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#once more with oomph

rainbow-femme · 11 months

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If you like the idea of a black Little Mermaid but aren’t interested in the new movie, please check out Once On This Island

Aside from the actual mermaid part, it has many of the story beats of the original Little Mermaid but set in semi modern day on a Caribbean island

The fact that the characters are black matters as the story deals with struggles of colorism, there’s a Voodoo inspired pantheon of gods, and in general the music is really good and in parts both funny and moving

#if you want the little mermaid but with more oomph and ethnic relevance #once on this island #the little mermaid

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zylev-blog · 4 months

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Danny has a new rogue. The man is going by the name of Freakshow, but most of the whispers he’s heard have labeled him as the Joker. The Joker pings as a liminal, so Danny has been trying to find him. Problem is, the Joker doesn’t stay in Amity Park. The man is mobile, and the more Danny leaves Amity Park, the more he’s hunted by the GIW. This makes it harder to hunt the man, but he knows that Joker is dangerous. Unstable.

And he really hates clowns.

He’s chasing the Joker through New Jersey when a red blur knocks into him and drags him away from the Joker. He has enough sense left to realize he’s being moved in superspeed before he’s head butting the man holding him and turning intangible out of his arms. He hears the man in red groan and hold his bleeding nose.

“Wait.” The man in red pants, “The Joker is dangerous.”

“I know he is.” Danny tells him, “That’s why I’m taking him down.”

“You’re not working with him?” A man in black asks.

“What? No!” He gestured to himself, “I don’t have this getup because of him, you know. I’m a dead kid. A ghost. He’s messing with the living while carrying traces of the dead, and that’s wrong, you know? Once you kill so many people, it offends the dead and we have to intervene. Once you pass that point, the dead takes your soul. He’s already on his way there.”

“You don’t look dead.” The man in black says while the man in red looks away from him.

“Yeah? And you look like a bat. You don’t have room to talk when you look like a furry.” He rolled his eyes.

“I’m Flash and this is Batman.” Flash introduced himself and his partner, “We and the Joker are from another dimension. We’re trying to take Joker down before he merges our dimensions and takes over both of them.”

“Ugh, not more interdimensional bullshit.” Danny swears. “You can call me Phantom, by the way.”

“You don’t seem suprised about this.” Batman prompts.

“Yknow, after the fifth attempt at interdimensional war you get used to it. This dimension has the most… uh, what did they call it? Oomph? I think it means like, this is the most powerful dimension out of all of them. It doesn’t take long for us to kick them back where they belong. But this Joker dude, he’s persistent.” Danny shrugged.

“I know Joker the best.” Batman told him.

“As long as Joker ends up back in his dimension before he merges ours.” He grimaced. “Been there done that once, it wasn’t pretty to undo. It nearly destroyed both of our dimensions, but some things aren’t supposed to be merged.”

“To work together, we need to know what you can do.” Flash glanced at Batman.

“Do you want a list?”

#dp x dc #dp x dc au #dp x dc writing prompt #dp dc crossover #dp x dc fanfic #dp x dc prompt #danny phantom crossover #dp x dc crossover #danny phantom #dp crossover #dpxdc prompts #dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp crossover #danny is ghost king #ghost king danny phantom #flash batman and joker are in the dp universe #danny is so done

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lokis-army-77 · 7 months

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A New Purchase

Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word Count: 1.6k

When you come home only to discover your boyfriend has bought something completely ridiculous.

Warning: 18+. p in v, riding.

Here's the little thing we talked about the other day @munson-blurbs @lofaewrites @chrissymjstan @hellfire--cult (it isn't as good as I think it could be but oh well)

Masterlist

Eddie was almost giddy with excitement when he saw the Facebook marketplace posting. The aluminum body was a bit rusted and the inside fabric was also questionably stained but hey it was a decoration for three hundred dollars and local pickup, hell yes, he was buying it.

The only thing Eddie didn’t realize was that it wasn’t a small decoration. No… it was real and he had no clue where he was going to store it until Halloween. Then came the brilliant idea of testing it out. He only wanted to know what it would be like to lie there, how comfortable would it be?

That’s how you came to find Eddie lying in a casket in the middle of your living room.

Walking through the door you stop suddenly, as the small walkway between the wall and the back of the couch is blocked. Eddie is lying there, eyes closed and hands crossed over his chest.

“Eddie, what the fuck are you doing?”

He can’t help the grin that paints his once stoic features. He squints open his eyes as he begins to laugh. “I’m testing out my new purchase. Do you like it?”

You sigh and whip your hand over your face, shaking your head. “What on Earth possessed you to buy a casket? Wait, hang on, where did you buy a casket?”

He sits up, resting an arm on the side, and goes into his explanation. “You are never gonna believe it, fucking Facebook Marketplace. It was so cheap and to be honest I thought it was a fake one that would have been maybe a foot or two tall but nope. Imagine my surprise when I get to this guy's house and he rolls this baby out. He slaps the side panel for emphasis. He even threw in the church trucks for free so it would be really easy to move around.”

You just chuckle and shake your head. “Okay, then why did you buy it?”

“I figured we could use it to decorate for Halloween and also because when I saw it was actually real I just had to test it out. Take it for a test drive before I actually do kick the bucket.” He said it so seriously like it was the most obvious reason in the world.

“Eddie, really?”

“Oh, come on babe, like you’ve never thought about laying down in one of these bad boys.”

“Contrary to what you might believe, no, no I haven't.”

Eddie reaches out then, making a child-like gesture of opening and closing his hand. You walk forward and curl your fingers around his. “Switch places with me, see how it feels.”

“No, I’m not getting in there.” You laugh.

“Why not? Do you really want the first time you experience this to be when you’re dead? You won’t even know if it's uncomfortable or not.” He pulls you forward even more.

“Eddie no-”

“Come on… If you won’t switch then get in with me.”

You give in, sighing playfully as you bend down and crawl into the cramped casket. Eddie tries his best to shift over so you have space, but the area inside is only so big and definitely was never intended for two.

You both are laughing when your knee suddenly loses its steadiness, atop the thin, almost non-existent padding layered over the metal bottom, and slides out from under you and you fall on top of Eddie’s chest with an “oomph”. You look up and you catch a glint in his eye as they darken just a bit.

It’s a familiar look, one that he has given you so many times no matter the situation or surroundings. A look that he knows you will give into.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You plead with him, knowing where this will end.

Eddie looks at you, eyebrows raised in faux confusion. “I’m not looking at you in any particular way, Sweetheart.”

You slap his chest playfully. “Eddie you are giving me your ‘I want sex’ eyes and I am not going to, not here.”

“Baby,” He wines. “Come on. It’ll be sexy. We could even role-play as vampires.”

“No-”

“Please.” Eddie reaches his hand to cup your cheek, pleading softly as he brings his face closer to yours. You are trying to fight it but you know you can’t and Eddie knows too. As soon as he looked at you with those sultry brown eyes, you were plyant in his grasp.

When his lips press into yours, you sigh, relaxing into him. Your fingers curl into his shirt and you inch up, caging his hips between your thighs. It hasn’t even been thirty seconds from when the kiss started and you can already feel him hardening under you.

Pulling away, you mumble into him, lips barely touching. “Does it really turn you on thinking of fucking here?”

Eddie nods and surges forward to reconnect your mouths. His tongue flits past your lips and finds its way inside, caressing your own.

You're barely-there resolve crumbles as you begin to roll your hips into him. You can feel his hard length as you grind, his breath catches in his throat.

"Fuck baby," he mumbles against your lips. "Need to feel you around me."

There is a heat coursing through you, clouding your mind as your fingers begin to unbutton his pants.

Eddie is eager, his hips press up into your hands, pushing you to free him faster. The blue cotton of his boxers has turned a deeper color in a small spot where the head of his cock rests, the precum there being soaked up by the cloth.

You slide a nail up his covered shaft and a great shiver overtakes his body under you. "Don't tease me- please."

A chuckle bubbles out of you. "But that's the fun part."

Eddie just whimpers in response.

You begin pushing your fingers past the elastic waistband. You pull the fabric down and bring your other hand up to help situate both his pants and boxers down to his mid-thigh.

His cock springs forward and you can't help the feeling of absolute lust coursing through your veins. You need him inside you, now.

You silently thank your past self for deciding to wear a dress today. In your need, you don't think you would be able to wrangle yourself out of a pair of pants.

Firmly you take Eddie's cock into your hand. He hisses at the new pressure you ar editing him.

"Fuck baby, just like that." His hips jump into your touch.

"Gonna let me fuck myself on you? Gonna let me take what I want?"

Eddie only nods. Words have left him as he stares into your sultry gaze.

You begin to stroke him, up and down, spreading the stickiness leaking from his tip with your thumb.

Then, you begin to scoot up his body. Hovering over him. Eddie watches in awe as you take him up in one hand and move your panties over with the other. A slow moan releases itself from your as you begin to sink down on him.

Eddie's cock was perfect. It always felt so good to be wearied around him, his head pushing deeper into you.

Both of your breathing is labored. You try to keep yourself calm, you don't want to rush into riding him, you want to take your time making each of you feel wonderful. Eddie. On the other hand, is trying not to combust as he lays there and watches.

The way your dress is hiked up around your beautifully, thick thighs, how his cock disappears into you, surrounded by a curly thatch of hair.

God he loved you. It was the only way to explain why his heart was beating out his chest.

You groan as you feel him entering you. There is a slight burn as you stretch around him. Slowly, you begin to move your hips. Eddie starts to make choked noises and his hands reach out to grab you. His fingers grip your hips, helping you grind into him. Your own hands grasp at his covered stomach.

There was an ache building as you moved. Low in the depth of your stomach and it began to grow. The more you fucked yourself onto Eddie the more the ache was felt. IT had you clenching down around him. You cunt milking his cock of everything he could give you.

Eddie’s hands caress your body. When his fingertips touch skin, it's like an electric shock goes through you.

“Eddie-” You moan.

“I know, love.” He mummers.

“Can feel you so deep.” You grind harder, shivering as your clit rubs against his pubic bone. “Need more.”

“Yeah? Take it, baby, take anything you want.”

You catch Eddie’s hands and guide them up under your dress and to your breasts.

He hums in approval as he pushes your bra down and begins to play with your nipples, pinching and pulling them slightly.

Your head lolls to the side, hair falling down around you. It’s taking so much energy for you to keep moving. Your legs are beginning to tire out, there is a sting in your muscles. Your knees are screaming at you as they dig into the not-so-comfortable foam at the bottom of the casket.

Body becoming rigid, you cry out, moaning Eddie’s name loudly into the living room. Your fingers cling to him as your body caves into him. You can no longer keep moving so Eddie begins bucking his hips into yours, helping you to ride out this high and bring him to his own.

Eddie lets you fall almost completely on top of him once he’s finished. His arms wrap around you, your breaths in sync with the other.

As you rest your forehead on Eddie’s chest, you feel the tiny movement of him jerking. He’s trying not to laugh.

You crane your neck to look up at him. “What?”

He shakes his head.

“Eddie.”

“Nothing, just that we fucked in a casket.” His smile was as wide as could be,

You let your head fall and you laugh into his chest. “Don’t get used to it.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things smut #stranger things fic #female reader

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saradika · 6 months

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—HOW TO USE CANVA TO MAKE MOODBOARDS

I got a kind message asking how I make moodboards in Canva, so I wanted to do a little tutorial! Canva is a free graphic design app/website, and I use it for everything.

To start - open the app/page and use the search bar at the top to search for a template. I usually use: photo collage, scrapbook, aesthetic moodboard - all of these will pull up pre-made templates for you to use.

[I have a couple linked below that I’ve used and liked, or have bookmarked to try:]

Anything with a crown is for Canva Pro members - you used to be able to use the templates as a free member (just not the paid assets) but that changed recently. The linked templates above are all free ones that you can use right away.

PHOTOS:

Once you’re in the template, you can press the + in the bottom corner to bring up the menus. The Elements tab have items you can add in (more on that later) - for now you want to go to Uploads, and add the photos you want to use. I mostly get mine from Pinterest and Google Images.

[If you are writing an x reader fic and are looking for tips for creating an inclusive moodboard, there are some awesome resources here: one | two !]

After that, go back to your template and click on the different photo frames, and use the Replace button in the toolbar - it will let you replace the template photos with your own. Double tap to move and resize your image within the frame, (and there are also filters you can use if you want!)

When working on moodboards, I like to move things around. You can replace the frames they use by clicking on the item and then clicking the Trashcan. Then go back to the + menu, and then Elements, and scroll down to Frames. You can scroll through them all, but my fave keywords to use in the search bar is: polaroid, torn, and ripped.

Once they’re added, you can move them wherever you want. There’s a button on the toolbar that says Position, and you can shift the object forward/back between the items around it.

DETAILS:

Once you add your photos, then comes the details! You can change the background color and add/change the fonts (or upload your fave font to use!) Try out all the tools on the toolbar to see what you can do, there’s a lot of options.

I love love layering with my moodboard, so I will go back to the + / Elements tab, and then search for things to layer in. My fave searches for Graphics recently are: ripped paper, grunge patterns (to use in the background), star patterns, dried flowers, and dried leaves.

You can use the Position tool on them to fit them in-between or in front of your photos. I usually use them to hide harsh edges or in places that look a little empty.

I also like adding fabric texture to the backgrounds, to fill the space between the photo frames. There isn’t an easy way to do this - the best way I figured out is to find an image of the texture you want, and then to add a photo frame with a torn or jagged edge in the very back (and then use your new texture there). You can duplicate and move it, to cover the space (you can see some examples below - the beige flower pattern in the Din one, the black velvet for Alfred).

Here are some examples of the original templates, and then what my finished ones look like. You can see what I swapped out, moved, and added:

original image | my moodboard

EDITING:

Once I am happy with the design I download it, and then edit. I love this part - pop it into your fave editing app, and play around with the exposure/contrast/hues/sharpness. I will mess with the color balance & vibrancy as well - this can really take a moodboard I like, to one I love.

Here’s some gifs I made showing before /after editing - both are pretty before but I think the after has an oomph that I really appreciate.

[When you finish with one and want to use the same template, you can click Make a Copy, and it will duplicate it. I began with templates but everything I do now are copies of heavily/edited templates or ones I’ve made from scratch. But for starting off, I think a template is the way to go!]

And that’s it!! I would really suggest just opening it up and seeing what you can do. Not all of mine turn out great, but each time I think I get a better handle on all the different options and what my moodboard style is.

I really hope this helps! And feel free to tag me if you post any you make, I’d love to see them (or drop me an ask if you have any questions!) 💖💕

#please give this a reblog if it was helpful! 💖#and just a note the 4th example is an OC x Character fic moodboard #moodboards #graphics #tutorials #aesthetic moodboard #resources #fic moodboard #fan fic meta #fic writing #writing resources

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hotchnisslvr · 20 days

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through love and loss

~for riv, happy birthday angel <3 thank you for letting me tell this story~

pairing: hotch/reader

rating: t

word count: 9.5k

genre: angst, hurt/comfort with a happy ending

summary: after witnessing your long-term friend and colleague profess his love for you moments before dying in the field, you struggle to cope with the grief and trauma of his loss. through his own experience with traumatic loss, day by day, Hotch aids in your healing and the feelings you begin to catch for him as time goes on scare you just as badly. Will you be able to move on and start again? Or will your grief be too much for you to bear?

“You’ve been one hell of a partner,” he says. His fingers gently clasp over yours and your panicked eyes glance up from the gaping wound in his abdomen to lock onto his. They’re surprisingly clear, the lights of the street lamps reflecting back at you in them. His blood paints your now intertwined fingers. Your gaze flickers between them and his eyes, the soft smile on his lips.

“Don’t say that,” you bite, your voice thick with tears. “Garcia!” you cry knowing she can hear you through your earpiece.

“Honey, they’re coming as fast as they can! Hotch is leading the charge, EMS is with them.” Her voice wavers as it crackles through the mic. “Just hold on.” You don’t know if she’s saying it to you or to him. His earpiece hadn’t fallen out when he caught the bullet and hit the ground.

“They won’t make it in time.” He says, choking out a pathetically weak laugh. “I always knew it could end like this. Can you make sure they use a good photo of me at the funeral? Maybe that shirtless selfie I took in Miami?”

“God, can’t you just shut the fuck up for once?” you snap as you apply more pressure to his abdomen. “You always have some kind of joke, some one liner.”

His smile cracks as you press down, a small “oomph” passing his lips. “You,” he takes a shuddering breath. “You love my jokes.”

“Yeah,” you bite as you blow a strand of sweat drenched hair out of your face, “and you can keep annoying me with them after you get to a hospital.”

“Humor me, will ya?”

Hot tears brim along your lash line as you paint on a smile. “Okay,” you answer tightly.

“My ma,” he starts. He coughs and a trickle of blood spills from the corner of his lips. “Tell her I got him, ok? She’ll need to hear that. And, and tell her I went laughing. That’ll help.”

You can’t help the sob that erupts from your throat, but you try your best to stifle it. His hand tightens around yours and you know it’s taking all of his strength to do that.

“Can you do that?”

You nod as tears stream down your cheeks, etching soft lines into your skin.

“And,” he coughs again as he struggles to breathe. “I can’t—” he rasps. “I can’t go without telling you.” His fingers shake as he withdraws them from your hand and reaches up to touch your cheek. Instinctively, your hand reaches up to support it, cradling the warmth of his palm against your face. He smiles as he winces. “I love you. Since the first day I saw you, I’ve loved you. I shouldn’t—” His features twist as a shudder racks his body and a sob breaks free from his lips. “I shouldn’t have put this job above that, what the Bureau would’ve thought. It’s all too short, ya know?” A bitter laugh tumbles free as he takes a deep breath.

You can hear the sirens now. They’re close, but not close enough. They won’t make it.

“Promise me,” he says, his voice wavering. His gaze locks on yours though you can hardly see for the tears blurring your vision. “The next time you feel love, you really, truly start to feel that hint of desire, those, those butterflies in your stomach, goddammit chase them, Catch that feeling, bottle it up, and don’t let it go for nothing. Promise me.”

You shake your head as you hold desperately onto his hand against your cheek. You feel his thumb weakly stroke the skin there.

