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depravitycentral · 1 year ago

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Yandere! Shouta Aizawa NSFW Profile

Yandere! Shouta Aizawa x fem! reader

Tw: mentions of dub-con, masturbation, stalking, kidnapping, voyeurism, toys, clothed sex, hair-pulling, this one is actually kind of soft and feels less yandere-y to me so sorry that this one is a little less creepy than normal, Shouta is a pleaser and lives for your praise, he gets off with a blanket you gifted him, very mild somnophilia, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 12K

HABITS

In general, Shouta isn’t that perpetually horny. He’s a busy man with constant stress weighing on his shoulders; working as a pro while being a full-time teacher leaves him drained during the few times he gets to relax, and it’s a lot of work to get himself hard, to get off, and to clean up afterwards.

It’s just not worth it to him – especially because it’s a bit sad to be left with just his fist and some low-grade, unrealistic porn as a man in his thirties, isn’t it?

He doesn’t have a partner, and hasn’t had one for quite some time – there was a girl a decade or so ago, but she didn’t last long, and the sex was subpar at best. And so, Shouta finds himself neglecting any sort of sexual activity most nights that he’s off work, not bothering to get himself all worked up and fuck away some of that pent up stress.

Except, then you show up.

His feelings for you form, and although it takes a long time for them to solidify, it takes an even longer time for them to turn lewd, any sort of sexual thought involving you not really taking root into he’s much further into his obsession.

This is for a few reasons – firstly, he just doesn’t have that high of a libido, and while seeing you naked when he’s watching from outside your window certainly gets him hot and bothered, he isn’t constantly fantasizing about bending you over and fucking you until you’re screaming his name.

(Not never, just not constantly – and at inopportune moments, sometimes. Moments where he really should be focused on the mountains of paperwork on his desk, not focused on how the desk is the perfect height for you to be standing on your tiptoes, ass poised out and your chest pressed against the hard wooden lacquer, your soft skin glistening in the dim light and your pretty thighs twitching and quivering as his fingers press deeper and deeper and deeper -)

Secondly, Shouta’s already feeling such crippling guilt regarding his infatuation with you that adding on overt sexual fantasies for you would push him too far. He already hates that he thinks of you constantly, that he’s always idly worrying about your safety, wanting to know your location and who you’re with and what you’re doing.

He already dislikes that he can’t stop himself from swinging by your apartment at the end of his patrols, making sure that you’re in your bed asleep, safe and sound and looking so fucking pretty in the moonlight. He doesn’t like how wrapped around your finger you have him, so how could he justify wringing himself dry to you, depraved fantasies running through his mind as he imagines the way you’d cream on his fingers, how you’d clench down on him so, so tightly when he fucks you just right?

Shouta can’t – it would breach too many protocols of trust, the friendship formed between the two of you precarious enough as it is with Shouta’s obsessive, disturbing feelings. He doesn’t think of you sexually, banishing every thought from his mind the moment it appears.

Or, at least, that’s what he wishes could be true – unfortunately, his hormones get the better of him sometimes, leaving him rolling around in his bed, cock painfully hard and his mind insistently flashing images of you changing behind his eyelids.

He’s embarrassed, more than anything, that he doesn’t have enough self control to successfully halt any lewd thoughts of you – it’s pathetic, really, because is he so desperate to touch you that he literally can’t stop himself?

Is he really so painfully, pitifully aroused by you that just the mere idea of you licking your lips or smiling at him can get him breathing hard, thankful for the bagginess of his pants?

He hates that the answer is yes, that his body is really that pent up and eager to get you under him, naked and soft and pretty, all for him and only him. It’s demoralizing, but Shouta only has so much restraint – he tries to hold out for as long as he can, really. He swears.

It’s torture at first, popping melatonin and chugging Nyquil, hoping he’ll be able to pass out and sleep off the horniness, but it never quite works. Instead, his dreams are full of you – on your knees, sucking him off so well that your cheeks are literally hollowing, drool spilling down your chin, a string of saliva and precum connecting your puffy lips to his swollen tip when you pull off for air.

He’ll dream of you on your hands and knees, peeking back at him with glassy eyes and biting your lip, clearly embarrassed as you ask him to touch me, please Shouta, I need you…

He always wakes up with soiled sheets, his entire pelvis sticky with now cold cum, and it becomes very, very difficult to look you in the eye that day, only able to conjure up the image of you all tied up in his scarf, your breasts perfectly framed and your thighs spread, slick covering them as you whine his name, desperate for him.

And though he tries to stave off, not letting himself actively fantasize about you sexually while he’s conscious, a particularly rough day of teaching and patrol have him giving up, throwing caution to the wind as he decides that he needs this, that a release is the only way he’ll be able to stay sane.

In the past, the few times he’s masturbated he’s always just fucked his fist, not needing anything too fancy. But for you, something about that feels disrespectful – it’s stupid and he knows it, but the idea of just thrusting into his hand over and over until he eventually spills all over his knuckles seems tacky, low-class, almost offensive to your image, like he’s tarnishing you and the way he idolizes you.

So, he relies on the next best thing he can scrounge up – you’d given him a blanket a few months ago, a birthday present that he’d tried desperately to cover his blush at receiving.

(Hizashi had pitched in, helping you decide which color and texture, having an expert’s opinion so that it would be perfect for the dark-haired man – a level of detail and attention to his desires that still, to this day, makes his heart flutter to think about. You cared, wanting him to be happy, and just that thought leaves his chest swelling with pride, his palms getting a bit clammy and his cheeks feeling too hot.)

He’s kept the blanket on his bed, using it every single night for the limited sleep he manages to get, making sure the material is always, always touching his body. It’s the only way he really feels close to you – the blanket was for him, sure, but you’d touched it, picked it out, held it in your arms while Shouta was dumbly gaping at you and struggling to utter out a strained thank you.

(If he tries hard enough, he thinks he can even smell you on the fabric – it’s not as good as if you were actually here with him, laying in his arms, touching him, but if he strains enough and pretends hard enough, there’s the faintest whiff of you.)

He’s gulping, throwing his uniform off and leaving it crumped up in the corner, before gently, daintily grabbing the edges of the neatly folded blanket (a stark contrast to the harsh pulling and tugging at his costume he’d thrown off moments earlier) and laying it out on the bed.

He lets out a shaky breath, gulping, before tying his hair back into a messy, low ponytail, excitement flitting through him because he’s really about to do it. He’s really about to touch himself to the thought of you, allowing himself to fully indulge in the fantasy that is you, the fantasy that is imagining the way you’d feel against his body, your lips against his own, your hands in his hair and your thighs around his waist.

He’s moving slow as he settles onto his knees on the bed, staring down at the blanket with furrowed brows. This isn’t quite right – the image of you laying before him, body nude and your legs clenched together in anticipation feels very, very right, but there’s something missing.

A thumb comes down to idly rub at the blanket, tracing small circles against the material as he wracks his brain. What’s missing? How can he make this feel like you, like it’s your body he’s touching, like it’s your perfect little cunt he’s fucking?

He’s not sure, but suddenly it hits him – your body, just as he’d been dreaming about.

The blanket doesn’t look enough like you – it’s two dimensional, flat and having no surface area to grip onto, nothing for him to fondle and touch and squeeze.

It needs to have more of your shape – quickly, methodically, he’s reaching down, grabbing handfuls of the blanket and bunching it up, forming a shape that vaguely resembles your torso. He’s careful to get the exact shape of your waist and hips, making sure to leave mounds of crumpled blanket to represent your breasts, even creating a little space between your thighs that represents something soft, something warm and wet and tight – your precious little pussy, something Shouta would literally kill to feel.

He gulps as he looks down at his work, the atmosphere suddenly seeming much thicker, heavier, hotter, because now, the solid colored blanket seems like you, at least having your body shape and your vague proportions. Aizawa lets his hand run down what would be your side, pausing right over your pretend hip.

Fuck, he mutters under his breath, before shifting forward slightly, letting his weight rest on his knees and one hand as he carefully guides his cock to the space between your crafted thighs.

He’d been careful to leave a fold in the fabric, a pouch of sorts – a place for him to push into, slowly spreading the two layers, trying to mimic the way your pretty lips would part for him, your walls sucking him and clenching him nice and tight, wanting to keep him inside and never let him pull out.

Shouta curses as he rubs his tip against the fabric, noting with a small, far-away sense of disdain that there’s precum smearing all along the fabric, certainly leaving a stain that he’ll have to scrub out later. His thumb comes up to gently swipe along where he imagines your cheek to be, even feeling phantom sensations of warmth, of softness, just as you’d be.

He leans down slowly, throat bobbing, before letting his eyes flutter closed, his lips pressing against the blanket – right where he imagines your own to be. The kiss is soft, gentle, heartfelt, his tongue flicking out to lick against the blanket material, groaning and wishing it was your own tongue meeting his, your own spit coating his lips.

As he gets closer, body inching further down until his chest pressed up against what’s supposed to be your breasts, he shuffles his hips forward, pushing past the fabric fold and into you. He groans, pulling back from the kiss to rest his forehead against where he imagines yours to be, letting his eyes shut tight, nearly squeezing them closed as he slowly rocks his hips.

The friction of the blanket feels a bit strange, not how you’d feel, but it’s better than nothing – and it’s so, so very easy to imagine you instead; your warm, slick walls, the way you’d squeeze at him when he brushes up against your spot, the way your legs would wrap around his hips, hooking your ankles and pulling him in closer, begging him to go deeper. He sighs out, biting his lip and furrowing his brow, the pleasure slowly beginning to mount.

He imagines the way you’d moan his name – he bets you’d be airy, a soft sound that gets his hips stuttering ever so slightly because he knows the way his name would sound spilling from your lips would be heaven, the sultry Shouta upturned at the end as he fucks into you just the slightest bit faster.

His hips pick up their pace at the thought of you crying his name, back muscles flexing as he slowly gets faster and faster, the slow, sweet, intimate pace he’d set blown to dust in the wake of his thighs propelling him forward, hips flying and smacking into the blanket so quickly and harshly that the mattress is shaking, bedframe slightly pounding against the wall.

Shouta groans, low and deep, imagining the way you’d beg him to go faster Shouta please, please please please you feel s’good, wanna come for you! Memories of seeing you touch yourself flash behind his closed eyes, seeing the way your face screwed up in pleasure, how you gripped at your pillows and bucked your hips and trembled and arched your back and gasped and came –

Shouta’s chanting your name, his hips sinking into the fold of the blanket over and over, and quickly he’s bringing a thumb down to rub frantic, uneven circles where he imagines your clit to be, desperate to get you coming, wanting to time your orgasm with his.

Fuck, come for me baby, give it to me, god you’re s’damn tight fuuuck - !

His eyes fly open as spurts of warm, milky cum spray from his tip, getting all over the blanket and making his hips stutter and jerk, the sensation of coming in something leaving his arms feeling weak.

He’s panting, still saying your name under his breath, dark hair falling around his face as his thighs flex and clench, the last bits of cum dribbling from his tip and leaving him feeling spent. He can’t help but imagine the way you’d take him, if you’d thank him for giving him everything he has to offer, if you’d hold onto him until you both caught your breath, if your walls would still flutter and clench sporadically even after you’d come down from your high.

He closes his eyes again, heart practically in his throat as he leans down once more to kiss the blanket, tongue sneaking out and wet noises filling the room as spit and drool get slobbered all over the fabric.

He’s still out of breath, panting when he pulls back, but it’s not until he leans back onto his knees and takes a good look at the blanket that his high begins to fade, the reminder that you’re not really there making a sharp feeling dig into his gut.

He stares for a moment, before sighing, slowly pulling out of the blanket and grimacing when he feels cooling cum sliding across his cock, the white mess all over the material and smeared across his skin.

He brings a hand to his forehead, covering his eyes and sighing. What was he doing?

He’d just fucked a blanket – a gift, from you no less – while pretending it was you, his desperation to get you naked and in his grasp strong enough to make him lose him mind.

Pathetic, he was truly pathetic.

He’s ashamed as he throws the blanket into the laundry, hoping the cum stains will come out with all the bleach he’d thrown in alongside it, and as he chugs his coffee, deciding to get to school early and try to collect himself, Shouta can only sigh.

You make him such a fucking fool – a freak, perverted and creepy and gross, and as soon as he catches sight of you in the staff loungeroom, looking all pretty in your simple blouse and slacks, he knows he’s a lost cause, every bit of self-respect falling by the wayside.

Because as soon as he looks at you, all he can think of is how you’d look underneath him, stuffed full of his cum and a dazed, fucked-out expression scrawled across your face. All he can think of is how you’d be absolutely perfect to sink his cock into – and as he darts off to the nearest restroom, desperately trying to get rid of the insistent, raging erection in his pants, he can only sigh, letting his head hang.

He really is a fucking creep.

FAVORITE BODY PARTS

Your thighs

Shouta isn’t one to sexualize women’s bodies. He’s a man with urges, sure, but he’s never had trouble separating sexual attraction from respect for his female friends, even for strangers in the streets. A body is a body, and they aren’t made to be stared at and ogled.

Except where you’re concerned, of course, because while Shouta tries his hardest to not sexualize every thought of you, it’s difficult to hold himself back when he’s so utterly attracted to every single part of you.

It’s hard to not fixate and stare and want when he looks at you, and so while he gives a valiant effort to not obsess over your figure in a less than innocent way, eventually he can’t help himself.

And Shouta discovers that while he loves every inch of you, there’s something about your thighs that drive him absolutely fucking crazy.

Maybe it’s their shape – pretty expanses of your skin that look perfect to grope and squeeze, the soft curves making him salivate in a way that feels almost predatory.

Maybe it’s the way they feel – your skin is so soft, especially if he moves his hands further up, between them, nearing somewhere warm and wet and throbbing.

Maybe it’s the way they feel when they’re around his waist, caging him in and keeping him right where he wants to be, and when they’re around his head?

(Don’t mention the instances where he’s orgasmed just from simply eating you out – it’s embarrassing, and while he won’t deny it, he will change the conversation and pray you don’t see the soft, barely-there pink blooming on his cheeks.)

Maybe it’s even the way you respond when he touches them – how you jump a little bit, his calloused hands feeling a bit cold as they skim along the sides, thumbs pressing into your inner thighs, a comforting finger brushing along the juncture of your legs and pelvic bone.

He’s not entirely sure, but one thing he does know is that just seeing your bare thighs is enough to get him gulping, his dark gaze struggling to move away as he watches the area jiggle and flex while you walk, every step you take only making him want you more and more.

Even before he’s stolen you away, he’s fantasizing about your thighs – he’s bought more pairs of stockings and thigh-highs than he’d care to admit, keeping them neatly organized in a specific drawer in his closet, often fingering the material and biting his lip.

(The image of you wearing them makes him drool, the idea of the top hem squeezing your thigh and making a little bulge appear right above the socks getting his hand wandering down his torso, his fingers making quick word of his belt buckle because fuuuck, would you keep them on while he throws your legs over his shoulders and absolutely destroys you?)

He’s always taking extra time and care to properly worship them when he’s got his head between your legs, letting his lips and tongue trail all along the soft skin, leaving teasing bite marks and hickeys and feeling the way you tremble under his touch because he’s so close yet so far from where you need him.

He’s always got a hand on your thighs when he’s fucking you, his fingers clutching and digging into the skin while he shuts his eyes tight and wills himself to last longer, to prolong the moment, to give you more more more, just like you deserve.

He just really, really likes your thighs, so don’t be surprised when he’s got his hand casually placed on one when you’re watching a movie together, his gaze purposefully not looking at you because you can’t see how flustered he is from touching your clothed thigh in a non-sexual context.

You can’t.

His hands

In general, Shouta lives to please you in bed. He’s by no means submissive (though he could be persuaded if you really, really wanted to be in charge for a night), but he’s a caring partner in every possible sense of the word – sex is about you, and any pleasure he gets from it is just a fun bonus.

And because of this, he takes every opportunity to learn new ways to please you, trying everything from teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue, buying a collection of vibrators, even letting you grind against the expanse of his thigh.

But his favorite method by far is using his fingers on you. They’re thick, with scars and callouses dotting the rough skin, but they’re so gentle with you, always touching you like you’re something fragile and delicate and breakable. He's careful with you when he’s rubbing circles over your clit, the pressure consistent enough to feel good but not too hard, sometimes even teasing you. He’s gentle when he’s running his fingertips over your folds, occasionally dipping in just a hair to feel the warm wetness he wants so very badly to sink into.

