#but it’s worth it if you do end up reading it

[aureatelys]

nobody does it like you do

pairing: dbf!aaron hotchner/fem!reader rating: explicit w.c.: 10k.... a/n: dbf!hotch party ended months ago but im still here

summary:

You don't mean to start something with your dad's best friend during your summer break.

c.w.: 18+ MDNI PLSSSS, dbf!hotch yippee, no y/n, reader is mid-20s and hotch is mid 40s, reader is kind of a brat and also very sexual and forward :), car sex, handjobs in car, v fingering, dom/sub, dirty talk, light degradation kink, size kink if u squint, light choking at the end!, unprotected sex, tbh some plot to mostly porn

read below or on ao3 here <3

You’re nearly half-naked when you first meet him.

It was the first morning back at home during your summer break in your first year of your Master’s program. You hadn’t been home in several months, blaming your rigorous coursework and the full-time job you had, but luckily you were able to use nearly a month’s worth of PTO to coincide with your summer off.

You had gotten in late after flying across the country, but your body still woke up like clockwork just before 9 am.

Currently, as you make eye contact with the tallest and most attractive man you have ever met while wearing a tank top and shorts that barely covered your ass, you couldn’t tell if that was a blessing or a curse.

You had heard your dad rave about what basically sounded like a crush he had over the phone for nearly a year. Aaron Hotchner apparently works with your father at the FBI, albeit in a different department, and they hit it off at a recent gala by discussing golf, expensive scotch, and being annoyed about the latest budget cuts. One Saturday at the country club’s golf course later, your father was hooked, and Aaron has been over at the house nearly every weekend since.

You remember your dad saying something about how he’s hardworking, better than he is at golf, and much nicer than he looks. He didn’t say anything about how hot he was.  

You were stumbling out your bedroom and rubbing at your eyes when you had nearly run into him on the way to the bathroom. You’re still waking up, but you see the genuine surprise and something like want on his face before it’s gone, a neutral expression taking over his handsome features. The clench in his jaw betrays him.

“Excuse me,” he says. His voice is low, deep in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “I was just heading into the restroom.”

You blink at him, your mind still not having not caught up yet. “Uhm.”

“I can just go to the one downstairs,” he says, giving you an easy smile. It makes him look even more devastatingly attractive and you feel dazed. With that, he turns on his heel and makes his way back downstairs without another word.

You distantly hear your father downstairs calling your name and asking if you’re awake. You feel rooted to the spot, flustered.

You try your best to go through your normal bathroom routine, but your heart still hasn’t calmed down yet. It’s been a while since you’ve dated and even longer since you’ve slept with someone, thus you’ve had a lot of quality time with yourself recently, so seeing the way this older man reacted to you was enough to have you preening a bit. You weren’t imagining it, right?

You tell yourself that you’re feeling lazy after a long day of traveling and not wanting to change yet as you head downstairs into the kitchen, absolutely not hiking your shorts up a little and shimmying your tank top down.

“Good morning,” you chirp as you step into the kitchen. Your dad is already sitting at the dining table, most likely finishing his second cup of coffee, and his face lights up when he sees you as if he wasn’t the one to pick you up from the airport late last night. Aaron is standing in the kitchen next to the coffee machine, pouring into a travel mug.

You ignore the way you can feel Aaron’s dark eyes rove over you; the top of your breasts nearly threatening to spill out, your hard nipples poking through your top, and the curve of your ass peeking out from underneath your shorts.

“Morning, pumpkin,” your dad says cheerily, clearly oblivious to what’s going on between his friend and his own daughter. “This is Aaron, he works at the Bureau with me, I told you about him?”

You vaguely remember when you stalked through his Facebook profile several months ago after your father was tagged with him multiple times. The pictures of him were always blurry, never giving you anything to go off of.

As you stand next to him in the kitchen and crane your neck up to look at him, you realize the pictures really don’t do him justice. He’s handsome, almost boy-ish with the way his hair is clean and not gelled down like in the pictures, flopping in front of his forehead. He’s wearing a tight red polo, showcasing his broad shoulders and forearms in a way that makes you want to drool a bit. His brow is pinched, jaw tense, and you almost think you can hear his teeth grinding when he attempts to keep his eyes on your face and not on your chest.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Hotchner,” you say, giving him an innocent smile. You ignore the mug your dad must have left on the counter for you and stand up on your tiptoes to retrieve one from the overhead cupboard.

You feel a rush of exhilaration when you hear Aaron suck in a breath at the way your tank top hikes up your stomach. When you turn back to him, because he is technically in the way of the coffee machine, you catch the way his eyes sharpen and the way his hand grasps at the edge of the counter, knuckles turning white.

And then it’s gone, just like earlier, replaced with something almost professional, probably the same expression he makes when something ticks him off at work.

Interesting.

“Aaron is fine,” he says, stepping out of the way of the coffee machine and then holds his hand out for you to shake.

You can feel your dad watching you, so you make an effort to tone it down a bit. You put your hand in his, swallowing when you notice just how large his hands are and the way he grips you a bit tighter than what would be considered professional. When you look back up at him, there’s something almost like a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Nice to meet you, Aaron,” you repeat. It’s worth it to see a smile grace his face, replacing that smirk, and causing something fuzzy settle in your chest.

When he lets go and makes his way to sit across your dad at the table, you ignore how your hand suddenly feels like it’s burning.

“We’re about to head to the golf course here in a couple of minutes if you wanted to join?” your dad asks as you pour your coffee and sit down at the head of the table.

You hum and experimentally kick your feet out in Aaron’s direction to where he sits to your left. You make contact with his knee, and you watch almost gleefully as Aaron just barely jumps in his seat. He doesn’t make eye contact with you, just quietly sips at his coffee. It really shouldn’t turn you on the way it does. “I’m okay, I was just planning on hanging out here and catch up on my shows.”

“You sure, pumpkin? I know it’s been a while since you were out on the course but…”

“I think that’s exactly why I shouldn’t come with you,” you laugh. You pull your chair up closer to the table, making it look like you were just trying to get comfortable, when really you just wanted to cop more of a feel of Aaron’s thighs.

“Alright, alright,” your father says, putting his hands up in defeat. “But don’t forget about the retreat later this week with the guys.”

You pause from where you were just about to dig your toes underneath his thigh. “Retreat?”

“I told you about it when I picked you up last night!”

“I think you forgot that you picked me up at one in the morning and I was half-asleep in the car,” you roll your eyes. “But of course I’ll go with you.”

“Great!” Your dad says with that big smile on his face that always makes you feel nostalgic. You don’t really want to go, was honestly just planning on relaxing at home, but if it makes your dad happy and you get to spend more time with him, then you’ll do almost anything.

And if Aaron’s coming too, then well…

Your dad gets up to put his mug in the sink and starts making his way out of the dining room. “You ready to go, Hotchner?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Aaron says, a barely detectable rasp to his voice that has you hiding a smile in your mug.

You’re about to put your foot down when you feel thick fingers circling your ankle and lifting your leg up until your ankle is resting on Aaron’s knee. You nearly squeak in surprise, but the look on Aaron’s face stops you.

He would look calm, composed even, if you didn’t pay attention to the way his eyes have darkened. His brow is pinched, lips pressed into a thin line, as he tightens his grip on your ankle and asks in a low voice “What kind of game are you playing here?”

Not expecting confrontation, you don’t know what to say. Your breath gets stuck in your chest, something about the glare he’s giving you keeps you rooted in your chair.

Because there’s really only two options here. He’s your dad’s best friend, at least 20 years older than you, and you really have no business in sexually riling up this guy you’ve never met before until today. You can apologize, give him a genuine and friendly smile, and go back to your room and pretend this never happened and you weren’t just throwing yourself at some hot older man.

But there’s something about Aaron that you can’t quite put your finger on. You wonder what it would be like to see him without those walls he undoubtedly keeps up all the time, see him come undone. You can tell from his Facebook pictures that he’s a bigshot of some kind, always wearing a fitted suit and not a hair out of place. You can see that now, in his pressed polo and matching belt, that he likes control, his skin nearly thrumming with it. And that’s something you’ve always enjoyed playing with.

You noticed the lack of a wedding ring on his finger, and the way he’s gazing into you now. The hot trail his hand leaves behind as he starts running up your shin, past your knee, and grip at the meat of your thigh says all you need to know.

“What game?” you say, innocently. You even play it up a bit by batting your lashes at him.

His grip on your thigh tightens, and it feels so good, and it’s been so long, you resist rolling your eyes back and instead spread your legs just a bit underneath the table.

“Your father didn’t tell me you were such a brat,” he mutters.

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him,” you say, hoping you don’t sound as out of breath as you feel.

Aaron doesn’t say anything at that, just hums thoughtfully. You don’t have a chance to backpedal, redirect the conversation if you were reading the whole situation wrong, before he’s placing your leg back on the floor with a gentle hand on your ankle and getting up.

“We can talk more about what you want to do after school later,” he says, raising his voice a bit in an effort to appear like he wasn’t just groping you underneath the table.

You almost don’t hear what he says because your gaze is fixed on the obvious tent in his khakis. Your mouth nearly waters, and just knowing that you’re having the same kind of effect on him as he has on you has heat pooling between your thighs.

You shake your head, resisting the thoughts of throwing yourself on your knees in front of him and taking him in your mouth right in the dining room. You grin up at him and, in an impulsive decision that you’re secretly proud of, you reach over to put a hand on his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch.

“Absolutely, Mr. Hotchner.”

Your smile grows wider at the stormy glare he gives you before he heads out of the dining room, imperceptibly adjusting himself in his pants. Your eyes follow him out, cheeks nearly starting to hurt from how hard you’re smiling because damn, does his ass look good.

It’s your summer vacation, you may as well have some fun, right?

-

Since then, you’ve barely seen Aaron.

You had made Aaron and your father sandwiches, knowing they’d be home by the afternoon. You tried not to let the fact that you were upset, disappointed even, show on your face when your dad came home by himself and told you that Aaron got called for a case.

You knew from your dad that this was a normal occurrence for Aaron and that they’ve both gotten used to it. So many times there would be a gala or a party at the house and he would be called away to chase down a murderer or a rapist or a combination of the two.

You tried not to let it get to you, because seriously, you just met him, but also, it’s not like he owes you anything. But you really hoped that he wouldn’t miss the retreat later that week. Just imagining spending time with him in your lone hotel room was enough to make you dizzy.

So, you distracted yourself. You caught up on your emails, watched those shows that had been piling up in your watch later list, and spent time with your dad at the golf course or whatever else he wanted to do that day. It was nice spending your summer vacation with your dad and catching up on what he does at his boring administrative job and the lack of both of your love lives.

By the time Friday rolled around, there was still nothing but radio silence from Aaron, at least you assumed since your dad hadn’t mentioned him. You almost wish you had asked for his phone number before he left, but it wouldn’t have done you any good to waste a whole week sitting by your cellphone, waiting for a probably dry text from some guy.

A really hot, older guy that definitely has control issues and could toss you around like a ragdoll.

You’re throwing your bag in your car’s backseat and was about to admit defeat, that maybe he really wasn’t going to make it, when a black Range Rover comes skidding down your street and into your driveway.

“There he is,” your dad said in a sing-song voice, sounding about as giddy as you felt.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see him stepping out of his car, because how the hell is it possible for a man to look so attractive doing something so mundane?

