#I’m pulling for his LC | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bookyeom · 5 months ago

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to care for you — lc

pairing: dino x reader word count: 4.4k warnings: mention of blood and injuries, mention of fainting, swearing, hurt and comfort, kissing request prompt: Okay so tumblr ate my ask 😭 but this is in response to @darkypooo’s request for Dino + “do you want to kiss?” “Yeah.”

Author’s Note: Yes, this is a Spiderman AU — but you don’t need to know much other than the bare minimum about the Spiderman universe to understand the story :) It’s set in college instead of high school, though. I’m actually so, so proud of this one, and I hope you like it!

Thanks so much for all the support on my 700 follower celebration. You guys rock! I’m doing my best to get through the requests, but there were way more than I anticipated so bear with me!

He‘s exhausted.

It’s an exhaustion that’s begun to seep deep into his bones lately, but it feels extra heavy tonight. After a not-so-brief brush-up with some bad guys, he’s hurting in places that he didn’t know existed — even after all of his years spent studying science. He can’t remember the last time he got this hurt — to the point where even breathing is hard. All he wants to do right now is give up. He’s not sure what good he’s doing out there, anyway.

He’s exhausted, and he’s hurting all over, and honestly? All he wants to do is see you.

He feels like that a lot these days.

He knows he’s not supposed to want you like he does, to need you like he does — for so many reasons. First and foremost, because you’re one of his closest friends — his confidante (in everything not Spiderman related, anyway), his safe place. You’re his friend, and friends aren’t supposed to love each other the way he loves you. Besides, he’s Spiderman. He’s not supposed to need anyone at all. In this line of business, feelings are a weakness.

You, thankfully, have no clue about his alter ego… or his feelings.

Well, at least you didn’t know about the superhero part. Until now, when he drags himself into his room and you’re there, curled up in his bed. He thinks he must be hallucinating. He’s too out of it to really register it at first, but then your eyes meet his from where you’re sitting up against his headboard, duvet pulled up to your chin, and he’s frozen. You blink back at him in the dim light of his room, your face lit up solely by the lamp on his bedside table.

“Chan?”

Your voice is small — so quiet that he thinks without his heightened senses he wouldn’t have been able to hear it. He can’t think straight enough to really process that his mask is off — he must have dropped it somewhere between the living room and here. All he can register before he’s stumbled back and slumped into his desk chair, eyes screwed shut from all the pain, is that you don’t look nearly as scared as he thought you would. Then everything goes black.

There’s a warm pressure against his jaw and his cheeks.

He slowly comes to as he registers the feeling, struggling to open his eyes and find the source of the sensation. He can hear a faint voice call his name, once, twice, and when his eyes finally manage to flutter open just a little, he’s met with your concerned gaze.

“Fuck. Hi,” you mumble, and he blinks. The pure worry in your voice helps to bring him back to earth a little bit more, and he tries desperately to clear his head. How long was he out?

“Why…” He tries to speak but fails, his voice weak and his throat hoarse.

Why are you here?

He sees you wince when he tries to move, to shift into a more comfortable position even though he knows nothing will be comfortable right now, and your head is suddenly shaking back and forth so fast that it almost gives him whiplash.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, and he dazedly wonders why you don’t sound mad. Or frustrated. Or anything but concerned, really. He’s confused, his mind swirling even more as he tries to understand why your hands are holding his face like that. Hadn’t he kept things a secret from you for far too long to warrant your concern? Don’t you hate him now?

“I don’t know what’s going on,” you say, and Chan fights the urge to try and speak again, to blurt out everything that he’s wanted to tell you since he met you. Oblivious to his inner turmoil, you hastily continue, “but you have to tell me how to help you, Chan.”

His eyes flutter shut once more at the sound of his name coming from your lips, and he feels your thumb brush against his jaw.

“Chan,” you say again, and you sound more panicked this time, so he does his best to calm you down.

“Off.”

You blink at him again as he finally speaks. You’re not sure what he means, and you’re desperate to know, because you can’t look at him in pain like this any longer without doing something to help.

“Off,” he repeats hoarsely, and your eyes widen as you hastily remove your hands from his face.

“Shit, sorry!” Your eyes frantically wander across his face, searching for any damage your fingers might have caused. “I don’t know where you’re hurting, I didn’t mean to—“

As you babble on, all he can do is shake his head minutely. That’s not what he meant. The last thing he wanted right now was for you to take your hands off of him. He manages to lift a hand to press gently against his side, where a dark stain has formed. He glances down at where the material is clinging to his skin before looking back up at you.

“Oh!” You reply, realization dawning on your face. You try to hide the flush of your cheeks. “Can you stand up to move to the bed so I can help? If not, I can—“

Already, he’s attempting to move, desperate to make any of this easier for you. He wants to apologize, to say he’s sorry, but he doesn’t know exactly what for. For not telling you? For you having to see him like this?

You help him stand, his arm reaching to rest on your shoulders as you do. You can tell he’s trying not to hurt you with his weight, and you almost laugh — how very Chan of him. You’re grateful that in the shock of survival mode, you’ve managed to avoid for now the way you know your heart is going to break when you register seeing soft, kind, selfless Chan beaten down like this.

Cry tomorrow, is the message your brain is sending. Figure it out tomorrow. Right now, you need to help him.

