head, whimpering as he sucked lightly on the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Rhett,” you moaned, feeling your nipples hardening within the confines of your bra and your desire shooting straight between your legs.

“Fuck, baby, you sound so pretty when you moan my name like that,” Rhett gasped, pressing his face against your neck and peppering the skin he’d been biting and licking with soft kisses.

“I want you,” you whispered, biting down on your lower lip. “I want you so badly. I need you, baby,” you told him, pressing yourself more tightly to him.

“Honeybee,” he groaned, running his roughened thumb over your lower lip. His eyes darkened considerably when you parted your lips and gently took his thumb into your mouth, sucking softly and letting your tongue brush against the calloused pad. “Fuck,” he grunted harshly, immediately carrying you over to the bed closest to the door and laying you down atop the comforter. You could tell he was rock hard in his jeans as he lowered himself down on top of you.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you brought his mouth down to yours and kissed him again, your back arching up as he ran his hands down your sides.

“You really want this, baby?” Rhett asked quietly, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not—”

“I want this,” you cut him off, your voice firm. “I want you.”

“I want you, too, honeybee. More than words can fucking say,” he groaned, cupping your face in his hands as he lowered his head to capture your lips once more in a heated embrace.

His mouth was all over you—on your lips, your cheeks, your jaw, your neck. His hands were everywhere, too. They were all over your body, tracing every contour as if he was trying to memorize the shape of you. He began grinding his hips against yours, the friction of his jeans and yours causing a delicious tension as you reached down and tugged at the hem of his T-shirt. Rhett broke your kiss just long enough to help you pull his shirt over his head and toss it to the floor, then his lips were on you again, making you see stars as he worshiped every exposed inch of your skin with his mouth.

It wasn’t long before his hands were sliding up underneath your shirt, tenderly caressing the bare skin underneath. Just as he had helped you, you helped him remove your top, adding it to the growing pile of clothes littering the hotel room floor. Within minutes, the two of you had shed almost all your clothes, Rhett lying on top of you in his boxers, while you were clad in nothing more than your bra and panties. You were so glad you’d decided to go with the matching pink lace set you’d purchased recently.

In this state of undress, you could feel every inch of Rhett’s stiff length pressed against your thigh, and you knew that your panties were absolutely soaked with need for him. Just as he slowly began to inch his fingers inside the waistband of your underwear, however, you suddenly gasped out, “Rhett, wait!”

Rhett froze immediately, removing his hand from your panties and gazing down into your eyes. “Too much? Too fast?” he asked, obvious concern in his voice as he stroked your cheek. “We can stop, honeybee,” he assured you gently.

“No, no,” you shook your head, immediately feeling embarrassed. “It’s not that. I just…”

“What, baby?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple and brushing your hair back from your face.

“It’s just that I—well, it’s sort of been a while,” you admitted, your cheeks growing warm as you looked up into your boyfriend’s eyes.

Rhett didn’t even hesitate before assuring you, “That’s okay.” His touch was so soft as his fingers brushed your cheek. “How long?” There was no judgment in his tone, just an honest curiosity.

“Almost two years,” you stammered, suddenly feeling horrendously shy and self-conscious. “It’s just that—well, in all honesty, I haven’t been with that many guys to begin with and there just hasn’t been anyone—and it’s so hard to meet people—and I guess I just haven’t—”

“Honeybee,” Rhett whispered, pressing a finger to your lips to silence your rambling. He softened the gesture by pecking your lips tenderly. “You don’t have to explain yourself. And you don’t have to be embarrassed,” he added, noting the way your skin had grown warmer beneath his touch. “Do you think it matters to me?”

Lower lip caught between your teeth, you covered your face slightly with your hands. “No. But it’s just that—baby, I know you have more experience than me. And I know that shouldn’t matter. I don’t care about the other women you’ve been with. But I just hate the thought of—I don’t want to disappoint you,” you confessed.

Rhett’s breath caught in his throat. He was quiet for a moment, just staring down at you, an intense, but unreadable expression on his face. The silence stretching between the two of you was just starting to make you nervous when he suddenly reached up to cradle your face between his hands.

“I want you to listen and listen good, you hear me?” he asked, clearly waiting for a response. When you nodded slowly, he continued. “You could never, ever disappoint me. I don’t care how many guys you’ve been with or how long it’s been or how inexperienced you think you are. And I don’t care about any of those girls I’ve been with either. You know why? Because I care about you. I want you. You and nothing but. Do you understand me?”

You felt tears pricking the backs of your eyes as you nodded again, your throat too clogged with emotion to speak.

“Baby, we’re only going to do what you’re comfortable with here tonight. But please don’t ever think you could let me down because that’s just not possible,” Rhett assured you, running a gentle hand down your arm.

“Rhett,” you whispered, lifting a hand and resting it against his cheek. “Oh, God, baby, I need you. Please,” you begged, running your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Oh, baby, believe me. I’m gonna take such good care of you tonight,” Rhett promised, leaning in and kissing you.

The kiss started out tender and sweet, but soon it was deepening once more, your tongues swirling in tandem with once another as Rhett’s hands began exploring your body just as they had been before. His fingers once again traveled down to the waistband of your panties, but you didn’t stop him this time. Instead, you let out a soft gasp of pleasure as his fingers began tracing your bare slit, slipping through the slickness that had already gathered there.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, baby,” he grunted in obvious approval, his fingers tracing lazy circles around your bud as you pressed yourself against his hand.

“Mmm, feels so good,” you sighed, your eyes fluttering half closed.

“Yeah?” Rhett whispered, his lips ghosting a kiss over yours as his fingers continued their gentle exploration between your legs. “How about this?” he asked, slowly, gently, carefully slipping one finger inside you. He moaned under his breath when he felt you clench around him.

“Yes, yes,” you nodded furiously, mewling delightedly when he began easing his finger in and out of you in a rhythmic fashion. Your lips parted slightly, your breaths starting to come in short spurts.

“You look so fucking gorgeous, my beautiful little honeybee,” he murmured against your ear. Lowering his head down, he began pressing kisses to your breasts through the fabric of your bra, his hand still moving at a steady pace between your thighs.

“Oh, baby. Oh, yeah, just like that,” you moaned, your hips bucking slightly as his finger began pressing deeper inside you, hitting that sweet spot. “Can you…oh, shit, baby. Can you add another finger?” you asked, wanting to feel him filling you up even more.

Rhett smiled at that, chuckling softly as he nodded and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Whatever you want,” he told you, slowly adding a second finger inside you. “Damn, you’re so tight, baby. Feels so good,” he breathed out, his fingers starting to pump into you at a faster pace.

You threw your head back in pleasure, your moans getting louder and your legs starting to tremble as Rhett’s work-roughened fingers had you chasing a high you’d never experienced before. Whimpering out his name, you reached up and tugged at your bra until your breasts spilled out, your nipples hard and heavy. “Mouth on me. Please,” you begged him, arching your back up off the bed.

You didn’t have to ask him twice. Within seconds, you felt Rhett’s warm mouth wrapped around your nipple, his tongue flicking out against the pointed nub and then flattening out across your breast. He wasn’t at all afraid to get in there, showering your breasts with as much tender affection as he did the rest of you. As soon as his mouth pulled off one with a wet little pop, it was attaching to the other, driving you wild with the way his tongue swirled around your sensitive nipples. Resting your hand on the back of his head, you ran your fingers through his hair, tugging sharply every now and then as a signal of your appreciation and approval.

The band of desire was tightening in your stomach and you were certain that at any moment, it was going to snap completely. “Rhett,” you moaned out, your legs beginning to shake even more violently. “Rhett!” you gasped, crying out loudly when his thumb began brushing against your swollen clit.

“That it’s, honeybee,” Rhett whispered encouragingly, lifting his head to gaze down at you. “Let go.”

Writhing underneath him, you panted and moaned as he brought you closer and closer and closer, until finally—finally—that band in your stomach snapped and you found yourself coming hard and fast, all over your boyfriend’s fingers.

