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togeppys · 3 months

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the waiting game ;

tsukishima kei x reader

reader is childhood friends with tsukki, and has an ongoing bit where she'll ask him out periodically. she's grown used to him saying no, and doesn't expect it when he actually says yes.

You would easily consider Tsukishima Kei your closest friend. You grew up on the same street, went to the same schools, and were in the same class on multiple occasions, so your frequent proximity had forced the two of you to become very familiar with one another. Though he had a personality that others may find sour, knowing him for so long meant that you had seen every version of him, and knew that there was more to him than the reputation that he had gained. Sure, he was arrogant and standoffish a vast majority of the time, but you knew that he was also kind and considerate towards those he cared about.

You didn't think that it was possible to gain feelings for a friend so close to you, but over the years you couldn't help but find yourself growing more and more intrigued with the idea of being in a relationship with your best friend. You cherished the friendship that the two of you had, but you couldn't help but wish that it could blossom into something more. Even as a child, you knew you wanted to make a move, but were held back by the fear that he would take it negatively, and you would lose a friend that meant the world to you. Sure, you both had other friends outside of each other, but a life without Tsukishima Kei by your side was not something you wanted to risk.

The first time you asked him out was a joke to test the waters. The situation had been perfectly laid out for you, so you figured you might as well give it an attempt.

At twelve years old, you, Tsukki, and your deskmates sat chatting about how White Day was approaching, with some members of the conversation more enthusiastic than others. One boy excitedly announced that he had started dating another girl in the class, and was planning on surprising her with candy on the special day. One by one, each of the boys rattled off who they wanted to give a present on the holiday, while the girls helped pitch ideas on how they could make their surprises even better.

"Who are you getting a present for, Tsukishima?" a voice sounded next to you, a bright eyed girl addressing the one member of the circle who had not made a contribution.

Tsukki stared blankly at her, before shaking his head, "No one, I don't have a girlfriend."

The boy seated next to him accusingly pointed a finger in his direction. "There's gotta be someone you want to get a gift for. It's White Day, this is your chance to get one!"

Your best friend scoffed, folding his arms in defiance. "It's a made up holiday, and a girlfriend right now would be a waste of time and money. Why would I buy chocolates for someone I don't have any interest in?"

Sounds of protest came from everyone sitting at the table. Upon hearing his thoughts, you supposed that should have been a clear enough answer to whether or not he had an interest in anyone, but you couldn't help but think that he was only staying quiet because you were present at the table. While somewhat disappointed, you knew that this was your chance to prod him further and get a more concrete answer.

"Date me, I'm your best friend and I'll gladly take the chocolates," you half-joked, trying to play it off as cool as a twelve year old possibly could.

Your answer came quickly, not in the form of an answer, but in the ease of him brushing you off, not even considering the possibility that you could genuinely mean what you had just said.

"I'm not getting anything for anyone, find someone else to buy your chocolates."

Following that conversation, it had been a whole year before you took another chance at proposing the idea of a relationship, fearing that you would be shot down once again. It was a similar situation; the environment had given you the chance to casually slide the idea into the conversation, and you couldn't give up the opportunity.

You and now-thirteen-year-old Tsukishima Kei stood in a convenience store on your way home from school, picking out snacks after you had spent a long day with your clubs at school. You were in the art club and had to take home a painting that you had done on a disproportionately large canvas. As you decided you wanted a barbecue pork bun, Tsukki picked yours up on your behalf, seeing as your hands were fully occupied with your artwork. Standing at the till, he gave the payment to the store owner, an elderly man with a strong gaze, and took the bag that was handed to him in return.

"Young man, why don't you give the food to your girlfriend and carry that massive painting for her instead?" the elderly man chimed as the two of you began to pull away from the counter.

Both your eyes widened, and you could see that the taller boy's cheeks had gone slightly red at being criticized by the man before you, along with the realization that you had been incorrectly identified as his girlfriend. He opened his mouth in protest, but the store owner gave him a pointed look, forcing him to place the bag back on the counter and take the painting from your arms. A large grin broke out on your face as you picked up the buns and gave the man a toothy smile while the two of you gave him a small bow before exiting the store.

"That's more like it," you heard the owner's voice carry from behind you as the doors to exit the store chimed while you walked into the evening air.

The second you were out of earshot of the man, you broke out into laughter, immediately turning to the boy who had turned an even deeper shade of red.

"Hear that Kei? Carry the massive painting for your girlfriend," you mocked, taking your bun out of the bag and taking a bite, ensuring to make a grand show of the amount of freedom your arms had in that moment.

"Tsk," was the only response heard from the boy as he turned his face away from you to try and hide the red that was slowly disappearing from his cheeks.

"I say we should start dating so that you can become my personal artwork carrier," you quipped as you skipped ahead of him along your path.

"Never going to happen," his voice sounded from behind you, unamused.

"Go out with me!" you called back, continuing to skip ahead of him.

"No."

That incident had begun the joke that ran between the two of you. You would ask him out, and he would respond with some form of deadpan denial. Your friends had grown accustomed to it, expecting you to make the joke from time to time. On the days you spent with both Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, the shorter boy would even occasionally play along.

"What in the world is that poster for?" you asked one day, noting an obnoxiously coloured poster stuck to a pole near the corner where you and Tsukishima split off from Yamaguchi on your paths home.

"A couples dancing competition," the green haired boy read off with a laugh.

"I wonder what the turnout would be, based on how ugly that poster is," your best friend commented, leaning forward to get a better look at the image before the three of you.

"The two of you should sign up," Yamaguchi responded jokingly, matching the smile that was growing across your face, "It would be a sight."

"You're so right, both of our incredibly above average dancing skills would blow the competition away," you joked, "the only thing we're missing is being an actual couple."

"I'm not going out with you."

"It was worth a shot."

As you grew older, the two of you continued to remain best friends. You had shared sentiments over schoolwork, had jokes shared between each other, and you knew the ins-and-outs of each others' lives. You were closer than ever, but the fact that you two had only grown closer meant that it hurt even more that the two of you wouldn't be anything more than friends. As far as you were concerned, he only thought of you as a cherished friend, and all the times you had asked him out were nothing more than a gimmick resulting from a comfort level obtained from your level of friendship. You loved having him as a friend, but as you grew older and more mature, your feelings grew with you, and your childhood crush developed into infatuation with the boy living down the street.

When high school came around, you both joined Karasuno together, acknowledging that it made sense for you to attend the same school once again. After the incident when you were thirteen, he had formed a habit of helping you carry your larger paintings on the walk home, and in turn you feigned some interest in the volleyball club, hearing what he and Yamaguchi had to say about their matches.

When the boys volleyball team qualified for the finals of their tournament, you joined your school in supporting your two friends as they faced the top school in the prefecture. You were one of many loud voices cheering the boys on, though you liked to believe that amongst them all, you were cheering the loudest. When Tsukishima made the first block against the opposing ace, you felt a burning pride to see the boy you liked finally begin to show some emotion on the court, your excitement visible from the stands.

Though you didn't understand the game well, it had you on your toes; everything that took place was crucial to the boys' success in the game. So encapsulated by the gameplay, and cheering on the series of blocks that Tsukki had done only moments before, you were confused when murmurs started to pass through the crowd and the players began to crowd around the tall blonde. It took a few seconds for you to realize that he was injured and was gripping his hand while the others spoke to him. Concerned, you left your spot amongst your classmates and approached his brother, who had a matching look of concern etched upon his face.

"Akiteru, did you see what happened? Is Kei injured?" you questioned, standing next to the older Tsukishima brother.

"I hope not," he muttered back, eyes carefully watching what was going on below.

You both watched intently as your friend wrapped a towel around his hand and began to walk towards the gymnasium exit.

"C'mon, let's go see what happened," he stated, as you both left the stands along with the first-year Karasuno manager to go meet his younger brother. Walking down the steps you could feel the anxious energy radiating off of all of you, and you tried to shake it off so that the injured boy would not sense it too. The three of you met him outside the doors of the gym.

"Kei, are you okay?" you asked, somewhat redundantly; of course he wasn't 'okay' if he was leaving the game because of an injury.

"I'm fine," he quipped back, trying to act more nonchalant than you could tell he felt inside. You observed your friend as he had a back and forth with his brother over his physical state. He commented on how it was nice to rest after all the sets- you could tell that there was some truth to the statement, but you could also see that he had finally found his groove, and really wanted to be back in the game. As he began to walk away, you could see the frustration emanating from his stance, and you and his brother decided to follow him and the older manager to the infirmary.

You ran up to catch him, and walked alongside Tsukki, Kiyoko and Akiteru. You walked in silence, knowing that the middle blocker was busy ruminating on the events of the game, and could only think of getting back on the court, despite his efforts to pretend otherwise. As the four of you arrived at the infirmary, you sat beside him and the two others stood near the door behind you while the nurse took a look at his hand. You could tell that he was scared that the nurse would announce his hand was too severely injured and he would have to sit out the remainder of the match.

To try and ease some of the nerves that he would be feeling, you grabbed his non-injured hand and gave it a small squeeze.

"I'm sure it's fine and you'll be back soon," you whispered so that only he could clearly hear, "and once you get back, you'll win the game and go to nationals."

You gave him a small encouraging smile, finally meeting his eyes, and for a few moments the boy did nothing but stare back at you.

After a short pause he finally responded with a nod, "I hope so," before dropping his eyes as the nurse analyzed and dressed his wounds. The remainder of the visit, you four sat in silence, the volleyball player evidently deep in thought over what he would do when he returned to the match, however his eyes occasionally fluttered away, as if something were distracting him.

Soon, his finger had been wrapped and immobilized, and the nurse announced that he would be allowed to return to the game. The four of you sprung up, and began jogging back to the gym, Tsukki slightly out-pacing the rest of you. You and Akiteru stood by the doors as the other two ran to the coach to explain his condition and request that he be put back in the game. You and the other Tsukishima brother ran back up to the stands to watch upon seeing him take a seat on the bench, the substitution card in his hand.

You watched as the remainder of the match unfolded, Tsukki back on the floor, knowing that he was still in pain though he tried to hide it. You didn't think it was possible, but you were even more captivated by the game in front of you, every movement drawing you closer and closer to the edge of your seat, more and more in awe of your best friend’s tenacity. When the final point was scored and Karasuno were announced as the winners, you jumped out of your seat, cheers and hollers all around you as your entire section cheered on the victory of your school's team.

The victory party had begun, with Karasuno staff and students overjoyed alike, excitement filling the air. The team bowed to your cheering section, and you let out more cheers to your two friends before you. You first made eye contact with Yamaguchi, who had found you in the crowd sooner and you gave him a smile and a thumbs up to show your congratulations. Noticing his teammate's line of vision, your best friend found you as well and you beamed even more, changing your thumbs up into a heart that you made with both your hands. You could almost hear the half-laugh, half-scoff that came from the boy as he immediately turned away from your antics. You couldn't help but laugh as well when you turned away from your seat and started to join the crowd that had begun to trickle out of the stands.

When everyone had finished mingling in the lobby, you excused yourself from your other friends to go greet the volleyball players who were dispersed outside the gym. You easily spotted the blond head of hair that stood taller and slightly apart from his teammates, the green-haired boy nowhere in sight.

You decided that the best course of action to get his attention was to launch yourself at his back. So you did, and he let out a yelp as he caught you behind him, a small exasperated laugh being let out. You let go of him and gave him a proper hug, but from the front, despite his protests.

"What did I say, go back soon, win the game, go to nationals," you said matter-of-factly, pointing a joking finger in his face once you had finally freed him of the hug, "I think I can see the future."

"I mean we were already so close to winning, the prediction was right in your face," the boy responded sassily, obviously trying to get back at your outrageous remark.

