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dalgomii · 2 months ago

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۪ ݁ 이마크 — the anatomy of 'home'.

• SYNOPSIS .. neither of you have all that much to your name. but, here, in the small sanctuary of your brand new—and still very vacanct—apartment, with a mattress for bed, a small kitchenette yet waiting to filled with the smell of home and living off of takeout to your heart's content, you just might have the most priceless thing in the world: happiness.

♡ WORD COUNT .. 2.5k

☆ NOTES .. established relationship. you and mark talking through the night over a pizza picnic, that's the story. got way too poetic and in my feels at the ending and then fumbled it lol. happy first tumblr post to me, yay! :)

Lately the pep in his steps have been noticeable. Even the mundane task of picking up delivery and climbing five flights of stairs because the elevator still hasn't been installed in the building couldn't dampen his mood. Mark walks in through the front door, practically skipping, two boxes of pizza in his hand.

Inside is like a sea of knicknacks yet to find their rightful place in the one bedroom apartment tucked into the heart of a bustling metropolis.

You smile up at him from where you are sitting, unboxing the things your mothers had insisted on buying in the name of home decor. "Done chatting up the delivery guy?"

Mark rolls his eyes, setting the food on the kitchen counter which was overflowing with utensils left to be stowed away. His gaze stops at your Harry Potter mug, one of the few things finally freed from your incessant overdone packing with the wrapping paper to make sure nothing broke during transit.

If the cogs of his brain cleared from the fog of bliss long enough, he would vividly recall the story of winning it at a fun fair — a mere consolation prize as opposed to the big pygmy puff plushie he'd originally promised you. Still, no matter your carefully hidden disappointment he'd assume, you had kept the mug, taking it out every morning for it to enable your insane caffeine consumption.

Perhaps it's the fact he'd seen it with you so many times, warming your hands on a cold morning or staining the corners of the Sunday newspaper acting as paperweight, Mark had forgotten it was his to begin with.

"For your information, I was getting the scoop on the local restaurants. So when you come home too tired to cook, I can swoop in to save the day."

"So heroic, my knight in shining... takeout boxes? You know all this could be avoided if you just learnt to cook?" Your sarcasm is met with bubbling laughter, making you beam up at him. "Come here for a sec. How does this look?"

Raising a brow, Mark goes to stand right behind you, narrowing his eyes at the wall of cat pictures and movie posters framed above a white table that held up a shimmering and ridiculously fragile glass vase.

He frowned at a couple things he thought had long since lost, in his childhood home or the studio apartment he used to shared with three others which looked like it was struck by a hurricane on a good day, hung up on the tiny bit of space by his bookshelf.

Specifically a Wham! vinyl.

The one you'd bought Mark on his first birthday that you spent together as a couple. The effect of the years passed is visible on the not-so-shiny black surface marred with misplaced dents and scratches. Yet the 'I know you've wanted this for a long time. Happy Birthday, rockstar' written in black sharpie onto the center label is still as fresh as his memory of receiving it.

"It's pretty," he states finally, genuinely, and hopes to God he played it cool enough. But who was he kidding? Five years of desperately trying to be nonchalant wouldn't have been comparable to a second spent being yours. Mark adds as an afterthought, "Let's hope it stays that way if we stumble into it."

You can't help a snort, "If? More like 'when'. Your foot eye coordination is whack in the morning."

Mark lets out a scandalized gasp, pointing at you, "Take that back right now".

And you, being the responsible, independent, tax-paying adult, stick your tongue out at him making him shake his head before looking back at the picturesque nook in your new residence.

"We need to get some flowers for the vase, huh?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah", you smile over a stifled yawn, pretty and serene, stretching your hand up to your boyfriend. He takes it as cue to pull you up from the ground. His hand remains twined with yours even after you're standing. "Peace lilies. And maybe chrysanthemums for a pop of color?"

Mark finds himself grinning at your hopeful gaze, bringing your joined hands to his lips. "Anything you want. We can go first thing in the morning."

He feels his eyes widen when you cross the small distance between you, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Thank you, you're the best," you whisper, brushing a few strands of his fringe away from his forehead before you moved away, leaving Mark standing there frozen like a statue. A very red in the face statue.

He thinks you know exactly how to make him weak in the knees.

You stand in the middle of the clustered living room, every inch of space on the floor filled with cardboard boxes and your belongings packed with bubble wrap. "I don't think we can finish this today. Plus, it's getting late. Let's just eat and go to bed, yeah?"

But everything you say goes in one ear and out the other. It's baffling how many times Mark would get stuck in his head over the smallest thing about you.

It's more of a habit he'd developed – or so his friends insist – back when he first met you at orientation on campus.

No, you weren't a wide-eyed freshmen and he wasn't one either. Yet, somehow the friend-of-the-world music major had managed to stumble upon the live art workshop your department had set up.

From then on, it was only ever "Did you see how beautiful her eyes are? It's like the whole galaxy is mapped in them!" or "She's so recklessly kind, dude! Today she ran into traffic to save this one old lady's cat! How much more perfect can she be?"

Mark Lee isn't a stranger to waxing poetics– hell, he does that for a living, writing lyrics with the power to make people laugh out loud, be a metaphorical shoulder for people to cry on, to feel so intensely with just words alone.

But then every syllable fails him when it comes to you, a soul so beyond the realm of letters and alphabets that nothing he could ever scrap together feels enough.

It's like the universe had decided from the very first moment you both locked eyes that this was it for him.

Mark knew it when you waved at him with amusement threaded into your expression from behind the stand you were running and he reciprocated shyly after looking around to make sure at least twenty times that it was indeed him you were waving at.

When Mark asked for your number after finishing a basketball game as state level champions because the adrenaline high of the win and the elation in having spotted you cheering him on as he nailed the deciding shot from halfway across the court turned him into his most confident self — only to be reduced to a stuttering mess when you saved his contact on your phone, blowing him a flying kiss goodbye before walking off alongside your giggling friends.

When his idea of a perfect first date to a fancy rooftop restaurant got rained on, and just when Mark was considering to never show you his face ever again, you both ended up in the backseat of his car on a McDonald's parking lot, talking and laughing and he found out that you were just as much of a rambler as him.

When a houseparty his friend Jaemin was throwing in their new shared apartment landed you on his bed, your lips like a safe haven, searing affection and praises onto his skin. That night Mark had been afraid to so much as go to sleep, scared that he would wake up to an empty room, and perhaps a half-assed note saying if he was a good fuck.

So he had stayed up till the wisps of dawn graced the city, holding you close and kissing your forehead over and over again. When you woke up, you had caught him in his bluff immediately, coming over that afternoon just to make sure he actually slept for more than an hour.

Mark thought love was a frightening emotion, too large for fickle mortal lives, too complex to fully comprehend.

And maybe he wouldn't really ever understand love in it's entirety, but he did see a version of it in you — one that was tailored for him and him only.

Mark knew it especially when after an entire year of flirty back and forths, holding each other through your biggest wins and losses, learning to be so well-versed in each other that it surpassed rationale, he asked you out.

You hadn't been particularly ecstatic, claiming you were going to ask him first but just as quick, your arms coiled around him in a tight embrace under the stars painted across the vast expanse of the universe witnessing that one deserted beach at exactly midnight.

Mark Lee fell in love with your smile but he kept falling over and over again for your heart. A heart that is irrefutably made of gold.

And he knew that if given the chance, he would remind you just how precious you are and how precious whatever it is you share is, over and over again till the sky falls.

It took Mark a while to bring you down from the pedestal he'd put you on, to accept that your love for him is as real as the existence of the world. Perhaps a speck of cosmic dust in the grand scheme of things but, to you, it is life.

That when you said "I want you to try hard, but try hard to be the best self of you. Mark, you're the sweetest, most hard-working person I have ever gotten the chance to know. So, please, don't take him away from me", you had meant every word.

It takes you snapping your fingers in front of his face to bring him out of his thoughts. You stand before him in a baggy t-shirt — one of his that you'd stolen ("permanently borrowed", you'd correct him) saying his detergent smelled better than your own — and your hair an untamed mess. You're the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

"Mark?" You whine again, cradling his face in your palms. "Baby, don't zone out again. Food?"

Huffing a laugh, Mark pulls you towards the kitchen island with a hand around your waist, "I'm here, I promise. Where do you wanna eat?"

You survey the living room that had turned into your temporary storehouse in dismay. "Dinner in bed?"

"Minus the bedframe, you mean?" Mark muses making you wail.

"Oh my God, for the last time, I'm sorry I didn't check the delivery date was so far away. Please forgive me, good sir!"

Mark clicks his tongue in faux contemplation, biting back a smile at your dramatics. "I'll think about it."

Pouting, you help Mark set the pizza boxes down by the matress in the middle of the bedroom floor, dragging him down to sit beside you. "What will it take for you to forgive me?"

"Hmm... A few kisses and maybe something else?" He smirks, wriggling his eyebrows and causing you to smack his chest.

"You're such a man," you hiss and then with a coy look, push him down to lay on his back as your straddle his waist. "Though, that can be arranged," you whisper low and sweet, but right as Mark's hands grip your hips, you roll away towards the food, "After we eat. I'm starving!"

"A minx, that's what you are!" Groaning, Mark drags you back into him, tickling your sides till you are begging to be freed.

Dinner goes on without either of you bothering to put something on the background. The T.V. isn't installed yet and though you have your laptops, the comfortable silence and occasional sparks of conversation are more than welcome.

"You think we were meant to meet?" You ask out of the blue, when the moon is high in the sky. There are empty pizza boxes crushed into the trashcan and two half-empty beer bottles rest by your feet. Your fingers trace mindless patterns on Mark's chest, nuzzling into his side while he leans against the wall as though it's a makeshift headboard. “Like there’s a huge, incomprehensible divine plan that we’re just... following?”

"Yeah," Mark says simply. Though you would loath to admit it, you admire Mark’s easy belief in his own convictions. "I think that people have, like, agency and responsibility and stuff, like – okay, so we met, but me asking for your number after that game, or asking you to move in with me was on me. The big stuff, that’s fate, or the plan, or whatever you wanna call it. But we can still choose where we go from there."

"So me and you — that’s the big stuff?" You ask teasingly, and nudge Mark with your shoulder.

He sputters comically, well-practiced indignation clear on his face, "Shut up, I’m trying to have a philosophical debate here.” But his pink ears betray him, a pretty flush creeping towards his neck.

"I kinda like the idea that it’s all random, though," you say. "Like, if everything’s a coincidence. If everything leading to this moment was just a lucky series of accidents. Don’t you think that makes it special?"

"I guess." Mark looks up at the clear doors leading to the balcony, one of the deciding factors in you settling for this building complex. The stars linger in the night like paint splattered on a dark canvas.

Back in his small shared rental, sitting out on his balcony at 3am smoking with his friends, he could count them on one hand.

The city is a graveyard of these stars, he has learned. Millions of wishes and dreams burdened onto the ones that make it past the blanket of smog just to be seen.

It takes him back to that small secluded beach in Busan, on a fleeting night amongst so many other insignificant ones. Two people, barely learning their place in the word, so utterly wrapped up in each other.

There, away from the glow of 10 million or so human lives, the stars were endless and shining in a way the city never lets them.

"It makes me feel like my life is really worth something," you continue, quieter, "If I’m here by accident, and I’m the product of so many billions of years of accidents. It makes me feel lucky. And it makes me grateful for the chance. To, you know, make something of that."

That night five years ago, maybe you both were different people, not at all the souls that remain in your body today. But if there's one secret of existence Mark had started to figure out, it would be that any version of him that came to be since you crossed paths, each one of them was utterly and irrevocably taken by the versions of you which followed.

And destiny may as well be a glorified lie crafted by people to make sense of this larger than life magnitude of adoration they can hold for another.

But Mark hopes, with everything he has, that destiny has led every variant of you and him across the universe into each others arms. Home.

©DALGOMII, 2024

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hitomisuzuya · 2 months ago

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hello! i saw requests were open, may i request brat-tamer!wanderer with brat!reader? reader is an akademiya official (maybe the librarian?) and has been teasing and penting him up all day, and when wanderer confronts reader about going home and getting whats deserved, reader tells him they cant because their working hours arent over... so wanderer decides enough is enough and fucks reader somewhere semi-secluded in the house of daena? with some degradation & choking? (can add anything else if you want~) much love 🫶

wanderer (scaramouche) x fem!reader. smut. degradation. choking. creampie. semi public sex. brat taming.

😳 i meant to write this yesterday, but bad weather, an exploded transformer and no power for like about 8 hours stopped me.

wanderer threw his head back, swallowing a moan as he rutted into your hand pumping on his cock. "that desperate for my cock, and attention, huh?" he hissed, grabbing your hand to wrap it firmer on his cock. he let out a shaky sigh of frustration when you shook his hand away, massaging your thumb on his leaking cock head.