“Rhett, Rhett,” you babbled out his name, reaching for him as you rode through your climax.

“I’m right here, doll. I’m right here,” he soothed, holding you close.

When you were finally finished, he slowly removed his fingers from you and lifted them up to his lips. Your eyes widened in shock when he slipped them into his mouth, sucking the taste of you off his fingers. No guy you’d ever been with had ever done anything like that before. No guy had ever even managed to get you off with just his fingers.

“I—you—holy shit,” you laughed breathlessly, your head falling back against the bed.

“That was the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Rhett grinned, kissing you. “Watching you fall apart like that? Truly nothing better.”

“Felt pretty damn good, too,” you giggled, kissing him again. You could taste yourself on his lips, which was a strange sensation, but not unpleasant.

Rhett shifted beside you, trying not to crush you with his body weight, and you could feel his erection, so hard it must have been almost painful for him, brushing against your thigh. Gazing into his eyes, you slowly ran your hand down his chest, following a trail until you were slipping your way inside the waistband of his boxers, reaching down to grasp him gently.

He grunted involuntarily, twitching in your hand. Just as you moved to begin stroking him in earnest, however, he suddenly stopped you with a hand on your arm.

You looked at him in surprise, eyes widening. “Don’t you want me to—?”

“Of course I do,” Rhett chuckled, though his breath seemed to catch in his throat slightly. “But there’s plenty of time for that. Right now, it’s all about you, honeybee,” he told you, his tongue snaking out and brushing across his bottom lip.

“What? Baby, no,” you insisted. “You made me feel plenty good. It’s your turn now.”

“I’m gonna show you,” Rhett began, gently removing your hand and rolling you fully onto your back, “that you don’t have to earn anything from me, baby. I want to make you feel good again and again.” Winking, he lowered down and began sprinkling kisses across your collarbone, his tongue dipping into the hollow at the base of your throat.

“Rhett,” you whimpered softly, letting out a little sigh as he unhooked your bra and threw it to the floor. Clutching your hips in his large hands, he held you tightly as he began pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses down your body, licking and nipping at your skin as he went. “Oh, fuck, baby,” you moaned, burying your fingers in his hair. You were already wet and needy for him once again, even after the explosive orgasm you’d just experienced.

“Gonna take care of you,” he whispered against your skin, pressing kisses to each of your hip bones. “Gonna take such good care of you, beautiful girl,” he murmured, hooking his fingers into your panties and pulling them down your legs with an almost painful slowness.

“Rhett,” you nearly sobbed, reaching up and cupping your breasts in your hands, squeezing slightly just to feel some sort of relief from the pressure that was building up inside you.

“Shh, honeybee, I’ve got you,” Rhett said gently, sitting up on the bed and lifting your legs slightly as he tugged your panties down to your ankles and then slipped them off completely, tossing them to the floor with the rest of your clothes. When he ran his hand over you, you thought you might climax again right then and there, clenching around nothing and biting down roughly on your lower lip.

“Need you, Rhett,” you gasped, your skin feeling flushed and overheated as you lay flat on your back, staring up at him pleadingly.

Rhett could tell you were serious from the look in your eyes. Nodding, he dipped his head to press a kiss to your lips, his hand brushing against your breast. “Alright, baby. Alright,” he whispered huskily, kissing his way back down your body until he was settled between your legs, spreading them wider. His hands were so large that they took up a huge expanse of your inner thighs, a sight that somehow managed to arouse you even more than you already were.

“Baby,” you sighed quietly, sliding your fingers through his soft, silky hair once more.

You let out a gasp when, without preamble or warning, Rhett suddenly shoved his head between your thighs and pressed a kiss directly to your center, causing your grip on his hair to involuntarily tighten.

“You taste real good, honeybee,” he told you with a wink, looking up with pride at the dazed look on your face for a moment before his attention was redirected once more.

Breath catching sharply in your throat, you looked down just in time to see your boyfriend spreading you open with his fingers, his nose pressed against the bud of your clit as his tongue darted out and ran a lazy stripe up and down your slick entrance, lapping up the wetness that he found there.

“Fuck! Rhett!” you cried out, your hips bucking instinctively. His tongue was already driving you insane, and he had barely started.

Rhett chuckled slightly against you, the vibrations of it coursing through your body and making your legs quake. Gripping one of your thighs tightly in his grasp, he hooked your leg over his shoulder, granting him even greater access to your aching core.

Your boyfriend devoured you like a starving man, his face buried so deeply between your legs that you were almost concerned he wouldn’t be able to breathe. His tongue was hot and rough as it swirled against you, his lips occasionally wrapping around that tiny, sensitive bundle of nerves at your center and sucking softly.

“Rhett! Oh, oh! Baby!” you practically screamed, lifting your other leg over his shoulder. It felt so good, you almost couldn’t stand it. In the haziness of your mind, you weren’t sure if you should beg him to stop or keep going. Ultimately, however, pleasure won out. “Don’t stop! Don’t—oh—don’t stop!”

His mouth still on you, Rhett lifted his blue gaze to rest on your face, his eyes softening at the sight of your pleasure. He slid one hand up your body, fumbling for your hand and lacing his fingers through yours. He squeezed gently, as if wordlessly encouraging you to let go and enjoy.

“Rhett, baby, I’m gonna—oh, I’m—Rhett!” you moaned loudly, your legs clenching tightly and then spasming with release as you achieved your second orgasm of the night.

Rhett helped you ride through it, his head still pressed between your thighs as he nuzzled you and pressed tender kisses to your inner thighs. When he finally felt the trembling in your body pass, he pulled back and held onto you as he dropped a kiss onto your stomach.

“You’re delicious, honeybee,” Rhett smirked affectionately, licking his lips. “Best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he murmured, curling up beside you and pulling you into his arms. “How are you feeling? Everything okay?”

You smiled at him, loving the way he kept checking in with you to make sure you were alright. “More than okay,” you nodded, cupping his cheek in your hand. “That was…mind-blowingly incredible, baby. I’ve never—I mean, you really—damn, that tongue is amazing,” you finally laughed, gripping the back of his head as you pulled him in for a kiss.

Rhett grinned, softly running his knuckles up and down your arm. “You’re gonna give me an ego, honeybee,” he teased.

“You already have one, cowboy,” you smirked, rolling your eyes playfully. “But,” you added, pressing your body closer to his, “I suppose it’s well earned.”

Laughing, Rhett reached out to stroke your cheek before kissing you, a kiss that was slow and meaningful and left no questions in your mind about how deep his feelings for you ran.

When he finally pulled back, the two of you lay gazing at one another, so much passing between you without a word being spoken.

“Make love to me?” you asked in a small voice, biting down on your lip as you looked at him with wide eyes.

“Oh, my sweet honeybee,” Rhett groaned desperately, his mouth hungrily seeking yours once again. His arousal was more than apparent as he shifted on top of you, subconsciously grinding his hips against you.

Yearning to feel him finally inside you, you began tugging at his boxers, attempting to pull them down as your lips molded against his, your kiss growing more passionate with each second that ticked by. When you found that you couldn’t manage to budge them more than an inch or two, you let out a little growl of frustration, which caused Rhett to lift his head, grinning.

“Someone’s impatient,” he joked, dropping a kiss to your forehead.

“Can you blame me?” you demanded, blowing a lock of hair out of your face.

“Not at all,” Rhett murmured, reluctantly climbing off you so that he could pull his boxers off, revealing his full, naked glory.

Your mouth went dry as your eyes raked him up and down, a fluttery feeling erupting in the pit of your stomach.

“Gimme one second, honeybee,” Rhett murmured, holding up a finger as he hurried over to the jeans he’d left flung on the floor, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. Opening it up, he pulled out a condom, and then hurried back over to you, already tearing it open.

“What happened to not wanting to make any presumptions, hm?” you teased, licking your lips as he pulled the condom out of the wrapper.

“A man can dream, can’t he?” Rhett shot back, his face splitting into one of those gorgeous grins you loved so much.