"I don't know, I think I have a gift," you continued joking, "I'll show up to all of the nationals games and start predicting who's going to win, just you wait and see."

"There are too many games going on, you'd never go to them all," the boy responded, trying to shut down your new aspirations.

"No, I'll do it, just you wait and see. I'll go to all of yours too, up until you win it all."

"You'd look like a stalker, the crazy fan of Karasuno who won't leave us alone."

"Hmm... no," you responded back, "The best course of action is for us to start dating because then I would no longer be a crazed fan and instead a loyal girlfriend there to support my boyfriend."

"Mhm okay."

"And then if anyone asks I could just say that I... wait did you just say okay?"

You had continued on your rambling, so focused on the dumb situation that you had thought up, that you had completely failed to notice the boy's response, or the way that he had been looking at you since the moment you had met him outside the gym.

He now stood, smiling smugly at you, and you realized that while you had been going on and on, he had been looking down at you, a newfound admiration on his face. You couldn't say when exactly the change had been made, but you realized now that he was looking at you in a way that he had never once before, and you began to feel the butterflies in your stomach.

"I did say okay," he stated plainly, placing a hand on the top of your head, making light of the fact that he towered over you.

You were speechless and could do nothing but stare back at him in confusion.

"After all this time, did you want me to say no again?" he asked, when almost a whole minute passed without a response from you.

"NO, no not at all," you said finally, accepting that he wasn't just messing with you and actually meant it, "it just caught me off guard."

The boy removed his hand from your head and smiled once again, less smug this time.

"Okay, so now I'm expecting you to show up to all our games at nationals and be the supportive girlfriend cheering me on constantly."

"Girlfriend already?" you retorted, once again taking his non-injured hand in yours, the difference being that now he held it as well, the feelings no longer one sided, "What happened to taking a girl out on a few dates before claiming that title?"

"Did you really ask me out all those times just to not even want to be called my girlfriend?" he asked back, eyes narrowing in disbelief at the comment that you just made.

"Nevermind, girlfriend it is."

Bonus:

A week had passed since the volleyball team had won the game against Shiratorizawa. The boys had been busy following the win, so you finally had a moment to treat both your friends to a congratulatory dinner. The three of you walked in the direction of the restaurant on a Sunday, with you standing in between your two friends. You passed a hideous poster, identical to the one that the three of you had previously joked about.

"Now that we've mastered volleyball, I think it's time for you two to take up dancing seriously," Yamaguchi smiled, recalling the previous joke that you had made over the poster.

"I wholeheartedly agree," you said back, "this time we even meet the couple criteria."

Yamaguchi stopped walking, turning to look at the two of you. You innocently looped your arm into Tsukki's, though your boyfriend stood still, no reaction evident on his face or through his body language.

A few seconds passed before Yamaguchi unfroze and continued walking, a smile now plastered on his face.

"Congratulations," was all he said at first, before he finished his train of thought, "but it was really about time."

#tsukishima kei #kei tsukishima #tsukki x reader #tsukki x you #tsukishima kei x reader #kei tsukishima x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #tsukishima x you #tsukishima x reader #togeppys

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aperrywilliams · 6 months

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From Now On (Spencer Reid x Pregnant!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Pregnant!Reader.

Summary: After faking his death for seven months, Spencer is back just to find out you’re eight months pregnant. After the initial commotion and your denial, you both step into the apartment you used to share. Things have changed and you must talk about it.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort. Talking about gunshots, blood, hospitals, faking death, pregnancy symptoms, potential abortion. If I missed something, let me know.

A/N: I’m back! I don't know for how long, but I needed to do something to fight my writer's block. This story can be read independently, but it is the second part of Seven Months.

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The cab ride to your apartment is mainly silent. Your head is tucked into Spencer's shoulder as he rubs your back from time to time. His nose is buried in your hair, inhaling your scent. God, he had missed it so much. He had missed you so much.

And he missed so much of your life in the past seven months. And that scares the shit out of him.

How would he fit into your life now? Does he have any right after faking his death and not telling you anything?

Rossi and Morgan told him you would understand eventually. That you would forgive him for doing this to you.

And maybe you are really considering. Maybe that’s why you went for him to Derek’s in the middle of the night.

Spencer wants that more than anything, but he feels like he doesn't deserve your forgiveness.

Now you both are in front of your building complex. The one that used to be his too.

Spencer knows the concrete walls are the same, but they don't feel like they are.

It's a strange feeling. A feeling that gets stronger when you open the apartment door.

Stepping inside, he knows this is where he used to live, but it doesn't look the same.

The shelves are no longer full of his books. Gone is his globe and coins collection that usually laid over the desk. There are just a couple of pictures of him with you on the wall. The decoration is different. Did you paint the place? Spencer is almost sure of that because it looks brighter than he remembered.

He's silent, inspecting everything around him. The walls, the bookshelf, the furniture: all changed.

After you take off your coat and hang it on the rack, your eyes follow him.

You know what’s going on. You have known Spencer for so long. Even if you thought you lost him, you still can read him like a book.

“Hope isn’t look too bad. I needed to, you know, make some changes?” you explain, not sure how to put the last months in words. Spencer turns to look at you, guilt written over his face. He knows what your words imply and remorse eats him alive.

“I - I’m sorry,” he mumbles, sure it's not enough to erase the hell you have been through since he were gone. Since they told you he was dead.

“I know.” Your response is short but not because you don’t have things to say. It's because you don’t know how to start. “Uh. Would you like some tea?”

It's the safest path. The one you both usually have taken the times you had fought and then try to speak it off. It's different this time, though.

Spencer hesitates. In other circumstances, he would agree and sit on the couch to talk. But it's late, the day has been a rollercoaster and you are eight months pregnant. He knows you should be sleeping, or resting at the very least.

“Maybe it's better you go to bed? It's late and you must be tired,” he points, nervously fidgeting with his hands, his gaze shifts between your eyes and belly.

“Honestly? I don't think I could sleep tonight even if I try,” you confess, moving to the kitchen to put the kettle.

”I don't think I could sleep either,” he admits, following to the kitchen. He wants to help, but he doesn’t want to look like an intruder in your space. A space that it’s not his anymore. Noticing Spencer doesn't know what to do with himself, you invited him to take a seat on the barstool.

“It will be ready in no time, don’t worry.”

You are the one who endured months of grief from your fiancee, carrying his child, and you are the one comforting him. Spencer thinks it's not fair.

In silence, he looks with raptor fascination at the way you move around the kitchen. It's delicate and calm. You have a glow that captivates him. You don’t realize his gaze until you turn to put the mugs over the counter.

“What?” you question softly.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, eyes entranced in you. You laugh, shaking your head.

“Come on, Spencer. I look like a mess. This belly reaches everything minutes before I can. It's huge! I can barely walk decently. Look at my hair! And my skin. It's sticky all the time.”

As you ramble about why isn’t accurate to call you beautiful, Spencer stands from the stool and rounds the kitchen counter to step in front of you. He wants to reach for your hands that you’re waving in the air to emphasize your point, but refrains. He’s still unsure about initiating physical contact. He rests his hands on the counter and clears his throat.

“I can certainly say it's not the way you are used to feeling. But the way I see you right now? I see beauty, power, and life. It's light what I see on you.”

You don’t know when tears started to roll down your cheeks. But hearing the adoration in Spencer’s words only spurs you to let out your emotions.

“You know my hormones have been doing a number on me, right? You’re not helping,” you complain, chuckling. After handing Spencer his tea, you take yours and walk to the living room.

You carefully sit on the couch and reach for the blanket in the back to cover your lower half. Spencer mimics your actions, sitting as well on the couch, but at a safe distance from you.

A silence envelops the room. Your hand plays with the strands at the end of the blanket, and your eyes scrutiny Spencer’s face. He looks tired, with prominent circles under his eyes, and stubble for days of no shaving.

He is analyzing you too. Even if your eyes denote exhaustion, he can see the strength that makes you look put together despite everything that has been going on.

He can see the protectiveness too. Rubbing your belly in soothing motions, shielding your non-born child from the unknown, the uncertain.

How much he would have given to be the one who could have protected you and the baby from the first minute.

“I guess you have questions,” you prompt. “But I have mine too, so if you don’t mind,” you trail off and Spencer understands what you want. He nods, preparing himself to answer whatever question you have. After a pause to collect your thoughts, you start to speak again.

“What really happened in that warehouse? Why you didn't let me go inside with you?”

You are talking about the day Spencer was shot and beaten for the unsub. The day he ended up at the hospital just to be declared dead hours after.

“I thought if we didn't split we could lose him. We were so close so many times. I thought it was our last chance. It never occurred to me it was a trap. That he wanted me there alone. I just didn't see it,” Spencer swallowed hard, remembering that day. You stayed in silence, waiting for him to continue.

“I heard his voice telling me he had you, and I panicked. So I ran to him. I let my guard down. When I realized he was lying it was too late.”

“But you launched at him. Why didn't you try to stall him first?” You asked, leaving your mug on the coffee table, feeling the suddenly urge to protect yourself with your arms around you. You never talked about what really happened with anyone. Not even to Hotch when he questioned you during the FBI investigation of the incident.

The way Spencer reacted with the unsub is something you never understood. The profile said the unsub was a guy who liked to show off, so trying to incite him to do that while waiting for backup would have been reasonable.

“The way he laughed. Maybe sounds stupid, but- I saw the resolve of an end game, and not like the typical bragging-end game, it was an evil-end game. He had the upper hand and he knew it. If I didn't do something first, he would have gone after you. And I couldn't let that happen. I didn't count on the hidden gun, though. Another mistake,” he breaths out.

You remember like it was yesterday rushing to the warehouse after hearing two gunshots. Once inside you saw Spencer lying on the floor, in a pool of blood.

“You were there and I didn't know what to do,” you recount your side of the story. “It was the worst nightmare. I screamed for help and it felt like an eternity before someone came to us. And your eyes-” You stop for a second, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. “You - you were saying goodbye and I wasn’t ready.”

Your resolve from earlier seems to crumble as you revisit what happened in that warehouse. Tears are now rolling down your cheeks, and you bite your bottom lip to stop their quivering.

Spencer wants to hold you, but he’s afraid of how you would react, so tentatively rests his hand on your knee. You are shaking and he’s worried this conversation could do more harm than good.

“We can stop. You are not feeling okay,” he points out. But despite Spencer's apprehensions, this conversation must happen now.

“I need to get this out of my chest. Please, let me do this. I know you need it too.”

Spencer knows you are right. You both need this.

“Do you remember anything after the shots?” you ask, and Spencer thinks for a moment.

“I remember being there, the sharp pain in the chest and my ribs. But most of it is a blur. I remember seeing you there. Crying. God. I hated seeing you cry. I think you held my hand?”

You nodded. “I was so scared, but with you there, I wasn’t anymore. The last thing I remember it’s the guilt of not saying I love you for the last time. I really thought it was the end for me,” he admits, his own tears blurring his sight.

“It was for me, though,” you mumbled, a sad look in your eyes. “I mean, I still had hopes when you were moved to the hospital, but deep down I knew I shouldn’t have had them. And everything shattered when JJ came to the waiting room and told us you didn't make it.”

A heavy sigh escapes from Spencer’s lips. Neither JJ nor Hotch had told him how they let it know the team he was ‘gone.’

“I can’t even imagine - It was unfair to you. And I know no matter what I say it won’t make it better.”

Your thoughts wander to the moment after you heard JJ saying Spencer was dead.

Disbelief. Pain. Denial.

And then, days of numbness.

“You know. I just shut off. I have some flashbacks. Rossi hugging me; Hotch telling me to take all the time I needed; Morgan crying with me.”

It feels weird to recall those memories as yours, like an alternative universe that turned different at the end.