"what's wrong, scara?"you cooed softly in his ear behind him, "you can't handle a little teasing?" you increased the pumps of your hand for a few moments, giving him the sweet friction of your hand that his cock craved.

he balled his hand into a fist. you were making his cock ache so much that he was losing his patience, "you teasing slut," he managed to finish. "we are leaving. now. you need to put in your place for," his words fell away into a soft moan tinged with further frustration as you stroked his cock feather light, "teasing me all fucking day."

being a library official that put returns back on the shelves, it was easy for you to teasing wanderer behind the bookshelves. "sorry, sweetheart, but work hours aren't over yet," you took your hand out of his shorts, and kissed him on the cheek. "i'll see you at home."

wanderer's mouth was agape as he turned to look at you, his eyes hooded into a glare that quite frankly made your pussy clench. "oh? i think i'll stick around here for awhile longer," there was a lot of weight behind his words.

you soon found that out. with a delighted smile, you thought you could continue teasing him for a few more hours. but boy, how wrong you are. you didn't expect for wanderer to turn the tables on you. and he wasn't going to give you an inch.

now the shoe was on the other foot. a few hours later, wanderer had you turned around, your hands gripping the bookshelf as he pounded his cock into you from behind. his fingers wrapped around your throat as you threw your head back, his cock head kissing into your sweet spot relentlessly. "you brat. did you think i was going to let you get away with this, whore?" his fingers prodded against your throat, tearing a moan that you couldn't swallow from you.

wanderer couldn't help but chuckle darkly. "you should stay quiet. or do you want everyone in the house of daena to see me impaling you on my cock?" he trapped your wrists together in his free hand, pinning them to the bookshelf, his cock making almost unholy squelching noises in and out of your pussy. "they will find out that their sweet, shy nerd who shelves returns is a total slut," his groan of pleasure as your cunt squeezed around his cock spoke volumes how good it felt to finally stretch your pussy apart.

you mewl as you push back into his cock. "ah! please. fuck me harder," you struggle to moan as best you could, shivering as his fingers tightened on your throat.

wanderer let go your wrists, bringing his hand down across your ass. "you brat, teasing me all day and thinking you can dictate how hard i fuck you," he obliged your pathetic plea, though. your cunt clenching around his cock just felt so fucking good.

your eyes rolled into the back of your head, your orgasm building up intense and fast the more he squeezed. but don't worry, he would choke you just enough to still hear you struggle to moan to for him. his cock only throbbed harder witnessing your body quake as his cock bullied your sweet spot.

wanderer smacked a hand across your ass again, soothing the sting with his palm. "what's wrong, hunny," he purred in a sweet, condescending voice. "can't handle it? i should've put you on your knees first for your insolence," nothing saying he couldn't ruin your throat once you got home later.

your pussy squeezed around his cock just right. he increased his pace, shuddering in pleasure as his cock roped cum inside of you. "tell me, slut, do you wanna cum?" he asked, licking the shell of your ear as his hips continued to smack against yours.

you nodded as best you could, eagerly pushing back against his cock as pleasure burst white hot behind your eyes. his fingers tightened on your throat a little more, his hand drifting down to your clit. it was almost embarrassing how little it took to make you cum hard on his cock.

with a few calculated pinches and flicks to your throbbing clit, the knot of your orgasm shattered like glass. through the dizzying haze of pleasure, you are quite certain you would've screamed for him.

wanderer smirked behind you, rubbing your clit while he fucked you through your orgasm. your body felt limp and relaxed in his grip. submissive. "good girl," he praised, pulling out and licking his lips as cum seeped from your abused hole. "you know your place again."

#genshin impact #genshin smut #fem!reader #genshin imagines #wanderer #wanderer x reader #wanderer x you #wanderer x y/n #wanderer smut #scaramouche #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you

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samkerrworshipper · 3 months ago

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the lawn is dead. pt.2

hi! i wrote a part 2! i’m on a unofficial hiatus but had some inspiration the last few days and had to finish this. hope it provides a little bit more comfort then the last chapter .. sorry xo

warnings: suicidal themes, self harm themes, themes of depression, anxiety, dark thoughts. viewer discretion advised.

You can describe the carpet of this office better then most people can describe themselves.

It’s a rug, for the most part, except for the where it’s clear a person has chosen laziness in favour of lifting up the heavier furniture to place the rug down underneath it. Where the rug doesn’t cover, there is bleak grey carpet that feels more boring then the time you spend in this room.

Where the carpet lacks in literally everything, the rug makes up for it blindingly.

It’s a messy mixture of far too many colours, pinks, purples, blues, greens and neutrals. It doesn’t make any sense in your mind, why somebody would chose for the focal point of their room to be a rug that doesn’t match with any of the furniture. It’s another sign that the furniture came before the rug, all of the furniture is dark mahogany, beautiful pieces that look as if they’ve come from and English period piece, whereas the rug looks so modern it’s almost painful.

The rest of the furniture has been picked with similar taste.

The painting on the wall looks like what a child would vomit after going to a birthday party. Every time you’ve come here you’ve had a new analogy, but this week that is the one, it looks like stomach contents and you can’t get past it, to the point it’s made you physically nauseated.

From the painting moves onto the bookshelf, where there is a odd mix of medical textbooks, classics and selfawareness books, all stacked in such disarray that you have to keep your eyes away because it makes you uncomfortable.

Beyond the furniture is your psychologist, with her stupid fucking note pad, stupid glasses perched on the very tip of her nose and stupidly calm face that never really changed.

She was supposed to be a specialist, the best of the best, supposed to be the greatest and getting to the bottom of the most famous athletes problems and yet you found pride in alluding her.

One hour, every four days was what you were down to now, a couple of weeks ago it had been every other day and that had been fucking torture.

Sometimes all you wanted to do was rip her eyeballs out, or her brains, or something else. You swore she made your ears bleed and your will to live deteriorate with every second and it was already pretty low.

“You can’t avoid my question forever.”

It was also that annoying tone that sent you, the sort of tone that meant she knew that technically for the whole of the hour she could ask you whatever she pleased and you were technically supposed to answer her. Defiance on your end just ended up in you being suspended from something else that made your life just a tiny bit more liveable.

“No, I haven’t talked to Mapi yet.”

You’ve been avoiding it, there have bits and pieces of homework from your therapist, but this one is by far the hardest.

“How about Alexia, how does she feel about that.”

You don’t want to tell her that you and Alexia are in shambles as it is, add on the pressure of her best friend being psychologically destroyed because of you and just talking about any of it at all and it’s like dynamite.

“Supportive.”

Your therapist nods, but in the way that you know she doesn’t quite believe you.

“Have you started to reintegrate with the team? I know last time we talked you mentioned that before the incident you’d been feeling quite isolated because of your ankle injury. It’s important that you start to normalise your life again before you start to self isolate.”

You don’t call it self-isolation, you like to call it self protection. You protect yourself by pushing against the grain, by keeping to yourself. It’s a lot easier that way.

“I’ve been busy.”

It’s a lie and a blatant one, your days are filled with complete nothingness. You can’t play football, not until she clears you, and you know that it’s not going to happen anytime soon based on the trend of your current sessions. There has been the same amount of progress as there was two weeks ago when you started with her. You shut down at every attempt she makes to try and open you up, you talk when you have to. It’ll probably get you sent back to a ward. You don’t remember much from your transition from the hospital to home, but you do remember signing something that referred to you making significant process or else you would be sent back.

Progress for your therapist is getting more then two word responses from you. You��re aware she’s in kahoots with Alexia, that Alexia is probably providing her more information then you are.

“You’re giving me the look that means that you’re writing something down along the lines of ‘unncooperative’.”

She is also in kahoots with the staff at Barcelona, another thing you signed was that she would work in conjunction with the clubs doctors to get you back to where you were, or somewhere in the vicinity.

They know every time you have a bad session, you’re guaranteed a consolation call from one of the coaches or even sometimes a teammate check-in telling you how brave you are and how strong you are for doing this.

You don’t agree, you nearly took the cowards way out and you’re proud of it. You wish it had fucking worked, every single second, of every single day, you wish you’d succeeded, wished that this hadn’t all ended up how it did.

“That’s not what I wrote, I wrote a observation. Uncooperative would be you refusing to speak to me like you did for our first two sessions, even if you lie it’s still trying.”

You don’t want to be curious of her, you’ve tried to give her as little attention as possible.

You’ve adapted the act that you call, therapised you.

You do your best job of smiling here and there, or at least when you know that you’re supposed to. Therapised you extends to a few people, Alexia, coaches, physios, people on the street.

You believe you’ve become a seasoned liar.

The funniest part is that sometimes you start to believe your act, you start to believe that all the ash and embers in your chest is really alight with flames, like you’re truly alive.

But then, you would pause, sit down, lie down, dissasociate and you would be reminded that that wasn’t your body. Your body wasn’t a place of life and prosper, it was as dead as anywhere else.

“What was the observation?”

You try not to be curious over her, or curious in general, you keep everything to yourself.

“You’ve told me time and time again that you attempted because you believed that not a single person would care if you were gone. Yet you wrote a letter, you knew that somebody would care, somebody would miss you. Guilt is what kept you from doing it earlier and guilt was what kept you from vanishing without a trace. Your conscience was clean in your own words, but that’s not true, your conscience was anything but clean. So what pushed you over?”

You hate that therapists have a way of worming out weird bits of information that they can use against you to worm out more bits of information, like they know your brain inside to out.

“My conscience was clean.”

Your therapist pulls her glasses up from her nose and scribbles on her pad again.

“Why’d you write a note then, specifically why did you write a note to your ex girlfriend?”

There are so many things you could say to that, but you can’t quite find the words.

“Let me rephrase to make it easier. When you were in the hospital, and Alexia reacted so viscerally, you weren’t surprised. You expected her to feel something about what happened, you didn’t seem surprised at all by her words or actions. You knew that she was going to be hurt by what you did. So, how was your conscience truly clean?”

Thinking about Alexia in the hospital makes you feel as nauseous as the furniture does.

Your still mad at her, still mad at yourself for never changing her as your medical contact and medical proxy. It had all been a clusterfuck.

“I didn’t know Alexia was going to be there, I though that she’d washed her hands of me. I left her a note because I thought there had been things left unsaid between us and I didn’t want to leave that way.”

Your therapist nods, she doesn’t scribble this time and that makes the itchy feeling all over you die down a little bit.

“Alright, let’s move on. Your ankle injury, how’s that going?”

You look to the window, it’s a horrible day outside, just your luck when you’d chosen to walk to your therapists office on what was supposed to be a 20 degree day with sunny skies. It was the epitome of your life, high expectations, low realities.

“Well three weeks between a hospital and psychiatric facility are probably the best thing anybody can do for a injury.”

You let out a self-deprecating chuckle and your therapist does nothing but scribble.

“So you’ve been doing your rehab as advised then?”

Rehab, both kinds, is mind-bogglingly boring. You go to your therapist and she tells you all the ways you have to work to rehab your brain, she gives you medication after medication and exercise after exercise. The same happens every time you see your physio, test after test, exercise after exercise.

Your stuck in the same cycle of boredom, it makes you wonder how people ever expect you to get better when all you are doing is living in a constant state of suffering.

“The physios are happy with me, say that if I continue on the track that I am I should be back on the pitch in a few weeks, with psychological clearance.”

At the current therapeutic rate your going at, you don’t think you’ll see a psychological clearance until your 50th birthday, if you’re lucky.

“How does it feel coming back from that injury, especially considering how the decline in your physical health simulatenously resulted in the decrease in your mental health?”

You keep silent, because you know that if you talk then it’s doing to be something emotional. When you don’t know how to answer questions without exposing yourself you opt to keep quiet, it’s a obvious tell that you feel uncomfortable with the question. But giving away a tell is a whole lot better then starting an emotional downpour.

“Y/n?”

You look at your shoes. You only were allowed to start wearing one on your bad foot a week ago, and you’d forgotten how hard it was to coordinate shoes with your clothes. This morning you’d thought that they matched with your pants but now they look much darker then they truly are against the grey carpet. The mix of your navy adidas that you might have stolen from Mapi’s wardrobe a couple of months ago when she was complaining about the amount of shoes she’d been sent with your grey wide leg pants was a interesting choice but therapy wasn’t a fashion parade. The shoes don’t quite fit your feet, that’sc how you remembered they weren’t yours. When you’d taken them, it had been during some kind of team bonding night at Mapi and Ingrid’s apartment. Life had been so good, Alexia and you had been so good and for once you’d kind of felt like you were beginning to fit in.You’d never felt that way before that era of your life.

But like most things, it was now a far distant memory.

“The injury wasn’t what made me depressed.”

It’s a half truth, you suppose. Yes, the injury definitely contributed to the factors that trigger your depression, but it wasn’t a sole cause.

“I disagree.”

More scribbling on her note pad, in your opinion it must be some psychological form of torture. You’ll google it when you get home, check to make sure that this isn’t a form of manipulation to somehow convince you to say the things that she wants you to.

“If you disagree then tell me why you think that.”

It’s daring of you to say, there is nearly a 99.99 percent chance that whatever she says you are going to deny vehemently. Even if she hits it right on the nail.

“I think that you don’t give yourself enough grace for the challenges that you’ve gone through. You came to Barcelona because you were running from things, from your past. You’ve never stopped running, truly. Everytime somebody gets close enough to begin to try and worm their feet into your shoes to try and relive some of it with you, you shut them down and stop it. For most people, shoes are a means of getting to where they want, for you, you keep running because if you stop you feel like you’ll suffocate, like your feet will be wrapped up in barb wire and you’ll be stuck. For whatever reason, you don’t think anybody will ever be able to empathise with that. You think that if you ever let anybody in for long enough that they learn what you’ve been running from that they’ll try and stop you, that you’ll be faced with everything that you’ve ever struggled with. So, you keep running, and running, you’ve always been in a state of escape. With your relationship, you finally stopped running, you slowed to a jog. Then, you got injured. All of a sudden you felt like you were stuck and instead of letting yourself finally come to a stop and accepting help and complete love for once in your life, and being vulnerable. You chose to start running again, running from your friends, running from your team, running from every single good thing that you’d gotten in your life until you were so consumed with all the running that you just wanted it all to stop. But you didn’t know how to stop parts of your life without stopping other parts, so you chose to stop it all.”

You don’t know what to say for a few seconds. You’ve never had the feeling that you’ve been experiencing your whole life summed up, you don’t know how to feel about it.

You look at your psychologist, and somehow she looks back at you in a way that you somehow feel like she understands, you’ve never really felt that way about her.

It’s always felt like she’s judging you, like it’s her job to judge every single thing you say. Or at least that’s the way you’ve always seen it. It’s her job to make sure you don’t fall of the rails again, to make decisions about what you can and can’t do. It’s never been a possibility for you that maybe she’s here for a little bit more then just the business side of it all.

“Is that it? Did you come to a point where it felt like you had no other option but to just make it all stop?”

You bite your lip so hard you think it might just bleed, it’s a mission to try and stop the tears that have begun to cling to the back of your eyes at bay. You’ve never cried during a therapy session, and there is no reason why today should be different. The amount of people you’ve cried in front of is limited to a very, very short list of people and you don’t intend for your psychologist to be added.

“It would be okay if that was it. It’s okay to admit that for you at that time it felt like there was no other option but to make it all stop.”

You feel muzzled, like you can’t speak without admitting to something that you don’t want to.

“I thought it would make it all better.”

Your therapist puts down her notepad, and you feel a whole load of anxiety rush out of you.

“You thought it would make what better?”

You keep your tooth pinned to your lip, if it draws blood, it draws blood. The pain helps to take your focus off of the word vomit you can feel coming up.

“Everyone else’s lives.”

Your response is croaky, and when your therapist points to the glass of water you don’t shake your head like normal, you find yourself reaching for it and taking a few tentative sips.

“What about your life, what about making your own life better?”

You take a few more sips, because it stalls the conversation for long enough that you can think up an answer that doesn’t make it sound like you are completely insane.