“That he can,” you nodded, holding out your arms to him.

His breathing becoming a bit more labored, Rhett deftly rolled the condom on, then stretched himself out over you once more. Laying atop you, he stroked your hair back from your face as he stared into your eyes, mesmerized by you. “You ready, baby?” he asked quietly, the air between the two of you suddenly feeling still and silent.

“I’m ready,” you nodded, wrapping your arms around him and kissing him softly, tenderly, as he lined himself up with your entrance, guiding his head through your folds and slowly running it up and down. “Oh, Rhett,” you breathed out, suddenly overcome with emotion as he began to rock his hips gently, slowly pushing his way inside you.

“I’m here, honeybee. I’m right here. I’m with you. Always,” Rhett cooed, holding your face in his hands as he thrust in and out, sinking deeper and deeper into your tight walls until he was buried all the way inside you, your hips pressed flush against each other. He stayed there for a moment or two, the sound of his and your ragged breathing filling the space between you. “Oh, baby, you feel so good,” he grunted, his eyes rolling back for a moment. “So good for me, my sweet girl.”

Hooking your leg over his hip, you silently invited him to begin moving again, signaling that you were ready. Your joint movements were slow and languid at first, the two of you getting used to the feeling of one another’s bodies. You fit together so well, and you knew in that instant that you would never know pleasure in the arms of any man but Rhett Abbott for the rest of your days.

Rhett seemed to be able to anticipate every one of your needs, rolling his hips sharply when you needed a bit more force and then slowing it down when your whimpers told him that you needed a break. Considering he’d already driven you to two orgasms, he didn’t want to overstimulate you to the point of displeasure or pain. His hands were everywhere, guiding you, supporting you, pleasuring you. It was like your body had become an extension of his own, and he knew how to read every signal like a well-loved book.

You knew his orgasm was imminent, could feel it cresting in the way his body tensed and his grip on you tightened. Your own body responded in kind, your breathing becoming shallower and your legs shaking where they were wrapped around Rhett’s waist.

Groaning sharply, your back arched itself up off the bed, your head thrown back so that your neck was vulnerable and exposed to Rhett’s greedy mouth. His lips were on your throat in an instant, sucking soft hickies into your skin as he began to thrust harder and faster into you, his movements becoming more erratic as he approached his climax.

“Rhett,” you gasped out, clinging to him and trying to meet him thrust for thrust. “Rhett—oh, baby, I’m so close,” you confessed, knowing that you’d be spiraling over the edge in another minute or two.

“Fuck,” Rhett moaned, grunting as he felt you clenching around him. “I’m right there, too, honeybee. Just—let go. Just let go,” he gasped, his words sounding like they were as much for him as they were for you.

Within seconds, the two of you were crying out each other’s names, clinging to each other as you rode through powerful climaxes and fought tooth and nail to catch your breath. Rhett collapsed on top of you, his breathing heavy as he buried his face in your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist tightly. Gently carding your fingers through his hair, you held him close and pressed kisses to his forehead.

The two of you were silent for a while, soaking in the gravity of what had just passed between you. Just as you’d always known, there would be no going back now. But thank goodness for that. You were his, and he was yours, and there was nothing more in this world that you wanted.

As the minutes passed in the comfortable silence, your senses returned to you more fully and you became aware of the sweat dripping down both your bodies, the dampness of the sheets underneath you, the smell of sex that still permeated the air.

Rhett seemed aware of the same. He suddenly lifted his head to look at you, cradling your face between his hands. “God, honeybee,” he whispered, his calloused thumbs tracing circles on your cheeks. “You’re so perfect. So unbelievably perfect.”

“So are you,” you replied, still a bit breathless. Lifting a hand, you brushed your fingers through his hair, which was a bit damp from all the energy he’d been expending.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Rhett murmured, his voice rumbling in his chest in a way that had you wondering if you might not just be able to go for another round. Slowly, carefully, he pulled out of you, making sure to slide off the used condom and dispose of it before lifting you into his arms and carrying you into the bathroom.

Settling you down on the countertop, Rhett grabbed a washcloth off the rack and ran it under some warm water, gently cleaning you up as your eyes fluttered closed and you rested your forehead against his shoulder.

“How you feeling, doll?” he asked quietly, his lips brushing against your shoulder as he held you.

“Like I’m real glad that I traveled almost four hours to come with you to this rodeo,” you grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck and pecking him on the lips.

“Funny you say that. I’m feeling the same,” he chuckled, dropping the washcloth on the counter and resting his hands on your hips.

“I’m also feeling like I could use a nice, hot shower,” you smirked, wrapping your legs around his waist. “What do you say, Abbott? Care to join me?”

“Honeybee, it’s like you can read my mind,” Rhett smiled, lifting you back into his arms as he carried you into the bath.

A couple hours later, you were safely ensconced in your boyfriend’s arms, his breathing soft and steady in your ear as he slept soundly beside you. And there, in the darkness, in the bed where you’d made love for the very first time, you whispered aloud the words that had been buried in your heart for so long, the words neither of you had ever uttered out loud, but you knew were true all the same.

“I love you, Rhett Abbott.”

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rhett x reader #x reader #x female reader #outer range #lewis pullman

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galaxygirl8880 · 2 years

Text

I literally have no background for this I just want angst.

---

Cale becomes the caretaker of the super rock villa. He's extremely overprotective of the villa and if anyone gets near it he scares them away.

Why?

Because his family is asleep. They've been asleep for years and haven't shown any signs of waking up.

They remain unaging and so does he.

Even the crown prince resides in the villa.

Every so often, he has to check to remind himself that they haven't died, just asleep.

Still asleep.

He's trying to keep his promise to team leader by continuing to take care of the farm as well..

The bastard that is the god of death has been his only chance of waking them up. He's tried many cures for poisons, remedies for sleep potions, traveled places for even the slightest hint for waking them up..

At one point, he did the paperwork Alberu was behind in for said crown prince. Once it became apparent that he wasn't waking up..

Still asleep.

Rarely, a group of travelers or bandits will come and attempt to break into the villa..

The shield has become a permanent addition.

Cale suddenly became aware that his family's resting place won't stay hidden forever.

Kingdoms and Countries are expanding and exploring places they weren't able to before.

He can't protect the villa like this forever.

Cale has quite literally become a legend of the past. His stories actually being a popular bedtime story-

He chooses to ignore this.

Cale occasionally visits the descendants of his siblings, them being aware of his apperant immortality, but stopped doing so at one time.

He feels very alone.

Sometimes he goes out on short trips to collect any ingredients needed for whatever potion he decides to try. When he gets back, he checks on everyone multiple times.

He can't bring himself to use Eruhaben or Rosalyn's rooms, so he modified his study into a temporary potions workplace.

Temporary. He won't need to do this anymore when they wake up.

Hm.. maybe he should start a separate garden for potion ingredients?

Cale still waits.

(He's lost count of how many times he's cried by his children's bedside, pleading at them to wake up.)

He decides to hire builders to build him a greenhouse in an area far away from the villa.

After paying them, he quite literally picks up the greenhouse at night to take it back home.

It looks nice with the garden.

...

They're still asleep.

When Choi han stirs slightly when he is changing the bedsheets, he stops what he's doing and watches.

He doesn't stir again..

This, surprisingly, gives Cale hope. There's a slight chance that Choi han may be close to waking..

So, he takes to monitoring him a lot more closely.

He does this for two years.

Nothing happens.

The greenhouse has surprisingly started attracting butterflies. They're very pretty.

On one of his trips to the nearby county, he spots two children from the slums. A girl and a boy.

He hands them a gold coin and some bread. That's enough shopping for today.

...

Ron is awake.

He's awake. He's standing (albeit a bit shakily), he's breathing, he's alive.

Cale realizes just how lonely he's felt all of this time when the first thing he does is sink into Ron's arms and let out a sob.