And then your eyes nearly bug out because he has his suit jacket hanging from his arm, a duffel bag in the other, and is wearing a white dress shirt so tight that you could see the bulge of his biceps and the softness of his stomach.

“Sorry I’m late,” Aaron says, jogging up to where you and father were. “We just got back a couple hours ago.”

He looks at you then with those pretty brown eyes, looking genuinely apologetic, and the disappointment that you were afraid was going to take a permanent place in your chest gently unravels.

“It’s no problem, Hotch,” your dad waves him off. “We’re still waiting for some of the other guys, so you made it just in time.”

“Great,” Aaron breathes in relief. “I’m going to go change then, I’ll be right back.” His eyes flit towards you again, and you would’ve missed it if you weren’t still staring at him. They’re piercing, undoubtedly beckoning you to follow him, and there’s a hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth.

You feel a rush of excitement shooting through you as you watch him head towards the front door, eyes fixated on his hips. There was no clearer sign than that one, though you try not to roll your eyes fondly at the fact that your dad evidently did not notice as he goes back to playing Tetris with his bags in the trunk.

You wait a couple of minutes, pretending to play on your phone, and then exclaim “Oops, I almost forgot my phone charger! I’m going to run upstairs and get it.”

Your dad just gives an “Okie dokie, sweetie,” and then his phone rings with who you assume is one of his friends you’re waiting for.

You try to not sprint to the front door, instead taking a deep breath and walking in what you hope looks like a normal pace. However, as soon as the front door clicked shut, you run up the stairs, hoping Aaron chose your bathroom rather than the one downstairs.

Not spotting him waiting outside the bathroom, your heart nearly drops out from underneath you, however you notice the closed door and the soft golden light from underneath telling you that you were right.

You were right and maybe you weren’t imagining things. He knew you would listen to his unspoken instructions and follow him. You weren’t a profiler like him, not an expert at studying other people’s body language, but there was nothing fake about the fact that he got hard at your dining room table and you had only known each other for 10 minutes that Sunday.

The click of the door opening disrupts your thoughts. You’re about to grin up at Aaron, say something cute like how you’ve missed him or something more playful like asking why he hasn’t called you.

But you don’t get the chance because you’re suddenly being pressed up against the wall, warm hands on your hips, and Aaron’s soft mouth pressing into yours.

He swallows your gasp, his fingers inching up the hem of your tank top to touch the skin of your waist and kisses the life out of you. His lips are chapped and he tastes fresh, like he had a breath mint on the drive here, and the thought that he had that foresight just for you makes your knees weak.

He kisses you deeply, not even bothering to start gentle like so many other boys have tried before, and it’s overwhelming and not enough at the same time. You’re helpless to kiss back, your body finally catching up, and your hands come up to tangle at the soft strands at the nape of his neck.

He hums against your lips at that, his hands starting to move underneath your shirt to trace the swell of your breasts through your bra. It tickles, and you squirm a little and huff a laugh against his mouth before you can help it.

Before you could apologize and tell him to stop tickling you, his hands press your hips harder against the wall and his lips break away from yours. You attempt to chase him, because you were definitely not done making out, when Aaron tuts at you.

“Behave,” he warns lowly, but he has a full-blown smirk now. His eyes are dark, pupils blown, and his lips red and glistening. He looks so unbearingly sexy when he’s reprimanding you, he just makes it so easy for you to tease him.

“Or what?” You ask, smiling up at him. You watch as his smirk falters, brows furrowing, and something like frustration and exasperation blooms on his face.

“You’re ridiculous,” Aaron breathed, before he’s leaning in and pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jawline and down your neck. He scrapes his teeth against the spot where your shoulder and neck meets and your knees actually buckle this time, something like a strangled moan coming out of your mouth and catching you by surprise. “Looks like you do know how to watch that mouth of yours.”

Any snarky comeback you have dies in your throat because you did not expect Aaron to have that kind of dirty mouth on him. Molten heat starts to pool at the bottom of your stomach, between your thighs, as he slips the strap of your tank top down your shoulder to trace your collarbone with his lips.

“Aaron…,” you whisper, letting your hands fall from his nape to grab at his shoulders, trail down to grope at his biceps. The sleek muscle you can feel even through the fabric of his polo that he changed into, tensing and flexing as he pushes at you, sends your mind reeling.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he mutters against your shoulder, his warm breath and the pet name making you feel paralyzed. “Cat got your tongue?”

Your eyes roll back as you feel him biting a mark onto your chest, right underneath your collarbone, the pain and pleasure tingling all the way down to your cunt. You say something unintelligible, brain feeling muddled, because holy shit.

“Hey pumpkin, did your find your charger? We have to get moving!” You hear your dad’s voice from downstairs and barely swallow back a gasp before Aaron’s hand is pressed over your mouth to quiet you. You hate that that does absolutely nothing to help the growing arousal between your thighs.

Aaron’s eyes meet yours. His eyes have gotten impossibly darker, soft hair falling against his forehead. The wild desire and excitement are clear on his face, but he raises his eyebrows at you to signal you to behave before he lifts his palm off your face.

“Coming!” you yell back at him, hoping the strain in your voice isn’t as obvious to him as it is to you.

Aaron hums, something smug playing at his lips. “Maybe later.”

And it’s ridiculous. Aaron Hotchner, stoic Unit Chief of an FBI unit, best friend of your dad, and 20 years older than you just made out with you so hard that your knees buckled and made a joke about making you come?

You huff a laugh, pushing at his shoulder so you can wriggle out of his grip. He lets go immediately, stepping back to give you several feet of space, and you try not to think about how you already miss the heat and weight of his body against yours.

You’re about to run downstairs, an excuse about realizing you already packed your charger on the tip of your tongue, when Aaron is circling his fingers around your wrist. You look back at him curiously, because as much as you want to, there definitely isn’t time for him to ravage you in your bedroom.

He looks much more composed now, more like his professional SSA Aaron Hotchner self, but you catch the way his eyes linger on the way your shorts ride up high and the soft expanse of your thighs. “I’m serious. We’ll finish this later.”

And it’s the way he doesn’t pose it as a question, but rather a guarantee. Like nothing is going to stop him from having his way with you.

The thought of being completely at Aaron’s mercy has you breathless, feeling a flush rise on your face and your pulse between your legs. He has you stunned speechless, because you’ve never been with someone who has made you feel complete and utter want. You look at him now, chest imperceptibly heaving and making that olive green polo tug across the wide expanse of his chest, you realize that he may just ruin other people for you completely.

Your throat clicks when you clear it, and you only feel a little embarrassed when Aaron doesn’t hide his smirk at you. All words have died in your throat, so you nod instead, hoping that he will take that as an answer.

If possible, Aaron looks even more smug at that.

“Good girl.”

-

The drive to the hotel where the retreat is being held is only 2 hours away, which would’ve been perfectly easy, if you weren’t stuck in the car with Aaron.

You were planning on driving your own car with the top down, wind in your hair, and music blasting. You wanted to spend at least part of your summer vacation doing girly summery things, such as driving into the night with your hair whipping your face and feeling the humidity making your tank top stick to your back.

You also thought you would have time to yourself to think about Aaron and what the hell you got yourself into.

Instead, because you can’t tell if the universe loves or hates you, you have to take Aaron’s Range Rover because everyone else’s cars are packed full, and your dad wouldn’t let you drive by yourself. You tried not to show the excitement bloom on your face when your dad told you, but by the pointed look that Aaron gave you, you didn’t do a very good job.

So, it’s just you, Aaron, and the incredibly tangible sexual tension between you.

The first 30 minutes was easy. It took a while for everyone to find the correct route and there was a lengthy discussion over the phone about whether anyone wanted to stop anywhere for any reason. Eventually, you and at least 4 other similarly lavish cars made it onto the highway.

Aaron was silent for most of the phone call, saying that he didn’t have anywhere he wanted to stop at, and was just looking forward to the fancy clawfoot tub the hotel advertised on their website. You threw a glance at him at that, wondering if he was trying to tell you that he wanted to fuck in the bathtub, but nope. His eyes were firmly on the road, both arms on the steering wheel like a responsible adult or whatever.

You weren’t sure how he was able to act like nothing happened—like you weren’t about to let him just fuck you up against the wall in your childhood home, because currently, you felt like you were about to jump out of your skin from the nervous energy thrumming through you.

You fully ogle him now since it’s not like you have anything to hide. Even his side profile is attractive, but at this point you’re not surprised. Everything you’ve been noticing about him has been steadily driving you wild; the sharp cut of his jaw, the faint traces of stubble, and the way his hands are gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white.

You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple as he deadpans “You’re staring.”

You grin at him before you could help it. “It’s not my fault you’re so handsome. They should study you in art classes, maybe you can even get naked for it?”

The snort that comes out of Aaron’s mouth is sudden, and by the way his eyebrows pinch together like he’s thinking hard, he notices as well. “You really are insatiable.”

“You say that like we’ve even done anything yet,” you mutter, mostly to yourself, turning your head to the window to stare at the sun setting. It would be nighttime by the time you got to the hotel, but you’re already sleepy and debating taking a nap while Aaron drives.

You jump when you feel his hand on your thigh, large and warm. You’ve had other men put their hand on your thigh while they drive and it’s nice, maybe even comforting at times, but with Aaron, the action feels darker. It feels more possessive, heated, and just the sight of his huge hand squeezing the flesh of your thigh has you unconsciously squeezing your legs, trapping the tips of his fingers between them.

“Can you behave?” he wondered out loud. “Because you’re not showing me that you can until we get to the hotel.”

The challenge is clear in the deep timbre of his voice, nearly condescending in a way that makes your breath quicken. You vaguely thought about what he had planned for you at the hotel, luckily you had a whole room to yourself since none of your dad’s friends’ daughters wanted to come. You don’t necessarily blame them—you probably wouldn’t have come either if it weren’t for Aaron and the undoubtable promise that you will have the best sex of your life.

And you do want to wait, honestly. But right now, watching the way his biceps flex in the golden light and remembering the way he desperately grabbed at your hips has you rethinking.

So, you give him an innocent smile, reminiscent of the one you gave him earlier this week, and take a hold of his hand to intertwine your fingers together. The action is slightly risky, implying something about your relationship that neither have you discussed. You may be overthinking it, worried that Aaron would think you’re jumping to conclusions, but all of your reservations disappear when Aaron’s hand squeezes yours and brings your joined hands to rest in his lap.

He gives you a soft smile, one you’ve never seen before that makes your chest tighten, and turns his gaze back on the road.

The following 10 minutes are quiet besides the soft roar of the engine and the gentle hum of the radio. The sun setting washes the interior of the car with a warm gold, and you can’t help but notice the way both of your hands, still clasped together, just look so good together. Like you perfectly complemented each other.

You blame it on the fact that you’re starting to get bored when you wiggle your hand to free yourself from Aaron’s grasp to run your fingers along the top of his hands. You trace each knuckle before tracking the visible veins with a light touch, your fingers running up his wrist and to his forearm. The dusting of hair is soothing when you place a firmer hand onto his forearm, gripping it, and your heart thuds in your chest when you notice your thumb and middle finger can’t even touch each other.

He's just so big. His arms, his hands, his shoulders. The way he can so easily overpower you, manhandle you, domineering in a way that makes you want to act out even more just to see what he would do.

He throws you a curious glance when your hand moves up to his bicep, squeezing and feeling.