“I was never really thinking about it like that.”

You look at her, eye to eye again, and there is this weird understanding between the two of you. You can feel it, whether or not it’s real, for the first time you feel like you aren’t crazy for thinking the way that you do. It’s a weird kind of safety that you’ve never had.

“For a minute, I want you to close your eyes and think about exactly what you want, whether it’s the future, it’s right now. Not football, not other people, nobody else. Just you.”

You humour her, and close your eyes.

For a few seconds, you can’t think of much. You’ve never been a future thinker, not beyond emergency plans and second options.

You think about death for a few seconds, a couple of weeks ago it was all you could think of. Permanent, irreversible disappearance. Even then though, it wasn’t what you were actually yearning for, not truly, it was just an easy solution to complex problems, problems that still haven’t been solved.

You think long and hard, and eventually you find a pleasantness.

You want to resolve things with Alexia, you know that for sure. It’s been impossible trying to navigate your relationship in your new reality. You want to get to a place where it’s less impossible. You want happiness with her, pure happiness. You also want some kind of return to football, you don’t know how. You’ve never really played football because it’s what you love, you’ve never loved your sport, it’s more been about having something that could take you places when inevitable wherever you had been was no longer an option because you’d somehow fucked it up.

You want a better relationship with yourself, you want to understand why you think the way you do and why you can’t think the same way and be the same way as everyone. You want to get past the fear you have that you will never be the same.

When you have nothing else to think about, you open your eyes, to your psychologist smiling at you.

“That’s our hour, I’m really happy to leave this here and circle back to some of it in a couple of days. The progress you’re making is definitely getting bigger and I’m happy to sign off on you getting some hours in the gym if your physios are happy with it. I’ll call the team tonight and we can work out a plan that works best.”

You’re in slight disbelief as she speaks.

“You’re sure?”

You stay seated for the sake of making sure that you haven’t somehow dreamt up what she’s just said.

“If you try and make some progress with your homework. I want you to try and talk to Mapi, a text message, coffee, something. I want you to talk to Alexia beyond her being a caregiver for you and I want you to make progress with your teammates, don’t avoid the gym if you know they are going to be there, don’t avoid team events, dip a toe in the water with them and I can guarantee you will have a very different outcome then what you think.”

Contingencies. One thing you’ve learnt about therapy is that there are always contingencies, it’s always a give and take, never one or the other.

You nod your head anyways, somehow, with her weird manipulation games you’ve managed to agree to something that the version of you from and hour ago never would have.

“I’ll try.”

Your therapist smiles and stands up, for whatever reason there is always a part of you that loves the end of your sessions but also never wants to leave.

Whether it seems like it or not, you actually do want to get better, you just don’t know what better looks like for you and that’s scary. You’ve never met the version of yourself that is ‘better’ or ‘normal’. You can’t say that you want to be your old self because there hasn’t ever been a version of yourself that feels better. You’ve always been in the slums, always been dragging yourself through the thickest mud to try and make it to the end of a day or month or year. You don’t actually want to survive like that, you want to live your life properly, or whatever non-sluggish life looks like for you.

Your still desperately trying to work that out.

Alexia is waiting in the carpark as usual, it’s always the same carpark, always the same consolation hot chocolate in her hands afterwards.

Once you’ve sat down in her passenger seat, put on your seatbelt and the takeaway cup is settled in your hands she broaches the topic of your session.

“How was it?”

There is always an awkwardness around your sessions, Alexia picks your up from every one, on the odd occasion she’ll join in if your therapist thinks it would be good. Otherwise, she spends the time sitting in her car and picking up hot drinks.

It’s infinitely awkward between the two of you, but Alexia in your opinion is mostly to blame for that.

She’d been the first person to put her hand up to be your carer, your glorified babysitter.

You know it’s a guilt thing, she feels guilty that part of your pain could have been because of her, even though you’ve insisted time and time again that it wasn’t.

“Fine.”

Therapy is a tough topic for you, mostly because you’ve never wanted to be there in the first place. You’d been tricked into going from the beginning, Alexia insisting that she was taking you to a appointment to check up on your scars when really it had been to your psychologists office. You’d yelled and screamed and insisted that she take you home, but at the end of the day if you ever wanted to play football again it was obvious you were going to have to suck it up.

You hadn’t talked to Alexia for days after that, which is funny because that was less then three weeks ago and now you’re here.

“Fine?”

You nod your head, it’s hard to find words after a normal session, but after this one it’s ever harder.

“I made some progress.”

Alexia nods, you know there are probably a hundred questions going through her head right now, but she won’t ask them. She’s too scared that if she asks them, she’ll get an answer that will terrify her. One that will restart all of the problems, even if that isn’t really how it works. Alexia doesn’t understand mental health, that’s become frighteningly obvious over the past few weeks. She doesn’t understand your struggles because she’s never experienced them. She’s never had self hatred or depression or overwhelming anxiety. It’s what makes you feel so alienated and so out of place amongst your peers. You feel like a shark amongst a sea of dolphins, like you look the same but when it comes down to it you are completely different.

“That’s good, no?”

You nod your head, disguising the grimace on your face by the mouth of the lid on your hot chocolate.

“She says I can start doing some hours in the gym.”

Alexia smiles, big and wide, like it’s her whose been given the good news.

“That’s good bebita, you’ll be on the pitch in no time.”

The pitch. It’s all Alexia cares about.

When you can be back, how she can get you to the point you can be back. Because when Alexia is injured, it’s all she cares about. What she can do to get herself back on the pitch, how she can make the rehab process faster, she thinks of every single logistic and possibility.

You want to make it back to the pitch, or you think you do. But it’s not your priority. It’s become abundantly clear that your main priority has to be yourself, figuring yourself out.

“Mhm.”

You focus your energy on counting how many bike riders pass Alexia’s car as she navigates through peak city traffic. You get to 38 before she interrupts your intense search for every person on two wheels.

“Vicky’s supposed to be coming over later, I promised I’d help her with a school project. I can go to her house instead if you’d prefer?”

Every time Alexia’s broached the topic of teammates you’ve immediately refused any contact, and your immediate reaction is to say no. but you think about what your therapist said.

“I might text Mapi and see if she wants to talk to me.”

You hear the sound of Alexia’s shock in the form of a choken sort of cough, she tries to cover it up by slapping her hand against the wheel of her car, but it doesn’t do much.

“I think that would be a really good idea, bebita, I think she would be really happy to see you.”

You don’t look at Alexia, you don’t want to see the look of perplexion or shock or whatever emotion she’s going through. You haven’t seen Mapi since the hospital, and as little as you remember from then, you remember Mapi very clearly.

She had been just as out of it as you’d been, refusing to leave your bedside but Ingrid having to do everything for her to keep her alive. Every time she visited you, she looked like she’d seen a ghost, or something worse. You weren’t sure what was worse, seeing somebody dead or seeing somebody who was hanging on the cliff of life and death and having to save their life, knowing that if action hadn’t of been taken they would be dead.

Definitely the latter.

“I’ll text her, see if she can come and pick you up before Vicky comes over?”

You nod your head, allowing yourself to focus back on counting your tally, except moving over to motorcycles this time.

You shower with the bathroom door halfway open. There are no sharps anywhere in your apartment, knives, razors, scissors, nail clippers, vegetable peelers, glasses, anything that could cause any kind of bodily harm. For now, you aren’t allowed to be left alone for longer then an hour. You sleep with your bedroom door open and Alexia sleeping in the guest room next door. You eat a set meal plan, you do two hours of rehab every single day, you live on a schedule that is so carefully planned that you have no time to yourself and yet every single moment feels lonely.

It’s a process, you’ve been told. It’s crucial to your recovery that there are measurements in place to assure your ‘success’.

Alexia knocks on your door every five minutes whilst you shower, you yell back every time.

It had become a rule after the first time you’d showered with the door open you’d made a joke about using the shower curtain to harm yourself, because what did they really expect you to be doing?

It hadn’t gone well, Alexia going silent for a few days and a very heated conversation with your psychologist about the inappropriateness of making jokes about suicide.

It was your trauma, it was your fucking story, and everyone was acting like it was their most sensitive issue.

Bathrooms are a bit of a touchy subject, you don’t shower in your ensuite bathroom anymore, you can’t. The room has permanently been blocked off, completely forgotten about.

The first thing you want to do once you’ve ‘recovered’ is leave this apartment, there are to many bad memories, it feels like you’ll never be able to recover if your stuck in the same place that you were in when it all went bad.

It’s a problem for when you can deal with the stress of packing up your whole life and moving it to somewhere.

When you shut the water off and step out of the warm stream you let yourself breathe, showers are the only real alone time you get. Everywhere else you are supervised, watched like a hawk to make sure that you don’t try anything else that could jeopardise your return to football. The reality is that Barca can’t afford to have you sit on the sideline for a whole season, they need you back, they can’t risk another slip up.

Alexia at least gives you the privacy of getting dressed in your own wardrobe, all of your wired bras have been removed, but for the most part it’s all normal.

You get dressed in another sweat suit, it’s become your new uniform over the last few weeks, no draw strings of course.

Your hair gets swept into a messy bun, it’s too much effort to deal with the brushing and braiding and tying that you would have normally gone through with a couple of weeks ago. You aren’t allowed to wear jewellery anymore so your accessories consist of pretty much nothing. You’re bare from the bones to your clothes, your soul feels as bare as the rest of your body.

You’re allowed to wear laced shoes, but you often opt not to, slip on birkenstocks or uggs are just easier. The Barcelona January chill has been getting to you recently, so you upt for your ugg boots.

Your outfit choice is the most choice you get in your day, so you try and put as little thinking into it as possible, it’s easier for you to just succumb to the reality that everything in your life is controlled by other people.

By the time you’ve finished, you’re towing very close to the time Mapi had told Alexia she’d come and meet you. You collect the things that you might need from your vanity and shove them in your pocket, before making your way out to your living room.

It’s unofficially become Alexia’s office, her laptop and books cover your dining table now. She lives out of your apartment, leaves only for training and barcelona commitments, so it’s fair to say that she’s made herself at home.

When you were living together before, it had bothered you more, having her things everywhere. Alexia is a organiser, of everything and everybody but herself. You’d spend hours telling her to pick up her shoes from random spots around the apartment floor or getting her to pick up random clothing items laying on top of pieces of furniture. This mess is different, it reflects how the situation is different. There is nothing comfortable about your predicament, it’s not the same kind of comfortable coexistence you had when you were dating Alexia.

There is a boundary between the two of you now and it makes it all so much more confusing.

Alexia isn’t just your friend or your teammate, she’s you caregiver, the person who holds you accountable, unofficially the person who is supposed to keep you from doing anything to yourself. It adds a whole layer of stress to the situation, you can’t relax around her the same way you used to.

Your relationship is never going to be the same, but parts of you wished that Alexia hadn’t taken over the burden of caring for you, because maybe the two of you could work on rebuilding yourselves as a couple instead of Alexia trying to rebuild you as a person, as if you are a broken lego set that needed to be put back together.

She spends most of her time in your living room, doesn’t push the boundary of your bedroom unless it’s needed.

She’s sat at the kitchen table, preparing herself to help with whatever project it is that Vicky needs help with.

“Shouldn’t Vicky have maybe asked one of the younger girls? You’re practically ancient now, they probably teach the kids these days history from when you were growing up.”

Whatever Alexia looks like she’s going to be helping with looks like something she’s definitely not qualified in, although Alexia’s never the person to say no.

“You’re acting like I’m a dinosaur, I’m only four years older then you.”

She rolls her eyes at you and it feels so normal, for a second you feel so much more normal. Life would be so much easier if everybody stopped treating you like a fine fucking piece of china. An eye roll here or there, a yell here or there, some kind of emotion beyond sympathy would be nice.

“I mean, in comparison to Vicky you’re pretty much from the stone ages.”

Alexia rolls her eyes again, she looks like she’s about to fight back against you but a knock at the door silences you both.

All of a sudden the little smile is gone and the air goes thick again, thick with the reminder that you can’t just exist in a bubble of nothingness were nobody else exists and you can just be free from everything.

Alexia gets up to open the door, and you let her, allowing yourself to loiter around the table and enjoy the moment for just a little bit longer. It’s that moment that might just get you through what is about to happen.

Alexia calls for you and you know it’s Mapi, you know it’s Mapi because Mapi won’t step foot in your apartment.

Ingrid had come to visit when you’d come home, along with a handful of other people, but Mapi hadn’t been one of them. Ingrid had explained that it had been to hard for her, that she’d made it to the door but couldn’t come in, and you couldn’t find it in you to blame her.

Mapi smiles at you when she sees you, it’s the first time you’ve seen her since the hospital and the both of you look very different since then.

She looks less dead, that’s the first thing you take notice of. She doesn’t look like she would blow away into a puff of smoke if a gust of wind came past. She looks good, she looks healed.

Mapi and you don’t talk, for whatever reason, you take the normal walk you would every sunday morning before it happened.

Down from your apartment, onto the main street, up to the mouth of the road, across the street and then onto the boardwalk.

It’s the main reason you chose your apartment, it’s right next to the beach. Perfect for post matchday swims and a morning walk on the beach. It used to be yours and Mapi’s pregame routine and it’s easy to fall into the rhythm of your feet moving down the sidewalk.

No words are spoken until the two of you are seated on the sand, a wordless agreement that you both come to when your toes hit the beach.

You’re both seated, your eyes looking over the horizon. Your too scared to break the silence, so you wait for Mapi.

“You look good, chica.”

You nod your head, you feel better, you must look better then how you did.

“I feel better.”

Mapi nods, when her hand reaches out to sit on top of your own on the sand, you don’t flinch away, it feels good to have a physical connection with a person who isn’t Alexia.

The silence falls over the two of you again, except this time it feels less uncomfortable. You let it linger for a little bit, before you feel in a place to speak.

“I need to say thank you. I know I said some things in the hospital, I meant it in the moment but I want to take it back now. You saved me, you did something so brave and amazing and the version of me now is so grateful that you did.”

Mapi stops your rant, before you can say something else.

“I would have done it for anybody else.”

The problem is you think, that you aren’t anybody else. It would be so much easier to give cpr to a random person on the street and never see them again, never have to be worried that you would see them again and there would be some kind of problem.

“But you did it for me. You saved me from myself, and I want you to know that I genuinely am so thankful for you. You didn’t choose the easy option and I put you in a extremely hard position. If anything had of happened to me, you would have blamed yourself and it wouldn’t have been your fault but you would have felt like it was.”

