#but I barely look back fondly to that fandom

[solazu1]

If any of you guys knew me during my TOH hyperfix,,, NO YOU DIDNT

[satvruu]

ೀ how they hug you

rewritten and reposted of my hc set from my old blog @/star-puff! thank you to all my old dedications as well as my new ones @kurooppi @wyllsravengard for making my return to this fandom possible <3

feedback is very appreciated!

ft. yuuji, megumi, gojo, getou, nanami

itadori yuuji embraces you warmly, fondly, sunlight streaming through the window and scattering over your bare skin. it's someplace safe and comforting, enveloped in his arms like he's taken it upon himself to protect you from everything horrible in the world; he is your knight, he is your shield, your safe haven to escape to, no matter how many wounds he will endure in the process. ("yuuji," you whisper, a hand coming up to rest gently on his arm. he bleeds desperation. "i'm okay, i promise." yuuji squeezes you tighter, trembling, and you wonder what you can do to make it true for him, too.) he holds you for far too long for it to be anything casual, but you can't really complain about it anyway—it's better this than to witness the alternative. after all, what is the sun without a place to hold its warmth; what becomes of a hero when they fail to protect the things that matter most?

fushigurou megumi comes to you slow, steady, a ripple of water in the pond. you coax him out gently, holding your arms out before wrapping them around him. his breath hitches (always, no matter how many times he tries to hide it) and his body stiffens, arms frozen at his sides. but slowly, surely, your head buried in his chest, megumi's arms begin to wrap around you in a manner you can only describe as tender—as if you could break if he held onto you too tight. (truthfully, megumi thinks he's just afraid. the jujutsu world is a dangerous one, after all, even to those who only know of it by name. megumi has lost too many people, and you're the one person he can't afford to lose.) he flinches at the thought, pulling away. you draw yourself closer in him, instead. moonlight behind the clouds, you'd gladly hold onto this night forever if it meant megumi was by your side.

gojo satoru is known as many things—a child prodigy, the strongest, a boy-god making his presence known on the lowly earth, but to you, he is simply just obnoxious. satoru makes it a spectacle each time he sees you: hollering, gallivanting, draping himself over you with his long limbs and impossible-to-miss frame. you huff and complain and uselessly try to drag yourself away from him each time, but satoru hooks onto you and refuses to let you go, nuzzling his face into yours. (they're mine, the action screams, a blaring warning to anyone unfortunate enough to get caught in the collateral. you've been too caught up in your irritation of him to notice this, of course, and you're certainly not someone who would take the explicit meaning of it kindly, but satoru finds that he doesn't really care. not when he has more important things to attend to.) gojo satoru is many things, but the one thing he absolutely isn't is someone who can share.

getou suguru smells of sandalwood incense, a musky amber you think you could identify blind. sometimes, you think you remember a different suguru, a kinder suguru, one that had easier things to worry about, a brighter look in his eyes, an easier weight to his gait. if you think back far enough, you suppose it might have been because he had somebody else by his side to keep it that way, a brighter light shining next to him to keep the darkness at bay. (but that was a long time ago. now, suguru is the one left to be lit by the fire, stuck in the ashes of his own kin for a future little understand. you're not sure who is to blame for that anymore.) you're not the light that can save him—no one can be, not anymore. when suguru reaches out to you, rare vulnerability bubbling over in a way you can only describe as drowning—as crumbling—the only thing you can do is curl yourself next to him in the incense burner, smearing yourself in the ash.

nanami kento thinks you need this, especially after a long, hard day. the melting comes slow: his hands on your back, gentle pats and quiet whispers of comfort as he rests his chin on your head. and then comes everything else. his hands slot perfectly into the dip of your back, the small of your waist, thumbs rubbing small circles over the fabric of your clothes, and in the eyes of no one but yourselves, the two of you begin to sway back and forth to a quiet melody nanami begins to hum. you cling onto the fabric of his shirt, trying to memorie the smell of his cologne, the rumble of his voice, the warmth of his arms. (it's too much, to have a memory of a future that will inevitably happen. you almost want to cry. don't go, you want to say, a lump in your throat, wishing for the impossible. don't go.) and still, selfish as you are, nanami hugs you like you're slow dancing in the dark.

[amber-sekio]

Oneshot -Diluc needs a hug

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Ships: Diluc x reader

TW: ooc? ; borderline panic attack? ; nightmares

He was too slow, just like last time. He couldn’t save you. Must he lose everyone he cherished? Must he always be too slow or weak to save the ones he loved? Did Celestia hate him so? 

He cradled you in his arms, your body was cold, much too cold. He couldn’t stop the tears or sobs that escaped, unrelenting. 

Diluc jolted awake, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His breaths are short and heavy. Next to him in bed -where you should be- is much too cold. He panicked thinking his nightmare might actually be his reality until he heard the click of the bedroom door opening. There you stood with a cup of tea in your hand. 

“Diluc, are you alright?”   

Tears brimmed his eyes, threating to fall as he looked at you. Closing the door you quickly walked over to him, placing your tea on the nightstand next the bed. When you sat yourself on the bed, Diluc’s arms were immediately around you holding you so close as if you’d disappear into thin air if he didn’t, and to him and his still panic stricken mind, that was a very possible outcome. 

“Do you want to talk about it, love?” You spoke lovingly, voice barely above a whisper.    

His response was a simple shake of his head, opting to instead pull you closer to him. 

“There’s still some tea left, I could go get you a cup if you’d like?” You whispered fondly.   

His response was a simple “Just hold me please.” His voice wavered slightly as he tried to will himself not to cry. 

You pulled him impossibly closer, his head in the crook of your neck, and as you whispered sweet nothings into his ear, the dam finally broke and his tears fell. His body shook with silent sobs as his tears stained your shirt --but you couldn’t care less about your shirt, your mind was only set on calming Diluc. 

“Please... Please d-don’t leave me.” His voice broke through the silence. 

“I’d never dream of leaving you, my love.” You cooed at him as you shifted yourself and Diluc into a more comfortable position. As his tears slowly came to a stop, so did his rapid breaths as they evened back out in the comfort of your embrace. He eventually fell asleep, not long after by you, falling asleep to a pleasant dream with Diluc in your arms --the tea by the bed long forgotten.  

[greyspirehollow]

Vesuvia weekly ; First kiss with the courtiers 🎉

Pairing : The courtiers x reader

Fandom : The Arcana visual novel

Warnings : none. Just fluff.

Valdemar:

You're the one who initiated the idea of a kiss. You had noticed how affectionate gestures didn't come out naturally or often on their part (at least not in the conventional way) ; and so you wanted to try and gently suggest it.

Confused at first ; They had forgotten what a kiss felt like, or how to do it properly.

They will need to practice by just kissing your cheek from time to time, just to get used to the way they need to purse their lips and the feeling of something against them.

A week or two later, they will gently grab you by the arm and drag you somewhere quiet ; they will slightly push you against the wall, their eyes never leaving yours as they paused, and eventually, they lean in carefully to meet your lips with their own

it's pretty calculated and thought out to begin with, almost mechanical. You didn't blame them ; it must have been a while. As they part away, you gently whisper : "try not to think about it. Go with the feeling..."

And you both go in for another one. This time, they manage to make their lips dance with yours softly for a while, before parting away. You could swear their cheeks had tinted in a warmer hue than usual.

Vulgora:

uhm... Force.

Prepare to have your breath taken away.

They are the one who brought up the idea. Ever since you've been together, you've had your fair share of energetic and violent displays of affection. Whether it was carrying you around while chuckling like a madman or threatening anyone that made you upset ; or having your cheeks pampered with tons of kisses when no one was looking.

They are all jumpy when you agree to come with them in a less crowded corner. They look at you with a wide excited toothy grin as you rest your hands onto their shoulders and start to lean in. You barely have time to process it ; their lips crash into yours with passion.

It's heated and full of energy, yet you can sense they're afraid that it might be a bit too much for you. That doesn't stop them from kissing you so agressively ; but not aggressive in the painful sense, more the overwhelming way. They are so excited, have so much love to give you that they can't think of any other way to convey it all.

Once your lips part, you gasp for air, looking at them, baffled. You know they were a handful, but damn. Not that you minded. "Phew, that was... That was something else." you breathe out, their contagious grin spreading across your own face. Before you know it, your face is getting attacked with kisses again.

Will brag about it in an argument ; "AND I KISS MY PARTNER SO WELL THEY'RE ALWAYS BREATHLESS AFTERWARDS, TWAT!!" or something similar.

Vlastomil:

He has kissed before, he's just not exceptional at it. He's not bad at it, don't make me say what I didn't say ; he's simply good.

You nearly brought up the idea at the same time ; and yet none of you said it out loud. One night, sitting next to each other, you just looked at one another and leaned in at the same time, closing your eyes and meeting your lips with surprising harmony in your timing. This was the moment. This was right. It's as if things had fallen into place : nothing pushed you or held you back.

His lips are surprisingly soft. You'd expected them to at least tingle because of their little beard, but not even. They were a tad moist, but that was to be expected.

Once your lips part you can't help but look fondly into each other's eyes, your hands intertwined, as you just let the moment sink in.

Volta:

The idea had been swirling around in her head for a while now. But she never brought it up. She was much too shy. Holding hands was already making a stuttering mess out of her, so a kiss?? It doesn't mean she doesn't want to, it just flusters her beyond what's reasonable.

When you bring it up to her, the sweet potato will go bright red, nod, and look at you with big expectant eyes.

You have to lean down to bring yourself to her level and she has to be on her tippy toes to reach you. She'll close her eyes tightly, purse her lips and go in for a smooch. It doesn't last too long, maybe half a second, but it seems to be enough for her.

She'll never dare to do anything too involved in terms of kisses, so take it slow with her. But after that, she will tug at your sleeve and timidly ask for a kiss more often (and how the hell could you even think about denying her?).

Valerius:

The most skilled out of everyone. And believe it or not, you didn't even have to think about introducing him to the idea. Ever since you've confessed to him, he knew he would kiss you. And that didn't seem to be negociable. But when would be the right time...?

It was during a party. Just a small annual gathering. But he'd noticed how the nobles seemed to gravitate around you. He didn't like that one bit. He frowned, walking towards your little group, before swiftly snatching you away with a defty hand to your waist and a kiss to your lips

Oh. Gods. You had not expected that at all. His lips linger on yours, the warm taste of wine sweeping across your mouth as he moves his against yours. You can't help but hold onto his shoulders, closing your eyes and savoring the moment. The other nobles, after a while, seemingly uncomfortable, leave you and the Consul alone.

After your lips part, you look at him with a cheeky grin "Did Lucio teach you?", you ask. He groaned, rolled his eyes and swirled his wine before taking a sip out of it "I taught Lucio" he replies, avoiding looking at your eyes.

[nicklloydnow]

“About a decade ago, I ventured my opinion that the adult multitudes queueing for superhero movies were potentially an indicator of emotional arrest, which could have worrying political and social implications. Since at that time Brexit, Donald Trump and fascist populism hadn’t happened yet, my evidently crazy diatribe was largely met with outrage from the fan community, some of whom angrily demanded I be extradited to the US and made to stand trial for my crimes against superhumanity – which I felt didn’t necessarily disprove my allegations.

Ten years on, let me make my position clear: I believe that fandom is a wonderful and vital organ of contemporary culture, without which that culture ultimately stagnates, atrophies and dies. At the same time, I’m sure that fandom is sometimes a grotesque blight that poisons the society surrounding it with its mean-spirited obsessions and ridiculous, unearned sense of entitlement. Perhaps this statement still requires some breaking down.

(…)

Quite liking comics, aged 14 I thus became a comics fan with my discovery of British fandom, which was then still gummy-eyed and fresh out of the egg. The first convention I attended in London, in the basement rooms of a Southampton Row hotel in 1969, was tiny and inspiring. The attenders barely totalled a three-digit number, almost all of them some few years short of legal drinking age. The comics companies, having no monetary interest in a handful of penniless teenagers, went blissfully unrepresented, and the only industry celebrity that I recall was the sublime and sweetly unassuming genius Frank Bellamy, passing Dan Dare or Garth originals around, appearing wonderstruck that anyone had heard of him. The only thing uniting the assembly was its passion for an undervalued storytelling medium and, for the record, the consensus verdict of the gathered 15-year-old cognoscenti was that costumed musclemen were the main obstacle preventing adult audiences from taking comics seriously.

Of that hardly-a-hundred schoolkids, office boys and junior librarians, the great majority were actively involved in their pursuit, publishing or contributing to a variety of – for the most part – poorly duplicated fanzines, or else going on to work professionally in the field, such as Kevin O’Neill, Steve Moore, Steve Parkhouse or Jim Baikie, all of whom were downstairs at the Waverley hotel that weekend, keen to elevate the medium that they loved, rather than passively complain about whichever title or creator had particularly let them down that month. Of course, this was the 1960s and the same amateur energy seemed to be everywhere, spawning an underground press, Arts Lab publications and a messy, marvellous array of poetry or music fanzines that were the material fabric of that era’s counterculture; flimsy pamphlets as important and innovative today as they were then, although considerably more expensive, trust me.