“Where did you go?” Spencer asks. The thought of you in the apartment alone after that breaks his heart.

“Emily took me to her place because I couldn't put a foot here. I stayed with her for a couple of days. She helped me a lot to get through this,” you recognize. And for that, you will always be grateful to her.

You also tell Spencer about how the whole team helped you to make it through the days. Some kind of relief washes over him knowing you didn't face it alone.

He can’t fathom how difficult it was for you, also knowing you were pregnant. And about that...

“When did you find out?” He asks, eyes darting to your belly. You follow his gaze trajectory and a little smile creps on your face.

“Almost a month later. I was feeling sick all the time. Emily pushed me to get checked. They took blood tests and stuff. When they told me I couldn't believe it. For me, it was a twisted joke,” you admit, hanging your head low.

Spencer dreads asking the next question but you already know what is, so you keep talking.

“Yes. I had thought about it. I didn't feel in a good place to be a mom, Spencer. I barely could make it through the days. And having a baby? Fuck, just thinking about it was too much.”

You tell him about how you cried your eyes out. How lost you felt for days. The doubts about the future, but above everything, the protectiveness that aroused in you once the idea settled. Yeah, you couldn’t keep Spencer safe, but you were determined to save the part of him growing in you.

“And seven months later, here I am. About to give birth to our baby,” you conclude, lovingly rubbing your belly.

“It’s weird, you know?” Spencer begins. “The last time I saw you and now. It feels like I lost time. And I know I lost it. It’s just - I never expected to see things so changed. I don’t know how I fit here. What I’m saying doesn’t make any sense right now-” he trails off, darting his gaze to the fidgeting hands on his lap.

He’s been holding back. You notice. Since you both crossed the threshold he has been afraid of invading your personal space, of touching you. Now it makes sense.

“That's why you have been keeping your distance from me?” you ask. Spencer’s eyes quickly flash to you. Guilt is written on his face.

“What?”

Your gaze soften seeing him so stressed by being caught. It's true the past months have been tough for you, but they have been tough for him too. And to see a before and an after so different probably has him reeling.

“Since we put a foot in this apartment you have kept a safe distance. I’m not judging you, I really don’t. I just want to know what’s on your mind right now,” you explain, shifting on the couch to change your position. With an eight-month belly is difficult to be comfy in any position.

Spencer sighs. There are so many things revolving inside his brain that it’s not easy to put them in words.

“When I woke up in a hospital bed in Bethesda, the first thing I looked for was if you were there. But I was alone. A strange feeling squeezed my chest. For a moment I thought -” he pauses to take a breath. “I thought everything had gone wrong and the unsub had hurt you or the team, or both. I was about to freak out when a marshal came and explained to me what happened.”

Spencer recounts how the agent told him about his new destination and how this assignment was for an undetermined time.

“Since then, not a single day passed without the urge to take a plane and come back. To you. But what if I messed up putting you at risk doing so? It was insane to know I was dead for you and I couldn't do anything to fix it.”

“That's why you wrote the letters?” Spencer nodded. In a notepad, he wrote a letter to you every single day since he landed in Paris. He handed you the notepad at the BAU this afternoon before you stormed out, completely shaken and confused.

“I needed to put in words each day without you. I needed to tell you I was there, even if you never could read it.”

His shaky breath forces him to take some seconds to compose himself. You took that as your cue. Shifting again, you scoot a bit closer to him and reach tentatively for his hand, and he clings to it as if his life depended on it.

“And I’m here right now. And so do you,” you squeeze his hand reassuringly. “I’m as scared as you are, but we need to do something to get through this. If it is something you want to do,” you add. Spencer's glassy eyes find yours.

“It's all I want. Maybe it's hard for me to understand I can’t fix something like this, but I want a chance to make us work again. I know I can’t get back time, but if you let me I want to gain back the place I lost the day I gone.”

Spencer’s free hand flies to your cheek to wipe with his thumb the tears you haven’t noticed are falling.

“We can start with something,” you prompt, reaching for a folder resting at the coffee table. After opening it, you produce a bunch of ultrasound pictures and hand them to him. From the first appointment you had, to the last one from a week ago.

Spencer’s eyes sparkle with excitement, seeing every detail and the way the baby has grown in the past months.

Tears fall freely and there is pure emotion that fills his heart.

So many nights you both spent talking about what it would be like to have a baby. How wonderful it would be to see them grow. About what traits they would inherit from each of you.

You smile at the scene unfolding in front of your eyes. It feels so good to see in him the same excitement you have. You both wanted this. And until today you thought only you would get the chance to experience it.

After inspecting and committing to memory each detail from each pic, Spencer’s eyes find yours again.

“Do you know the baby’s-” he trails off. He’s unsure, maybe you didn't want to know or want him to know.

You have known the baby’s gender for a while now but have not told to anyone. From the same folder, you extract an envelope you offer to him. With trembling hands, Spencer takes it and gets the paper from inside. Scanning the words he realizes it is the information of your baby’s gender.

“It's - it's a girl,” he reads aloud with a cracking voice and more tears in his eyes. You nod, your own tears clouding your vision.

“Yes. Do you remember when we talked about having a baby and you told me you wanted a girl? When I found out the gender, I thought about how happy you would have been,” you sniffle, and Spencer reaches for you, now wrapping you in a loving embrace.

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” he repeats over and over, kissing your temple. You close your eyes, losing yourself in his chest, inhaling his scent.

You stay like this for a moment. Contently in each other arms. Spencer still can’t believe he got the chance to hold you again, and you are still assimilating the day’s events. It's unbelievable how everything changed in less than twenty-four hours.

“I love you,” he mumbles in your hair, a hand moving to rub your belly. “And I love you,” he says now, talking to your baby.

“We love you too, Spencer,” you respond, voice thick with emotion. “I never stopped, and we will never stop.”

Parting from your embrace, you get lost in each other's eyes. Communicating without words what this moment means to both of you. Cupping your face, Spencer leans to find your lips with his in a loving kiss. You kiss him back, pouring all your feelings.

It's a new promise of love.

After breaking the kiss, he presses his forehead to yours.

“Will we be okay?” he asks, almost in a whisper.

“From now on, we will be,” you assure him. It feels like you are telling this to yourself too. Maybe you do. Everything still looks messy right now, but life is giving you a second chance, and neither Spencer nor you is willing to let it go.

-----

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid angt #spencer reid hurt/comfort #seven months #from now on #amanda perry williams #aperrywilliams

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fishnapple · 3 months

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How to love yourself better? A request letter from yourself. (Channelled message)

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost

Book a reading with me - KO-FI (Read this post : personal reading)

1. White

Dear myself,

If I could light a fire right now, I could, just to see if that fire can compete with my light, our light. And yet I got a feeling that fire will burn brighter than us, just because it had someone to start it. But ours didn't. We stowed our fire away, our light, for fear of burning the eyes of the world? Or for fear of being engulfed in the sea of darkness outside?

Have you ever seen a solar eclipse? People gathered to watch it, a brief moment of the sun being eaten. A brief moment. Imagine how the world would be if that brief moment turned into a very long moment, an eternal one? Panic, fear, despair. We have prolonged our solar eclipse for far too long, let the Sun has its shine. Does it sound arrogant when I talk of us as the Sun? No, you should get used to it. To be the light, the be seen. Even when the Sun seems like a solitary existence on the sky, it's not, so are we.

I wanted to tell you many beautiful words, give you praises and a pat on the head. Sounds embarrassing, right? We should learn to do that more often. And then practice it with other people too, we all need it sometimes, a lot of times.

Do you know what will happen when we turn the anger on ourselves? Somehow, it will ricochet inside us and finally shoot out at other people. It's painful, for us and for them. Let's hold it in our hands, watch it breathe and stroke it gently, find where does it hurt and tend to it, then poof- it's gone. You catch anger not by throwing it around and putting it in a cage but let it heal and fly away on its own.

I'm sure that sometimes you will find yourself drowning in life, in other people's water. Losing yourself could be your worst nightmare. But you will never lose me. It's odd how we're surrounded by people but feel like we are alone in our struggle. Where did all the people go? Are they also drowning like us? In a different sea? I hope that all the seas are connected to each other so we can all find others to swim with us.

Till the next sun rise, yourself.

2. Pink

Oh, how I want to just throw away everything and run barefoot on the sand. To lie face up, watching the clouds passing by for hours. To paint the wall bright pink and yellow (this combination might hurt your eyes if you stare too long, though). But we're not a kid anymore, or so people have told us, much like how we've told ourselves, convinced ourselves to behave.

It's fascinating to watch the process of our resistance to what is taught to us. Why do we resist it so much? It feels like being gravely offended. We have our principles, and now we have to listen to others telling us what is right? What is wrong? Let me tell you, in a small whisper, it's actually nice to listen. Just listening, not obeying. It will feel like swallowing a rock. Maybe we could learn from the chickens a little, metaphorically. They swallow small rocks to aid in healthy digestion. So let's swallow some of the hard lessons.

You always like to think in concrete fashion. You try to touch your thoughts with your own hands and knead them, mould them into whatever you want. And when you're dropped into a relationship with someone, you find yourself lost that ability. It's all a jumble mess. You find your hands reaching out, grasping for something. How about the other person? Are you afraid that you will lose yourself if you hold on to them? It's fine, you won't. It's just an outdated belief that you've held on for far too long.

As we were talking about swallowing, you may want to watch what you're swallowing into your stomach, literally. Watch what you eat! Don't make yourself, ourselves suffer by bringing unhealthy things into our body. We may want to live long, you know.

Hey, if you find a dance class is too embarrassing, how about we turn off the light and dance with each other in the middle of the night. Nobody will know, but we will feel good (I'm not trying to be a flirt with myself here)

Your best friend, love.

3. Red

Make me a cup of tea, please.

Let's have a chat, just us, lying around lazily, sipping our favourite tea, imagining some weird scenarios to entertain us, playing some puzzle.

I don't have much to tell you because we talk to each other every day and I know you always try to be better for us. I love you and I'm proud of you. Let's be vain and give ourselves applause every day. Make it a pinky promise.

A reminder when you're feeling sluggish and slow, we are going to exactly where we need to be. You are guided and protected.

Keep on shining and be the little kid that runs around in the rain.

I love it when you're running wild, letting yourself, me, free, splashing colours everywhere. I just want to grab other people's hands and drag them to the dance. I love it when you're laughing, loudly, even better when you jolted others around you, oh, their surprised look, priceless.

Just be sure to take care of your body. Don't over tasking them. Work hard, play hard, but rest hard also.

Have you been thinking about going on a trip somewhere? No? Then, allow me to make a gentle request. Let me put the idea in your head. Go on, go to wherever you're thinking, there might be a surprise waiting for us, *hint: it will make our heart flutter*.

Let's make it a ritual to go on a trip every year. Let's give our mind and spirit a makeover. Dust off any tangled mess we have and prepare a space for new things to come into. I'm so excited.

It's got me thinking lately, there's this small blinking light in the back of our mind, sometimes I can see it, sometimes I can't. I want to find out what it is. It's like a signal, trying to reach us, can you feel it? Sometimes, there's this odd feeling swelling inside that you can't put your hand on and naming it. I think if we can sit still, quiet, in the dark, we could see it better. It's guiding us. To where? I got a feeling that it's somewhere deep, somewhere with a treasure, waiting for us. If we can uncover it, it will be the greatest gift that the universe has ever given us. So let's go and find it.

Love, myself.

4. Green

I have some news for you. Brace yourself for changes. They're coming, very fast, very soon. Sit yourself tight. I don't want to give spoilers, but I guess we will receive some sudden confessions or offers. What you will do with those confessions is completely your choice. You don't have to feel guilty if you don't return their feelings, my dear.