“I’m strong,” you try to joke, though it’s a weak attempt, and Chan looks at you in confusion. “You can put your weight on me,” you elaborate quietly. He understands and gives you a sheepish smile, before doing as told, though you know he doesn’t want to.

The two of you maneuver the few steps to the edge of his bed. Chan hisses involuntarily at the pain as he sits down, and you whisper soft apologies, though he has no idea why. Once he’s down, you immediately get to work, reaching behind him to find the zipper at the top of his suit. You manage to get it down as smoothly as possible, your eyes falling to where Chan is still clutching at his side.

“This part is going to hurt like a bitch,” you tell him softly.

“That’s okay,” he says. “It always does.”

You freeze for a moment from where you were about to begin to slide the suit off of his shoulders, but Chan doesn’t seem to realize what he’s said. You feel a sharp pain in your chest as his words replay, and you blink back tears, taking a moment to steel yourself.

It always hurts.

You don’t respond, your fingers beginning to move again, and you’re surprised that they’re not shaking. Chan shivers when your fingers brush against his skin as you begin to slide the suit over his arms and off. You ease him out of the material on his uninjured side first, before coming around to the front of him and crouching down. You meet his eyes, his brown ones clouded over with pain, and your fingers gently reach to rest on top of his hand that’s still clutching his side. You give it a squeeze and he nods in understanding, closing his eyes tight, and you help him remove his fingers from the wound. You stand back up, and begin to pull the rest of the suit down his side and to his waist. Chan barely lets out so much as a whimper when you peel the rest of the material off of him.

His lack of reaction is not what surprises you the most, though. The biggest surprise comes when you reach the spot on his side where you know a sickening amount of blood should be, and you find that it’s all dried — and that the wound has already begun to heal over.

Huh?

Your brain can’t compute it. You glance up at him in complete confusion, but his head is hung low, and your heart breaks enough to distract you from all of the questions you want to ask. You force yourself to push the confusing mess of thoughts away until later. You can’t think about any of that right now. You can’t.

“Chan?” Is what you say instead, knowing that you need to keep him awake enough to help him clean up, long enough to know he’s alright. Your hands are on his knees as you kneel between his legs and peer up at him. You have to stop yourself from reaching out to trace the newly-forming scars on his chest and arms, wanting nothing more than to kiss each mark and its associated pain away. You desperately want to know what happened, who hurt him like this, but you’re not sure you can handle it. You briefly register the older, faded scars that mark his skin, unsure of where they end and the new ones begin.

You can’t figure it out — in front of you sits Chan, but it can’t be the Chan you know. It can’t be the one who giggles at your stupid jokes or falls asleep in your 8am lectures, or the one who remembers your coffee order every single time. The one who you swore had never fought with anyone in his life. The Chan in front of you looks so broken that you can’t put the two of them together.

“You… okay?”

Your eyes shoot up to meet his again as he speaks, voice cracking and hoarse. Your heart stutters a bit in your chest as he attempts to look down at you, his eyes hooded over and half closed with the effort. He looks like he’s about to fall over, and still, he’s asking if you’re okay.

You’re hit so hard with sudden emotion that it causes you to inhale sharply without warning. Your hand lifts involuntarily to brush his hair back from where it’s falling into his eyes, and as he continues to try and hold your gaze, you register it all. This Chan is still your Chan. It’s the same Chan that has stirred feelings inside your chest that you were certain you could never feel again. The Chan whose intelligence and kindness still astounds you every single day. This Chan and your Chan are the same.

Your head spins.

When you finally make it to the bathroom, it’s all Chan can do to slouch down onto his bathroom floor. You help him out of the rest of his suit before crouching down beside him, wracking your brain for everything you’ve ever learned about cleaning wounds. You remain numb as he gives you single-word answers to where things are in his bathroom. It’s funny — you’ve been in his apartment so many times, but you’ve never needed to know where the antiseptic was.

Chan’s eyes remain half-open as you work. He’s fighting with all his might, you can tell, and you can feel his eyes on you the whole time. You don’t think his gaze leaves you even once. It becomes monotonous: you clean the cut, he winces, you apologize. And repeat. Your mind wanders in what you’re sure is an attempt to protect yourself.

You’d come over tonight for your weekly movie night, letting yourself in with the code you’d long since been given access to. When hours had passed with no sign of Chan and no texts from him either, your heart had broken a little — had he forgotten? Was he okay? It was so unlike him that you’d stayed just in case, your heart racing with every little noise as you waited.

You hate so much that your worst fears had come true.

Chan’s pain seems to ease in record time, bruises forming on his skin faster than you’ve ever seen. You have so many questions, but you push it all down, down, down. He falls asleep on his couch and you stay up all night, blanket pulled around your shoulders as you sit on the windowsill and make sure he’s still breathing.

He wakes as the sun is beginning to rise, and you watch as he shifts to sit up, letting out a breath of what sounds like relief when he’s able to move without much trouble. Some of the cuts on his face and chest are already scabbed over.

How?

When his eyes finally land on you, he jumps a little.

“Hi.”

”You didn’t sleep.”

It’s an observation rather than a question. You pull your knees up and rest your chin on them. “I was worried.”