---

Ngl I got a little sad writing this-

I hope you like! :D

(I feel like I'm posting too much-)

Part 2 :>

#cale henituse #tcf choi han #tcf ron #ron molan #tcf raon #tcf on #tcf hong #trash of the count's family #tcf #tcf fic #raon miru #tcf angst #cale angst #choi han #did i like- miss any tags-?#I could probably expand on this a bit more and I actually might #tcf alberu #alberu crossman

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abundantgraceandivorylace · 2 months

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this past week, i booked tickets to go to ireland later this year 🌷 a secret i kept at the beginning of 2020 was that in january, i accepted a position to be an au pair for a sweet family in a county outside of dublin. i was overjoyed in the fact that in august of that year, i was going to hop on a plane, do something that terrified me a little, and start to live my life. i was ready to breathe new air. i was ready to be reminded of what being alive is all about. of course, you can probably guess what happened next. the pandemic hit in march. i graduated college from my living room sofa. my travel plans were up in the air. the knowing if i was going to get my visa or not was unclear. ultimately, these plans to branch out were taken away…as so many other things were taken from others all over the world. i was heartbroken. the end of 2020 rolled around which brought the passing of both of my grandparents in november. most of the following year was then spent in ED treatment. and since coming home from st. louis, i’ve been trying my best to maintain recovery all while finding a job that i love + building my community of safe people. i booked these tickets this past week to go over to ireland with my sister in august…the same month i was supposed to step foot in 4 years ago. i came to realize that i was in need of a win + i could make it happen. it’s time to breathe that new air + i know that this trip will be the full-circle, healing experience that i so need right now. i plan to try my hardest to maintain recovery (which has included some difficult decisions as of late), so i can soak in this experience fully. i’m coming to realize that i deserve it. you deserve to make radical + beautiful change in your life too. you deserve to live for the hope of it all 🌷

#personal

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eyeslikewatercoolers · 1 month

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mirage in wedding planner au 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Hey, that reminds me... Please enjoy :)

“Are you sure this is safe?”

Mirage looked up at the Ferris wheel as she stood in the line to ride it. She watched the bench seats swing as the wheel slowly went around.

She glanced over to her friends. She’s only known them for a few months, after moving to Los Angeles as soon as she saved enough money.

“Probably not,” Morphine said in front of her.

“But nobody’s died on a Ferris Wheel here, so we’ll be fine.” Xunami shrugged her shoulders as she counted the rest of their tickets. “Or at least we should be fine.”

Mirage swallowed as the group stepped closer as the line moved. She shouldn’t be this nervous for a county fair. She’s been through worse things in life, she reminded herself.

Like leaving her toxic family and moving to a whole new city. Her mother still sent texts that reminded her that she “was no better than her whore of an older sister”, Xunami kept reminding her to block her mother’s phone number, but Mirage wasn’t ready yet.

Her family never said her estranged older sister’s name, but they often gossiped about her. She smiled and nodded as she listened to the outrageous rumors, but deep in her heart, she missed Anetra.

“Have you not been to a fair before?” Nymphia asked her quietly. Mirage liked having Nymphia as a friend. They met soon after they moved to Los Angeles, as Nymphia moved to America from Taiwan. They were both little fish in a brand-new pond.

Mirage shook her head, “No, my mom said there were too many temptations at fairs like this.” she explained.

Next to Nymphia, Megami looked at her in shock, “You mean this is your first fair ever?” she asked.

Mirage was slightly embarrassed, “Well, my family went to this theme park in Missouri once.”

Then, all of her friends looked at her with dumbfounded looks.

“Why Missouri?” Morphine asked with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s a big Mormon thing to go out there,” she said simply.

She remembered the year after Anetra left, her mom made a summer family vacation to Branson, Missouri. They spent time at the theme park and saw the Dixie Stampede. Mirage only thought about what Anetra would have liked during the whole trip.

She hadn’t heard from her sister in almost ten years. She heard from her cousins that she worked as a food delivery driver. Her aunts said that she had four kids and no husband.

Mirage just hoped her sister was okay, wherever she was.

The line moved closer, and Mirage looked to the other side where the carnival games were. She noticed a young girl, no older than three years old, with tears in her eyes and looking around frantically.

“There’s a little girl over there, she looks lost,” Mirage told her friends.

“Be careful, it might be a scam,” Morphine said. “I know you’re still new to, well, the real world, but she might try to take your wallet and run off,”

Mirage looked at the girl again, as she had tears in her eyes now.

She couldn’t just leave this lost little girl alone. The fairgrounds were huge, who knew how long it would take her to find her family?

“Wait, where are you going?” she heard her friends call behind her as she ran out of the line.

Mirage tried to keep an eye on where the girl was going as she turned her head, “I’ll catch up later!”

The little girl was sitting on the ground between two of the carnival games. She held her knees to her chest, wiping the tears from her eyes.

Mirage calmly kneeled in front of the girl, “Hey, are you lost? Do you need help?” she asked in a low but gentle voice.

The little girl looked at her, her long, dark hair falling over her face. She had bright green eyes, that were still filling with tears. The girl nodded with a quivering lip, “I lost my mommies. I wanted to ride the spinny apples, but then they were both gone.”

“Okay, I can help you find your parents.” Mirage offered. “What do they look like?” she hoped the girl could provide a good description.

The girl took a deep breath to calm herself down, “Mama always has her hair in a ponytail. She wears black clothes, she says it makes the brides at her store look extra pretty.”

Mirage nodded as the girl continued, “Mommy is taller than Mama. She has red hair, like Princess Ariel. She has drawings all over her body, too.” she explained.

It wasn’t the best description of two adults, but it was something Mirage would have to work with. She stood up and held out her hand to the little girl.

“I’ll help you look. What’s your name?” she asked. “My name is Mirage.” she introduced herself.

“I’m Delia.” the girl said. “It’s Cordelia, but I only get called that when my mommies take me to the doctor and stuff,” she said. “Or if I don’t pick up my toys,” she added.

“Okay, Delia.” Mirage joined the girl by the hand, “Let’s try to find your moms.”

The two walked around the fairgrounds twice, looking at every ride and game available. They had no luck in finding Delia’s moms, and Mirage led her to sit on a bench together near the entrance gate.

Mirage didn’t know what else to do besides point at random women who even vaguely fit Delia’s description.

“That lady, what about her?”

“Nope, Mama has longer hair than that.”

“Okay, what about her?

“Nuh-uh. Mommy has different tattoos.”

“How about her?” Mirage asked, but Delia stood off the bench, seeming excited.

“Jazzy!” she happily cheered as she ran up to blonde in her older teens. The girl didn’t fit either of the descriptions and wore the same blue and pink pin that her friend Amanda had. This girl was not likely to be Delia’s mom.

“What are you doing here?” the blonde asked in a light voice to Delia and glanced at Mirage standing nearby. “Do you know this lady? Because strangers can be scary, you know,” she warned.

Delia nodded, “She’s okay, that’s Mirage.” she explained like the teenager would understand.

Mirage stepped closer to the girl and Delia, “She got lost from her parents, do you happen to know where they are?” she asked.

The blonde shook her head, “No, I haven’t seen them. But I do know where her sister is.” she smiled and led them to the lemonade stand.

To Mirage’s surprise, the teenager walked up to a girl about her age holding two cups of lemonade. She didn’t look anything like Delia, instead had long brown hair and warm eyes.

“They were out of the blue raspberry, Jas.” the girl handed Jasmine a cup before noticing Delia was there as well. She kneeled to get to Delia’s height. “What are you doing here?” she asked, seeming concerned.

“I lost moms,” Delia said with a frown. “Me and Mirage tried to look for them, but we didn’t see them anywhere,” she explained.

The girl looked at Mirage, and then back to her sister, “How about I call them, and we can see where they are? They’re probably worried sick about you.”

Delia nodded as the teenager walked closer to Mirage, “Thank you for keeping her safe. I’m Kerri, her sister.” she introduced herself before typing on her phone.