I think the way the universe is sending us this kind of surprise is telling us to reconsider our 'single' thinking mode. We have stood alone, strong and independent for so long, I think it actually makes us a little too comfortable in being alone that the thought of getting into a connection with someone can be daunting. Will we lose our freedom? What if we are dependent on them? This time, the universe is saying: 'you and your worries will not make a good journey together, break up with those worries, here, I will throw in some opportunities for you to practice '.

If you don't want romantic connection at the moment, fine, different types of connections will come. No matter what, the universe is determined to get us involved with other people. It's for our own good. I have to admit that it's hard. It's not easy to change our way of thinking and believing. So surprises will be needed.

When opportunities come, the gate is opened, we just need to receive them. Walking through the gate will feel like walking out of a confinement into the wild, lively world outside. We will be propelled into a new path that we hadn't even considered in the past. Beware of what you said in the past about how you don't want to do something, you can't imagine yourself doing something. Well, guess what, we are going to do just that, joke on us.

So, in the meantime, even if you're resisting, it's fine. Just take care of yourself, of us. Obsessive worrying can sadden our body.

Something is going away, giving space to a new energy coming in. This new energy will be softer, more loving. The harshness of the past will go away soon. Trust me.

Love, Your companion.

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sugar-grigri · 3 months

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Nayuta wasn't killed by Barem, she's his ally

Poor fandom, you're disorientated just when your compasses should be working properly.

Let's learn how to eat sushi properly, step by step. Or rather, how about reading Chainsaw Man in the right order? By calmly superimposing everything we know in the right order

So let's not panic, let's get on with it. Dry your tears, clean your snot and let's get back to the introductions.

First layer of sushi: Denji and Pochita are made for each other

Who is Chainsaw Man? It's a question we've been asking ourselves a lot, but how about a simple answer - we're not here to mess around. Chainsaw Man is the combined result of Pochita + Denji. Do we agree? Why have they become so close? Because they look alike, don't they? Alone, hungry, in need of a little warmth and a little love.

Second layer of sushi: birthday, despair, amnesia...

If we take the stories in outline, Denji meets Makima and then bonds with his siblings. A sibling who eventually dies, and whose final breaking point is his sister, cut in two. On top of that, it's his birthday, isn't it? Makima invites Denji to open the door that confined his traumas, including the death of Denji’s father?

You see, I've already missed it, I went too fast. Let's resume calmly, birthday... Denji had forgotten it was his birthday, hadn't he? His birthday is the day you're born, it's one of the few pieces of information we don't really question, but Denji forgot it. But haven't you ever really wondered...

If Denji had celebrated his birthday? And why, how, he wanted to eat a cake? His father was violent and his mother died when he was very young, so is it really safe to say that Denji celebrated his birthday?

I had another question, why does Fujimoto always seem to accentuate the cakes so much?

I really think that cake is one of the keys, because it's a tunnel of memories that resurfaces in Denji, the cake, his birthday, then Power's death, then his father's death. It's a sushi within a sushi (we're slowly taking things back in order), I think it's about layers that need to be taken back in chronological order, yes chronological 1) the death of Denji's father 2) the death of Power 3) Denji's birthday 4) the cake. Which brings us to this scene.

Was this scene shown not just metaphorical or symbolic, but actually happened? Denji having contracted with the control demon whose power is to control memory, in order to reshape him perfectly so as not to be happy and to do whatever she asks of him later. Why couldn't Denji open that door? Why does Aki's death sound so abruptly like Denji's absence, with a mini ellipsis that doesn't show us in concrete terms how Chainsaw Man killed him? I'm going too fast again, let's start again...

Makima hasn't made Denji unhappy, she's created a being made for unhappiness.

This scene refers to an anniversary, amnesia and despair, all ingredients that enabled Pochita to take complete possession of Denji and show us the most complete version of Chainsaw Man.

Which means Barem isn't lying, is he? Same here, I'm going too fast!

Third layer of sushi: the closer Denji gets to happiness, the more he doubts...

Denji manages to become himself again and succeeds in killing Makima, by devouring her. In a very simple and concrete way, Makima was devoured and this put an end to her existence. Keep this in mind. Nayuta is reborn, becoming Denji's little sister, lots of dogs surround them, Chainsaw Man becomes extremely popular and it's in this part 2 that Denji will feel the least like himself, the least like Chainsaw Man. Strangely enough, it's when he approaches a semblance of happiness that Denji pulls away from himself.

Barem really doesn't seem to be lying, does he? But once again, I'm going too fast, let's get on with it!

Fourth layer of sushi: Barem never lies

This is something I quickly came up with, and it's so precise, I think his character is thought of that way, and it's his narrative role. Even though he's deceitful, manipulative and devious, the bro does NOT LIE. He didn't lie about the weapons attack, he didn't lie that he looked like a Chainsaw Man fan, and he doesn't lie in the last chapter. But same, I'm going too fast.

Fifth layer of sushi: Nayuta betrayed by Chainsaw Man

When Denji made the choice to become Chainsaw Man, the house, his source of happiness, was falling to ashes, his dogs, his cat were dying. Denji went through with his dream and abandoned the little sister who made him happy. Barem didn't impose misfortune on Denji; it was Denji who chose misfortune, despite Nayuta's fears. The happier he was with her, the more he lost himself. He left her in Barem's hands and provoked an existential crisis in her. Which made her reconnect with her old self.

Sixth layer of sushi: an unblocked memory.

The aftertaste that sticks to your palate is a piece of information I mentioned earlier. Makima has been devoured. What defines the Knights of the Apocalypse from the rest of the demons? Their memory. What if Nayuta had now understood how Chainsaw Man's power worked?

Seventh layer of sushi: chapter 170.

This explains Nayuta's severed head, a macabre mise-en-scène to make her brother lose his mind a little more. As for Barem, he doesn't lie to us and gives us instructions on how to read Chainsaw Man. He knows how to read Chainsaw Man, since he knows the two conditions for him to regain his full power because Nayuta gave them to him. For all this is nothing more than their death.

Layer zero of sushi: the unknown.

Now I'm entering the quintessential madness of my analysis. Makima contracted with Denji at a very young age, and gave him several orders: survive at all costs, remain miserable, and one day kill Power and Aki. Above all, she ordered him to contract with Pochita, hence Denji's reflex to hand his open wound directly to the demon. This misfortune, this amnesia due to the contract with Makima, this survival on his own, finally allowed a weakened Chainsaw Man to find a kindred spirit, a loved one. Believing in happiness, then destroying it, kept Chainsaw Man's power in check, those vain dreams only a human could imagine. Denji was a kind of Russian doll, holding back Pochita and his over-power. That's why these two conditions exist.

To be unhappy, or to break this Russian doll.

To be feared by all, or to be alone.

Or kill Denji.

To save Pochita.

Layer - 100000 of sushi: did you think I'd finished losing my head? I don't think so. What if everything I've been telling you all along, taking things in order, were to be done in reverse? Take them out of order. I'll ask the questions so you can understand. Why is Makima so obsessed with Chainsaw Man? Why did the Knights of the Apocalypse fight Chainsaw Man in the underworld? How did they manage to retain their memories? Why start the story with a parricide? Why was Denji finely polished by Makima to welcome Pochita when Makima never saw Denji, the reason for her own death? How could she enter into a contract with someone she has never seen?

Because someone is controlling the control demon itself. Just as it controls the way the story is presented to us. How can we trust an antagonist who controls memory? And an amnesiac protagonist?

Why did Pochita do what he did in the underworld? Why this sudden fury? Why do demons hear chainsaws at the moment of their death?

Because we've come full circle. More precisely, what you're reading is not part 2 but part 1, or to be more (MORE) precise, the end of Chainsaw Man will lead to its beginning. The desire to create a better world, to kill death, will lead to a temporal loop in the world that will never cross the apocalypse, blocked just ahead.

Makima herself is controlled by her future self, which allows her to make references to the future and know the recipes for unleashing Chainsaw Man's power without understanding why, her future self knows Chainsaw Man, she loved him. So Makima also loves Chainsaw Man without really understanding why, amnesiac like Denji.

Denji doesn't kill his father, it's his old self who is killed.

But another Denji tries to put an end to this...

Spiral.

Stuck between two worlds, two temporalities, morning (Asa), night (Yoru), someone is trying to put an end to this endless world, before dawn.

#chainsaw man #csm #csm part 2 #csm spoilers #denji #asa mitaka #my thoughts #yoru #nayuta #barem bridge #barem #fake!csm #csm 170 #chainsaw man chapter 170 #chainsaw man spoilers

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blueberryarchive · 7 months

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jk & th fucking you in the subway

(smut, degrading, dub-con, stalking, taehyung talking like he gets paid for it) shorts for the sleepless

The most sudden cold passed in the city that night, both hands inside his jeans and his shaky foot waiting to hear the squeaky reels of the subway.

The alcohol didn't help at all, what's more, his body felt more sober than when he started the night, and God knows that after seeing your smile directed at one of the bartenders, sobriety would hit him in the face like the night wind.

You, on the other hand, were wearing the shortest dress in your closet, the highest heels, and the most dopey face. You were juicy red meat in the middle of a concrete jungle, your hair moved with your staggers, and you laughed as you heard your babbling echo down the long, desolated hallway.

It wasn't worth arguing with you and your promiscuous ways every time you drank. He would have preferred to stay home and prepare dinner for you, good wine, good sex. But you and your forms of showing off would destroy your poor boyfriend.

Those thighs shaking gently, your breasts glistening with the sweat of a night of dancing.

"We should take a cab, Tae."

"It's here. Come on, baby." His sweet, low voice indicated that you had done something wrong.

The rails shook under your Moschinos, his hand settled on your waist guiding you to the open door. You grabbed the metal pole and spun around several times, your squeals and laughter didn't seem to amuse Taehyung.

You looked in the direction where his pupils were directed, in the other corner was a man, alone, his eyes went up and down in your direction nervously.

"Could you stop being such a slut for a moment?" Taehyung muttered, squeezing his eyes.

Your chest hurts, the burn of the alcohol rising to your face.

"I thought we were alone. God!" You rolled your eyes, preventing tears from ruining your makeup.

"You always act like you're alone."

"What does that mean?" You stammered, gripping the pole tighter, losing your stability.

Taehyung didn't say anything, shaking his head. A sarcastic laugh.

"Taehyung." Your voice was higher than normal, your boyfriend looked at the stranger and then back at you. "What does that mean?"

"Let's leave the topic for when we get home, 'kay?" Your boyfriend mumbled, getting up from his seat to support your useless body. "Anyway, you're so fucking drunk that I don't think you'll even remember how you got home."

The way he spoke, the way his eyes looked at you: they burned with dangerous playfulness. You didn't understand, you didn't like it.

"Stop treating me like that." Your voice trembled.

"Like what?"

"As if I was a whore."

The subway lights disappeared for a few seconds when they returned, you could only see Taehyung's shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

"Tae, what's wrong?"

Tears accumulated in the two wrinkled lines that served as eyes, and the laughter continued.

You looked at the crestfallen man. His hands twisted anxiously, and he swallowed as he felt your gaze on his arms. He was quite strong, you could see it even under the hoodie.

"Oh, so do you wanna fuck him too?" Taehyung grabbed your hair, winding his fingers through the strands until he arranged a good portion so that you were looking at him instead of the stranger. "Are you such a whore that you want to fuck the weird fucks on the subway, too? You make me sick."

"He's not even looking at me, you're paranoid."

Taehyung let go of your hair, and you fell to the ground shaking as you watched your boyfriend approach the man. The stranger opened his eyes and stammered something intelligible when the cell phone was taken from his hand.