(He often sucks in a short, nearly inaudible gasp when he does this, his Adam’s apple bobbing because god you’re wet, and he’ll pull back to lick off his fingers, letting his eyes flutter closed as he tastes you.)

He particularly enjoys fingering you – he’s dexterous, and he always goes slow and purposefully, learning quickly exactly where you like to be touched. He’ll angle the pads of his fingers against that spot inside of you that makes your toes curl, his lip caught between his teeth as he watches your face twist up, hearing your pretty sighs and moans, feeling the way you clench around him, your hips twitching a bit as if to get him deeper, to get more of him. He keeps his pace sensual, the come-hither motion slow and controlled, all the while keeping his thumb pressed firmly against your clit, drawing shapes that stay just consistent enough to get you closer and closer.

All the while, the other hand is gently working at your clit, his fingers expertly getting the exact pressure and pattern you like, making your thighs twitch and your little gasps and mewls louder and more insistent.

And when he’s not actively working between your legs, Shouta’s always got his fingers pleasuring you in other ways – gently kneading at your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples between a thumb and index finger, groping and squeezing at you like a man starved as his tongue flicks and sucks at your clit.

They’re grasping a handful of your thigh and squeezing reassuringly as he’s fucking you, his pace slow and deep, making sure you feel every possible inch of him as he folds you in half.

He’s even slipping a thumb against your tongue when you take a break to breath, your chest heaving and your fingers wrapped around his girth, a groan slipping from his lips because god, the sight of his precum dribbling down your chin is enough to get his cock twitching on its own. He’ll press down on your tongue, his lip caught between his teeth as you stare up at him, the sight indescribably erotic, a few praises falling from his mouth about how good you look, how pretty you are, how well you take care of him.

(All the while, he’s feeling you suck on his thumb, eagerly running your tongue along the skin and even swallowing around it to give the extra suction. Shouta curses under his breath, and suddenly stands, grabbing you by the hips and forcing you to bend over the chair he’d previously been sitting on, roughly spreading your legs and immediately diving in to lick and suck against your clit, a finger slipping inside of you because he just can’t not touch you after watching you drool all over him.)

He just likes to make you feel good, and while he enjoys pleasuring you with his mouth, nothing can beat the way you moan and shake when he’s working his fingers on you, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re incoherent, your poor body trembling, the only thing you can think of him him him.

DRIVE

Though you inspire more sexual desire and drive within him than he’s experienced for the last twenty years, Shouta is still not absolutely desperate to fuck you at all times.

Sure, the idea is nice – being intimate with you is something he craves, but nine times out of ten this intimacy takes the form of simply holding you. Sitting beside you with your head resting on his shoulder, a blanket covering the both of your bodies as you snore softly and cling to him in your sleep, showing that you feel safe with him, that you trust him to protect you.

(Shouta is normally able to keep his staring in check and not be too terribly overt with it, but in times like these he allows himself to openly gape at you, those dark eyes of his examining every detail of your face. Every small wrinkle, every hair and mole, even every lash and baby hair that frames your cheeks. You’re just too damn pretty, and like this he can commit every last detail to memory – as if he hadn’t already, as if he doesn’t sleep at night with your face dancing through his dreams, as if he sees flashes of you in everything he does. As if he isn’t thinking of you as unconsciously as he breaths.)

He generally imagines sleeping with you (and genuinely just sleeping – curling up with you in his arms and his face buried next to your neck, the scent of your body and shampoo filling his senses and making him breathe out something that walks the fine line between a sigh and a moan), the peacefulness and tranquility of just having you close to him in the safety of his protection and home.

It’s a type of intimacy that gets Shouta red in the face, the idea so domestic and taboo and foreign that he comes to crave this on a near constant basis, serving as motivation and a way to calm himself when his students are out of control or a villain is being particularly difficult.

But of course, Shouta is only a man, and men have needs – no matter how he tries to keep his obsession with you as innocent as it possibly can be, sexual thoughts trickle in through the cracks of his mental fortitude and leave him with a phantom wonder of how you’d taste – would you be sweet, like the jellies Hizashi had gotten him? Would you be rich and savory? He hopes you’d have a strong musk to you, a smell that he can breathe in and think of you, something that gets his salivating and his body growing hot and his fingers restless and his breath heavy and labored and god –

He’s hard before he knows it, immediately covering his face with his hands because it’s equal parts embarrassing and terrifying how easily you manage to affect him, just the simple thought of you getting his entire body on edge.

And so he eventually takes up masturbation with you in mind, feeling dirty and disgusting each time he recovers from his orgasmic high, making it more and more difficult to look you in the eye without thinking of all the depraved things he’d imagined doing with you mere hours before.

But Shouta thinks he can survive – sure, he wants to fuck you, needs to kiss you, has to see the face you make when you’re coming, but he can control himself. He won’t succumb to the urge to break into your (frustratingly poorly protected) apartment to run his fingers along your pretty skin and fuck his fist mere inches from your face, no matter how badly his body yells and begs him to. He won’t cross this boundary – it’s hypocritical to think of himself not as a pervert at this point, but it’s the only way he confidently resists you.

Except, then you go and force him into kidnapping you – and now you’re with him nearly all moments of the day, your scent in his bedroom (though he knows you never willingly enter there, and he doesn’t force you to), your body always just a heartbeat away, the idea of holding you and kissing much, much closer now.

And even with the constant temptation, Shouta manages to hold out – it’s torture, really, forcing himself to be a good man and giving you privacy, to not touch you, to not press himself against you and feel the contours of your body against his own, but it’s worth it to him. He can’t force anything – he doesn’t want to scare you, and he has this horrible, sneaking suspicion that if he propositioned you, you’d feel too afraid to say no.

And just the thought is enough motivation to keep him from touching you, to keep him celibate from you purely by his choice – even if it starts affecting him physically.

(He’d never, ever admit it to you, but his lust for you becomes so extreme that if he’s gone more than a week or so without having touched himself to the thought of you while you’re under his care, his cock starts physically hurting when he sees you, his hips involuntarily twitching when he hears your voice, his throat feeling dry and his cheeks blooming bright red because god, he’s never wanted to fuck something so bad.)

And so, Shouta forces himself to be an outstanding man – but no one can be alert every moment of every day, and it’s only a matter of time before you catch him in a moment of weakness. Because really, while Shouta was suffering, you were certainly undergoing a struggle of your own – you’ve been stuck with him for a few months at this point, trapped in his modest apartment with everything you could ever need with one glaring, important exception: human touch.

You don’t necessarily want to be physical with your kidnapper, but as the days pass and you slowly come to accept the fact that you won’t be escaping Eraserhead, things start changing. You’re still understandably frightened of him, worried that although he’s not harmed you in any way and hasn’t forced you into much aside from your captivity, he’ll show his true colors and make your life even more of a living hell.

But that doesn’t happen, Shouta staying that familiar presence you’ve become accustomed to; steady, quiet, consistent. Except the more days that pass, the more you start noticing other things about him – he’s strong, isn’t he? You see it when he walks from the bathroom to his bedroom with the towel tightly fastened at his waist, showing off the lean muscle of his arms and torso.

(He can feel your eyes sometimes, but tries not to dwell on what your staring at his naked chest could mean because getting his hopes up means getting them inevitably crushed.)

He’s awfully attentive, isn’t he? He listens when you speak, those dark eyes boring into you and your every wish – aside from escape – granted without so much as a complaint.

And sometimes, he’s a little attractive, isn’t he? In a rugged, man-ish way – a way that makes you gulp and press your thighs together a bit, because something about the stubble that coats his chin and the veins that litter his hands and forearms makes it difficult to breath correctly.

And then the daydreams start – little thoughts about how it would feel for those hands to touch you, for those lips to brush against your own, for his hair to tickle your neck as he hovers over you, his hips moving slowly and rhythmically against you, gruff grunts of your name filling the air between you.

They scare you at first, really, but soon you can’t stop yourself – you know it’s the lack of human contact that’s influencing you, but as time passes and you grow more desperate to know if he’s as attentive in bed as he is everywhere else, you’ll stop caring.

And Shouta can sense that something’s changing – he feels you watching him, notices the way your eyes follow him through a room, how you suck in the sharpest, smallest breath when he nears you, how you grow stiff when he has to flex a muscle in front of you to lift something heavy. Shouta knows that something is different – but it’s not until you grow brave one day that everything is confirmed.

It’d been a long, tiresome day for Shouta – his class had been especially rowdy today, with a simulation villain attack that the teachers participated in, and of course he’d ended up assigned to spar with Todoroki – meaning he’d been moving about, his muscles tired and sore from multiple hours of repetitive fighting. Then he’d had an extra patrol directly after, the villains particularly restless and causing more trouble than normal. Coupled with a nasty rainstorm that had him half freezing to death, Shouta wanted nothing more than to melt into bed, ideally with you beside him but knowing better than to wish for foolish things.

And when he’d stepped in the front door, you’d been waiting for him, sitting nervously on the couch. You’d stood up, but Shouta – despite feeling slightly more awake and alive at the sight of you, like normal – was still exhausted, already on the brink of unconsciousness as he gruffly greeted you. You looked nervous, twiddling your thumbs and biting your lip, but Shouta was too tired to properly ask about it, only mentally noting to check on you tomorrow.

Slumping towards his bedroom, he was abruptly stopped with you grabbed his hand, his entire body going rigid. Your voice was quiet when you asked him why he always seems to avoid touching you, asking if he didn’t want to, if he was repulsed by the idea of touching, if he was repulsed by you.

And Shouta, still half delirious with exhaustion, let the truth slip from his lips before he could help himself – explaining just how badly he craves to feel you, imagining you in every lewd position he can think of, noticing the way your pajama shirts sometimes grow tight when you sleep and roll over, exposing the outline of your breast and nipple and making him physically stop in his tracks and nearly drool like some horny teenager.

Every secret was spilling out of him, his voice still tired and coarse but making your jaw drop, the admission that he’s been fantasizing about making you a mess on his fingers and tongue and cock stunning you. You’d known Shouta harbored some sort of feelings for you, but this?

When he finishes detailing the fact that he regularly fucks his fist to the thought of you at least twice a week after you’ve fallen asleep, you release his hand, immediately missing the warmth of his skin.

Shouta rubs at his eyes, still not facing you, but muttering a small goodnight and retreating to his room, only realizing what’s happened the next morning. His hands shake and he bolts from his bed, his eyes wide and his heart racing, something horrible and feeling like shame and dread sitting in his chest because why the fuck had he told you that?

Facing you the next day has anxiety sitting in his every nerve, his actions jerky and on-edge, an he’d nearly bolted back to the safety of his room when he sawy you sitting at the kitchen table, but then you’d done something unexpected – you’d walked up to him, stood in silence for a moment, then grabbed his hand. Shouta had been confused, unable to ignore the way your hand fit into his own and the softness of your skin against his, but you’d not given him a chance to even ask questions – soon your lips were on his, and your hand had placed his on something warm and soft and squishy –

Shouta gasped against your lips, the feeling of your breast in his hand and your tongue swiping at his lips nearly making his knees buckle. He didn’t respond to your kiss for a few moments, forcing you to pull back and stare at him, something like worry and rejection reflected in your eyes, but it’s not until you whisper in a very small voice that he snaps out of his stupor.

I want you Shouta, and I know you want me.

You were in his bed moments later, his hands frantic and eager and shaking as he practically ripped off your borrowed pajamas, fingers moving fast and settling over every part of your body, seemingly unable to decide on where to stay.

It was rushed, desperation clouding both of your senses, but as Shouta threw your leg over his shoulder and pressed wet kisses against the juncture of your shoulder and neck, his whispered affirmations of his love for you only had you pulling him closer, adoration and shock and something so happy it nearly hurt filling his chest.

Perhaps, just perhaps, something in you loved him as he loved you.

MAIN THREE KINKS

Clothed Sex

It’s about convenience for Shouta – he’s not lazy in the bedroom, but although he finds you irresistible and is normally willing to expend what very little energy he has on sex with you, he’s willing to take any shortcut he can.

Of course, sex with you in an ideal world sees the both of you completely nude, your bodies pressed as close together as physically possible so that not a breath of space lays between them. He likes being close to you, feeling every inch of you, the intimacy of it unmatched and making Shouta revel in the fact that you’re really there with him, that he’s really getting to touch you, that he’s really getting to kiss you and touch you and fuck you, just as he’s been fantasizing of for months.

But that said, there’s a strange allure to clothed sex – it’s taboo and a little dirty, something that makes him feel a little warm, his palms growing a bit sweaty because it could happen at any time. Whenever the mood strikes him or strikes you, he could simply unzip his pants, shuffle them down a bit and fish out his cock, and he'd be ready to go – already half-hard, the eager anticipation of your touch exciting him from nearly the moment you entered the room.

And it’s easy access to you, too – not that he’d ever take advantage of that fact, your consent still something he asks for every time he touches you. It’s easy to slip your panties to the side, sinking you down onto his lap as he groans and his head lolls back, the feeling of your warmth making his toes curl. He just likes how easy it all is – no time is wasted with struggling to get off your shirt or his pants, and the desperation to be inside you that always seems to overwhelm him at the most inconvenient of times can be attended to that much faster.

He just thinks there’s something so hot about it – he’ll specifically stock you with clothing to wear that makes this easy – flouncy skirts and shorts that make shoving everything to the side and bunching his fist into the cloth to get better leverage while he pounds into you.

He’ll get you tank tops and things that make fishing your breasts out of your top easy, so that they can freely hang and jiggle as he bounces you up and down on his lap, your nipples hardening and shivers racing down your spine as he flicks his tongue at one.

He’ll buy underwear that doesn’t chafe when he shoves it to the side, the pretty sight of lace against your skin making him feral, making him fuck into you harder and more frantically because you almost look like some sort of lewd present when you’re wearing that lingerie – like his very own present, the one thing in the world he wants more than anything else.

And he’ll wear clothing that makes this easy, too – pants that can be unzipped and boxers he can tuck underneath his balls, making sure that nothing gets in the way. And although having sex without clothes is much more common than with clothes, Shouta will surprise you and suddenly press up behind you in the kitchen, telling you that you look too good, that he can’t help himself, that he needs you, and has to fuck you right here, right now, I can’t wait.

And so when you nod, he’ll flip up that skirt of yours – the main culprit for the throbbing between his legs, of course, because the clear view of your legs and thighs makes his mouth water – and slip aside those panties, his cock already out and hard and dripping for you.

It’s spontaneous, more than anything, and it’s one of the only ways in which Shouta is a little carefree with sex – one of the only times that he isn’t serious, or at least as serious.

The main way Shouta likes to engage in clothed sex, though, is through cockwarming. He just likes being close to you – he’s touch-starved, and although he doesn’t have the energy to actually fuck you, he still wants to be inside you, to have your body against his, to have you near and be smelling your scent and hearing your voice.

And so, it’s not a rare occurrence to have him pull you into his arms on his modest leather couch, your frumpy sweatpants and t-shirt (both his, of course, a fact that isn’t lost on him – he will not be washing either of those items when they eventually are off your body) covering your form and his own loungewear covering his.

He’ll shuffle up behind you, pulling you against him so that he’s spooning you, and before long you’ll feel something poking at your ass – something hard and insistent, something that seems to be bobbing and moving every few moments.

Truthfully, Shouta couldn’t say what got him hard – perhaps it was just being with you, or maybe smelling you, or the sight of you in his clothes. It could be any number of things – but his breath hitches as you swallow and carefully tug down the hem of your sweatpants, pressing your exposed ass back against him.

He makes a sound like a low whistle, and then he’s fishing his cock out of his own pants, the tip already wet with precum as he shifts his hips to slip between your legs, propping your leg up over his so that he can push inside. He does so with a small groan, resting his forehead against your back, and he feels you clench down on him.

He’s content to lay there – the warmth of his clothing and from you almost too much, but seeing the way you snuggle deeper into the shirt sending something warm and hot and possessive through his chest. He’ll just pull you against him tighter, the slight shift making the both of you hiss at the small burst of pleasure. He’s content to fall asleep that way – relaxed, his cock still nestled inside of you and hard as a rock, the feeling of your cunt lulling him into dreams filled with you naked and moaning his name, all bouncing breasts and desperate hands and begs for more.