After Kerri got off the phone with a frantic woman, she held Delia’s hand. “Okay, Mama said they’re by the petting zoo. They thought that you would have been over there.” She said as she started walking in the other direction, but Delia wouldn’t budge.

“Can Mirage come with us?” she asked, pointing behind them where Mirage stood alone.

“Oh, sure,” Kerri said with a shrug. “I’m sure our moms would want to thank you for finding her.”

As they walked through the crowd, Mirage watched how gentle Kerri was with Delia. She spoke in a kind but protective way to her younger sister. It reminded her of growing up with Anetra, whenever her older sister prepared her before their mom got upset with them and screamed on the way home.

Mirage hoped that this mother wasn’t anything like her own mom.

Kerri led them to a woman who waited by the small petting zoo, ignoring the black sheep that was trying to eat her shirt through the fence. The woman had her hair slicked back in a high ponytail and stood slightly shorter than Kerri.

Delia ran up to the woman and embraced her in a big hug, which the woman happily returned. The woman kneeled on the ground and spoke to her daughter in a calm and even voice.

“Mommy and I were so worried about you. I’m so glad you’re okay, sweetie,” she said as she ran a hand through Delia’s hair. She turned to Kerri, “Where was she?”

“This lady found her.” Kerri gestured to Mirage, as she stood quietly and watched. She felt like an awkward bystander, watching this moment in this family.

The woman smiled at her, “Thank you, for keeping her safe. My wife should be back soon, she just went to tell security that Dee is safe with us.”

“You’re welcome, I just saw her lost and scared, and I wanted to help her,” Mirage explained. At the ride next door, she saw her friends waiting in line. She remembered she was supposed to catch up with them after she located Delia’s parents.

The woman noticed Mirage glancing at her friends and added, “You probably want to go back to your friends.” she suggested and Mirage nodded. “Go ahead, it’s okay. Thank you again for finding our baby.”

Mirage smiled and told the family to have a good evening, before turning around to find her way back to her friends. A flash of dyed red hair was spotted in the corner of her eye, but Mirage didn’t think much of it until she heard another voice.

“Miri?”

Mirage felt like her entire ribcage dropped to the ground underneath her. Nobody except her family called her that, and she knew her family was back home in Las Vegas, probably gossiping about her right now for leaving.

But that did leave one person who knew her by that nickname.

Mirage turned back around, seeing her estranged older sister. Anetra had bright red hair, and her dark roots started to show. Mirage was taller than her by a couple of inches. Anetra still had a faint scar over her left eye, as one of the last memories Mirage had of her.

“Netra? Is that you?” Mirage asked in disbelief.

Anetra nodded as she stepped closer to Mirage, “You look so grown up,” she said as she tried to blink back tears.

Anetra still had the same warm brown eyes and athletic build that Mirage remembered. Her exposed arms were covered in tattoos and even her chest had a butterfly tattoo proudly shown off.

Mirage looked at the woman behind Anetra, as she handed a twenty-dollar bill to her oldest daughter.

“Go get us a funnel cake, and take your sister with you.” She heard her say before Delia could ask why her mother was crying at a stranger.

Mirage wasn’t sure what to say to Anetra. It had been so long, she didn’t know where to start.

“You live in LA now?” was all she could think of asking.

Anetra nodded, “Yeah, I’ve lived here for years.” She looked like she suddenly remembered the family she wanted to introduce to Mirage. Anetra put a gentle hand on Mirage’s back, and Mirage wanted to embrace her sister in a big hug.

She led her back to the woman with the long ponytail, “This is my wife, Sasha.” she introduced her. Mirage didn’t notice the matching wedding rings on their hands until then.

“So how do you know each other?” Sasha asked with a raised eyebrow.

Anetra smiled as she put two arms around Mirage’s shoulders like she could read Mirage’s mind, “This is my baby sister,”

“I just moved to LA a few months ago,” Mirage said.

Anetra loosened her arms slightly, “Do you still talk to Mom?” she asked in a quieter voice.

Mirage quickly shook her head, “No, I don’t talk to anyone in our family anymore.” she said with a sad smile. She knew cutting everyone out would be healthy for her, but it still hurt.

“Well, you have us now,” Sasha added with a warm smile. “And Delia seems to already love you.”

Mirage realized that she had nieces and a sister-in-law. Although one niece was a couple of years younger than herself, she had a kid in her life that she could spoil rotten.

She and Anetra exchanged phone numbers and promised each other that they would find time to catch up with each other.

Mirage walked back to her friends, who were at the front of the line of the ride. Xunami turned to look at her friend as the sun was setting behind them, “Did you find that girl’s family?” she asked.

She looked at the picnic table nearby, seeing Kerri and Delia bringing a large funnel cake over to their parents. They all dug in with plastic forks, happily chatting with each other.

“Yeah, we did find them,” She said before the line started moving again.

And Mirage found her family, too.

#wedding planner au #rpdr fanfiction #my writing #my fics #rpdr s15 #rpdr s16 #asks #anon asks

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reidslovely · 7 months

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How to Disappear: Waves Crash in Over My Head

Please reblog and comment inlace of liking, pretty please.

Previous Chapter: Life Unknown

Pairing: Link/Alex Goodrich x Fem! Reader/OC-ish.

Content Warnings: Slight anxiety attacks, Link sends his fist through a wall, flashback heavy. Talking about aggression, mentions of broken noses. Intense arguing. I'm sure I missed something, let me know!

Waves crushed in over his feet, the soft sand beginning to sink beneath him. He was locked in place watching her talk with her friends by the fire. She glowed in the light of the fire, her eyes brighter than the fire and the moon.

Waves crashed back in over his feet, he watched everything wash back out. He let go of the breath he was holding. Sudden hands on his back brought him back from whatever world he had landed on and pulled him back to this world.

Her world.

“You were great out there tonight.”

His heart felt stuck in his throat as he gazed down at her. His lips turned up into a smile, his arms coming down to swallow her whole as he pulled her against him.

“Yeah? Thought I looked silly out there, I got all nervous knowing you were watching me.”

Her head threw back in a laugh like it always did, the childlike joy filled their own little bubble.

“I’m serious!” He shouted in a laugh, his nose against her forehead. “Thought of such a pretty girl got me all sweaty in the jersey..the jersey you’re wearing by the way.”

(Y/N) faked a gag, shrugging her shoulders causing the lacrosse jersey framing her to slouch slightly.

“Mhhm well maybe I should stop coming. I'd hate to ruin your college scouting..” (Y/N) spoke up to him, her eyebrows raising.

“No, no you’re my good luck charm, need you there.”

“I’ll be there..always.”

“You better be.”

Sun warmed his face, as Alex’s body jarred forward waking him up from his memory. Alex swiped at his nose, blinking a few times waking up from his long nap. Fairfield County was a welcoming sight.

Not.

He stood from his spot on the greyhound, watching the young mother and her daughter who sat next to her file out first. The little girl looked up at Alex smiling at him, and Alex smiled back before dropping his head. He grabbed the small grey bag off the seat next to him and jumped off the bus pushing the glasses to his face.

He felt like a ghost here. Fuck, he was a ghost here. He wished his parents luck in talking their way out of this one. Alex, head down, took off up the street walking the square. Talking himself up to make the trip to his old subdivision, hoping he can keep whatever demons at bay. He watched a group of boys in jerseys cross the street laughing, lacrosse sticks over their backs.

He loved lacrosse. It was the one sport he actually enjoyed, and maybe it’s because it let him exude just enough aggression to get by. He had done wrestling but biting got him disqualified, he did boxing but you can only break so many noses before people start asking questions. Lacrosse though. Everyone there was aggressive, most of the boys on his team were put on the team by the school psychologist to help them vent their issues. Alex found it funny that his aggression almost got him a free ride to college solely due to being hidden in his athletics.

Alex had gotten caught up looking at the past, he didn’t see what was in front of him. Literally.

“Oh my god I..I’m sorry.”

Alex hit the ground, the woman’s bag she was carrying dropping and scattering her groceries all over the street. The small girl holding the woman’s hand gasped. Alex put his head to the concrete, anger rising in his chest. He squeezed his eyes tight, taking deep breaths calming himself down before speaking.