It’s quiet, and he doesn’t know what to say. Neither do you.

“Well,” he clears his throat. “I’m glad you stayed.”

“Yeah.” Your voice is small, and he immediately feels guilty.

“I’m sorry.” He’s not sure what he expects you to do, what he expects you to say. You level him with your gaze, searching his face. Your eyes linger on the scabbed-over cut just above his brow, and you bite your lip before you speak again.

“It was…” You can feel your lower lip start to tremble in an act of betrayal, and you bite down on it to try and stop yourself from crying. “It was terrifying to see you like that, Chan,” you finally manage, and you know that after all these hours, the dam is about to break. You can tell he knows it, too, by the way his brows furrow even more, and his eyes widen just slightly.

“I know,” he murmurs, and that’s what does it.

Your hands move to cover your face as you finally let yourself cry, sobs muffled by your palms. You can hear the couch creak as Chan moves, and you can feel his presence as soon as he’s close. He whispers your name once, his voice breaking, and when he moves your hands away from your face, you don’t have the strength to stop him. He’s sitting next to you on the windowsill now. You sniffle, eyes looking anywhere but at him. Chan holds onto your wrists, rubbing gentle circles against the skin.

“I’m so mad at you,” you finally say, and he lets go of your hands. He doesn’t retreat to his side of the window though, staying put as he nods, chewing on his bottom lip as he looks down.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you,” he says, voice quiet. “I hope you understand why I couldn’t… but you still have every right to be pissed at me.”

It’s silent, and you stare at him in disbelief. There are so many thoughts running through your head, and it takes you a moment to settle on just one. “You think I’m mad because you didn’t tell me that you were Spiderman?” You finally say, causing him to look at you again in surprise.

“I mean, yeah? Why else—“

“I’m mad,” you emphasize, “because you’re out there getting hurt, and my heart literally can’t take the thought of that, oh my god, Chan.” Your voice breaks, and fuck, you’re about to cry again, but you can’t stop. Your eyes trace over his face, pausing where the bruise is starting to form on his cheek, and you feel frustration begin to build again as you angrily blink back tears. “What the fuck, Chan. Why the hell are you… I mean, if I hadn’t been able to help you last night, I wouldn’t — I just, I can’t even imagine—“

Your words are cut off as Chan’s hands find the side of your face. His gaze is firm as he looks at you, and his sudden boldness catches you off guard, your words dying in your throat. Once he seems to realize that you’re not going to run, his thumb moves to caress your jaw, and you can’t help the shiver that spreads through you at the gentle touch. Your hands lift to rest on his arms where they’re holding you, and you’re speechless, your eyes unable to leave his. He takes in a deep breath, and you follow.

“I’m here,” he says, and you draw in another shaky breath. You don’t think he’s ever been this forward with you before, but you’re grateful for it. He’s warm, and he’s here. He’s alive.You’re torn between wanting to never leave his side again, and needing desperately to be away from him so that you can think.

“I think it might be good for me to go now that I know you’re okay,” you say softly after a moment, and you can see the hurt that briefly shadows his eyes. It’s gone as quickly as it comes, though, and he nods, removing his hands from your face.

“I understand.”

“And I… I probably need some time.”

He nods again, and your heart breaks at the thought of leaving him, but you have to. For now. Your feet feel leaden as you get up, going through the motions as you grab your backpack from the hook by his door. You barely register putting on your shoes, your mind on autopilot until it’s broken by his voice from just behind you.

“Y/N?”

Your name coming from his lips feels like a punch to the gut, and you almost reach out for him again, but you hold firm.

”Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. Can you just…” he sucks in a breath. “Can you please not tell anyone? About, you know—”

His words hit like a ton of bricks. You cut him off, expression full of silent fury at the insinuation. “Yeah. I won’t.”

You’re pissed that he even had to ask, and he knows it, but there’s nothing else he can do. His secret is more important than anything — he just wishes it didn’t have to be more important than you.

It takes three days for you to end up back at his door. He’s missed all of your shared college courses so far this week, and you’re worried. You’re terrified, actually, and you need to see him.

When he opens the door, you do a double take. It’s almost like nothing happened to him at all. The bruises and cuts are barely-there, and you’re reminded of the miles-long list of questions you have stored in the back of your brain. He’s surprised to see you, you can tell, and he blinks slowly before stepping aside to let you in.

“How are you?” You level him with raised eyebrows as you take off your shoes, and he nods, biting his lip. “Yeah, I know. I was worried that—“

“I didn’t tell anyone,” you interrupt. “Don’t worry.” You look down, your heart twisting painfully in your chest when you remember the words he’d said to you. ‘Can you please not tell anyone?’ You cross your arms as you head over to the living room, but you don’t sit down. You don’t really know what your plan had been — you’d just needed to see him.

“Oh,” comes his soft reply before he adds, “I mean… I didn’t really think that you would.”

Your eyes briefly meet his across the room, confused, before you recover and look back down at the floor. “So then what were you worried about?”

You can feel his gaze intent on your face. “You.”

Your breath catches and your eyes swiftly meet his again. You blink. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

“Chan,” you say after a moment, trying to push down the bubble of irritation you feel building in your chest. “You didn’t even text me once.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he says quietly, “You said that you needed time.”