"Oh, this is perfect." Taehyung laughed, his finger flicking from one photo to the next. "The motherfucker has been taking photos of you from afar since the club. Freak." Taehyung brought the phone closer to your face, showing one where you were bending down to fix the bow on your heel, your pussy bulging under your underwear.

"See what you're causing, you fucking whore?"

"Tae, please. Stop this."

"I'm sorry." The man said, he was a little taller than your boyfriend and stronger, but he looked like a stupid giant in front of Taehyung who only smiled cruelly.

"You're sorry? Can you believe this guy, baby?"

You lowered your head, the alcohol tickling your stomach as the stranger looked at your breasts shamelessly.

"Oh my God, she's blushing now. That never happens when she's with other men, you should be proud, dude." Taehyung hit the stranger in the chest.

"M-my name's Jungkook." It was just a trickle of voice above the metallic noise.

Taehyung opened his eyes in pure disbelief. He couldn't believe how stupid he looked. Broad shoulders, tattoos and piercings, all meant nothing.

"You are pathetic, Jungkook."

Jungkook's hands hid in his hoodie, eyes evasive, sweat rising on his forehead. Taehyung put the cell phone in his pocket, sighing.

"Come on, baby. Sorry I left you on the floor, it wasn't very nice of me." Taehyung offered his hand, and you took it. Your surprise was when by sheer force you were pulled onto Jungkook's hard chest.

"Sorry." Jungkook tried to stabilize your body with his sweaty hands.

"Don't touch me!" You squeaked, but Taehyung pushed you into his chest again, this time with your back to Jungkook.

"Don't move. Neither of you." Taehyung put his index finger on your chest. His eyes traced every curve of your body with a sly smile. "Be a good girl and let the man have a little touch, hm? He looks starved."

You could feel his cock throbbing in your ass, nausea churning in your stomach. It was big.

"It's like that toy you have in your cabinet but attached to a huge, pathetic piece of meat. Ain't that right, baby?"

Taehyung's tongue ran across your chest until he reached the piece of fabric that was poorly covering your breasts. You screamed as you felt your boyfriend destroy your top until your tits were exposed.

"Stop!" Your voice grew weaker until a huge hand covered your mouth, the smell of cheap perfume and sweat causing a headache.

Jungkook's free hand went to your breast, squeezing without caring about the pain it caused you. Starved he was.

"Was this what my princess wanted?"

You shook your head as you watched your boyfriend undo his belt.

"You shouldn't feel bad about it, I know what you need."

His cock bounced out of his jeans and landed between your legs. His eyes widened with a devilish smile.

"Oh my God, you're dripping."

Jungkook hurrief behind you to imitate Taehyung and let his sweatpants fall to his knees.

"Fuck." He breathed as he spread your ass with his hands, nails leaving jagged edges on the soft, ripe skin.

Taehyung tore the delicate fabric until he left your pussy at the disposal of both cocks. You could feel the veins of your boyfriend rubbing against the skin between your thighs. How Jungkook poked your clit every time he tried to move without shaking.

The juice from your pussy comes out hot until lubricating both. The overwhelming pleasure of two men moaning in your ears.

Taehyung held your face to spit into your mouth, his fingers guiding you to kiss Jungkook behind you. His bitter, cigarette-tasting saliva making you wrinkle your nose.

"Stop complaining." Your boyfriend's hand bounced off your ass.

"Sorry." Jungkook looked into your crystalline eyes before wrapping a thick, tattooed arm around your neck. "Please, let me-"

"You don't ask a whore what she wants, do you?"

"N-no."

"Exactly."

Your boyfriend held your hair until you sat on top of him, his wide cock parting your lips to find space, the sweet burn of his veins throbbing in your walls.

"Take his cock in your mouth, baby."

Jungkook approached and let your delicate lips be adorned with the pearls that fell from the tip of his dick.

You were so angelic, so good, Jungkook knew you would do anything for a stranger. He can't forget the time you accidentally brushed against his cock during rush hour on this same subway.

How you smiled, apologizing as if it were your fault that you were so tasty, so small under him, looking up at his drooling and stupid face while he tried not to think about raping you in an alley when you two came out.

And now, here was your throat open for him and the mascara falling black on your blushing cheeks. He couldn't stand much if you looked at him that way, with your nipples in the air and that fruity perfume emanating from your hair.

"I can't, oh god." Jungkook was breathing sharply, one hand resting on the glass window and his feet on tiptoe, passing from station to station.

Taehyung abused your pussy, both thighs squeezed by his hands until they were pressed against your shoulders. Eyes drooping and hot tongue grazing your earlobe.

"Tell him where you want him to cum, princess," Taehyung whispered, his hand stroking your hair.

You threw your head back for air, and like a good girl, you took Jungkook's cock to your clit, pulling the tiny skirt up.

Jungkook looked at you, you thought he was going to cry at any moment. His body bent down until he could touch the swollen nub with his leaking tip.

"Yes..." You whispered, burying your head in Taehyung's neck. Your boyfriend looked at the stranger with a proud smile.

Jungkook couldn't believe how your pussy started dripping all over his face and his hoodie with your squirt. He ran his tongue over his wet lips, and the saltiness of the fluids was the last thing he needed to push him over the edge. His broad back hunched over you, your pussy painted white.

He stood up and slumped his body until he fell into the seat in front of you.

"Did you cum, baby?" Taehyung cooed, you agreed. "Was it good?"

"Mhm."

"Good."

Taehyung lifted your weak body to your feet, his arm hugging your breasts and a hand on your neck while he pounded into you like an animal in heat. Your agitated eyes and divine overstimulation.

Jungkook just watched, sweaty and grateful for the spectacle. Your moans and your pain, the fat milky drop that fell between your legs when Taehyung came.

The subway stopped, opening its doors to another desolate station. Taehyung took out Jungkook's cell phone, and with a couple of touches the photos of you had disappeared, throwing the device to the ground.

"Fuck off."

Jungkook swallowed before picking up his phone, fixing his wrinkled clothes, and leaving. Your body embraced in your boyfriend's arms trembled watching the stranger leave.

He stopped outside, both hands returning to the pockets of his hoodie.

You wiped away your tears and before closing the door you saw the small smile on Jungkook's face.

header by: @florietas

#bts imagines #bts #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook imagine #jungkook fanfic #taehyung drabble #taehyung fanfic #taehyung smut #bts taehyung #taehyung x reader #bts x reader #bts x y/n #jungkook x reader #hard smut bts

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yuri-is-online · 15 days

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Hello Yuri, inviting myself with a question. AceYuu, JadeYuu, RolloYuu. Favorite Tropes and Why?

Hello Sayo, nice to have you drop on in, have a seat. That's a sort of difficult question ( • - • ) … I think one of the main reason I like these three ships so much is my favorite thing to write is requited unrequited love, and there's a bunch of good chemistry to work that into these three guys. I like exploring the pining and denial stage of love, but there are some differences with each ship I like to explore.

AceYuu is friends to lovers to me. They just exemplify what I want out of a ship like that, there's a genuine friendship underneath everything that's built on mutual respect and affection that just isn't with some other pairings. I like exploring it from Ace's pov especially because I see him as someone who already has a good grasp on what it means to be a good and loyal friend, but is utterly powerless when it comes to genuine romantic love. He's got no idea what to do with himself other than continue to be Yuu's friend, not fully realizing that's the best foundation for a relationship. I like making Yuu a bit more accepting of their own romantic feelings but not of their place in Ace's heart. Jenny Studio Killers ship my beloved.

JadeYuu is Yuu falling first and Jade falling harder. The line I throw around about Jade finding Yuu boring at first isn't something I made up, it's his vingette level up line. "Oh no I don't think that now." He says with a smirk because he doesn't, but he does not really know what he thinks about Yuu so he doesn't give a concrete answer. Fun he supposes, he likes watching you move through the world. It's similar to how Floyd interacted with things at first, but he doesn't really like the idea of comparing you to Floyd... just what is this strange feeling? He thinks he likes it vs Yuu who took one look at Jade and that smile, that damned smile. You were in love from day one and a bit upset that your bad taste in men had followed you to a different world. But while you are busy trying to get over your feelings Jade is starting to realize his and once he does good luck getting away. He's intense, desperate, and so much deeper in love than you ever thought he could be. If you don't get married right this instant he thinks he might actually die, he's that down bad. And super pathetic about it too.

RolloYuu is love at first sight. I like fatal/doomed attraction with them too, just Rollo being in love with Yuu and Yuu being in love with Rollo but the timing is wrong. The circumstances are wrong, Rollo is maybe the one guy who genuinely wishes he was born in your world and would follow you there without hesitation (the original ending to my long fic had him doing just that) but is that really what would be best for him? I like writing him as obsessed with Yuu, and Yuu as knowing it is wrong to be enamored by that but they're just so tired of everything they want to stay with him. It's much more simple than the other two ships I should write for them a bit more... oh I've also found I really like writing them as childhood friends in my ayuus. It's a dynamic that sort of works with that whole doomed love at first sight thing, for me anyway.

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #ace trappola x reader #ace trappola x yuu #aceyuu #jade leech x reader #jadeyuu #rollo flamme x reader #rollo flamme x yuu

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bunnys-kisses · 2 months

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It’s a little early to be drinking but if anyone can convince me to have a chocolate cake with a pina colada on the side it would be Danny Ric or Max Verstappen… 🫶🏼

bakery menu!

like the stories? want to order your own? check the main page of the prompts to see what's on the menu! as for this one, it literally was a struggle. i am a HUGE sucker for max. like HUGE. but i've been writing a fair amount of max and don't wanna pigeon-hole myself into just writing max. so danny ricky it is!!

chocolate cake ("do you feel that? that's what happens when i think about you all day.") + pina colada (pregnancy) served by daniel ricciardo (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, pregnant!reader, wife!reader, fluffy, body worship, gentle sex, missionary, sweet!daniel,

when daniel first saw you in the paddock, you were yapping the ear off of another driver. you were working as a medic and were following the driver around to make sure that the minor injury they got didn't turn into a bigger deal.

a light bulb went off in daniel's head as he watched you give your written report to the driver to give to upper management to give him the okay to drive.

daniel, in a bight move, slammed his foot into the a nearby concrete pillar and yelled, "medic!!" and light up when you came hustling over to him, even though it really did hurt.

that was how you met. and since then daniel hadn't been able to stray too far from you. from medic to girlfriend and the eventually wife, daniel was proud of you.

and while you were the best medic at the paddock, you had to slow down for a few months. you were pregnant with your first child. soon you wouldn't be chasing around drivers for every cut and bruise, but rather a chubby ricciardo baby.

you still came to races to support your husband, and sometimes you ran into fellow medics and it was like seeing old friends. daniel did like to see the sight of you, you were all rosy and sweet.

of course he couldn't keep his hands off of you. you two were back in the hotel room for the weekend and daniel was determined to get a taste of his wife before the grand prix.

"do you feel that? that's what happens when i think about you all day." he said as he pressed your hand against the front of his basketball shorts. you groped his bulge and giggled, he got closer towards you and said, "you drive me crazy."

"danny." you chuckled and added, "i know i drive you crazy. that was how we got into this mess!" you then got onto the bed. you weren't in anything too fancy. just a tank top and daniel's other pair of shorts. it was stretched over your swollen middle, and honestly, you looked like a dream.

"and i hope to get you into this mess more than once!" he laughed as he got onto the bed with you and rubbed up against you, "you look so good like this, all pregnant with my kid. you don't understand how much it turns me on." he chuckled as he rubbed his clothed erection up against you.

"you're a dog, ricciardo."