(Don’t be surprised, when this happens, to wake up feeling something dripping out of you – yes, it’s cum and yes, that wet dream was enough to get him there. Don’t mention it, either, because Shouta’s always disappointed that he wasn’t awake for it - after all, call him old-fashioned but finishing inside of you is arguably his favorite selfish part of sex.)

Overstimulation

Shouta is not a stingy lover. In the bedroom, he lives to see you enjoying yourself – it soothes this primal, horrible ache in his chest that yearns or your approval and happiness. A lot of his obsession is born out of a desire to please you and keep you happy and safe, and this translates into making absolutely sure you’re satisfied in every possible way between the sheets.

Sex isn’t really sex until you’ve had at least two orgasms, whether that be because of his fingers or tongue, and only then will he throw your pretty legs up over his shoulders, sinking into you with a sharp exhale and letting his face rest against your sternum as he wills himself to not get too excited, to keep his cool and not rut into you like wild animal. He wants you to enjoy sex with him – he craves intimacy with you and he needs you to crave it too, and he’s hopeful that by giving you the best attention and care in bed, you’ll be more inclined to kiss and hold him, to touch him and whisper those three little words in his ear.

(The three little words that make him gasp and shudder, cum immediately spurting out of his red, swollen tip, his knuckles turning white as he grips onto your thigh and the bedsheets tightly enough to keep himself grounded through the pleasure.)

And so, Shouta finds that there’s something darkly pleasing about being the one to get you orgasming, being the source of your pleasure – seeing your face twist up, your mouth forming that pretty ‘o’ and your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Shouta develops a bit of a sick fascination with seeing just how often he can make you come for him, and from what. It stems from a good place; a genuine desire to make you happy and get you shaking with pleasure and incoherent enough that all you can say is his name.

He likes to choose how you come – will it be his fingers? Will he draw pretty circles on the inside of your thighs, teasing you and feeling the way your breathing picks up a bit, a whine of his name telling him that you’re growing impatient, that you need more, that you need him?

He’ll get closer and closer to your folds, pressing a thumb against them and dipping in ever so slightly, the dull pleasure making you bite your lip, embarrassment eating you alive because it feels so dirty to be teased like this, to keep your legs so wide open for him, to feel the way his eyes are staring at you so fully and intensely, the adoration and lust swimming in those dark depths nearly too much for you handle.

He’ll press two fingers against your clit and get to work, rubbing with light pressure and slowly increasing it, feeling the way the nub gets harder and more swollen, fingers swiping down to collect a bit of your slick to make things easier, the pads of his fingers gliding along your sensitive skin and making your hips jump and twist.

He’ll use his other hand to finger you, rough calloused skin dragging against your walls and pressing right into the spot he knows you love – the one that makes your back arch up, your head pushing back against the pillow, your nails digging into the bedsheets and tangling through his hair. Working you through an orgasm with his fingers is his favorite and what you’ll most likely get – he gets a front row seat, watching with rapt attention as you fall apart for him, feeling the way your thighs tremble and close in around him when you’re right on the edge.

There’s this feeling of power, pride and desire making him light headed and only work harder at his ministrations, ignoring your yelps and gasps of overstimulation because he needs to see that again, to feel the way you clench down onto his fingers so tightly that he has to work to pull them out to thrust back in. You’re just so damn sexy, the sight of you laying before him with your pretty legs spread wide open making him swallow so hard you can hear it.

But of course, Shouta also loves using his mouth to get you off – pink lips attaching to your nipple, sucking and running his tongue over your areola to make you squirm, your little keens making his cock twitch against your thigh.

He’ll kiss at your hips, making a trail down to your clit, giving you little kitten licks while his eyes flick up to look at you, seeing the way you sigh and bite your lip, the rising and falling of your chest making him near feral.

He wants to see you moan and writhe, to feel you grasping at him and needing him, and so his patience wears out and he dives between your legs, slick coating his nose and chin as he licks and sucks and thrusts his tongue against you, eyes closed in concentration and hair getting in his face but he doesn’t care – how can he, when you sound so pretty moaning his name like that?

How can he, when your thighs are clenching around his head and you’re just so fucking wet for him, showing him exactly how much he’s affecting you?

It's euphoric, and soon you’ll be crying out his name and creaming all over his lips, shaking in his grasp so hard that he has to hold you down by the hips to help you ride out the pleasure, the taste of you making him so hard that it hurts.

And god, there’s something about the way you respond to voice and his commands in bed that makes Shouta curse under his breath. You look up at him all wide-eyed, pleasure written across your face as you look to him for guidance, his voice gruff and thick with lust as he tells you to let go, come for me, want to see you come for me.

You immediately furrow your brows and bite your lip, grinding yourself harder against his fingers, feeling the pads of them brush against the spot that has you seeing stars, his name a prayer as you chant it over and over, only stopping to moan or gasp.

The sight is intoxicating, leaving Shouta gaping like a fish with parted lips and heavy breaths, staring at you like you’re something heavenly, divine, unable to tear his gaze away because he still can’t quite believe this is happening, that you’re moaning his name, that you’re letting him touch you and oh, he knows what that change in your facial expression means, how you’re blinding grasping at him, how you’re stuttering out a rushed ‘m coming, Shouta ‘m coming fuck-!

Watching you come undone right before his eyes has Shouta’s cock throbbing, his hips subtly moving against your thigh because he needs friction, the sight of you and the knowledge that he made you this way nearly too much for him to bear.

And when you finally calm down, your breathing wild and your eyes a little glazed over, he’ll just swallow and quickly situate him hips between your legs, gripping himself at the base and impatiently prodding at your entrance, his words dark as he tells you that you’ve got another one in you, give it to me.

When he pushes in – slowly, so as not to hurt you – he lets out a groan, only muffled by the way he leans down to kiss you, feeling the way you tense up and eagerly return the gesture, wrapping your ankles around his waist and pulling him deeper, showing him that you need more more more if you’re going to finish like he wants you to.

And Shouta’s happy to oblige – snapping his hips into you until his muscles are sore and screaming, a thumb relentlessly toying with your clit, his lips against your neck and whispering praise tainted with curses.

He’s encouraging you to feel good, telling you to tell me how it – fuck, how it feels, you’re so goddamn tight, tell me how to fuck you – o-oh…

Because really, while he loves to get you coming and falling apart on his terms, Shouta’s pride flies out the window where you’re concerned – he’d do anything to get you clenching down on him and begging him to finish inside you.

Anything.

Voyeurism

Honestly, it’s a byproduct of having stalked you for such an extended period of time. Watching you was the only way to feel close to you – he wasn’t able to hold you and kiss you, to feel you and lay with you and make you whine his name, and becoming your shadow was the only possible substitution.

And even then, it wasn’t enough – all the guilt he harbors from watching you in your more intimate moments never fades, not even after years of having stolen you away, your pretty body and mind fully his to do as he pleases. He’s still ashamed, but some things he just simply can’t unlearn – and so, even once your sexual relationship begins, Shouta finds himself still utterly excited by the prospect of watching you pleasure yourself.

It’s dirty, horrible, something that makes him feel so guilty he can hardly stand it, but he can’t not stop and watch through the crack in your door when he hears what sounds suspiciously close to muffled whimpers.

He can’t not press his ear against the wooden door, closing his eyes and imagining what you’re doing to yourself – maybe you’re playing with that cute little clit, rubbing it in circles and biting your lip because it just feels so damn good, mimicking the way that Shouta works you up slowly and steadily, getting you so sensitive that your hips jump and twitch at just the slightest bit of pressure against your sensitive nerves.

(He’s had dreams about the way you taste – he thinks you’d be musky, something natural and strong and savory, a taste he wants in his mouth at all hours of the day. And the way you’d tremble and gush for him if it was his fingers and mouth toying with the nub, how you’d tangle your fingers in his hair and pull him closer and closer to you, needing as much of him as possible, needing him him him…)

Maybe you’re sinking your fingers inside of you, working up from one to three, stretching yourself out and imagining it’s him instead, that he’s the one filling you up and making your toes curl, that he’s the one causing all those pretty noises to fall from your lips.

(He knows just how much bigger his own fingers are – he’ll imagine the size difference, his eyes shutting tight when he thinks of how much more he can stretch you out, how much better he can make you feel, how the texture of his fingers must send pleasure up your spine in a way that your soft, comparatively dainty fingers can’t.)

Maybe you’re perched up on a pillow, straddling it with your cunt pressed snugly against the fabric, slick smearing across the cotton as you grind your hips back and forth, hunched over so that the angle is just right, imagining it’s him underneath you and it’s his thigh or cock you’re rubbing against.

(He’s had wet dreams about this sight, always hoping and fantasizing that you’re just so desperate for him that you’re imagining it’s his face you’re riding, his mind conjuring up the sound of your voice moaning out his name and telling him yes yes o-oh fuck yes, Shouta ‘s so good, you feel so good! He’d never seen you riding a pillow during all those months of stalking, but the idea’s just too graphic and wanton and lewd for him to not fantasize about, the idea satisfying the part of him that’s embarrassed and ashamed of just how badly he craves you – because surely if you’re humping some piece of cotton and pretending it’s him, then what does he have to be embarrassed about? Lots, really, but it makes him feel slightly better.)

Or maybe you’ve decided that you want something a little more physical, something to really mimic him – he’d seen you using your vibrator many, many times before he stole you away. His face always turned pink at the sight, his throat going dry and his grip on his capture weapon a little loose as he simply stared, the sight of your pretty body contorting and the plastic held against the crest of your pelvic bone making everything else fade away.

You’re so damn pretty – the way you moan and sigh, how your legs twitch, how your breasts sway and jiggle with every motion, making his fingers ache to reach out and squeeze, to knead and touch and grope, like some sort of pervert.

And this fantasy and mental image has stayed with him long after kidnapping you – once your physical relationship begins and Shouta no longer feels it would make you even more uncomfortable and scared of him, he’s buying you a replacement for that trusty vibrator you used to use to death. He’d left it on your nightstand one morning with a hasty note simply saying I’m gone a lot, I don’t want you to get lonely.

Of course, this is only half the truth – he does want you to be happy, and he doesn’t want you to grow resentful of the times when he’s too exhausted to give you proper sex. But of course, the unspoken portion of this gift is that he wants to watch you use said vibrator – and badly.

He wants to sit in a chair at the side of the bed, legs spread wide as he grips the base of his cock, absentmindedly squeezing at his balls while his dark eyes stay trained on your figure. He wants you to be spread out for him, perhaps a skimpy set of lingerie covering your pretty body (or perhaps none at all, if you’re comfortable with it) with your legs spread wide, the vibrator in your hand hovering against your clit. He wants to hear the steady, dull buzzing sound mixing with your whimpers, to see the way your body tenses up and you whine, feet flexing and shaky breaths slipping past your lips as you slowly work towards your high.

He wants to see the way you eventually grow impatient, changing the vibrator’s setting and immediately crying out, the feeling much more intense and making your orgasm hurtle towards you, getting slick all over the bedspread as you cry out his name and writhe.

And Shouta doesn’t want you to look at him – he doesn’t want you to acknowledge that he’s there. Ignore him, just as you would have back when he was simply watching from outside your window – he wants to watch you, not have a show be put on for him.

You’re just too pretty, and there’s something about watching you that gets him hard as rock, his fist twisting and flicking so quickly it’s nearly a blur as he watches you transition to fucking yourself with the toy, your cries loud and wanton as Shouta grunts and curses under his breath. He wants to finish with you this time, his hips thrusting against his hand in an effort to match the pace you’ve set for yourself. It’s a dirty secret of his, and while Shouta won’t force you into it, just know that he would love to catch you masturbating – just the sight of you pleasuring yourself is enough to get him hot under the collar immediately, hand rushing into his trousers to cup himself because god.

He just likes to watch you, and even during regular sex when he’s folded you in half, those eyes are alternating between watching your face, your bouncing breasts, and your cunt swallowing his cock again and again and again, his cheeks a rosy pink and a bead of sweat dripping from his brow.

You’re just too pretty, he can’t take it – how can he not immediately want to get something of his on you, staining your lovely skin and gorgeous face with his cum?

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE

Hair Pulling

But not on you – unless you like it, in which case he might consider but will only ever do it lightly. He doesn’t like causing pain in general, and would only be willing to do it in very specific scenarios – and even then, it will be as gently as he possibly can.

Rather, Shouta likes when you pull his hair – he doesn’t let most people touch it, and it’s a rare day that he actually runs a comb through it, so as a result his scalp is extremely sensitive. And so, when you tunnel your fingers through his dark locks and pull, Shouta audibly groans, the tingling pain sending pleasure racing down his spine.

There’s just something naughty about it – only you get to touch him like this, so only you get to run your fingers through his hair and tug at it.

He particularly likes when you pull it while he’s got his face between your legs. He likes how your fingers tunnel through it and scrape against his scalp, and he’ll often use it as an indicator of whether he’s doing a good job or not. If you pull often and hard, he knows he’s doing what he needs to do – he’ll keep the pace up and stay in that same spot, doing everything and anything in his power to keep you pulling at it, working through any pain in his jaw or tongue because he needs to make sure you’re feeling good even at his own expense.

When he’s got you perched on his face, your pretty thighs framing his head so that all he can smell and taste and feel is you, he likes to have you reach down and still pull lightly at the roots, your breasts squished together and nipples taut, the visual alongside your taste and the slight pain from his scalp making his eyes roll to the back of his head and precum dribble down his length.

When he’s hovering over you and thrusting into you, balls clapping against your ass and your legs wrapped around his waist, he likes to have you tug at his hair, moaning out and crying his name with each tug and letting his ego swell, each burst of light pain making his hips go harder, faster, deeper, anything to get you louder and clenching around him tighter.

Even when you’re just kissing – simple, innocent kisses full of smiles and his hands gripping you just ever so slightly, Shouta likes to have you running your hands through his hair and tugging lightly, keeping him on his toes and forcing his cock to life.

He just really, really likes to have you touch his hair – it’s something intimate and something he’ll only ever let you do, so really, you should count yourself lucky. Shouta sure does when he’s buried deep inside you, watching your face and feeling your hands in his hair as he gives you every last drop he has to offer.

Mirror Sex

In general, Shouta absolutely loves watching you in bed. He thinks you’re genuinely the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and when you’re gasping on his cock and moaning his name, you’re even prettier, even more breathtaking and lovely and perfect.

And while he prefers positions where he can see your face, he wants to be able to see your expressions always, even if he’s got you bent over while he presses his back to your chest and mounts you like some sort of wild animal.

And so, to solve this problem, Shouta invests in a modest, simple mirror that he keeps facing the end of your ‘shared’ bed – it’s roughly four feet tall and two feet wide, the perfect size so that when he’s got you on your hands and knees for him, your back arching and your arms threatening to give out, he can watch your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He’ll experiment with the pacing of his thrusts, going deeper and harder to see the way your brows scrunch up, how your jaw drops and the most depraved whine slips out of you, pride and arousal swelling in his chest because he made you make that noise.

He’ll go slower and keep his thrusts brushing against the spots that make you gasp just so that he can see the way your lips twitch.

He’ll speed up, fucking into you so fast that his balls slap lewdly against your ass, the noise filling the room alongside your pants and his groans, watching all the while how your eyes flutter and your back arches. He’ll sit you in his lap facing the mirror, spreading your legs and getting to work with his fingers curling and rubbing inside of you, a thumb circling your clit and his lips at your ear as he tells you to watch, pretty, see how good you look?

He’ll kiss a line from behind your ear, down your neck and over your shoulder, occasionally glancing up to the mirror to make sure you’re actively looking, whispering praises against your skin each time.

And he’ll bring you close to the mirror, too – sitting you only a foot away from the reflective surface, letting you get a nice view of Shouta’s favorite sight – your cunt, all spread out and wet, practically begging for something big, heavy, and throbbing to fill it, to stretch it out and make you see stars.

He’ll spread your lips, exposing your clenching hole, smiling at your reflection and making you tell him that you’re pretty, forcing you to grow comfortable with your body because he knows that it makes you insecure to see so much of yourself, and it drives him crazy.