“To process, yes! But you didn’t even text me that you were okay. I was worried about you, Chan. Why would you be worried about me? I’m not the one coming through your window and fainting from injury, now am I?”

You can see the guilt flicker across his face. “I know,” he says, and then he suddenly feels the need to apologize again. “I’m sorry that I didn’t message you, but I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.” He pauses. “Ever again, maybe.”

You can hear the sadness in his voice, and your heart breaks. You feel the anger in you start to dissipate as he looks away from you. Your eyes catch on the barely-there faded scar across his eyebrow, and your mind is filled with painful memories of the Chan you’d seen that night.

“You’re so fucking stupid, Chan.”

He knows. But judging by the way you sit down on his couch instead of storming out again, he thinks that somehow, his stupidity has already been forgiven.

It’s quiet as he joins you. You can feel him looking at you, and when you can’t take it anymore, you look back at him pointedly. He blushes, quickly looking away when your eyes meet. You sigh, your head falling into the back of the couch before you turn and curl up against it, your eyes drifting shut.

"Is that my sweater?"

Your eyes shoot open, and it's as if he's finally grown the courage to look at you directly again now. His brown eyes search yours, and he motions to the shirt you're wearing. You look down — even though you know he's right — and your cheeks are on fire. You’re wearing the sweater he’d leant you forever ago on a cold night for your walk home — the one you’d never returned. You slept in it almost every night, and he hadn’t asked for it back.

"Keeps me warm," you mumble, tugging on the hem. It's silent for a beat before you continue, voice even quieter than before. You pause, ruminating on your next words before you take a deep breath and say, “The last few nights, wearing it kind of made me feel like you were safe.”

You can hear his intake of breath before he says, soft, “Are you mad at me?”

You shake your head, because you’re not. You’re scared, stressed, worried sick — but you’re not mad. Not anymore. “No, Chan.”

The nickname sends a flood of relief through him more than your actual reply does.

“I’m not mad,” you continue, “because of course you’re Spiderman. Of course you’re putting yourself in danger trying to protect others. I love how selfless you are, Lee Chan — I always have. But me? I’m selfish. And I’m scared to death of losing you.”

All he says, all he can say, is, “I’m scared, too.”

You look at him again now. You search his face as you ask, “Of what?”

“Of getting hurt. Of… of losing you, too.”

Your heart is suddenly beating so fast you think it might soon break free from your rib cage. You don’t know why you say it, because you’ve already got his undivided attention, but his name comes out breathlessly anyway. “Chan?”

“Yeah?” He’s looking at you with those beautiful, big, questioning eyes, and you can’t help it.

“I think it might be a terrible time for me to say this,” you blurt out, “but I — Chan, I’m in love with you.”

Silence.

Chan blinks.

“Wait, what?”

Your face flushes, and it’s your turn to look away. “Sorry,” you murmur.

“No, don’t — oh my god. What?”

You’re not sure what he wants from you. You’re embarrassed now, pulling your knees up to your chest in a feeble attempt to protect yourself from your feelings. Your face is flushed as you turn to look out the window, and you can almost hear Chan’s brain buffering as he remains silent.

“Do you mean that?”

“Why would I say it if I didn’t mean it?” Your voice comes out a bit harsher than you intend it to, but you don’t take it back.

“I…” He trails off. He doesn’t say anything more, and the quiet is almost deafening. You’re finding it a little harder to breathe as the seconds pass, and you wrack your brain for something, anything to say to fill the stifling silence.

“I’m going to go,” is what comes out, and then you’re standing up so abruptly that you feel a little dizzy. The scene is familiar — you, running from what you’re feeling, running from him.

“Wait,” he blurts out, and you do. You pause in spite of everything in you that’s begging you to run, and then he says, “Can I… I mean, do you want to… kiss?”

You turn back, eyes wide. It’s such a ridiculous question, such an innocent thing for him to ask in light of everything that’s happened in the last few days — but it’s so Chan that you almost forget about it all. This is probably a bad idea, you both know that — and you don’t care. You don’t know how this is going to work, but you’ll figure it out.

Because it’s your Chan — the one who cares so much, the one who gives you hope, the one who wants nothing but for the world to be a better place.

“I mean — I love you too,” he says into the silence, and you realize that you haven’t given him an answer.

“Yes,” you breathe out before he can panic. “Fuck. I have so many questions, but first, yes. Yes, I want to kiss you, Lee Chan.”

You can hardly believe the giggle and shy smile he sends your way before he kisses you breathless.

Yeah, you think to yourself as he pulls back, as your fingers lift to gently trace the barely-there bruise on his cheek, as he leans into the warmth of your hand. As you think about how he’s been doing all of this — trying to change the world — alone.

Yeah, you think. You’ll figure it out.