“Just touching,” you say, and then Aaron’s eyes are back on the road.

The next thing you do is completely spontaneous, out of character for you even, however you know being impulsive is what got you here in the first place.

You place your hand on his crotch.

He doesn’t jump because, of course not. If anything, he was expecting it by the way he just gives you another curious look. Your eyes are instantly drawn to the way his tongue flicks out to wet his lips and the sudden clenching of his jaw.

“Still just touching,” you repeat and turn your focus to your phone with your free hand, leaving your other hand in his lap.

You scroll mindlessly through several different apps for a couple minutes, not even reading anything because you’re too stunned with the fact that Aaron didn’t say anything or remind you to be on your best behavior. Your hand is still precariously placed on his crotch, the seam of his jeans warm against the palm of your hand.

You start scrolling more intently now, reading the entirety of at least every other post, before you start tentatively rubbing your fingers on where you can definitely feel the head of his dick through his pants. Aaron inhales sharply, so quietly you almost don’t hear it, and it’s all the permission you need.

You start pressing more firmly, grabbing him through his jeans to the best of your ability and tracing the line of his slowly hardening cock through the rough material. You grope at him, nearly shamelessly now, and it takes all of your willpower to not throw your phone to the backseat and jump into his lap.

Instead, you place your phone at your feet and turn your body towards him. His back is ramrod straight and his hands are grasping at the steering wheel like his life depends on it. If anyone passing by looked through the window, they would just assume that Aaron was one of those extremely attentive drivers. However, up close, you can see the tense line of his jaw, the way his brows are pinched together, and the way he’s attempting to hide the way he’s starting to breathe heavily through slightly parted lips.

It's intoxicating, and you want more.

Your hand begins to move up his zipper to the top button of his jeans. His eyes dart to you then, craning his neck slightly to look at you but also making sure to keep his eyes on the road, as if the road is even that busy.

“You really can’t listen, can you?”

That condescending tone again makes your brain nearly short-circuit. It’s like a dam breaks because suddenly you’re leaning over the console, making your breasts nearly spill out from your tank top, and you want him in your mouth and coming down your throat if it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. “Can I?”

 “Can you what, sweetheart? Use your words.”

Christ. “Please, can I suck on your cock?”

He hums nonchalantly, as if you can’t see the way he shifts in his seat or the way he’s hurriedly unbuttoning his jeans with one hand. “’Please?’ Looks like you do have some manners.”

And then he’s taking his cock out and you nearly combust on the spot. He’s not fully hard, but you still want nothing more than to feel him on your tongue.

You’re just about to unbuckle your seatbelt to throw yourself into his lap before he stops you by placing his hand over yours.

“Not your mouth, we don’t want other people to know what a dirty girl you are. Use your hands,” he says, nonchalant again in a way that makes your heart race and the ache between your thighs grow.

Although the idea of being caught with your head in his lap and cock down your throat suddenly sounds extremely appealing in a way you’ve never thought of before, you have no choice but to listen and follow his instructions.

You hesitatingly wrap your hand around him, watching in near fascination at the drop of precum that leaks out. He’s big here too, satisfyingly thick and warm in your hand. You move your hand up to smear the wetness around him and then start a steady rhythm of pumping his cock.

A strangled groan comes out of Aaron eventually, and you watch as he attempts to throw his head back in ecstasy while still watching the road with half-lidded eyes. The wide expanse of his pretty throat tempts you, imagining what it would be like to pepper kisses up to his tense jaw to help him relax.

He’s fully hard now, precum steadily leaking out and coating the palm of your hand. You attempt to vary your actions; twisting on the upstroke, squeezing when you’re at the base, or tracing your thumb against the head of his cock. The loud squelching noise makes you feel embarrassed and hot all at the same time, the way it’s drowning out the radio’s music. Your mouth waters as you watch the head of his dick disappear in your fist, wishing you could taste him or see the sheer bliss on his face as he fucks your mouth.

“You couldn’t even wait to get your hands on me, could you?” Aaron murmured, nearly sneering at you. “I bet if I let you, you would let me pull over and fuck you here on the side of the road.”

You swallow nervously, clenching your thighs and trying to ignore the obvious wetness you can feel in your own panties. You squeeze him harder, enthralled by the feeling of his hot flesh against you, and breathlessly whisper “I would.”

He hisses at that, nearly bucking his hips up to follow your hand. “You would let me fuck you anywhere I want.”

It wasn’t a question, but you still feel compelled to answer. “Yes.”

Just then, Aaron’s phone rings from the phone mount on the dashboard. Dread and something awfully similar to delight prickles at the back of your neck when you notice the caller ID being your father. You’re about to retract your hand until Aaron gives you a look out of the corner of your eye, almost like a glare, before his own hand is hot over yours to keep you there.

“Keep going.”

Before you can think of a snarky remark, Aaron swipes at his phone to answer.

“Hotchner.” Nonchalant, casual, as if he doesn’t have his leaking cock in the hands of his best friend’s daughter.

“Hey Hotch, we’re coming up on a great burger joint here in a couple of miles and I wanted to see if you guys were alright with that? I think we lost you.”

You must have been extremely distracted because you’re just now noticing you can’t see your father’s car ahead of you anymore. There are only a few cars on the highway now after finally passing all the city traffic, now driving through a somewhat rural area. You don’t blame yourself after all, because how often do you find yourself giving handjobs to hot older men in their cars?

“I was actually thinking of pulling over at a rest stop, someone’s not feeling well.” Aaron cranes his neck, raising an eyebrow at you.

Even in the darkness of the summer evening and the sparse streetlights bouncing off the dashboard, the pure and primal desire swimming in his eyes is clear and causes a flush to rise to your face.

“Yeah, it must have been lunch,” you attempt to joke, hoping that the rasp in your voice doesn’t give you away. You feel Aaron’s cock twitch in your hand.

Your dad hums through the tinny speakers. “Yeah, you don’t sound so good.”

You notice the car slowing down, not realizing that you were pulling up to a secluded area of a rest stop, right underneath a tree. You glance out the window and take in the fact that the nearest car is over 10 spots away and the closest streetlight is burnt out. You think of the discreet dark color of the car and the tinted windows. Anticipation curls at the bottom of your stomach.

“We’ll let you know when we’re back on the road.” And then Aaron immediately hangs up, parks the car, and leans over the console to kiss you with a hand cradling your cheek.

He cuts to the chase again, kissing you so deeply that your head spins. His mouth is soft but he’s assertive even like this. His hand moves to the back of your neck, taking a hold of you, and your mouth opens in a moan before you can stop yourself, allowing Aaron’s tongue to brush against yours.

When he pulls back, something like a needy whine erupts from your throat. You don’t realize that your hands moved to grasp at his polo, leaving Aaron’s cock free and pressed against his stomach.

“You drive me crazy,” Aaron mutters, brushing a lock of hair behind your head. His gesture and words are impossibly soft, a complete contrast to how he was kissing you, making your breath stutter in your chest.

“You drive me crazy,” you whisper breathily. “Please fuck me?”

He huffs a laugh at that, something you’re slowly starting to become familiar with, and tightens his hold on the back of your neck. There’s nothing soft in his eyes anymore. “Get in the back, now.”

You scramble to get out of the car, legs nearly shaking. The summer humidity is cloying, suffocating, and you rush to open the door to crawl in the backseat.

The seats are just as large and plush as up front, however there’s definitely more foot room that you’re sure Aaron will appreciate. You’re waiting in the middle seat, legs tucked underneath you, as you watch Aaron tuck himself back into his jeans and step out of the car with an air of nonchalance that somehow makes him even more attractive.

When he opens the door to climb into the back, your eyes meet and you suddenly feel frozen to the spot, because he starts to encroach into your space, nearly predatory. There’s a glint in his eyes as he places his hand on your back, lowering you so you’re laying on the seats. You unconsciously spread your legs so he could situate himself between them, and the feeling of his large and warm body between your thighs has you hitching them up on his hips.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been thinking about this,” Aaron murmurs before ducking his head to press his mouth against your jawline, down your neck, and finally finally sucking a mark where your shoulder meets.

You exhale a shaky moan, bringing your hands up to run down his back and feel how wide his shoulders are and how you can feel his muscles tense as he moves. The wet heat of his mouth, his obscenely large hands on your hips, and the way his figure nearly engulfs you is mesmerizing.

He pulls back to take a look at you, thumb coming up to press into the mark he made and putting light pressure against your neck. There’s something wild and possessive in his eyes, his lips parted like he can’t believe what’s happening. “There you go. Now you’ll remember who you belong to.”

It feels like your breath is knocked out of you and replaced with something equally possessive. “Are you going to fuck me or what?”

Something dark passes over his face. “And here I thought you were going to behave.”

Before you could say anything, Aaron is swiftly lifting your tank top up and over your head, throwing it somewhere towards the passenger seat, and groping your tits. He thumbs at your nipples, watching in awe as you arch your back and push your chest further into his hands. The sudden sensation, pleasure zinging up your spine, after being teased for an entire week is dizzying and you want to drown in it.

“You’re so needy for it, aren’t you?” Aaron says, casually, as he pinches at your nipples. You choke on your moan, the initial sting melting into pleasure that makes you feel drunk. “You’re practically begging for my cock.”

“Yes,” you manage to gasp out. Your hands scramble at his shoulders, running up to tangle the soft hairs at the nape of his neck between your fingers. “I need your cock inside me.”

He leans down to suck one of your nipples in his mouth, deft fingers continuing on the other. His mouth is so deliciously wet and hot, expertly licking around you in a way that’s slowly unraveling you, and you shiver when you think about where else his mouth can be of use. Your eyes nearly roll back in your head and you cant your hips up desperately in an effort to gain some sort of friction against the nearly overbearing ache between your thighs.

His hands come down to press your hips down in an effort to make you stop squirming and you feel him shift until his knee is pressing between your legs and against your pussy through your shorts. The feeling of his warm hands on you and the seam of your shorts rubbing against your clit causes an embarrassingly high-pitched whine to escape your throat.

“You’re teasing me,” you pant, tugging at his hair experimentally.

Another raspy groan erupts from Aaron and, if possible, you feel hotter. His mouth detaches from your nipple and you instantly miss the hot heat of his mouth, until he says “And what if I want to taste that pretty little cunt of yours?”

Imagining Aaron pressing open-mouthed kisses against your thighs, breathing hotly against your panties until he’s pressing his tongue against you, smearing even more wetness around until you’re nearly dripping onto the expensive upholstery has you whimpering. Your mind races as you imagine him pulling your panties aside so he can press his soft mouth against you, licking and lapping at your pussy like you’re a five-course meal, sucking on your clit until you’re screaming his name and begging him to stop.

No words come out, mind nearly melted just at the thought of Aaron looking up at you from between your thighs and his mouth on your cunt. Instead, you let out a breathless moan and attempt to grind down against Aaron’s knee, chasing the little stimulation you can get.

Aaron licks his lips as he watches you, eyes dark and predatory. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” His thumbs briefly traces your hips, and you nearly miss the tender touch, before he’s hooking them into the waistband of your shorts and tugs them down. “But we don’t have time for that, so I’m just going to fuck that needy pussy of yours.”

It took quite a bit of wriggling and Aaron hitting his head against the roof of the car to get your shorts and panties off of you, and you’re about to joke that this was an exercise in of itself, until Aaron is settling back between your legs with his own legs crammed underneath him. You suddenly realize Aaron is still wearing all of his clothes, polo wrinkled and pants hanging loosely at his hips, while you’re completely naked and vulnerable, desperate and needy like he said.