He’ll even fuck you against the mirror – forcing you to watch your face from mere inches away, your hot breaths fogging up the glass, and he’ll make you come like that – holding your chin straight ahead and telling you to watch, sh-shit, watch, don’t take those fucking eyes off your face in a strained voice.

He just likes getting a good view of you during sex – you’re too pretty not to be seen, after all.

BIGGEST FANTASY

In general, Shouta absolutely loves being intimate with you. While he’s no virgin, he doesn’t have an extensive amount of experience, and frankly he’s never been the biggest fan of sex – it’s too messy, too energy draining, and just a massive hassle.

However, when it’s with you, and when you moan his name just right and leave your nail marks down his back, Shouta will gladly strip his clothing at your beck and call, his lips already on yours before you can even finish your sentence.

And while he loves good, rough, passionate sex that’s full of smacking hips, gasps, moans and growls, there’s something to be said for slower, gentler sex, the kind that’s full of airy breaths and slow, meaningful kisses.

It’s the kind of sex where you can really feel him; every inch of him, the way his body covers yours as he hovers over you, the tickle of his hair against your jaw and neck as he buries his face in the juncture of your shoulder and collarbone, his hips rocking into yours and managing to grind against that one perfect spot that gets you sighing out a moan. It’s just more intimate this way, less of a wild, frantic race to get inside of you and more a slow, controlled love making, as embarrassed as he is to use to term.

Regardless, you’re most likely to get this type of sex from Shouta in two specific scenarios – the first of which being after a very long day, filled with a harrowing patrol where he maybe wasn’t able to save everyone, or things didn’t go according to plan. When this happens, he needs to just hold you, to feel you, to hear you whisper his name under your breath and tell him how good he feels, how he’s the best you’ve ever had, how he’s the only one you’ll ever want…

The second – and far more likely – scenario is in the early hours of the morning, when the sunlight is streaming into the modest apartment he keeps you in, your shared bed feeling warm with your bodies pressed against one another. Soft, sleepy morning sex is Shouta’s favorite, and something that he tries to incite as often as he possibly can.

There’s just something about it that gets him hot under the collar; maybe it’s the casualness of it all, the way it feels so natural, so human and so right, as if your bodies were made for each other. Maybe it’s the way it feels so intimate, like you’re both raw, yourselves in the most wonderful way.

Or maybe it’s the way you’re still just slightly sleepy, and you’re much more likely to be clingy at this time, touching him more and letting your real noises come out, not hindered by any shame or hate or embarrassment.

Regardless, Shouta loves it – so on the rare weekends where he’s off, expect to be woken up on the brink of an orgasm just as you deserve.

A yawn slips past Shouta’s lips, eyes peeling open and seeing the gray of his bedsheets. Everything is warm and soft, and as he shifts slightly, something moves next to him.

Nothing seems real for a few moments as he gazes down at you, your body curled up next to his own. It doesn’t feel real that you’re really here – in his bed without any clothing, happily sleeping without a care in the world. He swallows, something coming over him and moving him slowly – carefully – peel off the covers, moving down to where your legs slightly part.

He leans down, face mere inches away from the tufts of your pubic hair, his eyes fluttering closed as he inhales. You’re perfect – and as he gently pries your legs open further, Shouta can’t help but think of how often he’s fantasized about this very moment – how often he’s dreamt of what’s between your thighs, how he’d lay awake at night and press his fingers between two pillows, grinding his fingers against the cotton and pretending it was you, imagining how warm and wet you’d be for him.

He swallows, determination setting his brow as he lays onto his stomach, shuffling so that he can lightly lick at your inner thighs, eyes closing at the familiar taste of you. He takes his time, going slowly and softly, licking closer and closer to your pretty folds, eventually reaching them and licking his lips at the taste.

A thumb comes up to slowly press against your clit, knowing too much pressure would hurt and not warm your body up the way it needed. He continues his licks, before switching roles and starting to suckle at your clit as a finger dips between your folds, collecting the slick and rubbing it between his fingers.

Soon he’s pressing one inside, feeling the way your thighs twitch slightly, a small, sleepy moan ringing in his ears. God, you’re so damn perfect – even unconscious you’re enough to get his cock throbbing against the cotton sheets.

He keeps his pace slow, but as time passes you stir a bit, and when he hears your sleepy voice mumble out his name, Shouta curses, his fingers speeding up a bit.

That gets you more awake – soon your fingers are carding through his hair, sighs and murmurs of his name sounding like heaven.

“Mm, Shouta, that feels good…” You mumble, still dazed from waking up. Your hips are twitching now, a sign that the pleasure is slowly beginning to build.

Shouta groans against your cunt, the sound muffled.

Soon his fingers are picking up the pace again, his circles and licks at your clit growing more insistent, and the hands weaving through his hair start to tug – the sensation gets him humping at the bed for a moment, the morning glow still shining on you as he glances up at your face. You look like an angel – shining in the sunlight, your lips parted in a moan, head thrown back in pleasure.

Shouta pulls back for a moment, sending a kiss to your clit that makes your hips buck. He chuckles a bit, licking his lips.

“You’re so beautiful..” He whispers against your thigh, pressing open mouthed kisses against the skin. You hum at his compliment, and he watches as you smile, his breath practically punched out of his lungs.

“Shouta, you’re too good to me…” Your voice is soft, too, and soon he’s back to sucking at your clit, feeling the way your body jolts slightly, the pleasure making you sigh and swallow. He watches the movement of your throat.

“Feels good, mm yes, oh Shouta - just like that,” You start, eyes closed again, and Shouta finds himself abandoning the gentle pace he’d adopted, instead being more insistent, more pushy – suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to get you coming on his fingers.

You gasp lightly at the new change in pace, grinding your hips to match the new stimulation, and it makes Shouta dizzy. How can you be so attractive? How can you look so perfect in this moment; in his bed, moaning his name, looking and tasting and smelling like his own personal slice of heaven?

It’s cheesy and he’s almost embarrassed, but tears prick at the corners of his eye.

Soon your gasps have turned to moans, and all too soon you warn him in a slurred voice that you’re coming, your back arching up off the mattress and your moans light and airy as you gush against his fingers, white coating all the way down his knuckles and onto his palms. It makes him choke a bit, the feeling of your cunt rhythmically clenching down on him and your chest heaving, and with a final lick to your clit that makes you jerk, he’s moving up to kiss you.

The kiss is slow, his tongue brushing against yours and wet sound filling the room, but Shouta doesn’t mind. How could he, when he’s never felt this relaxed before?

His eyes slowly open as he feels your fingers wrap around him, a thumb brushing along his tip to collect a bit of the wetness there.

“Shouta, let me make you feel good.” You tell him, your voice just a whisper.

He looks at you, his lips parted for a brief moment, before a small smile quirks up the corners of his mouth. “Why would you do that?”

You trace the line of his jaw with your free thumb. The slow strokes of his cock have him a bit distracted, but he hears every word you speak to him. “Because I love you.”

He swallows, the words making something feel tight in his throat.

You laugh a bit at his silence and the dumbstruck look on his face. “What? Do you not love me too?”

And to answer that, Shouta scoffs, leaning down to kiss you again as he grasps himself around the base, pulling himself away from you and pushing into you, feeling your sharp intake of breath against his lips.

His pace is slow, soft, like he’s trying to tell you something – hips moving slowly and deeply, letting you feel every inch of him. He kisses your neck as your head falls back, your eyes fluttering closed.

Pressing a kiss against your collarbone, Shouta smiles against your skin, a groan falling from his lips.

“I love you, more than you’ll ever know.”

And he means it – you’ll don’t know half of the things he’s done for you, and as he squeezes at your breast and hears your soft moan, he knows he’ll never tell you.

#yandere bnha #yandere mha #yandere aizawa #yandere eraserhead #bnha smut #mha smut #_bnha #_shouta aizawa #_lee's profiles

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badgyalshii · 9 months ago

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ITS NEVER OVER | II

Paul Atreides x Reader (always safe for POCS+ Plus size)

2.6k word count

warnings! idk really you tell me lmao. just sad really, flashbacks, etc. proofread, uhhh most of it.

A/N: im so happy i got the results that I did in the first part, im thinking of starting a taglist for this series maybe so just send me an ask saying you wanna be in there and i gotchuuuu! thank you to everyone who reads my stories, i was supposed to post this yesterday but i was pretty busy. i am overall happy with how this series is going! i was gonna leave it simple and end it here, but honestly i feel like i could keep going with this, love you guysss!😘

Access Part I here. I . II . III . IV .

¨its just protocol¨ ¨it wasnt necessary, i watched. Ive watched you, standing behind you. Who are you, paul?¨

¨y/n? Helloooo, y/n¨ chani waved her hand in your face as the memory slowly faded and you came back to your vision and seeing chani infront of you. You both laid on the small bed, hot when the sun was up or down. Chani wanted more, she swore she did. When she wasnt talking to you she was searching for something to make this ¨house¨ feel comforting, like a home. You closed your eyes as the flashback completely faded in your head. You both were laying down, she was across from you with a worried look on her face as you blinked. ¨yes chani?¨ ¨are you prepared?¨ she asked. You struggled to remember what she was talking about, and her concerned look never left her face. ¨To leave¨ chani whispers gently. She knew you still had feelings for paul, and she couldnt fight to win you over in your constant mental battle. You never felt like this before. Wanting only one person- no, needing them. Under your eyes grew heavier and heavier. Days grew longer and you hardly slept and when you did it was of paul, had you have no life of your own? Have you grown depressed? You sighed, stood and you dressed, taking a deep breath in as you pulled up your pants and grabbed your mask.

Its been 6 years, 6 years on arrakis with chani, and you never forgot. You never forgot the life that you used to have, the life you missed so deprately, and you never came to terms with your new life, even if it was with chani. You missed stilgar, you missed everyone, grouped together, eating, small laughs between you and your friends, paul picking at your plate whenever you didnt really feel like finishing your food. You loved chani, you love her, youve became closer and closer like sisters. She taught you her own individual skills that shes learned along the way, but you guys barely talked. Her company was comforting, but all you really thought about was paul, and his new marriage, and his new wife. Was it just…..protocol? You could tell when you spoke to chani that she was extremely uninterested in the topic of paul, but thats all you ever thought about.

You found another place in arrakis, it took about 6 sandworms to get to your destination and you lived in once again, another large rock. You and chani hunted for water and when you found it you both started to make another ¨tent¨ in the rock to live at for a while. You both sat down and ate.

¨whats on your mind?¨ chani asked worryingly, she worried, she worried so often. She only wanted whats best for you and it hurt to see you this way but she covered it with her toughness. ¨paul. Maybe he was right-¨ ¨y/n, it has been six years since then. Please-¨

¨maybe… i should go¨ you thickly swallowed, looking at your hands before you looked back up at her. Her jaw was clenched before she released it, she has an irritated look on her face before she released her eyebrows. ¨im coming with you”

As you got dressed to go back to him, you thought of him. Maybe it was because of the way he laughed so softly against your lips that made you miss him. Maybe its because of how his warm and rough fingers softly grazed your face and on your body sending butterflies in your stomach and tiny shocks wherever his loving touch landed, eager to touch you, the way his green but now electric blue eyes looked at you with pure admiration. He was so perfect. Everything you wouldbe thought you wanted on paper was right infront of you, waiting on you. You couldnt lie, you were excited to see him and thankful chani allowed you to go back. You wondered about him, wondered how he looked now, was he more mature? Did his voice get deeper? was it just protocol? Did you make a mistake? Is he safe? Is he still there? Does he still love you?

Anxiety crept through your throat before you swallowed it back down. Chani was already ready to go as soon as she shes going with you. You looked at her, she was sitting outside of the giant rock, waiting for you and if she wasnt already so smart, she turned feeling eyes on her back almost as if she could sense you, one eyebrow raised as she then crossed her arms and leaned on her left foot. You sighed before picking up your things, walking up to chani she put her hand on your shoulder and patted it. ¨can we just sit here? we just got here! look at the view¨ she said before crossing her arms again and looking at you with a smile.

The view was clearly beautiful. The sun coming down as it usually does but in this particular rock, there was something different about the scenery. ¨pretty cool for a shit planet¨ you muttered, dropping your things before you got down and sat criss cross. Chani joined you, enjoyed the view for a little longer before she looked over at you.

¨why do you like him so much, Paul?¨ she questioned kindly, usually she didnt like talking about him, she was never a fan. You looked at her, studying her face you could see she had a serious face beside her eye slightly winched from the sun, she waiting on your answer before she lifting her knee and laid on her elbow. you sighed before sitting with your legs flat out with your hands in your lap, it wasnt a hard question, it just caught you off guard. Why were you so attracted to him? . ¨i….i dont know, actually¨ you looked back into the view, chewing on the side of your cheek before continuing. ¨its not everyday you get a new comer who is so emotionally strong but you could see he is so lost in those gorgeous eyes. Someone so intelligent, beautiful, kind, and wise. Who wants to learn and is¨ you did an exaggerated sigh before raising your fingers to quote ¨so humble, as stilgar says¨ chani laughs before laying flat out. ¨he was new, wasnt like us. us growing up, we were used to the same routine, everyone around everyone. So when he got here, when he wanted me.. I just…felt…different. Everything felt different¨ a small smile played on your face as you thought of him.

“ever thought of kids?” paul asked, playing with your hair. “why are you thinking of kids in your current situation, paul? wouldnt that be too much?” you reply, your arm laid across him and your head in his chest. he chuckled in return, you felt his heartbeat skip and pitter patter before you felt the vibrations from his voice, “i wouldnt wanna have a kid unless its yours, y/n” and with that you smiled and looked up at him, pressing a kiss to his lips before he wrapped his arms around your waist to flip you guys over, you both chuckled before paul pulled up the sheets.

You wanted to feel his warm embrace again. You wanted him again. ¨i had a vision- well a dream that one day, he would be ruler. Be so wise and so gentle, which he already is. But i would be at his side, carrying his kids. Happy family. Getting to see his eyes… looking into him and only seeing love, i wouldnt ever grow tired of it. Y/N atredies, queen of atredies, me and him. You and stilgar, everyone around each other. Happy family, happy life. Of course war, but-¨ you cut yourself off, ¨i just want love, ever since i experieced it with him, its hard to let go. He teached me genuine love, nothing less, nothing more. The way he was so honest. How could i ever let that go?¨ you questioned, a puzzled look on your face as you waited on chani to answer. She took a pause, she once again looked back at the view before looking at you.

¨you do understand that he isnt the same anymore, right?¨”she said, looking up. ¨i understand,¨ you nodded, ¨ and i saw it, when he said he was waiting for me. He changed when he drunk the water of life. I dont think he really… values relationships anymore. I remember, i remember before he drunk the water, way before. He would tell me about these nightmares he had and how he was going to do everything to stop it¨ you pursed your lips to the side, as the conversation flowed, your confidence in your relationship was going lower and lower. As much as you didnt want to hear it, you needed to. ¨he lost himself, y/n¨ chani says. ¨are you sure when you walk back into his life hes gonna be the same old paul?¨

You bit your lip before looking down at your hands and let out a breath, ¨thats what were going to find out, right?¨ ¨to be honest,¨ chani sighed and put her hands behind he head, looking at the ceiling of the rock. ¨ i dont really trust him, never did. nor do i like him. He took advantage of us y/n. Tricked us, making us fight for him¨ chani said without filter. ¨he is the preacher, its written. I believe in him¨ you said pridefully, showing humility as you will always stand behind your one true love. ¨you got your sight taken by the vision of love¨ chani looks at you, she felt bad that you were so blind. But you were often like this, always have been. Soft, sensitive, caring. Its true, you and muad´dib are perfect for each other, chani could see that, but you honestly didnt wanna talk about it if she wasnt even gonna try to understand. ¨white savior¨ she finishes and looks up at the ceiling of the rock again before she looks back into the distance. ¨i love him¨ that was your finishing statement.

It was as if nothing faded, like you didnt grow, like you saw paul yesterday, like you never left. Chani felt so bad, so bad that you kept searching for paul in sleepless nights. But she also felt slightly angry, as if she didnt take you under her wing and teach you something brand new, a new way of life. It was like you totally discarded it, like you didnt want it, you didnt want to. Paul or nothing. Did you not value chanis friendship? Her love? She would never ask, shes too dominate for that. But it bothered her.