TAGLIST: @waldau @minisugakoobies @tae-bebe @gyuminusone @wqnwoos @wheeboo @christinewithluv @lvlystars @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @iluvseokmin @seohomrwolf @pan-de-seungcheol @bewoyewo @kyeomkyeomi @mingyuscoffee @harry-the-pottypus @lightprincess-world @icyminghao @bella-l @darkypooo

#Lee chan fluff #lee chan x reader #dino X reader #seventeen x reader #svt fluff #svt angst #svt x reader #dino angst #dino fluff #dino comfort #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #svt imagine #seventeen imagines #lcfic #my writing

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miley1442111 · 6 months ago

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confession- s.reid

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a/n: THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR 1K I LOVE Y'ALL, also my lc is over!!!! expect more stories more frequenrly and I'll finally get around to clearly m y drafts and finishing my TTPD series! also working on finishing my spencer reid series so yay!

summary: spencer's birthday was supposed to be fun for him and his girlfriend, what happens when his mentor (his girlfriends father) shows up at his door?

pairing: spencer reid x fem! gideon! reader

warnings: complicated family relationships, heavy making out, suggestive mentions, that's all

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“Spence-” you whispered into his mouth. God, this felt good. After not seeing you for 3 whole days, here you were making out on his couch like you two were hormonal teenagers.

He didn’t exactly mind though, and it seemed you didn’t either. Plus, you being here and the birthday gift you gave him (a doctor who box set and a blowjob) made this his best birthday yet.

“So pretty,” he whispered against your lips as your hands messed up his perfectly styled hair.

You took his glasses off his face and kissed him harder again, his moaning becoming unbearably hot.

An ice bucket would’ve been an easier way to crush Spencer’s libido, but the loud ring of the doorbell brought you both out of the heated moment, and actually made you jump off his lap. You scrambled to pull your cardigan over yourself, and Spencer groaned out in frustration, the blood running back to his brain.

��Coming!” He called as you dressed yourself. He grabbed his glasses, tried to straighten out his hair, and prepared himself to mentally curse whoever this was. It was 11pm, it was a weeknight, you two had already gotten your delivery order, and no one was supposed to come over.

Who the fuck was at his door then?

Jason. Jason Gideon was standing at his door, and his soul left his body.

He let out an involuntary scream which made you and Jason scream back. All were small, but distinct sounds, and Jason’s interest was piqued.

“You have someone here?” He whispered.

“J-just my girlfriend,” Spencer admitted. He’d never told anyone who his girlfriend was, especially not that she was his mentor’s daughter. “You can come in if you want?”

“Oh, I can finally meet the woman behind Doctor Reid-”

“No! S-she’s sick right now,” he squeaked. “She’s just… resting up.”

You had sprinted into the bedroom when you heard your dad’s voice and thank god you had, or else you would’ve been caught.

“Wow, love really does defy all odds, you don’t even touch us when we’ve been fully sanitised,” Jason laughed.

“ ‘We’, who’s ‘we’?”

“The rest of the team,” he nodded. “They’re coming up after me.”

“W-why?” Spencer picked at his nails as Jason smiled at him.

“It’s your birthday Spencer, we wanted to throw a party,” he chuckled.

“But it’s 11pm at night?”

“And we have another case,” Jason sighed. “So grab your bag and we’ll have the party on the plane.”

“Oh,” Spencer deflated. He promised he’d spend the next few days with you. You’d taken time off work and everything. And he had to leave, again. “I-is there anyway I could… stay?”

“Pardon?” Jason stopped in his tracks.

“It’s just… I kind of promised my girlfriend that I would be here for the next few days since it’s my birthday and-”

“Spencer, it’s fine,” you promised, coming out of his bedroom. You did it without thinking, and now you’re faced with the impending wrath of your father.

He looked between the two of you, then where you held Spencer’s hand in comfort as you waited for his reaction.

“You’re dating my daughter, Spencer?” He asked, a certain anger in his tone.

“Dad, please just-”

“And you didn’t think to tell me it was you who’s keeping my best agent from me?” He turned to you and you rolled your eyes.

“Spencer is allowed to have a personal life, dad,” you argued as Spencer got increasingly red.

“And what? You’re the personal life he needs?” He snapped and your face fell.

“I know you don’t think I’m doing enough with my life dad, but I’m allowed to be happy with my boyfriend. Sorry that pisses you off so much,” you snapped back, anger boiling through you. You’d only really known your dad for the last two years. He’s reached out after your mom died. They’d been broken up for over 20 years. “If you didn’t want a kid, which you clearly don’t, you shouldn’t have reached out when my mom died. I was doing just fine on my own.”

His face twisted into a mix of shame and embarrassment. He didn’t want to make you feel small, he just wanted the best for both of you. “Y/n-”

“You have a case. Go on your case,” you spat, then turned to Spencer. “I’ll text you later.”

“Ok,” he rushed out, then ran off to grab his go-bag and be out of his apartment and out between you two. His girlfriend or his mentor, he was hoping you two wouldn’t make him choose because he knew Jason wouldn’t like his choice.

Jason held out a hand to stop him. “Stay,” he sighed. “Take care of her.”

And with that your dad left his apartment.

And with that the first few tears fell.

“Baby,” he whispered, pulling you in. His heart ached for you. You’d grown up with a horrible family, and you’d begged someone to take you out of it, hoping that your father would show up one day. He didn’t. Not until the funeral.

“I’m sorry I'm crying on your birthday,” you whimpered, trying to stop.

“Please don’t apologise, he was being an asshole,” he held you tighter, praying the pain in his chest would go away.

“I don’t know what to do,” you sobbed. “I know I’m not enough- for both of you, and I just… I keep trying but nothing is ever good enough and I’m so sorry Spencer, I really am, I really am trying-”

“You’re more than enough for me. I love you. I adore you,” he reassured you and your heart stopped.