“I’m fine. I’m okay it was my fault I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“Neither was I. I’m so so sorry.” She laughed nervously. It twisted in Link’s chest. It was all too familiar, and the eyes peering up at him made him sick to his stomach. The knife in his stomach twisted deeper as he saw the moment of recognition wash over her own face. Two ghosts staring back at each other.

“You can’t do this. You can’t just disappear.” Alex’s jaw twitched as hot tears poured down his face looking at (Y/N). He unpacked her clothes as she tucked them away. “It’s not disappearing if I tell you where I’m going.”

Her words didn’t sound like her own. It was distant, void of the warmth she usually spoke to him with. “I have to go okay, Link. My mom and I don’t have a choice. Okay. There’s money involved and..and she made a legally binding contract or whatever.”

“With who? Your aunt that you two have to disappear? You can come live with me, my family won’t care they love-”

“I can’t be with you Alex! Okay, do you fucking understand that? We’re just kids, everything is so..compli-” It was ‘Alex’ that set him off. She never called him that.

“I’m complicated. That’s what you’re trying to say. You’re giving up on me like everyone else huh? Huh!”

(Y/N) flinched as he yelled. Tears rolled down her own cheeks and she choked on her own tears. He didn’t care. She was leaving him, she didn’t have a right to be crying. He didn’t know what happened next, he doesn’t remember it. It was like he woke up after seconds of black, his hands through the drywall of the tiny house he’d loved in comparison to his family's estate. (Y/N)’s mom stood in the doorway of the bedroom he’d spent hours in.

“You should go, Alexander.” The older woman spoke softly, with a motherly tone. There was something they weren’t telling him. (Y/N) started to run after him as he walked up the wall. Her mom held her back as she cried for him.

The girl he loved was a woman now. Standing before him in sundress and her hair pulled back into a butterfly claw clip that matched the little girls. One thing that didn’t change was the gold ‘A’ that hung around her neck, now joined by a golden ‘P’ on a smaller chain. The little brunette girl that had been holding (Y/N)’s hand had bent down picking up his sunglasses and items that fell from his bag.

“‘ere you go, sorry.” She spoke with a speech impediment that impaired her ‘r’s. But she had tried really hard in pronouncing them so that (Y/N)’s lips curled up into a reflexive smile, patting the girl's shoulders.

“When did you move back? Wh-..” His face twitched in confusion. His brother surely would have known and would have told him.

“Two years ago.” She spoke, pulling the girl back into her side. Playing with her brown curls. “I tried looking for you but..I was told that you..well weren’t around anymore.”

“I wasn’t technically. But..” “Mommy can we please go? I wanna show Addie my new toys.” Alex’s eyes wandered her fingers for any sign of a ring. Mommy? She’d had a child? She couldn’t be more than eight years old. She’d moved on so quickly after him when he never did. (Y/N) took a shaky breath, smiling down at the girl.

“Course baby. Huh, Link..it was nice to see you.” He felt like he was stuck in slow motion as she turned away from him. “Wait, wait.” He rushed after her, hands shaking. “I uhh..do you have a number I can call you on?”

She hovered for a moment, she seemed paranoid looking around and even past him. “Yeah.” She let go of the little girls hand, digging in her bag for something. She slipped a yellow card into his hand, and for a minute let their hands linger on one another. He wonders if she can feel the heartbeat in his fingertips, and his eyes begging her to stay here for moments longer.

“You look good.” She smiled. “I didn’t care much for you blonde.”

She’d kept up with him, hidden in plain sight. That made him feel good, to know she’d at least watch from a distance.

“I didn’t either.”

Her hand left his, and took the little girl's hand back in hers. “Let's go P.” She said sweetly, the little girl waved at him. “Bye!” She yelled as she walked down the street, (Y/N) looking over her shoulder at him catching one last glance.

“You knew? You knew she was in town and you didn’t tell me. You didn’t mention it in a single phone call.” He yelled at his brother as they stood on the back porch of his childhood home.

‘I didn’t think it was important.” Ben says calmly. “And I thought it would make you spiral to know she had a kid.”

“No, I'm spiraling now because I had to find out this way.”

“It was almost a decade ago, she left you and you burnt down a school in retaliation. I’m sorry for thinking it would send you down a rabbit hole of anger.”

Link could feel his eye twitch, he reached up scratching his face with his free hand. Flicking a cigarette with the other. Ben stared at him, having more to say but holding it back. He felt sick to his stomach, like he could crawl into bed and simply rot. A part of Link always hoped that she’d wait for him, turn eighteen and come and find him. But she never did, which he didn’t make it easier for her. Always moving, not having a phone. They could have had a good life. Maybe had she never left he would have gotten help sooner, maybe they’d have a white picket fence life. He thinks about the life he could have had. Coming home from a long day at work, a suit and tie for some silly office job he’d gotten to support them. He thinks about kissing his highschool sweetheart hello and watching their daughter playing.

Then, in the middle of it, he remembers sending his fist through the drywall of her room simply because he was angry and didn’t know where to put it. Though he knows he’d never hurt her, or his metaphorical child he feels sick. He hates himself.

“I loved her. So much, and I was devastated when she just up and left and wouldn’t even tell me why. You knew that, you knew how much that meant to me. I still love her.”

“You don’t know her anymore. She doesn’t know you anymore, okay?”

“I could though. I could love her, and she could find something in me to love again.”

Ben was biting his bottom lip, Link knew his brother's heart hurt for him. But Link could also read people, way better than he’d like to admit he could, and Ben was hiding something.

“I’m gonna call her.”

Alex grabbed the sliding glass door of the house that led into the casual sitting room. As he walked in, his hand fishing inside the bag on the couch for his phone he heard a voice that stopped him in his tracks.

“Son..” His father’s voice filled the room, that fake politician's smile on his face. And if Alex knew how to fake one thing it was a smile.

“Dad, hi.”

His father took a couple steps in hugging his son to his chest. “So good to have you home. We have a lot to talk about.”

Alex hugged him back with one hand, feeling like a little kid again. “That we do.”

taglist: @helloheyhihowdyheya @tarzinnia @a-lumos-in-the-nox @messymissy @sincericida @moonyslove78 @toomanyfictionalboyfriends @eevylynn.

#andrew garfield x reader #just andrew garfield #andrew garfield x female reader #andrew garfield x self insert #andrew garfield imagine #andrew garfield x you #link mainstream x reader #link x reader #alex goodrich x reader #alex goodrich mainstream #mainstream 2020 #bambi writes

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frodothefair · 6 days

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Does the Shire do like a.. well, I guess not an independence Day a la *from Britain*, but like a patriotic holiday? I guess there might be more incentive for one after the war of the ring and all, especially since I know that our little not-leaving trio shuffle things in the Shire politically a bit after the war and I'm sure they'd like to honor everyone's sacrifice/bravery/trauma. Then again, was there like already a Shire Day or something? and they'd make like a veterans and/or memorial day after the story? god, i hope they'd put a little more into either than a deep discount on mattresses. like a town shindig or something!

💐 ASK ME about my headcanons about hobbits and the Shire! 💐

Great question!

Before the War of the Ring, I doubt the hobbits were "patriotic" as we understand the term. They loved their land, surely, but they expressed that love through the tilling of the earth, and by enjoying its boons. They did not need a special day to honor who they were and where they came from.

If there were holidays that celebrated the "Shire-ness" of the Shire, those were probably Midsummer and the Harvest Festival.

Midsummer took place around the time of the summer solstice, and was a time of bonfires, dancing, singing, maypoles, drinking ales, and of course feasting. The days were long, and the flowers plentiful, so it was also a popular time for weddings. Because of the profusion of flowers, there was also a big flower market at around that time, where awards were given for the finest specimens, and enthusiasts could purchase bulbs and cuttings.