His fingers dance across the soft expanse of your thighs until he presses a finger against you, so close to where you need him. You breathe unsteadily and have to close your eyes, suddenly feeling overwhelmed, when Aaron gently grazes between your folds. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me, honey. Is this all for me?”

You nod rapidly and push your hips down in an effort to tell him to hurry the fuck up.

Aaron tuts at you. “What did I say about using your words?” And then he’s forgoing your clit completely and pressing a thick finger inside.

You gasp, eyes shooting open and meeting his from where he’s watching your face so intently it would’ve been intimidating if you didn’t feel white-hot pleasure take over your body. “Yes, I’m wet, just for you,” you rush out.

He hums, satisfied. “Just for me, right?” He begins thrusting his finger inside of you, and the feeling of being filled and something finally happening has you arching your back against him again, soft whines escaping your mouth before you can help it. The lewd noises from your sopping pussy rings out in the small space of the car, jarring, but it just makes you feel hotter.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you babble, attempting to rut your hips down to meet his thrusts, steadily growing in pace. Your hand shoots down to take ahold of his forearm, nearly distracted at the veins popping out, when you feel a second finger prodding at you. “Please just fuck me already, I’m ready.”

You watch Aaron’s mouth form what has to be a reprimand, scolding you for being so desperate, but then it closes and forms into something softer even as his gaze is fixated on his thick fingers thrusting in and out of your pussy. He leans in and kisses you before you realize, just a soft press of his lips against yours. When he pulls back, he’s still wearing a faint smile, and tucks a stray strand of your hair behind an ear. It’s all so painstakingly affectionate, you feel at a loss for words again but for a completely different reason you can’t name.

“How can I say no to you?” he mutters, almost to himself, and it shocks you to your core.

He doesn’t wait for a response and pulls out a condom from his back pocket. You watch as he’s about to tear the foil packet open, thoughts turning over and over in your head, before you exclaim “It’s fine, I’m on the pill.”

He pauses and stares at you, serious based off the pinch of his brows. “Are you sure? I don’t mind…”

“I’m sure,” you say, throwing your arms around his neck so you can run your fingers through his hair. And you are absolutely sure, confident, because you know the cherry on top of this whole experience would be feeling his cock spill in your pussy and filling you up. “I want to feel you.”

You watch as he groans, closes his eyes, and leans his forehead against yours, staring at the flutter of his long eyelashes. “You are killing me, sweetheart.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “Are you kidding me? I can say the same for you.”

Because if you thought Aaron looked good wearing a suit in those blurry pictures on Facebook, it doesn’t even compare to how he looks now. His polo tightly stretched over his shoulders, slightly disheveled from where you were grabbing onto him, belt unbuckled and pants hanging deliciously half-open from his hips, and hair tousled, the gel maintaining his professional appearance giving way to make him look younger. He’s so unbelievably hot you almost believe you’re dreaming.

You watch as he pushes his jeans and boxers down enough to where his cock pops out, the head a sympathetic dark red from where he must’ve been achingly hard this entire time. Before you make another attempt to have him in your mouth, he’s pushing in, stretching you deliciously open and making you grip harder at the hair at his nape.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight for me,” Aaron grunts, his hands flying to grasp onto your hips.  

Although you can feel him sink into you, inch by inch, you’re mesmerized by the sharp focus on his face, the pinch in his brow and eyes clenched shut. As if he’s trying not to throw away all abandon and pound into you, and the thought is so intoxicating it makes your head spin.

“Oh my god,” you mumble. He bottoms out, his cock finally pushed all way in your pussy, and he’s much bigger, thicker, than you realized. It feels so, so good—being filled up with his hard cock, his hips pressing against your thighs as they splay out the way you’ve been dreaming of for the past week.

“You okay?” Aaron asks, gentle again, and before you could answer, he’s pulling back and thrusting back into you.

A gasp wretches out of you and your hands scramble at his back, pulling him down because you need him to be closer, need his large body pushing down on you and making you take him.

He lets you, giving you a mockingly sympathetic look, and leans down to press an open-mouthed kiss against your jawline. He starts a steady rhythm then—thrusting in and out of you and knocking the breath out of you. “You’re going to take my fat cock, baby? I know you’ve been begging for it all week; you need it so bad, don’t you?”

Jesus Christ.

Words escape you again, instead, your mouth hangs open as you attempt to nod in response. Even though the car’s AC was blasting, you were covered in sweat and sliding up the seats with every thrust of Aaron’s hips. You definitely weren’t complaining, probably wouldn’t even be able to because sounds you didn’t even know you were capable of making kept coming out of you, eyes nearly permanently rolled back in your head. It felt so good, you didn’t think fucking could ever feel this good, but Aaron continues to exceed expectations.

You hitch your legs up his hips higher and let out a high-pitched whine at the change in angle, hot pleasure zinging up your spine. Aaron grunts, something dark and masculine that makes you preen, and his hips start snapping harder, faster.

“Look at you,” he murmurs lowly right into your ear. “Being fucked so good you can’t even speak.”

He shifts again, hands hooking underneath your thighs and, with your nod, presses your knees to your chest until they’re next to your ears, legs dangling over his shoulders. You wrap your arms around your thighs, holding them in place, and your eyes nearly roll back into your head when Aaron’s cock slides even deeper into your cunt with a wet sound. He feels heavenly, even despite not having touched your clit at all.

He fucks you relentlessly and you think your brain has melted out of your ears because you just take it. The sound of his skin slapping against yours, the litany of groans and praises that fall from his lips, and your nonstop whimpering gasps is heady. You don’t even care if you can’t come just from him rutting into you alone, it feels too fucking good.

He sits back up, not once breaking his brutal pace, and makes unwaveringly intense eye contact with you. “My beautiful girl takes my cock so well, making such pretty noises. I can’t wait to fill this pussy up with my come.”

You really did not expect Aaron to have the dirty mouth he does, but again, you’re not complaining. Instead, you bring one of your arms down to snake between your thighs where you’re absolutely soaked in your combined wetness and sweat to circle your clit. The added stimulation, finally, has your thighs shaking and your pussy clenching around him. You squirm a bit, because his belt buckle has started to dig into you from where his pants are pooling around his knees, but you’re suddenly so close.

“Fuck, Aaron…”

He licks his lips at that, starts to fuck into you faster somehow. He knocks your hand aside to replace with his own and you absolutely mewl when you feel the rough callous of his thumb gently circling your clit, impossibly slow. “Is my good girl going to come? You’re going to come all over my cock, sweetheart?”

Your heart is pounding in your ears, and you can barely detect the strain in Aaron’s voice, like he’s close too. “Yes, yes, please,” you stutter, feeling your gut tighten and sweat breaking out on the back of your neck. “Harder.”

Aaron lets out a shaky laugh. “Since you asked so nicely.”

And then he’s rubbing your clit mercilessly, almost too rough if your nerves weren’t already so close to snapping. You let out a string of strangled whines, your hands coming up to hold onto Aaron’s free arm for dear life. You’re so wet that his fingers just glide over you, the wet noises of him fucking into you getting you hotter, making the coil in your stomach wind tighter, but it’s still not enough.

You watch with half-lidded eyes as Aaron lifts his right hand from where he was definitely leaving bruises on your hip to place at the base of your throat. Your eyes widen but you don’t stop him because the feeling sends your mind spinning, realizing that you have placed so much trust in this man and he’s thoughtful enough to care for you, treasure you, and fuck you so hard he’s definitely ruined you for anyone else.

His eyes are impossibly dark, hair falling into his face, and you meet his gaze unblinkingly as he puts light pressure on your throat. “Come for me.”

You don’t know if it’s the hand on your neck, his cock frantically fucking into you, or the soft baritone of his voice that has you pushing over the edge. You come with a choked gasp of his name, hips and thighs shaking almost uncontrollably. You swear your vision whites out because you don’t think you’ve ever come so hard in your fucking life.

You distantly hear Aaron grunt your name, feel him fuck into you desperately and erratically. He lets go of your throat, you secretly already miss the weight of his hand, and he clutches at your hips as he chases his own orgasm. It doesn’t take long for his hips to stutter, coming into you with a guttural moan that sends a shiver down your back. He grinds his hips into you, like he’s making sure he’s giving you every last drop he has, and the thought has you whimpering.

You stay like that as both of you catch your breath. Your thighs and hips are starting to ache uncomfortably, pussy sore in a way where you know you’ll be feeling it tomorrow, but you watch the way Aaron runs his hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes so he can lean in to kiss you, and it’s all worth it.

He pulls out slowly, dick twitching half-way inside of you when you moan at the empty feeling. You feel his come instantly start to drip out of you and onto the seats, and the dangerous glint in Aaron’s eyes has you squirming, heat licking up your back.

“Are you okay?” he asks, leaning over to open the console and hopefully rummage around for a hidden towel. You hope he doesn’t pull out old and scratchy fast-food napkins like the ones you have crammed in your glove compartment.

You laugh breathlessly, slowly dropping your legs down to dangle a bit more comfortably. “More than okay.”

He comes back with a pouch of wet wipes, slightly used, and you’re surprised at the sudden twinge of jealousy you feel when you imagine why he has wet wipes ready in his car and how many other women he’s fucked in his expensive car.

He’s thorough in cleaning you up, chest rapidly rising and falling as he continues to catch his breath. As if he can read your mind, he looks up at you curiously with no trace of the stern persona he had when he was fucking you mindlessly. You had thought you hid your jealousy well, however you find yourself glaring at the wipes in his hand.

He gives you an achingly sweet smile, a surprise dimple making an appearance, and leans over you where you’re still sweating all over his backseat. “Every parent has wet wipes in their car.”

You feel your cheeks heat at being caught, that he somehow knew you were drowning in the sudden onslaught of jealousy clawing up your chest. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” He throws the used wipes on the floor to pick up later, and then he’s wrestling around with you until you’re somehow laying on top of him across the seats, both of your legs bunched up and tangled together.

You’re sticky and sweaty, and Aaron has nearly sweated through his polo, causing it to cling to his chest in a way that has you wanting to put your hands all over him. So, you do, running your palms up and down him so intently that it gets a chuckle out of him.

“All of your clothes are still on.”

“Well, I was a little busy.” Oh, he’s a little cheeky after sex.

Both of you are laying in comfortable silence as you still catch your breaths, Aaron moreso than you, when his phone goes off where it hasn’t moved from the phone mount. The bright light causes you to squint, and you turn to press your face into Aaron’s chest with a whine. “Don’t pick up.”

“Alright, alright,” Aaron says despite him making no moves anyway to get up. He cranes his neck to get a good look at the caller ID and you can feel his body stiffen. “It’s your dad.”

And just like that, a bucket of cold water is splashed over you. You just had sex with your dad’s best friend in his expensive Range Rover in some sketchy rest stop.

You must have froze as well because then Aaron is running a hand up and down your back, making you shiver. He’s trying to comfort you, you know that, but honestly your thoughts immediately melt into other things that rely on his hands on you. Like pushing your head down between his legs. Maybe he’s right and you really are insatiable.

“Come on, let’s get going.”

-

The car ride the rest of the way to the hotel is mostly silent between you two, the only noises being the wind deafening you and your hair slapping into your face since he rolled the windows down.