¨we should leave before it gets too late¨ chani mutters, letting out a slight groan before she stood and wiped her hands off on the pockets of her pants. You followed suit and picked up your bag before something dropped. It was pauls necklace, a family heirloom he trusted you with, he wanted you to have it. You looked at it before picking it up, rubbing over it and placing it over your neck before following chani.

The sand crunched against your shoes as you followed her, she was silent as she held the tools to get a sandworm. It was offly hot today and you both lacked water so she viewed it at that point, she already discussed with you that she wasnt gonna work for muad´dib, wasnt gonna fight for him, only gonna fight for her people. You looked at her, the sweatbeads on her forehead visible but it didnt make her look bad. You sat while you waited for the sandworm to appear.

When you arrived the foundation looked huge, guards around the premises dressed in black, all tall, muscular, and you could easily tell they were worthy of their place. ¨follow me¨ chani said, her walk bold and strong as you followed behind her in suit. Chani walked up the the guard and the guard had a strong bold look. ¨who are you?¨ the guard asked. ¨chani¨ she replied, taking off the mask that covered her eyes. ¨freman¨ he muttered, he looked over chanis shoulder and saw you. ¨and you?¨ he questioned, ¨freman¨ you replied. He stepped aside and allowed you both to enter. Chani pushed the door open, coming inside and you followed.

You werent used to this, spending all your life living in a rock. The walls were long and you looked at them, wanting to touch them, study the whole place. But there was something else you wanted to see to, the love of your life. ¨y/n, im gonna try to find stilgar. Be safe¨ chani whispered to you. ¨chani, this is home. Everyone we know is here, this is family¨ you said with a smile on your face. ¨its been six years. Foundations couldve changed, family couldve changed. Who knows what paul did, y/n¨ she said stern. You nodded your heard and she did too, leaving you off to find the one you wanted to see do desperately.

You walked, the building was so silent that you could hear your own footsteps, sand fell off your shoes as you walked, leaving a trail. A smile played on your lips as you walked throught the halls, checking every door, seeing your people. You asked them, ¨wheres paul?¨ in return they smiled, ¨not so sure. I dont even know where his room is at. Maybe check the throne room. Honestly, i havent seen him in a long time, y/n¨ and you did, no one was there. You furrowed your eyebrows and continued to look through the rooms, paul just wasnt there. Your happiness sooned turn into sadness and insecurity. Tears were on the edge of brimming your eyes. You exiteded the castle and sat down, leaning against the wall. You held your knees up to your chest and put your head on your forearms.

Where is he? Wheres chani? This is his place he cant be impossible to find, can he? Why cant i find him? Wheres his wife? All these thoughts coursed through your head as you waited, you ended up falling asleep, outside.

¨y/n?¨ you heard. Your neck had a crane as you looked up. ¨y/n!¨ it was a voice you recognized, ¨why are you outside?¨ they laughed, you finally looked up after rubbing your eyes and it was stilgar. ¨stilgar!¨ you yelled, he came down to your level and hugged you. He laughed ¨look at you, all dirty¨ he wiped your face. ¨wheres paul?¨ you questioned, his smile dropped and his eyebrows furrowed. This took you aback, ¨wheres paul? I was gonna ask you that¨ he mutters, wiping the dirt off of your cheek. You dropped his hand and looked at him with desperate eyes, ¨what-what do you mean?¨ you asked, desperate for an answer. ¨paul left 2 years ago, y/n. He said when he came back, he would come back with you¨” stilgar looks down as he reveals, you stood, paced, questioned. ¨he said he would wait for me- i….i dont understand! Stilgar¨ you let out a whine, trying to fight the tears. ¨where is he? Stilgar please, please!¨ you begged, dropping to your knees. Stilgar couldnt muster to come up with anything to say. In honesty, he mightve been more sad than you. The messiah is gone, lost. No where to be found. How could he find him? Where could he possibly be? Two years. Two. this was like heartbreak all over again. Before, you knew he was alive, but now. You know nothing. Should you go back? Is he still searching for you?

#timothee chalamet smut #timothee chalamet x reader #paul atredies x black!reader #paul atredies x reader #paul atreides #paul atredies smut #is that even a tag?#timothee chamalet x black!reader #timothee x you #timothee fanfic #timothee chamalet series #dune part 2 #SHIIWRITES⭐️

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sutashii · 2 months ago

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Hoshina Soshiro x Doctor!Reader AU, pt. 3

setting: even if you two are together, you still need to act formal in front of everyone

pairing: Hoshina Soshiro x Doctor!Reader (established relationship)

warnings: not applicable

notes: aaaand this one also can be read as a separate story! sorry for these parts being short, just need to take these drabbles out of my head as fast as possible x3

another parts of this AU: part 1 part 2 part 3 (current one) part 4 part 5 part 6

Subordination

You knew you needed to respect subordination between you and Soshiro when you were on public.

For others, you were no more than a vice-captain of Third Division and a simple doctor. Soft touches, lingering feelings of passion and devotion were all perfectly hid behind formal greetings, emotionless phrases and conversations filled with things that should be included in reports and medical forms, exactly as written in the protocol.

You were making medical rounds to see patients’ condition, provide additional treatment and make sure that everything was going as planned. It was a part of your every day routine, and you were doing everything to make your patients’ recover come as soon as possible.

“Doctor [Y/N],” dry and unemotional voice suddenly interrupted you on your way back to the medical office.

Of course it was Soshiro… Vice-captain Hoshina, to be precise.

“Yes, vice-captain?” you turned around to face him, his frowning face was showing hints of worry and exhaustion.

“One of our cadets is injured,” Soshiro said. “They stabbed themselves during the training session.”

“Stabbed?” you raised an eyebrow. “Are they using swords, too?”

“At least they’ve tried to,” Soshiro said with a small smile that had a hint of sympathy to the cadet who also preferred close combat over other fighting styles.

“Noted. Please escort them to my office,” you said and leaded the way to the small medical room filled with equipment and kits.

Cadet settled into a medical chair with anxious look on their face, their right hand visibly injured. Soshiro was standing near to the exit, leaned on doorframe with arms crossed.

“This injury won’t require any stitches,” you said after examination. “But you’ll need to reduce the load on this arm until you’re fully recovered.”

Cadet exhaled with a relieve, and Soshiro’s face lit up with a small, restrained smile.

“Vice-captain Hoshina,” you suddenly said. “I’ll ask you and cadet to fill in a small form about this incident. Feel free to seek my help if needed,” you gave Soshiro and cadet some report forms and started to sterilise all equipment that was used.

Vice-captain and cadet, after ten long minutes, have finally finished their small task. With a sigh of relief, cadet left the medical office just to meet their friends who were waiting for them outside.

You and Soshiro were finally left alone.

“This is actually so exhausting,” Soshiro finally said, coming closer to you with few small steps.

“Yeah, looking for your subordinates was always a hard task to complete,” you smiled, perfectly understanding how much energy Soshiro puts into training and educating his cadets and rookies.

“No, I’m not talking about them. They may be the pain in the ass, but still,” Soshiro smiled and bent just a little, looking over your shoulder as you check medical reports. “I’m talking about us.”

“And what is it?” you turned around to face Soshiro. It was something in his always half-lidded eyes that drew your attention. It was something sad but gentle at the same time.

“That constant need of maintaining subordination between you and me in front of others,” Soshiro exhaled and took your hand into his, his movements filled with love and respect.

“I know,” you nodded. You were kinda tired of these formalities, too, but they’ve needed to be done anyways. “But we can’t be all lovey-dovey in front of your subordinates, you know?”

“You’re right,” Soshiro chuckled. “Otherwise they won’t hop off me until I’m dead.”

You smiled widely and placed a kiss on Soshiro’s cheek, and his face at this moment was worthy of being captured in an art museum.

“I can do this at least when we’re alone,” you said.

Even if you two couldn't show your feelings in public, the moments of closeness and intimacy were twice as dear for both of you when you were alone.

#hoshina soshiro #soshiro hoshina #hoshina soshiro x reader #hoshina soshiro x you #hoshina x reader #kaiju no. 8 #kaiju number 8 #kn8 #kn8 x reader #my post

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shmothman · 7 months ago

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Defying Fate

Pairing: Casper/Reader Rating: Teen and up audiences Words: 991 Read on AO3

Summary: Finally, you and Casper are together in person, tangled together with your feelings laid bare. Still, there are some things that he needs to ask.

With your head resting on Casper’s bare chest and his fingers smoothing over your hair, you don’t think you’ve ever felt quite so happy, so in love. You’ve been making good use of the past hour or so since he showed up at your door in person, and you practically feel like you’re walking on air.

You can’t believe he’s real.

You can’t believe any of this is real.

But you’re so, so glad that it is.

He calls your name softly, his voice like heaven, and you hum a questioning tone back as you’re pulled from your thoughts, loath to move from your comfortable spot against his chest.

“I…” he starts, and you immediately hear that he sounds nervous, so you look up at him, eyes brimming with all the feelings swirling in your heart. “I am certainly not complaining, but… I… I need to know…”

Your brows draw together in confusion as he seems to gather his thoughts. “Know what?”

He meets your eyes, and his gaze is… sad. Remorseful. “How… how are you okay with this?”

You blink. “What, having sex with you?”

His cheeks flush that pretty pink you adore so much. “N-not that,” he rushes to say, before growing serious once more. “I mean… with being with me. After I have spent the last several years trying to kill you. Doesn’t… does that not bother you? You act as if it’s nothing.”

Oh. That’s what’s on his mind.

You settle back into his arms, laying your head next to his so that your noses almost touch. His gaze is so open and honest, it almost makes your heart hurt. “Well,” you say quietly, “no harm, no foul, I guess?”

He exhales through his nose in something that’s almost like an amused little laugh. “You are so… cavalier about things, Sunshine. Is that truly all you think of it?”

For a grim reaper, Casper sure does wear his heart on his sleeve. Not that you’ve met any other reapers yet—maybe they’re all like this.

You bring your hand to cup his cheek, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone and watching the way his eyes flutter closed. How do you love him so much when you’ve only known he exists for a week?

“I… don’t know, honestly. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about it. All I know is how I feel about you.”

He blinks his eyes open, and the look on his face is so very hopeful. Like he needs to hear you tell him that it doesn’t matter to you, that it doesn’t change how you feel about him.

“It’s like… by the time that I realized you’re, y’know, actually the grim reaper and everything, I already felt like I had known you for ages, and that was only after like, two days. And then I get this massive revelation that every weird thing that’s happened to me, everything that people say is crazy but is just my everyday experience, that’s all you? That’s all the doing of this pretty boy on my computer screen?”

He pouts slightly at being called a pretty boy, but you continue.

“But, I mean, I’ve never taken my constant near death experiences seriously. You’ve been watching, right? Have you ever seen me react in any way that isn’t just… a shrug?”

“I suppose not,” he says. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve been the one trying to end your life.”

“You said it yourself, Casper. If it wasn’t you, it would be another reaper. Normally ‘I was just doing my job’ would be a terrible excuse, but given that we’re in the realm of like, fate and magic and the balance of nature type shit, I can’t fault you too much here.” You grin. “I just happened to get lucky, and they assigned me to the one reaper who would fall head over heels for me the minute he decided to break protocol and talk to me.”

He’s blushing again, and you think he’s about to protest the idea that he fell for you that quickly, but instead, he leans in to touch his forehead to yours and says, “any reaper would have fallen for you. I’m the one who got lucky.”

Your heart flutters happily in your chest, and you sound rather breathless as you say, “okay, maybe we’re both lucky,” and you lean in to press your lips to his.

You feel him melt beneath your kiss, as he has every time so far, like he’s turned to liquid: quicksilver at your touch, shimmering and cold. If he says that you’re like sunshine, then you say he’s the moon: something beautiful and bright in the darkness, the light by which you find your way home.

As you pull back slightly, there’s a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Or,” you say, “maybe it’s just fate.”

He’s been made breathless by your kiss, but he still smiles back. “Perhaps,” he replies into the scant space between you. “Though, I’m growing fond of the idea that this is in defiance of fate itself. That we are making our own destiny.”

You hum, as if thinking deeply. “Well, clearly we both love breaking the rules, especially for each other.” With a sudden grin, you shift, rolling yourself atop him and watching those pretty red eyes go wide. “Whaddya say we defy fate all night?”

That vivid blush crawls up to his ears, then down his neck to splash across his bare chest. Unable to summon words, he simply nods.

You waggle your eyebrows, only just getting started with your terrible jokes. “Wait, wait, I got another one: how’s this for destiny?”

He rolls his eyes with a huff that doesn’t mask his clear affection, and opens his mouth—probably to call you annoying or something, but he doesn’t get that far, because you’re already kissing him again.

And that’s something he won’t defy.

#a date with death #casper adwd #adwd #casper x reader #x reader #grim reaper adwd #sef writes #waaaugh im so. he's so. babygirl #so excited for beyond the bet #gotta write fluff about it #crossposted on tumblr and ao3 #<333

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whataboutsimple · 2 months ago

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The Defender AU

Ah, well, since you @murkystarlight @abugshapedeldritchbeing @sillysnaildraws asked so nicely, I'm gonna ramble about it a bit<3

The storyline stars a little bit before Romeo went power hungry, leaving some place fore characters to develop themselves.

At the very beginning Fred was planing to create some kind of a "weapon" in case something will happen, which Admins won't be able to handle on their own. So, what would be more efficient to create, than a human who holds absolute of admin powers?

Around this time he started to play with different mechanics of creating mobs, trying to find the closest to a human being. Deciding to stop on a Wither Skeleton, he have chosen to base the powers of Wither itself.

So, like that, he created a human form with a Nether Star as a heart and source of powers. Giving a piece of his own code, he manage to create something as close as possible to Admin's powers, making the star unnaturally bright blue.

Due to Binta being the closest human to him, he made the prototype looking a bit like her, with the very same appearance factors.

That's how "Protocol: defend" was brought in the world.

Since it was his first ever human like creation, he didn't manage to create him as a full adult, instead spawning someone between a child and a teen.

When Binta discovered this, she quickly almost adopted poor thing, playing the role of older sister and naming him Gabriel.

"But why Gabriel?"

"I don't know, it's suits him."

So, like that, our Warroir had two parts of his life: learning to be a weapon and learning to be a human.

The first one was handled by Fred, who taught him how to code things, spawn features, use effects and ect., but he noticed one small strange detail: meanwhile Gabriel could spawn block in a small amount without a problems, he managed to create.. let's say, bright blue figures with different shapes: circles, triangles, cubes. It looked almost like ice, but without e texture, completely blue, leaving a small amount of light around it and discarding every physical law that existed. It was unnaturally durable, almost like bedrock, even Fred couldn't destroy it with Admin's powers from the first try. And it also did lots of damage, even Gabriel wanted it too. He could've pierce mob with a spike and not deal any damage, or kill it altogether.

The second option was handled be Binta: she taught him how to speak properly, read, count. Though she quickly discovered, that unlike other kids, he was an incredible fast learner and it didn't took him too long to become smarter than she is in some disciplines. That's when she decided instead teach him some human emotions, like kindness, compassion, mercy. They spent a lot of time together gathering supplies, playing with animals, talking to people. Waffles, the chicken, was adopted by Gabriel.

But no matter how hard she tried, he couldn't feel a full spectrum of human emotions. He was Always emotionless, giving a smile only after analyzing everyone else is smiling, becoming sad only after analyzing that she is sad, not having any hunger, not complaining about any pain even though he could feel it, he could bleed.

So, few years before the fight between Admins, Fred learnt how to switch mods. The main problem of Gabriel's behavior was the fact that he was created to protect, to defend. He was supposed to be fearless, emotionless, go till the very end. Like that, Fred created a "Protocol: defend" mode, that was activating by these very words. When the mode was turned was, his brains were losing connection to his power, basically deleting the constant idea of defend, leaving it empty to fill with actual emotions.

That's how Gabriel, we all know, was created.

The day when Romeo killed Fred, during another calibration settings, Romeo actually interrupted him, which lead to incidental memory deletion. Right before Romeo got his hands on Gabriel, Fred managed to teleport him away.

That's how Old Order found him. Clueless young man with amnesia, but excellent fighting skills and knowledge.

Gabriel was always abnormally string and tough, dealing with damage most people would've already die from, being too elastic, fast, with incredible reaction speed. But it only helped them, didn't it?