(image credit)

The Harvest Festival was similar to the "county fair" experience in our time. It took place in late September, and by that point, the crops would come in, and the farmers would gather to showcase their finest crops, their finest animals, and their finest wares (from canned goods, to pies, to woodwork), again with prizes being awarded. It was also a time to see family from the far corners of the Shire, hold sports and other competitions, and of course eat. I am sure that there was even a prize for the largest mushroom found in the woods.

(image credit)

After the War of the Ring, things changed, and a new holiday was introduced: Remembrance Day. A natural time for this was November 3rd, the anniversary of the Battle of Bywater. This was a time to honor those fallen in that battle, but also the sacrifice of those who lived through the Scouring. It was a time to tell family stories that centered around those events, as well as the story of the four hobbits who expelled the Ruffians and Sharkey from the Shire.

Remembrance Day was a more solemn occasion. There was feasting as well, but also trips to the cemetery to honor the dead, and pictures, candles, and flowers displayed in homes commemorating both the living and the dead. Food and drink would be left out at special altars throughout the night, or simply at a vacant seat at the table, to remember those who died of hunger and other privations, and those who were starved and ill-used in the Lockholes.

Bonus: When hobbits visit their loved ones at the cemetery, they always bring the favorite food and drink of the deceased to leave at the grave. For this and other reasons, hobbits maintain detailed registers of their loved ones' favorite meals.

#lotr #lord of the rings #hobbits #cw death #lotr headcanons #lotr headcanon #the shire

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aceghosts · 3 months

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OC Interviews

Hey Guys! I was tagged recently by @carlosoliveiraa, but was also tagged a while ago by @henbased, @nightbloodbix, and @katsigian. (I think I got everyone who tagged me last time.

Tagging (Opt out/in here): @amalkavian, @bbrocklesnar, @marivenah, @clicheantagonist, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @theelderhazelnut, @captmactavish, @alexxmason, @captastra, @cassietrn, @strangefable, @direwombat, @fourlittleseedlings and anyone else who wants to do this!

Blue Murphy

Name: Jay Casey Murphy Nickname: Family and Close Friends call them Blue Jay while most others call them Blue. They're also called Deputy, Dep, Rookie, and Rook in Hope County. Eden's Gate occasionally refers to them as wrath. Gender: Genderfluid (They/Them) Star Sign: Aries Personality Type: Chaotic Good Height: 5’6 ft Orientation: Bisexual Nationality/Ethnicity: American (Blue is originally from West Virginia, but spent most of their adulthood in Colorado before moving to Hope County, Montana.) Favorite Fruit: Mangoes. Blue has a bit of a sweet tooth. Favorite Season: Winter. They think mountains always look great covered in snow and love to go hiking in snowy parts. Blue is also a snowboarder, and winter is the perfect time for that. Favorite Scent: Pine Tree Needles Coffee, Tea, or Hot Chocolate: Hot Chocolate with lots of marshmallows and whipped cream. Average Hours of Sleep: Before Hope County, roughly 6-8 hours. After the reaping kicks off, Blue’s average hours of sleep varies. Dogs or Cats: Both. They love Boomer and Peaches equally, spoiling both animals. Dream Trip: Kicking Horse. They've heard wild things about the slopes, and Blue would love to try them out someday. Number of Blankets: One. Before Hope County, Blue had a nice quilt that they slept with. Before the Reaping, Blue sent that quilt along with most of their things back to Colorado. Random Fact: I might have said this before, but Blue's favorite time of day is dawn. Something about watching the sun rise makes them feel happy to be alive.

Rooney Shepard

Name: Rooney Shepard Nickname: Most refer to Rooney by their last name. It is very rare for anyone to refer to Rooney by their first name. Those that are allowed to call them by their first name are people that they deeply trust and care for. In their ME universe, Thane uses Siha as a term of affection. Gender: Agender (They/Them) Star Sign: Aries Personality Type: Neutral Good Height: 5’10 ft. Orientation: Rooney would probably say they fall somewhere on the asexual spectrum, leaning towards demisexuality. Nationality/Ethnicity: Canadian/American in their cyberpunk verse. They have Irish heritage in both universes. Favorite Fruit: Apples Favorite Season: Fall Favorite Scent: Cinnamon or Leather Coffee, Tea, or Hot Chocolate: Tea. They normally drink black tea, but their real favorite is cinnamon tea or something similar. Average Hours of Sleep: In an ideal world, Rooney would simply not need sleep. However, their hours of sleep vary depend on their workload/how deep they're in on a case. Dogs or Cats: Rooney is fine with cats and dogs, but they prefer hamsters, especially their Hamster, Shepard Jr. Dream Trip: Anywhere and Everywhere. In both verses, Rooney grew up in a sheltered town, reading about the world/galaxy and dreaming about it. (In their ME universe, it's part of the reason Rooney joined the Alliance.) Although, a part of Rooney would love to explore a completely unknown, never inhabited before planet. Number of Blankets: They have a basic comforter, but their favorite is a cooling weighted blanket. (Rooney gets hot at night.) Random Fact: Rooney is a puzzle fiend. They always have some sort of word search, crossword, Sudoku, etc. open on their device.

Hunter Delaney

Name: Hunter Shea Delaney Nickname: Dearheart by Wesker. Occasionally, people refer to Hunter by their last name. Gender: ¯(ツ)/¯ (They/Them) Star Sign: Scorpio Personality Type: Chaotic Neutral Height: 6 ft Orientation: Bisexual with a preference for mean blonds Nationality/Ethnicity: American (They're originally from Brooklyn, New York.) Favorite Fruit: Cherries Favorite Season: Summer. Back when they weren't infected, Hunter liked going out to paint landscapes during the summer. Favorite Scent: Wesker’s cologne. It makes Hunter feel safe. Coffee, Tea, or Hot Chocolate: Coffee, preferably black. They're not really into super fancy drinks. (Actually, if you handed Hunter a very fancy coffee, their response would most likely be 'What the fuck is this?') Average Hours of Sleep: Depends on if it’s a good or a bad night, but anywhere from 3-5 hours. Dogs or Cats: Dogs. They’re literally so black dog coded. Dream Trip: The Louvre in Paris, France, and The Uffizi Gallery in Florence, Italy. (In truth, Hunter would love to go see any art gallery/museum, but these two have always interested them. Number of Blankets: Hunter likes a thick comforter, but usually sleeps with one to two blankets. (Wesker’s jacket also gets stolen as a blanket from time to time.) Random Fact: Don't think I've conveyed in this any of the stuff that I've written for Hunter, but they talk with their hands.

#tag games #blue murphy #i won't let fear compromise who I am #commander rooney shepard #hunter delaney #I love that Hunter's gender presentation is just a shrug #I changed a few things about Rooney but I think those changes fit them better #and it's so nice to do something for blue again lol

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ivanzplaid · 2 years

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could u maybe write a Vance fic before he got kidnapped from grabber that you both were on a walk together and he recently told you that he loved you and honestly were shocked about it but accepted his feelings and when he did get kidnapped you looked everywhere for him and was in between both houses and called the police and saved him

this is my first vance hopper fic, but ive read some before and they were all adorable ommggg, just for the sake of this its gonna be x make reader, but i love a good teen / puppy love story for this, gonna be romantic in a wholesome way🙏🙏

im so excited but again, first time writing for vance so cut me some slack🫶

Vance Hopper x Male Reader!!

Warnings: Kidnapped Vance, The Grabber mentioned, Reader saved a life

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The air softly drifted against the two of you, walking side by side, hand discreetly in hand. It was mid spring, the trees were becoming lively again, it was refreshing to see the earth in bloom. Vance guided you along a path he'd found, it was in a forest he frequented, but the scenery and delicate path gave the walk a comforting feel. You and Vance had been friends for years, you'd grown accustom to his angry lifestyle, adapted to his outbursts, and even fought for him in multiple instances. While you were growing closer to him, he too grew closer to you, finding himself at ease when submerged in your presence, finding an unfamiliar feeling sprouting the more time he got to be with you. Placing a finger on what the feeling was became a touchy subject, he didn't know if he wanted to indulge in this part of him or not, his environment heavily influenced his ideals, but when you came back into his life, its like his previous morals unraveled, you were like biting into a dessert he was craving, and you left the one thing he knew in his mind;

The Vance Hopper, loved you.