Soon thereafter, caught up in the rush of adolescent life, I drifted out of touch with comic books and their attendant fandom, only returning eight years later when I was commencing work as a professional in that fondly remembered field, to find it greatly altered. Bigger, more commercial, and although there were still interesting fanzines and some fine, committed people, I detected the beginnings of a tendency to fetishise a work’s creator rather than simply appreciate the work itself, as if artists and writers were themselves part of the costumed entertainment. Never having sought a pop celebrity relationship with readers, I withdrew by stages from the social side of comics, acquiring my standing as a furious, unfathomable hermit in the process. And when I looked back, after an internet and some few decades, fandom was a very different animal.

An older animal for one thing, with a median age in its late 40s, fed, presumably, by a nostalgia that its energetic predecessor was too young to suffer from. And while the vulgar comic story was originally proffered solely to the working classes, soaring retail prices had precluded any audience save the more affluent; had gentrified a previously bustling and lively cultural slum neighbourhood. This boost in fandom’s age and status possibly explains its current sense of privilege, its tendency to carp and cavil rather than contribute or create. I speak only of comics fandom here, but have gained the impression that this reflexive belligerence – most usually from middle-aged white male conservatives – is now a part of many fan communities. My 14-year-old grandson tells me older Pokémon aficionados can display the same febrile disgruntlement. Is this a case of those unwilling to outgrow childhood enthusiasms, possibly because these anchor them to happier and less complex times, who now feel they should be sole arbiters of their pursuit?

There are, of course, entirely benign fandoms, networks of cooperative individuals who quite like the same thing, can chat with others sharing the same pastime and, importantly, provide support for one another in difficult times. These healthy subcultures, however, are less likely to impact on society in the same way that the more strident and presumptuous fandoms have managed. Unnervingly rapidly, our culture has become a fan-based landscape that the rest of us are merely living in. Our entertainments may be cancelled prematurely through an adverse fan reaction, and we may endure largely misogynist crusades such as Gamergate or Comicsgate from those who think “gate” means “conspiracy”, and that Nixon’s disgrace was predicated on a plot involving water, but this is hardly the full extent to which fan attitudes have toxified the world surrounding us, most obviously in our politics.

Elections that decide the fate of millions are conducted in an atmosphere more suited to evictions on I’m a Celebrity …, in which contestants who are insufficiently amusing are removed from office. Saleability, not substance, is the issue. Those who vote for Donald Trump or Boris Johnson seem less moved by policy or prior accomplishment than by how much they’ve enjoyed the performances on The Apprentice or Have I Got News for You. And throughout the UK, we’re now familiar with what a Stephen Yaxley-Lennon fan convention looks like.

An enthusiasm that is fertile and productive can enrich life and society, just as displacing personal frustrations into venomous tirades about your boyhood hobby can devalue them. Quite liking something is OK. You don’t need the machete or the megaphone.

Candidly, for my part, readers would have always been more than sufficient.”

[intricatechaosofyou]

GORGEOUS

Pairing: Bob Floyd x f!reader, callsign: Romeo

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick

Summary: Bob might be observant in the sky, but with girls he’s completely oblivious

Based off of Taylor Swift’s Gorgeous

Warnings: language

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

This was getting ridiculous.

For someone whose job description was being observant, Bob was completely oblivious to every single move you had tried on him.

You had tried everything.

But it failed every time.

When you tried to buy him a drink, it only ended in embarrassment.

“C’mon, Robby,” you begged, with a smile. “Let me buy you a drink.”

“It’s okay.”

“But I wanna. To congratulate you on a good flight today. You and Phoenix killed it.”

“It’s really not necessary, Romeo.”

Pouting, you tilted your head. “But why not?”

“I don’t drink.”

When you got him to teach you how to shoot a combo in pool, he barely even touched you.

“Robby?” you asked, innocently batting your lashes at him.

His eyes snapped to yours, immediately disregarding whatever Rooster was telling him. “Yeah?”

“Will you teach me how to shoot a combo?” You pointed back at the pool table where Fanboy had just lost to Payback.

“Sure.” Sliding out of his chair, Bob made his way over to you and grabbed a pool stick of his own.

He bent over, giving you a fantastic view of his ass in his khakis, and started explaining how to angle the stick so you’d be able to hit both balls.

“Give it a try,” he said with a smile.

With your best doe eyes, you mimicked his previous stance. “Like this?”

“Almost.” Bob gently nudged your shoulder back and moved the stick in your hands. “There. Now the angle’s good.”

“Are you sure?” You questioned, looking up at him.

He nodded. “Give it a try.”

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to lean over you to set up the shot. That’s how it happened in the movies. But Bob was too polite to do that.

And you didn’t want to disappoint him by not trying. Sighing, you took the shot and the balls went right into the pockets.

Bob smiled proudly at you. “You got it, Romeo!”

You forced a smile as you nodded. “Yeah. Guess I did. Thanks, Robby.”

And when you tried sitting in his lap, Bob still didn’t get the hint.

Coming back from the bar with two beers in hand, you noticed that Hangman had taken her seat. It looked like he and Coyote had finished messing around with the dart board and had decided to join the group again.

Instead of complaining, you simply handed Phoenix her beer and sat right down on Bob’s lap.

Bob stared at you, cheeks lightly stained pink.

You had him now.

“Here, have my seat,” Bob said.

“I’m fine right here, Robby.”

He shook his head, two large hands grabbing you waist and lifting you off his lap. “I insist.”

Bob stood up and gestured at the seat.

You did your best to smile at the man. “Thanks, Robby. Ever the gentleman.”

Sliding onto the stool, you saw the faces of the rest of the Dagger squad. They were all suppressing their laughter at your failed attempt at flirting with Bob. They had watched this little game go on for months now.

Bob just smiled at you, oblivious.

“You know, not talking to him isn’t gonna make him disappear,” Phoenix commented, snapping you out of your memories and bringing you back to the incessant noise of the Hard Deck.

“I know, Nix. But I’m tired of continually flirting with him only for him to not understand it. So, ignoring him is the best option.”

Sighing, Phoenix passed another beer to you. “He really likes you, ya know. Even if he can’t take a hint.”

“He can’t, can he?” You laughed, shaking your head fondly. Even if you were annoyed at him for being so oblivious, it’s part of what made Bob, Bob.

“Speak of the devil,” Phoenix muttered, gesturing to the WSO who was now making his way towards the two of you. “I’ll catch ya later, Romeo.”

With a wink, Phoenix was gone and Bob was now seated by your side. “Hey, Romeo.”

You just hummed in response.

“Have I done something wrong?” Bob asked suddenly.

With worried eyes, you turned to him. “What?”

“It’s just that you sat on the opposite side of the room from me and you haven’t talked to me all night. You’ve just been glaring at me from across the circle. Have I done something to upset you?”

You chewed on her bottom lip, feeling slightly guilty for being so rude to him now. “You haven’t done anything to upset me, Robby. Not knowingly.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that you’re gorgeous!” You blurted, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “You should take it as a compliment that I’m talking to everyone in this room but you! Because you’re so unbelievably gorgeous that it actually hurts me, Robby! You’re kind and you actually have manners! I have fallen so hard for you that I don’t think I can ever get back up! And I’ve been trying to make moves on you for months but nothing seems to get through that thick skull of yours!”

Bob’s face flushed scarlet at the admission. “Y- you think I’m gorgeous?”

“That’s what you got out of that confession?” You questioned, exasperated.

“No, not just that. I just wasn’t expecting any of it. I’ve…uh…been trying to make moves on you, too. I just didn’t think you noticed.”

That comment caused your brows to furrow in confusion. “What? When?” You asked.

“Like when you tried to buy me the drink.”

“I don’t drink.”

Your face flushed slightly at the explanation. “Oh.”

“But I can go get you something if you want?” Bob offered.

Bob watched as a small smile appeared on your face, his heart fluttering.

“Yeah, that would be nice. A-“

Bob cut you off with a wide smile. “I know what you like.”

A few minutes later your favorite drink was in your hands and Bob was sitting next to you.

“Thanks, Robby.”

“Anytime, Romeo.”

“And when I taught you that combo in pool.”

Bob smiled proudly at you. “You got it, Romeo!”

“Yeah. Guess I did. Thanks, Robby.”

“Wanna play a game?” He asked, gesturing to the pool table.

“Sure. And you’re taking me to get ice cream when I win.”

“You’re pretty confident there, ain’t ya, Romeo?”

“Always, Robby,” you responded with a wink.

What you didn’t know is that Bob purposely let you win that game just so he could take you to go get ice cream afterwards. Sure, Hangman would make fun of him for losing, but it was all worth it when he saw you smile at the sprinkles adorning your prize.

“And when you sat on my lap that one time.”

“Thanks, Robby. Ever the gentleman.”

Bob just smiled at you. His mama taught him to be a gentleman and giving you his seat only felt right. As he stood next to your seat, he let his hand rest on the small of your back, tracing random patterns into the fabric of your shirt. It grounded the both of you, reminding you that the other was there.

Sometime in the middle of the conversation, his hand grabbed yours, intertwining your fingers as you continued your conversation with Fanboy. It was so natural that you barely even noticed, but the rest of the squad shared knowing looks when they saw your connected hands.

“Oh my god, Robby,” you mumbled quietly. The sudden realization that he had been trying to flirt with you the entire time made you feel dizzy. Maybe you had both been oblivious. “I was trying to hit on you when I did all of that!”

“I realize that now,” he laughed, shaking his head.

“God, how could we both be so stupid?” You asked with a fond smile.

“I don’t know. Maybe now we could…ya know, go get dinner sometime?” Bob proposed, still somehow shy.

“Dinner tomorrow. Ice cream tonight?” You suggested.

He nodded, a small smile gracing your face. “Yeah, ice cream tonight works.”

You smiled and grabbed his hand, leading him out of the Hard Deck, ignoring the whistles from your friends as you left together.

“Hey, (y/n)?” Bob mumbled as the two of you got out into the cool night air.

“Yeah?”

“I think you’re gorgeous, too.”

[ace-of-clubs-and-diamonds]

Too Late I'm Dead

After rushing out from a Jigsaw survivors meeting, you meet another survivor who isn't exactly intent on attending group therapy. A companionship blossoms, and then a friendship. And then, something else.

Rating: Explicit, NSFW 🔞 Fandom: Saw Pairing: Amanda Young x AFAB!Reader Word count: 5.1K Content warnings: Gore, mentions of self-harm (both in the Jigsaw trap context and the more typical context), trauma, PTSD, angst, discussions of disability (since a lot of Jigsaw traps are disabling), Saw is its own warning, smoking, alcohol consumption, flirting, kissing, making out, biting, vaginal fingering, friends to lovers, as is Saw tradition gay shit goes down in the bathroom, reader is AFAB but gender neutral AO3 link: Here

Author's Note: And here’s Blood Fest Week 3, with the keywords “twisted” and “fixation” and the prompts “traps” and “rage”!! “Traps”, of course, got me thinking about Saw. And since I’m down terribly bad for Amanda and have seen appallingly few fics for her…. well, why not? Underrated characters are kind of my signature anyway. Hope y’all enjoy! <3

“Hi everyone. My name is Brandon and…. I’m a Jigsaw survivor.”

A subdued chorus of Hi Brandons echoed around the small church room. You barely even bothered to mouth the words. The gesture felt about as empty as the tipped over plastic water bottle you’d discarded by your chair some time ago. There was coffee at the sad makeshift snack table too, as well as a box of pastries that looked a few days past their prime, but you figured you didn’t need the caffeine to make you any more jittery than you already were. Your leg was bouncing enough as it was.

“It’s been about a year since uh. Well.” Brandon smiled nervously and made a vague, fluttery gesture with his hands. “Well. You know.”

A quiet, obligatory response from the other people – a murmur, a nod of heads. You stared at your bouncing knee.

“I’ve made great progress with my recovery. My knees have healed really well. I can fully walk on them again, even run if I’m careful. My dog Rex doesn’t really like it when I’m careful though.” He laughed fondly. A couple others offered the obligatory chuckle. “They hurt if I get too eager with stairs. Or if it’s too humid. But it’s going really well. I’m really, really proud of the progress I’ve made.” He nodded, as if assuring himself.

He’d had to break both his knees in order to get out of his trap. Was in a wheelchair for months and only recently started moving around without it. Or so you’d been told.

You weren’t sure you’d be able to break your own knees.

“Somedays, though.” Brandon looked away from the loose circle you all formed. Blinked rapidly. “Somedays, it feels like I haven’t made any progress. Somedays it’s hard. Really hard. And it feels like I didn’t survive that trap. Or if I did, some part of me got left behind.”

Everyone else was nodding, some with sad, understanding smiles on their faces. Your own pulse thundered in your ears like a distant, approaching storm.

“It’s really hard to have hope on those days, but…. what else can I do?” He shrugged, a helpless smile on his face. “Give up? Wallow around in my own misery? I can’t live like that. No one can live like that. Not forever. You just have to choose. You have to make a choice, just like the choices we made to be here. You have to choose to live. You have to choose hope. Or else you just can’t survive.”

You shot to your feet, heartbeat pounding in your ears, chair scraping back. Every face in the room turned to look at you. The church felt too small. Your ribs felt too tight. You felt too…. seen.

Who was he to judge you for wallowing in what you’d fucking gone through?

You spun around and bee-lined for the exit.

The cool city air against your face was a relief as you barged through the church’s double doors. But you stopped in your tracks as you spotted someone else already there. A woman was sitting on the church stairs. She twisted around, eyebrows raised and half-hidden by the choppy, irregular bangs across her forehead.

“Uh. Hey,” you said, somewhat awkwardly.

She paused, as if uncertain. Of what? You weren’t sure. “Hey,” she eventually said back. Then, after another pause, she twisted further around, a frown crossing her features. “Is the meeting over?”