—

Bonus facts:

Xara didn't know about Gabriel either, because Fred didn't know who to trust.

He still left message for her in the last few days before death.

To activate Gabriel's both powers and memory back, you need to say "Protocol: defend."

It'll actually be harder for the gang to stop Romeo, since they will need to find Gabriel first.

Romeo doesn't know, that Gabriel actually is a weapon. He thought he's one of Fred's people.

C. Block was very negative towards Gabriel, sending electroshocks each time he tried to touch it.

His blood in activated mode is blue, while it's blue-red when he's badly injured.

He sees Binta as his older sister, meanwhile Fred is more of a mentor, than a father.

I think that's all for now, a other silly AU for y'all:P

#mcsm #minecraft story mode #mcsm gabriel #mcsm fred #mcsm binta #mcsm romeo #mcsm xara #mcsm admins #mcsm au #simpletalks

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tardis-stowaway · 4 months ago

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I spent the weekend at DragonCon, a convention I've been attending off and on for decades. Some notable experiences and thoughts this year include:

Jodie Whittaker was there, and her panel was an absolute delight. I lined up almost an hour in advance and ended up with a pretty good seat. She talks with her hands constantly. The other celeb panels I saw (Catherine Tate and a LOTR panel with Elijah Wood, Billy Boyd, and Dominic Monaghan) were also really fun.

One of the more notable moments of the con happened as I was failing to get into a panel. A huge line formed waiting for the Science vs. Movies panel Sunday night, and it got routed down a corridor of the Hilton that I'd never seen before. It wasn't signed as a staff-only area, but it was an intensely liminal and weird space. After passing through multiple turns, I ended up finding the end of the line in an area where half the overhead lights were out! The carpet had weird swirls and a bit of color theory. Many of the locked doors along the corridor were labeled as meeting rooms (why wasn't the con using them in its constant need for more space?), but others had signs like "Fire Control." Even through my mask it smelled faintly of mildew. The Distortion vibes were strong. I am delighted to report that someone on reddit posted a photo of what I believe is the exact area where I joined the line. Luckily the people in line near me were all good-humored and fun. When the line finally moved we did not make it into the panel, but the corridor did allow us to exit with our lives and what remained of our sanity.

I spotted a Magnus Archives/Protocol photoshoot on the schedule Friday, so I went to that to see cosplay and say hi to people in the fandom. It was held at night outside on a very noisy party patio, which impaired photography and conversation. Still, I had fun! There were some very cool costumes. A Jane Prentiss cosplayer gave me (gummy) worms.

I cosplayed one day this year. I was Carpenter from The Silt Verses, during S2 when she's carrying the homesick corpse. I'd originally conceived of trying to make a backpack into a whole cloth-wrapped corpse with limbs, but I wasn't able to get that construction to work in the time I had. Instead I just had a wrapped head sticking out of a backpack with attached speech balloon saying "Please...I have to get home." Presumably the rest of the shriveled corpse is shoved in the bag. I knew that the odds of being recognized were very low since the costume is for a podcast, and not even a podcast where fanart is super widespread or settled in distinguishing characteristics. Still, I figured that horror podcast fan overlap meant that I might find other Silt Verses fans at the Magnus event. Sure enough, I had one (1) person recognize me there. Silt Verses fan with the long colorful hair, you made my con!

The Our Flag Means Death fan panel was a good time. The love was strong in that room.

Masking, while more common at the con than in your average store or public building these days, was still way too low considering how many people were crowded in after traveling from all over. I kept my mask on indoors except when eating or drinking, and ate almost all of my meals outside. We'll see if that was enough to keep me healthy.

The Brit Track needs to do a better job at getting some new voices with more varied opinions on their Doctor Who discussion panels.

I saw lots of Fourteenth Doctors, which I expected, but I was sad not to have seen any Fifteenth Doctors cosplayers.

In general I feel like I saw slightly less really impressive cosplay than in some past DragonCons, but that may have been just my habit of avoiding some of the really crowded lobby zones when possible. Still plenty of awesome cosplay work around.

As usual it was far too crowded inside and too hot outside. I'm now tired and super achey (in a too much time on my feet way, not in a con crud/covid way for now). Nevertheless, I had an excellent time.

#dragoncon #dragoncon 2024

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eleanor-bradstreet · 2 years ago

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I’ll Be Seeing You (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Benedict Bridgerton x gn!Reader A modern zombie AU Rated/warnings: 18+, heavy angst, whump, gun use, slight gore, discussion of death and killing, zombie-fication Word count: 3.1k

Summary: After years surviving in a post-apocalyptic zombie landscape, you and Benedict find that your luck has run out. A sad zombie love story.

Author’s Note: Once again, a Discord joke gone awry becomes something I compulsively turn around and actually write. Is this even remotely related to Bridgerton? No. You can easily insert any man you fancy into this story. It’s just that Benedict is my muse, so here we are. For full effect, I recommend listening to the song after reading.

If you need to recover from the sadness of this story, go check out how it worked it's way into the beautiful, sexy love story Wide Open Spaces by @thebabblingbrookenook and/or if you enjoyed Benedict in an apocalyptic setting, check out her other masterpiece If The World Was Ending.

“Darling, it’s alright. You know this is the only way. It’s alright.” His tone was so calm, as if he were teaching you to drive a stick shift, not kneeling before you with your gun pressed to his forehead.

You knew you were hyperventilating, your vision going blurry behind tears as your breath clawed ragged through your throat. Your hands hadn’t shaken this badly since the day the world fell, all those years ago. The gun felt like lead in your hands, suddenly so weighted with gravity, when before it had grown to feel like an effortless extension of your own arm. How many times had you swung it at a shambling figure or threatening foe and pulled the trigger without a second thought? It was a trained impulse, practically nonchalant, as easy and automatic as breathing.

Now it was the most inconceivable action you could take, as Benedict stared up at you through dark lashes beneath the barrel. He was so incredibly still, his blue-grey eyes so steely with resolve, as he waited for you to seal his fate and end his life. You had made it this far, to the spot you had designated for the act, the farmhouse two miles away from the settlement. You had known the entire way that this was the purpose of your journey, to mercifully execute your husband before he turned into one of those things. You hadn’t wanted to do it in the settlement or anywhere within eyesight. You didn’t want to go on looking at the place, reminded of where and when you had removed him from your life and from the world. So you were here, just the two of you, in a quiet abandoned home, surrounded by quiet abandoned fields, with nothing but your gun and a shovel that you had brought to bury him.

When he had confessed to you and the others in the settlement that he was bitten, a mishap of your latest supply run into the city, it felt as if all of your organs plummeted down an elevator shaft. You had lasted so long, evaded so many dangers, you had almost begun to feel invincible. So many others had died, your families and your friends and the errant packs of fellow survivors you had found yourselves with. No one lasted that long it seemed, except the two of you. Somehow, you had run and ducked and fought and wrenched yourselves out of every bind, a camaraderie and sense of shared destiny building so palpably between you. Benedict hadn’t been your husband when it all started, but when it was clear that you were the only constant things you could each rely upon in this new world, he had wanted to make your commitment official. He found a ring in some way you didn’t want to ask about, and you spoke vows to each other one night when the stars were radiant above you. It was as real and as provable as anything could be anymore, and it was the only thing that made you feel, in some strange way, hopeful for the future and happy to still be alive.

There was a protocol in the settlement when someone was bitten. Everyone knew what it was. The afflicted said their goodbyes and wrapped up their affairs before the fever set in, then they were dispatched by a loved one in a place of their choosing and buried with proper rites and respects. After the initial shock of his revelation, you had both defaulted to duty. There were new rules in this new life and you had to abide by them or die. It was that simple. When death was a hair’s breadth away every day, there wasn’t much space to get too emotional over anything. Survival was paramount. Survival of the settlement and survival of self. So when one of your number became an imminent threat, they had to be dealt with, respectfully but decidedly.

But absolutely none of that mattered anymore as you stared down at Benedict, physically feeling your heart break within your chest. He was all you had; the singular thing that had brought you any glimmer of joy or purpose over the past several years. Once he was gone, there was no reason for you to carry on. What was the point? To grow vegetables and stock ammunition in the settlement for years on end, waiting for the day when your luck would eventually run out and it would be you on your knees at the end of a gun? Who would even be designated to end you? You didn’t want it to be anyone but your beloved spouse which you realized, with a shuddering breath, was precisely what he was feeling in this moment.

The fever had set into him as you had trudged toward the farmhouse. He was pale and sweating, clearly fighting the tremors as he held your gaze, urging you on. It wouldn’t be long now until Benedict was snuffed out and the disease roared into sentience with its latest host, a microscopic puppeteer bearing his face and animating his limbs. He didn’t deserve it. No one did, but him least of all. He deserved the mercy you could grant with a simple sweep of your finger. But the agonizing hell of your guilt and the contemplation of innumerable days spent without him crippled you, and you dropped the gun with an anguished cry, falling to your knees in front of him.

“I can’t,” you sobbed, tossing the weapon to the floor. “Ben, I can’t. I’m sorry, I could never…I can’t.” You grabbed his hands and pulled them against your chest, somehow both an apology and a plea for his touch to mend the crack you felt growing there.

All of your guilt was immediately silenced when he wrapped his arms around you and pinned you to him, shushing your cries as you held each other in the dusty sunlight of the farmhouse kitchen floor.

“Not you,” you whispered into his ear as he held you tight, the only thing keeping you from falling apart. “Not you.”

Then his hands were firm on the sides of your face and he kissed you, with more passion than you had ever felt, every ounce of love and sorrow and promise bound up in this single point of connection. He understood. Of course, he understood everything you were feeling. You didn’t need to apologize or explain. It was as if he could read your mind, an infuriating but astounding trait that he had always possessed.

“I know,” he whispered against your lips. “I couldn’t do this if it were you, either.”

Your heart began to thud, with relief or anxiety or love, you weren’t sure. You were completely overwhelmed.

“Then what do we do now?” You asked breathlessly, clinging onto him as if that was the answer, the way to keep him with you for as long as possible.

You could feel his signature grin against your cheek. His tone was practically breezy. “Make the most of it.”

You pulled back and saw the crooked smile, genuine despite his ashen face. You were so lost in the turmoil of your feelings, so numb to the world outside of your entwined bodies, you couldn’t fathom what he was planning. He swiveled to look around the room and the next thing you knew, he had pulled you to stand and walked over to a piano that was tucked into a corner of the adjoining living room. The bench and instrument both had an inch of dust on them, as did everything in the world these days, and it puffed out as he slid the cover back off the keys. Trembling, you sat beside him on the bench and watched as his slender fingers, perpetually covered in grime as everyone’s were now, floated gracefully into place and tested the scale. Some notes were woefully out of tune, but the song he started to play was immediately familiar.

I’ll be seeing you, in all the old familiar places. A voice sang in the back of your mind from a time so distantly far away it seemed like a dream. You let the tears stream freely down your face, entranced by his magic ability to remind you of the way things used to be, a warm memory of something sure, a mild recollection of normalcy, of being carefree. His music wrapped around you, muting out the rest of the world, the horrors of the past few years, until all you saw and all you felt was this moment, sunlit and perfect and real. You watched his face, ravaged with toil and fever but beautiful nonetheless, with eyes closed and a hint of a smile, concentrating.

On his third round through the chorus the notes became discordant, breaking the spell. His hands fell away from the keys as he shook with tremors. Then he curled into himself and fell toward you. You wrapped your arms around him as his full weight sank against you.

“My love…” he gasped, “I’m…you need to go…”

You knew what he meant. You knew what was happening. But you had already made up your mind that you were not going to leave. If you could not bring him to his end, you would stay with him until he met it himself. You would not sacrifice a moment in his presence while he was still alive. Whispering assurances, you let him lean on you as you pulled him to his feet and began to drag him through the house toward the adjoining barn. He would turn. That was the guaranteed outcome of your inability to take his life, but at the very least, you could prevent him from being a danger to anyone else.

He slumped to the floor of the barn with a groan as you leaned him up against a post. Fortunately, you were able to quickly find rope, always a safe presumption in barns, and you carried the coil over, kneeling beside him. You both knew what it was for but you weren’t going to make any moves until he agreed to it.

His eyes fluttered open, bleary, as he began panting. “Do it,” he rasped, “tie me up. Make sure it’s tight.”

With your hands shaking nearly as badly as they had with the gun, you wound the rope around his wrists then secured them behind the post at his back.

“More,” he wheezed. “I can’t get out. I don’t want to get out.” With sobs closing around your throat, you looped the rope around his chest once, twice, three times, and tied that off too. Now he was immobilized, held firmly in place against the post so he couldn’t break free in any state. You sat in front of him, unable to contain your tears, watching as he grew more sallow each minute, sweat streaming down the sides of his face, gasping for air against both the fever and the ropes you had bound him with.

“Thank you, my love.” He choked.

You couldn’t help but reach out and cup his face, and he nuzzled into your touch. “Ben,” you croaked, a cold despair surging through you as you realized these were your last words with each other. You had to make them count. “Thank you for making this life worth living. Thank you for saving me, in every way. I love you.”

A softness gleamed out of his hazy eyes, a sparkle of the Benedict you had fallen in love with, and the shadow of that smirk flitted across his face for the final time. “I love you, darling. You saved me too.”

Guilt and love roiled within you like a landslide. The sincerity of his words, the memories of your life together, all colliding with the impenetrable truth that you were unable to save him this time. You didn’t know how else to apologize or how to express your devotion other than holding him. You curled yourself around him and clung as tightly as the ropes you had tied him with. He exhaled warmly into your neck and melted into you. Somehow, in that horrific moment in that dingy barn, at the end of your time together, you found stillness, contented stillness.

He murmured against you, barely above a whisper. “When I stop breathing, you must go. Promise me.”

Everything inside of you was shattering. You nodded numbly, already knowing what you planned to do when that dreaded moment arrived.

Then you lost all sense of time. Benedict grew more restless in your arms, jerking and shuddering as you felt the feverish heat pouring off of him. His teeth began to chatter and his breath became harsh and quick. Everything seemed to rise to a crescendo, a writhing, desperate battle for life that was suddenly and so quietly concluded with a long, low exhale as you felt him deflate beneath you. You had been bedfellows with death for so very long, had seen it in all of its myriad faces and had visited it upon countless individuals, but you had never been so close to someone dying. Had never been wrapped around them as you felt their breaths fade, and then their heart stutter and slow to nothing. It was spellbinding in how subtle it all seemed.

You sat in the chasm of silence that was the world without Benedict, feeling all of your joy and motivation to carry on float away with him. You allowed yourself one final wail, a closing salvo for your emotions, and then you were empty. You pulled away from him. His head, which had been resting heavy on your shoulder, sank to his chest. Sitting across from his body, you watched. Two minutes, maybe five, with no sound or movement other than the gentle breeze through the half-collapsed roof and the dance of dappled sunlight it let in.

Then he moved. The telltale twitching began in his feet, then his shoulders, growing more pronounced as the world-ending pathogen took hold. At last, with a rattling groan, he raised his head and stared directly at you. Those eyes, milky and devoid of anything but animalistic hunger, were the eyes you saw in your nightmares. The eyes of the millions who had succumbed, who had turned into enemies, predators, things to be avoided and destroyed, now glaring out at you from the face of your husband.

But somehow, you were unafraid. You had lost the ability to feel anything other than resolve for your next actions. You were going to stay with him. It wasn’t even a decision you needed to make. It was the only conceivable way you could proceed.

He had started to snarl, leaning toward you, fighting against his restraints. The disease always turned the skin a mottled bruise green, and darkened veins into purple cracks spidering up from the neck. But you could still see him, your darling Benedict, under the surface. Nothing, not even death, could dim his beauty. If you had to face your end, you didn’t want it to be anyone but your beloved spouse, and this was the way.

As you had countless times before, you reached out and carded your fingers through his hair, caressing around his ear and down his jaw. You smiled at the familiar feeling of it and then closed your eyes against the pain as his teeth sank into your wrist. It was a stinging, crushing pressure, surprisingly warm as he tore into your flesh with guttural noises of satisfaction. His bite was so strong, you had to plant a knee on his chest for the leverage to yank yourself away, then stumbled to your feet clutching your injured arm. He gnashed at you angrily, somehow roaring without breath as he struggled against the ropes, the crimson of your blood streaming down his chin.