Well, that was a first.

“You love me?” You asked, staring up at him.

“Of course I love you,” he nodded, a wonky smile on his face.

“I love you too,” you whispered and his smile turned into a full-on grin.

“Well, that’s good,” he leant down so that you two were face to face. “Because-”

You cut him off with a kiss. You could taste the saltiness of your tears and you were sure he could too. But you didn’t care.

You loved him. He loved you.

That would be enough for the both of you. Your dad was a jerk.

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#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #bau team #spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds

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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 10 months ago

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(Dark! LC) - Date Gone Wrong

Pairing: Dark Luke Castellan x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female reader

WARNINGS: Consensual Oral (f receiving); Implied Future Noncon.

I've been posting way too much (my drafts are crying right now) but since it's Friday I HAVE to post something. So here it is, enjoy 😊

His lips sucked around your glistening pearl, tongue lapping at you with steady strokes.

Your hands gripped the thin picnic sheet underneath you, fingers bunching the fabric as the coil in your lower belly tightened.

“I told you it’d feel good.” Luke’s raspy voice sent vibrations through your core and your body shuddered at the pleasant feeling, a shaky breath exiting your lips. “It’s gonna feel even better soon, trust me.”

It was strange to be in such an intimate position with Luke - your crop top bunched on your chest while your shorts and panties were somewhere thrown around the wet grass of the clearing, the camp counselor with his head buried in your pussy.

You certainly hadn’t expected him to ask you out, especially considering you had recently broken-up with your long-time boyfriend.

But your siblings insisted you needed to relax and have a fun time, and you quickly found yourself agreeing to it. You had expected some shallow kisses to take place, maybe even a bit of touching over the clothes but you were far from imagining Luke to deliciously attack your pussy like this, even though you were adamant on taking things slowly.

A whiny gasp left your lifts as his ministrations turned more insistent, more intense as if he was hell bent on making you come right there, right now and you soon felt yourself melting into the fire that was growing in your core, lips parted as you struggled to inhale properly.

It only took a few more moments for you to completely fall apart, fireworks exploding inside you as the orgasm runned over you, leaving you satisfied and limp.

You felt lighter, all tension leaving your muscles as you laid with your eyes closed, the peaceful nighttime sounds of trees and crickets bringing relaxation to you.

“Told you I was gonna make you feel good.” Luke’s cocky words have you smiling and he pressed a light kiss on your sensitive clit.

He laughs at your pout, the harmonious sound soaring through the quiet air.

You were jolted out of your blissful stupor when the clicking sounds of a belt being opened reached your ears, causing you to open your eyes instantly.

When you looked down, your heart sinked at the sight of Luke between your legs, undoing his pants. You pushed your elbows to elevate your body before pulling your legs up and away from him.

“Luke, stop.” your voice came out borderline hysterical, red flags and warning bells ringing in your head at the rushed actions, “I’m not- I didn’t come for that.”

Luke barely paid you any attention, his focus concentrated on pulling out the belt and pants.

The panic builded inside you and your eyes frantically searched for the discarded pieces of clothing, hoping to at least find your shorts.

“Luke, I’m not doing this.”

The sound of a plastic package being ripped terrified you and in the spur of the moment, your body moved on its own accord, moving to push yourself on your feet.

A second later, you were forcefully being pulled back, the wind being knocked out of your body as your back met the ground with a thud.

“Luke, stop!”

Luke ignored you, hand wrapped around your ankle as he tugged you towards him. The gloomy moonlight sent little help for you to see, but the smirk on Luke’s face was clear as day.

It made you feel helpless, tears pooling in your eyes as you writhed to free yourself.

“Luke..”

“We were having fun earlier, right? You’ve had your turn.” he said, aggressively dragging all of your body in his direction. “Now it’s mine.”

His hands came for your wrists, securing them in his hold despite your attempts to push and kick him off you.

“Luke, please, please.” you begged with loud sobs, aiming a failed kick to his groin that Luke easily dodged. “I’m gonna tell everyone about this if you don’t stop.”

Your threat doesn’t repercussionate the desired effect and Luke only chuckled.

“Think that’s gonna stop me? No one would believe you, you know.” he twisted your wrist meanly, drawing a screech from you, “They’d think you’re crazy. That you mistook me for someone else.”

Luke pushed all of his weight to your body, his legs settling between yours after he punctured a mean kneeling to your thigh.

“They’d say it was dark. That you didn’t even see who did it in this pitch black darkness. That you imagined it was me. That some other boy caught you after I left.”

You felt the air escaping, feeling suffocated underneath his oppressive weight. Luke wasn’t heavy but in the current circumstances, it felt as if he was a brick of cement, and you slowly allowed your body to go limp, feeling utterly tired of fighting off Luke when in the end you wouldn’t come out victorious.

The reality of what was going to happen sinking in, the tears increasing and blurring your vision in the slightest.

“And then everyone will forget about you. About your little accident. As if it never happened. But you and I will know.”

In such constricted proximity, the scar on his right cheek felt more prominent than ever, like he was an animal.

A predator that had finally gotten his claws on the prey.