Mapi nods, and then you hear a sniffle and it makes you feel horrible.

Mapi’s crying, she’s crying and you don’t know what to do.

“You begged me to reverse it, in the hospital, you didn’t say some things. You begged me to stab you or do something. You told me it was my fault you were alive and that it was my responsibility to undo what I’d done.”

You take a deep breath, you didn’t remember it being that bad, but you remember Alexia telling you that some of the things you’d said had been unrepeatable.

“I can’t reverse what I said, in that moment I was in so much pain Maps. I actually can’t tell you how much pain i was in, all I wanted was to disappear. I’m working through not feeling that way and that starts by apologising. You did not deserve to experience what you did. You did not deserve to see what you did. You did not deserve to hear what I said to you. I am sorry. There is nothing I can say that will make any of it okay, I am sorry that for whatever reason god chose you to be the person burdened with this. I am so sorry.”

Mapi sniffles again. You knew that the possibility of no reconciliation was possible, that Mapi would reject any offer of apologies you had, you’d just really hoped it wouldn’t be like that.

“You’ve been like a little sister to me. I know you didn’t feel like we were that close, but I saw so much of me in you from when I was younger, and that was part of the reason I ended up at your apartment that night. Because I was worried, more then anybody else. I had this weird feeling, and I hated that I was right about it. You were like my little sister, and I watched as they strapped you onto a gurney and wheeled you off whilst telling me that they would try their hardest. I don’t blame you, there is no blame for something like this. But I need you to understand that I can’t just get over what I www, I’m working through it, I’m trying. My therapist has really been helping me, but it’s not going to disappear.”

You nod, Mapi and you have been through two mirroring experiences, and oddly you feel the same way about your own therapy. You’re working through it, you’re trying, but nothing that has happened is ever going to disappear, with yourself or with your peers.

“Maps, you’re allowed to experience however you want. If you never want to see me again I won’t hate you.”

Mapi shakes her head.

“I don’t know how I feel yet, I just need you to know that I understand that the you right now is different to the you from weeks ago, and you are entitled to separate yourself from that person. You don’t have to be that person if you don’t want to be. Let yourself live in the new version of you, the old version died back then.”

You bite your lip, there is beginning to become a permanent divet from your front teeth, you like it in a weird way.

“I’m trying, I’m really trying.”

Mapi nods, raising her arm from your hand, to your shoulders, bringing you into her side.

“We’ll try together then, huh? You try for me and I’ll try for you?”

You nod your head, and for the first time it doesn’t feel like you’re totally alone in the battle that you’re fighting. It’s still very much your battle, but it feels like you have somebody in your corner letting you know that you are going to be okay.

—————————————

well aware it’s not edited… if u have an issue with that such my dick xoxo

hope you enjoyed !!!! 🫶🫶🫶🫶

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reiderwriter · 8 months ago

Text

In Case I'm Mistaken

Chapter Five of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Your first run-in with Spencer Reid since he left you so spectacularly is fraught with tension. Sexual and otherwise.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI pregnancy symptoms, morning sickness/ throwing up, fingering, rough sex, semi-public sex, penetrative sex, choking, slapping, creampie but she's pregnant already, mild case details, etc.

A/N: We're halfway through! I sincerely hope everyone enjoys how stupid and oblivious Spencer is being because I can't promise he'll wise up anytime soon lmao. If you're enjoying the series, let me know in the comments ♡

Masterlist || Add yourself to the tag list

When you left Spencer's apartment, you expected a call or a text or an email in the next three days. Penelope told you that's most likely when they'd wrap the case and when he'd be back at his apartment to see the stunt you had pulled.

You tried to force yourself back to work in the meantime, and it almost worked. Until you had to spend three hours a day crouched over a toilet bowl, emptying your stomach lining again and again. You had spent almost a full month like that before you realised you hadn't heard from him.

First, it was cases, then it was casework, and then it was cases again, but if probed, Spencer truly would have no idea you'd tried to get in contact with him at all. And it seemed he didn't care in the slightest.

He'd been home, but he hadn't been looking for anything out of place, so he hadn't seen anything out of place. Certainly not a bookshelf spelling out “CALL ME WHEN YOU GET THIS.” It was your choice to leave the cryptic message though, and you hadn't exactly left him any notes to say that you'd dropped by.

But finding out you were pregnant on a night you'd half-expected to throttle the man who'd impregnated you (verbally) and then having cried on his couch with one of his very close female friends? Yeah, you were confused and lost, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.

With emotions and hormones running high, you couldn't even tell if Spencer was purposefully ignoring you or not.

The only saving grace in that month was your promotion.

It literally could not have come at a better time, and you'd enjoyed signing the papers greatly knowing you'd be blindsiding your boss with a pregnancy announcement in the next three months, should you be able to carry the baby successfully to that point.

You'd had your first check-up without a call from Spencer. You'd picked out your first baby outfit without a call from Spencer. You were pretty confident that you'd give birth to the goddamn baby without a call from Spencer.

Which is why when you found him in your office a month later, you wanted to wrap your hands around his neck and slowly choke the life out of him.

Between classes, you'd taken to running to the bathroom to hang your head in shame, not over morning sickness at all yet. You'd taken to keeping cereal bars and pregnancy safe snacks in your office in case you needed something else to help you power through the morning.

That morning was worse than others, with less than half your students in attendance and still two hours to waste standing up in front of a podium - department rules.

You'd thought you were going to expire in front of that toilet bowl, sending up your prayers as you checked your watch and realised you'd have a class again in an hour or two that you weren't fully prepped for.

So you slinked back to your office and tried to throw yourself onto the sofa, but unfortunately for you, a large man was blocking your way.

“Can I help you?” You eked out, voice weak but still able to convey all the annoyance you felt at the door.

“Sorry, sorry, this is your…?" The man said, smiling down at you. You had to give it to him, the man was good looking but you just waited for him to stand aside again.

“Do you mind?” You said, gesturing to the door you now knew the man was blocking. He wasn't letting you in for some reason, and you couldn't for the life of you figure out why. It was your goddamn office for christ's sake. Your snacks were inside.

“Sorry, following orders.”

“Right, and whose orders would those be Mr…”

“SSA Luke Alvez,” he said, holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

You'd have introduced yourself politely under any other circumstances but in reaching out his hand and giving his title, you'd seen the flash of his FBI badge on his hip and knew exactly who was behind this.

“Son of a bitch,” you muttered, ducking under the man's arms and slamming the door to your office open to find Doctor Spencer Reid huddled over some files, two women flanking him on either side.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

The two women looked taken aback, straightening immediately as they looked between you and Spencer. He was slow to take his eyes off whatever it was they were working on, as if playing with you once again.

You really regretted keeping his desk around, seeing how comfortable he looked there, how normal it was for you to see him there.

“Doctor Y/N. Nice to see you again.”

“Nice to-?” You scoffed and slammed the door once more. “Yeah. Okay.”

One of the women quickly excused herself from the situation, almost as soon as she realised that once you'd finally locked eyes with Spencer, neither of you looked away.

“I'm sorry to intrude, my name is Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss, I'm the Unit Chief of the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit. We really wouldn't be here if it weren't an emergency.”

You had to give it to the woman, but she caught on quickly and stepped between the two of you, breaking eye contact and forcing your attention onto her. You introduced yourself quickly.

“Doctor Y/N Y/L/N. I trudt that if you're here, something bad has happened.”

You noticed a flash of something as Emily shook your hand, hearing your name. It was subtle, and it was quick, but you saw her eyes flick to your stomach and then back up, and you froze.

She knew. Penelope hadn't exactly broken your trust - you never told her to keep a secret from anyone but Spencer - but you felt your guard go back up twofold.

“Emily, can I talk privately with Y/N for a moment?” Spencer asked, and you resisted the urge to cradle yourself, to cover whatever it was she may have seen in your appearance or the way you held yourself that became your tell.

You wanted to tell Spencer you were pregnant, sure, but you'd wanted to tell him a month ago. Now? Now you were pissed off.

The older woman quietly bowed out, reminding Spencer to reconvene with her in another hour. She shut the door quietly after she went, and you listened carefully to the retreating murmurs of her and the other agent down the hall until you were confident you were more or less alone.

And then you picked up the nearest book and threw it.

“Y/N! Listen, I can explain-”

You threw another book, and this one hit his arm. He winced and rubbed it quickly as he flinched away from you, picking up your third weapon.

“Explain what? Explain why you've commandeered my office for secret FBI business? Explain why you left me behind like a discarded cum rag after we had sex? Maybe you-”

“Y/N, I had a case, I didn't want to-” You threw another book, but he batted it away this time.

“Can we just talk like adults, please?” He stepped forward and grabbed your wrist just as you reloaded with another book, forcing the tome from your grip in a few seconds.

“The Norton Anthology? Really? You'd bludgeon me to death with that thing.”

“It has some interesting essays on psychoanalysis and literary theory. You should be honoured that I'd even think of throwing it at you.”

He just scowled and sat you down on the couch, following you there to sit next to you.

“Why are you still so frustrated? I thought we moved past this- this resentment?”

For the last few weeks, you'd hoped that Spencer was just clueless about what you were going through. That he'd been swamped with work and hadn't seen your message. But getting the confirmation in real time was winding.

The air was knocked from your lungs, and you had to fight to fill them again, refusing to let yourself be so downright pathetic.

“What resentment did we move past exactly, Spencer? Because I remember the sex, but I do not remember your apology.”

“Why should I apologise?” The sincerity in his voice had your fingers itching to knock his lights off for him.

“Well, gee, for a starter, maybe for finding my address online and showing up to my house uninvited and unannounced.”

“I did announce it. You just blocked my number and email.”

You scoffed and threw yourself back in your chair.

“Number, yes. Email? No. You sent it from an unauthorised network email. All your emails sat in my spam folder until last month.”

He furrowed his brows at the news, but you just crossed your arms and waited for whatever he'd say next to get out of taking responsibility.

“I'm sorry.”

To say you weren't expecting that was an understatement. You felt so uncomfortable with the words you fidgeted in your seat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

“Yes, well…”

Standing, you moved to your desk and grabbed the snacks you'd come here to find, slamming your desk draw shut and keeping the desk between you, sitting in your chair.

“We're working a case.”

“I can tell.”

He leant over the desk and grabbed one of your snacks, opening a cereal bar quickly and taking a bite.

“Three of the students in our faculty have gone missing in the last 30 days.”

You nodded as you listened, but your eyes were on your snack, in his hand, in his mouth. The bastard.

“I need to use the office for a few days. I won't disturb you, but we need some space as a base on campus, and this is our best option.”

“Not afraid I'll walk away with critical documents this time?”

“This time, I have everything memorised. I've read all the documents. You can't ruin the case this time.”

You stood and grabbed your snack from his hand as he lifted it to take another bite, throwing it straight into the trash can.

“What was that for?”

“For being a jerk.”

You stomped over to your bag and pulled out your headphones, putting them on as he attempted to keep talking to you.

“Y/N, you're being immature-”

“You just stole my snack like it's playtime at recess, Spencer. I'm not the immature one.”

You turned the music on as he attempted to talk to you, but you didn't budge or take them off, returning to the couch to lay comfortably once more.

Something about the infuriating, beautiful man had you wanting to act out, reaching new levels of immaturity.

You felt the dip in the couch as he joined you there, felt him waving in front of your face. You smiled at his growing frustration as you heard him raise his voice just slightly.

Then, your legs were pulled out from under you, and you squeaked in shock as Spencer Reid pulled you into his lap, making you straddle him. Your eyes blew open, and you grabbed at his shirt for balance, leaving you open to his attacks as he knocked the headphones off your head.

“You're such a…a..”

“Jackass? Okay, sure, but I'm a jackass you're going to listen to.”

“Make me.”

The words were a dare, a challenge you didn't think he'd rise to. But his hands snaked around your neck, and he pulled your lips down to him, silencing you completely with another angry kiss.

Your lips parted immediately, all too happy to take in his wondering tongue as you battled for dominance. His hands trailed up and down your body, cupping your ass cheeks, squeezing your already sensitive breasts, pushing your skirt up so his hands could roam underneath.

You squirmed in his lap, memories of the last night you'd seen him rushing back. His tongue, his hands, fuck, his cock. Pregnancy hormones or just plain old lust, you wanted it all over again, and you didn't stop to think about it for a second. Any second he was kissing you was a second he wasn't talking.

You ground your hips into his as he worked a finger into your underwear, scraping against your clit as he pulled his head away, burying it in your neck as he began nipping and licking your skin, on a mission to taste every inch of you.

“Spencer,” You gasped as he began rubbing your clit faster, your body providing all the juices he needed to make you feel good.

“Spencer, we should- fuck!” It'd been only minutes, but he'd already pushed you over the edge, and you died your first little death cumming on his fingers.

“We should fuck? Yes, yeah I can get behind that,” he said, laying you down again and slowly pulling down your damp underwear.

“That's not what I was going to say, you bastard,” you said, grabbing his tie and pulling him in for another kiss.

“I know, but this is much better, don't you think?” He pulled away and fumbled with his pants, pulling them down only far enough to free his cock before sliding into you. He sheathed Himself inside you, pushing inch by inch until he was at your limit, and then he stopped.

He kissed your lips, your cheeks, your neck and collarbones, he took his time with each spot, making a line down your body, a record of every place he had possessed you without moving an inch.

“Spencer, you can't- need to-” you whined, not minding sounding like a petulant child about to throw a tantrum when he was giving you a pretty great reason to do so.

He had eaten your snacks and now he was just keeping his cock warm inside of you, not even bothering to rub your clit anymore, his hands more focused on keeping his weight up.

“I need to do what, Y/N? Tell me, but be quiet about it. This office isn't soundproof, remember.”

“Shit, shit, shit, shit-”

You tried to roll your hips under him, to take the pleasure you needed, but he stopped you, letting his hips press deeper into yours, making himself heavy. You tried another tactic.

“Oh, come on Spencer, you can't even fuck me properly now? Pathetic.’

“Watch it-” he said, but you cut him off again.

“Watch what? You're not doing anything. Maybe I'll ask that little friend of yours outside for some help instead, I'm sure Agent Alvez would be more than happy to-”

A short, soft slap to your face cut your words off as he spoke, the hand that hit you immediately pushing down to your neck and squeezing lightly.