It was done now. There was nothing more to fear, and the relief of it brought you an undeniable feeling of weightlessness. The path ahead was more certain than it had ever been since this new life began. You knew precisely what to do.

Leaving Benedict growling at you from the floor, you gathered both of your belongings and piled them neatly inside the door of the farmhouse. Your guns, your packs, anything anyone else might find useful. Before you left your knife, you used it to carve into the wood of the post where Benedict was tied, standing just out of his reach. Both of your initials. A simple but certain note to any members of the settlement who might come looking for you. They hadn’t known where you were going, but they would notice when you didn’t return and would likely sweep out to this area in a few days. Whatever they might think of your choices, you could at least give them the courtesy of confirming where you had both ended up.

Then you took another length of rope and wound it through Benedict’s bindings and around the post, creating a lead a few feet long that you tied off tightly to your good wrist. Now there was nothing left to do but wait. You sat across from him again, feeling yourself grow dazed at the ceaseless sound of him seething at you. He had bitten you deeply and you hoped that would make the infection spread faster. You would fade, you would die, and then you would join him in whatever space he now found himself.

Even with all the time that had passed, no one really knew what the things could feel or think. It wasn’t clear if they could sense each other, communicate, or feel pain. Perhaps they could. Perhaps this was just another plane of consciousness that you couldn’t understand from the outside looking in. What was clear was that they endured. Even without food, the brains kept going for years. If they weren’t destroyed, it seemed the only thing that would end the animation was the natural decay of time.

If the settlement members found you both, they would dispatch you. Better them than you doing it to each other, and at least you would go at the same time to that final plane. And if no one found you, you would still be together, tied in a patch of sunlight, staring at each other for years to come. It was everything you could ask for, and you felt no fear approaching the horizon of that reality.

You were willing to face some new kind of forever, as long as he was by your side.

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #modern au #zombie au #zombie love #zombie apocalypse #gender neutral reader #angst #whump #zombie

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aperrywilliams · 2 years ago

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We Could Try (Part 9): Take Me Home (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

(Not my gif. Credits to the creator!)

Author Masterlist / Clueless (prequel)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Summary: Spencer stays with Reader all night in the hospital. Will she make it at the end? Will they make it too?

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: Hurt/Confort/Fluff. Talk about rough injuries, hospitals, and hostage situations. If I forgot something, let me know.

A/N: This is the last chapter, my loves. Thank you so much for the support you gave to this series. I love these two so much, and it's a bit sad to let them go, honestly.

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Spencer forgot the last time he had a nice dream. It was possibly months ago.

It was curious that, in these circumstances, he could dream of something nice again, but that's how it was.

He could see (Y/N) laughing as he tried to sing a song.

"You're so off-key," she complained, still laughing.

"But I'm your off-key guy. And you love me," Spencer told her, pecking her lips.

"You're right. But don't push it, pal," she teased him, playfully hitting his chest. Spencer chuckled as he pulled her to him.

"Come on, say it," Spencer requested.

"Say what?" (Y/N) asked as she didn't know what he was talking about.

"You know what!" Spencer pouted. (Y/N) grinned.

"Okay, okay. Don't get all fuzzy on me," (Y/N) said, holding Spencer's cheeks when he tried to avert her gaze. "Hey, look at me." Spencer's puppy eyes met hers.

"Spencer Walter Reid. I love you. I love you as I never loved anyone, and I will never do," she said, leaning forward to kiss him deeply. Spencer wanted that; he felt like the happiest man on earth.

His dream was disturbed by Emily, who had a coffee for him in hand, and a go-bag with - presumably - his clothes.

"You should sleep on the couch there," she pointed to the room corner. "That chair is anything but comfortable."

After rubbing his eyes, Spencer shook his head.

"I'm not leaving her side. Thanks though," Spencer stated, grabbing the coffee and sipping it. Emily understood.

"Okay. So for you to know, the case is officially closed. We found the connection we had missed between Turpin and his accomplishes. They are going to face trial now," she recounted.

"What about what he did to (Y/N)?"

"The guy is dead, Spencer. And due it was a legit defense, (Y/N) won't have to worry about protocol or anything."

Spencer let out a deep breath. They both kept staring at (Y/N), her breathing steady.

"Do you think she would make it?" He asked suddenly. Prentiss sighed, looking at (Y/N) lying in bed.

"She is the toughest girl I have known. That gives me enough hope." Spencer nodded. He would cling to that.

"Did you know she didn't want me to move in with her in Boston? I was so angry. I didn't see she still felt insecure about us. I thought everything was going okay. I'm so stupid," Spencer lamented. He should have known, and that made him feel guilty.

"No, you are not. But it's true that (Y/N) felt still vulnerable, and all the what-ifs lingering on her," Emily acknowledged, sipping her own coffee. Spencer turned to see her.

"She told you that?" Emily frowned, contemplating her answer.

"Not quite. But I know."

Spencer nodded, slumping on the chair.

"I love her, Emily. What can I do to make her come back?"

Spencer wasn't talking only about (Y/N) waking up. Things between them weren't on the highest note. Even if she could make it, what would it mean to them?

"The same you're doing since you got together again. With love, support, and communication. I don't know what else could work," Emily shrugged. "The wounds could still be there, but the constant reminder that you have each other will be helpful to heal. To both of you," she added.

And Prentiss was right. She had known Spencer and (Y/N) for years. She witnessed how they fell in love and the ups and downs throughout the past years. Their love wasn't something it could be underestimated.

Spencer spent that night by (Y/N)'s side. A doctor came the next morning to check on her. It was a good thing she didn't seize in the past hours. The danger wasn't entirely gone, but things were improving. A sense of relief washed over Spencer. Relief but anxiety, too, about what's coming next.

A whole day passed, and the team showed up to get updates on (Y/N). Some teammates from the Boston office came too. Spencer asked Emily to call (Y/N)'s sister, Sara. He didn't dare to do it himself.

That night Spencer didn't sleep again, even if his eyes were heavy and his body numb from the hours spent on that chair.

His mind wandered to the months at Milburn and how he was convinced (Y/N) would leave him. He thought about what Valerie told him days ago, about him making sure (Y/N) would never feel unworthy again. He didn't want (Y/N) to think like that.

It was almost dawn when the tiredness got Spencer. He closed his eyes, not leaving the grasp on (Y/N)'s hand as the slumber found him. His brain conjured a beautiful moment in his sleep: the time he proposed to her in Rossi's backyard.

'Are you okay?' (Y/N) asked Spencer when she noticed his leg bouncing under the table.

'Yeah. I'm okay,' Spencer lied. He was a nervous wreck. The velvet box was burning a hole in his jacket pocket. He tried to do it before dinner, but the words failed him. Why was it so difficult? He wanted to marry her. But if she says no? They have talked about it but never got serious before.

After dessert, the team was still at the table, laughing at Garcia's jokes. Spencer excused himself, got up, and walked to the backyard. He needed to do it now. He texted JJ and asked her to tell (Y/N) to go outside.

Worried that something was wrong with Spencer, (Y/N) showed up quickly and found him under dimmed lights that hung from the trees on Rossi's patio. When Spencer saw her, he reached out his hand to take hers and make her come closer.

'What's this?' She asked, confused.

'My poor attempt to make this proposal romantic,' he chuckled, pointing to the lights.

'What?'

‘(Y/N). I have been in love with you for ages. I told you that after I got shot, and I wasn't lying. This time we have been together proved to me that you are the love of my life. And I want to spend the rest of my days with you.' (Y/N)'s eyes widened when Spencer got down to one knee, revealing the velvet box with a ring inside.

'Will you marry me?'

The whole team watched from the glass doors and cheered when (Y/N) said yes, and Spencer put the ring on her finger. After all those years, it was happening at last.

Little did they know things wouldn't work like it was supposed to.

Still deep in sleep, Spencer had his body contorted with his head resting on (Y/N) 's mattress —an arm over her lap with his hand holding hers. Spencer's hair was a messy bird's nest, and his clothes were entirely wrinkled.

"You look like crap."

That voice brought Spencer to reality.

As he perked his head up, Spencer noticed a pair of half-lidded eyes looking at him. (Y/N) was awake. Tears began to stream from Spencer's eyes. They were happy tears but filled with pent-up stress from the last couple of days.

"Oh, God," he mumbled, kissing her hand and standing to give (Y/N) his full attention.

(Y/N) returned a weary smile. It was great to be alive, despite her aching body.

"How - how are you feeling?" Spencer stuttered, unsure if it was a good idea to ask but desperate to hear her voice again.

"Like someone beat the shit out of me, I guess?" (Y/N) paused to let out a deep sigh before continuing. "How bad is it?"

(Y/N) didn't know the extent of her injuries. She didn't figure out either how much time had passed since they found them in that basement.

"You will be okay. Everything will be okay. You need the rest, though. Your healing process depends on it," Spencer responded, not giving details about her wounds. The doctor would do that later.

(Y/N) nodded and cleared her throat, feeling her mouth dry. Spencer noticed and quickly grabbed a cup of water from the bedside table. He helped her to take a couple of sips.

"What happened after I-?" (Y/N) trailed off.

The memories from the days at Turpin's mercy were coming back in pieces. "How is Valerie?"

(Y/N) didn't know; she fainted before the SWAT team helped Valerie to remove her restraints. (Y/N) wasn't sure either how badly that psycho had beaten her.

"Valerie is fine; she was discharged yesterday," Spencer informed.

"And Turpin's body?"

(Y/N) wanted to get all the information she missed, but maybe it was too soon. Spencer thought that.

"Hey, take it easy. Let's talk about that later, okay?"

(Y/N) nodded. Spencer was right. Also, the pain medication surely was getting effect on her because her eyes were feeling heavy and her body weary.

"I feel dizzy," (Y/N) mumbled, half awake, half asleep.

"That's why you need to rest. I'll inform the doctor to check on you later, okay?" Spencer kissed her hand again. (Y/N) couldn't respond because she was already asleep.

It was reassuring to have seen her awake. Spencer felt like he could breathe again. He hoped things would go well from here, and the doctor could say everything was in order. Before going for her, Spencer stared at (Y/N) as she slept. To see her face all bruised and the wounds on her body hurt more than if he had been hit. If he could have protected her somehow. If only all this could have been avoided.

Slowly Spencer left the room, closing the door behind him. The silence was quickly replaced by someone angrily calling his name. When he looked up, he saw (Y/N)'s sister approaching swiftly, a nurse behind her.

"What the fuck are you doing here?!"

The question was quickly accompanied by a nudge towards Spencer's shoulder. Spencer's eyes broadened; he could see all the anger in Sara's eyes.

"Miss, you can't do that-" the nurse tried to stop Sara, but she wasn't listening. Spencer froze on the spot. What could he say? He was very aware Sara didn't like him, but seeing her in that state was something else.

"I asked you a fucking question! What are you doing here? It's me who needs to be here, not you," Sara interjected.

"Sara-" Spencer started, but she cut him off before he could say something.

"You are the one to blame. How is that my sister ends kidnapped with your mistress, uh? Wasn't everything you made her suffer in the past enough?"

"What? Sara, that's not what happened," Spencer tried to explain, but Sara was already too agitated to try to reason.

"No? Wasn't my sister who got the brunt for defending that bitch? Uh?"

Spencer's tongue got caught in his mouth. How the hell did Sara know all of that? Sara let out a sarcastic laugh.

"You weren't expecting me to know that, right? And no, Emily didn't tell me. She is your friend, after all. She wouldn't do it. But the police down there were kind enough to enlighten me."

Of course. There is always a way. How to explain to her the intricacy of the whole thing now? Spencer could try, but they needed a long talk to do that.

"It's not that way, Sara. I can explain what really happened, but not here. Can we talk in another place, please?" Spencer tried to guide Sara down the hall where the cafeteria was; they could have more privacy there.

"Don't touch me! And no, I don't need you to explain to me anything! I know enough. I can't believe you, really," she huffed, stepping back from him. "You are the worst thing that happened to her. I thought you were decent, but you're just another scumb."

"I love (Y/N)!" Spencer defended, and that was the last straw for Sara.

"Don't you dare to say that! You don't have the right!"

A security guard stepped between them before Sara could lunge at Spencer.

"Miss, stop! I said stop!" the guard said as he put Sara at a distance. "You need to come with me; you're not staying here," he added.

"What?!" Sara asked in disbelief. Spencer intervened before the guy could take Sara out.

"No, no. It's okay. She is right. She is the one who has to be here. It's Miss (Y/L/N)'s sister," he confirmed. "I'm leaving now. Please, let her see her sister," Spencer requested.

Not very convinced, the guard looked at the nurse, who nodded, confirming Spencer's information. Only then did Sara calm down, lowering her arms and taking a deep breath.

"Okay. But please, if you make another turmoil, I'll have to get you out of the hospital," the guard warned. Sara nodded, looking now at the nurse, who reacted quickly.

"This way, miss," she told her, leading Sara toward (Y/N)'s room. As they passed, she barely glanced at Spencer when she spoke, only for him to hear.

"I don't want you near to her. Leave her alone."

With (Y/N)'s sister and the nurse out of sight, the security guard turned to Spencer.

"Are you okay, sir?" he asked empathetically. Spencer nodded.

"Ye - Yeah. She's her family and has the right to be mad at me," he mumbled, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The guard gave him a tight slipped smile before excusing himself from continuing his job.

Spencer didn't notice his hands were shaking. It was more than Sara's outburst. The words coming from her mouth gave Spencer a sense of drowning. He was the one to blame.

When (Y/N) woke up again, she hoped to see Spencer by her side. But instead, she saw Sara sitting in the same chair Spencer had done before. She was reading a book.

"Sara?" she mumbled. Her sister looked at her, a smile creeping on her face.

"Hey, it's good to see you awake," she replied, placing the book beside her.

"How long have I been out?" (Y/N) asked, trying to shift into a comfortable position. Sara checked her watch.

"When I arrived, you were already asleep. Then the doctor came to check on you. So I would say twelve hours or so," Sara noted.

It didn't feel that long, according to (Y/N). Her body still felt numb, although she was more conscious of her movements and surroundings.

"What did she say?"

"The doctor? She said you are doing great, considering," Sara informed.

Should she ask for Spencer? (Y/N) already suspected why he wasn't there, though.

As (Y/N) didn't say anything, Sara felt the need to break the silence.

"Jeez (Y/N), what the hell happened? Emily called me, but she didn't mention any detail," her sister recounted. (Y/N) sighed. "I almost freaked out when the cops outside told me you were in this pavilion. Who did this, sis?"

For (Y/N), it was a semi-rhetorical question, but she felt the urge to answer.

"A misogynist son of the bitch," she murmured. "But it's okay. It's over," (Y/N) hastened to say, knowing Sara always hated her job, especially the fieldwork and its consequences. For (Y/N), it was evident Sara wanted to say something about it, but their conversation was cut off by a nurse who entered to check on her.

"Agent (Y/L/N). How are you feeling?"

The next hours were pretty much the same. (Y/N) still would dozen off quickly after waking up. From time to time, a nurse would come to take her vitals and fill her chart as her sister kept her company.

The following day, (Y/N)'s doctor did a new medical check. The results were good enough to allow her to be transferred to a new room in the non-critical patient ward.

(Y/N) was grateful for having her sister there but felt uneasy when the time passed and Spencer didn't show. She needed to talk to him but was afraid to ask.

The opportunity came when Prentiss visited her two days later.

"You look way better," Emily stated.

"Don't lie. I look like a fucking pushing ball," (Y/N) groaned.

"A pushing ball in a healing process," Emily corrected, chuckling. "What did the doctor say?"

"She says (Y/N) would be able to leave in a week or so," Sara - who was there too - responded.

"That's great!"

"Yeah. It will be a way long week, though," (Y/N) whined, sighing.

Emily sensed some of (Y/N) 's discomfort. And she suspected why too. Emily talked to Spencer, and he mentioned his no-friendly encounter with Sara. The question was if (Y/N) knew what had happened.

When silence settled in the room, (Y/N)'s sister realized maybe they needed some privacy.

"I'm going to grab a coffee. Want some?" She asked Prentiss.

"No, thank you. I'm fine."

Once Sara was out of sight, (Y/N) immediately shot the question.