Cars screech to a halt. Doors slam.

“I promise.”

His hand goes limp in yours.

The scream that tears from your body is primal and unearthly. This isn’t happening. It cannot happen. You scramble to check his pulse, to hope beyond hope you’ll feel the faintest of beatings; something, anything to signify that he’s still there. There’s nothing. Naturally, you move to begin CPR. Or at least you try to before two big arms thread through yours from behind, hooking you against the plane of someone’s body as they pull you away. You thrash and scream against their hold, fighting to get back to him.

“Let the medics do their job,” a voice says in your ear. Morgan. His grip tightens around you, not in a way that’s painful, but grounding. “Let them try.”

There’s a ringing in your ears, growing louder as you watch the two medics crowd around him. One cuts away the fabric of his shirt while another begins CPR. You watch on in silent, stunned horror.

“What happened?” another voice you recognize says sternly, though his voice sounds far away, like you’re underwater and he’s up above the surfaces.

The medics exchange a grim look after a couple of minutes. The one performing CPR’s rhythm slows until she’s doing nothing at all. She shakes her head.

Your knees buckle and you’re falling. Morgan responds immediately, trying to balance your weight against his own as you go to the ground. Though you're prepared to hit the asphalt, it never rises to meet you. Instead, you fall against the scratchy fabric of a Kevlar vest. Arms cradle you into the plane of a wide chest, your body spasming against their frame as uncontrollable sobs wrack your body. Harsh, guttural screams tear from you, your breathing uneven and irregular as you struggle for air between sobs. Black spots dot your vision.

“You have to breathe,” a faraway voice says. His tone is even, modulated. “Listen to me.” He says your name. Your name. Your name. You latch onto that. You try to, but oh my God. He’s dead. You watched him die. You felt his life leave his body. He loves you…loved you.

“I think she’s going into shock. Medic!”

Everything feels detached, like your limbs are not your own. A light shines in your eyes, but you don’t flinch away. You see the stars. You’re on your back? Your fingers buzz and shake involuntarily, numbness creeping in as you fight to inhale a full breath. A hand clasps yours. It's warm. Something slips over your nose and mouth, a mask? Breathing feels easier, but not by much.

“She suffered a blow to the head—”

Had you? Yes, wait. The fight before. The scramble for the gun. The unsub had wrestled it out of your hand and struck you over the head with the butt of the weapon and then…then two shots rang out.

White stars explode behind your eyes, blinding you. There’s a ringing in your ears.

“He loved me,” you whisper as your vision blurs.

Someone’s calling your name.

“He told me he loved me.”

And then it’s dark, and there’s nothing. And you don’t have to feel anymore.

•

“I can walk you inside.”

“I’m fine, Hotch. Just—” You close your eyes and inhale slowly. You’re not fine. You don’t know if you’d ever be fine. You smooth down the black fabric of your dress, the silk wrinkled from how tightly you’d held onto it during the service. Your knuckles ache from clenching them so hard and your palms sting, littered with half moon cuts from

digging your nails into them; any external stimulation to distract your mind from what was actually happening. Anything to keep from breaking down in front of everyone.

“Just?” he hedges.

You blink out of your stupor and stop staring at the dash. “Thank you for the ride,” you say curtly. Without meeting his gaze, you hastily exit the SUV and step into the rain. You clutch your arms against your chest, holding your double breasted trench closed over your body as you tuck your head and slip through the double doors into your apartment complex, hardly registering the motions of entering your code into the keypad.

God knows how many times you’ve walked this path to your apartment, but today it seems longer. You feel the pressure of each step in these uncomfortably tall, but not too tall, heels. Your purse bounces against your leg as you walk, each step heavier than the last. The ride to the top floor takes longer than ever and when you arrive in front of your door you almost can’t recall which key on your ring will unlock it.

The door to your apartment yawns open to greet you, yet you kick it shut, clamping its lips together to envelop you in darkness once again. Everything is the same, yet it’s all different. You stand there on the doormat staring down the short corridor you cross through day in and day out. Did he know he’d leave his apartment for the last time that day?

The hall leads to the open concept shared living room and kitchen areas. Despite all of the shades being drawn, the wide rectangular sliding glass door ahead emits shrouded gray light from behind the curtains. Without clear thought, you move toward it, dropping your keys and purse on the ground at the door. Mindlessly, your fingers move to the buttons of your coat. Shrugging out of the bulky layer, it falls to the floor in a ripple of fabric as you push the curtain open and unlock the door. The dull pitter patter of raindrops crescendos as you slide open the door, the thick glass no longer dampening the sound of the downpour. You breathe in the crisp November afternoon as a wall of cold air slams into you, eliciting goosebumps across your exposed flesh. You don’t think as you step out into the rain, the wind blowing sideways.

Standing still, you let the rain pelt you and the wind throw your hair. It doesn’t take long for it to soak through your dress, which now clings to your figure. Your hair sticks to your face and neck, a tangled mess of mother nature’s finest. The cold seeps in just as fast and before long your lips are quivering and your teeth are chattering. You feel it bruise down to your bones, yet you don’t move. You feel the icy sting because anything is better than feeling his loss. Anything is better than feeling the raw agony of grief as it digs its fingers into your chest and holds your beating heart in its hand and mocks your pain, never letting you forget a second of that night.

There’s your name on the wind, wait, no. It’s behind you. Your instincts have slowed, like deadened nerves, they don’t react the same.

“What are you doing out here?”

You blink and Hotch is standing just outside of your back door, his hand shielding his eyes from the rain. Your lip quivers in response as he steps forward and pulls you inside. He immediately shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders before guiding you to the couch.

“God, you’re freezing,” he says as he drops your hand in your lap. “I’ll get some towels.”

You stare at your hands in your lap as he stands, his footsteps echoing down the hall. He returns with two. The first, he passes to you and you just hold it. The second he uses to blot your face before draping it over your shoulders and pulling your hair off your neck and face, smoothing it over your ears and shoulders so it falls over the towel.

When he sits, his eyes meet yours. They’re a deep brown, like coffee, coffee without milk. They’re warm like coffee, too. Just looking into them begins to just barely chisel at the ice you’ve let burrow deep into your bones.

His brow pinches. “God, what the hell were you thinking? You’re going to get sick standing out there in the rain and cold like that.”

Your fingers curl around the towel in your lap, your gaze fixed on the coffee table. “I needed to feel anything else,” your voice cracks as tears well along your lash line. “Because if I don’t, all I’ll feel is the hurt and it’s so deep, and I’m so scared that this is all I’ll ever feel.”

Hotch’s features soften, his lips parting. He knows the feeling all too well. “It seems like that now.” His voice is soft. “When I lost Haley, even though we’d been divorced for some time, it felt like my world had crumbled out from under me and I wondered if I’d ever be able to rebuild it.”

A strangled sob escapes your lips and you hug the towel to your chest. “How? you ask, voice pleading. “How do you do that? I want to do that. I need to start, because I can’t…I can’t live with this pain, Hotch.”

“It’s not immediate,” he answers. “It’ll take a long time for the pain to subside to where it’s only a dull ache and then one day, you’ll wake up and it won’t hurt anymore. You have to give yourself grace and let yourself feel the agony of his loss. Stop trying to push it down. You don’t have to save face for anyone.”

Your voice is small when you speak. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Hotch responds empathetically. “Grieving is the hardest part.” His hand reaches for yours. It’s warm against your icy skin and you remember this feeling. He’d been the one to hold your hand as the paramedics loaded you into the ambulance that night. For the first time, you raise your eyes to meet his.

“I don’t think I can come back,” you say, “not now.”

Hotch nods. “I wouldn’t expect you to. Take the bereavement. I’ll pull some strings to grant an extension on it. When it runs out, we can revisit a return to work.” He squeezes your hand and inclines his head to really look at you. “I understand what you’re going through more than anyone. I know how easy it is to want to isolate and shut the world out. When you feel that darkness calling you? I want you to call me instead. I’ll help guide you out of it. Can you do that?”

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth with your teeth to stop its trembling and nod. “I can do that.”

•

Your heartbeat echoes in your ears as the elevator slowly climbs to the floor where the BAU works from. Your fingers twitch along your side as you watch the numbers light up with each passing story. When the elevator dings, signaling it’s your turn to face reality, you square your shoulders and stride through the doors as they part.

A shock of blonde and pink hair greets you immediately. Arms are around you, squeezing you against a fuzzy green cardigan that smells faintly of jasmine.

A small smile tugs at your lips and you're surprised to hear laughter from your lips. “It’s nice to see you, too, Penelope.”

“I missed you!” she says, a wide smile on her pink lips.

“I’ve missed the team,” you say, peering around her. “Is everyone here?”

She shrugs, “It’s Monday morning so everyone is filtering in. You know how it goes.” She turns toward the double doors leading inside. She points over her shoulder with a pen topped with a purple pom pom. Her lips press together. “Are you ready?”

You inhale slowly and swallow.

You know this is going to be hard, but it has been a month. You were sleeping through most nights and had begun seeing the Bureau appointed therapist to cope with the trauma and loss. Hotch had kept his word too. When you had holed yourself away in your room; takeout containers barely touched, forgetting to take showers, and had laundry piled so high it threatened to bury you in an avalanche of fabric, you called him. That’s all you’d done. You couldn’t speak when you did. It had taken all of your strength just to find his contact and hit ‘dial.’

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” was all he’d said before hanging up.

Penelope had given him the spare key to your apartment that she’d still had from when she watered your plants whenever a case kept you out for longer periods of time than usual. He’d figured you’d not have the strength to pull yourself out of bed. He hadn’t even come into your room when he’d first gotten there. He announced himself when he’d entered, not that you’d have reacted if it were an intruder. Ok, that might have been bullshit. At your core, you were still an agent and those instincts would’ve kicked in. You’d stayed in your blanket cocoon as the sound of dishes clanking and water splashing echoed from the kitchen. He’d knocked on your door and entered with a trash bag, collecting takeout and emptied the rather gross and overflowing bedroom trash can by your bed that you’d filled with tissues from the sporadic sob sessions that would overtake you. Silently, he’d pulled your clothes up off the floor into the hamper and started a load of wash. Only when things were clean did he sit on the edge of your bed and let you fall into him and fall apart all over again.

“Rossi sent me with a home cooked lasagna. It should last the week and then he’ll send another next week. I stocked your fridge with Gatorade. You’ll get sick if you dehydrate and trust me, you don’t want that to happen.” It had sounded like he’d spoken from experience.

When you’d managed to stop crying, you’d sniffed and looked up at him. “Did I hear you humming the “clean up” song?”

“It helps Jack stay on task at home,” he’d said, a soft smile and blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Sweetie?”

You blink. Penelope is looking at you, the concern clear on her face.

You clear your throat and nod. “I’m ready.”

As you enter the bullpen, you don’t miss the way people pretend not to stare as you pass by; watching for cracks in your face and your body that might fracture leaving them to pick up the pieces. There’s a tension in the room as you pass his desk, a pregnant pause as they await your reaction but you’d been preparing for it. You feel the pain flow through you and take slow, measured breaths. The dread passes. The room breathes a sigh of relief.

It isn’t until later in the day that you’re passing the briefing room to deliver a file to Hotch in his office that you notice his photo on the wall honoring fallen heroes within the Bureau; his name embossed on a golden placard and eager, bright face smiling back at you.

Your ceramic coffee cup shatters as it hits the tile. Heads turn in your direction and Hotch is quick enough to react, stealing out of his office and reeling you back into it before you crash onto your knees unable to breathe.

•

Work gets easier. The routine becomes familiar again. There are good days and bad days. You don’t break down again at work after the initial shock on your first day back. Aaron checks in with you regularly as does the rest of your team. Hotch seems to pay extra attention, though, and you wonder if the team notices just how close you’d become over the last few months.

It started out simple enough; an extra “how are you?” or bringing you a cup of coffee in the morning. On your first week back, he’d only brought you decaf. “I don’t want to increase any anxiety you might be feeling,” he’d said.

You weren’t cleared to return to the field for two months, so you’d stay behind when the team left; helping remotely from the office with Penelope. You’d missed Hotch during the cases that took them far away from home. At first you told yourself, you were only missing how within reach Hotch had been when you were having a harder time making it through the day. You’d chided yourself and told yourself that it's time to cut the cord, that you had to learn to stand on your own two feet again sooner or later without him there to be your crutch. But was that all you missed?

Having him around made breathing feel easier. It made waking up in the morning seem worth it. He reminds you why you face each day and of the important work you do for the community and country at large. He reminded you why he wouldn’t want you to suffer like this months after the fact.

As you sit at your desk awaiting a phone call from Spencer to get you that update from the morgue, you lean back in your chair and close your eyes. Your ears pick up on the rustling of papers, the gentle whir of the copy machine, phones ringing, and people talking. It’s all so normal. It feels like any other day at the office, yet it feels hollow still.

Hotch had been working on it with you, though. He knew that you’d been withdrawing, despite having come back. You still weren’t taking people up on their offers to go out on weekends or getting a drink after work. It was all too exhausting. So, he started slowly with you. At first, it was really just making sure that you were meeting your basic needs. He’d schedule a time with you at the weekend to go out and get groceries; easy grab and go items because you still didn’t have much energy to cook. He’d help you unpack them and then head back home, not before giving you a hug and telling you how proud he was of you. Eventually, as you’d been able to handle more, he invited you on outings with him and Jack. You’d go watch one of his soccer games or go to the park. Seeing someone so carefree and innocent brought real joy to your heart and it suddenly didn’t seem so unnatural to smile and laugh. And during all of this Hotch had even shared his own experiences with how he’d handled his grief when Haley died. He’d done it all alone though. He’d confided this in you one night over a glass of wine and Thai takeout in your living room.

“I wish I’d had someone to help pull me out of the thick of it, the grief.” he’d said and you’d stopped chewing your food.

“You went through this all on your own?” you’d replied, stricken by the thought.

He’d nodded as he’d wiped a napkin over his lips. “Haley’s sister would keep Jack for a week at a time because I could hardly take care of myself, let alone my own son. It felt terrible, like I was failing him and failing Haley all over again. I would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, pouring over every little detail wondering what I could’ve done differently, how I could’ve changed the ending.”

“Then what?” you’d asked, because you’d been plagued by the same nightmarish loop of that night.

A soft smile had graced his lips then. “I finally accepted that there’s no way I can change the past. I can wish and hope and beg and plead for a do-over, but that just doesn’t happen. I could either live in that painful memory forever or be grateful I got to have the time with her that I did and do everything in my power to honor her life with my own. I chose to keep living.”

Your phone rings, pulling you out of the memory.

“Hey Spence, any update from the morgue?”

“Mm, not Reid.”

You sit up straighter. “Oh, Hotch. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I’m leaving the station now to go interview the victim’s wife and wanted to check in.”

“Oh, sir. You didn’t have to do that. Things are fine here. Penelope and I are holding down the fort.”

“You know that’s not what I’m calling to check in about.”

Your brow furrows. Is that a smile you hear in his voice?

You lower your voice. “I’m fine.”

“If being back in the office is too much, too soon I can petition—”

“Really, Hotch,” you say, keeping your voice down. “It feels good to be busy again. If I’m caught up in work, my mind can’t dwell elsewhere. I’m right where I need to be.”

“Well, not right where you need to be,” Hotch comments.

There’s an immediate silence that follows, his words hanging in the liminal space between you and him over the line.

You open your mouth to speak when a beep hits your line. You pull your phone from your ear and see an incoming call alongside Spencer’s photo illuminating your screen. “That’s Spencer on the other line. I uh, I gotta go.”

•

You startle awake, heart hammering inside your chest. His name leaves your lips in a jagged, anguished cry. Cold sweat trickles down your face as you bolt upright, digging your fingers into the mattress to steady yourself.

The door to your room swings open and Hotch hurries to your bedside. You blink hard following the intrusion but quickly remember why Hotch is even here in the first place.

Jack had had a sleepover party at a friend’s house nearby, so you’d asked if he wanted to come over and have a Lord of the Rings marathon. It was playing on cable all evening and you did love those hairy footed hobbits. Hotch had smiled and said something about it having been years since he’d seen them. You’d started to doze three quarters through The Two Towers and he’d encouraged you to go to bed. You told him that he was welcome to stay and keep watching and he’d made some crack about you having a comfortable couch to fall asleep on. Your apartment was closer to Jack’s sleepover party than Hotch’s apartment, so it just made sense for him to stay. Or at least that’s what you’d told yourself.

He smooths back the hair that’s stuck to your face and the feel of his fingers on your skin helps ground you back to reality.

“Deep breaths,” he soothes. “Here.” he passes you the glass of water off of your nightstand and you mutter a thank you as you gulp it down.

When you finish, he takes the glass from you and replaces it on the nightstand. His other hand curls into yours.

“Hey,” he says, inclining his head to intercept the trajectory of your blank stare. Your eyes shift to meet his. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You press your lips together and shake your head. “It was all the same. Just that night in high definition except,” you swallow and shake your head, hoping it clears the image away like when you’re a kid and shake your Etch A Sketch when you want to create a new picture, “the unsub was laughing. From where he lay, dead on the ground, he was laughing. Blood bubbled up through his teeth as he did so and he just kept laughing.” You drop your head into your hands and rub your temples. “I swear I can still hear it. I can still see his open eyes, unseeing, while he laughed.”

Hotch rubs small circles on your back. “I know how scary it is, how unsettling it can be. It’s only a dream. The unsub is dead. He can’t hurt you or anyone else anymore.”

“How long?” you ask, exhaustion heavy in your voice.

“How long, what?”

“How long do the dreams last?”

Hotch sucks a breath in through his teeth. “I wish I had an answer for you,” he says. “There are some nights I still wake up in a cold sweat just like you, Haley’s name on my lips. There are nights I dream that I saved her, nights where I got to Foyet before he got to her. There are nights I dream of Foyet standing over me, of his knife—”

Your hand slips into his and this time it’s Aaron’s turn to lift his eyes to meet yours. “I understand.”

A small smile turns the corners of his lips. “They get easier to live with.” He pulls you into his arms. You close your eyes and let yourself mold against his frame. The smell of cedar and teakwood has become familiar to you, comforting too. You inhale deeply as he squeezes you against him.