“No. I just needed some air.” Fuck, you needed something to calm yourself. You dug around in your jacket pockets until you found a lighter and a cigarette. “Um. Do you mind if I…?”

She stared at the cigarette in your hand with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher, but eventually shook her head no. You internally shrugged and lit up. The first drag uncoiled the tension that had built up in your muscles, and you breathed the smoke out on a relieved sigh.

The woman glanced between you and the church doors. “Having fun in there?”

Did she know? The place didn’t exactly advertise, but it wasn’t exactly a secret either. You scanned her face. She looked vaguely familiar, but you couldn’t quite place her. Had you seen her in the meetings before? “Oh, yeah, lots. You know. Fun therapy shit.” Supposedly, anyway. It was supposed to be some sort of Alcoholics Anonymous shit, but instead it was for the few survivors of an active fucking serial killer. Jigsaws Anonymous or whatever the fuck.

“Must be going well if you’re out here,” she said dryly, resting her chin on a propped-up fist.

You shrugged, taking another drag. “Well…” Did you really want to tell her about how Brandon’s words had hit just a little too close to home? How they’d made you feel too small, as if the sticks you’d used to prop up your fragile post-trap reconstruction of the world had suddenly snapped, and the weight of it all was now bearing down on you? She was a stranger waiting outside the church. She could’ve been some Jesus freak for all you knew.

Not that she really looked like one. Not with the sheer red shirt over a black bra and fishnet undershirt, or the combat boots, or the sheer exhaustion around her eyes.

She looked less like a Jesus freak and more like you did on the days you could bear to look in the mirror.

So you just shrugged again. “It can be a lot,” you said. “What about you? What’re you doing out here?” You hesitated. “There’re still seats open if you wanted to…”

“No thanks. I’m good.” She offered you a close-lipped smile. “I’ve heard enough of the sob-stories.”

Yeah. You could understand that.

She didn’t look like she was going anywhere, and you didn’t exactly have plans of your own. So you gestured to the stairs next to her. “Mind if I sit?”

“Be my guest.”

You sat to her right so the wind wouldn’t blow cigarette smoke into her face. The smooth grey stone steps were wide enough that it didn’t feel quite so awkward sitting in silence together. Even though you could feel her analyzing you as you took another puff.

You blew the smoke away and smirked dryly at the cigarette. “Think Jigsaw’s gonna put me in another deathtrap for smoking?” You ignored the tightening in your chest as you said the words. Ignored the tremor of unease. Surely it wouldn’t be enough. Surely lightning wouldn’t strike twice.

“He wouldn’t do that.” She said it with such simple certainty, as if it was an inarguable fact. Even still, you found yourself stubbing the cig out and searching for a trash can to toss it into. You didn’t want to just flick it into the grass. Maybe Jigsaw would get you for littering. Maybe he was really passionate about saving the planet.

Who needed to be God-fearing with the possibility of Jigsaw watching your every move?

You shook the thought off. Introduced yourself to the woman. You smiled awkwardly. “Um. I’d offer you my hand but my, uh–” Personal hell “–Trap involved a hand thing so. I’m not a big fan of handshakes these days.” It had taken a long time for the nerves to repair themselves in your hand. A long time and a shitton of agony and medication and physical therapy. You still hadn’t totally gotten rid of the tremor. Fine motorskills were still harder than before.

Before. That.

But the woman just gave a rueful, understanding sort-of smile. Funny how people smiled so much in the presence of trauma and pain. “Amanda. I still have trouble going to the dentist sometimes.”

Shit, that’s where you knew her from, wasn’t it? You’d heard of her, read about her before, seen a clip of her punching a journalist square in the nose when she tried to follow her. All the photos you’d seen had been such shit quality that you hadn’t recognized her immediately.

Amanda Young. The person who killed a man and rummaged around his guts to free herself from the machine hooked into her jaws. The first person to walk away from a Jigsaw trap. The first survivor. In a weird, fucked up way, it was almost like meeting a celebrity. A celebrity for the most depressingly specific thing possible.

You weren’t sure whether it would make things weird to bring that up. So you just nodded. “So. What’re you doing here then? Are you waiting for someone?”

“Mm no, not really.” Amanda scraped at the chipped black polish on her nails. “I just like to come here sometimes.”

You stared at her. Something about her reminded you of a deer, twitchy and ready to bolt at the slightest sign of danger. Or maybe not a deer. Deer looked like they’d snap in half if the wind blew too hard. Amanda…. did not. She was twitchy, but for some reason you got the feeling that she was just as likely to start kicking as she was to start running

Permanently caught between fight or flight.

You went with freeze, yourself. Or wallow, as Brandon had put it. Anger and embarrassment burned against your ribs.

“Hell of a place to visit.” You weren’t sure if you meant it as a light-hearted joke or a deadpan remark. The words came out somewhere in between.

“You’re one to talk.” She finally turned to you. It was the first time she’d actually met your eyes, you realized. “You actually believe all this bullshit?” she asked, gesturing to the church.

“Not really,” you admitted. “My therapist wanted me to go. Said it would help me to be around others who understand what I went through. That it would help me get closure or something. I didn’t want to. But he insisted.” You shrugged. He’d pestered you about it until you finally gave in a few weeks ago. He thought it would be good for you. Would help you heal. Really, it just made you want to fling yourself out of one of the church’s fancy stained-glass windows.

Amanda gave a derisive snort. You almost took offense until she said, “Half of the time these therapists don’t even know what they’re talking about. It’s a bunch of bullshit, too.” She propped her cheek on her fist again, giving you a side-long grimace. “People don’t change until they have to. Or until they’re forced to. A bunch of psychoanalyzing isn’t going to do anything.”

You…. strongly disagreed. But the slim scar peeking out from her sleeve kept you from saying that. “Bad experience with a therapist?” you asked, flicking your gaze away.

“It never really worked for me.”

“What did?” you asked cautiously.

She paused. Thought about it. Stared at you with an intensity that had you wondering what the hell was going on inside her head. Until eventually, “Jigsaw.”

You blinked. Stared. Tried to figure out how to respond to that.

She thought…. Jigsaw helped?

You didn’t want to judge. Fuck, that was exactly why you’d stormed out of the church. You were self-aware enough to realize that. Different things worked for different people, and different people responded to trauma in different ways, but….

The church doors squealed open. You both shot to your feet and turned around. Your fellow Jigsaw Anonymous members were leaving, the meeting over, spilling out from the doors with all the speed and excitement of molasses being poured out from a jar. You stepped to the side to let them come down the stairs. Amanda did the same, arm brushing yours, and you wrestled the urge to jerk away. You weren’t sure of the last time you’d actually touched someone, or the last time someone had touched you, aside from the gentle but coldly professional hands of doctors and emergency personnel. It was as startlingly foreign as it was familiar.

Amanda seemed completely unaware of your clashing emotions as her gaze locked onto something. You followed her stare to Brandon slowly making his way down the steps. A man with sandy-blond hair and a cane was with him, chatting, the both of them completely oblivious to either of you.

Did she know them? She was staring at them with such an undecipherable intensity and it was the only explanation you could think of. You glanced at the two men again, then back at Amanda. No… she wasn’t staring at them. She was staring at the blond man specifically.

It really wasn’t any of your business, but you couldn’t help but ask, “Do you two know each other?”

“Sorta,” was as much of a response as you got.

Once Brandon and the man reached the bottom of the ramp and went separate ways, Amanda turned back to you. It was just the two of you on the stairs now. And it was a little embarrassing how flustered you were just by her proximity. For fuck’s sake, you didn’t even know her.

Maybe your therapist was right. You did need to get out and be around people more. So you could remember how to fucking act normal again.

“Well.” Amanda bumped her arm against yours again. This time deliberately. You were pretty sure the facial expression you made was not a normal one. “See you round.”

Then she shoved her hands into the pockets of her cargo pants, hopped down the steps, and just. Walked away. You stared after her for longer than necessary.

She was impossible to get a read on. Weirdly confrontational, weirdly evasive, and weirdly magnetic anyway.

You kind of hoped you’d see her again.

She didn’t appear for the next few meetings you obligatorily dragged yourself to. It wasn’t until about a month later that you found her sitting out on the steps again. When you, again, had rushed out to clear your head when the room got too small.

“Hey stranger,” she said, tone somewhere close to teasing. It made you smile. Just a little.

“Hey,” you replied, approaching the stairs. And again, you gestured to the space beside her. “Mind if I join you?”

“Be my guest.”

And so you developed a bit of a routine. She appeared on the steps about once a month, for a reason she never shared and that you never really minded. You would sit on the stairs with her, and the two of you would shoot the breeze. It was a comfortable, casual companionship born from a common factor and convenience. It was never anything very deep. Neither of you were there for therapy, not really. You kept it light, casual. That was the point, wasn’t it?

At least until one day when Amanda was standing by the stairs before the meeting had even started. You didn’t bother to hide your surprise as you approached her and exchanged your usual heys.

“You coming in today?” you asked.

“No. I thought we could head somewhere else.” She tilted her head at you. There was a playfulness to her expression, her smile. A playfulness that made you both a little bit cautious and a little bit excited. “Somewhere a little more fun. Unless you want to stay here. For therapy.” She pointedly lifted her eyebrows at you as she said therapy.

You glanced at the church doors behind her. Really, talking to her about anything but the fact that you were both Jigsaw survivors had done a lot more for you than going to these stupid fucking meetings had.

“Only if you promise not to put me in a death game for smoking,” you joked. Or tried to, at least. It really wasn’t that funny. You winced at yourself. But Amanda, to her credit, just linked her arm through yours. You almost preened at the friendly touch.

“Deal,” she said.

She ended up taking you to a bar. A gay bar, more specifically. You were a bit surprised she’d clocked you so easily but never said a word – but then again, neither had you about her. So you supposed you couldn’t be too surprised.

From there, your casual companionship escalated into something much more like a genuine friendship. You got to know each other properly. You talked about your personal lives and hobbies and interests. You even talked a little bit about Jigsaw, and everything after that. You told her how you’d been struggling with insomnia and how you’d lost your job when you stopped showing up. Because of, y’know, being stuck in a deathtrap. And being too terrified to set foot outside your door for a while after. You told her about the new job you’d gotten and struggled to adjust to. And you told her about your hands.

Nails through the palms Jesus-style. Because according to the hoarse voice on the tape that now haunted your nightmares – “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop”. She’d winced as you told her the story one evening. You’d winced as you’d recollected it. The pain shooting through your fingertips, up your arms, into your very fucking bones. The squelch of blood and muscle, the way you hadn’t been able to stop from screaming or the tears from spilling as you twisted and ripped your hands free of the metal spikes.

It was a miracle they didn’t introduced any infections into your bloodstream, the doctors had told you. A miracle.

You told Amanda how your hands still shook, were still a bit weak. How some days they were worse and some days they were better. And how fine motor skills had become hard now, whereas before you’d taken them for granted. God, had you taken them for granted. You’d been able to write your name, use a knife and fork, all that shit, so damn easily.

It had taken a lot of getting used to.

Amanda has just listened and nodded her head. Understanding. Not offering the grating sympathy people so often flung your way, all the while looking uncomfortably unsure of what to do with your presence and your hands and your experience and your trauma. But Amanda understood. Because of course she did. She knew what you’d been through and where you were coming from.

And she’d even smiled a bit mischievously, glancing down at your hands on the bar counter, and said, “Well, if you ever need help with anything, I’m pretty good with my hands. I could always lend a finger or two.”

Maybe it was the little smirk on her face, the glint in her eye when she said it. Maybe it was the loneliness and then the sudden friendship. Or maybe you’d just been a little too buzzed, but her words had remained lodged in your mind as you tried to go to sleep that night.

Amanda had shared things about herself, too, in the time you’d spent together. It had taken a little longer for her to open up – she was a bit slower, a bit more cautious. She seemed a lot more eager to listen than to do the talking. And you couldn’t fault her for that. But eventually, you learned that she worked as a mechanic, knew a lot about fixing and building machines and shit like that. She had a pet guinea pig that she’d acquired entirely by accident. His name was Pigeon. Her favorite color was red, her favorite bands were Nine Inch Nails and Hole, and her favorite movie was The Princess Bride. Her dad was a piece of shit she hadn’t seen in over a decade, and her relationship with her mom was strained at best. She was an only child.

You’d also learned more about her Jigsaw trap. How she’d become a drug addict in prison, how she’d woken up in a Jigsaw trap for it. How the little puppet with swirls on its cheeks had rolled out of the darkness on a tricycle and told her that she’d survived. And how she’d ended up in a trap a second time, a hellish prison of a house with several other people, most of whom had died.

The news had nearly brought your drink back into your throat. Lighting did strike twice after all. He did pick the same victims more than once.

God, maybe you really did need to quit smoking.

Amanda had placed her hand on your arm. Touch gentle but grounding all the same. And she’d assured you that that wouldn’t happen to you, Jigsaw wouldn’t choose you again. He had no reason to. She said it so confidently, and you so desperately wanted to believe her. That you wouldn’t be taken a second time. Or that she wouldn’t be taken a third. Not that she seemed too concerned about it.

That was the strange thing about her. When she told you about what had happened, she stared down at the counter. Her hands shook a little bit. The memory terrified her.