“It’s okay, don’t cry. You’ll enjoy this.” he assured you, his hand and a shiver ran down your spine when something warm and leaking touched your inner thigh.

"I know you will.”

#@mrsdarkandyandere7 #yandere x reader #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan imagine #dark luke castellan #dark luke castellan x reader #yandere luke castellan #yandere luke castellan x reader #tw: violence

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solarwynd · 3 months ago

Note

“armys act like tae’s entire solo career never happened in the restricted playing field it did (it only exists when another member takes his records with quadruple the tools/support) and they throw a tantrum whenever jk’s solo career is acknowledged as successful and outside of group achievements. but at a certain point last year “he ended bts 😍” was happily being trended for….🤐”

This is from a Tae biased taekook account jkftkth. Jimin crashing the taekook “success” party really got them seething 🤣.

Saw the now (deleted) post somebody made that this is probably a response to lol.

But the question again is, who restricted that man?

What records did Taehyung have outside of Layover hitting 1B faster than FACE and its songs all hitting 100M first on a technicality?

Like I’m not understanding. Taehyung biased taekookers are always gonna be in the trenches cause they’ll shield JK and accept his numbers but shun Jimin’s out of hatred of him. They both had tools. Yet how is one organic with the reasoning of “well he’s popular” but Jimin who is also popular always seems to get questioned? They’ll allow Taehyung to play second fiddle to JK, but Jimin being ahead of Taehyung is what triggers the psychotic break.And all armys were doing is making tweets about how JK ended his own group last year. Hyping up articles about him being the sole breakout member and him being destined to be a star. What need is there to lie?

It’s pure entitlement as to why Taehyung stans have created a world inside their head that Jimin is the privileged and favored one when it’s simply the fact that Jimin performed better success wise. Taehyung got tools. Remixes and playlisting. Both first day for Friends. It’s not Jimin’s fault that he doesn’t have the pull nor fan interest to use them to their fullest extent. Yes Jimin got tools this time around, but LC had absolutely nothing and still outdid all the songs Taehyung has ever dropped so there’s really no victimization story they can give to make him seem like he’s being intentionally neglected label wise.

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draconic-desire · 6 months ago

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BOOTHILL CAME HOME BABY 💥🔥🦅🇺🇸

Won the 50/50 and got his LC in 20 pulls so I’m feeling like a very grateful little forker today ❤️

BIG NUMBERS GO BRRRRR

#honkai star rail #boothill honkai star rail #Boothill #hsr boothill #boothill hsr

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ragingbookdragon · 2 years ago

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With Gentle Hands, And The Heart Of A Fighter, I'm A Survivor

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1.6K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst (w/ Happy Ending!), Scars and Wounds

Author's Note: :D -Thorne

**********************************************************************

It’s been two weeks since she got back to base on her solo mission, and she still hasn’t removed the mask. It’s driving the guys crazy. Never before had she ever worn any type of face covering and now, she’s all about it. And she’s quiet. Usually when she gets back from a mission, she’s like a new recruit who finished patrol on his own, embellishing his tale with guns and knives and threats. This time, she’s tight-lipped about the mission. Hasn’t said a word about what happened. It’s more worrying than the men of the 141 care to admit. Something’s wrong. Something’s happened.

They’ve decided to always keep an extra set of eyes on her, especially at a time like this. Soap and Ghost are overseeing the sparring recruits themselves, whereas she’s in with one. A tall, Austrian soldier from some mercenary group. König, his name is. He’s quick, assured in his skill, and moves like lightning. But they know, where there’s lightning, there’s thunder. And she’s right there, following up on him with every hit or block he gets with two of her own. It’s brutal, even Simon agrees, the two soldiers aren’t pulling their punches. They’re going at it like they’ve met on the battlefield and the stage has been set for one final duel. Man’s tall, bigger than most of the other guys on the base, and where he was reach and strength over her, she’s got flexibility and dexterity over him. He relies on his size to make his hits count, sheer intimidation at some points, she relies on her ability to get in his safe zones and gut him from within.

It's a flash of an arm that makes Soap and Ghost start, a curled knuckled palm to the side of her head that sends the glittering metal mask skittering across the floor, loosened from the impact. Even König freezes in shock, obviously it hadn’t been his intent. All the recruits are now watching and she looks up in shock at the Austrian, his own eyes widening when he sees it on her face; her hand shoots up and blocks the sight from all, sprinting and snatching the mask up as she flees the training room.

It's silent until Ghost barks an order and then the newbies are back to sparring and he and Soap march over to where the Austrian is starting to pace; he stops when he sees them, quickly apologizing, “Scheiße, Leutnant, ich wollte ihr nicht so hart treffen.”

“English.”

“I…I didn’t mean to hit her so hard,” he translates, eyes wide with apprehension. “It was an accident.”

There’s no time to be so upset.

“What did you see?” Ghost asks, his eyes are narrowed behind his mask, glaring up.

König stops his twitching and just takes a hand, making a gesture along where his cheek would be under the sniper mask he’s got on. “Es ist schlecht. Vernarbt.”

Somehow it translates and Soap and Ghost are off chasing her to a locked quarter door; they turn to each other, their own eyes wide in shock. “LT,” Soap starts. “I think we should get Price.”

So, they do.