“I should let you get back to sleep,” he says as he pulls away.

“Stay?” you blurt awkwardly, voice smaller than usual.

Aaron’s brow arcs in response. “I’ll be right outside.”

“With me,” you say, gesturing toward the bed. “Just,” you breathe out slowly. You feel vulnerable. Your voice cracks despite how hard you try to keep it steady. “Can you just hold me? For a little while? I’m afraid to close my eyes just to see that smile again.”

“I—” he starts and stops. You feel your lip begin to quiver and you wish you could stuff your words back inside your mouth. He is still your boss. What the hell kind of request was that for you to make? Before you can tell him to forget it, he speaks again.

“Of course I can.”

You shift awkwardly, heart hammering now for an altogether different reason, as you make room for him to slide in next to you.

He eases onto the bed, stretching his legs out in front of him atop the covers and crosses one over the other.

He stretches his arm nearest you, “Come here,” he says softly and almost hesitantly, you lay your head against his chest. His heart beats evenly, if not a little quicker than what you imagine his resting heart rate ought to be. Was he nervous too? Was this crossing a line? Before your mind can run away with anxious thoughts, he wraps his other arm across your body while his hand finds its way into your hair, his fingers gently combing through it in slow, soothing movements.

You feel his eyes on you and you want to tilt your face up to look into them, but something holds you back. Instead you let your lashes flutter close and mutter something about only staying until you fall asleep. If you weren’t lying right beneath his lips, you might’ve missed the whisper of laughter that tumbles from them.

“Don’t worry about me,” he says as he drops his hand to your shoulder and strokes deliberate, gentle lines up and down the skin there.

He talks then; about work, about Jack, just about anything until his voice sounds further and further away and you’re fast asleep. And for the first time since you can’t remember when, it’s dreamless.

•

The hum of the jet’s engine should lull you to sleep at this hour yet you continue to scratch notes into your legal pad, not wanting to forget any details to add to your case report. You’d had trouble concentrating when you’d departed from LAX and had spent the first few hours of the flight lost in your thoughts.

The case had gone well. Within 72 hours, you’d delivered the profile and successfully captured the unsub. Richard Pyre, aged 32, had been kidnapping young women and strangling them, leaving their bodies in public places. Local PD had done an excellent job of canvassing the streets. The team came in and connected the missing pieces they’d not been able to decipher and together, you all had caught the bad guy. It was a slam dunk case. So, it shouldn’t be taking you long to compile notes for your report.

You just couldn’t get him off of your mind. It had been a month since Hotch had stayed over at your place, since you’d wept in his arms and begged him to hold you until you fell asleep. The memory alone brings a hot, embarrassed flush to your cheeks. Why? Because Hotch had fallen asleep in bed with you. His phone alarm that he’d set to remind him to pick up Jack from his sleepover had gone off in the living room. When it continued to beep, you’d stirred awake. At first you’d been confused, not remembering having set an alarm as it was Saturday, but then you’d felt the rise and fall of a chest underneath you. Aaron Hotchner was still in your bed, arms around you. He’d pulled the throw blanket from the end of your bed up and over his legs at some point during the night and just fallen asleep too.

For a moment you’d been scared to move, afraid of what lines had been crossed despite not having engaged in any sexual activities. That was your boss in your bed, for Christ’s sake. Yes, the pair of you had been blurring the lines with friendship lately as he’d become so integral to your life. But then again, everyone in the BAU kinda sorta blurred the lines between colleagues and friends. But you’d never woken up in anyone else’s arms.

You’d tried to slip out of his arms without waking him, but between the movement and his alarm going off in the other room you’d never stood a chance. He stirred awake and rubbed his eyes.

“Good morning,” you’d said awkwardly.

He’d immediately dropped his arms from around your body and cleared his throat. “I, uh,” he breathed in deeply and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I must’ve fallen asleep, I’m sorry.” He’d quickly exited the bed and scurried into the living room, where he’d swiped his alarm off.

He’d quickly collected his belongings, muttering about needing to pick up Jack. He’d averted your gaze and apologized again before giving you a quick hug and making a rather hasty exit from your apartment.

You didn’t talk about the incident afterwards, but something had definitely shifted between the two of you.

You drop your pencil onto the table and angle the reading light more towards yourself to not disturb Reid who breathes deeply as he sleeps across from you, arms cuddling his beloved satchel to his chest. As you reach for your coffee, you exhale a heavy sigh when you notice it's empty. You don’t even remember finishing it. You check your watch: 1:22AM. You really ought to try and sleep, but instead you rise to fix another cup.

Walking on the balls of your feet to not disturb the rest of the sleeping team, you make your way toward the back of the plane where the restroom and bar are situated. The red light still blinks on the coffee machine, signaling it’s been keeping the half-full pot hot all this time. As you lift the pot and begin to pour, someone speaks.

“Another cup? Really?”

You startle at the sound of Hotch’s voice, causing you to miss your cup and spill coffee on your hand. You hiss quietly and shake your hand, flinging drops of coffee across the counter.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” Hotch whisper-shouts as he withdraws his pocket square and dries your hand. He moves, bringing your hand under the bar’s lighting to inspect for injuries. Fortunately, it’s just a few blotchy red spots that ought to go away in a couple of hours. His thumb gently strokes the skin around it and your breath catches in your throat. You watch for a few moments, feeling your heart slowly start to beat its way into your throat the longer he holds onto your hand. A part of you wants to draw nearer to him, but instead you clear your throat.

“You should sleep,” he says, finally, dropping your hand. You miss the feel of his fingers immediately.

“Hi Pot, I’m Kettle, you reply snarkily.

Aaron’s lips twitch into a smile. “Yes, well. Typically, I’m working on a lot more than you’ve got to worry about as Unit Chief. I’m usually up at this hour anyway. You, on the other hand, are usually asleep with everyone else. Are you still having nightmares?”

You swallow and turn away, ripping open a packet of Splenda and stirring it into your coffee. “No, actually. Not since—”

“Since?” he presses.

You pick up your mug and turn back around to face him. “Since you stayed the night at my place.”

You don’t miss the way his eyes widen just slightly. He swallows and fidgets with the buttons of his suit jacket. Aaron Hotchner is fidgeting, a clear sign he’s nervous and holding something back.

“It scares me too,” you whisper after a long stretched out silence, hardly discernible.

“What’s that?” Hotch says, tone shifting.

You focus on the heat of the coffee mug in your hands as you press your thumbs into the ceramic to try and fight the heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Whatever this is, these feelings. I’m not stupid, Hotch, and neither are you. We’ve clearly crossed a line and I don’t know how to uncross it.” You take a deep breath, feeling like you’re rambling. “I don’t know how to think around you anymore. Everyday I wake up and get excited because I know I’m going to see you. You bring Jack over on the weekends and it fills me with so much joy I don’t know how to cope with it. And then I feel guilty because I’ve toed this line before. I toed the line and was too afraid because of my job and protocols and it left my heart so broken I didn’t think I’d ever get to put it back together again. Then you come along with your tapes and your glues and you find a way to turn the fractured pieces of my heart into this mosaic of something capable of beating once more.” A tear slips from the corner of your eye and drips down your cheek, falling into your coffee with a soft plop. You raise your eyes to meet his, “Now you tell me what I’m supposed to do with that.”

At this point, your heart is slamming in your chest. Afraid of triggering a panic attack, you turn around and dump the coffee into the small sink carved into the small bar. You don’t need it nor want it anymore.

Hotch says your name and reaches for your arm but you pull away, turning and moving back to your seat at the opposite end of the jet. He could follow, but he won’t. Fortunately for you, Reid being asleep in the seat across from you and Derek being sprawled out across the way didn’t leave much room for Aaron to follow through on your conversation.

•

When the plane lands, you pull your go-bag down from the overhead bins alongside your gun case and cut out as soon as the doors open and the stairs descend.

Emily calls after you, but you duck your head and push ahead off the tarmac and onto the path leading back to the office. You’d finished your report on the plane. Once inside, you drop the manila envelope in the box affixed next to the door to Hotch’s office and dip back out through the main office doors. The elevator dings, alerting you that the rest of the team is about to walk through those doors. Not feeling up to facing anyway you move swiftly to the staircase and push the door open, sliding your body through as the whoosh of the elevator begins to open.

Your thoughts move too quickly as your feet slap against each step, your footsteps echoing in the empty chamber of the stairwell. When you reach the ground level, the parking garage, you fish your keys out of the front pocket of your bag and press the key fob, unlocking your car. Opening the trunk, you toss your go-bag in and place your gun case beside it before slamming it shut. After sliding into the front seat, you put your seatbelt on and back out of your space. As you shift your hands to cut the wheel to the right, someone jumps in front of your car with their hands up.

You slam the breaks and curse. You roll your window down. “Christ, Spencer! What the hell are you doing?”

He lowers his hands and moves to the driver's side window, awkwardly adjusting his satchel on his shoulder as he does so. He swallows and tilts his head to the side, brow furrowed. He takes a few deep breaths. He’d clearly been rushing to follow after you. “I was uh, wondering if I could get a ride home.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “JJ was going to give me a ride, but something with Henry—”

“Just get in,” you say, too exhausted to care.

“Thank you, thank you.” He rushes around the car and clambers into the passenger seat.

For a while neither of you speak. When you pull out of the garage, the sun hurts your eyes. You cuss under your breath as you reach for your sunglasses.

“Why’d you rush off the plane so fast?” Spencer asks as you turn onto the main road. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone disembark the jet that quickly.

You press your lips together, not really wanting to have this conversation. “Maybe I just really want to go home. I’m pretty exhausted, aren’t you?”

He nods quickly, considering. “See, I think this has more to do with the conversation you and Hotch had on the plane.”

You jerk the wheel to the side, causing Spencer to cling to the handle above his seat. The sound of your tires screeching to halt echo as a car swerves and honks.

“What the hell, Spence?” you shout, pulling your sunglasses off to look him in the eye. “Did you lie to me about needing a ride just so you could trap me in this conversation?” You point a finger at him. “That’s fucked up. I don’t like lying. We’re friends.”

He tenses, flinching under your hard stare. “And that’s exactly why I’m doing this,” he says, voice tight.

You lower your finger, posture relaxing only slightly. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been paying more attention to dynamics across the team over the last eight months. I read a study on how shared trauma can impact working relationships; some for the better and some for worse. Fortunately, our team seems to have stayed relatively strong following—” He pauses, eyes shifting to yours and then back to his hands in his lap. “His death. Anyway, obviously you took it the hardest, what with having worked closest with him and the lines you walked between colleague and romantic partner.”

You feel your heart squeeze inside your chest, yet Spencer continues on.

“I didn’t see it at first. I thought Hotch was just checking in on you as is his duty as Unit Chief and having to make sure we’re all fit to be in the field. However, as time progressed I started to notice shifts in the way Hotch spoke to you and even his body language around you, even when you weren’t in the office.”

That strikes a chord deep within you. “Okay, and?”

He sits up straighter, lips pursing as he decides how to continue. “It started quite small. I’d catch him end a call with you while out on a case and he’d be smiling, other times his nostrils would flare and he’d wipe his hands down the fronts of his pants, likely because they were clammy, much like you’re doing right now.” He indicates toward you and you clench your hands into fists.

“So, what?”

He laughs exasperatedly. “So, what? You don’t have to be a behavior analyst to see these are all behaviors in line with burgeoning romantic feelings for someone.”

“I don’t—” your words falter as you fail to come up with an excuse.

“You’re scared,” Spencer states. “Moving on is the scariest part. There’s so many feelings attached to it: guilt, remorse, anger, fear, relief, joy. It’s normal to be afraid, but don’t let that fear hold you back from allowing yourself a chance at happiness.”

You swallow thickly as you feel the familiar pressure of tears burn the backs of your eyes. “It’s only been eight months. It feels wrong.”

“I miss him too, you know?” Spencer says after a minute. “I know I might not have been as close to him as you were. You two were in the Academy together after all.” He reaches across the center console and takes one of your hands in his. “And I know that once upon time you and him considered taking your relationship further but decided not to because you were just starting out with the Bureau, but,” he says your name and smiles. “His profession of feelings for you doesn’t mean he’d never want you to find that for yourself. He just wanted you to know that while he was a part of your life, he loved you for all of it. I don’t think he’d want to see you hurt like this. I really don’t.” His clear eyes search yours as he smiles. “For as short a time together as we had, I loved Maeve every day I knew her.”

“Spence—” he cuts you off with a wave of his hand.

“I miss her every day and it’s been two years. I’m not really a guy that goes on dates very often. I’m awkward and weird and I know this about myself. I do know though, that if I am lucky enough to find someone again that loves me, that she would want me to be happy. At least, I’d have wanted her to if our situations had been reversed and I’d been the one to die that day. I wouldn’t have wanted her to put her own happiness on hold.” He squeezes your hand. “You don’t have to put your life on hold. That doesn’t mean you’ll forget him.”

He drops your hand and points to the road. “I’ll buy you breakfast by the way, to make up for the lying.”

You unbuckle your seatbelt and lunge over the passenger seat to pull him into a hug. Spencer wheezes as your body weight collides with him, but his slender arms snake around your back to return the embrace.

“Thank you, Spence.”

•

Usually, after a case, you have a shower and immediately go to bed. Not this time though. Spencer’s words play over in your mind again and again as you pace the length of your apartment floor.

You’d picked up your phone a dozen times to call Aaron, but each time you’d dropped it back onto the counter.

Eventually, you just plop down onto the couch and drop your head in your hands. “Why is this so hard?” you mumble to yourself.

You look up and make eye contact with the picture of you and him from the office Christmas party two years ago. He’s wearing a Santa hat and you’ve got on a headband giving you a pair of reindeer antlers. He holds a Solo cup in the air (Rossi had definitely spiked the eggnog) and the smiles on both of your faces are so genuine. A pang of guilt shoots through as you pick up the frame and cradle it to your chest, as if that was anywhere close to what a hug from him would feel like.

“I wish you were here to tell me what to do,” you whisper.

Spencer’s words move through your mind again, especially what he’d said about Maeve. God, this team has dealt with more love and loss than any normal group of people ought to deal with, but then again you all weren’t exactly a normal group of people.

Spencer had a point though. Rationally, you know he wouldn’t want you to hold yourself back from the possibility of love and happiness with someone. You smirk to yourself because you can picture him sitting next to you making some crack about not ever thinking that man would be Hotch. He’d probably point out that Hotch was at least ten years your senior and make some dumb joke about being a gold digger. You’d never really thought about how much Hotch made compared to the rest of you, but with his title and tenure at the Bureau, it probably was up there.

If you are to do this, pursue whatever is going on between you and Aaron, presuming that that was also something he wanted, it won’t be easy. There’s enough red tape as is, let alone throwing relationships and romance into the mix. However, Rossi and Strauss had been together for a year prior to her untimely death. Again, this team had been through too much. She was his superior and there hadn’t been any problems that you’d been aware of, though no one had really been aware of their relationship until it was too late.

God, you wonder. Even Rossi hadn’t been afforded a chance at long term happiness with her. Is the BAU team just destined for trauma and loss? Maybe you should put a stop to this before it has the chance to go any further…but on the other hand you know Spencer would give his left arm if it meant having one more day with Meave. David would probably do the same to be with Erin. So, what were you doing? Why was it even a question?

You place the photo frame back in its place on the side table and grab your phone and keys off the counter. You know you look a bit disheveled. You’d not bothered to change or shower since getting home. You probably still smelled like plane funk too, but if you didn’t go see him now, you probably never would.

You pull open your front door and nearly trip over yourself as you force stop to keep from barreling into Hotch.

His hand is raised, like he is about to knock on the door no longer between you two. He licks his lips nervously and drops his hand after a

moment of you two staring at each other in stunned silence.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry to barge in like this.”

An uncomfortable laugh flits between the two of you as your voices overlap.

“Do you want to come in?” you say, gesturing behind you.

Hotch nods, “Please.”

You shuffle to the side and he steps into your apartment, eyes bouncing around the space. “You’ve managed to keep up with the place, that’s good.”

You cross your arms over your chest, hugging your biceps with your hands. “I find that humming the ‘clean up’ song helps.”

A pink blush sparks across his cheeks at your jab. “I’m glad that’s now a part of my legacy.”

There’s another awkward laugh followed by an even more awkward silence.

You rub your hands up and down your arms, suddenly finding yourself not as brave as you were feeling minutes early.

“Aaron, what are you doing here?” you manage to say after a few more awkward moments of silence.

Hotch presses lips together before taking a deep breath. He sweeps his thumb across his lips, suddenly looking very determined as he meets your eyes. “What I should’ve done on the plane.”

It takes seconds for him to cross the space between you. His hands clasp the sides of your face and then his lips are on yours, kissing you with such fervor you’re surprised that you don’t see stars. At first, you don’t even react, too stunned to believe this is happening. And then your arms are looping around his neck and you’re deepening the kiss, tasting the coffee on his lips as your tongue slips between them.

After a minute, he pulls away and you’re both breathless. He presses his forehead to yours and gasps. You look up at him from beneath your lashes and his eyes are wild and searching.

“We’re doing this, then?” you say between breaths.

Hotch nods and brushes his nose against yours. “I don’t think it’ll be easy.”

You twist your fingers into his hair, your lips brushing his as you speak. “Nothing about our lives is easy.”

He kisses you once, quick and brief. “So, we’re doing this?”

“We’re doing this.”

•

*Two years later

“Penelope is really excited about it,” you say as you pull your knees to your chest. The sun is shining brightly, but the crisp fall air is still chilly enough to warrant a scarf and light jacket.

“She wants it to be bright and colorful, with peonies and baby’s breath everywhere. There’s a board in her office with enough strings and photos connected you’d think it was a case.” You laugh to yourself and smooth a hand across the gingham pattern picnic blanket beneath you.

“There will be a chair for you,” you say wistfully. “It’ll be next to ones for Haley, Erin, and Maeve.”

You reach out and brush your fingers along the perfectly etched letters of his name. “I hope you’ll be there.”

The sun glints off of the circular cut engagement ring on your left hand, casting a dazzling rainbow across his tombstone.