And yet…. she had this fixation on the idea that Jigsaw had helped her. The trap had gotten her off drugs. It had put her on a completely different path in life. Rather than dying from a drug overdose, she’d gotten clean. He saved me, she’d said, eyes wide and earnest and afraid.

You’d fought against the urge to argue that, to say No, he didn’t save you, he almost killed you. The idea of Jigsaw possibly helping – all while you struggled to sleep and were plagued by nightmares as you did, while you struggled to make your handwriting legible, while you fought the urge to bolt back home as soon as the sun started lowering in the sky? The idea felt like swallowing glass.

Had Jigsaw ever made anyone do that?

But you didn’t say any of that to her. People dealt with trauma in different ways. You supposed this was just her way of dealing with it. And it wasn’t really hurting anyone, so who were you to judge?

It certainly didn’t stop you from going to the bar with her regularly. It didn’t stop you from laughing with her, from getting close to her both emotionally and physically till the edge of your seats were almost touching and your arms were practically interlinked.

It didn’t stop the spark of warmth in your chest when she offered a genuine smile. Or the electric feeling that shot through your veins when she traced her fingers over your knuckles one night, after the conversation had lulled and your drinks had gone lukewarm.

“I wanna try something,” she said, voice soft enough that you would’ve missed it had you not been sitting so close your thighs were pressed together.

Eye contact right now would’ve been like staring into the sun. So instead, you stared at her hand on top of yours. Her knuckles were scratched up as if she’d gotten into a fight. “Sure,” you said slowly. “What did you have in mind?”

Amanda turned to you. You cautiously met her gaze. Christ, it really was like looking at the sun. Warm and beautiful but intense. Burningly intense.

Confusion turned to shock as Amanda hooked two fingers into the neck of your shirt and tugged you closer till her lips were hitting yours. You must’ve made a noise of surprise, because she drew away almost immediately. It was all you could do not to chase her and ask why did you stop? A small crease appeared between her eyebrows and she opened her mouth. And God for a second you thought she was going to apologize, when in fact she really didn’t need to because holy shit.

“Oh thank fuck,” you blurted. “You were flirting with me.”

Concern turned to surprise. Then Amanda laughed, the sound pure relief. “Yeah, I was. Did it take you that long to figure it out?” she teased.

“Uh.” Your face warmed. “Maybe.”

She grinned, then grabbed you by the shirt and kissed you again. Gentle but insistent. Her other hand curled around your nape. You didn’t know what the hell to do with your own hands until one curled around her back and the other ended up braced against the bar counter.

The bar counter. Right. You were very much in public. Sure, it was a queer bar, but it was still public.

So you reluctantly pulled away. Amanda looked confused for a moment before you said, “Hey, maybe we should… do this somewhere else?”

She blinked at you. Then, wordlessly, she wrapped a hand around your wrist and pulled you off your seat. She dragged you past the other patrons and tables – it was a quieter night, so you didn’t have to fight through a sea of people – and pushed through one of the bathroom doors, yanking you in with her and locking the door behind you.

“There,” she said. There was a look to her eyes, a look that made your heart stumble and your entire body go warm. “We’re somewhere else.”

This time when she kissed you, you let her fully take the lead. You slid your arms around her and melted into the kiss, sighing against her. It just made her more eager. She prodded at your lips with her tongue, slipped inside with a sweet little moan that had your heart racing. Sent your head spinning. You backed up till you hit a wall, dragging Amanda with because fuck you weren’t breaking this kiss. Not as she was getting to know you with her teeth and her tongue. She tasted like alcohol and peaches, smelled of loam and sweat and faintly of men’s store-brand bodywash. It was heady, intoxicating. Addicting.

Her hands slipped under your shirt. You shuddered at the exposure to the overly air-conditioned bathroom. Shuddered harder at her warm touch roving across your skin, the slight drag of fingernails over your stomach. Amanda broke the kiss with a wet smack as your muscles tensed underneath her.

“You’re so cute,” she teased. She dragged her fingernails over your skin again with just a little more pressure. You arced into her touch. Fuck. Fuck.

You wished you could come up with some kind of response. Something to convey just how much you were aching for her, both emotionally and physically. How badly and how deeply these emotions were running through you. But words were currently beyond your grasp.

Amanda leaned in and nibbled at your neck as her fingers slid past your waistband and teased the edge of your underwear. You clamped your teeth down on your bottom lip. Heat swirled through your veins, in your stomach, at the base of your spine. You moved your hips a little, just a little, to urge her on. Nails dug into the soft flesh there. A whimper escaped.

“Mandyyyyyyy.”

“Yeahhhhhhh?” She was all mischief and smugness as she looked back up at you. It just made you more desperate.

“Mandy. Please?” You gave her your best pleading look.

“You’re so impatient.” She said the words lightly, playfully. But she must’ve been impatient too, because she was pushing your underwear down. When her fingers brushed against your clit, you gasped and dropped your head back against the wall. Fuck, God, yes, right there –

“You sure you only just figured out I was flirting with you? You seem pretty fucking wet already.” She punctuated her words with a slide of her fingers against you. Because yeah, you were fucking wet. It would’ve been a little humiliating if you weren’t so achingly desperate for her touch.

“Yeah, well.” You drew in an unsteady breath as she circled your clit. A teasing touch that wasn’t quite enough. Fuck, it was impossible to form a coherent thought. “You’re just…. really fucking hot.”

It was hardly eloquent. But her breath puffed against your neck in a laugh. And you figured it would do for now.

She kissed the hollow of your throat, firmly rubbed her thumb against your clit. You practically bucked against her. Her other hand hooked under one of your thighs and lifted, and you threw your leg around her waist. Let out a moan at how it changed the sensation. “Yeah, like that,” Amanda breathed. “Just like that.” She said it as if you were touching her, as if she wasn’t the one doing all the work, wasn’t the one making you writhe and whimper and leak over her precise fingers.

Christ, you hadn’t felt this good in a while.

The pace was languorous, exploratory, testing what made you shiver and dig your nails into her shoulders and gasp for breath. As if she was intent on taking you apart and finding out exactly what got you going – a machine to figure out and put back together. Slowly, slowly, but in a way you savored, you felt the tension inside of you building up and coiling tight like a spring. You were quivering. Your clothes clung to your sweat-sheened skin. The music spilling into the bathroom from the bar wasn’t quite enough to cover the ragged breathing and wet, rhythmic noises, and it just made the whole thing feel even dirtier. Especially with how Amanda was panting against you, as if she was getting off just from you getting off and fuck it made you clench.

When she picked up the pace, you weren’t able to stop the gasps and moans that spilled out of you, the way you panted and pleaded her name. The sound of her fingers squelching against you had you burning. And when your release hit you cried out, clenching, shaking, clinging to Amanda’s shoulders and digging your nails in as you rode out the high. She didn’t stop, didn’t relieve the pressure against your clit. White hot pleasure burned through your body till tears pricked at your eyes. Distantly, she said something. Soft, sweet words that didn’t quite reach your ears as they rang from the intensity of your orgasm.

She only stopped when you went limp against her. Only pulled away from the mess you’d made – that she’d made too, really – to wrap her arms around your hips and kiss you, deep and slow, as if trying to commit you to memory. You lazily brushed your tongue against hers. Your muscles felt like taffy, worn out in the best way.

“You were right,” you said when you parted. “You really are good with your hands.”

Amanda grinned so widely and genuinely that you couldn’t stop yourself from capturing her lips again. Fuck. You might’ve been a little bit in love. Or maybe that was the post-sex endorphins talking. You weren’t sure. You didn’t particularly care either way.

“I think I owe you an orgasm,” you said.

Amanda brushed her nose against yours. For the first time since you’d met her, she actually seemed truly, fully relaxed. As if she’d properly lowered her guard just now, just in this moment, just for you. “Maybe next date.” The words sent a flutter through your chest. Next date. There’d be a next date. “But first,” she said, moving away to grab some paper towels, “we gotta get you cleaned up.”

[reallyromealone]

Title: kingslayer

Fandom: black clover

Pairing: Nozel x male reader

Chapter: one

Warnings: male reader

Notes: slow burn slow burn

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

"god, I forgot how comfortable beds are" Long journeys didn't make for the most comfortable sleeping arrangements, the bed much more comfortable than the trees he's slept in. He didn't know much about the clover kingdom, they had a king and a giant skull that (name) was happy he got to paint. The room was warm, with light beige walls with wood beams that matched the old floorboards and bed frame and furniture, small paintings on the walls to give it some light along with candles for later. A small fireplace in the corner a chair to the side and a desk.

It was more than what he was used to.

Knock knock.

(Name) sat up curiously before walking to the door, opening it to see a young woman "Hi! My dad owns the inn... I noticed you didn't have shoes and we had a nicer pair in the lost and found that weren't gross so I thought you would want them... I hope they fit" (name) smiled softly at her "that's very kind of you, here... I would like to pay you back" the wanderer stepped aside and let her walk into his room, a few of his paintings out "I'll make you a portrait..." He said softly and the young woman looked confused "You don't have to!"

"An act of genuine kindness sparks another besides with the cost of portraits these days, wouldn't it be nice?"

The girl had no reply as she looked at his tiny paintings, no bigger than her hand "Whoa..."

"That one is of the heart kingdom, it's very wild there," he said as they looked at the painting of a rare power "I paint things to remember them, one day I may forget these little things and I always want to remember them... Now! Sit with the sunlight facing you! We don't have much time!"

The woman, whom (name) fondly called 'sparrow' posed shyly as (name) painted her "you have excellent bone structure, you would have made a brilliant sculpture in another world" he commented as she looked confused and a bit flustered "you think?" She said barely above a whisper "I do, my former flame had a beautiful facial structure as well..." (Name) had a sad smile on his face as he thought about his former beloved, though he knows she used him... He still wishes he could have been there for his daughter.

"So what brings you to the clover kingdom?" Sparrow asked and (name) smiled "I'm just sight seeing, I haven't seen much of the clover kingdom so why not right?"

Well, he hadn't seen it... recently.

"You have anything here to recommend?" He asked as he painted and the girl thought "there's a restaurant around the corner that sells the best pasta!" She beamed and (name) chuckled at her dreamy expression at the thought of the dish "I'll have to check it out"

"So what kind of magic do you do? My magic is not strong but I can grow plants" the girl said happily, (name) listening before speaking "If you honed in you could probably grow rare roots... Would help make.potions and such"

"I could do that!"

(Name) helped her with making her magic feel more useful as he kept the topic of his magic out of her head but that didn't seem to work "So what's your magic?" She repeated and (name) knew she wouldn't stop so he answered honestly "It's complicated but to try and simplify it... It- it's strong" he couldn't put it into words without exposing himself "If it's powerful, you should join the magic knights!" (Name) looked confused and the other gasped "the magic knights protect and help the kingdom! They're super strong!"

"... there I think we're done" (name) presented the painting to her "It needs time to dry but I think I didn't do half bad" he just wanted this conversation to end, she was a sweet girl but overwhelming, to say the least, and her look of amazement at tge painting mad regime smile "I can keep this?" She whispered and looked at him in awe "Just keep being kind, yeah? And keep your wits about you"

After she left (name) walked to the window and looked at the clover kingdom curiously, perhaps after a nap he could check it out.

"How do we know he's real?" Charlotte asked and Vanessa sighed "Trust me if anyone can fix this mess... It's him" She remembered him fondly, the man from her childhood before she was locked away in the cage, the man who would teach her things about the outside world he was from, her mother spoke highly of him "he was more powerful than she has ever seen", Vanessa said distantly as the others looked curious at her "someone of his description entered the city today," William said looking over the description that was given to the guards "are you sure he still looks like that?"

"I'm sure"

Nozel and Fuegoleon were tasked to look for this man, and the two ended up at an inn, small and unassuming in the lower ends "Pardon me" Fuegeleon asked the innkeeper who gazed from his book, an older man he was with a slight bald spot and beer belly but friendly none the less "oh that guy? He gave my daughter a painting, why did he do something?"

"No, we just need his help"

"He's out right now but he'll probably be back tonight" the innkeeper was relieved the kind young man hadn't done anything, curious on why the two Royals needed him though but decided not to press "may I offer you two a drink while you wait?"

"Ah, no thank you" Fuegeleon always the gentleman said softly and the innkeeper looked slightly saddened as the redhead continued "would it be possible to see his room? To wait?" The innkeeper not wanting to be in the way of knight business let them have the key to the room and even lead the way, the two thanking him as Nozel looked disgruntled in the shabby room but did notice the drying paintings of the capital on the small desk "these are incredibly detailed" he noted to his cousin who hummed "from what Vanessa says this must be him, he was a painter"

The paintings almost looked real if it wasn't for the water color aspect, it was incredible really "How can we be sure he can help us?"

"Frankly I just want to know why two strange men are in my room" a voice broke them from their thoughts as (name) held a paper container of pasta, eating it slowly "Quite rude frankly, just barging into a room someone paid for"

"Are you (name)?" Nozel glares at the man in the ratty cloak with painted designs on it and the inside, little embroidery designs of flowers and what looks to be a family on it all in the style of a child's drawing.

"Ah, that would be me," he said casually as he plopped down in his chair, not even phased "who are you two?" He had a bored expression as he ate more pasta, the girl was not lying this shit was the bomb! "You don't know who we are?" Nozel seethed and (name) raised an eyebrow "Haven't been in the clover kingdom in years, I ain't gotta clue"

"We are the captains of the Silver Eagles and Crimson Lions respectively"

"That a sports team or something?"