To air out the stench of sex in the car, you remember.

You would almost think Aaron was mad, the way he didn’t try to make conversation with you, and you knew that you would be spiraling if it wasn’t for the fact that he held your hand in his lap the entire time.  

You probably wouldn’t be much for conversation anyway—you’re already trying not to let your mind race about what you were going to do.

You’re only here for a couple of weeks, you go to school across the country, and technically, this was only supposed to be a summer fling. You don’t technically need to tell your dad about what happened.

You turn to look at Aaron, unabashedly. His hair is still tussled, thanks to your fingers, and there’s sweat beading along his forehead from the summer humidity. You stare at the sharp slope of his nose, the way the lights from the highway reflect in his dark eyes, and you’re suddenly wracked with the feeling of not wanting to let him go.

He squeezes your hand when he notices you staring for too long. He turns to you, most likely seeing the desperation on your face. He misinterprets it, thinking you’re running over what you’re going to tell your father over and over in your head. He has no idea that you want to keep seeing him, that you want to make this work somehow, whatever is between you two.

“We’ll figure it out.”

When you notice his gentle smile, the methodical way he runs his thumb over the back of your hand, you believe him.

[mysunshinetemptress]

Never Have I Ever

Barca Femaní x Teen Reader

The bright lights of the makeshift studio were starting to give you a headache, but the end was in sight. Media day. A necessary evil, as your coach called it. Hours of posing, smiling, answering repetitive questions, and generally trying to look like you weren't about to collapse from boredom. But this, the final task, was different. This was the fun part.

You, Jana, and Patri were standing shoulder to shoulder, each holding a light-up paddle. The paddles were programmed to cycle through different colours – red "I haven't" and green "I have" - the task was simple Never Have I Ever. A classic icebreaker, but with the added element of flashing lights and the potential for some embarrassing revelations.

The camera crew stood before you, along with a couple of team media personnel, all grinning with anticipation. One of the media guys, a young, energetic guy named Marco , held a microphone and a clipboard.

"D'acord, senyores," Marco said, his voice amplified by the microphone. "A punt per jugar una mica Mai ho he mai?"

Jana bounced on the balls of her feet, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Nascut llest!"

Patri gave a small, polite smile. "Fem-ho."

You nodded, trying to suppress a grin. You were usually quite reserved, especially for a teenager but there was something about the silly nature of the game that loosened you up.

"Vale, I'll start," Marco said, consulting his clipboard. "Never have I ever… accidentally called my coach 'Mama' or 'papa'."

Jana's paddle immediately flashed green. She groaned and covered her face with her hands. "ay dios mío, it was awful," she said, laughing. "It was during training, and I was so tired, and I just blurted out 'papa!' He just stared at me, and I wanted the ground to swallow me whole."

Patri’s paddle remained red, as did yours. You’d always been careful to keep your interactions with the coach strictly professional.

"Vale, next one," Marc continued. "Never have I ever… snuck out of team curfew."

Jana’s paddle flashed green again, eliciting more laughter from the crew. "Vale, Vale, I was young and foolish," she admitted, raising her hands in surrender. "It was just to go get ice cream! It was worth it."

Patri’s paddle stayed red, and you hesitated for a moment before pressing the red button on your own paddle. You’d never been one for breaking rules, even now as the other younger girls tried to entice you.

"Muy bien, Y/n, estás despierto," Marco said, turning to you with a smile. "Never have I ever… forgotten my kit bag for a match."

Your paddle flashed green immediately. You winced, remembering the frantic scramble to borrow spare kit from a teammate just minutes before kickoff. It had been a stressful experience, and one you’d never forget. It was your first time playing at a more senior level at La Misa and the older girls kit nearly swallowed you whole.

Jana and Patri both laughed, their paddles red. "Oh, that's a classic," Jana said.

The game continued, with Marc reading out a mix of team-related and more general "Never Have I Ever" statements. Some of the questions were funny, some were slightly embarrassing, and some were surprisingly revealing.

"Never have I ever… cried after a loss," Marco read.

All three of your paddles flashed green. You all shared a knowing glance. The pain of defeat was something you all understood intimately.

"Never have I ever… pretended to be injured to get out of training," Marco said, grinning.

Jana’s paddle flashed green instantly. Patri and you burst out laughing. "That's definitely Jana," Patri said, shaking her head.

Your paddle and Patri’s stayed red. You were both too dedicated to the sport to ever consider faking an injury. Your idolies wouldn't do it so why would you.

As the game went on, you started to feel more comfortable, more relaxed. You were laughing and joking with Jana and Patri, sharing stories and making fun of each other. The tension of media day had completely dissipated, replaced by a genuine sense of camaraderie.

Finally, Marco announced the last question. "This is a big one," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Never have I ever… had a crush on a teammate."

Jana’s paddle flashed green immediately, followed shortly by Patri’s. You hesitated for a moment, a strange feeling fluttering in your stomach. You glanced at Jana and Patri, who were both looking at you expectantly. You took a deep breath and pressed the green button on your paddle.

A collective gasp went up from the crew. Jana and Patri’s eyes widened in surprise.

"Ooooh," Marco said, his voice full of intrigue. "This is getting interesting. Care to elaborate, Y/n?"

You felt your cheeks flush slightly, but you managed a small smile. "It's nothing serious," you said, shrugging. "Just a little…admiración"

Jana winked at you. "We've all been there," she said, laughing.

The game ended shortly after, and the camera crew began packing up their equipment. You, Jana, and Patri lingered for a moment, still buzzing from the fun of the game.

From the moment you left the makeshift studio, the “crush” revelation became the team’s new favorite topic of conversation. It wasn’t malicious pestering, more like playful teasing and genuine curiosity, but it was relentless.

In the changing room after training, Jana would nudge you with her elbow and whisper, “So, spill the tea! Who is it?” Her eyes would twinkle with mischief as she waited for your reaction.

You’d blush and try to deflect the question, saying things like, “It’s no one important,” or “It was a long time ago.” But Jana wouldn’t give up easily. She’d launch into a guessing game, rattling off the names of various teammates, coaches, even the team’s physio.

You hope it stays between the three of you, you admition to having a crush on a teammate but of course its Jana and Patri and that hope is short lived.

The speed at which the news spread was almost comical. It was like wildfire, fueled by the team’s insatiable appetite for gossip. Within an hour, it seemed every single member of the squad knew about your “little admiración.” You could practically feel the collective gaze of the team on you, a mixture of amusement, curiosity, and knowing smiles.

It wasn't long before Mapi, the team’s resident prankster and self-proclaimed expert on all things love and romance, cornered you in the locker room. She bounced on the balls of her feet, a wide grin plastered across her face.

“So,” she began, nudging you playfully with her elbow. “Tell me everything! Who’s the lucky lady?”

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “Mapi, please,” you mumbled. “It’s really not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Mapi exclaimed, her eyes widening in mock horror. “Are you kidding? This is huge! This is the kind of drama we live for!”

She launched into a series of rapid-fire questions, rattling off names of various teammates, coaches, even the team’s groundskeeper. You tried your best to deflect her inquiries, offering vague answers and changing the subject whenever possible.

“Come on, Y/n,” Mapi persisted, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Just give me a hint. Is she tall? Short? Does she have a good sense of humor? Is she a good passer?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at her relentless questioning. Mapi was like a dog with a bone; she wouldn’t let go until she got what she wanted.

Just as you were about to give in and offer a meaningless clue to appease her, Ingrid, the team’s captain and voice of reason, appeared seemingly out of nowhere. She placed a hand on Mapi’s shoulder, pulling her away from you.

“Mapi,” Ingrid said firmly, her voice laced with a hint of warning. “Leave her alone.”

Mapi groaned dramatically, but she reluctantly backed off. “Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But I’m not giving up that easily.”

Ingrid turned to you, offering a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about her,” she said. “She’s just being Mapi.”

You nodded gratefully. “Thanks, Ingrid,” you said. “I appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” Ingrid replied. “Just let me know if she gets too annoying.”

But shortly after Mapi it moves to Esme and Vicky.

Esme and Vicky, the team’s dynamic duo, were next. They approached you during lunch, sliding into the seats opposite you with matching mischievous grins. They were known for their close friendship and shared sense of humor, often finishing each other’s sentences and communicating through inside jokes.

“So, Y/n,” Esme began, her eyes twinkling. “We’ve heard some… interesting rumors.”

Vicky nodded in agreement, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Something about a certain… teammate?”

You sighed, bracing yourself for another round of questioning. “It’s just a silly crush,” you mumbled, picking at your food. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh, we beg to differ,” Esme said, exchanging a knowing glance with Vicky. “This is major news! We need details!”

They launched into their own version of the guessing game, their rapid-fire questions overlapping and intertwining. They were like a well-oiled machine, anticipating each other’s thoughts and building on each other’s jokes.

“Is it someone in the midfield?” Esme asked.

“Or maybe a forward?” Vicky suggested.

“Perhaps a defender?” Esme countered.

“Or maybe,” Vicky said, pausing for dramatic effect, “it’s the coach!”

You choked on your water, sputtering and coughing. Esme and Vicky burst out laughing, their eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Okay, okay, we’re just kidding,” Esme said, patting you on the back. “But seriously, Y/n, we’re just curious. We want to know who’s captured your heart.”

You hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. You trusted Esme and Vicky, but you were still hesitant to share such a personal detail.

“It’s… someone I admire,” you said finally, choosing your words carefully. “Someone who’s really talented and dedicated.”

Esme and Vicky exchanged another knowing glance. “That narrows it down to about half the team,” Vicky said dryly.

“But seriously,” Esme added, her voice softening. “We’re just happy for you, Y/n. We want you to be happy.”

“Thanks,” you said, offering them a genuine smile. “I appreciate that.”

You thought you’d weathered the storm. The relentless teasing had subsided, replaced by the occasional knowing glance or subtle nudge. You’d even started to relax a little, believing the “crush” saga was finally behind you. But you were wrong. So very wrong.

The team bonding night was a tradition, a chance for everyone to let loose and have some fun outside of the pressures of training and matches. This time, it was a casual gathering at a local karaoke bar. The atmosphere was buzzing with energy, fueled by loud music, flashing lights, and the general excitement of being off-duty.

You were initially hesitant to go, still reeling from the media day fallout. But Jana and Patri had insisted, assuring you that it would be a good time and that the “crush” topic was officially off-limits. You reluctantly agreed, hoping they were right.

For the first few hours, everything went smoothly. You laughed and sang along to the music, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere and the company of your teammates. You even managed to belt out a surprisingly decent rendition of a classic pop song, much to the amusement of Jana and Patri.

But as the night wore on and the drinks flowed, the atmosphere became more boisterous and the conversations more… revealing. And, inevitably, the topic of your “admiración” resurfaced.

It started innocently enough. Someone put on a cheesy love song, and a few of the players started jokingly serenading each other. Then, Mapi, never one to let a good opportunity pass her by, grabbed the microphone and announced to the entire bar, “Okay, everyone, let’s dedicate this next song to Y/n and their secret crush!”

A chorus of cheers and whistles erupted from the team. You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You shot a pleading look at Jana and Patri, but they just shrugged apologetically, their faces etched with a mixture of amusement and sympathy.

Mapi, oblivious to your discomfort, continued her impromptu dedication, adding fuel to the fire with a series of suggestive comments and playful innuendos. The team roared with laughter, egging her on.