"only for you, mrs. ricciardo." he chuckled. before he started to paw at the tank top you wore. his face buried against your breasts as you felt your husband's erection against your leg. he muttered praise against your body as he eventually got the shirt off of you.

you looked at him, your cheeks felt hot as he tossed the tank top onto the floor.

he eyed your breasts for a moment, his mouth hung open slightly. you were so beautiful, his hands ran across your sides before he said, "you are the most beautiful woman i've ever seen. i should be keeping you inside so i can only see how beautiful you are." he laughed before he kissed at the tops of your breasts as he started to undo the clasp of your bra, "i am lucky to be in the presence of a goddess."

you cupped his face and looked him in the eyes, "danny, this is how i ended up pregnant in the first place!" you said with somewhat of a joking tone.

"is it a crime to love my wife?"

you laughed, "yeah, it is. the punishment is five kisses."

he leaned in and started to kiss you gently as he pulled down the shorts, down your belly and admired the gentle swell. he felt his heart shudder at the sight of you.

a beautiful goddess, made for him.

he broke the kiss and got your underwear off of you. before you pulled his shirt off of his back and kissed him once more. you sighed contently and felt close to your husband.

if you were a goddess than he was a god. your strong man on the track, who always came home to you with flowers and a big kiss. he loved you, you made him feel alive. of course he would worship you.

you soon were naked and you laid out for him. he gazed at you lovingly, so beautiful. so gorgeous that it makes him all riled up. with your clothes on the floor he got between your legs. his hard cock on display for you.

"do you see what you do to me?" he asked, "how i see you walking around the paddock as the most beautiful person there." he pressed his cock up against your slick entrance.

you looked at your husband and said, "you better be careful, ricciardo."

he nodded and said, "of course, beautiful." he said, "of course. i'll take good care of you, as a husband does his wife." he then slowly sank into your sweet pussy, getting your legs wrapped around your waist.

you moaned and held onto the pillow under your head.

daniel held your waist and guided you on his cock, it nudging up against some of your sweetest parts. you were perfect, an angel to him, even as your lips made a little 'o'.

he moved against you, it wasn't too rough. but there was steady pace to his movements. he loved the feeling of you wrapped around him. he pressed his chest against yours.

"my beautiful, danny." you chuckled as you kissed him softly. he kept his pace, his cock nudged up against you. you could feel your heart racing as he moved against you.

he groaned, "such a beautiful woman. all mine, now and forever. you are so beautiful, my darling wife." he said as he kissed you once more. letting himself feel you all over.

you two moved against one another, your husband admired the sight of you as he made pleasure curl in your gut. he could feel his heartbeat in his ears with every hard thrust.

you felt like a dream around him. he watched the movements of your pregnant belly and breasts with every thrust. you then reached out and wrapped your arms around him, then pulled him close to him.

the two of you kiss passionately.

"i love you, my beautiful wife. you are so fuckin' pretty." he groaned before he pulled you into another searing kiss as he gripped tighter on your hips.

he knew he wasn't going to last long, how could he? not when he wife was so beautiful under him. he continued to move, letting you meet his gentle thrusts.

he tried not to put too much of his weight on you to not crush your belly. he had to make sure his woman and his child were okay, he could feel the heat in his cheeks.

you dug your nails into his shoulders and let him rut against you. you sighed contently, "shit." you tightened your legs around his waist and felt the heat in your body.

he made out with you once more, feeling your soft lips against his. his grip was firm, but not too tight. not enough to hurt you. his core throbbed as he ached for release, but held it off until you broke the kiss and let out a series of heavy pants.

you clenched around him and climaxed, you felt the rush through you and even as you came down, you held onto your husband for dear life.

he picked up his pace, still gentle enough not to hurt his beautiful woman. he quickly came inside of you and before he could drop his entire weight on your body, he shifted over to drop down on the bed beside you. his orgasm felt intense and he laid there for a moment to compose himself.

you turned over and laid on top of him gently, your hands ran up and down his toned shoulders and biceps. you kissed behind his ear and basked in the warmth of your husband.

"i am a lucky guy." he said as he got you beside him so he could spoon you. his kissed the top of your bed as he held you loosely in his arms. it was a familiar feeling, one that brought you comfort.

you looked over to him and kissed softly as you both simmered down. you could feel the love in your body, your heart and soul felt close to him. like home.

"luca, luca." daniel chirped as he had his son close to him. he was curled up, seated on the couch with his young son in his lap. he was carefully moving his son's hands from side to side, "we had so much fun today, luca. you saw uncle max and you saw the cats. did you like the cats?"

you chuckled to yourself as you got you and your husband something to drink before you settled in for the night. daniel loved his son dearly, he took more after you, but that was fine by him! that meant that he'd have the looks when he grew up.

you came to the living room and put down two glasses cold water. it was a hot day out and the last thing you needed was a heat exhausted husband. you sat down and took your son in your arms. then looked to daniel, "i bet he loved it, both those cats are so good." you chuckled.

your husband leaned over and kissed you on the cheek, "i'm so lucky to have you." you kissed him on the lips and he smiled against you. he loved you, adored you. his little medic, his little wife.

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piratecaptainscaptainpirates · 3 months

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The worst thing about all the Izzy discourse, I think, is that the writers clearly never put that much thought into him even a little bit.

And when you start approaching everything Izzy does in the story through the lens of "this is guy is not, in the grand scheme of things, an Important Character," it just makes everything about him so much more coherent.

OFMD is not a simple show and there are layers to pretty much everything that happens, but Izzy's s1 behavior very neatly and easily boils down to "this guy is here to preach toxic masculinity at us." In s2 the writers very reasonably assumed that the audience would not like Izzy, so they chose not to call back to the awful shit Izzy did in s1 because they assumed the audience already knows and we're not on his side about that stuff. Trying to make Izzy sympathetic by having him start off the season already having made the realization that he has Fucked Up allows all of his scenes to be in service of showing that anyone can unlearn toxic masculinity and grow. Izzy is important to Ed's character as the voice driving him to keep adopting the Blackbeard persona, and when he apologizes to Ed on his deathbed for abusing him for years, we're not supposed to find that a surprise. Izzy's character in s2, when stripped of the toxic masculinity that once defined him, does kinda distill him down to this bland abrasiveness, but that's honestly okay because he never really had that many distinct character traits to begin with.

Izzy doesn't have a concrete backstory because he doesn't need one. His relationship with Ed is complex, I'm not saying it's not, but that's very clearly meant to tell us more about Ed and his relationship to masculinity and father figures in his life than it ever was about Izzy himself. His relationship with Stede is defined by Izzy going "this is the way things are done" and Stede replying with "uh no thanks lol" to show that Stede's kind of masculinity is the one we should be rooting for.

And when we start doing Izzy-centric analysis of the show, I think its messages and themes become much less coherent, because he's just Not That Important. You're always having to twist things around to kiiiiiinda make them fit. And don't get me wrong, it can be very fun to read against a text as a thought experiment or writing excerise, but we do run into problems here when there is such persistent insistence that that's the way the story is meant to be read.

#ofmd #our flag means death #fandom discourse

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hgfictionwriter · 6 months

Text

Ache

Jessie Fleming x reader

Summary: Sometimes love isn't enough. Despite how much you and Jessie love each other, life gets in the way.

A/N / Warning: Angst. And no smut. Yet lol.

A heavy sigh escaped you as you rounded the corner to your apartment. Your eyes were trained on the concrete below as you dug in your pocket for your keys. The evening wind was brisk and sharp against your skin. When you lifted your gaze, the figure before you froze you in your tracks and your chest tightened immediately, breath catching in your throat.

"Jessie?"

She'd been staring at the ground and her head snapped up as she was broken from her thoughts. She shot up from where she'd been sitting on the ledge of the garden outside your building. Her eyes were wide as she looked to you and though she opened her mouth to speak, the words were lost on the tip of her tongue.

It'd been weeks since you'd talked and so much longer since she'd been to your apartment. You swallowed and internally cursed at how, even after all this time, just the sight of Jessie made your eyes prickle with the start of tears.

"Again?" She'd asked. Her voice was tired as it came through the phone and you cast your gaze down at the disappointment that bled through.

"I'm sorry. I tried to get someone else to go, but I own the account, so-"

"I know, I get it," she cut you off. There was no malice in her voice, but it wasn't any less sad. "I know you have to go."

"I'll be back on the 6th. My flight doesn't get in until after dinner, but you can come over," you told her, trying to sound positive.

"I leave for camp at 4 the next morning." Again, her words were simple and they weren't accusatory, but the heaviness between you was loud. You stopped trying to hide.

"We've only seen each other once this month," you stated.

"I know," she said quietly.

Silence began to fill your conversation.

"So, what do we do?" You finally asked. Your chest already ached knowing what the answer was. This feeling, this moment, had been creeping in for months. You'd done what you could to keep it at bay, but its inevitable arrival was here.

A few seconds later she responded.

"I don't think things are going to change any time soon." Her voice was soft, mixed with regret and acceptance. "And it shouldn't. We're both doing what we should be doing. I can't slow down - I have to make the most of my career while I can. It's the same for you."

"I know," you agreed as tears began to well in your eyes. "I'm so proud of you, you know." You added with a small laugh that didn't fully veil the way your voice choked up. "And I never want to hold you back."

"I'm proud of you, too," she echoed, her own voice growing thick with emotion. "And same - I'd never want to hold you back either."

"I really love you," you continued and your voice cracked under the strain. "I hope you've felt that."

"I have." She sniffled. "I love you, too, and I hope you've never had to doubt that."

You bit down on your lip, looking up to the ceiling as tears began to fall down your cheeks.

"I guess this is it,” you said more than asked as your voice wavered.

Another sniffle came through the phone. "I think so." Her voice was taut. "I still want to be friends," she added in a rush, her voice shaking, "but this isn't working. I can't give you what you need, and..."

"I can't give you what you need," you finished for her.

"Yeah," she admitted quietly. "I've never wanted someone the way I want you. I love you so much-" her voice was breaking "-I miss you all the time. And even when we're together, it breaks my heart because I know we have to leave again soon."

"It hurts to be together and apart. I know the feeling," you relayed sadly. "I wish it wasn't this way. I can't imagine loving anyone more."

"I don't want to ask you to wait. And I know you won't ask me to wait for you because neither of us wants to make promises we can't keep."

"Jessie." Her name came out in a strangled whimper and you heard her cry.

"I can't imagine not loving you. But, if you meet someone who makes you happy and gives you what you need...," she trailed off.

"I understand. And I wish the same for you," you said even though it felt like a dagger through your heart.

Silence infiltrated your conversation once more before a laugh escaped you, though it came out more like a sob.

"I did not expect this call to go this way."

Jessie gave a watery laugh of her own. "Me neither." A pause. "I guess it's been coming though."

"I know," you relented. "I just didn't want it to be true."

After a few moments, Jessie spoke again.

"I love you, Y/N."

"I love you, too, Jessie. Always."

You said you'd be friends, but it was all at once too easy and too difficult. As was the problem, it wasn't that often you got to see each other or talk, but when you did, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to be with her. So when she stood too close, held your gaze for too long, or when you'd hug at the end of the night and hold onto one another too tightly and for too long, it tore you apart.

That had gone on for nearly a year, and it hadn't gotten any easier. You fell back into old habits just too easily.

The last time you saw each other, at a mutual friend’s birthday, she’d come over to say “hi”. Innocent enough until something as simple as showing her something on your phone turned into you two sitting so close together your legs touched. As you talked, if you turned your head too much to the side your lips would’ve grazed her cheek. Did she mean for her hand to brush against yours?

The only way to move on was to cut yourself off completely. She'd understood and she even apologized for making things difficult, but it wasn't just her, it was you too.

Now, here she was sitting outside of your apartment, shivering and cold, looking to you and struggling to find her words.

"What are you doing here?" You finally asked. "Shouldn't you be with the team?"