"Spo-- we are magic knights!" Noel was about to tear this man's head off but thankfully Fuegeleon stepped in "We were told you could help us"

"And who said that?"

"Someone you may know... Are you aware of anyone named Vanessa?"

(Name) didn't even need to hear the rest as he packed his belongings, his cloak swishing as he put the paintings away "Well what are you doing? Lead the way!" (Name) urged them, a stark difference compared to how he was earlier as he slung his bag over his shoulder "let's go!"

(Name) didn't give a fuck about the palace, eyes looking around curious for one person and one person alone.

Then it felt like time stood still as he stared at him from across the room with people wearing matching caplets.

"'Nessa..." He said as he had finally found happiness, the knights were confused as the pink-haired woman felt tears well up in her eyes.

"Papa..."

[riddles-n-games]

So, I wanted to make this as an appreciation post for the fandom. Looking at all the reveals we've gotten in the last few days and seeing how much the world of TIG has expanded so quickly, I've been getting a bit nostalgic.

When I joined this fandom, it was August of 2022, barely a month out from the release date of The Final Gambit, the finale of The Inheritance Games. I found out about TIG at a random bookstore on a road trip and I had immediate interest (the hot tub scene sold me so quick). I was also still somewhat new to Tumblr back then but I wanted to see what the hype was here.

Back then, we were still in the Averyjameson vs Averygrayson era even though I'd say things were cooling down a bit. But, that's not my point. The community was getting ready for this; there were chapter reveals, theories, and oh, it was awesome. I was so happy to be part of it. And some of the people who made it a lively place back then are still here, but unfortunately, some have gone quiet. @averysjameson, @guppyclato, @lesbianator3000, @margolovescoffeeandbooks, and @cherryschaos, thank you for making my days back then. I know you may have moved on, but I thank you for the contribution you made at the time.

The only thing I will not miss is the toxicity that Averyjameson and Averygrayson fans plagued this fandom with and divided us so much. We had a lot back then to still savor, why did we have to do that to sour the tag when this series had so much more to offer than just the romantic subplot? There was a mystery at large and so many other characters to love. We only seemed to agree on hating Emily and the old man. Moving on, let's never do that again and if there is another love triangle, let's try being more mature about it. I know we can. If Gray, Avery, and Jamie moved on, so can we.

When we were told of The Brothers Hawthorne back in October 2022 and given those first chapters for the new book, I was over the moon. We were going to finally see the POVs of two favorites; Grayson and Jameson. I was so excited to see from Jamie's perspective, to get a mystery set in London and for him to solve it with Avery; it was an Averyjameson dream. However, come the actual release of the book and I was honestly so disappointed. I'm not sure why it didn't hit the levels it should have but I already said my piece on that and while I still have some disdain for that story, I look fondly at the parts I did love. And funny enough, I told myself Grayson's story will just have to do only because I was feeling sour over Jameson's plot. But low and behold, I loved it! It was deep, funny, interesting, and held my attention as if I was in TIG all over again and it hit more high notes than Jameson's. I may attribute that to the familial connections we see displayed there but it felt more rewarding and even if JLB still had more for Grayson's development, that didn't mean Jameson had to suffer for it. However, I'm hoping that this story here was a fluke and I'm putting my best foot forward in believing that maybe reading Averyjameson through Avery's POV again in Games Untold will give back that familiar feeling I've been missing for two years. I never said I wouldn't try again.

Now, we've entered a new era and this is a third for me; The Grandest Game and Games Untold. During this period, I met @hathorneheiress, my fanfic bestie, and a lot of my current supporters have been with me since TBH. I thank you very much for sticking with me by liking, reblogging, and commenting on my posts. You make my day in the same way I assume my content makes yours. I haven't said that enough and I don't think it will ever be. I'm happy that we're all still here now and going into this new unknown with our theories, headcanons, new characters, and plots. I'm sure it will be a blast. Thank you for giving me that feeling again these last few days; it felt like being with Avery and the gang, running through the House, finding another clue, waiting in anticipation what it reveals.

I hope that this next series is everything we hope for it to be, a new start for Gray, a chance to bond with the new characters we met in The Brothers Hawthorne, and an opportunity to make it feel like the hay days of the first book. I hope that Games Untold lets us relish that feeling with the original cast, to relive the good old days, to meet up with some old friends we haven't seen in a while, and to have that final hurrah that leaves us on the highest of highs in the best way possible. Maybe it'll make it easier to say goodbye to the ways it used to be and embrace the new storytellers but of course, with the way JLB leaves us hanging with every story she gives, who is to say that'll be it?

Thank you to everyone who makes theories, headcanons, fanfics, fanart, and so many other things that leave us wanting more. Thank you to everyone who showers that content with support in the form of likes, comments, and reblogs. Thank you to everyone who has been here from the beginning, in the middle, and now. You all made this a special place. Thank you to everyone who made this community that way and continue to do so every day. I'm happy to be a small part of that. See you in the next post.

-Mystery Girl's Red String

[angstea]

i need to run, but i can't get out of bed for anyone

Fandom: BBC Ghosts

Ship: Caphavers

Series: Auctober 2024

<- Previous | Masterlist | Next ->

Summary: Havers has a lot of bad days

AN: The Captain and Havers are both autistic

Title is from Juliet by Cavetown

Written for Auctober Day 28: Safe Foods

Read on AO3

As soon as Anthony cracked his eyes open in the morning, he could tell it was going to be a rough day. The empty darkness covered him like a heavy blanket, pinning him in place. His mind felt foggy, unable to pinpoint anything other than the overwhelming urge to go back to sleep. He tried to rub the sleep from his eyes but still couldn't force his limbs to move.

He knew he should get up, it wouldn't do any good to lie here feeling sorry for himself. He took a deep breath and tried once more to move, at least a little.

His arm shifted and the movement sent a stabbing pain through his shoulder and a sharp ache skittered down his spine. He sucked in a hissing breath through his teeth. His back had been giving him grief since the war and some days were better than others. Honestly, it wasn't just his back. His entire skeletal structure seemed to be in a bid to make his life miserable

His inability to get out of bed was an entirely different issue from the pain he was in though. He'd had days like this since he was a boy, where the weighty shadows in his head became too much to bear and he remained wrapped up in his bed. He often claimed it was illness, leading those around him to simply believe he was prone to sickness. These days were far from the worst to deal with.

The worst days were always the ones where he had enough energy that he couldn't justify staying in bed but none of the willpower to do anything more than the bare minimum. He'd drift through his day, doing everything he needed but hardly speaking, hardly smiling. He'd sit by himself and barely eat, knowing that everyone could tell something wasn't right. He couldn't decide if the sneering whispers or genuine concern were more painful.

At least this wasn't one of those days. He could tell James he was ill and leave it at that. Lying here letting the darkness smother him wasn't exactly a desirable option but it was all he could do.

"Anthony?" And now James was stood in his doorway looking so worried. It made Anthony's chest ache with the guilt of making him feel this way.

James approached, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. His expression was hard to look at and Anthony cast his eyes to the floor.

"One of those days, is it?" he asked softly, placing a gentle hand on Anthony's shoulder.

He wanted to recoil from the affection and care, tell James he was fine. His body stubbornly refused to move. He spoke before he could even think.

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, none of that. The enemy got you while you're weak but there's still time to turn this day around." James was almost beginning to sound like the Captain again but his voice stayed soft, loving. Anthony felt his lips quirk into a very small smile for a brief second.

And now James was pulling away the covers, much to Anthony's dismay. James just smiled fondly as he tugged lightly at Anthony's shoulder, encouraging but not forceful.

"Come on, up."

Anthony unwillingly did as he was told and dragged himself to sit upright, needing an extra supporting hand when his back pain tried to put the whole thing to a stop. He leaned against James' side, head resting on his shoulder.

"Right, first order of business would be breakfast, wouldn't it?" James' tone was light, as if the thought didn't make Anthony feel sick to his stomach.

"No." was his almost petulant reply, hiding his face in the crook of James' neck. "Not today, I just...I can't."

"Please? Anthony, you-"

"James." he pleaded, not having the energy to fight but still too stubborn to let go of his stance. He knew James found it troubling but this was yet another thing he had always struggled with.

Food was not just food, it carried expectations, judgement and anxiety. Expectations to react correctly, judgement at his failure to do so and the anxiety of getting it wrong again. An adverse response to an unexpected texture lead to social rejection, reprimand from authority and overall nothing good.

And that wasn't even mentioning the food itself. Sudden crunches in soft foods jolted through his teeth and sent his flesh crawling with fire. Tastes often could be more overpowering than anticipated and the only way to cease the screaming under his skin was to rock himself back and forth or shake his hands violently or just simply cry. None of these were acceptable behaviour so he either spent mealtimes with a rigid posture and nails digging into his palm to keep his feelings at bay or avoided them all together.

"Fine. Just...at least sit in the kitchen with me then?"

He let out a sigh, he wasn't going to win this battle, and nodded.

James smiled and his heart felt warm, even as the other stood from the bed, depriving Anthony of the physical contact. Before he could even protest, James' hands were in his.

"Come on, on your feet soldier."

His blood ran cold.

The whole battlefield seemed to grind to a halt, everything happening in slow motion. A grenade whistled through the air, soon to make it's deadly impact. A young soldier (and god, Havers didn't even remember his name), barely even 20, if Havers didn't do something he was going to die, he had to-

He made up his mind in a millisecond and he ran to the soldier in question. He shoved the young man as hard as he could to propel him away just as the grenade went off. The explosion roared in his ears as Havers was thrown off his feet. Pain seared through the left side of his face and everything suddenly snapped back into place and resumed its normal pace.

The landing was painful. He hit the ground with his right shoulder first and the impact sent shockwaves through his whole body. He managed to crack his eyes open but found he could only see out of one, warm blood running down his face and getting in his eye.

"Major!" A hand grabbed his shoulder and roughly dragged him to his feet, pulling a cry of pain from him. "Come on, on your feet soldier!"

"Anthony."

Havers gasped and opened his eyes. He was rocking back and forth and squeezing the Captain's hands tightly. Why was he holding the Captain's hands?

"Anthony, look at me."

He managed to drag his gaze from the floor up to the Captain's face. His stomach twisted oddly and he stared off to the side to make it stop. Faces were hard to look at right now.

"Are you back with me?"

Havers managed a halting nod. "Yes, sir."

The Captain frowned. Why was he upset?

Oh.

"James." he corrected quickly. "Yeah, I'm here James."

His lips turned into a smile and Anthony couldn't help but reciprocate.

James gently took him by the arm and pulled him to his feet, guiding him to the bedroom door. He wasn't sure why James felt the need to support him, he was perfectly able to walk, thank you. Although, he couldn't bring himself to oppose. The contact offered him a little comfort.

Even after so many of these days, he wasn't sure why James' kindness still shocked him. He couldn't quite squash the voice in the back of his mind that screamed that James would abandon him in a heartbeat and he was ashamed that part of him thought so low of the man.

They walked the familiar route down to their kitchen. Usually, James would start on the tea and Anthony would find something for their breakfasts. Instead, Anthony was situated at the table while James took on both tasks. Something in his stomach swirled uneasily at the disruption.

James reached to open the kitchen curtains and his heart rate suddenly spiked.

"Wait!" he couldn't stifle the shout before it fell from his mouth. James withdrew his hand liked he'd been burned and turned to look at his...friend. "Don't open the curtains...please."

And James just nodded in understanding. Sometimes it was easier to stay hidden.

-

James knew exactly what he was doing. Anthony was sure of it

A plate in the middle of the table. Four pieces of toast, all untouched. Two with butter, two with jam. Two for James, two for Anthony.

James wasn't eating his breakfast, merely sending a pointed look across the table and sipping his tea. He wasn't going to give in until Anthony did.

And maybe it took a five minute stand off for him to finally, begrudgingly, take a small bite from the corner of a piece of toast.

And maybe he felt better. But he would never admit that outloud.

[crowleying]

The Mystery of the Missing Underwear

Date: 26.06.2024

Pairing:  Steve McGarrett x Danny Williams

Words: 394

Fandom: Hawaii Five-0

Characters: Steve McGarrett, Danny Williams

Genre: Pre-relationship

Length: Oneshot

Warnings: None

Requested: No

Prompts: No

Summary: Steve finds out where all his boxers have disappeared to.

A/N: I was in a bit of a writing block. Actually, I have been writing a lot but I seem unable to finish anything of what I start. So I purposefully wrote something short and this is what came out. I hope you enjoy it. English is not my first language, so feel free to correct any mistake, and I would love to know what you think about it. If you like my works, please like and reblog them. REQUESTS ARE OPEN. I posted a List of prompts, so check it out! Let me know if you would like to be tagged in my works.

IF YOU LIKE MY WORKS, PLEASE REBLOG THEM

Masterlist

Ao3

It was the first time Steve had managed to drag Danny to run with him and it would probably be the last one too, if Danny’s face was anything to go by. And Danny’s face was always something to go by.

“I’m never running with you ever again, McGarrett,” he said, handing him a towel. 

“It’s not my fault the one time you do decide to come running with me we get caught in the worst rain of the century,” he shot back, from under the towel he was forcefully drying his hair with.

Danny’s voice came out muffled by the towel. “Never again.”

Steve rolled his eyes fondly at his partner's antics. His gaze fell on Danny’s torso, clad in his wet t-shirt that barely left anything to the imagination. He was so lost in his contemplation, that he almost missed the moment Danny took the towel off his face. He quickly hid his in the one he had been given, trying to hide the sudden redness in his cheeks. 