“You're. Mine,” he spat, and started immediately rolling his hips into you quickly.

You wrapped your legs up and around him, your hands lifting to grab his wrist, keeping his hand in place around your throat.

He fucked you harder and your breaths became shallow, eyes locked with his as he panted and writhed above you. He didn't look away. You couldn't. You were drunk on his cock, completely unable to sober up and just waiting for your orgasm to strike you once again.

You weren't two civilised people in that room, but animals, forcing one another to submit, to give in to temptation.

His hand on your throat came loose as he came, chest falling down to yours as he flooded your insides with cum once again. To give him credit where credit was due, he kept his cock inside of you and rubbed your clit again to completion, swallowing your every moan and whimper with a kiss, enjoying the feeling of you convulsing on his cock.

When you were both finally done, he let himself rest on top of you, burying his head in your neck and inhaling your scent as you both dropped back down into reality.

“Get up,” you said first, pushing him up and watching him peel out of you as you reached back to the coffee table for the box of tissues there.

“We need to clean up,” You said attempting to tidy the cum leaking out of you away, as if it were merely a spilt drink.

He sat up, giving his cock a wipe down before putting his clothes back together. You both sat side by side, minding your own business, making yourselves look as inconspicuous as possible and ignoring the elephant in the room.

He broke the silence first.

“The girls, they're all our students. The only thing they share is that they all took both of our courses.”

Your heart dropped as you remembered he wasn't here for you, that he had other jobs and responsibilities. You were merely a pleasurable afterthought.

“Shit,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair. You stretched out and stood, sore but still able to make your body work for you.

“You're sure there's nothing else? No clubs, no extra curricular?” His jaw tightened as he ground his teeth together, unsure about how much to tell you.

“They fit a basic profile which tells us the unsub is killing people as a scapegoat and…hasn't got to his intended target yet.”

You nodded as you took in the information, standing and leading yourself back to your desk and grabbing your bag again.

“Look, just… just use the room until you get your guy. I'll work from the library or a study room or something, just…” You ran another hand through your hair, exasperated.

“Y/N, no, we don't need to out you out, we shared the office space before, we can-”

“We can't. Five minutes alone in this room together today proved… that we can't. Don't get distracted.”

You grabbed more books, turning away from him to avoid the guilty looks he was shooting you.

You'd almost collected everything, hesitating as you grabbed your pregnancy vitamins from your draw, stuffing them quickly into your bag before moving closer to the door.

It opened before you could open it, and Emily Prentiss made herself known again.

“Good, you're already packed,” she said, grabbing your bag from your shoulder and slinging it over her own.

“I didn't know you all wanted rid of me so badly,” you said, trying to keep your voice as even and pleasant as possible and greatly failing.

“We don't want to get rid of you. Y/N, I'm afraid it's quite the opposite.”

Your heart slowed to a stop, and your blood ran cold as she offered you a sympathetic glance. You must've stumbled a bit backwards because Spencer's hand was immediately on your lower back, his body curved protectively around you as you too wrapped your arms around yourself, around your baby.

“We've had contact with the killer, and we think you're his intended target,” Emily explained in as even a tone as you'd ever heard someone give a death sentence.

“We've contacted WitSec, but until then, we'll be taking you into protective custody ourselves. I have a spare room, and we'll grab some of your things before you move in, everything you need to feel comfortable. Do you understand?”

“No,” you said, but it wasn't your voice. You felt grateful, though, because you didn't understand. There was someone trying to kill you, and you absolutely didn't understand. You'd just had sex with Spencer Reid again, and you hadn't told him you were pregnant with his child, and nothing made 6 there was someone trying to kill you.

But it wasn't your voice saying no, so you stopped thinking and kistened.

“No, she'll… she'll stay with me,” Spencer said, gripping you tighter and pulling you closer, nearly crushing you in his arms.

“Spencer, it's not up to you,” Emily said, her voice a clear warning even to your buzzing ears.

“Y/N? Y/N, listen to me, please,” he said, gripping your shoulders again and twisting you around so he was all you could see, ducking his head lower so you were directly in his eyeline.

“Y/N, I'll keep you safe. Come and stay with me.”

You thought about his apartment and the message you'd left. You thought about the month you spent waiting for him to call, and the month that you'd spent wanting to rip his throat out. You thought about his hands on your skin, his fingers wrapped around your throat, his cock buried inside of you. You thought, too, about the doctors appointments you'd have to reschedule. You thought about the baby clothes you'd have to leave behind. You thought about how you'd have to hide your morning sickness, and your growing baby bump, and your hormones, and all the supplements recommended by your Doctor because you already loved your baby and you wanted them to be healthy.

You thought that if you went with him, you'd have to tell him and confront whatever decision he made regarding you and the baby.

You thought logically that you shouldn't do it. But his hand grabbed yours, fingers intertwined, and he rubbed his thumb along the back of your hand, and you were nodding.

“Yes,” you said when you should've gone with Emily.

He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead and immediately bundled you out of the office and out of your comfort zone.

🔖@stillhere197 @understandingsunrise @mindfullycriminal @aliteralsemicolon @r-3dlips @alexafromamazon15 @jasf444 @subunitless @thebloomingeagle @lackingoriginalthoughts @empressgraytea @alondralolll @i_heart_mgg @2hiigh2cry @jiuseoks @readinglatenights @placidus @dreamsarebig @pisceslovrr @kbaby-024 @luvdella @feyresqueen @pleasantwitchgarden @lovehadlovelost @kissesforspence @moonchildooh @bubbleebubz @theoraekenslover @flipsideoflife @spicyspirit @chicaconfundidaycuriosa @ivet4 @nox-xie @sarakay-gvf @miss-ev @nvrlandqueen @delicatelittleworld @nokjhg @measure-in-pain @fabulouslynerdy @batrensworld @cattosmush @im-this-girl @sarcasm-and-stiles @lovemelaunic @lllucere @lariclifford @daphnesutton

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert

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cherie-doll · 5 months ago

Text

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: You're A Bookworm

𖦹 i apologize profusely for my absence, time and writer's block decided to team up against me

༢ུ· Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Alejandro, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

Ghost

Buys a reading light for you so you don’t keep the ceiling lights in the room on and disturb his sleep

I actually think he’d be a reader, like if he got to pick between watching tv or reading a book he’d choose a book

I’d fr be salivating if I saw this man resting on the couch, pick up a book and reading while stroking our shared pet cat

Is actually a good conversationalist about topics he’s read up on

Soap

If he had long hair he’d be twirling it in his finger as he listens to you babble about books

It doesn’t matter if it’s a cute romance book, something intellectual, a classic or even a gory horror book, he’d listen to you go on ALL DAY

Whenever you visit the library/bookstore he’s ready to carry the piles of books for you

No longer asks “Want to watch a movie together?” But instead “Want to finish reading that book together?”

Emotional support cuddling when the ending is angst

Gaz

He remembers the first time he saw you it was at a cafe

Thought you looked so cute invested in your book, a drink on the table, glasses (if you wear them) that you had to keep pushing up

He had bought you a pastry and politely come up to you and ask about your book

Even now he likes finding new cafes to take you to and buys you a book everytime

Likes to write poetry or romantic notes on little slips of paper and tucking them into the books he buys you for when you open them later <3

Alejandro

Made you a book bouquet (y’all seen that one vid of this guy who instead of buying or having someone else make the bouquet he figured out how to make it instead???)

Once you complained about not having a proper place for your books which were kinda just lying around in piles on the floor, you thought it strange that he’d spent long periods of time outside until he brought in a bookshelf he built and painted for you

Helps you pot plants to add as decoration for your bookshelf

Keegan

Sometimes he worries you’re going to ruin your eyes staying up late reading

“Did a character do something stupid?” When you throw a book across the room

Gets startled when he turns to your side of the bed only to find you on the last pages of your book, “Did you seriously stay up all night reading that?”

König

He likes keeping track of your progress and constantly checking your wishlist for books he can buy for you

He makes sure you’re always stocked up on booktabs and pens + markers to underline your fav quotes with

You somehow always lose your bookmarks and he replaces them

Sometimes he likes to make them himself! <3

Horangi

Likes to distract you while reading by teasing

Finds out when your favorite author (if they’re alive lol) has events and takes you to them

Buys the special editions of your favorite series + signed by the author

Takes you to the movies when the book gets an adaptation and listens to your rant afterwards about how badly/good they adapted it

Nikto

He likes that you enjoy reading because it keeps you quiet and in one spot

He does get annoyed when you’re absorbed into your book and you go too long without giving him attention

Bought you an ereader after you begged him for one because it was more “practicable” and after he borrowed it a few times he now uses it more than you do

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #alejandro vargas cod #alejandro x reader #keegan p russ #keegan x reader #konig cod #konig x reader #horangi cod #horangi x reader #cod nikto #nikto x reader #cod headcanons #cod fanfic

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gay-dorito-dust · 6 months ago

Note

Could I request Jason getting stuffed animals as gifts from his s/o?

Jason remembers the first time you began this little tradition of yours. It had long since became his favourite memory for multiple reasons but mainly because of how sweet of a gesture it was for you to do for him, unprovoked as well.

It all started when you came home, hands in your pockets and with a twinkle in your eyes that usual spelt trouble for Jason. He sighs playfully and puts down his book to look at you. ‘What have you got in your pockets baby bird.’ He says and you giggle.

‘Who says I got anything? Maybe I just like having my hands in my pockets hmm?’ You replied cheekily.

Jason raised his brow at you. ‘I would believe you had you not got the face of someone who is obviously hiding something from me, so I’ll ask a second time sweetheart, what have you got in your pocket?’

You pulled one of your hand from your pocket to reveal nothing, but then did the same with the other hand to reveal a small, palm sized plushie of a red robin with button eyes and tufts of messy fluff on the top of its head. It was cute but that didn’t change Jason’s confusion as to why you bought it.

‘A red robin?’ He says aloud as you smiled wider at him.

‘For you.’ You told him, pushing the hand with the plushie on it further towards him. ‘I saw this little guy and thought of you.’

Jason felt a warmth alight in his chest when you tell him this and immediately reaches for the plushie, holding it gently within his larger hands as though it’s made out of porcelain as he help it up to his face. ‘Why?’ He asks. You shrugged. ‘Do I need a reason to get you things? I just thought that you would like a plushie or two of your own, to keep as company or maybe a cuddle buddy. The point is the plushie can be whatever you want it to be.’ You add as you watched Jason just stare at the plush, worried that you might’ve done something wrong, before putting it aside on the couch and standing up to close the distance between the two of you.

Jason’s eyes were as soft as was the rest of his face as he held your face with tenderness, stroking your cheeks. ‘I love it baby bird, this is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me in a long while.’ Jason trailed off and you couldn’t help but hold onto his biceps and rubbed soothing patterns into his skin.

‘Oh jaybirdie.’ You cooed as you began peppering kisses to his face and feeling ten times better upon hearing him chuckle from all of your affection. ‘I’d buy you a million more plushies to make you feel loved.’ You whispered against his lips as though it was a secret meant just shared between the two of you.

And you kept to your promise and Jason wasn’t one to complain when you looked so happy and adorable doing so.

Then again he could never find himself capable to no to you in any capacity. That’s how much of a fool in love with you he was and he couldn’t help it but wouldn’t want it to ever change. So soon enough Jason bore witness as his room was slowly being taken over by the small palm sized plushies you’ve bought for him. He had the red robin at the head of his bed alongside a blue jay, a robin and a baby bat, each one signifying his siblings one way or another; where as other random plushies you’ve given him were scattered about the rest of the room like cute, plush, silent spectres.

His room had grown into something he could be happy to be within as it was filled with your warmth and love for him, which was much more welcoming than its bare minimalistic first appearance, it didn’t bore any personality of who slept within that very bed at all. Though then again Jason didn’t feel the need to add anything else to it then he already did which was a bedside desk, bookshelf for all his literature and a simple wardrobe to house all of his clothes.

Jason didn’t feel the need to add more because he didn’t think that he deserves to have more than when he was already given or had in his current possession. However when he glances at your plushies whenever he felt this type of way, he was reminded that he did deserve more then what he was given and you were more then happy to do so, for you believed he deserved to be happy and Jason couldn’t help but fall for you even more for that.

‘I don’t deserve you.’ He’d say to the little red robin plushie, the first plushie you got him, as he sat on the edge of the bed to hold within his hands, just as gently as the day you got him it. ‘Yet you always made it your task to prove that I did deserve you.’ He adds as he brushed his thumb across the tufts of soft fluff atop its head.

‘Because you do and always will.’ You tell him from the bedroom door, smiling as you watched Jason gingerly put the red robin down between the blue jay and the other robin plush on the bed, petting them on their heads subconsciously before standing up from his end to greet you warmly with a kiss on the lips, making you hum softly as you reciprocated.

‘Got another plush for me?’ He asks against your lips cheekily as you chuckled. ‘Am I that predictable now mr Todd?’ You replied, pressing another kiss to his lips because they were too tempting and close enough to taste. You loved coming home to Jason and getting this sweet moment with him that took away all of your daily stresses, rendering them unimportant when you were in the arms of your teddy bear of a lover.

‘It’s less of a predictability on your behalf and more of a tradition that you’ve upheld for as long as we’ve been together.’ Jason tells you as he took a step back to watch as you pull yet another palm sized plush from your pocket, presenting it before him in your outstretched hand, revealing the small but chubby raccoon with a little bow tie. ‘Tada. As tradition.’ You said playfully as Jason chuckled and took the cute raccoon plush into his own hands, using his thumbs to cutely move its stumpy paws. ‘What’re you going to call them?’ You then asked.

Jason hummed as he looked down at the plush where the name came to his mind almost immediately. ‘Bandit.’ He said without hesitation.

‘Bandit?’ You tested the name before moving to his side and look at the plushie with a hum of acknowledgment as you looked into the raccoons cute button eyes. ‘Sounds perfect.’ You add as you press a kiss to Jason’s cheek before leaning into his side, content with seeing him so happy it was enough to melt your heart. ‘But there’s only one problem.’ Jason looks at you with a raised brow.

‘Where are you going to put him?’

#dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x you #dc fanfic #dc fic #dc comics x reader #dc x y/n #dc fanfiction #jason todd x y/n #jason todd imagine #jason todd fluff #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagines #jason todd x you #red hood x you #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #red hood imagines

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lilacwants · 7 months ago

Text

you and me, we go way back.