"You saw?" She asked, looking so innocent and you cursed the rush of affection that rose in you.

"Win the Shield? Of course I did." You had to laugh. A smile finally broke out across her freckled face and that still too familiar pink tinge grew darker across her cheeks. You relented some. "You were great. No surprise."

Jessie began to fidget, her hands jostling in her jacket pockets and she shuffled idly from foot to foot. She scratched the back of her neck as she went back to studying the pavement. This time she managed to speak though.

"I-I'm sorry to show up out of the blue. I just - we were all celebrating, and of course I was happy, but, I-I don't know." She huffed in frustration. “I’ve been sitting here thinking and planning what I was going to say and now…”

"It's okay, Jess," you told her gently, understanding that this was not her norm and something was clearly going on. She looked up at you and gave a couple of grateful nods. She studied you for a few seconds and it pained you that even during that time you were getting lost in her eyes.

"I know you said you don't want to see me - that being around each other and talking was making it too hard to move on." She paused, though her eyes didn't leave yours. You saw her steel herself and she straightened up as she continued. "But I don't want to move on. And, to be honest, I've known it deep down for a while now.

"Today - every game, really - I found myself looking out into the crowd too many times searching for you. And when we were leaving, everyone's all stoked to go out and party, but I just wanted to be with you - anywhere with you. I wanted to share this with you. So, even after a year of me trying to tell myself that we made the right decision, I know we - or at least I - was dead wrong. Because I miss you. So much.” Her voice wavered and her eyes glistened. “It's not just this that I want to share with you - it's every day, little moments and the big. I don’t care if it has to be through text or a call most of the time. It just has to be you.”

"Jessie." You breathed her name out, trying desperately to process everything she was telling you. She took a step towards you, shoulders set and determined and she carried on.

"I love you. From the beginning and I never stopped. I know you're trying to move on, but this is me taking a chance and telling you how I feel. I don't want you to move on - I want to be the person you come home to, the person you call, with you through the good and the bad. I know our schedules are still a problem, but I'd rather have one evening with you than a year without."

Your breath hitched as her proclamations grew. You saw her clench and unclench her fists nervously before she continued.

“And even if one day you’d decide we could be friends again,” she trailed off momentarily, gaze shifting away before settling on you once again resolutely, “honestly, I don’t want to be friends. You’re right - we can’t be friends. I can’t be next to you and pretend I don’t want to hold you, I don’t want to kiss you. Or talk with you and not tell you that I love you and you mean the world to me. And,” she took a steadying breath, “I’m really hoping that you feel the same.”

Jessie fidgeted a bit, some of her doubt and insecurity creeping back in. Still, she looked at you with hopeful eyes.

"So, will you have me?"

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #jflem #woso #woso community #woso x reader #woso imagine #canwnt

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astroboots · 1 year

Text

EVERY YOU EVERY ME: ISSUE #4

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: Miguel O'Hara saves you from falling off the Chrysler building for a second time, and he's not very happy about it.

Word count: 4,400 words.

Content: Slow burn so slow we're getting a reverse speeding ticket, Spidey-boy has a lot of emotions and really needs therapy, he also swears a lot, tiny speck of angst.

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

It's shocking how fast the ground approaches from a height of 72 stories. You always imagined it would take longer given the distance. In movies, the freefall is always captured in a hypnotizing slow motion, but real gravity is brutal and unforgiving.

This time, as you fall through the sky, you don’t see the New York concrete grow wider or nearer. All you see is the vast gap between you and the crystal blue sky rapidly pulling away from you. The buildings looming higher with every second. The blinding sun reflected in the thousands and thousands of glaring windows towering above.

You can't feel your heartbeat or the wind beating against your face. There should be panic. But at the sight of familiar inky-blue piercing through your view, an eerie calm takes over until a comforting numb spreads through your limbs.

Call it misguided naivety. No one should ever place this much trust with their life on a stranger they don't even know to come and save them.

But misguided or not, there's no fear in you this time around. You don't think about how you are plummeting down to your death. Not when you see him speeding after you. Diving head-first into the vast empty space as he closes the distance between you, hand outstretched, reaching for you.

His hand catches around your wrist in mid-air. It's a firm grip like he never means to let go. He reels you in until you're defying gravity, gliding up through the air to meet him until he can wrap his arms around you.

Everything decelerates. The reflection of the rows and rows of windows no longer flashing by. It's a gentle descent as the breeze flows pleasantly through your hair, and if you don't think too hard about how you can't control the direction of movement, you can almost believe you’re flying.

The landing is gentle. He sets you on your feet with such great care that it takes you a second to adjust to the feeling of firm concrete beneath your soles.

Once again, you find yourself standing face to face with the masked superhero who has saved your life more times than you can count on both hands.

You crane your neck to meet his gaze, head tilting upwards until your neck strains, and it strikes you that you've forgotten how tall he was. His head tips down, the dark outline of his masked eyes staring down at you, and it makes the hair on the nape of your neck prickle.

Say something.

You rack your brain, trying to remember all the questions you had meticulously written down in the notepad hidden in your desk as you planned for this very moment. But they’re missing, wiped cleanly from your mind now that he's here in front of you. Your mouth parts, trying to remember how to use your vocal cords again.

Before you find it, the blue fabric recedes until it reveals his face again. You're met with cutting eyes that glow an otherworldly crimson and the bared sharp canine teeth of a predator as he growls at you.

"What the hell were you thinking?!"

The low rumble of his words scrapes down your spine and locks you in a fight or flight response. Except you're doing neither. Fixed in place, unable to move.

One of his hands reaches up to pull at his hair in frustration, as he starts to mumble to himself. He's tugging it so hard you think he's going to yank them out by the roots.

"I can’t believe you! Me estás matando. Casi me da un ataque cardíaco–"

You blink up at him dimly, confused until you realize that he's broken into Spanish. But he's speaking too low and too fast. You can only make out about half of it.

"–No puedo más! I am dying of stress. You're impossible! I turn away for one second…”

One sentence flows directly into the next without stopping for a single breath, and you're surprised he doesn't go lightheaded from lack of oxygen with how long he goes on.

You raise your hand slightly, reminiscent of a gesture you used to pull in school when you wanted to get the teacher's attention to ask a question. But he doesn't notice. Doesn’t even throw a glance in your direction.

“... and you go Anna Karenina on me. I can't with you, I can't, I can't–"

You try to follow along, looking for an appropriate break in his rant to get a word in edgewise. But like the line of tourists lining up for the Statue of liberty, there doesn't seem to be an end in sight. As rude as it is, the only thing you can think of is clearing your throat, loudly, trying to draw attention to yourself, but that's soundly ignored as well.

"Me vas a sacar canas verdes–-"

One broad hand covers his face as if he's trying to scrub away the beginnings of a migraine, and he keeps going.

Listening to him makes you feel like a child on the receiving end of a scolding by an exasperated parent. Any lingering thread of fear or intimidation gives way to irritation at this man who is so subsumed by his tirade that he doesn't even seem to be aware of your presence, not three feet away from him.

"–Siempre haces esto, una y otra y otra vez–"

You don't know exactly how long he’s been going on for by now, but you know that it's long. You could even swear the shadow by your feet has shifted to the opposite end of the patch of concrete at your feet in the time he’s been talking.

"Well? Aren't you going to say anything?" he asks, apparently finally done. He stands there, arms crossed, with a condescending set to his jaw as he looks down on you.

And god, where to even start with this man? You have enough material about his difficult and avoidant behavior to make a powerpoint presentation out of it. You should block out the boardroom for three whole hours and hold a Q&A after.

How, if he had just spoken to you after you left him not one, not two, but several requests to meet with him, then things could have ended up a lot more civilized.

How, if he hadn't been hiding from you this whole time—gaslighting you— you wouldn't have had to spend over $200 on budget DIY spy crap (in this economy!) on an utterly wasted attempt to catch him. And, to add insult to injury, you’re sure you are never going to use any of that stuff ever again!

How, if he hadn't been talking non-stop and had the self-awareness to take a second to observe others, he'd have realized that you had plenty of things to say to him, if only he had paused long enough to let you.

But somehow in the face of his expectant expression, all that comes out of your mouth is, "I don't know what you want me to say."

His face falls. There's a split second of disappointment, raw and anguished, that flitters across his face. Then it's gone as quickly as it appeared, and he turns away from you. Whatever he was expecting from you, that was obviously not it.

When he speaks again, his voice has turned calm and quiet. He almost sounds resigned.

"Yeah. I don't know either."

There's a sluggish, awkward silence that lingers on the three feet of concrete stretched between the two of you. The echo of traffic below, the cab horns and chatter swarms the space. After everything that’s happened, it all feels very anti-climatic somehow.

"Can you take me back to my apartment and we can talk? I have coffee. Cake too," you say, trying to break the silence.

"I don't drink coffee." His tone is curt, severing the olive branch you were trying to extend with a sharp snap, and your shoulders sag in defeat and disappointment. But then his face tips back in your direction and meets your eyes. The line of his mouth twitches as if he’s war with himself.

"But I'll have some cake," he concedes.

Had you known that a superhero was coming over for a visit, you'd probably have done a better job of cleaning up and making the place presentable.

You would have put away the heap of unfolded, wrinkly laundry that's piled up on your bed, granny panties in full sight. Would have washed the dirty dishes stacked up in your sink like a dangerous game of porcelain Jenga. Or at least cleared out the sad looking take out box where your half-eaten pizza is still resting in a greased up spot on the table.

Still, you're not sure how impressed he would be even if you had. Your studio apartment is a standard size for NYC, meaning in most other places it would be classified as a closet. With his height, he has to duck to make it through the threshold of your door and can barely stand upright without banging his head against the ceiling. It’s ironic that the window entrance is probably less hazardous for him.

You get him a plate of cake and set it on the table in front of him, delicately placing the dessert fork on the side.

"Sorry, I don't have any cookies for you today, just coffee cake."

The sight of him sitting hunched over your Ingatorp IKEA dining table is slightly comical. The table looks like a miniature doll set against his broad frame, and as he picks up the small dessert fork in his large hand, that only adds to the absurdity of the situation. He looks like he’s playing at having a tea party with a child’s play tea set.

You sit down across from him, watching him intently, trying to gather the nerve to ask the questions you've been dying to ask since this all started. But you're hesitant and fumbling, stumbling on your words like an idiot, "Uhm, so I wanted to ask if you– if you knew why all of this is happening to–"

"No."

You frown at his interruption. "You didn't let me finish," you protest.

He leans back against his chair, waving away your protests dismissively into the air. "I didn't need you to. The answer is no. Next question."

You bite down on your lip to stave off the curse stuck in your throat, trying to force its way out. You hold it. Stemming the tide, as you focus on the task at hand.

"Who are you?"

His head tilts to the side at your question, as his hand draws up and gestures vaguely over the spider emblem of his costume draped over his chest. "Isn't it obvious?" he snarkily responds, "I'm Spiderman"

Great, he's a rude and sassy superhero. You narrow your eyes at him

"You're not the Spiderman I know of."

He doesn't respond to that. Just glares down at the cake as he pierces it with a sharp stab of the fork, making the porcelain underneath clank. Then he scoops a large spoonful and shovels it into his mouth.

God, who eats cake so angrily?

"Why did you save–" you start, but he holds up one finger, motioning for you to pause.

He cleaves off another piece of cake and shoves it into his mouth, chewing slowly. You watch as he beats the Guinness record of slowest chewer across the table from you, before you finally get to repeat your question.

"Why do you keep saving me?"

"I'm a superhero. I save people. It's what I do."

Bright irritation pings through you at his sarcastic attitude.

This is like playing the world's shittiest game of 20 Questions, except here the whole goal of the game is to see whose sanity cracks first.