He probably shouldn’t have left Danny unsupervised, because the moment he emerged from the towel, his eyes landed on Danny’s now shirtless chest. Steve spoke before he could start to strip his pants too. “Do you have any spare clothes?”

“Oh? Yes, sure.”

He grabbed the shirt he had just discarded and disappeared into his bedroom, luckily still wearing his shorts.

Steve tried to go through the breathing exercises he had learnt during BUD/S. It turned out to be completely useless when Danny reappeared stripped of his shorts and only wearing boxers. 

Steve narrowed his eyes. He had almost missed it, what with Danny looking like that.

Danny handed him some clean clothes.

“Are those mine?”

Danny frowned, looking down at the clothes in Steve’s hands. They were definitely his. He looked back up at Steve and noticed his gaze was somewhere else entirely. He followed it to his boxers. Well, Steve’s boxers.

He cleared his voice. “Coffee?”

He didn’t wait for a reply before turning and walking to his kitchen, hoping Steve hadn’t noticed the blush that had started creeping on his cheeks.

Steve’s eyebrows shot up and a small smirk appeared on his lips. He finally knew where half of his boxers had disappeared to. He wasn’t nearly as annoyed as he should have been. He wasn’t at all.

[jo-harrington]

Pinprick (A Gutterballs Story)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Jo!Reader

Summary: You're sitting down to listen to one of your favorite podcasts when you hear your name as one of a long line of Eddie's loves, and you have a moment of reflection.

Note: This is a very very very late post in dedication to one of my fandom loves @dr-aculaaa (who is very much on hiatus but still deserves all of the love us resident weirdos have to give) and not only one of my favorite fics Sunday Morning but the offshoot she made for Valentine's Day: Gutterballs.

IT STARTS OUT SWEET BUT ITS A LITTLE ANGSTY AT THE END. SORRY DRAC. WE SORT OF TALKED ABOUT THIS. THE TIMELINE.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

You're sitting on the floor.

To be completely honest, you shouldn't be on the floor. You knew that, your doctor knew that, your team knew that. In fact, they yelled at you when you got down there, legs akimbo in a way that was comfortable for you to sit in but uncomfortable for them to look at, so you could start ripping the sleeves off of this fucking jacket.

You're alone in the studio now, hours after everyone left.

It's just you, a bottle of Tums, your favorite fucking jacket, and the dulcet tones of the man who gave it to you coming from your phone.

“Welcome back to another episode of Gutterballs! My name is Eddie Munson..."

As if he had to introduce himself.

"Nerd," you scoffed fondly.

It's your Wednesday night ritual. Well, not the jacket or the floor or the tums...Gutterballs. At the least, you owed it to your former client; at the most, you owed it to your ex.

And Eddie Munson was both of those things.

Although "ex" is a relative term.

An ex wouldn't still send you a gift basket full of goodies every award season when you barely took care of yourself, the way Eddie did for you.

An ex wouldn't shoot an email with wardrobe recommendations when they hear about some charity concert or something, like you did for Eddie and Corroded Coffin.

Still telling me what to wear Jo?

He would email back almost immediately.

Doesn't seem like anyone else is. I saw you at Lolla Ed. Not cute.

Would be your response.

You don't think I'm cute anymore?

That would go unanswered though.

Until next time.

Because you were exes.

But an ex didn't keep the jacket their ex got them because it was their favorite. Exes didn't take apart said favorite jacket because it got a rip in the sleeve, and then plan to just cut two new sleeves for it. Nor did they spend the last 20-ish years mending the jacket that their ex-slash-former-client got them as an apology for a spontaneous kiss before a red carpet.

---

The CFCA awards ceremony wasn't the band's usual haunt but they had composing credits for a film score that was up for nomination. It was a big deal. Something that would take them to a new caliber of their career; not just rowdy rockstars, but well-rounded musicians.

So of course, they were running late.

Their suits all needed a bit of alteration, Eddie was chattering nervously as you hemmed his pants, Gareth drummed a beat on his leg with two of the hangers from your roll rack and Phil, the band's manager, yelling for you all to get a move on.

"Do you want them to look good or not!" You yelled right back. "I'm not having them go up for their award looking like shit Phil!"

"Yeah remember the Grammy's," Jeff pointed out. "That's why you got us a stylist in the first place."

"You'd have thought you paid them to be here or something," Phil grumbled at you from across the room.

"I do pay," you shot up at Eddie with a conspiratorial smile. "With my sanity."

This was your schtick. He let you dress him in whatever dark-romantic victorian-gothic-inspired outfits your former-Catholic heart could dream up, and in return you let him be the spieling midwestern boy that he really wasn't allowed to be anywhere else. Because yeah the band was in charge here really--they were the talent, the money--but Eddie didn't like the whole pomp and circumstance of celebrity. Not anymore, according to him at least.

"The drugs are fun until they're not," he told you once. "We're just...guys from Indiana."

So you'd let them be that in the safety of your studio, shithead manager be damned.

You severed the thread with a swift bite of your teeth and wished the guys good luck with hugs before sending them on their way.

But Eddie...Eddie chose that moment to kiss you.

Well, you kissed each other.

As everyone walked out of the studio to get down to the car, you kissed each other.

And you froze.

Both of you.

Because it was a romantic, world-ending kiss. A kiss of declaration. A kiss of familiarity. The kiss you gave someone when you loved them for a long time and didn't know how to tell them.

Only...you hadn't loved each other for a long time.

Had you?

Hadn't said anything of the sort at least.

That wasn't love...was it?

He left for the awards ceremony and you absolutely spiraled questioning it all. You thought about all the long walks down State Street discussing ideas for this event and that one. The way he got you a membership to the Art Institute so you could sit in front of Salome and Hercules for hours and be inspired. The nights that he just couldn't work on lyrics anymore, so he would come over to sit in absolute silence save for the droning sound of your sewing machine.

The aches of the world were just a little bit easier when you could be near each other, whether it was being inspired or talking shit or sinking further into oblivion.

Was that love?

Eddie must have spiraled too. Because he showed up at your studio past midnight, disheveled and with a green Marshall Field's bag in his hand. A bag containing, you'd find out later, a black wool and leather coat that sat in a window that you'd noted looked nice months ago. One he made the guys make a special stop for before the award ceremony so he could get you to make up for fucking up your professional relationship.

The apologies were stuck on the tips of your tongues though.

And there was a beat before some silent decision was made.

And your lips came back together again, solidifying that decision, even though the words weren't said.

---

“Today on Gutterballs,” Mrs. H’s announces on the phone, breaking you from your reflection, “our lovely listeners at home are in for a real treat. As we record and discuss topics such as first loves, lost loves, and, as you can see, from our current location -body modifications."

“First we have… A spool and thread for Jo."

"She used to poke my ankles like a voodoo doll when she hemmed my pants. I still have the scars, if you wanna check ‘em out. I think that was her way of saying I love you."

Yeah that was the way it was with the two of you.

All the ways you said I love you without the words being said.

And they would never be said.

But that was another story.

"Yeah," you agree with Mrs. H belatedly, seam ripper making quick work of a line of stitches. "Lost love sounds better than ex."

[canislupus-exe]

Made for Each Other | eddie munson

fandom | Stanger Things

character | Eddie Munson

reader | he/him/amab (she/her/afab ver.)

requested | anonymous

warnings | smut/nsfw, mutual perversion, peeping, mild degradation

word count | 1,804

keys | (Y/n) = Your name

summary | can u maybe do an eddie munson smut where the reader catches him masturbating to a polaroid of him and then the reader fucks him 👉👈

editor | @feliscatus-exe

>> back to prev <<

Keep reading

You sighed as you checked your watch, the time read 9:17. The day had been surprisingly slow so you decided to hang out with your best friend, but found his company had barely changed that fact. You’d burned through two movies with him and were going to start a third when he suddenly realized something and bolted out of the room. 

That was a few minutes ago and now you were waiting for his return, sprawled out on his bed. You yawned and laid your head against the pillow. Nothing happened until finally, you heard the bedroom door open. You lifted your torso and leaned on your elbows, raising your eyebrows at him. A bright flash caused you to blink rapidly and groan.

“Dude, what the hell?” You asked, sitting up fully and rubbing your eyes. You could hear Eddie laugh before feeling the bed shift as he sat next to you.

“Ain’t he a beaut?” He asks. You stop rubbing your eyes and look at what’s in his hand. It’s a Polaroid picture of yourself. Your shirt is slightly lifted and your pajama bottoms are slightly misplaced, revealing a small bit of your hip area. Your eyelids are slightly drooped, making you look sleepy and even somewhat sultry.

“When did you get a Polaroid?” You asked.

“I found it at the thrift store just outside of town. I seriously couldn’t believe my luck. It was a little busted right here, see, but nothing some duct tape couldn’t fix.” He raved, showing you all parts of the camera. You smiled fondly.

“That’s awesome Eddie.” You say, handing him the picture. He looks at it for a couple of seconds before looking back up at you.

“You don’t want to keep this?” He asks. You shake your head.

“Nah, what purpose do I have for a picture of myself?”

“Wouldn’t I have even less of a purpose for a picture of you?” He asks with a laugh. You shrug and smile.

“I don’t know. Use it to remember me or if you miss me.” You say with a snicker.

“That’s the corniest shit I’ve ever heard,” Eddie replied. You laughed before standing up from the bed.

“I should probably go home now Eddie. It’s getting late and we have school tomorrow.” You say, grabbing your car keys from his nightstand. 

“Already?” He asks a twinge of sadness in his voice. You smile.

“I’ll be back, probably sooner than you even realize. Thanks for letting me hang and keep you company though.” You said. He nodded and stood from the bed, walking you toward his front door.

You said bye and locked up his door, hopping in your car and starting it up. Your house wasn’t too far from the trailer park, which you were thankful for. It made your visits to his place that much more convenient. You whistled to the song on the radio, mindlessly tapping your steering wheel while focusing on the road.

As you pulled up to a crossroad to take a right turn, you realized how cold you were. You always kept your windows rolled down when you drove but it was much chillier than usual. You were about to turn when it dawned on you that you left your jacket at Eddie’s house. No wonder I’m freezing, you think to yourself as you pop a quick U-turn and backtrack to the trailer park.

It doesn’t take long since you didn’t get very far. In a matter of six minutes, you’re putting your car back in park in Eddie’s driveway. You toss your keys in your jean pocket, knocking on his door. There’s no answer, and you can’t help but assume he’d fallen asleep. Normally, you wouldn’t intrude, but the freezing Indiana temperatures urged you to use the spare key he’d gifted you years ago. Just for emergencies, he told you, and if you stayed out there any longer without a protective layer you’d freeze your dick off, which was as close to an emergency as you could damn near get.

You opened the door and shut it quietly behind you, not wanting to wake him up. You quickly scanned the living room, searching for your jacket. It was nowhere to be found but you didn’t fret, you probably just left it in Eddie’s room. You walked toward his bedroom door, seconds away from pushing it open when you heard a noise.

Not just any noise, though. A very distinct type of noise that caused your feet to stay planted on the floor and your stomach to meet them there. It was a moan. A moan that no doubt belonged to your best friend. Your heart began to thump louder than it ever has but you tried to drown it out, listening for another noise to prove you weren’t going crazy. 

And there it was again. A whiny, high-pitched moan that sent tingles down your spine and blood rushing to your crotch. You clasped a hand over your mouth in an attempt to regulate your breathing, scared you’d make a noise and alert him that you were here. Which you should’ve done, you knew that. You knew how wrong it was to listen to someone get off, but you couldn’t move your feet.

And to make matters worse, your eyes found themselves drawn to the crack in the door. You weren’t just listening now, you were full-on peeping on your best friend jacking off, and God was it making you hard.

The sliver in the door was small but if you angled yourself just right you could see enough. His right hand rapidly moved up and down his shaft while his left held a picture that looked almost familiar. Further up you could see his shirt lifted and his left hand holding a piece of clothing to his nose, which he was no doubt sniffing with fervor. The item of clothing was also familiar. It almost looked like…

“(Y/n)~” Eddie whined breathlessly, and the air around you seemed to turn cold. That couldn’t have possibly been…

“Fuck- (Y/n)…” He moaned again, and you were sure of it this time. He was, without a shadow of a doubt, moaning your name. That wasn’t the only thing he was doing. As he continued to furiously pump his shaft with his fist you realized why everything looked so familiar. He was holding the Polaroid he took of you earlier and sniffing your jacket. Eddie was masturbating to the thought of you.

“God p-please I need you~” He moaned, panting heavily. You got so warm in the face and so fuzzy in the brain that you acted without thinking. You pushed the bedroom door open and walked in, causing him to yelp and throw everything off of him. He scrambled to pull a blanket over himself to salvage a shred of his modesty but you’d already seen too much.

“Don’t stop on my account sweetheart. In fact, let me help you~” You say, popping the button of your jeans. His face turns bright red, staring at you in utter disbelief.

“(Y-Y/n) I can explain-“

“Explain what? That you were jacking off to a picture of me? Mmm, what did you imagine we were doing Eddie?” You asked, pulling the blanket off as you licked your lips. 

“I-I wasn’t-“

“Come on Eddie~ You can tell me. If you ask nicely, I might even do it to you~” You whisper in his ear, gently placing your hand around his already twitching cock. He gasps and whimpers, covering his mouth to stop the needy noises from spilling out.