“I think about the promise I made you,” you say as you adjust the bouquet of sunflowers and roses you’d propped against his grave and smile to yourself knowing he’d probably make fun of you for the way you diligently make sure there’s always some fresh arrangement to decorate the space. “I was scared when I first started to feel things for him, scared of what that meant. It took me a long time, and an oddly sentimental conversation with Reid to start chasing the feeling.” You laugh to yourself then. “I felt the butterflies though, and though it took a while, I did finally chase them.”

A small gasp escapes your lips then as a Monarch Butterfly lands on top of the stone. You don’t know a ton about their migration patterns, but you know it’s late enough in the Fall that they should all be gone. JJ had said something to you once long ago about how butterflies can be signs of your loved ones from beyond the grave, their way of visiting when they can.

There’s the pitter patter of small feet whooshing through the grass as Jack’s laughter echoes throughout the field as he races toward you.

“Daddy and I finished visiting Mommy,” he says as he throws his small arms around you. Haley had been buried at Quantico National Cemetery too given Aaron’s position within the Bureau. You wrap your arms around Jack’s and look up to see that Hotch is smiling down at the two of you. He asks you if you’re done with your visit, referring to him as uncle. You palm Jack’s small cheek in your hand as your lips curve into a small half smile and tears fill your eyes.

“Just about,” you say.

Aaron stretches a hand toward you and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet.

You glance down at his grave once more and watch the butterfly sit atop the stone gently stretching its wings. It lifts off after a few more beats, fluttering around before landing on your sweater, its small leggings hooking onto the threads of your sleeve.

You gasp in disbelief as you watch it climb a couple of inches before it takes off toward the clouds.

A tear slips down your cheeks as a bubble of laughter erupts from you, though there’s something of a sob there too. Aaron curves an arm around you and pulls you against the planes of his body that you’re now all too familiar with. He says nothing and kisses your temple as you watch the butterfly disappear into the sky and you can’t help but entertain the thought that maybe there is a heaven and that maybe, just maybe, he was checking in to let you know everything is okay.

You wrap an arm around Aaron’s torso and hug him tightly. Jack scoops up the blanket and bunches it into his arms.

“Well Soon-to-be Mrs. Hotchner,” Aaron says, rubbing your arm. “Are you ready?”

You take one last look at his grave and the flowers you’ve left there for him.

“I’m ready,” you answer with finality. And when you say those words, you mean them. You’re not just ready to leave for the afternoon, you’re ready for this next chapter of your life to truly and fully begin. It doesn’t mean you’re leaving this part of your life behind, the grief will always be a part of you and you know you’ll miss him and feel his loss until the day you die. And you know that Aaron feels the same about Haley. They’re integral parts of both of your stories, and through the healing you found one another. It’s that that carries you through to each new day, to each tomorrow. You’ll spend the rest of your lives honoring their legacies through the work you do and through the love you share with one another and all of your loved ones.

And that’s an encouraging thought.

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dilemmaontwolegs · 10 months

Text

Sod’s Law

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader Summary: For some reason bad luck followed you everywhere but it did lead to something special happening. Warnings: bad language WC: 871

F1 Masterlist

The fundamental principle of Sod’s Law states: Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. That statement could not have been more true than the day you met Lando.

Montréal 2023

“That is what happens when you choose the cheapest hotel. Honestly, you should have just stayed with us.”

You pulled the phone away from your ear just to glare at it, not that Hayley could see the daggers you were mentally sending her. Huffing indignantly, you tucked the device back between your shoulder and ear.

“It took all my savings just to get here, I couldn’t exactly afford the Four fucking Seasons.”

“It’s a Best Western, thank you very much,” she replied with an equal level of sass. “You really did have a bad sleep, didn’t you?”

“To have a bad sleep requires actually getting to sleep. I’ll call you when I get to the track, I’m almost at the bus stop now.”

“Alright, stay safe, love you.”

“You too-oomph,” you slammed into a figure that had rushed out of the actual Four Seasons hotel and fell down on your ass, wearing the coffee that was meant to perk you up.

“Un-fucking-believable. This is just perfect.” You were ranting as you shook your hands free of the hot liquid scalding them but you didn’t care, it wasn’t like your day could get any worse.

“Shit, sorry. I didn’t see you there,” a British man apologised and you looked up from the brown mess that was once your white shirt.

Your jaw dropped as you saw who it was holding his hand out to help you up. You might as well have been a fish for how you looked, opening and closing your mouth without being able to actually formulate words. “Uh. You, your Lando.”

“And you are?” he asked as he wiggled his fingers for you to take.

The many spoonfuls of sugar in the coffee had left a sticky residue on your hand and he wrinkled his nose at the feeling when he pulled you to your feet. “I’m sorry.”

“Was my fault,” he shrugged, wiping his hand on his jeans.

“Trust me, it wasn’t. I have the worst luck in the world. My luck is so bad that when my mother went to smudge me with sage, she singed my hair.”

His brows pinched together in confusion. “I don’t know what that means but I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“My shirt would say otherwise,” you said with a sigh, knowing there wasn’t enough time to return to the hotel and change. If you did that then you would miss the bus and with your luck it would snowball until you missed the entire race.

“I feel terrible for ruining your outfit,” he said sincerely and looked to the man accompanying him who just nodded. “How about you come with us and I can get you some McLaren merch? It’s the least I can do.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” You desperately wanted to accept his offer but you feared what would happen. “Bad things happen around me and I would really like to see you win.”

Lando laughed and placed a hand on your back as he guided you to a SUV that a valet had brought around. “I don’t believe that.”

“We’ll see who’s laughing, just wait.”

—

“I’m not unsportsmanlike, I don’t understand it.”

You winced as you watched the post-race interview from McLaren’s hospitality and slunk deeper into your seat. You felt like an imposter with the VIP paddock pass hanging around your neck but thankfully no one really paid you any mind.

As promised, Lando had found you a papaya orange shirt and hoodie to change into before going to do his own thing. He’d said he would see you later but you still weren’t sure if it was in the literal sense or just a casual goodbye. So you ended up loitering around just in case.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” Lando said as he fell heavily into the empty seat beside you.

Your head fell and you fidgeted with a bracelet on your wrist as you tried to hold back the tears of embarrassment welling in your eyes. “I’m sorry, I did warn you.”

“Hey,” he whispered softly, his finger curling under your chin to lift it back up. “I’m joking.”

“I’m not. It’s been like this my whole life. If something can go wrong, rest assured it will.”

Lando rose to his feet and held his hand out. You sighed quietly and started to pull the VIP pass as he came to his senses but he laughed and shook his head. “Your hand.”

You were beyond confused as you placed your palm in his and let him pull you to your feet. “Why?”

“Your luck is about to change, and I’m going to prove it.”

You chewed your lip hesitantly but eventually nodded, earning a warm smile that lit up his face. “But nothing dangerous. I’m not risking a parachute malfunction or engine failure.”

He held up his little finger and wiggled it. “Pinky promise.”

You hooked your finger with his and felt a spark flicker to life within you. Maybe, just maybe, there was hope after all.

#lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fic

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siren-serenity · 7 months

Text

my favorite shade of blue

characters: buggy the clown, gn!reader warnings: fluff, slight swearing a/n: - OMFG BUGGY??? BUGGY????? *sob, scream, drool* - babes let's admit it, buggy is so touch starved. he seems like the guy who would LOVE physical touch - feedback is appreciated!

"Y/N!"

It was so blissfully silent until your captain's sharp, loud call of your name broke you out of your light slumber. Your (e/c) eyes snapped wide open, scanning the seas around you for danger before realizing it's just Buggy being Buggy again.

"Y/N, get your ass here now!"

Grumbling, you stood up, cracking your stiff back. The salty stench of the sea invaded your senses and you took in a deep, calming breath. Your hand grasped onto the rough texture of rope and you slowly made your way down from the crowbar. The make-shift ladder kept swaying with your movements but you were confident that you wouldn't fall.

"Captain's calling for ya again?" Cabaji cycled past you. His lime green and black hair stood out from the brown wood of the ship. He wiggled his eyebrows. "Ooh, I wonder what he wants!"

You scoff, pushing your friend aside playfully.

"At least he isn't up to his shenanigans again," You said, laughing. "Wanna juggling knives on fire, Cabaji?"

He shivered at the reminder.

"Hell no!"

You nod, as if to say 'exactly', before bidding him goodbye. Your boots thumped against the wooden floors as you made your way through the ship before finally coming across the door labeled crudely 'cApTaIn'.

"Buggy?" You knock gently and an excited call of your name responds in kind. The door is flung open, revealing the love of your life, Buggy. His orange captain hat is off and he's wearing his signature red-and-white striped bandana. Baby blue eyes glimmered with happiness as he glomped you.

"OOMPH-"

"Love!" He buried himself in your shoulder. His cerulean tresses tickle you slightly and you're biting your lip to prevent giggles from bursting out of you. "Missed you...."

Your hands slipped under his thighs before you hoisted them up. Yelping, Buggy's legs were quick to trap you in a hug around your waist and his arms held onto your shoulders like a vice. You popped a quick kiss onto his scarlet-smeared lips, smiling because a bit of the lipstick had transferred onto your lips.

"Missed me, hmm?" You walked to your and his shared bed, laying him down gently. Buggy let go of you from his hands, spreading them wide on the bed while his legs remained wrapped around your waist, pulling you in. You leaned in even more, smiling.

"Yeah," He gave you a small smile. "We haven't been hanging out in a while..."

You laughed. Your hands tried to pull his legs off your waist but Buggy let out a small noise in alarm, ankles digging into your back.

Buggy whined.

"Noo...don't go!"

You booped his nose. His baby blue eyes widened.

"I'm just going to grab a brush," You looped a lock of cerulean hand around your finger, emphasizing the number of tangles and the messiness. "It's been a while since I brushed your hair, no?"

He hummed and slowly let you go. Reaching to the side, you grabbed the self-care bag. You tapped his butt to make him scooch slightly so you could sit on the bed.

"N-Not the butt!" Buggy yelped at the sudden touch and you laughed at the visible blush beneath his fading makeup. Your hands gently cradled his face and he froze.

You showed him the wet wipe in your hands.

"I'm just going to wipe the make up off, okay, Bugs?"

He nodded, looking into your eyes.

"Okay..."

You pressed a kiss to his red nose before gently wiping off the white. Each of your every movement was gentle and kind, not as aggressive as Buggy would have done to himself.

Once the make-up was off, you reached up to pull off the bandana; Buggy leaned forward to make the process easier for you. The moment the red-and-white fabric was off, his cerulean tresses fell like mesmerizing ocean waves.

"I'll never get tired of your hair," You took a lock and pressed a kiss to the hair.

Buggy laughed.

"Only you would say that," He hummed, turning around so you could brush his hair easier.

You frowned.

"I'm serious, Buggy," You began combing his hair, apologizing when the brush would get caught in tangles. "Your hair brings out the blue in your irises and stands out against the white of your face make-up."

"You think so?"

Buggy's voice was quiet, a murmur only.

You tapped his shoulder and he spun around. His eyes widened as you captured his now-bare lips into a kiss and he visibly melted in your embrace.

"Mmph~"

You pulled away, giving him a loving grin.

"It's my favorite shade of blue."

Buggy buried his blushing face in his gloved hands but you could still see traces of bright red on his cheeks.

#one piece #one piece live action #buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #one piece x reader #buggy one piece #op buggy #buggy x reader #opla #opla buggy #captain buggy

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politemenacephd · 4 months

Text

Arachnophilia: (Part Ten)

Drider!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Chapter Masterlist 🕷️

Content: Fluff and bonding, Monster/human relationship, Miguel is rutting, Reader goes into heat, Rough PinV sex, Spontaneous outdoor sex, Slight voyuerism/exhibitionism, Mouth covering, Rough biting, Creampie & web sealing, Little bit of angst at the end? CW: Mentions of & brief depiction of deer hunting.

Word count: 6060

One Week Later

‘Are you ready, arañita?’

Miguel’s voice drifted up and into the nest, turning your head towards the entrance. You were halfway through getting dressed and the distraction nearly toppled you to the floor.

‘AH- Yeah! Yeah, I’m- almost ready! Just a minute!’

You struggled into your new outfit; a suit made entirely of silk which Miguel had painstakingly crafted for you. It was super soft and strangely warm, but it clung to the contours of your body a little more than you’d have liked. You kept wondering if Miguel had consciously or perhaps unconsciously made it so form-fitting. After all, this was your third suit of its kind, as he’d ripped the other two to shreds during extremely passionate and wet sex.

You felt your face grow warm at the memory and physically shook it away. No, no time for that. If you slipped back into the heat again you’d never get to go on the trip, and you were excited to go.

As you rose to your feet you took a moment to admire how the nest was coming along. The first thing you’d done was make it homely by adding a window and doors, with the entrance now covered by a crude cut oaken circle that swung outward on a hinge and the walls now adorned with little wooden shuttered holes.

You admired the half-made fireplace in the centre of the room, next to the DIY wooden table and the slowly burgeoning food prep area, before turning to the bed.

The mattress was completely drowning in silken blankets and silken pillows, and the floor beside it was now adorned with the pelt of a stag he’d killed. You knew autumn was approaching and it would only get colder, hence the focus on conserving heat, and while you didn’t want to jinx the relationship you enjoyed planning for the future.

You did feel a little bad since almost all these changes were only for your benefit. You had to preserve heat in this empty forest, but Miguel with his soft fluffy abdomen could remain shirtless all year round.

Your eyes softened affectionately at just the thought. Such a beautiful creature. He was a sight to behold when he stepped out into the cold dawn, where the heat of his muscles created a misty sheen of steam and his white breath curling around his fangs.

‘Arañita!’

You jumped in place as Miguel’s voice echoed from below for a second time. Shit, you’d been daydreaming about him so much you’d forgotten to go down. With fumbling hands you grabbed your bag and rushed out the open door.

‘COMING!’

Where once there was only a short sticky rope to descend from his home there was now a generous ladder, allowing you to easily clamber down to the floor.

Miguel was waiting, patient as ever, his legs gently tapping on the dirt as you approached.

‘Alright! I’m here, sorry. Had some- difficulty with the suit’ you called.

‘Ah, arañita. There you are.’ The joy that lit up his face every time he saw you never failed to make your legs weak.

‘Yep! Here I am.’

‘You look wonderful in that suit, by the way’ he noted as you rushed to his side. You took the time to scoff as you grabbed handfuls of his fur, using it as leverage to drag your body onto his back. His fluff was soft where it brushed your skin, and he smelled like grass dew and wet hair.

‘Oh my god- I knew it, you designed the suit to be too tight on me, didn’t you?’

‘I- well, yes. Is that an issue? Is it uncomfortable?’

You landed on his abdomen with an ‘oomph’ and shuffled forward, settling on his back like a great horse. Your hands wrapped themselves tight around his broad waist.

‘No, but- come on. Little bit pervy.’

‘I thought that was the nature of our relationship’ he argued. He tried desperately to catch your eye but in doing so began spinning in little circles, chasing his back as you continuously ducked out of the way. You took great pleasure in making him spin. ‘I like to look at you, yes. I get great physical joy from admiring your form. You are my mate. I thought this was normal. Is that not normal?’

‘Oh my god Mig—alright, come on! No more wasting daylight hours! Go! Go! Git!’

You gently and playfully kicked his side, urging him onward like a horse, but a firm glare from his bloody red eyes quickly brought you down into an apologetic cower.

‘Sorry! Sorry, uh- shall we, shall we go, darling? At your own discretion?’

He gave a curt nod and began strolling upward into the forest.

Today, he was finally taking you hunting.

The woods, once terrifying and unknowable to you, were slowly becoming a comforting norm. You gazed up at the dizzyingly high pines as Miguel walked upward to where the trees grew sparse and wide.

The early morning daylight trickled down in thin rays, their glow highlighting the tiny specks of dust and flitting little bugs as they passed you by.

This place felt old, untouched. It was cool beneath the heavy canopy above. You could hear nothing but the distant chirps of birds and the occasional creaking of an old tree. As you passed beneath those silent giants you clutched Miguel a little tighter.

‘You were talking in your sleep last night’ you whispered. Mig jumped. You’d been walking for almost ten minutes now in abject silence, so your voice was a surprise.

‘Ah- what was that, mi tesoro?’ he whispered back once he’d regained his composure. You bit down the urge to giggle.

‘Oh, sorry, um- you were talking in your sleep last night. That’s all I said.’

‘I was?’

‘Mhm. It’s very cute. You kept kicking your legs, kicking them and grunting, then you said something like don’t run so fast little one or wait for me and um- I think then you just kinda settled and went back to sleep. Like I said, very cute.’

Miguel rolled his shoulders as he continued strolling onward. You couldn’t tell from here what he was thinking.

‘Mm. I don’t- remember my dreams anymore, but, I know that they’re vivid. I remember the feelings but not the events. So- huh. I wonder what I dreamed about?’

‘I should stay up and keep an eye on you, try and sus it out’ you teased. He managed a breathy little snort of a laugh in response.

‘Ah, I’m not sure about that. What if I say something in my dreams that I shouldn’t?’

‘Oh, pft- like what? You gonna say someone else’s name? you don’t know anyone else, well except Miguel maybe, and if you said his name my first thought wouldn’t be that.’

‘I could still- imply something embarrassing’ he said with a shrug. You’d broached the top of the hills by this point and behind you the view was extraordinary, with small windows in the canopy giving you a perfect view of the city in the distance. Mig paused to turn and look at it with you mid conversation.

‘I could- I don’t know, admit some, sexual fetish I hadn’t even realized yet, some- deep interest in the back of my mind.’

You sighed as you rested on his bicep. With your arms still tight around his waist you gave him an affirming little squeeze. ‘You idiot’ you teasingly chided, ‘you admit everything to me anyway. This morning you immediately confessed that you designed my clothes for your own delight, and- wait, yeah, literally the FIRST day you started rutting you sat me down and told me in great detail your sexual fantasy. You are too honest to be worried about this.’

Another guttural choke escaped his throat, his strange little laugh that now filled you with joy to hear. ‘You are right, as always, my tesoro. I suppose it’s just my anxiety. I- suppose I’m just not used to anyone else being around when I sleep. It’s strangely vulnerable, no?’