"Okay. What happened? I know there is something with Spencer, but Sara won't tell me anything."

Emily shook her head, sitting on the bed's edge.

"Let's say Sara didn't take very well to seeing Spencer here under these circumstances."

"Where is he now?" (Y/N) asked worriedly. Emily chuckled.

"It's a little bizarre, to be honest. Spencer has spent the whole week here but hidden from Sara's sight. He talks to the nurses and your doctor as well, and they give him updates on your health state. The nurses love him because they find the whole situation like a modern version of Romeo and Juliet." (Y/N) chuckled. Bizarre asides, it was adorable.

"Emily, what should I do? Last time I checked, I wasn't a teenager." Prentiss nodded.

"I know. But Spencer doesn't want to be a problem for you knowing Sara is here. And, well, considering the things she said to him, he has been feeling very guilty."

(Y/N) frowned. She wasn't surprised about Sara's temper, but with her dislike for Spencer, the combination could be lethal.

"What did she say to him?"

"I don't think it's my position to tell you about it. It's your sister, (Y/N). You need to figure it out and ask her. And you have to decide how you want to get to terms in this matter."

Prentiss was right on that. Although the mess between Sara and Spencer, she was the one who needed to cut it off. (Y/N) loves her sister and appreciates her concern, but it was her life and her decisions, and she must know that.

Before Emily left, (Y/N) asked her a favor.

That night (Y/N) kept thinking about what she wanted to do. She decided to talk to Sara the next morning to clear things up. Sara should know what (Y/N) wanted for her life.

"Can we talk?" (Y/N) asked her sister when she peeked in that morning.

"Sure. What's it?" Sara grabbed a chair and sat close to (Y/N)'s bed.

"You already know," (Y/N) pointed. Sara huffed with discomfort, leaning back in the chair.

"It took you long enough."

"What happened, Sara?"

"What? Emily didn't tell you?"

"No, in fact, she didn't. And I want to hear it from you."

Sara nodded. After crossing her leg over her knee, she described what had happened when she saw Spencer in the hospital that afternoon.

"Was I too rough? Yes. Do I regret it? Not at all," Sara finished.

"It wasn't like that. That was my decision, Sara. And I know the outcome wasn't something pleasant to anyone, but Spencer doesn't have any blame for that," (Y/N) explained. Sara shook her head.

"You know I'm not only talking about you being kidnapped and tortured."

"About that, you know I decided to give it a try. I truly appreciate your concern and know you don't want me to get hurt again. But I love Spencer, Sara. And in the time we have been together, he earned my trust back. It's true I still had doubts, but they were because of my own insecurities. Valerie managed to get that to surface, and I never did o say anything to voice that feeling," (Y/N) chuckled to herself. "You know? It's the first time I admit it aloud, and I feel relieved."

"But Spencer was the one who brought Valerie into your life. Of course, he is responsible."

(Y/N) knew Sara was right in the facts, but her point was different.

"It could have been anyone at any time. Don't think I haven't thought about it," she tried to explain. Sara raised an eyebrow.

"And your conclusion?"

"I can't stay between four walls expecting not to be hurt again. Not if it means running away from the chance to be happy. Life is so fragile that I don't want to waste another minute running and hiding."

(Y/N)'s eyes filled with tears, and her heart with love for the man she knew was her forever. Her sister noticed. How couldn't she? It didn't matter if she disliked him; Spencer was de the man (Y/N) chose.

"He is a lucky bastard," Sara mumbled. (Y/N) chuckled.

"I know he'll agree with you," (Y/N) teased.

"If not, I'm going to kill him for real," Sara warned as (Y/N) shook her head. After some seconds of silence, (Y/N) spoke, giving puppy eyes to her sister.

"Can you call him, please?"

"What? I would prefer not to," she responded. (Y/N) pouted.

"Come on, it's what your beautiful sister wants. Please?"

Sara pressed her lips together, trying not to give in. (Y/N) narrowed her eyes to her.

"Sara, if you don't call him, I will get up from this bed and look for him myself," (Y/N) forewarned.

"What? You can't do that! You're injured, for God's sake," Sara shrieked.

"Sure I won't," (Y/N) defied, sitting in the bed, swinging her feet out of the covers.

"Hey, hey. Stop! Okay!"

(Y/N) halted her doing but looked at her sister with a raised eyebrow.

"I'll go to get him, okay? Just don't get up. I don't want to see you almost bare walking through the hospital corridors. Besides, maybe he is not here either."

"And whose fault would that be?" (Y/N) whined, and her sister rolled her eyes.

"I insist it's not a good idea, but who can change your mind anyway?" Sara huffed before leaving the room.

Emily wasn't joking when she told (Y/N) the nurses loved Spencer. They did check on him constantly in the corner of the waiting room where he spent most of the time. They warned him when (Y/N) 's sister was near, and in the past few days, they even allowed him to take naps in a room the doctors have on that floor for that very purpose.

He was doing precisely that when Ashley - one of the nurse's staff - woke him up.

"Doctor Reid? Someone wants to see you."

Thinking it could be Emily, he stood quickly and left the room, rubbing his eyes.

"Spencer?" Sara called. It wasn't a sweet tone but quiet enough not to make a fuss in the hospital corridor. Immediately Spencer opened his eyes and straightened his posture.

"Uh. Sara. Hey. I wasn't- I -" He stuttered, regaining consciousness. He wasn't expecting to see her, and considering her instructions to stay away, Spencer didn't want another fight.

"Don't. I don't want to hear it. I'm only here because she wants to see you," Sara cut him off.

"(Y/N) wants to-?" Spencer tried to follow Sara's words. She nodded, crossing her arms over her chest.

"That's what I said. And even if my better judgment still tells me I should kick your ass, I won't do something against my sister's wishes."

In that matter, Sara was right. She still didn't like Spencer and blamed him for many things that caused pain (Y/N). But despite that, she loves (Y/N) and respects her decisions.

Spencer nodded appreciatively in silence while straightening his clothes. Before Sara changed her opinion, he walked toward (Y/N)'s room.

(Y/N)'s lips formed into a smile when Spencer peeked through the door.

"Hey," he mumbled, closing the door behind him.

"Hey, Romeo," (Y/N) teased, shifting to a sitting position. Spencer chuckled, eyes to the floor, embarrassed.

"How are you feeling?" he asked shyly, not getting too close in case (Y/N) didn't want it. Sara's words still reverberated in his mind.

"Much better. The doctor said it would take some time, but I'm gonna be okay. But for what I was told, you already know that," (Y/N) commented. Spencer smiled, cheeks tinting in a red shade.

"Kind of. They told me you were getting better, but it's different when you say it."

A silence settled in the room. (Y/N) could see Spencer's reluctance to approach. With hands in his pockets, he stood there at a safe distance from her. (Y/N) knew why.

"Spencer, please, forgive Sara. She is having a hard time," (Y/N) tried to explain. Spencer bit his lower lip, nodding.

"I know. I know," he acknowledged. "She is not wrong, though," he added. (Y/N)'s eyes enlarged.

"What? No! In fact, she's wrong. You didn't kidnap me or beat me. It was Turpin," (Y/N) reasoned.

That was a fact, but (Y/N) already suspected it was more than that.

"That's the only thing we can blame another person for, but everything before? Sara hates me, and she is right," he voiced, averting his gaze from (Y/N)'s.

"Do you really think that?" She questioned, fearing the answer.

It was a conversation they needed to have. A conversation that was transpiring months way late and not in a better setting, but it has to be done.

"That your sister hates me, and she's right?" Spencer scoffed and posed like it was obvious.

"And you are the worst thing that could have happened to me. Because that's what she told you, isn't it?"

Spencer gulped hard. Those were Sara's words, indeed. Does he believe them, though? The most important thing: does (Y/N) believe them?

"Yeah. That. She is your sister; she must know and be right about that."

(Y/N)' s eyes softened. She recognized that look—the same look of self-deprecation and shrinking she had after Valerie's words that night at the bar.

"You can't really think that. And not because you cannot be able to sabotage yourself - a thing I know you do. You can't because it's not true."

Spencer downcasted his gaze. It was hard to believe he wasn't responsible for a brunch of (Y/N)'s painful moments.

"Damn it, Spencer! Some of the best days of my life have been with you!" (Y/N) blurted, trying to make her point. And in some way, she succeeded as Spencer's eyes met hers.

"But I hurt you. And I still do! I promised you not to. And I stupidly thought it was time to move forward when you weren't ready and still had doubts. What kind of boyfriend could I be if I can't notice that?"

His hands, previously tucked in his pockets, now ran through his hair. The gesture told (Y/N) how troubled he felt.

"Well. I didn't say anything, either," she indicated to erase some of the weight Spencer was putting on him.

"It doesn't matter, (Y/N). I should have known."

Spencer's arms slumped to his sides. He still wanted to torture himself because he felt he deserved it.

"And for that, you are going to give up?"

Those words made him frown in confusion. Give up what?

"Uh?"

(Y/N) sighed, reaching for his hand so he could come closer. Spencer hesitated for a second but then gave in, holding her hand and sitting beside her on the mattress. To feel her touch was strange and comforting at the same time.

"Spencer. We have been through a lot these months since we decided we could try this. And even if not everything has gone perfectly, God! I'm so glad we did!"

(Y/N)'s voice was filled with emotion. Recounting the past months, she felt nothing but happy about their time together.

"Me too! But I can't stop thinking I didn't do enough to fix what I broke when I pushed you away for Valerie."

(Y/N) shook her head, stroking Spencer's hand lovingly.

"Don't say that. You have done enough. The thing is, you can't expect to fix something like that on your own. Yeah, the reassurance helps, but it's not the only thing to be done. I mean, I always told you how therapy or talking to another person could help you confront what happened in jail. Still, it seems I didn't listen to my own advice," (Y/N) mused, bringing Spencer's hand to her lips to kiss it.

"What changed?" He asked, now playing with her fingers in his.

"When I was in that basement, at some point, I thought we wouldn't make it. And the fact I would never see you again almost broke me. I think that was an efficient wake-up call," (Y/N) explained, smiling sadly.

"I'm sorry. I should have been faster locating Turpin to save you from him," Spencer apologized, remembering the frustration during the hours they were in the dark on how to catch the unsub.

"You did save me, Spencer, even if you didn't pull the trigger."

Spencer tilted his head in confusion. How did he do that? (Y/N) noticed he didn't understand what she said.

"My mind focused on the most important moments we had shared. I conjured every memory that reminded me why I'm so in love with you. That kept me strong."

Spencer's eyes turned glassy. Jesus, the woman in front of him, went through hell in the past days and was there, alive and declaring her love for him. Did he deserve that?

"(Y/N), you're already the strongest woman I know. You did this by yourself," Spencer tried to refute as (Y/N) shook her head.

"Believe me. At some point, my inner strength wasn't enough. It's true when I tell you motivation is a powerful source. And you were mine. The chance to tell you 'I love you' and 'I trust you' encouraged me to survive," she meant.

"You do?" Spencer asked, almost choking with the tears he tried to keep at bay.

"Yes, my love. And I needed to tell you. I couldn't have died before that. I would never have forgiven myself if I didn't. I love you, and I trust you," (Y/N) declared, not breaking eye contact with Spencer. Now his tears ran free down his cheeks as he brought (Y/N) 's hand to his lips to kiss it. A gesture that told (Y/N) they were getting there.

"I love you, and I trust you, too," he murmured, lolling at the softness of her hand on his lips. "And I'm sorry if I made you think I didn't."

"It wasn't only about the possibility you could cheat or disrespect me. It was the idea you couldn't trust me about what you were feeling. Because we both know when things between us started to go down, and it was before Valerie," (Y/N) explained, and Spencer nodded in understanding.

"Jail," he filled in.

"Why didn't you tell me what was happening then? I asked myself that so many times, and my conclusion was you didn't trust me anymore. And that our love was dying. I feared it was the end. And then Valerie came into your life. Yeah, it could be easier to blame her for snatching you from me. But I kept silently blaming myself."

Spencer was about to say something, but (Y/N) didn't let him.

"Yes. We talked about it, and you explained why you pushed me away. But my mind kept lingering with the idea I wasn't enough for you. The box of all my insecurities exploded wide open. And that's why Valerie's words touched a nerve so deep in me."

Spencer's grasp of her hands tightened, trying to convey how badly he wanted to hold her and push away her insecurities.

"Valerie told me what she said to you that night. And it is the farthest from the truth. (Y/N), I wasn't tired of you. I wasn't expecting an excuse to leave you. I just wanted to keep you safe from the beast I thought I became. And I'm so sorry because now I can truly see how it hurt you," Spencer recognized.

"It's okay, Spencer. Things could be different now, or I least wish that," (Y/N) 's voice was hopeful. Spencer nodded eagerly.

"They could, and they will. I promise. I will do anything to spare you from feeling that again. Baby, I love you as I had never loved someone. You are the light of my life. My best friend, my lover, the person I want to be with for the rest of my life. And this time, love, it will be really at your pace," Spencer vowed.

(Y/N) grinned, feeling the butterflies erupting in her stomach. That was what she needed to take the leap of faith. No more running, no more hiding. Spencer mirrored her grin, rubbing her cheek lovingly. Their eyes were talking in silence and promising forever love.

"I would really love it if you kissed me now," (Y/N) whispered. Spencer chuckled.

"Yes, ma'am."

Slowly he leaned, tenderly cupping (Y/N)'s cheeks. She closed her eyes, breath picking up in anticipation. When their lips touched, every doubt and every insecurity melted away. And instead, the kiss made way for the fire that had always glowed between them. The flame that brought them together the first time has remained lit.

(Y/N)'s hands flew to grab Spencer's shirt. The sensation of his lips on her was so intense that she felt lightheaded.

They would have continued showing their love for each other if the need for breath hadn't been so strong. Several I love yous were blurted as they parted briefly before kept kissing.

At some point (Y/N) reluctantly ended the kiss to rest her forehead on his.

"I want to go home," (Y/N) mumbled, her eyes closed, basking in the feeling of Spencer's breath fanning her face.

Spencer leaned back a bit to look at her. His eyes softened. It was a fair wish, although that reminded him they were still in a long-distance relationship. But Spencer had already promised (Y/N) to go at her pace, so he didn't want to overwhelm her.

"You will, but you need to recover first," he pointed, caressing her cheek. (Y/N) sighed.

"Will you take me home?" she asked, looking at him hopefully. Spencer nodded.

"Of course. I will rent a car and drive us to Boston as soon as your doctor discharges you," he promised.

"No. Don't do that," (Y/N) requested. Spencer narrowed his eyes.

"Why not? The doctor will not allow you to fly yet," Spencer tried to reason.

"I know that," (Y/N) acknowledged. "I was talking about driving us to Boston," she clarified. Spencer was more confused now.

"(Y/N), you said you wanted to go home," he reminded her. (Y/N) smiled.

"Yeah. To go home, with you, in DC," (Y/N) explained. Spencer's eyes widened.

"What?! DC? You mean, as long as you can heal the injuries, right?" Spencer wanted to clarify. (Y/N) giggled, knowing Spencer wouldn't assume her real wish until she said it loud and clear.

"No, baby. I want to stay in DC as long as you'll have me. Spencer, I can't be away from you for another minute. I don't want to either. You're my home; our history and friends are in DC. That's my home."

"But- your life in Boston? Your job?" Spencer stuttered. (Y/N) grabbed his hands in hers and squeezed them.

"It doesn't matter. Believe me, none of that is something I want to keep. Not when my heart is with you," (Y/N) reassured. Spencer was still processing her words.

"Are- are you serious? We don't have to do this. I mean, I can be the one who could move to Boston," Spencer reminded her.

"I know. But there is no reason for me to stay there. Adrian was right; I went to Boston because I was running and hiding from what had happened. I don't have to do that anymore."

Spencer's confusion morphed into happiness.

"God, I love you," he blurted before trapping her lips in a sweet kiss. (Y/N) giggled into the kiss.

"I love you, too," (Y/N) responded once they parted. "And I really want this. Back then, we decided we could try, and against the odds, we made it. Now it's time to go home. Together. Please, take me home," she asked him with hopeful eyes. Spencer smiled and nodded.

"Let's go home then," he whispered before kissing her forehead.

They both were ready for the next chapter of their lives.

------------------

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