Naively, you had thought that being able to sit down with him in person would mean you could finally start getting some answers. You hadn't been expecting the need to deploy strategic maneuvers, and you pause, taking your time before you speak.

You need to pick a question he won't be able to evade. You think back at the footage of the nanny-cam, that time he carried you to bed. The worry when you weren't where he expected you to be. The over-familiarity that seeps out of his every action with you as if he already knows you and that the last thing you heard as you fell off the ledge was his voice calling out your name.

"How did you know my name?" you finally ask him.

His back stiffens at the question, jaw grinding down until the small muscle there flexes with irritation.

"I don't."

Liar.

"You called my name when I fell," you remind him.

This time instead of answering, he slides the now empty plate at you across the table.

"Can I have another slice?"

You frown. It's an obvious ploy to buy himself some time to avoid answering your question. But you can't deny his request either.

With a sigh, you push away your chair to bring the plate to the counter. You cut up an obscenely big slice so that he won't be able to use this as an excuse a second time.

Turning back around, you find that the gluttonous self-proclaimed Spiderman is pinching the bridge of his nose. He looks a little worse for wear, a pained expression etched into those tightly knitted brows.

"Are you okay?" you ask, concerned.

"No. I–" He breaks off, his broad palm gripping the back of the chair, and you notice a slight tremor in his fingers. "Something’s wrong."

He pushes the chair back, trying to get to his feet, but to your surprise, he stumbles and sways.

He seems just as surprised as you are at his newfound lack of coordination.

"What the–" He looks down on his feet with concentrated effort. Then he takes another step. It's wobblier than the one before, his knee giving way, and his arm shoots out to grip at the edge of your table for balance.

Alarm bells start to go off in your head. You don't understand what's happening, but he's definitely right, something is wrong. A man that can gracefully scale down the Chrysler building from 72 floors down shouldn't be struggling this much just to take two steps back in your living room.

"Maybe you should sit back down," you suggest, looking up at him. There’s a slight sheen of perspiration that's settled on his forehead. The beginnings of a rosy flush tinting his cheeks. "Do you have any food allergies?"

"No. I don't. No. Super metabolism kind of cuts down on that sort of–” he’s stumbling over his words, each syllable slurred on his tongue, as he shakes his head at you. “No, no allergies. No food sensitivities of any kind except...."

He glares around wildly and his eyes land on the remaining slice of cake perched on your kitchen counter.

"Did you put fucking coffee in that cake?!?!"

“"Yes?” You whip around, and look at the cake on your counter, not understanding the relevance of his question. “I mean... It's a coffee cake? I told you that!"

You push aside your growing panic as you try to remember if the EpiPen stored away in your kitchen cupboard is past its expiration.

"You didn't tell me there was coffee in it!"

Is he serious?

"I said ‘coffee cake’! What else would be in there? It's in the name," you snap.

And god, you can't believe this is what you're arguing with him about at this moment.

"Okay, yeah," he concedes testily, "but coffee cake is its own thing too! Isn’t coffee cake just… cake... that you, like... serve with coffee? It doesn't have coffee in it! Why the fuck does it have coffee in it?"

Does the man even hear himself? You're trying to figure out if you need to call an ambulance, and he is arguing with you on the technicalities of what constitutes coffee cake.

"Okay, wait, but are you dying?" you ask, trying to stay calm despite the pandemonium of panic ringing in your head.

"No! I'm just intoxitac– intocita– intoshica– I'm just fucking drunk okay!?" he spits out.

Your brain stalls at his statement. Intoxicated!? When did he have time to drink? He seemed fine just a few minutes ago, but now he's slurring and about to topple over.

"You're drunk? How–"

"Spiders get drunk on coffee," he interrupts, and the flush on his cheek deepens to a deep alarming red. If you didn't know better, you'd almost think he was blushing.

"Okay, let's sit you down." You rush over, rounding your dining table as you reach for him.

At the sight of your extended hands, his eyes widen in alarm, He steps back from you, eyeing you like you're something dangerous.

"No. No, I'm–" he takes another step backwards, flinging himself away from your touch, but loses his footing in the process. He tilts over, hand grappling for the edge of the table as he goes, but instead of the edge he manages to take the cake plate with him on the way down.

There's a clank of shattered porcelain, followed by the loud thud of his body hitting the ground.

With the large size of him in your tiny studio apartment and the breaking of porcelain left and right, this feels like the idiom of a bull running wild in a China shop, come to life.

You reach out your hand to help him get up, but he doesn't acknowledge it, anchoring his elbow to the floor for leverage, only to wobble and fall flat against his back again with an angry curse.

Why is he so goddamned stubborn?

You glance down at him, this gigantic man that is lying sprawled out on the floor with the gravitas of a turtle trapped on its back. He's so huge that he's eating up half of the floor space of your entire home. If he doesn’t get up, you won't be able to take two steps without accidentally stepping on him.

Shaking your head in disbelief at the ridiculousness of the situation, you hunch down on your knees beside him.

There's hesitation etched in those otherworldly crimson eyes as you come near. But as much as he's scowling at you, baring his fangs and trying to look scary, there isn't much he can do from the floor.

"Let me help you," you insist, "let's get you in bed until it wears off. I can't have you passed out on my floor like this."

He takes your outstretched hand, and you pull backwards, trying to bring him up with you. Between the two of you, you manage to get him on his feet again. Barely.

Whoa.

You crane your head up, up, up til you meet his eyes. Yup, the man is still huge. Must be damn near 7 feet tall and heavy, and you quickly realize there's not much you can do but try to steer so that he falls in the direction of your bed.

Somehow you manage to shepherd him in the right direction, until his knees hit the edges of your bed. He lands with a dramatic thud and you hear your bed frame groan in protest.

“Do you need anything?” you ask, but he doesn’t answer you. His broad arm drapes over his eyes, blocking you out.

You sigh, turning on your heels to clean up the mess of coffee cake and broken plates off your floor.

You barely manage to finish sweeping up the floor before you hear soft snoring filling your home.

Knock-off Spiderman is sound asleep, his large shape curled up on your mattress, entirely still.

You settle yourself back at the dining table, eating the leftover coffee cake as you pull up a book on your phone and wait for him to wake.

This was not how you had imagined your first extended interaction would turn out.

Honestly, you can't make sense of any of your interactions with him. How he's constantly avoiding you, yet can't seem to stay away and routinely checks in on you.

How he acts overly familiar in one instance and excessively rude and put off by you the next.

Maybe you remind him of someone else... Maybe even an ex? It feels weird to speculate, but it would explain a lot of things. His belligerent attitude towards you. The way he looks at you with eyes full of resentment, even as he's saving you from certain death. That look in his eyes like he knows you, even though you've never met him.

It doesn't explain how he knows your name though.

From the bed, you can hear him stir, shifting against the mattress with a quiet groan muffled into your pillow. He's softly murmuring something that you can't quite make out, and then he turns in his sleep again, making a pained noise that makes worry squeeze tight in your chest.

Maybe letting him sleep it off wasn't the brightest idea you've had. You probably should've called for the ambulance as soon as he showed physical signs of distress.

You're not a biologist. You don't know how a hybrid spider-human’s physiology works.

What if he's not just drunk? Whoever heard of coffee making someone drunk! And how could it affect him so quickly? There was barely a minute between him stuffing his face and falling all over the place. Some quick, panicked googling confirms that coffee makes spiders a kind of drunk, but it doesn’t say if it’s outright toxic to them.

Oh fuck, what if he's dying!? Oh god, what if a superhero dies in your bed? How will you explain this to your landlord? Or the police! “I fed him coffee cake, and it killed him, officer.” Right, that’s going to go over like a lead balloon! It’ll probably look like you poisoned him. TMZ will be swarming the place. You'll be classified as a supervillain.

Setting down the book, you make your way over to sit on the edge of your bed. You lean over his sleeping form and peer down at him, checking for any signs of physical distress.

That red flush from earlier is still riding high on his cheeks, looking like the beginnings of a fever. You reach out your hand to rest it on his forehead to check his temperature.

Warm.

He stirs at the touch, turning his face and practically nuzzles into your palm. It’s almost endearing as he buries his sharp nose into your wrist.

You hold your breath, worried that exhaling would be loud enough to wake him as you gaze down on him. Up close like this, when he's not being rude, and stubborn and defensive, he's... quite attractive.

He has the kind of sculpted face that Hollywood dreams are made of, angular jaw and a prominent nose that makes him look regal. Not to mention those chiselled cheeks of his are a fucking marvel to look at. But more than that, curled up asleep in your bed, there’s a gentle softness to his features that hadn’t been noticeable when he was awake.

Now that he’s not frowning down at you and the line of his mouth isn’t pulled into an angry snarl, you can see that his lips are full and luscious, delicate even. His heavy brows look less intimidating now that his face has relaxed from its perpetual scowl.

He looks... soft, somehow.

There's a spark of something heated in your veins that has you feeling flushed and warm. You have to turn your eyes, shaking your head and tutting at yourself, because you’re creeping on the drunk guy passed out on your bed, and it’s not a good look on you.

The commotion makes him stir, his eyes blink softly open. He looks up at you, with half-lidded eyes, and it's different from how he's looked at you up until now. His gaze is still so…. soft.

"Nena," he says quietly.

Your cheeks warm at the warmth in his voice , and you gently pull your hand away from his forehead.

"Sorry, I was just checking if you were okay," you explain awkwardly as you start to back away from him, sliding your knee along the mattress to climb off the bed.

At your movement, he darts upright into a seated position and pulls you to him, clinging onto every inch of you as he buries his face to your side.

“Don't go,” he murmurs into your neck. His voice is trembling, and you can feel the panic radiating from him as the grip he has on you tightens until it’s bruising.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he says, keeps repeating it. You don’t know what he’s apologizing for but the guilt and sadness in his voice tugs at something deep inside your chest.

Nena, he said, and you realize that even though you're the one he's holding in this moment, he's not talking to you. He thinks you're someone else.

"Please don't leave me again. I-I can't–" he chokes out the words into the hollow of your throat where he's pressed his face tight into your skin. You can't help but notice the damp wetness that gathers there. "I'm trying, but I can't– I don't know how to do this without you."

The words are raw in his throat, and despite your confusion, your chest squeezes tight with a sympathetic ache at the man's obvious heartbreak.

You don't know what's going on here or who he thinks you are. The only thing you know is that you want to make him feel better. To make his hurt a little less painful. To make the consuming guilt you can hear in his voice a little bit smaller.

"It's okay," you say.

What the it refers to, you have no idea. But the least you can do is to give the man who has saved your life over and over, a tiny crumb of comfort.

You return his embrace, circling an arm around his shoulder, matching the tightness with which he’s holding you. Your other hand slides into his hair and he shivers at the touch, face burying deeper into your neck.

"I'll protect you,” he murmurs into your skin, “I can do better this time. Keep you safe. I promise.”

"It's okay. It’s okay. I’m already safe," you reassure him, giving him the only truth you know for sure in this moment, "You saved me."

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: as always to my collaborator on this series, who helps me brainstorm, write, edit and beta-read and everything in between and over with this series. This exists because of her, and I am so grateful to her. The hours I spend shouting into her DMs and bother her on the daily since this series infected my mind. You guys don't know what I put poor @thirstworldproblemss through.

Also to @guruan who was kind enough to read through this and steer me in the right way with the spanish, but also for giving me porn that has kept my brain buzzing for days!!!

Please follow both of these insanely lovely, kind and talented people.

Author's note: the Spanish in this chapter has been left untranslated on purpose, so that it's left ambiguous whether reader speak/understand Spanish. The idea is that if you as a reader understand it, then so does the reader, and vice versa 🥰

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