‘Yeah, yeah. It’s weird, but, It’s nice though, right?’

You felt his fur bristle beneath you, the strands brushing your leg. Oh, you thought, that meant he was upset about something, right? But, why?

‘Is it?’ he murmured.

You turned and leaned around his torso to try and see his face more clearly, but right as you did so he turned himself and began walking deeper.

‘Hey, is something up?’ you gently pushed.

‘Ah, it… Sometimes- you pull away, at night, when we’re… cuddling.’ The way his voice dipped on the word cuddling, like he was embarrassed to be saying it in front of you. God, he was so sweet. ‘You shuffle away and I wake up without you. I- was worried you were uncomfortable with me.’

‘Oh, I love cuddling Mig! But doesn’t it bother you when you’re trying to sleep? I keep waking myself up because when I roll in my sleep you’re there and I keep thinking I’ll wake you up too.’

He let out a soft ‘humpf’ sound in response, clearly surprised by your response. ‘Ah- I don’t believe so. I haven’t slept any worse since you arrived, except, occasionally waking to check you’re okay.’

‘Oh. Huh. Well, you are… Big? I suppose is the best word? Big ol’ guy, you probably don’t feel me as much. But, like I was saying, I’m just not used to feeling something beside me when I sleep. I’m adjusting my brain to it, that’s all. it doesn’t mean I dislike you or dislike cuddling. We’re just uh- finding boundaries, now we live together.’

He seemed to perk up at the reminder that you were, technically, living together. Living together as partners, a concept he thought he would only ever dream out. He did a little rustle before bounding through the trees.

‘Alright, well, we’re almost there. Let me get you something to eat, mi arañita’

True to his word Mig became utterly focused on the hunt from that point onward.

He bayed you to settle down in the roots of a tree while he got into position, somewhere far enough to dampen your scent but close enough that you could see. He seemed desperate to have you witness him being productive, and you were curious enough to go along with his whims.

In this part of the forest the trees were sparser, allowing more vegetation to cover the dry earth. Miguel had said this gave him more cover for ambush, but you were still stumped as to how this giant man was supposed to hide himself even in the thickest growth. Even when pressed to the floor he was huge, as wide as he was long, covered in bright red and black fur.

Surely a deer would see that, right? Curiosity got the better of you, and you settled down in the roots to watch.

Mig started by feeling the vibrations in the dirt. He tapped at the floor, shuffling back and forth as he listened for something far beyond the scope of your own senses. You saw his eyes widen a few times, indicating that he’d felt something in the distance, and once he seemed sure he began the next unusual stage of this dance.

He dug. He dug into the earth with his enormous legs, filling out a small burrow in which his body could just about fit. He used his legs to drag foliage over his head, masking his scent and his body, until even you could barely see him at all.

And there, he waited. He waited, and waited, as clouds came to cover the sun. He waited in the gloom while you picked at your nails, waiting with a patience that frankly scared you to your core, until you both heard it.

A snap. A twig breaking.

A stag had entered the woods. Immediately you shuffled downward, lying as still as possible in the roots. Mig didn’t move an inch.

The stag was sniffing at the ground as it approached. You were certain that it would smell the enormous spider lying in wait, but somehow it just kept drifting closer and closer. You could see its head dipping to push through the grass, its snout flexing and snorting. Its breath condensed hard in the cool air.

Every muscle in your body tensed. You watched, your heart racing, as the stag went to sniff right over Migs head.

CRACK.

You jumped in your skin as he pounced.

It was terrifying. It was pure, primal, a spectacle of undiluted power. He moved with a speed that seemed impossible for something of his size, so large and yet so nimble, as his legs propelled him out of the dirt and onto the beast. It tried to run but his claws caught its neck.

With the sheer weight of his body he brought the bleating giant down. You saw a flash of his eyes, blood red with a single white pupil, right before he clamped his jaws on its neck.

It was over in seconds. The moment the deer stopped moving you scrambled out of the roots to join him.

‘Holy- shit, you’re so fast!’

Mig unclamped the catch with a soft grunt. You could see the blood on his jaw and neck which he immediately smeared with the back of his hand before facing you. He had such a strangely shy smile on his face.

‘Oh- you saw! You saw it. What did you think?’

‘It was… terrifying! Wow! You are- so, strong!’ you said with an awkward laugh. You left out how weirdly enjoyable it was to see him at full strength, to have witnessed the power and carnage he was capable of.

His grin widened as he took your comment at face value. ‘Thank you, arañita. That- makes me happy. I like showing you that I can be of use.’

‘Oh, Mig you idiot.’

You leaned in and affectionately touched his hair, gently brushing back the thick curls. He almost purred at the touch. ‘Now- jesus, let’s get you cleaned up and get home.’

You used a strip of silk from your back to try and clear his face, though he kept nestling into your hand which made it difficult to finish. Something about hunting for you seemed to make him especially soft. He would tap his feet for attention and rustle against you, and you would tut at him while secretly enjoying his touch.

That peaceful downtime did not last long though. As you were brushing yourself down, preparing to head back down, you noticed that Mig had stopped pacing. When you turned to check on him his eyes were wide.

‘Mig?’ you said softly. He didn’t move. You watched with ever growing curiosity as he began to dart his gaze across the forest line, almost as if he was looking for something. You followed his line of sight but could see nothing yourself.

It was only then, on the cusp of your lips parting to question Mig on what he was doing, that your senses picked up the same thing he had.

Your eyes locked in a moment of shared terror.

Footsteps. Distant footsteps, growing closer with every step. Idle chit chat that echoed in the trees, something about being lost and forgetting the map. You sensed a flask on an overstuffed backpack slowly clinking against a metal keychain.

‘Hikers’ you hissed. Mig gave a silent nod.

No, no, no. This was bad, you thought. What were people doing this far out? Why today of all days?

You didn’t want to risk a run in with civilians. You knew Mig was safe, but you also remembered how you’d acted the first time you saw him, and more importantly you remembered his distress at being seen.

Without another word you jumped into action, hopping his back in one fell swoop while he grabbed the kill by the nape of its hide. He lifted it as easily as a cat carrying a kitten, a feat you barely had time to appreciate, as he broke into a canter the moment you were mounted.

In silence you hurried back down the way you’d come.

For about half the way down it seemed to be smooth sailing. Mig made easy progress through the woods, his eight legs silently tapping back and forth on the mulchy earth as you descended to home. Your senses could feel the hikers getting further and further away.

In no time at all you saw the glade appear at the bottom of the hill, a tiny little circle in a sea of evergreen pines slowly sinking downward. You let out a contented sigh.

But then you felt it.

You felt It.

That foreboding tug in your gut. The gentle throbbing that sank down through your insides, the pulsing of blood as your heart sped up. The yearning, the need, the subconscious addictive pleading for satisfaction.

No, no, no, NO. You couldn’t stop here, right? The hikers weren’t far enough away yet.

You shuffled, trying to secretly suppress it, when Miguel abrupted stumbled to a halt himself. You heard him drop the stag with a thump.

Shit. You could smell it. It was heavy in the air, a smell you couldn’t describe with words but which you felt in your loins. He was rutting too.

Your eyes rolled. Oh that smell, it gave you goosebumps. That smell alone dragged you to him like a magnetic force.

‘Arañita?’

His words were soft as he spoke. Those were dangerous words, hungry words.

‘Mig?’

You felt so small on his back as his shoulders arched. You had to tilt your head to see his face, to see the bright glow of his eyes as his head instinctively tilted sideways. You balked. Those eyes were fucking starving.

‘Mig’ you breathed.

His abdomen vibrated softly, rustling against your skin in a way that sent pleasurable shivers through your thighs and spine. You shuddered against him. ‘Mig, don’t—careful—’

He breathed out hard, his breath condensing in the air. ‘Ah… Arañita …’

It curled like smoke around his bloody maw. His full lips parted and he breathed in through the mouth, releasing a dark and foreboding growl. ‘Ah…’

‘Mig—we need to get back—’

He was breathing heavier now. You could see his enormous spider legs quivering as he fought the urge slowly infecting his mind. The urge to pin, to fill, to penetrate, to feel. The urge to claim. The urge to see your pretty form, naked and sweating and shaking as you struggled to take him, as you were fucked to the brim with his very being.

When he huffed smoke for a second time a breathy moan escaped his throat. It was a mating call, plain and simple, echoing through the trees.

‘Mig… Mig…’

It was pitiful; your pleading had gone from genuine concern to depraved praise as you whispered his name over and over again. While you pleaded Mig struggled to focus on his senses. His body was begging, screaming even, to take you now, but he could just feel the hikers still approaching their location.

‘We need- to get back- to the nest’ he panted. You didn’t even respond.

At this point you were broken, involuntarily grinding your hips into his fur for any semblance of relief. Your body was burning to the point that sweat was sticking your suit to the contours of your skin, highlighting every little dip and curve.

‘Miggy—’

‘Arañita!’

His bark of an order made you mewl.

‘We need- to get back—’

‘O-Okay’ you whined. Slowly, painfully, Miguel began to continue his walk down the hillside towards the glade.

It was agony. You’d gotten so used to instant gratification that pushing through the need was now hellish, especially combined with the need to run.

It was an itchy heat, a prickling heat, and as your blood began to pump you felt your insides begin to pulsate. Throb after throb, each harder than the last, as every muscle inside you twitched and tensed around a cock that wasn’t there.

You could feel his body beneath you. You could sense him, feel him in every part of your body. All you could think about was feeling more, tasting more, as that desperate curdling need to feel his cock inside you flooded all of your senses. It was physically unbearable.

‘Don’t’ your mind screamed as you pulled at his fur.

‘Don’t do it’ his mind pleaded as he forced himself forward.

But you were no match for each other’s potent smell. No risk, not even death, felt important compared to that burning ache.

You collapsed from his body and into the dirt with a low moan, unable to maintain yourself any longer. Miguel descended on you in seconds.

You squeaked and squirmed as he gripped you in his claws. He pounced like you were prey. He flipped and thrust your body down onto its back, his gruff hands immediately pinning your arms to the floor. The frail little bones in your wrists screamed out at the pressure.

‘Mig!’

He hissed and flexed his teeth on your neck, hot breath cascading over your skin as the smell of musky hormones and blood filled your nose.

‘I can’t- wait—’ he panted. You could already feel his abdomen rubbing and grinding on you, his slit unable to contain his erection any longer. You could feel the thick, warm shaft smearing your new suit with his thick, pearly pre-cum. ‘I need- you, please- I need it- it hurts—’

You knew it was dangerous, but your brain was a melted pot of red hot lust. You couldn’t fight it anymore. With a soft whine you lay back and turned your head to the side, frantically nodding for him to continue.

‘Okay, fuck—I can’t wait, fuck—just, be quick, please’ you panted.

He didn’t even bother to fully undress you. With a hiss he bent and ripped a hole in your suit with his mouth, a dangerous tactic as his teeth brushed your pussy lips as he tore the silk aside. He took one deep sniff of your pheremones before physically dragging your body into position.

He forced your legs into a mating press, his hefty torso straining the muscles in your thighs to bend to his will. He rustled slightly as he pushed into position, roughly edging his bulbous member against your slit, and as you felt the first inch spreading you open you knew it was over.

‘Okay, okay’ he panted, ‘shh- sh, stay still for me arañita, let me just—fill you—’

He thrust, hard, and with one excruciatingly tight stretch he was inside you again.

‘M-MM--!’ Your hips bucked and tensed, rocking from side to side as you struggled to adjust. Miguel gasped like he’d just avoided drowning.

‘Ah—ahh—that’s it, that’s it. I’ll be- quick, just- stay still, mi tesoro, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.’

The moment he entered you he started to frantically rut to completion, his abdomen jerking back and forth as he fucked you into the dirt. Your fingers dug into his arms.

‘MM--!’ It was painful to hold back your screams. You had to bite your tongue until it bled, until the taste of iron filled your mouth and nose, all in a vain attempt to not be caught. He was so fucking rough.

‘Sweet little spider’ he whined. You felt him thrust a little deeper and squirmed with joy at the familiar mixture of ache and pleasure.

‘It’s… ‘S so good’ you whispered in a needy, whiney breath. ‘So—good…’

Desperate now to finish quickly, Miguel angled himself a little further back. He needed the one thing that he couldn’t resist, his most primal indulgence. He wanted to see it. Your small, soft, sweet human body, perfectly impaled on his enormous shaft. The sight sent full body shivers through his spine.

‘So… tight…’

He looked utterly pussy drunk, mesmerised almost. He watched your slick coat his cock as he drew back, those translucent sticky strings hanging between his abdominal fur and your pretty little slit. They made his black veins glisten as they pulsed against your swollen cunt.

‘Mi… aranita…’

He stared, unblinking, as he moved his hand and began touching the spot where he’d entered you. He brushed his thumb down and across your swollen clit, those wet and messy folds, until it came to rest where his shaft was splitting you open. He watched you swallow him whole.

‘Pretty, pretty little spider’ he whispered. ‘F-fuck…’

He watched your hips jolt as he gave a few short pumps about halfway in, fixated on the way you stretched and wriggled with pleasure. His previous seed was now oozing out at the sides as he pumped in and out, just adding to the absolute mess you were making.

‘So, so… pretty…’

You felt his claws suddenly hit your neck, pressing you down until you were forced to be still. He continued to watch with wide and unblinking eyes as his thick rod squished back and forth, back and forth, filling you until you bulged before slowly slipping out with a wet pop.

‘Mm- mm—’

He was grunting hard as he moved.

‘So, fucking, pretty—’

‘Is it this way?’

Your whole body went rigid at the sound of unfamiliar voices, but you didn’t even have time to process your shock, because Miguel didn’t stop.

Even as the voices got louder he continued rutting you into the floor, his breathy grunts just barely audible in the rustling undergrowth.

You silently slapped at his arm but he couldn’t bring himself to pause. He impulsively clamped his hand over your mouth, his eyes deadly and starved as they stared down at your panicked expression.

‘Stay. Quiet’ he mouthed. Despite your fear, you were just as needy. You let him have you.

He bent your legs into your ribs just to slip deeper, his thick shaft eagerly kissing and smearing your cervix with pre-cum. Your breath was hot on his calloused hand as it muffled your desperate moans.

Despite his rational mind knowing that he needed to be quiet, Mig’s carnal desperation was driving him towards risky behaviour. You could hear the clap of his skin between your thighs echo with each wet pop as he pushed in and out, a symphony just as terrifying as it was erotic.

You watched him savor the feel of your body. You watched him as he experienced you.

‘Ah—ahh—ah—’

He flexed his jaw until it hurt trying to suppress his cries of pleasure, and in a second moment of impulse he bent down and sank his fangs into your shoulder. Your squeaks were silenced.

Now clamped by the terrifying power of his maw you were utterly surrendered. You could feel his teeth moving in tandem with his cock, filling and shifting inside you, flooding you with that same potent mixture of pain and pleasure.

You raked your fingers down his back, drawing red lines into his rough scarred skin. He dug his claws into the dirt.

The footsteps got closer, but there was no breaking free. You were trapped together. With a muffled grunt Miguel sped up to completion.

‘MMFF—’

He came inside you silently, with all his gutteral noises muffled by your skin. You felt it all the same. The heavy spurts, the hot seed flooding in and squirting against his soft underside when your cunt ran out of room. You were filled until you bulged.

In the high of that release you were nearly dizzy. Your eyes fluttered shut as your hormones overpowered any rational fear about being seen. All you could do was lull and whine, relishing the sweet gratification of being filled again.

‘Mig’ you whispered. ‘My Mig. You—’

Snap.

Your eyes shot open.

You tilted your head, slowly, just enough for your eyes to roll and spy the woods behind you. Two hikers were frozen in place, their bodies just barely obscured by the trunk of a pine.

They were staring at you. You, your body pinned beneath the torso of your half spider mate, still fully impaled on his monstrous cock, with your head in his neck and your flesh in his maw.

Your blood ran cold as your body tensed. To say you were mortified was an understandment, it felt like your heart might give out. You felt Miguel’s breath steaming against your shoulder as he panted into it. Did he know? Had he realized?

You opened your mouth but no sound spare a painful squeak escaped. Your brain was utterly fried.

The one to break the tension then was Mig, who decided to release your shoulder and stare directly at the two strangers. Mouth bloodied, eyes red, his naked body straining and panting for air.

Their reaction was swift.

‘FUCK!’

The two hikers almost fell over each other as they ran, both frantically fleeing for their lives into the overgrown brush.

‘JESUS- CHRIST, WHAT WAS THAT?!’

‘WAS IT EATING THEM?!’

‘F-Fuck, FUCK! I DON’T KNOW JUST- GO!’

‘We have to call for help—’

‘JUST RUN JUST- FUCKING RUN!!’

As the screams grew distant, you felt Miguel slowly pull out. His hands were quick to plug you up and carefully stitch your suit back together at the crotch, but you were too exhausted to move.

‘Shhiittt.’

It was the only thing you could think to say as you lay back in the mud, your head still a little woozy from the whole experience. Mig just grunted.

‘Shit, shit, shit. Ah…. I’m- I’m sure it’s fine. It’s fine. I- fuck, are you okay Mig?’

He grunted again as he lifted you up into his arms. His spider legs hooked the stag’s carcass and carefully manoeuvred it onto his back, allowing him to begin the short final trek back to the clearing with you still in his arms. The longer he went without saying a word, the more you began to worry.

‘Mig?’

You patted his cheek as he walked, trying in vain to get his attention. His only response was to sigh.

‘It’s okay’ you said, your voice now rather timid. ‘It’s fine, they- we probably won’t ever see them again. And hey, we didn't have to fight them! That's good, right? They just- left.’

‘It’s not that.’

You were surprised when words finally left his mouth, especially when they were delivered so sadly. He was blunt, yes, but not usually this melancholy, especially after sex.

‘What is it then?’ you asked. It took him a few more seconds to reply.

‘They thought… I was eating you’ he murmured. ‘If I’d been anyone else, they wouldn’t have screamed. We would have been- yelled at, perhaps, or chastised for being perverts. Maybe they’d have just, awkwardly moved away. But they would never have assumed I was eating you.’