You wanted to disappear, to become invisible, to escape the intense scrutiny of the entire team. You felt trapped, exposed, your privacy completely violated.

Just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse, Esme and Vicky, fueled by liquid courage and a shared sense of mischief, decided to take the stage for a duet. They chose a popular love song and, as they sang, they began pointing and gesturing towards various members of the team, adding their own commentary and inside jokes.

Still you don't crack not until Alexia comes and wraps her arm around you.

So,” she said, a playful glint in her eyes. “I hear you have a little… admiración for someone.”

You blushed furiously, but you couldn’t help but smile at her teasing tone.

“It’s not a crush,” you mumbled, shaking your head slightly. “It’s more like… respect. I really admire her talent and dedication.”

“Oh, I see,” Alexia said, nodding thoughtfully. “So, it’s not someone on the team?”

You shook your head again, relieved to finally be able to talk about it openly, even if it was with Alexia, which was still incredibly nerve-wracking. “No,” you said. “She plays… out of Spain, actually.”

Alexia’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Oh, really?” she said. “That’s interesting.”

She paused for a moment, considering your words. Then, a slow smile spread across her face. “Well,” she said, her voice warm and encouraging. “Admiration is a wonderful thing. It can inspire you to be better, to push yourself further.”

You feel your cheeks reden, you can't hide it anymore and the fact your about to tell her ex girlfriend is ironic "Its Jenni."

“Jenni,” Alexia repeated, the name rolling off her tongue. Her tone was even, giving nothing away. “Jenni Hermoso?”

You nodded, your cheeks burning a deeper shade of red. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on you. You were confessing your admiration for Jenni Hermoso, a player widely considered one of the best in the world, to her ex-girlfriend. The universe definitely had a sense of humor.

A brief silence hung between you, punctuated only by the off-key singing from the stage and the general chatter of the bar. Alexia’s arm remained around your shoulders, a comforting weight, but the atmosphere had subtly shifted.

“She’s… a fantastic player,” Alexia said finally, her voice measured. “Incredibly talented.”

You nodded again, finding your voice. “She is,” you agreed, your voice filled with genuine admiration. “I’ve watched her play for years. Her technique, her vision… it’s inspiring.”

You found yourself rambling slightly, trying to fill the awkward silence. You talked about Jenni’s incredible goal-scoring record, her ability to create chances for her teammates, her influence on the game. You were so focused on avoiding any mention of the personal connection between Alexia and Jenni that you almost forgot who you were talking to.

You pause waiting for Alexia to shout at you for having a crush on her ex girlfriend but instead she tilts her head back and laughs "Oh Mi Amor, Im so telling her next time i see her thats so cute."

You shove her away slightly but immediatly pull her back as she whips out her phone and starts typing, out of everyone Alexia just might be the worst person you could have told.

[muddyorbsblr]

Good GOD I missed reading, I've been in a slump for so long (work stuff, family stuff, personal stuff), and this smutshot just yoink'd me right out of that slump and has me chomping at the bit for more.

The way I was not expecting an absolute cinnamon roll of a Loki with this smuttery

There's just so many lines here that have him being vocal about how much he was probably already all the way in love with Reader, and despite that he didn't push to court her and left the choice entirely up to her?? And the way he made her aware that he was awake like he was probably posing like that all fucking week and leaving his door unlocked probably whispering to himself "Please let tonight be the night", like this story painted that picture so clearly.

And it's the way that even with him being so open about how he's down bad for her, it still feels like he was holding back at some parts to actually say the words, but you can tell that even while Reader's going "Nothing's going to ever be the same after this", it's like he's outwardly agreeing that yes, everything's going to change for her, but inside he's probably chomping at the bit to tell her that everything changed for him the second he decided "Yes, this one, I want her, I love her" 🥹

Now moving on to the smut that factory reset me back to my whoring ways, the absolute meatiness of the actual smuttery and the way you were describing the movements and the sluttish sounds just got me completely gagged.

The creases of your mouth cracked slowly as you slid him further inside. And it suddenly dawned on you, how large he truly was.

This already got me sipping on my ice water

Nothing was supposed to feel this good.

Babes u got some mango of godly caliber, he's about to fundamentally rewrite your definition of "good". 🥵🫢

But the ending. The ending. That just got me doing twirls and jumps all over my room, and suddenly my downstairs neighbor hates me all over again

“You,” he whispered, knuckles trailing lovingly down the curve of your damp neck, “however long it took. You were always worth the wait.”

He's just too precious, your honor. I want one 😩

Come After Dark [Loki x Fem.Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: You swallow your nerves and take Loki up on his seductive invitation. (w/c 3.1k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Mild somnophillia. Language. Mild angst to fluff. Sub(ish) Loki.

The hair on your arms felt like needles, every ghostlike pricking shiver vibrating invisible strands. Was it cold tonight? You couldn’t tell. Heat thumping low in your belly blossomed as you made your way through the midnight gloom of the tower. Shadows danced the walls, stretching and fading in haunting rhythm. Come after dark, he’d said.

You shivered again, recalling the way his breath had caressed your jaw, a palm spread on his chest against porcelain shirt buttons. His questioning stare had moved from your hand to your eyes, his brows a line of reluctant, smouldering resignation. He had left you in that hallway, music beating a solid bass through the wall against your spine. The words that had circled in your mind ever since fluttered back around the endless loop.

I will cease my wooing of you, since that is what you wish, he had murmured, as he unfurled your fingers from his chest. Loki then raised your knuckles to his lips. Parted, only slightly. But if you decide you want this, whenever you want this, he’d whispered against the skin. Come after dark.

That had been days ago. A week? Time had slowed and sped up in frightening synchronicity since that brief conversation. You and he had been dancing around your flirtations for months, but in each moment when he swooped gently to kiss you, to let his hands wander to your own, to break the seal of workplace propriety – you bailed.

His absence made everything come in bright clarity. In deepest reds and brightest blues you saw for the first time how much more he was than a distraction, than something to be feared in awe from a distance. Like a predator behind glass. Fear. What was it you were afraid of? Of how much you want him. Of how how has the power to elevate or decimate in the palm of his-

You shook the thought away, seeing the potted plant that signalled the end of the corridor come into view. One more turn.

Silent breaths rose and fell as his door suddenly loomed. It stretched up into nothingness, its out of place mahogany intricacies making you smile in the eerie darkness. Lifting a fist to knock, you paused. A feeling rose that was difficult to place. The ornate brass knob was cool to the touch, but even from one small twist it was easy to tell it was - Come after dark, -unlocked.

You held your breath, twisting on the exhale. There was a soft click as the mechanism relented, a cool brush of air wafting against heated cheeks. The goosebumps on your forearms bristled.

A feeling of dread suddenly descended, sinking through the excited trepidation. What if he didn’t mean it? What if, I’m just breaking into his room-

You recalled the gleam of his darkened eyes, the blue of his irises barely visible at the rims of wide pupils. The hum of his voice as he enunciated each word with painfully laden precision, as thick as double cream; Come after dark,

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you. As your eyes adjusted to a deeper darkness, the room’s layout came into view. A short corridor which was the mark of all your accommodations led into a living area. You could see the elegant curves of an ostentatious sofa, the rise of a fireplace and the shadowy reflection of a mirror glinting above. Floor length curtains swept around the corner windows. Of course Loki has the corner apartment, you mulled, noticing dinner-plate sized vegetation poked around the corner from some kind of plant. Your fingers reaching to absent-mindedly rub the waxy leaves as you padded over luxurious carpet. White carpet. Your bare feet sank into the pile, each cushioned step landing on the heel making your breaths quicken as you worked closer to the bedroom. The door was open, just a crack. After this, there was no turning back. You would never be the same. You could tell. Good, you thought; feeling your heart thunder. Like an astral projection, you felt your fingers slide around the edge of the door, peeking inside. A wave of adrenaline soared up your body like a tide; animalistic energy bursting new heat from every pore. There he was.

Spread like a sculpture; a living Bernini glowing in soft cracks of moonlight glistening on his skin. One long thigh rested open atop twisted sheets, an arm outstretched on the empty side of the bed reaching for an invisible lover. The curves of his muscles rose and fell along each line of his body, white sheets painted teasingly across the sharp dents of his hips. His obliques clenched with each soft breath, perfect face turned towards the shards of moonbeam bathing him in ethereal light. Dark curls lay spread against the pillow, like splatters of oil on canvas, winding across the cotton and the broad flat of his pale shoulders. Your mouth felt dry, and your eyes. You realised you hadn’t blinked in about thirty seconds. He looked so peaceful, it would be a shame to- Oh-

Your eyes fell on his crotch as he sifted within dreams, something long and thick nudging horizontal upwards against the sheets.

Your breath hitched as a well of saliva rose in your mouth, moistening your lips. You would be lying if you hadn’t imagined him thrusting his fist against that huge cock in these very rooms while he moaned your name, fuelling your forbidden fantasies. On the edge of this very bed, by all accounts. He was always a gentleman in your presence, something you had wished many times he would abandon to urge you to take the leap.

But after all, here you were. Here I am. His brow furrowed, a light moan snaking from his slumbering throat. Beneath your pyjama shorts, the slick of arousal that had been growing since you had left your own apartment warmed. Slipping.

You squeezed around the door, tentatively making your way to the empty side of the bed. Now what, you thought, letting your eyes roam over his sprawled form as you resisted the urge to jump on him...do I wake him, should I- “-Loki?” you whispered, voice shaking. Your fingertips traced the thick cotton rumpled at the bed’s edge. His breaths continued to slowly rise and fall, the erotically devastating fan of dark lashes against his skin, undisturbed. “Loki?” you repeated, resting on the side of the mattress, “Mmm...” he mumbled groggily, frowning in his slumber. He sighed, outstretched fingers twitching. You smiled, watching the strong veins in his forearms tense before relaxing into smooth surrender.

Following the delicate lines of the summer duvet draped lazily across his torso, you let your eyes track down the folds. It ran diagonal, exposing the taut carving of violent muscle rippling down his chest, his stomach. The duvet rested teasingly over his hips, an exposed leg hanging open sluttishly as the other stretched down to the end of the ornate bed-frame. “Lo-kii…” you cooed seductively, shuffling closer.

You waited. He didn’t stir. You frowned.

Beneath the duvet, the god’s swollen cock twitched against the cotton.

Your eyes ran up the lines of muscle contoured in the moonlight, up the shadow of his cheekbones to his peaceful brow. A thin line formed between his eyebrows, softening. Without realising it, your outstretched fingers ghosted down the centre of his abdomen, cool skin making heated tips tingle. You edged closer on your knees, making the firm mattress bounce slightly. But still, he did not stir. Nerves burst in stars deep in your belly, the gravity of your audacity making you dizzy as you fought to hold your nerve.

Cautiously, you lowered to his flat stomach, placing a kiss just above his naval. A shaking gasp escaped your nostrils, the electric eroticism of his energy humming from every inch of his skin as you moved lower. Fine hair coating down from his naval grazed your chin, its feathery softness a stark reminder of the warm heart beating beneath his stoic exterior. You paused on the dip of his adonis belt, frozen hunched in place as he stirred. The pillows rustled, followed by a soft thump as his cheek fell to the other side.

“Don’t s-stop…” he softly slurred, hips nudging upwards beneath the sheet. Outstretched fingers gripped the sheet to your side in a loose fist, the fingernails catching on cotton before relaxing.