And the man appears minutes later, brows furrowed as he knocks on the door. “LC?” he calls. “You in there?”

“Go away!” she yells, her voice, they know, is full of fear.

“Love, open the door, or we will.”

She doesn’t, and they do exactly as they said, peering into the darkened room. It’s Ghost who notices the mirror in her bathroom has been removed, the standalone floor length one in the corner has been turned around and covered with a towel.

She’s cowering in the corner, her knees up to her chest, arms wrapped around her head and they kneel beside her; Price lays a hand on her arm. “LC, what’s going on?”

Her head shakes “no,” as she tries to pull from him. “I can’t tell you,” she whispers.

“You can,” he replies, managing to unfold her arms. “You know I’m not going to be angry.”

“It’s not anger I’m worried about.” Her voice is small as she looks up at him through her mask.

“Did something happen on the mission?”

He sees the way her eyes fill with tears, and she looks away, reaching to take the mask off. They see nothing as it falls, her hand is quickly replaced on her left side. “I got spotted,” she says, voice a hush so quiet they have to strain to hear her. “He…he chased me all the way back to my compound. I don’t know how he got the drop on me, but he did.”

“LC—”

“He had a serrated knife,” she adds, turning to face them, and finally lets her hand fall.

And…it’s not a pretty sight. Two jagged cuts line the left side of her face, one starts above her left brow and cuts down, stopping above her cheek. The other is more gnarly, starting just above her ear, it cuts down to the top of her lip. There’s a section of her upper lip, a small triangular section that’s been cut out, revealing the canine beneath. The stitching is rough and uneven, displaying she’d done it on her own—no doubt, she had been miles from the nearest medical center. And two weeks hasn’t healed them enough. They’re still red and angry, puffed from the irritation.

It's finally clear why the mask has been a constant.

Tears slip down her cheeks, lips forming words that won’t make the connection with her vocal cords. “Monster” they manage to hear torn from her and Ghost stands.

“Price, Soap,” he murmurs. “Let me handle this.”

The two men nod in approval and both grab her arms and hands, squeezing as hard as they can to let her know they’re there.

He locks the door behind them and goes to the corner, shifts the mirror back around before coming to get her. Ghost never does anything with grace, unless it’s killing, anything else is treated with ill-concern, and he certainly doesn’t believe in self-pity of any kind. He manhandles her, yanking her to her feet, ignoring her protests to leave her. Ghost plants her in front of the mirror and tugs the towel from it; her expression drops and she starts to look away, but he grabs her chin, forcing her to look at herself.

“You are not a monster,” he tells her. His voice is harsh, grating against the nerves, but it holds no lie. “Look at yourself.” It’s a command and she struggles to lift her eyes to the woman staring back at her. “Look.”

She does. At the jaggedness scarring her face, the tears in her eyes, the pain in her expression.

“This is not the face of a monster,” he says to her, staring into her eyes through the mirror, they never leave hers. “This is the face of a survivor.” She can’t even speak, lump in her throat too large to even swallow past. “The woman who fought and killed her attacker. Stitched her own wounds and made it back alive to tell the tale. She. Is. A. Survivor.”

“People will be scared of me,” she manages and he doesn’t waver.

“Let them. When have you ever given a fuck about a stranger’s opinion.”

“Simon, I can’t—”

“You can. You will.” He takes the mask from her hands and shows it to her. “This is a coward’s way out. You aren’t, and have never been a coward.”

“They’ll stare.”

“Let them,” he reiterates strongly. “When they do, when they make comments, you look back and you say, ‘I survived.’ That’s what you say back.” He accentuates his point by throwing the mask away.

Her head falls, tears dropping to the floor as her knees begin to give under her and he lowers her to the floor, pulling her against him. “I’m scared of her, Simon. I don’t recognize her.”

“She’s you,” he replies. “Still the prettiest poppy I’ve ever seen.” It’s like he didn’t even have to think about it, and he holds her tight. “My pretty poppy.”

Her breath is still catching in her throat as she lifts a hand and digs her hand underneath his mask to touch his cheek. “You still care?”

“I’d care even if you had no arms or legs. Just carry you around like a sack of potatoes. Or get you a wagon and pull you around in it.” She laughs, first time he’s heard it in two weeks, watery, a little pained, but still her. He pulls away to look into her eyes, taking her face in his hands. “You’re a survivor.”

She swallows thickly, nodding her head as he leans his forehead to hers. “I’m a survivor.”

He gazes at her, like he’s waiting to see something, and he does. He sees it so clearly because he’s pulling her up. “C’mon, there’s a giant about to pass out from anxiety. You’ve gotta go kick his ass again.”

“Simon, I don’t think I’m re—” she stops when he simply glowers at her and she swallows again, inhaling deeply once, twice, once more, then she squares her shoulders. “I’m a survivor,” she says firmly. “I’m a survivor and I’m not afraid of what people think about me.”

“Huzzah,” he mutters, and she knows it’s his way of cheering.

“I’m going to go out there and be a survivor.”

“Huzzah.”

“I can do this.”

“Huzzah.”

She stops and holds out her hand. “…Will you go with me?”

“Always,” he says and takes her hand. “It’s you and me, Poppy, against the world. You and me till the end.”

“Huzzah.”

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