The sombre reality sank in slowly. Somehow, you’d both forgotten the reality of what this was. What he was. You tried to shrug it off. ‘Wait, that’s what you’re worried about? I mean… If you were just, purely human, they might have still assumed you were murdering me. People can do murder too yanno.’

He managed a small, throaty chuckle at your light teasing, but it was strained. He looked distant, distracted, alone in his own mind. You gently shook his arm to drag him back down to reality.

‘Hey. It’s fine. You’re fine’ you repeated.

‘Does it not, bother you? The way they reacted?’

‘Mig I would have been mortified to be caught like that whether you were fully human or not’ you scoffed. He seemed unconvinced.

‘If they’d- seen us, holding hands’ he said, slowly musing over the theoretical aloud, ‘if they’d seen us… kissing, or even just sitting together, they would have run. They would still be terrified.’

It was hard to maintain a smile in the face of his dour prediction. You knew he was right, but you didn’t want to simmer in that pool of despair, and you didn’t want him to wallow in it either.

‘People- when they see something they don’t understand, they, react like animals. Sometimes they run, sometimes they fight. They squash it so you don’t have to think about it. It’s easier.’

That morbid thought made him wince, but you refused to let go. You leaned in and tilted his head back towards you.

‘And it’s horrible. It’s horrible, and it hurts, but then there’s other people. Other people, who- know what it’s like, to be the- scared little spider on the wall. And they know, Mig. They knew. I know. And I’m not scared of you.’

To your joy he managed to shoot you a ghost of a smile, just the barest tilting of his lips. It was enough for you, even if you’d only managed to distract him for a bit.

‘Besides, who do we have to disappoint?’ you said in an attempt to lighten to mood. ‘I don’t have friends to introduce you too, or family, or co-workers. You’re alone. We don’t need to worry about what people think.’

‘You say that now, arañita, but… I don’t know, I don’t feel like that will remain true forever. I also don’t appreciate you indulging my possessive nature.’

‘Awh, what? How, what did I do?’

‘Implying we’re all we’ve got’ he said softly. ‘It makes me- happy, but on some level, I know it shouldn’t.’

‘Well, hey! You know it shouldn’t, so- you know, that’s a start.’

Mig ducked his head beneath a row of branches as he re-entered the clearing. In the clear, bright light of the burgeoning sun he looked glorious.

‘Yes, but—I also know that I willingly ignore that fact and, pretend it is acceptable’ he confessed with a slight shrug. ‘Because- well, it comforts me, especially when I’m reminded that we are… different, to put it nicely.’

‘Well, as long as you’re not getting feisty, huh? I’ll just be sure to let you know if it ever gets annoying’ you offered. You pressed your face against his pec, right over his heart, and tapped it like you were making a promise. He gave you that sweet little ghost of a smile.

‘Very well, mi tesoro. I will hold you to that.’

You allowed Mig to drop the kill near the base of the nest before climbing back in with you still in his arms. You lulled a little in the sudden warmth, placated by the warm orange rays of sunlight warming the floor, and the moment he slid you onto the bed you collapsed into it.

‘Mmm… Yanno, that was the first time we were under such pressure from the heat that you didn’t make me orgasm’ you noted with a yawn. It was more a dry observation than a real problem you had, but it immediately caused Mig to bristle in horror.

‘I- oh, no you’re right. You poor little spider.’

‘It’s okay! I don’t blame you, it—HEY!’

You squealed with delight as he dove onto the mattress, his weight flinging your body a few feet into the air before landing back into his already outstretched arms.

‘Let me fix that’ he purred, his breath brushing your ear. ‘Please, mi aranita, let me taste you again.’

With an eager grunt his lips met yours, his abdomen rustling with excitement as his tongue went down your throat. You were smothered in seconds.

You gave in to his whining need to please and relished in the chance to scream again, your wet lips quivering his name with each breath as he tore your third new suit to pieces for just a lick of your cunt.

You were too focused on his mouth to notice anything as you tossed every item of clothing to the floor. Between his whiny moans and your own panting, you couldn’t have possibly heard anything else.

You certainly couldn’t have heard your society watch as it buzzed against the fur rug, the name ‘Jess’ highlighted in clear orange light. It was left to ring to voicemail instead, with neither of you aware it’d even gone off. Link to next part!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #drider #smut #smut with plot #miguel o'hara fanfiction #read on ao3 #spider man 2099 #monster human relationship #miguel o'hara smut #miguel fluff

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psychedelic-ink · 2 months

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ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐕𝐑𝐄

ㅤㅤmarcus pike x art historian!reader

genre: mutual pining, friends to lovers, forced proximity, smut, minors dni,

word count: 6k

summary: when a famous art collector is murdered, circumstances lead you to be temporary roommates with Marcus Pike.

warnings: oral sex (marcus receiving), marcus getting spoiled, some very mild angst, idiots in love

a/n: this work was commissioned by the lovely @sevillagrenada! thank you so much for your support and thank you so much for this delicious idea, I had a blast! ❤️‍🔥

** dividers made my the talented @saradika-graphics 💜💜💜

Another day, another handsome detective at your doorstep.

It’s been a few months since you and Marcus first got acquainted. He had visited you during one of your busiest hours, asking you for information on a recently stolen painting while you were desperately trying to sort out a curated disaster by one of the interns. It didn’t end well. You ended up shouting at him to leave you alone and even though you regretted your choice in showing how distressed you were, it was what it was. What surprised you later, however, was finding him in the early morning hours with two coffees and blueberry muffins. He apologized profusely and asked for a do-over. Something that you were more than eager to oblige.

And the rest, what most art historians like you would say, was history.

Now he visits you almost every morning if he can. Thanks to his charm, you were now considered the number one go-to person of the FBI when it came to art theft. A title you didn’t mind having.

“A bit early even for you, don’t you think?” you say, handing him the folders you’d been carrying. You smile as he lets out an exaggerated “oomph” and go to open the door. “Don’t be a baby, detective.”

“I just wanted to see you, what’s the harm in that,” he answers, following you inside. “I have the day off tomorrow so I won’t be visiting.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

“Good to see that someone appreciates it.”

He takes a seat as you head for the coffee machine. You’d got it a month ago, saving Marcus the trouble of waiting in line every morning before work. You appreciate having this as an excuse for him to stop by every morning. Luckily, the museum was on his way to work, meaning he was more than happy to visit you. Sometimes it’s hard to forget that this relationship between you two is meant to be nothing other than friendship, a platonic thing. But every day you find your heart swelling more and more at the sight of him. It’s been too long since you felt close to someone. It’s been even longer since you ached for a person you know you shouldn’t ache for.

“Are you working on something with Remedios Valo?” When you turn you see him hunched over your desk, his eye meet yours, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Sorry, all these books were just sprawled here. I couldn’t help but look.”

The coffee machine comes to life, the aroma mixing in with the scent of books.

“That’s alright,” you answer, lips feeling numb. “And yeah, Olivier is adding one of her works to his collection so he wanted me to take a look.”

“Which one is he buying?”

You know he absolutely despises the idea of art being bought, hidden from the rest of the world to be a decoration. You hear it in the drop of his voice.

“Les Feuilles Mortes.” His gaze falls back to the table. “Dead leaves. The one with the woman with orange hair and green dress.”

He hums when he finally sees it on the page, “It’s a nice one.”

“It is. It’s one of my favorites.”

You bring the two cups of steaming coffee. His eyes find yours as you place them down, taking a seat. “You must be excited then,” he states. “To be seeing it in person.”

“I’m just happy it’s going to someone I know will take care of it.”

“I did meet him once. Seemed like a decent enough guy.”

A soft chuckle escapes your lips, “You really hate art collectors don’t you?”

“With a passion,” a soft smile touches his lips. “But I’ll make an exception for you.”

You shake your head, smiling into your cup as you bring the steaming liquid to your lips. He’s always like this. Making sure just how much you matter, making you feel cherished, it’s a contrast to how you feel most of the time. Your eyes fall on the painting printed onto the glossy paper. Everyone interprets art differently. In this particular piece, you see loneliness but also a peaceful serenity. The shadow bowing to the woman, them being connected with a piece of blue yarn that she’s holding. The fact that it’s blue and not read also piques your interest. It makes you think it’s not something that is forced, it’s not the fates that brought them together but something else. Something more intimate and free.

“So, when are you seeing this stunning artwork in person?”

“Tonight.”

Marcus already knows that today is going to be a long day.

He knew it as soon as he entered his office, all fellow agents gathered in one place, murmuring. They parted like the Red Sea when he came through. That’s when the captain told him that extinguished art collector Olivier Balmaceda was found dead. Murdered.

All he could think of was you. How excited you were to see him, and the painting, tonight. How Olivier was your friend and what would this mean for the investigation? Everyone here knew you, adored you. You being close to the murder victim certainly wasn’t good. He didn’t want you to be involved in any way, not even as a consultant.

He steps out of the unmarked FBI sedan, his leather shoes echoing against the pavement as he approaches the crime scene. His partner, Tim, follows suit, both agents taking in the scene that awaits them.

The art collector's mansion looms before them, an opulent testament to a life steeped in appreciation for creativity. The air carries a faint scent of antique wood and the unmistakable aura of the art world. As they enter the expansive gallery, it becomes clear that Olivier Balmaceda's passion for art extends far beyond mere aesthetics.

The crime scene, bathed in the soft glow of gallery lights, is surreal. Olivier lies in the heart of his sanctuary, surrounded by the very beauty that defined his existence. The juxtaposition of life and death against the backdrop of artistic brilliance is haunting.

Tim glances at Marcus, a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of the situation. Together, they navigate the intricate dance of art and tragedy. The paintings, sculptures, and tapestries bear witness to the final act of a man whose life was intricately interwoven with the world he cherished.

As Marcus approaches Olivier's lifeless form, he can't help but feel the weight of the art that envelops them.

The art collector's mansion is cloaked in an air of somber anticipation as Marcus's focused gaze is drawn back to Olivier's lifeless form, nestled among the artworks that had once been a source of joy. The forensic team, adorned in pristine white suits, moves with meticulous precision, weaving through the crime scene like careful curators preserving a delicate masterpiece.

"Bullet entry at the back of the head. Looks like a single gunshot," Marcus hears one of them say, his voice a measured cadence amid the artistic silence.

Marcus nods, absorbing the gravity of the information. The team proceeds, each member contributing to the careful orchestration of documentation. His path takes him to the abstract painting, now surrounded by the scrutinizing eyes of forensic experts.

"We're scanning for any hidden messages or anomalies. This painting could hold clues.”

"Keep me posted," Marcus replies.

His attention turns to the delicate sculpture, now cocooned in an evidence bag. Tim approaches, his words a whisper against the backdrop of the gallery.

"Looks like they're treating the whole gallery as a crime scene. Anything stand out to you?" Tim inquires, his voice a muted harmony in the investigative symphony.

"Not yet. We need to dig deeper, find the connections between Olivier and whoever did this," Marcus responds, his words a subtle melody of determination.

The investigation shifts towards Olivier's desk, adorned with sketches and notes – a tableau of potential motives. They meticulously examines the papers, unveiling a narrative hidden within the inked strokes.

"Possible motive here. Let's see if Olivier was working on something that could've angered someone," suggests the expert, their words punctuating the air with a promise of revelation.

Acknowledging their findings, Marcus's thoughts churn with possibilities. Just as the investigation prepares to move to another sector of the mansion, his discerning eyes catch sight of a sketchbook nestled on a nearby shelf. A flicker of curiosity sparks within him, prompting the donning of gloves.

"Hold on a moment," Marcus interjects, a pause that reverberates through the dance of forensic activity.

The team halts, their collective gaze directed towards Marcus as he delicately retrieves the sketchbook. Its presence is unassuming, a silent witness to the unfolding drama. As Marcus flips through its pages, the sketches reveal a familiar artistic style, each stroke a brush with recognition.

"Wait... these look like—" Marcus begins, his words a murmur to the sketches that come to life beneath his fingertips.

Tim glances over, an inkling of recognition in his eyes.

"Isn't that—"

"Yeah. It's hers," Marcus confirms, closing the notebook.

So much for not getting you involved.

“Captain, you can’t be serious.”

Your eyes are drawn to Marcus, his voice holding the tone of nothing other but disbelief. Your eyes turn to the floor. Olivier is dead. Murdered. And the only proper evidence to connect the dots of what happened is your sketchbook. The sketchbook you could’ve sworn you left in your office. The sketchbook that you only kept to yourself other than Marcus and a couple of more trustworthy people. One of them being Olivier.

You close your eyes. It’s exhausting to breathe. You focus on how your nostrils flare and let it all out through a small gap between your lips. Marcus inches closer, hand firm against the small of your back.

“I’m dead serious, Agent Pike,” Captain Lana answers, her voice calm yet cold as ice. “Until this entire case is solved, she’s on house arrest and under your care.”

“Just because we found her sketchbook does not mean she’s a suspect—”

“Agent Pike,” her voice cuts through the tension in the room. A sharp shudder crawls up your spine, your skin prickling with attention as you open your eyes. Despite her tone, she doesn’t look mad. “You will do what is best for our consultant. As of right now, she is linked to the case of one of the biggest art collectors for reasons we do not know. The best thing we can do is keep an eye on her and protect her.”

His mouth slams shut, his jaw clenched. His hand deserts your back and in that moment, all you can feel is guilt. Guilt of him being forced to do something he clearly doesn’t want to do.

To share his home.

“I understand,” he answers curtly, turning on his heel. “Let’s go get your things.”

It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking to you, shooting Captain Lana a glance, you follow him out of the office.

Marcus hasn’t said a single word during the entire drive. Even when you finally parked, he just took your bags and led you up the stairs to his apartment. Your heart felt as if it was shattering into a million tiny pieces. The poor organ was already weighted down by your friend's death, and now one of the closest people to you couldn’t even look at you.

He drops your bags to the floor and you slowly shut the door. You don’t even have it in you to look around, not that it would matter, you’ve already been here before. You doubt anything changed.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out before he can say anything else. “God, Marcus, I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

His hands are on you in an instant, lifting your downturned gaze. You blink away the tears, breath catching in your throat as you meet his eyes. It’s so easy to get lost in them. You could live an eternity there. “For . . for having to stay here. I know it’s inconvenient.”

“Oh, sweetheart no, no. You could never be an inconvenience. I’m. . . I’m sorry I made you feel like that. I should’ve checked in on you. None of this is your fault understand. None of it,” his thumbs draw slow circles around your cheeks, the knot in your throat growing by the second. “And for all it’s worth, I’m happy that you’re here. I would be worried sick knowing that you’re alone.”

Suddenly you’re being pulled into his chest, your senses completely enveloped by his scent. He gingerly cups your head from behind, holding you there, allowing you to disappear from the world for a while.

The first tear escapes unexpectedly. It’s immediately absorbed into his shirt and the rest follows. He doesn’t try to hush you, doesn’t try to get you to stop. He allows you to break down completely. You cry and cry, until there’s nothing left anymore. Only then does he pull back, lifting your gaze to him once more.

“Feeling better?”

“Y-Yeah. Thank you, Marcus.”

He shakes his head, “I’m not doing anything you should be thankful for. This…this is what friends do.”

That’s right. Friends.

Your eyes sting when you blink, a forced smile tugging at your lips, “Yeah, friends.”

You’re almost certain that you’re imagining it, but you swear the crease between his brows deepens with your answer.

The soft glow of the TV screen bathes the room as Marcus settles onto the couch beside you. “Really? That’s what you want to watch?”

Marcus raises a brow as he looks down at you. You’re wrapped in a blanket, looking as if the two of you have been living together for years. He loves how you’re already comfortable with the living situation. He wished he could have this in better circumstances without an ongoing murder investigation, but he’ll take what he gets.

“I haven’t started the new season yet, it’ll be fun.”

“It’s a murder mystery. Are you sure?”

You snort, “I know the plot of Only Murders In The Building, Marcus. No need to remind me.”

As the first episode begins, the room is filled with the intriguing soundtrack of the show. Marcus watches the characters unfold on the screen, but his attention keeps drifting back to you. The play of emotions on your face, the way you get caught up in the plot – it's more captivating to him than any murder mystery.

Gradually, you lean into him, seeking comfort in the shared moment. The warmth of your presence seeps into Marcus's consciousness, and he finds himself entranced by the way you become absorbed in the show. Unconsciously, his arm drapes around your shoulder, the gesture protective yet tender.

In the semi-darkness of the room, Marcus grapples with his own emotions. The line between friend and something more blurs as he navigates the uncharted territory of his feelings. As you snuggle closer, he can feel the gentle rhythm of your breath, the subtle rise and fall of your chest.

A flicker of uncertainty crosses Marcus's mind. Does this closeness mean the same to you as it does to him? He wonders if you sense the subtle shift in the dynamics between you. The arm around your shoulder, a silent invitation, speaks volumes, but Marcus Pike remains in that delicate space between uncertainty and the unspoken desire for something more. The murder mystery on the screen becomes a mere backdrop to the complex enigma of emotions unfolding between two souls entangled in the intricacies of life and love.

Marcus's heart races as he lets his hand linger on your waist. He can feel the warmth radiating through the fabric of your shirt, and he wonders if you can feel the heat of his touch as well.

He watches your face, searching for any sign of discomfort or hesitation, but all he sees is the same intensity and focus on the TV. It both thrills and confuses him – is it possible that you can be so oblivious to the way he feels?

But as he watches you, he notices the faint hitch in your breath when his hand moves slightly, as if you're aware of his touch but trying to hide it. It only fuels the growing attraction between them, and Marcus can feel himself getting more and more drawn in.

His mind is filled with images of how he wants to touch you, and he can barely contain the urge to lean in and brush his lips against your neck. He wants to feel your skin against his, to explore every inch of your body.

The tension in the room becomes palpable, and Marcus can feel his heart racing. He looks over at you, and for a moment, he thinks he sees a flicker of desire in your eyes. But just as quickly, it disappears, and you go back to watching the movie without a second glance.

His hand moves even closer to yours, brushing against your fingers lightly. He can feel the heat emanating from your body, and he knows that you're just as affected by the electric chemistry between them.