Oh, god.

Your trembling digits wrapped around the blanket’s tip, pulling down. And all the time, your eyes never left his moon-drunk face. Tentatively you ran your fingernails lightly over the taut skin of his ribs. Shivers rose in the muscle beneath your careful touch as the sheet was brushed aside below. You let the heel of your palm search in half-darkness for the root of his subconscious desire.

It didn’t need to search far. Loki moaned softly, his lips parting with a puff of air. A rogue strand of hair buffeted from his face as you clenched around nothing, the wetness between your legs wild and unstoppable, his gentle whoreish sounds making your inner-beast writhe. The god’s breaths were a roar in the suffocating silence. “Please,” he breathed in dreams. It floated, lingering like perfume. Or maybe it was your imagination. Reluctantly, your palm left the velvet skin of his cock and planted on the farthest side of his body. You loomed over him. He’s like my prey, thought reverently; holding back a giggle. Like a virgin and a vampire, about to be sucked dr-

The smile faded, replaced by something stronger than the fear of him waking and recoiling in disgust. That this had all been a misunderstanding. That his sultry flirtations and invitations and unlocked door were just coincidences. Nothing more. Tilting your head, you bit your bottom lip and watched as his light frown returned. He squirmed in slumber, ropes of shoulder muscle shifting against the pillows. You allowed yourself to finish the thought, -Sucked dry.

Taking a deep breath, you dipped down and covered the head of his majestic cock carefully with your mouth. It was warm, the round tip resting on your tongue, the jolt of his thigh splayed to the side not going unnoticed as you let your slick lips slide against him. He’s been hard for a while, you pondered, savouring the settling of his sex inside your mouth. Where he belongs. A thick vein pulsed against your tongue. Your mind crackled with energy, every nerve screaming to shake him awake and fuck him into the headboard between messy kisses and half-formed words. “Mmmm...ye-shs, p-please -m-more…” Loki exhaled groggily. You wondered if he was dreaming of you. Muffled, his lashes fluttered with pleasure beneath shuttered lids. The thump of your heart was deafening as you focused on the taste of him filling your mouth. The sweetness of his velvet skin stretched over unforgiving muscle, fresh and deep like autumn pine. Plump veins slid further down the flat of your tongue as you grew braver, each ridge that bumped against the muscle lovingly caressed. The creases of your mouth cracked slowly as you slid him further inside. And it suddenly dawned on you, how large he truly was. The scent of his shaft filled your nostrils as you lapped softly at the tip, enjoying each stolen moment of second-hand pleasure. Your pussy throbbed, blood pumping and heating the mess between your legs. Loki whined softly, hips beginning to roll in dream-soaked waves. You wrapped your fingers one by one around the thickness of him, brow furrowing as you felt the weight of his cock twitch in your grip. Slowly, you drew your tongue over the sensitive frenulum, feeling his hips shudder as you licked to the leaking tip.

“You came…” a gravelled voice shifted in the darkness, making you jump. Your head snapped towards him, fearful eyes wide. A mischievous smile tugged at his beautiful lips, shadows cast by the moonlight carving deep grooves beneath his cheekbones. “Quite the one for drama after all, aren’t we, little fox?” The words were mumbled coyly, raising an eyebrow as you sat upright. Loki’s voice was husky with something, but it wasn’t sleep. He propped himself up on one elbow, using his free hand to dramatically whip the remaining duvet from his body and letting it sprawl to the floor.

“I thought you might enjoy the illusion of voyeurism,” he smiled, rubbing a flat palm on the mattress beside him. “As usual, it seems, I was correct.” “You were awake?” you scoffed, admitting to yourself that the desired effect was likely lost by the wandering of your hungry eyes over his unbearably naked form. With sudden clarity, you realised his hard manhood was still wrapped in the punishing grip of your fingers. “Mmmm,” he hummed, smile wider now with the mocking echo of his slumbering moans. His stare dropped in stages down your body, across every line of your form kneeling on his bed in the moonslick gloom. If he was searching for resistance, he would find none. “I’m sorry if I-”

Before the final words could form on your tongue, Loki was kneeling in front of you. His hips pressed flush to your stomach, those long fingers that had brushed your own so many times beneath the conference table digging into the small of your back. They sank lower, cupping your ass with a ragged groan from his throat. “Enough,” he growled. But it wasn’t a threat. It was a plea. Loki buried his face in your neck, kissing ravenously up the curve towards the angle of your jaw as your nails dragged down his chiselled abdomen. The god’s breath was hot, decadent.

Both of you raised on your knees, a tangled primal mess of hair and fingers and teeth and tongue as the past burned. Whispers of desire fluttered in the sliver of air between you as Loki’s hands spread against your ass-cheeks, down the backs your thighs. He rested back on the bed, letting you fall over him in a flood of pure need, straddling him immediately. “I’m going to fuck you into this headboard, Laufeyson” you heard yourself mutter as you stooped to place wet kisses on his collarbone. Loki chuckled. “Oh I do hope so,” he rumbled under his breath. “I’ve thought about it enough.”

His eyes tracked over your loose pyjama top like a hunter, running his hands up the curve of your waist until your vision blurred. With a soft pop, you were free. Loki groaned. The flat of his cock lay nestled between your legs, pressed tight against your wet cunt. Pleasure fired with every frustrated rock of his hips, seeking salvation. His palms cupped your breasts, burying his face forwards as your wound your fingers in his hair. “Fuck me,” he gasped desperately against your chest. The skin was moist with moans and sucks and kisses as he pushed your breasts together, his proud features absorbing all you had to give. “Fuck me, please.”

You held your breath as you rose up, hand feeling between his legs and lining him up. The tip of his manhood brushed against your aching heat, a premature moan of anticipation filling the air from you both. “There’s no going back after this,” you said; voice trembling over shaky breaths. The god’s eyes rose from the sight of his cock hovering at your entrance, the same determined look of intent curtaining his features as had in the hallway. “You shall not want to go back, darling,” he murmured, a familiar smirk curling his lip in the gloom. A dimple flashed. “Believe me.”

The words made you clench just as you sank onto his cock, his sheer size making you choke on air as a strangled gasp erupted. Loki’s hands guided your hips, rocking you gently down his length. His eye twitched, brows slanted as his chin tilted to the ceiling. But still, he kept his gaze on you. “Loki-” you whined, feeling each ridge and vein of his shaft press and drag against your little cunt. Nothing was supposed to feel this good.

Loki let out a ragged exhale he’d been holding, whole body shuddering as he filled you to the hilt. Careful fingers rested on your hips, pulling you gently back and forth. You could feel your walls begin to stretch, the sopping stickiness of arousal coating his cock with each gyration. “Good?” he grunted, concern lacing his voice. You nodded mutely, strands of hair sticking to your parted lips as you moaned obscenities above him. How fucked-out you must look, and you’d barely started. One of your hands gripped his headboard, the other steadying on his chest as Loki let you take him. All of him.

With every roll of your hips, your clit pressed against his pelvis; sparks of pleasure setting your belly alight with new desires. Every soft sigh of your name, good girl, that’s it, pushed you higher; confidence building. You started to bounce, thighs tensing with every slam to the root of his shaft. The desire to close your eyes and let yourself drown in ecstasy was overwhelming, but the urge to watch the god you had craved writhe beneath you was stronger.

“G-gods, my sweet little f-fuck...f-ox…” Loki growled, giving into himself and making you fly into the air with a targeted thrust. He caught your waist, sinking you down with merciless precision, “you’re even more d-deadly than I expected.” The headboard slapped against the wall, each ca-lunk of wood on plaster making you tighten. Fingernails sank into the leather covering as the beat grew louder with every synchronised groan from your throats, of every squelching slap of your bodies moving as one. You didn’t stop to wonder who was on the other side. You didn’t care. Loki grit his teeth, the veins in his neck straining as his hair mussed against the pillow. He slipped a hand behind your head as you leant towards him, sucking the pleasure point of his neck with moans so dirty you surprised yourself. “My patient god,” you grunted wetly against his skin, tightening your cunt around his throbbing sex, “I want your cum covering every inch of me when tonight is over.” The noises he was making were filth. Every curse and uhhhhh and sluttish moan driving you feral as you shook the walls with all your might. Loki was nearing his limit. Men and gods, you surmised, were not so different in some respects.

His eyes rolled back, a hiss filling the hair as his jaw set in smouldering intent. You smiled, placing both hands firmly over the leather seal of his headboard. The flutter of his thumb against your swollen clit was all it took to push you over the edge, tumbling with a strangled cry of his name into an abyss of pleasure. Moonlight shattered around his tense body, cutting in shards where each bladed muscle of his godly formed tightened and bulged beneath the grip of your thighs.

Syllables of your name exploded one after another as he let himself come undone, arching up to catch your open mouth in a filthy kiss. The pressure of his cum swelled inside your slit, leaking against his shuddering thrusts as his whole body trembled. Your cries intertwined the air like wafts of smoke, rising and ebbing before with a final broken sigh, you collapsed on top of him. Your fingertips followed at a snails pace, scratching down the skin of the leather headboard. Seconds passed, before Loki’s nose nestled beside your ear. “Worth the wait,” he murmured against your hair. “Mmm-hmmm,” you confirmed groggily, deep in the pillow. Words were too much. “It wasn’t a question,” he said quietly, before pressing a kiss to your temple. You managed to raise your head, seeing the crescent fan of his lashes rise to reveal eyes sparkling with something new. “You,” he whispered, knuckles trailing lovingly down the curve of your damp neck, “however long it took. You were always worth the wait.”

Tags

@meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @sebstanwhore @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @itsybitchylittlewitchy @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @sidepartskinnyjeans @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @littlespaceyelf @arch-venus25 @liminalpebble

[yuechihua]

one hundred paper stars.

summary: There's an old story from your childhood where if you make a hundred paper stars, then you're granted a single wish. However, it's not you, but your infuriating partner in Section Six whose wish you want to come true instead.

notes: 7.4k words, author's notes, spoilers for harumasa's backstory, canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, fluff

It’s during a drowsy, sunshine-drenched afternoon, a brief moment of respite where there isn’t any paperwork to file or field missions to carry out, that Yanagi appears at your desk, giving you no time to hide what you’ve been fiddling with during your break. 

Though there’s no reason to feel guilty, it’s still slightly embarrassing for Yanagi to catch the rainbow strips of paper littering your desk, interspersed with fruit-flavored candy that Soukaku left earlier that morning as a present. In the center of it all, there’s a jar brimming with paper stars, the results of two weeks’ worth of progress made whenever you have a snippet of free time.

However, Yanagi doesn’t pause to acknowledge the way your hands are trapped in the middle of folding a half-finished origami star. Lips pursed in familiar frustration, she asks, “Have you seen Asaba anywhere?”

“Not since this morning, when we were doing reconnaissance in a Hollow,” you reply.

She sighs. “He’s supposed to have finished his break half an hour ago.”

“Do you need him for something?”

“I need you two to follow up on the work you did this morning. The ether readings have changed, and they wanted someone to check it out,” Yanagi says. “If you could find him and get him to come with you…”

“I get the gist. I’ll head out as soon as I find him,” you say, folding the ends of the paper expertly and tossing a newly formed red star into the jar. 

“Thank you. I’ll make it up to you for cutting your break short,” she says apologetically. “Since you’re his partner, Asaba tends to listen to you a little more.”