18+ notes: fem reader, takes place vaguely during season 2. summary: Homelander sneakily makes his way back into your life, though you make no room to stop it. warnings : mature content, domlander. word count: 1.4k

After saving a mass of civilians from a terrorist attack, going to interview after interview, and socializing with fans, Homelander was exhausted. Well, as exhausted as he could be—tiredness was a concept foreign to him. Landing on the roof of the conglomerate he called home, Homelander decided to visit you. You, with your sweet words, comforting presence, and sinful smile.

The flight to the door of your balcony lasted a quick two minutes, the location of it still etched into his brain. The lights were turned off, and he didn't hear any noise that suggested you were home, so imagine his surprise when your balcony door was unlocked. You wanted him to come, he figured.

The living room looked the same as always, though there was an orange cat sleeping on your grey couch. You did love cats with all your heart. He was more of a dog person, though. It was no problem, however; he knew as soon as you moved in with him, your family was bound to grow anyway. With the exception of your companion, everything else had stayed the same.

Your bedroom was the same as always, your bed had the same wooden frame, and plants were still littered everywhere. Your bookshelf now had the complete collection of his movies, including a little poster that was all rolled up, marked with his signature and a sweet message written in the corner: "To the best p.a at Vought, let me take you out to dinner sometime. -Homelander."

In comparison, the bathroom seemed bigger and a new shower had been built, with black tile and glass doors. What attracted his attention the most, though, was an article of clothing thrown over the hamper. It was a Homelander-themed t-shirt, and it looked used. That made him chuckle. He wondered, did you touch yourself late at night wearing this shirt while thinking of him? He hoped you did.

After taking a tour through the apartment, Homelander heard the familiar jingle of your keys and prepared to see you again.

You were just coming home from a disastrous date. Your hopes were actually high, and you even put in more effort: your burgundy dress hugged your curves nicely, your Van Cleef perfume was drool-worthy, and your red-bottomed Louboutins completed the look.

So imagine your disappointment when Mike��or at least that's what he called himself—was rude-mannered and even asked if you would pay him back for covering your food, making clear the other options he viewed as payment, which completely flabbergasted you. As soon as he was done eating, you bid him farewell and basically teleported to your car.

Fiddling with your keys, you were completely prepared to change into a night slip, pour a glass of wine, and accept the fact that maybe, remaining single wasn't as bad as you thought.

Opening the door and leaving your purse and keys on the counter, you first took your heels off and poured yourself a glass of your favourite red. Quickly turning to enter the living room, you almost dropped it of shock.

"John. What? How… how are you here?"

"Sweetheart," he said with a smirk, "I missed you."

"You can't just show up like this," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "You're a superhero, for God's sake, the leader of The Seven, might I add."

"I know," he replied, his smirk widening. "But I wanted to surprise you."

"Well, you succeeded," you muttered, unsure how to feel about his sudden appearance.

"Come on," he said, stepping closer. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

You hesitated, then sighed. "Maybe. But next time, try giving me a heads-up."

"Noted," he said with a wink. "Now, how about we catch up?"

You took a deep breath, trying to process everything. Despite your attempts to stay composed, seeing him again stirred up old feelings. Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you and gently placed his hands on your waist.

"I've missed this," he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek.

You closed your eyes, feeling his touch sending shivers down your spine. "John…"

He tilted your chin up with his finger, locking eyes with you. "I've thought about you every day."

"I…" Words failed you as he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours in a kiss that was both familiar and electrifying. Years melted away in that moment as his kiss deepened, the taste of wine and the scent of him engulfing your senses.

You wrapped your arms around him instinctively, pulling him closer. His hands roamed your back, holding you even nearer as the kiss grew more intense. It was as if the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you in that moment of undeniable chemistry and longing.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. John's eyes searched yours, filled with a mixture of longing and affection.

"I never stopped loving you," he confessed quietly, his voice raw with emotion.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you cupped his face in your hands. "I missed you too, John."

"You know," you whispered, your voice husky with desire as you traced your fingers lightly along his jawline, "you always knew how to make an entrance."

He chuckled softly, his breath mingling with yours. "I couldn't stay away any longer."

Leaning in closer, you murmured, "Well, now that you're here, what do you plan to do about it?"

His eyes darkened with desire as he pulled you even closer, his lips brushing against yours. "Everything I should have done a long time ago."

With that, he kissed you deeply, his hands finding their way through your hair, and you knew that this time, there would be no more goodbyes, only the passionate reunion you had both been craving.

Homelander knew how much you had wanted this, your arousal already pooling between your legs, the smell of it hitting him hard and heading straight to his cock. How did he stay away from you for so long? How did he resist fucking you senseless and instead entered a relationship with a fucking nazi?

Breaking out of his stupor, he found you already kissing his neck, your hands unbuckling his belt and peeling off his suit.

“Missed me that much, hm, sweetheart? Finally realized no one can fuck you like I do. You’re even wearing my face to sleep.” Homelander whispered, getting on top of you and roughly sliding his cock in, filling you to the brim with his length.

“Please John, fuck. You know no one can fuck me like you do, you're everything I've ever wanted, needed, and craved. I love, love, love you so fucking much, you're so good to me." You cried, tugging at his hair.

Now for that, you were getting rewarded. As he finally decided to start moving, hand sliding up your shirt and pulling your nipple, teasing you, you found yourself sobbing, his cock sliding deeper into you and making your flimsy bed shake.

Quickly deciding he had enough of missionary, Homelander pulled you into his lap, thrusting into you harsher than before and grabbing your other nipple with his mouth, sucking and biting, your moans drowning out the sound of your bed frame banging against your wall.

“You’re so fucking good. So, so good. I’m so fucking close, John, God.” You sobbed, tugging at his hair and scratching his back with your nails.

After a few rough thrusts into you, you finally came, vision going white and sobs coming out of you. The sensation of you tightening around him, the noises, and the smell of sex were all too much for Homelander as he came crashing, white load spilling inside you.

The intensity of it made your legs shake, overstimulation finally taking hold of all your senses.

However, now, as you settled down on his chest, head tucked away into his neck, you realized that maybe that sucky date was all worth it. John was back; he was in bed next to you right now, tracing little shapes into your skin and kissing your forehead.

Oh, how much you had missed this. His softer side, the love he offered you, the sweet gestures, and kind words—it made your head dizzy and your heart melt in your chest.

"Finally realized you're all mine, sweetheart. We'd better start packing; you're moving into the penthouse first thing in the morning. Can't risk letting you slip away from me again."

Those were the last words you heard as your breathing slowed, your eyes finally closed, your head resting on his chest. The promise of a new beginning with him filled you with a warmth and peace you hadn't felt in a long time.

#homelander x reader #homelander imagine #the boys x reader #the boys imagine #the boys #homelander fic #— lena writes 🔖

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lumi-waxes-poetic · 6 months ago

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re: the Neil Gaiman shit

In light of recent revelations, it is very likely you or someone in your circle is seriously rethinking their relationship to Neil Gaiman's books.

That's perfectly natural. But if I might offer a word of advice (which of course you may do what you like with, I'm not god)?

If his books ever meant something to you growing up, and some part of you, no matter how small, refuses to let them go? That's okay. Don't devalue or burn cherished things just because the Author is a Horrible Person.

God only knows that if that were the requirement, we'd have little left to enjoy in the world.

If you feel the need to have a reckoning with your bookshelf, do not let my words stop you. Keep or discard his books at your own recognizance. Just remember that he is merely the author of these books: he is not the books themselves. If ever his books communicated something Good and True to you, do not feel pressured to throw that Good and True thing away just because the source was less good than you thought it was.

Despite his(overwhelmingly probable) guilt, Neil is ALSO one of the genuinely best writers we've had in DECADES. This will understandably complicate his legacy. As much as we like things to be simple, people are often multiple things simultaneously, and we often will dislike or even hate some of those things.

Was Neil being a hypocrite when he supported feminist and LGBTQIA+ causes while also being a huge... <gestures to all the allegations>? Very definitely. But I don't want to see the genuine strides his support helped make possible fall away just because his hypocrisy was revealed. I don't want to see people ignore or undermine the frankly EXCELLENT MESSAGES in a lot of his books just because the author didn't live up to the standards he wrote about.

This isn't about absolving Neil in the slightest. I hope he gets whatever justice he's due. But don't punish yourself arbitrarily for it. If you have decided that now is the time to move on from his books forever, I don't blame you. If you decide to keep reading his books and they inspire you to be a better person than him, that's just as awesome. Spite that sunnuvabitch with his own works.

It is my hope that people can and will continue to enjoy his stories, and take home from them some excellent messages, long after he faces justice for his actions as a person. He wouldn't be the first author whose works were forgiven long after his personal harms were done; literary history is replete with such individuals -- Lord Byron, Virginia Woolfe, Robert E. Howard, Ernest Hemingway, Ezra Pound, Vladimir Nabokov, etc. The list goes on and on for as long as one wishes to peruse it. Their problematic acts as people cannot and should not be ignored, but neither can nor should their works. Perhaps Neil Gaiman is in good company, then, as we add his name to that list. A brilliant author, with brilliant works to his name, but a far less than brilliant man.

Only you can decide how your relationship with the books you have read will work out. You alone have the power to determine what authors you read and whose works shall adorn your bookshelves.

Don't let the crowd tell you what you're allowed to read, but perhaps don't discount the crowd's opinion out of hand on this one either. They do, after all, have a point.

#neil gaiman #neil gaiman allegations

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wandanatsgf · 6 months ago

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Lovers, Vampires, Strangers Part 2

Pairing: Vampire!Wanda x Vampire!Reader

Word Count: 2886

Summary: This story starts in the year 1850. You and your girlfriend Wanda are happy together. You have everything you could ever want, until she secretly turns you into a vampire. After a horrible accident, you leave her and that life behind. Now 173 years later, she's come to ask you for a favor.

Part 1

Part 2: 2023, The Second Shittiest Year of my Life

“What do you want Wanda?” I ask the girl who was frantically banging on my door.

“I need a place to stay for a few days, please,” she begs. It makes me laugh. She really thinks I would help her after what she did? She’s insane.

“No way,” I tell her.

“Please Y/n,” she asks again.

“No,” I say. “I’m not letting you into my home or life again, Wanda.”

I go to shut the door when a small bullet sized wooden stake comes whizzing through the air. It flies through the small crack in my door from where I haven’t shut it all the way. I hear Wanda yell out some cuss words, while I barely manage to dodge the bullet. I should’ve just shut the door and let Wanda fend for herself, this is her problem after all. But I, being the idiot that I am, didn’t.

“Fine you can come in,” I say, pulling the brunette girl inside with me. I quickly shut and lock the door.

“What the hell was that Wanda?” I exclaim as I run through my house, grabbing the first bag I see. I put the guns and knives that II keep hidden throughout my home in there, in case whoever is outside tries to go after me, since I too am a vampire.

“That was Natasha,” she says like that explains everything.

“She’s a girl I…used to be with. She’s a little angry is all.”

“A little angry?!? She just tried to kill you Wanda.”

“Yes well vampire hunters tend to do that Y/n.”

“What the actual hell Wanda. You brought a vampire hunter to my front door?!?”

“Not on purpose. I didn't know she was a vampire hunter when I was sleeping with her. And I thought I had lost her back in Budapest. Clearly someone is determined to kill me.” Wanda rolls her eyes as she talks, as if this Natasha girl is a mere annoyance, like a gnat or a fly, and not a hunter trying to kill her.

I’m so mad at her I don’t even know what to say. I finish gathering my things, but I leave my phone in case someone tries to use it to find my location. I make sure I avoid all windows as I make my way to the secret exit of my house that will lead me to the other side of town, the exit I had installed in case of emergencies just like this. I go to the bookshelf door I had installed and open it.

“Are you coming or not?” I call out to Wanda, who was currently just standing there. Wanda quickly moves to where I am, not avoiding windows. Which leads to them being shot out by Natasha.

“Great another thing I have to deal with,” I mumble under my breath.

“What was that?” Wanda snarkily asks.

“I said great that’s another thing I have to deal with. Because of you,” I add on.

“Oh please don’t act like your life was all sunshine and rainbows before I got here,” she says as I lead her down a staircase. “We both know you were lonely without me.”

“Really? I’m the lonely one?” I say. “I can assure you, Wanda I have been anything but lonely since you left.”

“You really think Kate Bishop can fill my place that easily?”

“And how do you know about her?” Wanda says nothing, but it’s clear she had been keeping tabs on me.

“I should’ve known you’d never leave me alone, Wanda. You were always the possessive type.” I turn down a corridor and open the door. I walk out and into open air. The passage leads to a road two streets over where my getaway car is stashed.

“I’m not possessive. I just don’t want anyone to have what’s mine,” she says. I chuckle under my breath, reading through her lie. I choose to ignore her and walk over to a car, praying that it’s unlocked. Of course it isn’t, but i guess when you have vampire strength it doesn’t really matter. I get into the car in no time and I make quick work of hot wiring it so I can get away, and hopefully leave Wanda here. I get the car on and I climb in, quickly locking the doors so Wanda can't.

"What do you think you're doing?" Wanda asks, clearly annoyed. She stomps her feet like a child and it makes me laugh.

"I'm leaving," I say through my laughter.

"Not without me you aren't."

"Yes I am. I got you away from Natasha, which you're welcome for by the way. Now I'm off to save my own skin. Now get out of my way or be roadkill Wanda. Your choice." Wanda refuses to move, much to my annoyance.

"Move Wanda," I scream out.

"No," she screams back. I can feel my annoyance rising with every passing second, and then Natasha runs around the corner, guns blazing. I unlock the car and allow Wanda to hop in before I floor it. I pull out of the parking space, driving away as fast as I can, leaving Natasha in the dust.

"Happy?" I finally ask once we have gotten a little further down the road.

"Yes, very." I can tell she is pleased with herself, something that I absolutely loathe. I choose to ignore her so I don’t blow up.

We drive for what feels like forever, and I being a vampire would know what forever feels like. So trust me when I say it felt like forever.

Wanda does her best to annoy me, but I ignore her every time, not in the mood for her games. Eventually I pull into a decent looking hotel on the side of the road. I’m not sure where we are, but we’ve driven for at least 16 hours straight and I’m tired. Well as tired as you can be when you’re undead.

“Here we are,” I say as I park the car.

“Where are we?”

“I don’t know. But we’re safe aren’t we? You could be a bit more thankful,”

“It would be safer if we knew where we are,” Wanda retorts.