His mind is clouded with desire, and all he can think about is kissing you, touching you. But he knows he needs to be patient. He can’t just make a move and potentially ruin the friendship you have.

But as the episode goes on, Marcus can barely pay attention anymore. All he can focus on is you, and the way your body moves slightly with each scene. He can feel himself getting harder with each passing moment, and he knows he needs to do something to release the tension.

Without thinking, his hand moves to your thigh, tracing small circles on your skin. He can see your breath hitch and your eyes flutter closed for a split second before you regain your composure.

He leans in closer to you, his lips just inches away from your ear. "Is this okay?" he whispers.

Marcus relaxes when you nod, eyes still glued to the screen. He knows you want to turn to him, to witness his feelings lingering in his eyes but he also knows that you can’t for the same reason why he can’t tell you how he feels. Fear. Fear of rejection. Of loss of a friendship.

So, his hand on your thigh is as far as he’ll go. Soothing you with the simplest of touches.

The credits roll and the episode ends, Marcus can't help but feel a lingering sense of longing. He knows he needs to push these feelings aside and focus on the case, but he also can't deny the strong connection he feels with you.

As you stand up to turn off the TV, Marcus suddenly reaches out and takes your hand in his, surprising both of you. The air between them is heavy with unspoken words and tension, but they both know this isn’t the time or the place.

For now, they'll focus on solving the murder and catching the killer. But Marcus can't shake the feeling that this shared moment was the beginning of something more – something that could change everything.

It’s been almost two weeks now since you moved in with Marcus. And other than Olivier’s murder, things have been. . . peaceful. He’s been doing everything for you. You’ve never been taken care of to this extent before. It made you feel bad in a way, as if you were a burden to him and now he felt inclined to take care of you just because of the circumstances.

However, you couldn’t ignore the tension either, the chemistry. Almost every night you thought of when the two of you watched TV. How close the two of you were. You often find yourself thinking about how differently that night could’ve ended. Only if you were brave enough, then maybe the friendship could’ve escalated into something more.

While heating leftovers for the both of you from last night, the door clicks open. You expect to see his smile, the same question on his lips asking how your day was—but all you can see in his eyes is exhaustion. He forces a smile when he sees you, then silently heads to his room. Your lungs cave in on itself. Your body buzzing with worry, you look down at the barely heated leftovers. He deserves something more. Something fresh.

So, as you quickly head down the hall to check on him, you order his favorites. You come to a halt at the door, heart beating in your throat, you knock.

“I’ll be right there,” he says, almost apologetically, which makes you feel even worse.

“I just wanted to check if you’re alright. Can I. . . Can I come in?”

You’re about to head back to the living room when the door slowly opens. His tie hangs loosely around his neck, the first three buttons of his shirt wide open, exposing skin. You barely manage to tear your gaze away. He looks vulnerable, defeated.

“I’m okay,” he clears his throat. “I promise.”

You ignore what he says and take a step forward, forcing the both of you inside the bedroom. It smells of cinnamon. “I ordered us some food from that place you like. We have some time to relax.”

“Relax?”

You let out the breath you’ve been holding and trap his face between your hands. You want to make him feel good. You want to pamper him. At least this one time, you want to do something for him instead. You know what his answer is going to be if you ask him about his day—he’ll brush you off, because it’s the case you’re involved in. The murder of your friend.

“Let me make you feel good, Marcus.”

His eyes widen, lashes fluttering, his lips part, “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t have to but I want to.” You quickly add when you see the hesitation growing in his eyes. “Please.”

You notice the hollow in his cheek, the way his jaw moves as he chews on the inside. Your heart beats wildly in your chest. After what feels like hours, his head jerks in a small nod, “Okay.”

Marcus gently falls onto the bed and you drop to your knees, taking a place between his spread legs. You can feel his eyes on you. His gaze intense as you fumble with his belt. You tug down his pants along with his underwear, his hips slightly lifting to make it easier for you. His cock is still soft. It makes a certain type of hunger grow inside you. Placing both hands on his thighs, you dip down, taking him into his mouth. He sharply inhales, cock twitching over your tongue. It doesn’t take him long to grow in your mouth, and suddenly swallowing him down proves to be harder than you thought.

Your nostrils flare as you attempt to swallow him down, your nose brushing against the soft curls. His hand gently cradles the back of your head, and when you look up you see his head falling back, his brows furrowed as he breathes heavily through his nose.

Parting away, you suck the base of his cock, your tongue swirling. His hips jerk and a moan rips from his throat. “That—that feels good,” he swallows.

“You like it slow?” you say, lips moving against sensitive skin. “Tell me how you like it. Show me.”

“You’re doing great sweetheart, just do it how it’s best for you,” he lets out a breathy chuckle. “I’m not picky.”

Brows knitting together, you pull away and fix him a half-hearted glare. You wrap your fingers around and begin to stroke him, witnessing the flex of his thighs. “I want to do it how you like it,” you state. “Show me or I’ll stop.”

Your lips curl as you hear him whine. It’s such a beautiful sound.

“Fine.”

He drags you back down to his cock, your hand falling away. You open your mouth to take him once more, thinking that he wants to fuck your mouth, but instead, he presses your lips to the side of his cock. You feel the heat of him, the bulging of his veins.

“Wrap your lips,” he rasps and when you do, he starts to move your head up and down.

You let out a muffled moan, the vibrations sending shivers down Marcus’ spine. His movements are slow, almost as if he’s fucking himself deep into you—almost as if he’s been thinking about this for months. Your head bobs up and down, your lips pursed around him tightly. You hear him grunt above you, and you can tell that he’s struggling to keep himself in control.

“Put your hands back on my thighs,” Marcus commands, and you do so without hesitation. “I want to feel the bite of your nails.” His thighs are shaking beneath your touch, and you can feel the coiled tension inside him, just waiting to snap. You do as he asks, digging your nails slightly into the flesh. Another whimper falls for him, a sounds desperate and needy at the same time. He pulls up and finally slips himself into your warm mouth, your eyes water as he pushes you down, taking him whole.

“You’re gonna make me come,” Marcus grunts, his voice punctuated by the wet sounds of your mouth on his cock.

You keep up the pace, eager to please him. You can feel his cock growing harder and harder inside your mouth, and you can tell that he’s close. You swirl your tongue around him, pressing your lips even tighter around him.

“Fuck,” Marcus mutters, his hand gripping your hair tightly. “I’m gonna—”

Before he can finish his sentence, he releases into your mouth with a deep groan, his hips bucking up into your face. You eagerly take him in, swallowing around him as he spills, hot come trailing down your throat. He lets out a heavy sigh, his body going limp as he comes down from his orgasm.

You sit back on your heels, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Marcus looks at you with admiration and slight embarrassment, his cheeks peppered with a faint shade of red.

“Sorry, that was quick,” he murmurs, tugging you up and pulling you to his lap. “Now it’s your turn.”

He leans towards your lips but you stop him by pressing two fingers, they’re soft. “We can think about me later,” you say, despite the inside of your panties being an absolute wet mess. “I just wanted to make you feel good.”

“I want to make you feel good too,” he objects, nipping at your fingers. “Don’t you. . . I thought you wanted me.”

The guilt in his eyes is back and your hand drops away from his lips. He’s holding you tight as if you might disappear.

“I do,” you answer tentatively. “But I don’t want you to jump into this thinking you have to. I don't want you to do anything you might regret.”

“Regret?” he shakes his head. “What does that even mean? I’m not jumping into anything. I’m not confused if that’s what you’re worried about,” his arms around you tighten, and with that, you know you’ve said the wrong thing. “You just sucked my cock—are you telling me that was out of pity? Gratitude?”

You cut him off, “N–No. . .”

“Then what was it?” his voice drops dangerously low, eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and hurt. “I’m one hundred percent here. It has nothing to do with the case. And for you to do something just because you felt bad for me. . . I thought we were finally getting somewhere after all of this.”

“Marcus—”

“I think I want to be alone right now,” he turns his head away from you but doesn’t do anything to push you off of him. Your apology dies in your throat, your mouth suddenly dry. You slowly move away, the taste of his come still in your mouth as you contemplate what to do. What to say.

But whatever you were planning evaporates with the ring of the doorbell.

You’re sitting on the couch when Marcus comes home and sits on the armchair right across from you. You’re eyes slowly shift from your phone to meet his gaze, he continues to stare down, his thumbs thrumming over his thighs.

It’s been an awkward couple of days after the argument you two had. Neither of you were brave enough to broach the subject, However, that didn’t mean what happened didn’t haunt you in the dead of night, both in a bad and a good way.

“It’s done.”

His words send a chill down your spine, your muscles tightening, “What’s done?”

“The case. We found who murdered Olivier. . . and how your notebook got there.” Marcus takes a deep breath, his eyes finally meeting yours as he begins to unravel the mystery that has been hanging over your heads like a storm cloud.

"Olivier's murder... it was someone close to him. Both rival and friend," Marcus starts, his voice heavy with the weight of the revelation. "Turns out, his friend had been eyeing the same collection for years. When Olivier outbid him for that prized painting, it pushed him over the edge."

You feel a knot form in your stomach, a mixture of shock and sorrow swirling within you. Olivier, with his vibrant personality and passion for art, didn't deserve such a fate.

"And my notebook...?" you prompt, needing to understand how your own belongings ended up tangled in this tragedy.

Marcus sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Olivier... he wanted to show your sketches to one of his friends. He thought you had real talent and he was planning on gifting you that painting."

Your heart sinks at the realization. Olivier, you’re going to miss him. Marcus wraps his arms around you, offering comfort and support as the weight of the emotions you've been suppressing finally spills over. You lean into him, the warmth of his embrace a soothing balm for the wounds of the past few days. His touch is both reassuring and grounding, reminding you that you're not alone in this tumultuous journey.

"I'm here," he murmurs softly, his fingers gently tracing comforting patterns on your back. "It’s over now. You can return to your life and begin to heal."

“Heal?” you blin at him, lips parting. “Return to my life? What does that even mean? We can’t go back to normal Marcus. Not after everything. . . I—” You swallow, the knot thick in your throat. “I care about you, Marcus. I care about you deeply and I just want you to know that. I don’t want you to think it was a one-time thing. Ot that I did it because of the circumstances. I did it because I wanted to. And I wanted to long before any of this happened.”

As your heartfelt confession hangs in the air, Marcus's eyes soften, his expression reflecting a mixture of relief and affection. Without hesitation, he leans in, closing the gap between you, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss. It's a moment of shared vulnerability, a silent exchange of emotions that speaks volumes more than words ever could.

The warmth of his touch ignites a spark within you, a reassurance that despite the challenges you've faced, your connection remains unbroken. In this intimate embrace, you find solace and hope for the future, knowing that whatever trials may come, you'll face them together.

As the kiss deepens, the weight of the past few days begins to lift, replaced by a sense of renewal and possibility.

Marcus's hands move to your waist, pulling you onto his lap as he deepens the kiss. You feel his body pressing against yours, igniting a fire within you. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, pulling him closer as your fingers tangle in his hair.

His lips move fervently against yours, conveying the unspoken emotions that have been building between you for weeks. You can feel his heart beating against your chest and it's a comforting reminder that you're not alone in this moment.

He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a tingle in their wake. You let out a soft gasp, arching your neck to give him better access. His hands roam over your body, his touch setting every nerve alight. “I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.”

Your fingers move to his shirt, desperate to rid him of the barriers separating your skin. His lips trail down your neck again, moving to your shoulder, his hands roaming freely over your body. You let out a soft moan, arching your back as his hands reach your waist, pulling your shirt off. The cool air hits your skin but it's nothing compared to the heat radiating between you two.

Marcus and you remove each other's clothes. Your hands roam hungrily over his bare chest, feeling the muscles ripple beneath your touch. He moans softly, a sound that sends a shiver down your spine.

His hands move to your back, unhooking your bra and gently sliding it off. Your bare chest presses against his, skin against skin, and the sensation sends sparks of pleasure through your body. Your lips meet again, his tongue moving alongside yours, his hands roaming lower to your waist and down to your hips, pulling you closer.

You push him down to the couch, your hands reaching for his jeans. With ease, you undo the button and slide them off, revealing his toned legs and the bulge in his boxers. Your fingers trail down his stomach, feeling his muscles contract under your touch.

He flips you over, his lips moving down your neck and to your chest. With a flick of his tongue, he takes one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, causing you to arch your back and let out a soft moan of pleasure. His hands reach down, unbuttoning your jeans and sliding them off your legs.

As his lips continue to travel down your body, his fingers slide into your underwear, eliciting a gasp from you. You can feel the heat and wetness building between your legs, the tingling sensation increasing with every touch.

In one swift movement, he removes your underwear, leaving you completely exposed and vulnerable to his touch. But with Marcus, you feel anything but vulnerable. In his embrace, you feel safe, loved, and desired.

And you know that is something that will never change.

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x fem!reader #marcus pike x f!reader #writing commission #the mentalist fanfic #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic

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cameronspecial · 3 months

Text

I Will Try Something, Rafe

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Suggestive

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.7K

Summary: Y/N just finished a romance book and now she wants to recreate a scene from it.

A/N: This is inspired by A Million Kisses In Your Lifetime by Monica Murphy.

Masterlist

Rafe loves it when Y/N reads romance books. It always gives her and him ideas to incorporate into their own love lives. He has fallen victim to scrolling through BookTok and Bookstagram looking for new reads for his angel. Y/N even started using sticky tabs in her books to mark certain places during her readings for Rafe to look at later. Once she leaves the book on his side of the bed, he’ll flip through the pages and take note of everything she wants him to be aware of that she likes. Y/N’s recently read A Million Kisses In Your Lifetime and she wishes to bring one of the scenes to life. While Rafe is at work, she gets everything set up for what she has planned. The room is lit only by the candles she bought for this occasion. She looks down at the white button-up shirt of Rafe’s that she threw on and smoothes it down. The rose petals on the bed are arranged perfectly. She has all of her lipsticks on his nightstand and she can’t wait for her fiancé to come home.

The front door yawns and his strong steps reverberate around the house. “Angel, I’m home. Where are you?” he screams out into the seemingly empty house. She calls out to them, “I’m in our bedroom, Rafe.” She fluffs her hair up and her eyes widen, noticing that she forgot makeup wipes. She swears up a storm, running into the bathroom to get them. Panic fills her as Rafe’s footsteps approach their room. She scrambles to get back to her bed but slips as she crosses the bathroom threshold and flops onto the solid wood floor with an oomph. Rafe’s gaze is first on the decoration of their room, which is a little more romantic than when he left this morning. His eyes land on his angel on the floor and immediately rushes to her side. “What happened? Are you okay?” he worries, helping her up. She pouts a little, “I’m fine, I just slipped. I am disappointed that I ruined the surprise.”

He chuckles and kisses her forehead, “Don’t worry, you could never ruin anything. I love all this. Whatever it is.” She relaxes against the feel of her lips. “I finished my book. I want to replicate something,” she whispers to him. Rafe nods, “Of course, what do you want me to do?” She doesn’t reply with words as she guides him to stand with her. He observes as she silently unbuttons his shirt. His feet shuffle against the floor and she pushes him onto the bed. They scoot up so he is sitting against the headboard and she pulls his shirt off his shoulders with a kiss to his collarbone. “Pick a colour. I will try something, Rafe�� she instructs him, holding out her hand to display all of her lipsticks on the bedside table.

He smirks and dangles his hand over the selection before choosing one. He uncaps the lid and brings her closer by her chin. The waxy material of the makeup glides against her lips. Once he is done, he tries to lean in to give her a kiss, but she stops him. It is his turn to frown and he watches as she leans down to leave a lips-shaped stain on his pale skin. The vibrant red he picked out stands out like a gaping wound. She leans back and uses a wipe to rid the colour of her lips, gesturing for him to pick another colour. He does so and they repeat the action over again. They spend the rest of the afternoon painting his skin with her lip prints of different colours until he has a heart over his left pectoral muscle. She looks at it with satisfaction and takes out the Polaroid camera he bought for her. She brings it to her eyes, pressing down on the button. The shutter tells them that she is successful in taking the picture and they both watch it print out. Rafe takes it in his hands and brings her down to lie on his right shoulder. The photo develops to reveal her hard work. “This is my new bookmark,” she announces to him. She sets the picture on her nightstand and he flips so he is hovering over her. He uses one hand to unbutton the shirt of his that she is wearing. “Now, it’s my turn to this skin red for my own bookmark, Angel,” he informs, diving into a passionate kiss.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @queen-shadow22 @victory-in-the-llama @drewsmusee @starkowswife

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carionto · 8 months

Text

Ignition

Once the Galactic Coalition had (without other realistic options) given Humanity an equal position among the governing bodies, despite the fact they were a single planet race, the initial dread of what they would do eased. A little. When they showed how they powered their impossibly massive vessels, the fears of our ancestors who deemed the Responsibility Barrier a necessity reemerged a thousandfold.

The Humans, with a slight grin, said "Solar power, of course."

They took a delegation within the bowels of one of their smaller, civilian research craft, which was still bulkier, better armored, and more worryingly - better armed than most flagships of the other predator-races. Were we not able to see with our own eyes their actual, what they aptly call, Dreadnoughts, from distances you would normally need a telescope, we would have assumed this was their mightiest warship. Yet it was just one of hundreds.

As we passed through the ludicrously thick and seemingly excessive number of bulkheads and shielded and compartmentalized hallways, the ever present hum of raw power beneath our feet gradually became nerve-wracking. What is that? It reminded us of stories told by those who traveled near Black Holes - of the sheer vastness and infinite apathy they felt from the all consuming entities.

A dozen or so biometric gates later, we were greeted by a gigantic sphere, easily a hundred and fifty meters in diameter, an abomination of reinforced panels, wiring, heat pumps, and countless tubes, hanging from numerous power conduits in the middle of an even more massive chamber from behind our observation platform. A true, pure fusion reactor. And there were Humans, in full protective suits at least, working directly next to it within the ominous chamber.

"We wanted to give you a demonstration of our advances in the past millennia, so please observe as we turn on this one."

This one? As in... the power we were feeling was not from this monstrosity? We had to ask.