“You were so loud before, what happened to ‘I need you’?” You asked, moving your hand up and down his shaft. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he lowered his hands, babbling for a second as he presumably tried to find the right words.

“I was i-imagining you- ah- fucking me into the- hng- mattress.” He gasped out, balling his hands into the sheets. You smirked, pulling your hand away and watching him practically chase your touch.

“That can be arranged.” You reply, pulling your pants and boxers off all the way. He watched with wide eyes as your cock sprung out, standing at attention and making his mouth water. He watched you bend and spit on his hole, gasping at the sudden cold sensation. You rubbed it into his asshole, expertly spreading him out in seconds and causing him to turn to putty once again. 

Once you were finished prepping him, you positioned your cock head at his tight asshole, teasing by gently prodding it. He whined, staring at you with pleading eyes. You decided to take mercy on him and finally push yourself inside, groaning as he enveloped you. He bit his lip harshly and squeezed his eyes shut, overcome with the pleasure of being filled.

“Look at you, you filthy little pervert. Getting fucked by the guy you were jacking off to.” You practically growled at him, an irregular dominance clouding your mind. He moaned and covered his face, too embarrassed to look you in the eye.

“Maybe we’re made for each other though.” You say somewhat fondly as you pick up your pace. He moans, face still covered, but he manages to get out two words of inquiry.

“W-We are?” He asks meekly. You laugh almost sadistically as you grip his legs.

“We are… wanna know why?” You ask, slowing your hips just the slightest bit to grab his focus.

“Why?” He asks breathlessly.

“Because I’m a pervert too Eddie. I watched you jack off to me. I liked watching you jack off to me.” You say, giving him no time to process what you’ve said before starting to plow into him again. This practically sends him over the edge, whimpering and begging to cum as you fucked into his prostate like never before. He wraps his arms around your back and begins moaning frantically

“Fuck fuck fuck I’m- agghn!” He gasps for air and scratches down your back, body shaking as spurts of cum shoot from the head of his cock. The sounds he’s making and the tightness of his ass proves to be too much as your hips sputter and you let out a low groan, emptying your load straight into his suffocating hole.

You gasp in an attempt to regain your breath, Eddie still latched onto you like his life depends on it. You chuckle and let your body weight fall onto him, electing to clean yourselves up later. You do however decide to plant a gentle kiss on his cheek at the moment, and you’re glad you do when you see his flushed face fondly smile.

[ticklygiggles]

Day 4 - Ginny's birthday Extravaganza

A/N: This is my first time writing for this fandom and I'm happy it is a gift for my most beautiful girl @otomiya-tickles! I LOVE YOU NDKDNDJFKF

Summary: While Karlyle relishes on his new life, Ash makes an interesting discovery.

Waking up between Ash Jones' arms was still something Karlyle couldn't get used to. Seeing Ash's beautiful face when he opened his eyes in the morning always set free thousands of butterflies within him, especially when those pretty eyes were looking back at him so fondly and lovingly. 

He started to enjoy staying in bed after the alarm rang off, cuddling with his boyfriend, enjoying a shower of kisses and praises that always set his face on fire. He loved Ash so tenderly, it scared him. When will the time come when Ash gets fed up with him? Would it be tomorrow or three years from now? In an hour or until the end of their days?

Just thinking about Ash telling him that he didn't love him anymore was enough to make him feel so anxious and scared of the future. A future without Ash in it… was that even possible?

But he knew it was stupid to have these thoughts. Ash loved him and Karlyle also loved him very much. It was useless to think about the things that could go wrong, he knew he should focus in the here and now with Ash kissing the crook of his neck and his warm, big hand resting in that spot that, somehow, always made him jump at the back of his ribs. 

This was an important moment. The future could wait because now he had Ash and he wasn't going to let him go any time soon. 

"Lyle?" Ash's voice was raspy and it made Karlyle's heart flutter. He looked up with a blush covering his cheeks and the bridge of his nose and Ash smiled warmly at him. "You know, I've noticed that if I touch a spot around here you- oh..."

Karlyle had barely time to register what was going on before he broke into a fit of sweet, bubbly and deep laughter. He jerked away from the tender touch on the back of his ribs and hid his face against Ash's chest.

Uh… what has happened? 

"Karlyle," Ash said breathlessly, his eyes widening. "Are you ticklish?"

Karlyle was speechless as he tried to regain his breath. He looked up at Ash, his mouth trembling with a little smile. 

Ash had barely brushed his fingers against that spot on his back, but he felt a strong urge to laugh as the weirdest of sensations assaulted him. So this was tickling? 

Of course he had felt a little ticklish before. Sometimes Ash kissed his neck in a certain way that had him jerking a little. Sometimes Ash also touched his thighs too lightly and he felt like he wanted to crawl out of his skin, but it was never enough to make him laugh like this. 

"I don't… I don't know? I've never- I didn't-"

Karlyle widened his eyes slightly when Ash leaned down to capture his lips in a kiss. His lover chuckled, pulling apart to nuzzle his nose against Karlyle's.

 "Of course," he said tenderly. "Here, let me show you all about it."

"W-Wait, you- AHAHAHA! H-Hohohold ohon!"

Karlyle was startled when Ash's fingers were on the back of his ribs again, now attacking both sides with gentle pinches and clawing at the spot. Karlyle squirmed, pressing himself tighter against Ash's body, his hands desperately trying to reach back to stop Ash's playful ones. 

This was crazy. This sensation was something Karlyle wasn't sure he had felt before, but there he was, laughing brightly like a stupid person as Ash tickled him. 

"Karlyle, the back of your ribs seem to be very ticklish. What about the front?"

Karlyle threw his head back in hysterical laughter when he felt Ash's fingertips digging into the front of his ribs. Clawing against the spaces in-between and rubbing his thumbs against the sensitive bones. 

"Ahahahash! Wahahahait, plehehease! Thahahat's- ahahaha!" 

He was ruthless. Laughing along Karlyle, Ash tickled his ribs profusely, making Karlyle let out the most embarrassing sounds ever as he tried to escape Ash's clutches, but every time he was about to break free, his lover would wrap his arms around his waist and bring him right back into his tickly trap, making him shriek. 

"Oh goodness, Lyle. How is it that I didn't know about this?" Ash asked as he clawed at Karlyle's belly, making him giggle brightly. "I still think your ribs are your most ticklish spot, but you seem very sensitive all over."

"Ahahahash! I dohohon't- ahahaha! Plehehease not thehehere!"

Yes, he also agreed on his ribs being the most ticklish, he wanted to scream whenever Ash's fingers found that spot. It was so overwhelming, but why was it also so fun?

Ash's fingers were gentle, fluttering from spot to spot having Karlyle confused as he tried to stop him. Ash's laugh filling his ears over his own laughter. Ash's embrace, preventing him from rolling away in the big bed. Everything was just… so perfect and fun for Karlyle, he thought he couldn't completely hate this. 

But he felt a little out of breath.

"A-Ahahahash? Ple-hehehease! I cahahahan't!" 

Ash chuckled and he finally stopped. Karlyle collapsed against him as he wrapped him tightly in an embrace. Soft kisses were pressed against his neck and he shivered slightly. 

"... I told you to wait," Karlyle said with a little pout on his lips and Ash laughed, hugging him tighter. 

"Ow, I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself, look, I'll show you my weakest spot."

Karlyle turned around so he could face Ash again, his eyes widening slightly. "Will you?"

Ash chuckled, "yes! It's right here, you see?" He said, lifting his arm slightly to point the hidden spot under it. "But you gotta be careful because I'm very sens- pff- ahahaha! I'm tehehehelling y-you thahat- Kahaharlyle!" 

That was definitely fun and the thoughts fogging his mind quickly went away, he definitely had to tickle Ash more often... even if that meant he would get tickled too. Not that he minded too much anyways.

[ellethespaceunicorn]

use a photo on your phone camera roll and write a quick scene/hc for it

Hi Nonnie!!! Funny story, the last time I wrote for these two, I was on pain meds for a tonsillectomy. Now, I've got Covid and I'm awake at 4:19am posting this story. I hope you enjoy!!

Title: My Little Strawberry 

Rating: Mature, 18+, Minors - DNI 

Pairing: Syverson x Black!Reader (Peaches) 

Fandom: Sand Castle 

Word Count: 556 

Summary: A follow-up to Shape Up. Sy has a conversation with his baby girl while she’s still in your stomach. 

Warnings: mention of creampie, sexy fluff?, mention of oral sex (f receiving) 

A/N: Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.  

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics 

Support/Reblog banner by me

My Masterlist 

“There she is. Eating her breakfast. Looking mighty fine as usual.” Sy walks up to you and kisses the side of your head. 

“Whatchu want, boy?” You smile up at him through your lashes. 

“I ain’t want nothing at all, Peaches,” Sy holds your chin and gives you a peck on the lips, “But there is one thing I had to talk to Strawberry about.” 

“Strawberry?” Your cute little eyebrows scrunch up in confusion and Sy turns your chair around to face him as he laughs. 

He runs his hand over your swollen six-month-pregnant belly before kneeling to talk to it. “Hey there, Strawberry. How’s Daddy's little girl?” 

“I see you stuck with the fruit theme. And since I’ve been eating strawberries for months now, you named her after my craving?” You could barely hold in your laughter at your husband’s tenderness. 

“I don’t know. It seemed perfect. And I know she’s gon’ be sweet if she’s half you,” Sy planted a kiss on your belly before standing up to his full height. “And since she’s half me, I apologize in advance for her temper.” 

“I knew what I was getting into when I wouldn’t let you pull out, you know that right?” You bite your lip and wink at him. 

“And I knew what you were doing when you turned on Tennessee Whiskey and poured me two fingers of Jack. And you were wearing that damn sundress with the little yellow flowers on it. Pretty as a picture.” Sy remembers the night you made Strawberry fondly. 

“So, what did you have to talk to Strawberry about, baby?” Popping a sliced piece of fruit in your mouth, you chew and wait for Sy to start talking to the baby. 

“Alright, Strawberry, so look. Mama here has been such a sweetheart. She has given you a nice first apartment while continuing to take care of your old man. So, I was thinking of getting her a little something. And I wanted your opinion on it,” Sy leaned in to whisper into your belly so you couldn’t hear, then turned to place his ear close to listen to what the baby says. When he leans back, a smile paints his features. 

“Well? What did she say?” You ask, more than invested in Sy’s little conversation with the baby. 

“She told me to thank you for taking care of her and me. And she told me to make sure I pay attention to you when you’re being ornery because that just means you need a firmer hand.” Sy rubs the sides of your belly. Moving his hands up to your waist and then further up your sides to cup your face. 

“She said all that?” Your eyes close as he rubs a thumb over your cheek, already feeling warmth rise under your skin. 

“She did. She also said I could probably take you upstairs right now and have my way with you. But I’m gon’ let you finish your breakfast first.” Sy sits next to you, picking up your fork and feeding you. 

You take the offered bite and get up from the table, picking up the bowl of sliced strawberries. “C’mon, I can eat these in bed while you eat me in bed.” Winking again, you turn to scurry up the steps with Sy on your heels. 

**Taglist**

@brattymum96 @ambinxe @avengersfan25 @kebabgirl67 @thabiddie23 @astheskycries @enchantedbytomandhenry @rebelangel1102 @raccoon-eyed-rebel @geralts-yenn @peyton-warren

[sequinsmile-x]

hi, idk if you’re taking requests rn, but thomas gibson’s new post has got me thinking of hotchniss on vacation, and i can’t help but think of emily taking photos of hotch like that (and the feral thoughts she’d have bc let’s be real, we know she’d have those too 😭)

hiiii bestie <3

Well, I ended up getting a few requests like this...so here we are. It naturally turned into smut (as it should have I mean...LOOK at those photos of TG.)

I hope you enjoy this!

-x-

Emily and Aaron go to the beach.

Based on the photos Thomas Gibson posted of him with a surfboard, sending the fandom feral.

-x-

Warnings: Smut, 18+

Words: 3.1k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

The last time they’d gone on vacation just the two of them was on their honeymoon.

Emily liked to joke that didn’t even count since she’d been four months pregnant at the time. The baby that ended up being their son, Oscar, making her nauseous enough on some days that she’d barely been able to leave their suite for entirely different reasons to why she’d hoped they’d stay cooped up inside. 

Ever since then, any trips they took were done as a family, precious time together that all of them she looked back on with a smile. Hours in queues at DisneyWorld that seemed endless at the time, or the hot sun beating down on them at family-friendly resorts as she made sure Oscar and Jack kept their hats on to protect them from it, that she never thought she’d look back on fondly. 

It was Aaron who suggested they go somewhere without the boys for a long weekend, some much-needed time just the two of them. Something that was difficult to find in amongst Emily’s job, the boy’s different activities and the classes Aaron taught at the academy. She hadn’t hesitated for a second when she agreed, finding that she missed her husband even though he was right there next to her. 

Jack had encouraged it, the 18-year-old happy to look after his younger brother for the weekend. If he was any other kid, if he wasn’t half Aaron, Emily would have been worried at the prospect of leaving them without any other supervision. The teenager was beyond sensible, to the point where Emily had, more than once, tried to convince him to break the rules. A glint in her eyes that matched her smile as she told him it would be okay to break curfew just once. 