“Well why don’t you work on that while I get us a room.”

“Fine,” Wanda says, for once not starting an argument.

I happily hop out of the car, grateful to be away from Wanda, and I enter the lobby.

“Hi I need two rooms,” I say to the front desk lady.

“I’m sorry we only have one room available.”

“Fine I guess that’ll work,” I grumble. It really doesn’t work for me but I’ll just have to suck it up…or sleep in my car. Honestly I’d do anything to not be near Wanda for longer than I have to.

“And how will you be paying?”

“I won’t be. The bill will be comped by the hotel,” I tell the girl. I look in her eyes and change the tone of my voice, activating my compulsion.

“Here you go,” the girl says cheerily, handing me my room key.

“Thanks.”

I walk back to the car where I had left Wanda to give her the bad news.

“Unfortunately they only had one room,” I grumble, throwing her a room key.

“Don’t sound so upset. It’ll be just like old times,” she says, sending me a wink. I let out a scoff at her words.

“I’d rather sleep on the cement than in a bed with you Wanda.”

“Fine have it your way,” she says. She gets out of the car and walks into the hotel and to our room. I try and make myself comfortable in the car, but it’s no use. It’s too small and too hot. I grab one of my guns that I had brought and tuck it into the waistband of my pants then I reluctantly go inside, bracing myself for the snarky comment I know Wanda is about to say.

“Aww I knew you’d change your mind. I’m just too irresistible.”

“God you’re so full of yourself. But no I’m in here because the car was uncomfortable. It has nothing to do with you Wanda.”

“Sure, whatever helps yourself sleep at night.”

God this woman is infuriating. I choose to ignore her last comment.

“So you’re not talking to me now?” I give her the silent treatment.

"Real mature y/n."

"Whatever Wanda. I'm going to go get us some essentials, try not to get into trouble while I'm gone," I say, just wanting to get out of here and away from Wanda.

"Aww sounds like someone cares about me," she teases.

"No I just don't want all of this hard work to go to waste," I say as I walk out the door. It's currently 10pm at night so luckily anywhere I go should be jut about empty. I drive to the nearest Walmart, leaving Wanda in the dust at the hotel. I get us some toiletries and snacks (because yes even though we are vampires and undead we still like human food). My next stop is a blood bank, where I steal as much blood as I can. I prefer it this way over drinking straight from the source. It's much cleaner and not so scarring to humans. After about two hours I make my way back to the hotel, carrying my shopping bags inside, only to find Wanda gorging herself on a member of the cleaning staff.

"Wanda," I yell out. She drops the maid and her face takes on a guilty look, like a child who knows they are doing something bad.

"Yes?" She tries to adopt a nonchalant tone but it isn't working.

"I literally told you not to get into trouble and the first thing you do is get into trouble."

"But I was hungry," she says, as if that justifies her actions.

"I don't give a damn if you're hungry Wanda. If I tell you to do something so do it."

"That's funny I don't remember ever taking orders from you, but you sure did take a lot from me," Wanda says, referencing the times when the two of us would sleep together, before I hated her guts.

“Well things have changed Wanda. I’m trying to keep us alive and away from your vampire hunter ex. So either listen to me or leave.”

“Fine,” is all she says. She goes off to the bathroom to shower while I heal the woman Wanda had just dropped. I compel her to forget anything had ever happened, and off she goes back to work.

I close the door behind her and I put my grocery bags down and put things away. After I’m done and had a snack and some blood, I tuck my gun out of my waistband and put it on the small side table. I jump into bed. The bed is rock hard. There’s absolutely no give or bounce in it whatsoever, but I guess an aching back is a small price to pay for safety.

“Move over,” Wanda says once I had finally gotten myself comfortable.

“No,” is all I say back.

“Yes. Move or I’ll make you move y/n.”

I refuse to move, ignoring the glares that Wanda throws at me.

“Fine have it your way.” She walks over to me and picks me up as if I weigh nothing. I try to resist, but it's pointless, and she moves me anyway.

"I'm older than you and I'm stronger than you. Next time it would be wise to do as you're told," she whispers into my ear. Her words have me blushing. A fact that I try to hide form her, but of course she notices.

"Did my words make you needy baby?"

"Fuck off Wanda," I say, but it doesn't come out as strong as I want it to.

"No baby I think you want me to fuck you, isn't that right?"

Her dirty words send my thoughts racing back to the times when we had slept together and how good it felt. But that was before she hurt me, and this is now. And now I don't like her. Even if she's gorgeous and makes me feel good. She's still the woman who turned me against my will. She's still the woman who hurt me, the woman I hate. So I form my resolve.

"No goodnight Wanda," are the next words that come out of my mouth. Wanda's mouth opens and closes like a fish, she's shocked that I didn't give in. I get up and turn off the lights and the two of us lay there in silence. I'm sure Wanda is seething in silence at being told no, but it isn't my problem. I quickly fall asleep, and I only wake up when I hear a loud banging noise.

The door to our room is kicked in, making us jump out of bed. In comes a brunette woman I don't recognize.

“Oh great and who’s this? Another one of your exes?”

“Actually yes,” Wanda and the woman sat at the same time. The woman walks closer to the bed, while Wanda and I try to walk further away without blocking yourselves in.

“Of course it is,” I say rolling my eyes. “How’d you piss this one off?”

“She may or may not be a vampire hunter also. So y’know when she found out about me she wasn’t exactly my biggest fan,” Wanda whispers to you.

“Really Wanda? You sleep with two fucking vampire hunters when you’re a vampire yourself. Are you stupid?” I whisper back.

“Haven’t I already proven that yes I am stupid.”

“I guess you’ve got a point there,” I say.

"Are you two done arguing now?" The woman asks.

"Yes Maria, we're done." Ok so Maria is her name. "Can you just get this over with," Wanda says, her tone sounding exasperated.

"Oh come on Wanda, I wanna drag this out. Hurt you just like you hurt me." Maria pulls the sleeve of her black jacket off her shoulder, showing off the scars that mar it.

"What the fuck did you do?" I look at Wanda, but there's no emotions on her face.

"What I had to do to survive." Wanda glares at Maria, but it's not the playful one she has been giving you all day. This is a true glare. The kind that says I want you dead.

Maria lunges and Wanda deflects her punch while you try and grab your car keys, which are all the way across the room. You almost make it, but then Maria grabs you by your hair, pulling you back. You claw at her arm, digging your nails into her skin. She shrieks and lets you go, turning her attention back to Wanda.

"How'd you find me anyway?" Wanda asks as she ducks under Maria's fist.

"Your little pet led me right to you. She wasn't as inconspicuous as she thought at that blood bank. I was just going to kill her, but then I realized she was with you, and well, I didn't want to waste such a delicious opportunity." Wanda's eyes turn a dark black color, something that only happens when a vampire is truly emotional, and strikes Maria, making the woman stumble. While she's disoriented I run to the side table and grab my gun. I hate using these things on humans, but if it means I get to live I'll do it. I aim for her leg and pull the trigger.

"That should keep her occupied for a while, now let's go," I tell Wanda. We both run out of the room, car keys in my hand. We both jump in the car, leaving Maria behind in the hotel room.

"Looks like being attacked wasn't my fault this time," Wanda says once our adrenaline has finally gone down.

"Well you still dated this one too so I'm sure this is somehow also your fault."

"Ok whatever you say," Wanda says, although I know she doesn't agree with me. "So we've got Natasha and Maria on our tails now, so where do we go now? With the both of them following us, there aren't many places that would be safe."

"I might know a place," I say. "It's like a safehouse of sorts."

"Why didn't we go there in the first place?"

"it's complicated," I say, not wanting to answer her question.

"Like how Natasha and I are complicated? Or Maria and I?"

"Not exactly," is all I say, and thankfully Wanda drops the subject. We drive for a few more hours until I finally turn into a driveway. The house before us looks like any other house in the suburbs would. There's flowers and trees lining the driveway and a little picket white fence around the house. You would never suspect that a supernatural creature lives inside it.

We walk up to the door and all I feel is anxiety. I had taken us to the one place I hadn’t wanted to go to, but it’s out last option. It’s the only place I know that would be 100% safe. So reluctantly I knock on the door, praying the woman who lives on the other side of it answers, and that this won't be another decision that bites me in the butt.

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temis-de-leon · 11 months ago

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Love potion and Obey Me - Intro

So, I have finals in a few days, but I had to write this because: 1. Otherwise I would've forgot about it and 2. I wanted to give you a lil something until I can write the actual parts next week.

Characters: Solomon x reader

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3

Masterlist

CW: this will be all fluff and light. The intro has Solomon x reader tags because they're the only characters here, but they have no romantic interactions. All the cast (minus Mephisto, Raphael and Thirteen, I'm afraid) will appear in the next 3 parts, just like in the pick me girls series

There was mischief in Solomon's eyes when he offered to teach you how to brew a love potion, which made you stare at him in silence, waiting for a convincing explanation, but he just smiled and looked at you like the only thing he wanted was your education's improvement.

"Why a love potion?"

He tsked in faked disapproval, leaning backwards on the table before taking a vial from one of the cabinets. The liquid was transparent, yet iridescent, and the shimmer inside it danced towards you the moment you took it from Solomon's gentle grasp.

"Love is one of the strongest feelings in all the realms, if not the strongest. Healthy or not, what wouldn't you do for love?"

The vial was warm between your fingers and you briefly wondered what the potion tasted like.

"How does it work?"

"Well..."

He retrieved the potion with a strange look in his face, nostalgia and fondness. Was it memories of his past experiences? The way he had loved? The way he had been loved?

"It depends on the process" he finally said, smiling at your curious gaze. "Think of this as a base: you can get different endings, but the beginning will always be the same"

"What kind of endings?"

"You can strengthen the love between your partner and you or you could make someone fall in love with you, which is... the most popular use"

Yeah, you could imagine that. It felt filthy and lowly, but you could understand the desperation.

"For the first one, you add something that belongs to both parts of the couple, and for the second one..."

"I only add something that belongs to me"

"Very well, MC"

Solomon smiled with pride and you with giddiness.

"To make it stronger, of course you need a stimulant. Young witches use cinnamon, vanilla or paprika and the most experienced ones use infused blood"

"Infused in what?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves"

You looked at him in exasperation, but he just smiled like the asshole he was. After returning the vial back to its original place, he walked towards a bookshelf in the opposite wall and started searching for something.

"You'll be learning how to brew the base; it may come handy in the future".

After some minutes he gave you a single parchment, edges burnt and writing kinda smudged, but still legible.

"And what if I only want the base?"

Solomon scratched his neck, as if he'd never thought about that option (something you deeply doubted).

"Then it will show only love. Love as it is, no influence"

"What..?"

"Come on, MC, I can't teach you everything!"

"You're literally my teacher"

He hugged you for a short moment before walking you to the door, ignoring every single one of your questions as well as the incompetence of his incomplete answers.

Hours later, alone in your room, you stared at the cauldron on the table.

It didn't look like a liquid; the consistency was... something unique. The smell, however? You could stay in that same spot forever, dunking your face in the cauldron before standing up to cleanse your nostrils and bending down again.

It smelled like him.

What would happen if you drank it? If your skin came in contact with the mixture?

Curiosity became too much for you to handle, so, although begrudgingly, you walked out of your room to wander the halls and clear your mind.

Moments later, someone else showed up at your door.

@hello-gloomy @the-sassiest-toaster @hero-nii-blog @yourlocalyin @elaemae @eliciria @darkflowerav @zarakem @yuuvis32

#obey me #obey me! shall we date?#om! shall we date #om! swd #obey me solomon #om! solomon #obey me mc #obey me solomon x mc #obey me solomon x reader #obey me fluff #obey me x reader #obey me x gender neutral reader

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medusas-daughter · 2 months ago

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When I think about it, Billy kinda gave the coven a canvas and the entire coven contributed to build the road we have at the end and I think that's kinda beautiful in a way.

Like .. Agatha had more control than the others and actually set up the rules because she had the knowledge that the road was being built by Billy's subconscious this entire time and because she co-wrote the Ballad in the first place but all of them contributed to it to some extent because Billy was soaking up everything all of them were saying.

Both because he is a telepath (so the road adds the knowledge of the other witches like alewife revenge) and because he agrees with them on what the road should be like: Lilia is the one who suggests they have to face theirs worst nightmares, Jen explains to Billy what a Green Witch does and that's how the last trial is about growth. The entire coven (except Agatha) agrees they can't cheat so they can't cheat and they all think the Green witch is indispensable (I think Jen is the one who says it first before the road).

Also Nicky is part of the creation of the road too without even being there !

Also the fact that Billy's subconsciously thought Agatha's worst nightmares was to put her in a 80s sleepover is kinda funny if I'm being honest.

The more I think about it, the more fun the twist become honestly.

I'm so sorry for the rant, I love your blog 💜

thank you so much for this please feel free to rant here anytime you want 💜

and you're so right they really did all contribute! even Mrs Hart contributed, she mentioned the old transportation system and the exit became an abandoned subway station

i think that's why Agatha panicked during the first trial and right before the last because she realized that she can't control every thing not even if she tries to manipulate him because he has his own beliefs and then he looks up to the other witches as well so they influence him just as much

Agatha's hallucination being the Darkhold in a baby craddle which has nothing to do with how Nicky died but is exacthy what Jen mentioned is also so brilliant, because he couldn't read Agatha's mind to figure out her worst nightmare so he just went with what Jen said

and putting Agatha, the most antisocial witch he's ever met, in a slumber party was hilarious he really said "punish Agatha" and meant it

it was so much fun rewatching after knowing the twist Lilia called the Road a death trap so every trial was a literal death trap Jen said the green witch is indispensable so when Rio leaves he says "we're right back at the beginning" and they immediately trip on their shoes right back at the beginning he says "I wish Lilia was here" and she just falls out the bookshelf like all these little moments became so much funnier poor guy was really making it up on the spot

and the way both Nicholas and Wanda were haunting the whole thing, Nicky with his song being the catalyst and Wanda with her magic creating it was so bittersweet

i'll admit when i first read this theory after like the first trial i hated it i thought it would be a cheap remake of "oh no a Maximoff is creating a fake reality again" but they managed to make it super fun and exciting and i love it now!

#agatha harkness #agatha all along #billy maximoff #lilia calderu #jennifer kale #rio vidal #nicholas scratch #wanda maximoff #anon #anon ask #medusasdaughter answers

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bitemybutt · 1 year ago

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Desperate

Law x Reader NSFW!