Unbeknownst to you, you thought he just really liked your company, only liking your company. But it was on this walk that he decided he needed you to know, your blissful ignorance of what he was feeling made him even more anxious. He didn't want to lose you, he couldn't lose you. You were his waking thoughts in the morning, and the sweet dreams at night, keeping it in any longer would make his repressed anger even more violent, and he couldn't afford another trip to the county jail this month, the bail would be set unreasonably high.

The trail you two were on split, one way to continue walking, and the other lead to a small circle, a bench perched in the middle. His hand tugged gently to the bench, resting his thumb on the back of your hand. The two of you sat down, his arm reached over your shoulder and tugged you in playfully before settling, getting into a comfortable spread position. You could tell Vance's breathing was awkward, it looked as if it were being restricted by something, but he breather out a sigh before looking at you.

"Listen, I know I've been acting weird, I feel weird. I need to tell you something."

His voice was uneasy, and that made you nervous. There were a select few moments in the time you've known eachother where Vance has ever been distressed, it was never a hopeful sign. You held his eye contact, you wanted him to feel comfortable, to confine in you.

"Stop starin at me idiot, its not anything bad,"

You giggled, his ability to lighten the mood between you two is something you always adored. But looking at him now, you realized there was alot you adored about him, everything about him was admirable in your eyes. His hand found your knee, grasping it for reassurance before he spoke.

"I like you. For fucks sake, I love you."

The gruff voice breathed out, making silence come over. You saw his foot tapping up and down, it was more than he'd ever expressed before, he had always had this extra stone wall barrier up when you confronted him about any girls he may've like, and it hit you like a pile of rocks, he doesn't like girls, he liked you.

Your hand found its way to his cheek, feeling how hot his face was. He was practically sweating bullets awaiting your response. It didn't hit you until now that the feeling of comfort you found in him, or how you always were physically connected in one way it another was more than platonic, you loved him as well. Your thumb stroked his face, finally opening your mouth to speak. Your words chosen carefully, knowing this was a moment for the both of you.

"I thought you would never say, got me worried I was gonna have to say something first,"

A smile took over your face while you spoke, and you saw him look up from his blond locks. His eyes crinkled in joy as he shook his head, confirming that you weren't kidding with him. He hastily pulled you into a hug, drowning in your presence. You could see the joy radiating off of him, it was like pounds had been lifted off his shoulders. For the rest of your time, you two just spent your natural time together, familiarizing yourselves with the labels of 'boyfriends', so that in public you would know how to be casual once again, discreetly being in a teenage lovestory.

The days leading up only became more sentimental because of this. Vance was gone. Taken as swiftly as the wind, and the police as always were no fuckin help. They said it was 'The Grabber'. Vances face soon became the only thing you saw from day to day life. It didn't quite hit you when the news got to you, everyone expected you to be affected, you were Vance's closest friend as they knew. After only two weeks, the news started to die down, and was replaced with harsh gossip of Vance, rumors of what could have happened, or that he deserved it, or whatever else flooded your ears. Everyone thought he was dead. No leads, no new evidence, it was bare in the department. Though through your tears and anger, you knew you wouldn't sleep till you knew he was okay, you knew he wasn't gone, he was too much of a fighter for that, he was your Vance, you knew him better than the back of your hand.

So as your feet guided you down the bare street, you glanced at each house, praying that someone somewhere will give you a sign. This was your fourth neighborhood, you'd trespassed nine times to see in any windows, or backyards, or anything to give you more hope, just as he'd taught you. Trenching through the rain, you continues your private search.

This street in particular was, to say the least, intimidating. It was filed with dull houses, none giving you any type of feeling or signal. It wasn't until you were halfway down that you felt a twinge in your chest, like a sharp pain to your lungs. Your feet planted themselves in the street, peering at the house numbers, you didn't realize how far in the neighborhood you went, how late it was getting, but it wasn't like a Saturday night was going to hold much excitement for you anyhow. The rain silenced all other sounds as you paced your way to the side of the house, the darkness becoming your blanket. There was only a singular van parked in the driveway, so if things went awry, you knew you'd only be dealing with one person. Sticking yourself to the sidewall, ducking under all light that might expose you, you skimmed the house for any windows, any hints to where Vance could be, why you felt so uneasy here, anything at all.

Your rounds of the house were separated, one in the first floor windows, one for any remaining ones. The first round gave you nothing, peaking in only let you see darkness, or empty ordinary household rooms. As you made your way around again, you crawled, scuffing your pants with mud. A sigh emitted from you, rolling your eyes. But as your eyeroll finished, you caught sign of what had to had been a basement window, tight and secure, but still a window. Your eyes narrowed peaking in, and you saw something staring back, eyes in a panicked manner.

Vance?

You soon realized that yes, it was him. Excitement quickly shot up out of you, you might've even let out a tear or two in the moment. You knew you had to get him out, now or never was your motto after all, but as you kicked and barged at the window, it led to no avail. Vance was trying to communicate something through the window, his pinky and thumb jutted out, resting against his ear, and it felt like a game if Pictionary, something you were never successful at, and sadly, he knew this. It must've been minutes after until he pulled over a black phone, cord being stretched out to the max, that you finally understood the movements. You scattered to your feet, slipping slightly under the mud as you dashed out of the yard to a neighbor, or anybody who had a phone to use. You hated having to leave Vance after finding him, it was a moment that you wished you could stuff your nose in his neck, wrapping your arms around him and not letting go, but you knew if you wanted to have a moment like that again, it was for the best.

A neighbor did end up letting you use their phone, a nice elderly couple. You dialed the police force number and dropped an urgent tip, maybe adding a slight threat and a few lies to make them come quicker, but in the end they did show. In fact, multiple cars showed up, barging into the house with minor hesitation. The police sirens became louder as you went outside, leaning on the fence, awaiting a familiar face to be escorted out by police, and this time not in handcuffs. The owner of the house, presumably who you called 'The Grabber', was taken out, an absence of emotion was apparent on his face, until his eyes found you, quickly filling with hatred & anger, he knew it was you. Your nerves were set to the max, they still hadn't brought out Vance and you became worried. You maneuvered yourself so your back rested on the fence, practicing breathing techniques to calm yourself.

Heavy arms set around your shoulders, pulling you into the person behind you. Immediately tensing, you jolted around, but the face who looked back at you made you melt into the arms. Vance had finally been brought out, he was slightly injured, his lip was busted, a few welts here and there, but you couldn't help but grip onto his jacket, pushing yourself into him as hard as you could, he was genuinely here, infront of you, safe again. Neither of you had the words to describe how grateful you were to see eachother, but he pulled you aside, leading you to behind the ambulance, and kissed you. It wasn't demanding or harsh, but a soft, emotional peck. He pulled you close and you saw his eyes look over you, the slight gloss in them made you grin stupidly, and he couldn't help but laugh, his smile displayed everything good about him. Not soon after, you pulled him into the ambulance, the crew giving you blankets and water, but you couldn't keep your eyes off eachother. Your hands once again joined under the blankets, you rubbed your thumb over his knuckles, making his face heat up to a nice shade of red, casually trying to play it off by distracting you.

"I never stopped thinking about you when I was locked up."

"And neither did I."

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im so exhausted, im sorry if near the ending got a little sloppier, but it turned out kinda long LMAOO, but i loved writing this, vances character is adorable and i wnated to put out more little cutr gay characters, and hes oerfect smh

thank you so mucb for 96 followers!!!! ahhh

requests are oppeeennn, more coming out tmrw, i have them organized for what i wanna do!! thank you rveryboddyyy <3

#vance hopper #the grabber #the black phone #vance hopper x reader #cute romance #caring reader #fluff #wholesome #teenage love

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