She knew they’d have the opposite issue with Oscar. That while he looked exactly like Aaron, the 11-year-old almost his father’s twin in comparison to photos of him at the same age, he was all her. His wildness ran deep, set free by the lack of expectations that had partially dampened it in her when she was young. It sometimes felt like she was looking at what she could have been like if her childhood had been different, if she’d known she was loved. Something her boys had never had to doubt. 

“Shall we head to the beach?” 

She smiles as she looks up at her husband, the sight of him so relaxed causing her belly to flip. His black t-shirt and swim shorts make him look a little younger despite the salt and pepper flecks throughout his floppy hair and the beard he was letting grow just for her, his razor left on the bathroom counter at home upon her insistence. 

She stands up from the couch she’d settled on and wraps her arms around him, settling into his embrace as he pulls her closer, stamping a kiss against her lips. She smiles as she pulls back, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as her hand sneaks under the neckline of his t-shirt, her warm fingers against his skin making him shiver, his grip around her waist tightening. 

“Or…we could just stay here,” she suggests, leaning forward and kissing him again, “Make the most of our time alone.”

He chuckles, his hand shifting from her waist to her lower back, smiling as she arches towards him, “You’re insatiable.” 

Their sex life had always been healthy, the years that they’d been together doing nothing to diminish it, nothing to make the fire between them flicker out into a puff of smoke. It was something they both loved, something they both made time for. This weekend had so far consisted of mostly staying in bed in their beach house rental, only leaving for food in between rounds and snuggling in the chair on the deck together. 

She smiles and kisses him again, “For you? Always.” She says, knowing he was just the same, that nothing had changed how much they were attracted to each other. She’d been self-conscious after she had Oscar, the changes to her body, specifically the way the scar on her abdomen had stretched, making her doubt herself. For weeks longer than her doctor said she’d needed, the longest they’d ever gone without having sex, she’d put him off. The exhaustion of parenting a newborn a convenient excuse until Aaron asked what was wrong. He was nothing but understanding as she tearfully explained how she felt, how she didn’t feel attractive anymore. 

He’d spent hours proving her wrong. Taking her apart again and again to show her that she’d always been beautiful to him, and she always would be.

“As tempting as that offer is,” he says, smiling as he tucks some of her grey hair behind her ear, “I would like to go surfing at least once whilst we’re here,” he says, kissing her cheek, “I promised the boys I’d let them know what it was like.” 

It was something he had picked up on one of their first vacations as a family. Oscar was still small, a tiny baby they’d had to keep an eye on so he didn’t eat fistfuls of sand, and Jack had watched the surfers from his place on the shoreline, fascinated by them. He asked Aaron if they could do it too, and he’d found someone who taught beginners lessons the next morning. Emily had watched, anxiety she hadn’t known existed before she was a mom bubbling in her chest as she held a sleeping Oscar, and loved that it was something they bonded over. It became something Aaron and Jack did together whenever they went somewhere, and Oscar joined them when she was old enough. 

Emily hums and makes a show of rolling her eyes, “You’re lucky that it’s incredibly attractive to me when you’re being a good father.” 

“I always feel lucky with you,” he replies, wiggling his eyebrow at her and she shakes her head, biting the inside of her cheek in a failed attempt to dampen her smile. 

“You’re ridiculous,” she replies, stamping a kiss to his lips before she pulls back, “Come on then, I’ll read my book and you can go surfing.” 

He wraps his arm around her shoulders as they head for the back of the beach house, the large French doors leading to the porch and then the beach itself, “You don’t want to join me?”

She laughs wryly and shakes her head, “I’d rather sit on the beach and look pretty, and take pictures of you looking pretty whilst you surf.” 

He laughs and reaches for the surfboard that he was keeping on the back porch, “As long as you-”

“Don’t send any to the BAU group chat,” she says, rolling her eyes as she cuts him off, “I know, I know.” 

“And not the separate one you have with Penelope and JJ either.” 

She huffs out a breath, wishing she could be mad that he knew her so well, that he’d seen through her loophole, “You’ve got to ruin all my fun, huh?” 

He kisses her, stealing the breath from her lungs, smirking as he pulls back, “Hopefully not all your fun.” 

___

Emily smiles as she flicks through the pictures on her phone, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she lingers on one where he’s holding the surfboard over his shoulder, the muscles in his arms visible under his skin. The smile on his face soft as if he was looking right at her or one of the boys, not the camera. It makes something flip in her belly, a familiar need for him bubbling into a slow boil. 

“I hope you didn’t send those to anyone,” he quips, and she looks up from her phone to see him standing next to the bed, his eyebrow raised as she smiles up at him from where she is sitting, her back against the headboard. He’s wearing the t-shirt he’d worn to the beach earlier, something he’s sure would leave bits of sand in the bed even though she’d shaken it out over the balcony whilst he showered, but he doesn’t care. The sight of her in his clothes had always been enough to undo him, something so simple and domestic that brought him to his knees. 

“Just the boys,” she says, locking her phone and placing it on the nightstand, smiling as he climbs into bed next to her. He leans in to kiss her, smiling as she cups his cheek and holds him in place, chasing him as he pulls back, her nails scratching at his beard. “Jack said you need a shave.” 

He laughs as he shakes his head, “He’s always hated the beard.” 

She smiles as she thinks of the first time she’d ever seen him with a beard, when she was freshly back from the dead and he was back from Pakistan. He’d told her since that he’d left because he didn’t feel like he deserved to be at home when he’d sent her away, a penance that he carried that no one else but him had put on his shoulders. 

She hums as she pushes his hair from his forehead, “I’ve always loved it.” 

At first, she’d tried to ignore the pull that she’d felt towards him when she got back from Paris. Half convinced at first that it was only because he understood what she’d been through, that he’d faced his own monsters and survived. It was only as time went on that she realised it went deeper than that. That she was in love with him, and had been for longer than she’d care to admit. She was grateful she’d taken the plunge, that she’d kissed him after dinner one night and changed her life for the better.

Aaron smiles at her, his dimples carved into his cheeks, “I know you do.” 

He leans in and kisses her, his tongue licking through her mouth, tasting the sigh she releases as her hand moves into his hair, her nails scratching his scalp as he shifts them. He ends up half on top of her as he lays them down and she chuckles as she widens her legs, making room for him to lay between them, chuckling as she pulls back to smile at him.

“Sure you’re not too tired after surfing?” She asks, already breathless, her tongue peeking out to lick her lips, addicted to the taste of him on her skin. He runs his hand up her thigh, grasping at the familiar skin and smiles as he presses a kiss to the corner of her lips and then her cheek, his response partially muffled against her skin as he makes his way down her throat. 

“I’m never too tired for this.” 

She beams at him and pulls him in for a kiss, groaning as his hand slips up her thigh, the kiss lost to a smile as his hand reaches her hip, all but growling when all he feels is bare skin. He pulls back and looks at her, his pupils blown with desire as their eyes meet. 

“No underwear?” He asks, his voice gruff, the sound of it alone enough to make her shift her hips up towards his. 

She shrugs, “Seemed pointless,” she says breathlessly, reaching down to pull at the hem of the t-shirt she was wearing, but he stops her, his hand over hers as she frowns curiously at him. 

“Keep it on,” he murmurs, kissing her throat, nipping at her pulse point with his teeth. She grasps at his hair, holding him in place as he sucks a bruise into her skin, one she knows she’ll struggle to hide from their sons when they get home, but she can’t bring herself to care. 

“You and your obsession with me wearing you- fuck,” she says, her comment lost as he presses his thumb against her clit, drawing out a groan from her. 

“So wet for me already, baby,” he mutters against her skin, trailing upwards to capture her lips in a kiss, “Always so wet.”

She whimpers as he runs his fingers through her, her hips moving against his hand, seeking out friction he knew she needed but was holding back, “Always for you,” she gasps, “Only you,” her hips twitch again as he lightens his touch and she groans, “Aaron. Please.” 

Aaron smirks into the kiss. Even all these years later it blew him away that he did this to her. That he was able to turn this woman, the person who he’d seen stare death in the face, to this. His name a breathless whisper on her lips as he finally pushes two fingers into her, swallowing the moan she releases before she breaks away from the kiss, her head thrown back against the pillow.

“Fuck,” she moans, clenching around his fingers as he presses his thumb into her clit, “Just like that,” she adds unnecessarily, both of them aware he knew her body almost better than she did, well practised on how to take her apart. 

He builds her up slowly, taking his time no matter how much he wants her, how much he wants to feel her around him. He uses his other hand to trail under the t-shirt she is wearing, his fingers stroking over her skin, paying special attention to her scars. Able to seek them out even though he can’t see them, her skin a map he knew off by heart. Something he had committed to memory long ago. 

She gasps at the heat of his skin against hers, the way he palms at her breasts, making sure he takes the time to press into the damaged skin above her left one. A brand he always paid attention to, forever seeing the beauty in it where she couldn’t because it was made of her, and therefore could never be close to ugly. She can feel the orgasm coming a mile off and she lets it wash over her, every nerve in her body on fire as she comes, tipping over the edge with the familiar weight of him against her. 

It takes her a few moments to come back to herself, first aware of his lips against her cheek and then his voice, soft and quiet in the otherwise silent room.

“You okay sweetheart?” He asks, and in any other circumstances she’s sure she’d be pissed that he looked so proud of himself, but she simply nods, her teeth biting at her swollen lower lip. 

“I’m great,” she replies, pulling him in for a kiss, her still shaking leg wrapping around his back. She frowns when her heel meets his skin, pulling back to look at him, wondering when he’d taken off the boxers and t-shirt he’d talked out of the bathroom wearing. She kisses away his smirk and reaches out for him, smiling when he grunts as she wraps her hand around him, pumping him up and down a few times, tugging at his lower lip when he breaks the kiss. 

She guides him into her, pressing her forehead into his as she sighs at the familiar stretch of him, the feeling of being complete that always came with this. 

“I love you,” she breathes out, pushing his hair from his forehead, stamping a quick kiss against his lips.

He links their hands together next to her head and kisses her fiercely, his nose warm against her cheek, “I love you too.” 

They go slowly, taking their time as they find a familiar rhythm. He can’t help but think of their first time. The way they’d desperately pulled at each other’s clothes, seeking out what they’d wanted from each other for years, falling into a mess of limbs onto her bed, both of them desperately trying to catch their breath before they went again, wanting to make up for lost time. They still had that passion, the two of his button-down shirts and one of her pairs of underwear that they’d brought on this trip that were torn in their suitcase was enough evidence of that, but he thinks he loves this more. 

The familiarity of it, the softness. The love they’d fought so hard for, together and apart, and that he knew they’d feel forever. 

“Cl…close,” she grits out eventually, her hips stuttering against his before she chases his lips in a kiss. He reaches between them and rubs her clit, making sure he’s gentle, that he keeps the pace they’ve had all evening. 

“Come on sweetheart,” he says, kissing her cheek before he presses his face in her neck, breathing her in, making sure every one of his senses is overwhelmed by her, “Come for me.” 

They come together, her orgasm triggering his, and she buries the hand not linked with his in his hair, holding him in place. Not wanting him to move, to pull away, loving the feeling of him pressing her into the mattress. He was heavier now than he had been when they first met, but she loved it. Found comfort in the embrace that somehow felt even safer than it had when they got together, something she hadn’t thought would be possible. 

They catch their breath, and she closes her eyes, lets herself bask in it all, the love between them and the peace they’d found on this weekend away. A short burst of quiet in their beautiful, chaotic, life. 

“Promise me something,” she says eventually, encouraging him to look at her by tugging at his hair slightly, smiling when their eyes meet.

“Anything,” he replies sincerely, and she knows he means it, that he’d pull the stars from the sky if she asked for them, and she knows she shouldn’t expect anything less.

He’d once called the Vatican for her after all.

“Promise me we’ll always find time like this weekend for us,” she says, pushing the hair that had flopped onto his forehead back, smiling at the grey hairs that shine in the light of the bedroom, “Even when both boys are moved out.” 

He smiles, shifting up to kiss her, his hand on her cheek as he pulls back, “Em, I’ll buy this place tomorrow and bring you here every weekend if that’s what you want.” 

She beams at him, turning her head to kiss his palm, “I love you,” she says, unsure what else to say, well aware even that didn’t seem enough. 

“I love you too,” he replies, leaning down to kiss her as they get lost in each other, the sound of the ocean outside echoing around them. 

-x-

Tag List:

@ssa-sparks, @lukeclvez, @lyds102, @glockleveledatyourcrotch, @hotchnissenthusiast, @danadeservesadrink, @ssamorganhotchner, @emilyprentissisgod, @notagentprentiss, @freesiasandfics, @emilyshotchniss, @thecharmingart, @paulitalblond, @hancydrewfan, @camille093, @whitecrossgirl, @moonlight-2-6, @rawr-jess, @florencereingtonthethird, @jareauswife, @ms-black-a, @beebeelank, @aubreyprc, @zipzapboingg, @psychopath-at-heart, @criminalmindsgonewrong, @fionaloover, @kinqslcys, @prentissinred, @ccmattis-22, @denvivale317, @thrindis, @hotchsguccitie, @cmfouatslota77, @alexblakegf, @aliensaurusrex, @prentissxhotch, @emobabeyy, @victoiregranger, @stormyweatherth, @wanderingdreamer009, @ssablackbird, @luhwithah, @lex13cm, @prentiss-theorem, @dont-emily-me, @mrs-ssa-hotch, @jocyycreation, @itsmytimetoodream, @hotchnissgroupie, @controversialpooh, @capsshinyshield, @canuck-eh

Join my tag list here!