Y'all, I wrote this at work, in between work, and in bed all on my phone so it is NOT proofread. But I just had to get this out of my head. Also this is pure smut, so no plot really. Hope yall enjoy!! Let me know what you think! MDNI!

WARNINGS: Female reader, dominate Law, female and male receiving oral, mentions of masterbation, saliva, vaginal penatration, fingering, light choking, hand necklace, aftercare, cuddling, SMUT, PURE FILTHY SMUT

Law had been desperate for a few things in his life, but a woman in any sort of romantic capacity was not one of them.

He may have enjoyed the touch of a woman every now and then...but he was never desperate for it.

That was, until you came along.

He wasn't sure when his need for you began, but it was slow, building over the two years you had been with the crew. He tried dismissing it, but soon his quick glances turned into lingering gazes, and innocent thoughts became blurred with visions of you bare before him.

Law knew that if he got his hands on you now, he would ruin you, and he would enjoy every last minute of it.

And that's where he found himself tonight: sat at his desk mind wandering to you. His paperwork was nearly finished and yet he couldn't focus anymore. You were always there, in the front of his mind. Law closed his eyes and leaned his head back against his chair. Your image was burned into his eyelids. And the thoughts came rushing in. He imagined what your nails would feel like digging into his skin, and what you would look like with disheveled hair and blown pupils, tears staining those pretty little cheeks as you beg to be fucked again.

Goddammit, he was losing his mind.

He wanted you...needed you, and yet he hadn't made any indication of such for fear of scaring you away.

He needed release and he found himself reaching for the button of his suddenly tight jeans. It would have to do, and had for some time now. Law nearly had himself free when a knock came at his door.

He gritted his teeth and redid the button and zipper. Who was coming to his door at this hour? He made his way to the door and opened it.

"What is it?" he grumbled before looking down. And then his eyes met yours. His breath nearly hitched at the sight before him. There you stood, hair tumbling around your face and cheeks tinged pink from embarrassment.

His eyes trailed down and saw that you were only wearing an oversized t-shirt, accentuating your plush thighs.

"Captain, I'm really sorry to bother you. I know it's late but I...I can't sleep. I've tried everything but my mind won't quiet. Do you have any medicine I could take? Or a tea? Anything really so long as I can sleep."

Law considered for a moment and opened the door more. He certainly could think of some ways to help you sleep...

"Come in," he gestured into the room.

As you slipped inside Law made his way to a bookshelf in the corner of his room where he kept specific medicines for sleep.

"Is this a normal occurance, y/n-ya?"

You didn't want to admit it, but it had been and you knew exactly what...or rather who the problem was. He was standing in the room with you.

"Yes. But tonight has been unbearable. I--" you stopped for a moment to consider your next words, "I feel like I'm losing it, Law..."

He stopped at the sound of his name spilling from your lips. You never called him that and he was in part glad for it, because he knew it would only add fuel to his burning desire for you. How many times had he imagined what his name would sound like as you cried it out?

When he turned around he saw you leaning against his closed door, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. When had the door shut? The room suddenly felt too small. Too hot. Focus Law, he told himself as he made his way back to you with two pills in hand. He held his hand out and dropped them into you open palm.

"Take these with a glass of water and you should fall asleep within thirty minutes." He tried sounding professional to cover for the fact that his heart was beginning to beat wildly in his chest.

You should have said "thank you" and left, but instead the words spilled out of your mouth before you could stop them, "Law...do you...have you ever had thoughts about someone that has...kept you up at night?" Your cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink and in that moment he knew exactly what you meant.

"What exactly is this about, y/n?" He played dumb but found himself stepping closer to you.

You looked up at him, forcing yourself to face the man that had been causing you so many sleepless nights. So many nights of feeling the warm slickness pool between your thighs. But then you lost your courage only to mumble, "it's stupid, nevermind."

But Law wasn't having it. He was moving closer still and you could feel your cheeks begin to burn hotter. "Law...?"

"Who's been keeping you so bothered?" his voice came out low and husky. He had tunnel vision. You were all he could see now and he was losing himself to you.

He placed a tattooed hand on the door beside your head and gazed down into those big doe eyes.

Your breath caught and you could feel heat beginning to build in your lower stomach. He was so close. So close now that if you leaned in you could kiss him. But instead, he moved in so that his lips were by your ear. "Who?" he whispered, and you inhaled sharply at the sensation that rolled through your body, the pills in your hand falling to the floor.

"You..." you choked out and now your whole body felt flush with embarrassment. But it was short lived because Law's lips were now on yours and his body moved to press you fully against the door.

He had finally snapped the moment it left your lips and without truly thinking, for once in his life, he acted on instinct. His lips moved against yours, soft but hungry and when he felt you reciprocate he ran his tongue along your bottom lip so that you would part for him. His tongue dancing with yours sent a heat through your core and your knees felt weak. The hand that had been on the door moved to cup your face and his other hand moved to your waist feeling the curve of your hip. His hand made its way down to the hem of your shirt where he then slipped under and gripped at your bare skin.

You were melting in his hands and you could feel your head begin to swim, your arousal apparent by the wetness you felt growing between your legs. You pulled away and looked up at him seeing nothing but hunger in his eyes. Oh, he would be your undoing. You would give him anything he asked of you. It took him no time to press his lips against the sensitive part of your neck and he trailed his tongue up to your ear.

"The things I want to do to you, y/n-ya."

A small moan escaped your lips and the heavenly sound was met with a low growl.

Your legs felt like jello. You were sure you soaked through your panties at this point.

"Then do them..." you were breathless as you looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. And then you were being picked up, your legs wrapping around his waist so naturally as if you had done this a million times. He moved you to his bed and laid you down, your shirt riding up exposing your stomach.

"Are you sure about that?" he asked as he hovered just above you. His hand was on your stomach and sliding further up until he reached your breast. His fingers moved to your stiff nipple where he gently pinched at it.

"Y-yes, Law..." you moaned softly.

He was so hard he could barely stand it. His cock was going to look so good shoved in that pretty mouth.

He moved to slide your shirt over your head and when he looked down at your bare chest he felt his cock twitch. Perfect peaks met him and he moved to grasp them, but then he felt your hands grasping at the buttons on his shirt. He let you work through them and when you got it off, you slid your hands over his tattooed chest.

You admired how beautiful his tattoos were and traced them for a moment. But then he grabbed your hands and pinned them above your head. His head dipped down to one of your breasts and he took your nipple in his mouth, sucking and rolling his tongue over it. You arched your back and a louder moan escaped your lips.

Law was starting to come undone with each moan that met his ears. He needed more. He needed to see that perfect pussy. He leaned back, releasing your hands and wasted no time in finding the elastic of your panties. He ran his finger teasingly along the band and watched you squirm.

"Tell me what you thought about when you touched yourself at night, y/n-ya"

Again your cheeks warmed and you looked to the side. Had he really known you played with yourself almost every night or was it a lucky guess?

"You, Law..."

His free hand grabbed your chin gently making you look at him.

"What exactly about me?" He wanted to hear the dirty details about your need for him. He pulled your panties down a little, trailing a finger further inside.

You supposed now was not the time to be shy, though it took you a few seconds to get it out.

"...Your hands...roaming my body, touching every inch of me. I-I thought about you slipping those pretty tattooed fingers inside of me." You felt your panties begin to slide down your thighs.

"And? I know there's more." Law was going to draw this out for as long as he could. His fantasies were coming to life before him.

"And your cock...filling me up. Pounding into me until I cant take anymore." The words coming from your mouth was pure exstasy to him. Your panties were now off and Law admired you for a moment before running a finger just above your folds.

"And do you think you deserve it?" he teased you as you moved your hips hoping his finger would slide further down. You were dripping onto his bedsheets.

One breathy "yes" from you and he ran two fingers along your slit and then inserted them into your warm and waiting cunt.

"Ah!" your eyes snapped shut and you arched into him. Was this really happening? You laying beneath Law, his fingers deep inside of you? He started slow, methodically pumping his fingers in and out but then he picked up speed and you let out a small gasp. Goddamn you were beautiful.

You grasped at the bedsheets and you tilted your head back when you felt him hit your sweet spot.

"L-law! Just like that" you cried out as he continued to hit it. If he kept going you were going to explode and cum all over his hand. Almost there.

But just before you could climax he abruptly pulled out his fingers and smirked. You collapsed and whined, your body shivering from the crash.

"Oh no, not yet," he purred as he put his soaked fingers up to your mouth. You opened obediently and he shoved them in, slickness met with saliva. Your lips closed around his fingers and you suckled at your own juices.

"Good girl," he crooned as he shoved them just a but further into your mouth causing you to drool. You made small whimpering noises and he pulled his fingers out. "Show me how you played with yourself," his mouth upturned into a wicked smile.

"Just like this..." your fingers moved to touch your clit, rubbing small circles and you let out a small moan as your other hand played with your nipples. He watched intently as he moved off of you and began working on getting his jeans off. He pulled them off with his briefs in one motion and your breath caught at the sight of his cock springing free.

Your mouth watered, and you stopped touching yourself to sit up. You needed him in your mouth now. You reached a hand out to grab it and ran it along the length of him admiring the softness of it. He let out a hiss at the touch and grabbed your chin and pulled your face forward. The tip of his cock coaxed your lips open and then your mouth. You flicked your tongue out and licked at the precum pooling at the tip and then put him in slowly, meeting his eyes.

Law stared into those big beautiful eyes full of lust and then in one motion shoved himself into your mouth. The size of him made you choke and he let out a moan at the sound. His moaning was music to you and encouraged you to begin bobbing and sucking at him. Your head moved slowly at first but the more you sucked the faster you got wanting to mouth fuck him until he came down your throat.

Law tilted his head back moving his hand from your chin and grabbing the hair at the back of your head. He pulled on it using it as leverage to shove himself into you.

"Greedy little thing, aren't you?" he teased, your chin glistening with drool. You answered by sucking harder, and he groaned. If you kept this up he was going to cum. You grew more fervent as he pulled your head back and pushed you back onto him. Your little noises were sending him to the edge.

"Mmm, you want me to cum in that naughty little mouth of yours?" his voice came out slightly shaky and you could tell he was going to bust.

"Mhmm," you nodded, your sucking becoming sloppy. He was covered in your spit the sight of which made you even wetter.

But then he pulled out of your mouth and let out a heavy sigh. Oh he was playing with you. You groaned and grabbed at him again, but he pushed you back onto your back his fingers back in your pussy, pumping hard and fast. You grabbed at his arms, your nails digging in. You were already close just from sucking him off, so it didn't take much to build to your climax.

You felt yourself peaking as your hips moves erratically against his hand.

"That's it, y/n-ya, cum for me" he whispered, hooking the tips of his fingers inside you and wiggling them back and forth. It was your undoing as your walls constricted and you cried out.

"Ahhh, Law! Yes, ah yes!"

The aftershock went through your entire body but he wasn't pulling out. Instead, he began wiggling his fingers again and dipped his head down, his tongue meeting your clit.

"Oh I'm not done with you," he said in between licks. Your legs began to shake and you grasped at his hair as he built you back up. Your clit was so sensitive now that each lick and suckle made you jolt and coupled with his fingers you felt yourself peaking again.

"Oh fuck!" You were almost there.

One more suckle against your clit and you were crashing around him again. Your fingers grasped his hair harder as you rode out your climax.

"That's my good girl," he said against your soaked cunt. When he pulled his fingers out he ran his tongue in between his fingers, cleaning up the grool and cum that covered them. The very sight was erotic to you.

Law still wasn't done with you though. He was going to stuff you to brim with his swollen cock. He wanted to feel your overstimulated pussy clenching around him.

He positioned himself at your entrance, his tip just brushing your clit which made you cry out. It was so sensitive now that it almost hurt.

"Fuck me, Law" you begged him, your body thrumming with the high of your climaxes. You weren't sure if you could make it through another one, but you were going to. You needed him inside of you.

"Begging for my cock?" he ran a finger down your cheek and smirked. His tip was poking at your entrance.

"Please...please fuck me," you begged again, spreading your legs wider for him.

"Since you've been so good, I'll let you have it." And then he pushed into you, going all the way to the hilt.

"Fuck Law!"

He was in pure bliss finally feeling your walls squeezing around him. He thought he never would. And you crying out his name only made him thrust harder.

You were so overwhelmed with stimulation that you could feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes but you didn't want him to stop. You were almost in a trance.

Law had his one hand on your hip, his other hand made its way to your throat. He wrapped his fingers around your throat applying light pressure. You didn't even realize how good it would feel but you enjoyed every second of it as he pounded you.

Law looked into your eyes, and there it was. Just as he had imagined: lust-blown eyes, with tears beginning to streak your cheeks. It was better than he imagined actually. You completely fucked out and spent.

The sight was going to make him cum. He wanted to fill you with his seed. He began pumping faster and his moans mingled with yours. You were going to cum again.

"Fuck, look how pretty you look with my cock buried in your pussy." His thrusts were hungry now, filled with need.

"Law...fuck Law, yes...yes" you could only whisper because you were so spent.

The hand Law had on your throat squeezed just a bit tighter as he reached the edge of his climax. "Fuck," he groaned, he was there. One more thrust and his head fell back.

"Fuck, y/n-ya!" At the same time, waves of pleasure hit you and your pussy spasmed around his cock. His orgasm was strong sending pulses to his cock and warm spurts of cum filled you up. When he pulled out he watched as his seed dripped out of you. What a sight.

The hand that had been on your throat moved to cup your cheek and you nuzzled into it. "Law..." you breathed. You reached up, covering his hand with your own.

"That was amazing," you rubbed his hand.

"You were perfect," he smiled and you thought you would do anything to see that smile more often.

He rolled off of you and went to the bathroom. When he returned he handed you a damp washcloth. You gave him a small smile and cleaned yourself up. When you were done, he took it from you and then crawled in the bed beside you. He laid his arm out, a request for you to move into closer. You snuggled into him, laying your head on his warm chest.

You felt the sleepiness begin the set in. And your eyes began to flutter closed. "Thank you," you managed to get out.

"For what?" he asked as he rubbed small circles across your shoulder.

"For helping me sleep."

He chuckled and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"The pleasure was all mine."

But you didn't hear him because sleep had taken you, so he snuggled into you and let sleep claim him too.

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