"Oh, of course not, this ship has three such reactors, we recently performed a full maintenance on this and decided to delay reactivating it for you to see."

The delegates' mouths (or equivalents) were agape. Sure, nuclear fusion is known far and wide, but due to it's high potential for cataclysmic failure, or worse, deliberate destruction, the vast majority of such reactors were mostly found in deep space stations where solar radiation was scarce. Background radiation converters, while efficient at what they do, were nowhere sufficient enough for anything more than as passive emergency battery chargers. And no civilization kept fusion reactors anywhere near populated or colonizeable planets.

Yet here they were, looking at one nearly five times larger than any other known or attempted. And there were three on this ship alone. They counted hundreds of similar size, a few dozen of their Dreadnoughts, thousands of smaller vessels ferrying between the stations, the surface, and other larger ships. Countless world ending bombs-in-waiting right around the Humans' only home.

"Yeah, us science ships get the biggest ones, kinda need the extra oomph for our projects. The military kids like their redundancies, so theirs are smaller."

A slight relief.

"I think their newest capital ship, the UGSF Caliban of York, has fifteen, each about half ours."

A few delegates passed out. Their attendants rushed to salvage some dignity, but Captain Knoslark of this vessel, The Radiant Dusk at Everest, didn't seem surprised or offended and simply waited for the delegation to regain composure before continuing.

"This is my favorite part."

He said quietly with a glint in his eyes, then his tone changed to a more formal and authoritative one.

"Chief Engineer Ira Tameki, status of Reactor 2."

"All green, Captain. She's ready to purr to life at your command."

"Good. Then," his tone shifted once again, to a far more theatrical one as he took a pose, half turning his body and extending his right hand towards the reactor, index finger pointing dramatically. As he pronounced every syllable of the next word, there was a silent resigned sigh from his crew:

"ignition!"

Outwardly, nothing of significance changed. The engineers clicked at their consoles, bars slowly rose and everyone was deliberately doing their best to make it clear they were ignoring the fact that the captain was still in the same pose.

There was a muffled thump from the chamber, then the hum beneath their feet became a rumble for a few moments before steadying back to a now slightly more intense almost-buzz. Physically, nothing all that noteworthy. Mentally, everyone in the delegation was in true shock as they fully understood what they had just witnessed done all too casually:

The birth of a star.

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space oddities #humans are space australians #humans are space orcs #humanity fuck yeah #carionto

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wellfine · 1 year

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HII I love your art so much it's so expressive and it feels like theres so much movement in it! I was wondering if u had any tips or advice to help with that? I practice anatomy and expression so much but it seems like everything I draw on my own is so stiff!! Anyway I hope you have a great week :)) <3

Hi there! Firstly, thank you so much for the kind words, it means a lot that you would take the time to tell me!

Second- my advice is to take everything you've learned about anatomy and THROW IT OUT THE WINDOW!!!!!!!

... For now. Just into the front yard so you can keep an eye on it. But I have seen many artists concentrate chiefly on studying anatomy only to feel like their art ends up too stiff. My own experience has been to treat anatomy as a tool best used to correct an image in the later stages of construction rather than as your driving foundation.

If "correct" anatomy (however you choose to define that) is the priority of your undersketches, I find that you end up with a sort of Skeleton Song approach to drawing - y'know, the knee bone's connected to the thigh bone, etc etc. Whatever energy, emotion, or intent you wanted your drawing to convey is getting lost each time you split it into another anatomical segment. By over-focusing on individual parts, you lose sight of your image as a whole.

The key to conveying dynamic movement in motionless art is to ensure every element of your image agrees on and communicates the same action, the key to which is something called the line of action.

A line of action is simply that - an implied "line" with wich you lead the viewer's eye and communicate movement. Think of it as the core of your figure's action, simplified to its rawest form. By knowing this, you know what to emphasise and what to de-emphasise.

Well, art is a visual medium and I am better explaining with drawings than words or I'd never have picked up a pen in the first place, so:

Images can have multiple lines of action, lines of action can complement and contrast each other, and a line of action isn't always as obvious as something like running. Imagine you're tring to make your art more "aerodynamic" to the eye. Since I draw a lot of One Piece fanart, I assume you're also familiar with it, and you can probably imagine how Oda uses "lines of action" when composing panels of Luffy punching something, Zoro slicing something, Sanji kicking something- etc etc. He's really good at selling the "oomph" of action shots by reducing visual clutter so that the impact of the action is greater.

(The Monster Trio's abilities are all designed in such a way that allow for REALLY striking lines of action... you can tell Oda loves studying manga fight scenes and wanted to create a world where he could push these concepts to the limit, and it's no wonder One Piece caught the eye of animators even before it was serialised by Toei)

You're probably already noticing how line of action also feeds into composition and silhouette when it comes to conveying movement in an image. Basically put, once you've isolated whatever action it is that you want to convey, the more visual clutter you can streamline away from that action, the stronger an impact that will have on the viewer. A firm line of action, an uncomplicated silhouette for your figure, and a readable overall composition of your image/panel are all ways to minimise visual clutter.

You can also use this information to achieve the opposite effect! Sometimes the ideal action you want to convey is not fast, or powerful, or confident, and you can use the same principles.

In fact, you can apply line of action to images that don't have any "action" in them at all. You can make a drawing of someone simply standing there feel more lively by applying these same principles to their body language:

You can develop an eye for how to simplify movement down to its "lines of action" by studying real photos and other people's art. Try simplifying a figure to its silhouette, and then simplify that silhouette further to a stick figure. And honestly, a lot of this could be boiled down to "see your image as a whole and not just a collection of individual pieces". Set anatomy aside during the composition stage and bring it back in when you start building up the sketch.

Moving away from the line of action, my second piece of broad advice is simply to exaggerate more. Lots of artists subconsciously hold themselves back from pushing motion, expression, etc. out of concern that it will look "too much". Well, maybe it will- but you won't know that unless you try! You can always walk it back if you think you took it too far, but I think you'll be surprised by how far you can push your art before you hit that point.

My final piece of advice is to work on line confidence. Even if you follow the rest of this advice, if you have hesitant and scratchy lines, you're undermining the flow and punch of your art. The best way to improve line confidence is simply by practicing! Do a lot of quick, timed studies, and use a permanent medium like a ballpoint pen or marker. Focus on unbroken lines wherever possible even if it makes your studies look like garbo. I find traditional studies are best for improving line confidence, but if you'd really rather stick with digital then just don't let yourself use the eraser tool, and try using a chunky brush with limited pressure sensitivity.

And that's it! Don't stress about it too much though. Loosen up with your art and, like any other skill, you'll improve with practice, time, and analysing what you like about other people's art. Good luck!

#long post #sorry this is so long I just didn't want to hide it behind a cut because I think a lot of people would miss it #I hope this was helpful in some way! I'm always flattered whenever anyone thinks I'd know enough to ask HAHA #if I have the time then I'm always happy to answer questions like this! :)#not that I am an expert by any means but I can at least share what's worked for me

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midniiights-garden · 3 months

Text

Your Eyes... They're like Diamonds. Fem!Reader x Mizu

Summary: You, the reader, stumble upon Mizu bathing. Instead of being distracted by the fact that she is very much naked, but by the dazzling view of her eyes.

Possible TWs!!: Nudity? idk if that counts as a trigger idk

Note: Mizu is called a man in the beginning.

~~~

Stumbling upon Mizu naked was defintely not on my agenda.

We had set up camp in a secluded area of the forest, finding a hot spring much to our relief. Mizu had sent me off to forage for food, claiming that 'he' was going to porperly set up the tents. So that's what I did, muttering about the cold and the snow and everything that a woman could possibly be complaining about.

When I returned I was met with the sight of the tents set up but Mizu nowhere to be found. So, naturally I begin to worry. Mizu was a capable warrior, but 'he' could still be ambushed. No one was perfect. So I scurry off towards the place I last saw Mizu, following a trail of footprints that most likely belonged to 'him'.

After following said trail for a while I reach what appears to be a natural hot spring. My eyes widen- this was a brilliant place to finally get clean. But that wasn't the point right now, I had to find Mizu.

Before I actually had the proper time to comprehend anything or even begin properly looking a familiar blade is pointed straight at me. Startled, I step backwards, falling onto my behind with a small 'oomph'.

"Mizu-!"

My trail of thought is cut off as I looked up. I realised right then two different, very important things. One: 'he' was not a he. Mizu was a girl. Very obviously so considering she was buck ass naked in front of me and had no dick. Secondly- she had stunningly pretty eyes. I had never gotten a proper look at her eyes as she always hid them but now that she was bare I could see them. My breath catches in my throat and I can't help but stare.

"You're eyes-" I begin, only to be promptly cut off by Mizu.

"Yeah? What, gonna insult me as well? Actually, wait what are you even doin-"

"-they're like diamonds," I finally blut out. "They're so... clear. Like the ocean around Japan or, well, diamonds."

Mizu seems taken aback by your blatant compliments. She sheaths her blade, stepping back slightly. Her brows are furrowed as she contemplates whether or not to believe you. She's had people compliment her to distract her before but... you seemed completely sincere. A little too sincere considering that from her perspective you hadn't stopped staring.

It was true, though. I hadn't managed to take my eyes off of her. She was so... beautiful. In all aspects. After seeing her as she was a lot of things finally made sense. Why she always had so many bandages on her, why she kept her neck hidden and so on. But wow... she was really the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

If it wasn't obvious to Mizu that I was a raging lesbian before, it sure as hell was now. I was looking at her as if she hung the stars in the sky for me to see. She was suddenly very aware that she was naked in front of you now. Mizu unsheathes her blade, pointing it at you once more.

"Don't even think of telling anyone about this," she growls, trying to mask her confusion with aggression.

"Please stab me-" I blurt out.

"...what?"

#mizu blue eye samurai #i love women #blue eye samurai #wlw #i love fictional characters #mizu #mizu x reader #mizu come home the kids miss you #x reader #mizu x you #reader insert #i love the traumatized sword lady

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blossiewossie · 1 month

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— An Angel's Kiss

pairing : itadori yuji x reader genre : best friends to lovers, angst rating : pg word count : 1.8k

— contents : kissing. angst. death mentioned.

You thought the hardest thing to confess was your love for him. How do you confess to the love of your life that you might not make it to tomorrow?

"How are you today?" asked a voice.

Turning your gaze from the window overlooking the streets below to your left, a small smile graces your lips as you see who came to visit you.

"I was starting to wonder when you'd get here," you say. Groaning lowly, you place your hands on the rails on each side of your bed and attempt to pull yourself up a little.

Without missing a beat, your best friend races from the door and carefully grabs your shoulders before gently lowering you back down to the bed, making you let out a soft "oomph" as your head hit the pillow once more.

"C'mon, ____! You know you're not supposed to do that!", Yuji says in a panic.

His hand frantically searches the side of your bed until it lands on the little remote. He steps back while pressing a button, which in turn raises the top half of your bed. As it comes to a stop, you huff and cross your arms indignantly.

"I could've just sat up, y'know", you chastise him, sticking your tongue out to make your point. He chuckles as he returns the remote to your bedside while you thank him quietly.

"I'm sure you were here when the doctor said you weren't supposed to do exactly that," he said, now resting his hand atop yours with a squeeze.

Huffing, you turn your gaze away from his and look down at where your hands meet, his warmth encasing your coldness. You felt your heart skip a beat as you looked back to his eyes once more, wondering if he somehow knew what you were thinking.

Yuji glanced at your heart rate monitor quizzically, before asking out loud why it was beating so fast and if he should contact your nurse about it.

Blushing, you slip your hand out from under his to pull the blanket down a bit and inform him that you were just a bit warm.

Looking back at you, Yuji tilted his head before nodding and waltzing over to the window you were just looking at. He starts twisting the knobs while telling you about his day, recounting everything he did before coming to see you. Sliding the window open just a crack, he nods to himself and comes back to your bedside before settling into the chair to your left.

"...and then I told grandpa that I was coming to see you and here I am!" he ends his sentence with wide grin.

Your eyes take in his bright smile and you swear you could hear your heart swoon from within your chest. As he delves into another topic, you half-listen to him speak as you revel in your feelings, wondering when you should bite the bullet and tell him.

You don't even know when you fell for him, but what you do know is that you fell hard.

Maybe it was back when you first met him, when you were adjusting to the family's big move and a new school. You had found yourself sitting alone at a lunch table, glancing around anxiously at your peers as they sat with their friend groups. You were on the verge of tears when someone slammed their lunch tray next to yours with a plop! and a hand was basically shoved into yours.

"My name's Yuji! What's yours?", he had said, eyes sparkling with joy and big smile on his lips. You had reciprocated the hand shake with wide eyes, before letting him know your name. Thus your friendship had blossomed from that day forth.

You couldn't understand why he had done it. Maybe he took pity on you. Maybe he knew how you felt that day. Maybe he was just being kind. But whatever that reason, you were glad you had met him.

Maybe you started falling for him when you went to your high school prom. Back then, you were an awkward teenager, too shy to approach anyone to be your date. He had encouraged you to follow your heart, but you didn't know how.

In the end, you were ready to skip prom altogether, until he showed up to your door with the same big smile and a small poster with the words Be My Date? scribbled messily on it. You had thrown your head back with a laugh before agreeing, linking arms and skipping back to his car to take on prom together.

Maybe you had fallen for him the night you came down with a fever again. Your parents had gone out to celebrate their anniversary and you had insisted that you were fine. Little did you know that they had contacted Yuji and told him you were at home ill once more, and while they had expected him to just call and keep you company, he decided he had to do more than that.

You had heard the doors downstairs open and close, calling out to your parents and asking if they had forgotten something. The door had opened to reveal him there, standing with his hands barely hanging onto the stuff he was holding.

He had a basket full of your favorite snacks and electrolyte-filled juices, a stuffed cow, a grocery bag full of medicine, and two balloons — the latter making you cough with laughter as they read Its a Boy! and Congratulations!. He had whined to you that they didn't have any Get Better Soon! ones while you continued laughing, ignoring the heavy pounding on your skull.

That same night was when you found out that it wasn't just a fever. It was something much worse, and you had ended up in the hospital throwing up blood with a worried Yuji by your side.

He was always by your side. And now here he was, once more.

Somehow, deep down, you knew it. You couldn't pinpoint the feeling but it was there. You just knew you didn't have much time left.

You had made peace with the idea of death. You heard the cries of anguish every day at the hospital, feeling your heart grieve for the families losing their loved ones.

You had intrusive thoughts about who would grieve your passing the most and how many people your loss would affect. The afterlife had never intrigued you because you didn't like the idea of being somewhere where your loved ones weren't. You liked it here, in this world. You liked being here... with Yuji.

"Hey. Where'd you go just then?" you heard him ask.

Blinking your eyes slowly at him, you feel something wet trail down your cheeks. Yuji looked at you with concern, bringing his hand up to your face and wiping the tears.

Seeing him act so gently, so kindly, made your tears stream down faster.

"Hey, hey," he cooed softly, moving now to sit on the bed by your side. Wrapping his arms around you, his hand nestled the back of your head and gently put your head into the crook of his neck as he rocked you both slowly. "What's wrong, angel?" he asked.

"Nothing. Just thinking" you had sniffled back.

"What you thinking about that's got you crying?" he asked tenderly, holding onto you tightly.

"I have a confession."

Hearing that, he stopped rocking and slowly pulled you both apart, looking down at you intently. His eyes stared back at your teary ones, determined to listen to what you had to say.

Licking your dry lips, you held his gaze as you opened your mouth and spilled your heart out to him.

"I love you. I-I love you more than a friend. I understand if you don't feel the same way, but please let me finish."

He nodded at you to continue, his hold tightening just a little bit.

"I don't know when I started feeling this way, but I did. I do. I-I've loved you for so long and I can't help but fall deeper every time I see you. I want to hold onto you forever and never let go. Every time it's time to say goodbye, my heart hurts. It calls for you."

Inhaling a deep breath, you let out a sigh of relief, feeling a burden lift off your shoulders. His eyes never left yours once, not even when you slowly took his hands off your form and laid back down on your raised bed.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, having trouble with finding the right words.

You gave him a sad smile in understanding. You knew it was a shot in the dark that he'd feel the same way about you. You couldn't possibly expect him to-

"My heart calls for you too," he says finally, with a small smile.

Your eyes widened as your heart rate shot up once more, making you both glance at the monitor again. With a short laugh, Yuji turned back to you, his left arm reaching up to scratch the back of his head, a nervous quirk of his that you've come to adore.

"I didn't know how to tell you how I feel. I was going to wait until you got out of here, at least," he said earnestly, making you smile sadly.

You thought the hardest thing to confess was your love for him. How do you confess to the love of your life that you might not make it to tomorrow?

As your lips parted to say something, you suddenly feel his smooth ones on yours, silencing you. Closing your eyes and gently holding his face, you move your lips with his, as your heart is engulfed with pure bliss. One of his hands rested behind your head as he deepened the kiss, while his other one held you close, almost as if he was afraid to let you go.

All too soon, you both pull apart, softly panting at intensity of the kiss.

Yuji smiles once more at you, his eyes closing with glee as he says, "I can finally say I've been kissed by an angel!"

Returning his infectious smile, you open your mouth to say something when suddenly, you felt a wave of extreme fatigue slowly overcome you. Your lips slowly close shut as you attempt to move your limbs and realize it was near impossible.

Keeping your eyes solely on Yuji, you take in his handsome face, his kind eyes, his bright smile. You notice him ask you something, a quizzical look on his face as you don't respond. Glancing towards the monitor near you, his radiant smile turned from one of glee to a look of horror as he yelled for something at someone.

Not a sound reaches your ears as you look on, the shapes and colors around you morphing into bleak versions of themselves. You try to keep your eyes on him, on your best friend, who you've poured your heart to, but you could not recognize him from the twisting shapes prancing around.

Your breaths come out slower and slower. Soft sensations around you let you know that multiple people were now in the room, some may even be touching you but you don't seem to feel them. Your eyes slowly close as you breathe out one last time. Peace. This is what peace felt like.

#jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #itadori x reader #yuji itadori #jujutsu kaisen x reader #angst #jjk angst

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