“He barely listens to me at all,” you grumble. You pat the daggers tucked snuggly near your thighs, and Yanagi’s eyes drift to the mess on your desk.

“I was wondering where Soukaku got all those pieces of paper,” she says thoughtfully. “Did you bring them into the office?”

“Yeah. She thought the stars were candy, so I had to stop her from eating them. I taught her how to fold them, and in exchange, she gave me these.” You gesture at the hard candies littering your desk.

“It’s nice to do some crafts to relax.”

“There’s also something special about these stars. If you fold a hundred of them,” you say, “you get a wish. It was a popular story back in my elementary school. The local convenience store used to sell origami paper, and I would buy them with my allowance. I never did make it to a hundred, though.”

“Then there must be something you really want to fold a hundred now. I hope your wish comes true,” Yanagi says.

“I hope so, too,” you murmur.

A few minutes later, you’re cutting down the halls and up the stairways of your workplace, climbing until you reach the entrance to the roof. Barricade tape and warning signs block the landing, but with practiced precision, you duck under the tape without slowing and nudge open the door with your shoulder, which gives way without a fuss.

Cool wind whips at your face, and you scan the rooftop, nothing but a broad expanse of concrete and whirring, blocky machines, caged in by a metal fence. You jog down the length until you find who you’re looking for, lounging on the floor like a cat soaking up the golden afternoon sun, limbs askew and eyes closed. 

Harumasa looks like he’s asleep as you approach him with silent steps. You crouch over him, your shadow cutting across his face, and he still doesn’t stir. For a few seconds, you watch him quietly. His headband flutters in the wind like a loose sliver of sunlight. His face is pale, splotches of dark ink forming under his eyes. Maybe he isn’t sleeping well.

“Admiring the view, partner?” Harumasa says without opening his eyes.

“Hardly,” you say. “I was just thinking about the best way to wake you up.”

“All you need to do is call my name and I’ll respond.”

“Right. Just like how the last few times I tried to do that, you kept pretending to be asleep until I used physical force.” You emphasize the last few words and Harumasa groans as he cracks open an eye, propping himself lazily up with his elbows.

“Come on. We’ve been working together forever at this point, and you still can’t be a little nicer to me?”

“I’m only nice to those who deserve it,” you say. 

“Right, right. I bet Yanagi sent you up here.”

“How did you know?”

“You usually let me slack off otherwise,” he says easily. “It’s only when there’s something important that you bother me. Huh. If you think about it, that’s pretty nice of you. Isn’t there a word for someone who acts abrasive to hide how much they care about someone else? Ts–”

“Keep talking and I’ll tell Yanagi just where exactly you like to hide during break,” you threaten. 

“Aw, don’t do that!” Harumasa gives you an exaggerated pout, and you roll your eyes. “Come here, partner.”

“Why?”

“Come on. Come closer,” he wheedles, and you reluctantly lower yourself until you’re sitting next to him, face to face, legs folded under you.

Once you do, Harumasa drops his head against your shoulder, leaning all the warm weight of his upper body against your side like he’ll fall apart without your support.

“What’s this about?” you grumble, but you don’t move away. It’s become a familiar routine at this point: he teases, you complain, but you still gravitate towards each other. Maybe it’s because you’ve been paired with Harumasa on so many missions that you’ve developed a habit of putting up with all of his mischief.

“I’m not feeling well,” he says. “Lend me your shoulder.”

“It’s a little too late to ask when you’ve already done it.”

“You know what they say. Ask for forgiveness, not permission.”

“I’m sure you know all about that,” you say dryly.

“Now. now. I’m just being pragmatic.”

You usually don’t come to the roof at all, not unless you’re looking for Harumasa. But when you do come here, the air feels refreshing and cool, the sunlight more gentle. Though you pride yourself on being efficient and responsible, the first one to file your reports and to take notes during meetings, you can understand why Harumasa likes to nap here.

It’s comfortable. Or maybe it’s Harumasa that makes the place so comfortable. It feels like your own private corner of the world, one where it’s just you and him. Not that you could ever tell him that, of course, or it’ll make him insufferable.

“Yanagi needs us to follow up on the Hollow we investigated this morning,” you say.

“Again? We just got back.”

“The ether readings have changed. They want us to investigate.”

“Hm… but I’m on break…”

“Your break was over half an hour ago.”

“You’re on break!” he protests.

“So? I’ll be reimbursed for it.”

Harumasa groans. “You’re way too serious. You need to learn to take it easy. I’m not feeling well, you know.”

“Is that so? Well, if you want to nap the day away, I can investigate by myself–”

“Wait.” Harumasa’s weight shifts off your shoulder, and now you’re face to face with him again, close enough to see the way his smile slips off his face, the intensity of his liquid gold gaze. “I’ll come with you. Don’t do it by yourself.”

“You don’t think I’m capable, Harumasa?” you try to tease, but his lazy smile doesn’t return.

“You’re capable,” he says quietly. “You’re more than capable. But I want to be there to back you up.” He’s the first to look away, and you feel cheated, even though you don’t know what you would have said in response. “So, let’s get going. The sooner we finish, the sooner I can clock out of work.”

“Of course,” you say, a smidge too quickly. “I’ll need to file reports for Yanagi when we’re done.”

At least the awkwardness of the moment on the rooftop blows over quickly as you prepare for departure. Working with Harumasa feels like being a part of a well-oiled machine, every movement in efficient, coordinated sync, the consequence of a well-established partnership. You fall into a routine as familiar as meetings or paperwork as you prepare to enter the Hollow: checking your weapons, gathering your supplies, escorting your Bangboo guide, and then striding into the Hollow at the designated entry point.

Within the Hollow, you and Harumasa alternate who takes the lead as you follow your Bangboo, slipping through half-hidden pathways and narrow crevices, all the while avoiding lurking Ethereals. There’s little need for words with Harumasa when all you need to do is read the tension of his body, like a bow pulled taut, and simply follow what it tells you. You have your own private language of body gestures, flicks of the hand or turns of the head, refined over years.

It’s not as if you always worked this well together, of course. The first time you were paired together with Harumasa on a mission, both of you were fresh recruits to Section Six. You couldn’t stop arguing with him. His lax manner and sloppy dress infuriated you, but what was worse was how he always delivered results with minimal effort when you never did anything less than your best. In turn, he made fun of you for being a stick-in-the-mud and being unable to relax.

“You’re going to go grey if you keep stressing yourself,” he would tease, looking much too pleased with himself, as if he enjoyed your little spats.

Harumasa touches your elbow lightly, and you’re drawn from your thoughts. “Did something happen?” you murmur. The Hollow stretches before you, twisted metal and broken concrete buildings stitched together with corruption that shimmers like an oil spill, but there’s no sign of anything unusual.

“Nope. I’m just bored,” he says. “We’re not any closer to finding the disturbance Yanagi told us about. We might have to head back soon if we still don’t find anything usual.”

“We haven’t even gone that deep in the Hollow yet,” you say. “We should at least cover all our bases. What, scared of doing overtime?”

“Yes,” he says seriously. “Maybe a workaholic like you wouldn’t get it, but overtime is the public enemy of every government employee out there. So, what were you thinking about?”

“About… the past,” you say, relenting. “And how we used to fight all the time.”

“Oh? Thinking about me?”

“Only about how annoying you used to be.”

“Rude. Is this how you talk about your precious partner?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s too late to find someone else. You’re stuck with me,” Harumasa says cheerfully.

“I never said I would find another partner. You’re the only one I want.” You try to keep your voice casual, just like Harumasa, but something honest creeps in, something a little raw and unfiltered, like light through an unsealed crack.

And maybe he senses it, too, your inability to play the blithe role as well as he does, because he doesn’t jump in right away with another joke. The silence lingers, throwing the rhythm of your banter off-balance.

“The only one, huh…” From the way his hair shades his eyes, you can’t make out his expression or read his tone. 

“Harumasa,” you begin, but a sudden beep cuts off your words. You glance at each other, all awkwardness vanishing as Harumasa glances at a device in one of his pockets. 

Your Bangboo guide jerks to a sudden stop. This is the end of its automated guidance, as far as its data will take you. The two of you have reached the top floor of what must have once been a tower, a spiderweb of uneven, rusted metal and crumbling walls exposed to the low, grey sky. The floor slopes down to a sharp drop, leading to nothing but open air.

“Ether spike,” Harumasa says. His hand is already drifting to his bow. “But I don’t see anything. Where…”

It happens in a split second. Your body reacts before your mind can, years of training ingraining in you the necessary reflex to spring back as an Ethereal drops down from above, crashing like a meteor where you and Harumasa once stood.

Your daggers are already in hand, and you leap forward as an arrow flies from above, distracting the creature long enough for you to slash along one of its appendages. It roars, and you’re already darting behind it, Harumasa running along its other side.

It’s an Ethereal like none you’ve seen before. A Thanatos? A Duhallan? No, none of the existing classifications match. It’s eerily beautiful, its core pulsing with multi-colored light, corrupted growth framing it like a star, delicate, vine-like appendages darting out momentarily to propel the Ethereal away from your reach. This must be the source of the disturbance Yanagi told you about.

Harumasa calls your name, and on instinct, you fall back as he lunges forward with a dizzying series of slashes with his blades. You’ve faced worse than an unclassified Ethereal of unknown strength. Even if neither of you have expected to engage an enemy, that doesn’t mean you aren’t prepared to. 

The battle continues back and forth, a waltz of sharp steel and split-second communication between you and Harumasa as you implement all the maneuvers you learned in training. It seems like there’s no end in sight, but you’re tiring the Ethereal, slowly but surely. It’s only a matter of time before you find an opening to destroy its core.

And then, Harumasa stumbles. It’s only a brief moment, his body dipping as something like a cough shudders through him before he steadies, but it’s enough time for the Ethereal to lash out several appendages like a bolt of lightning. You’re helpless to do anything but watch as Harumasa flies backwards, his body bent like a doll discarded by a careless child.

Before you can think, you’re running, propelled by some instinct deeper than habit at the sight of your partner on the ground, throwing your daggers with wild precision as the Ethereal howls like a wounded animal. There’s not enough time to do anything except to throw your body in front of Harumasa before the Ethereal lashes out again in a brutal, sweeping arc.

Your body explodes with pain. Then, you’re weightless. The Ethereal has sent you flying, and briefly, it’s like you’re back on the roof, Harumasa leaning against your shoulder, the wind in your face, before you’re tumbling over the edge of the tower.

In the field of your vision, something gold flashes. Harumasa’s headband. It’s all you can see, the afterimage of it burned into your eyes like the sun as everything goes dark.

—

From your earliest memories as a child, you had always been lonely. Maybe that’s why you were drawn to things that reminded you of the sun, searching for anything to give you stability or warmth.

Your story wasn’t particularly unique: your parents were killed in an accident in a Hollow. You were shunted from relative to relative who never knew what to do with you. You clung to academics and books to prove yourself because you had nothing else.

You had a decently high Ether aptitude, so when you got the opportunity to join an elite academy on a scholarship, why wouldn’t you take away your chance to escape away from relatives who never cared for you? At the time, you had been living with one of your mother’s older brothers–what was his name? You’d long since forgotten, and he hadn’t bothered to keep in contact once you left.

Either way, you graduated with honors and a flawless academic record. When Miyabi selected you to join Section Six, despite your lack of experience, you were excited.

“I believe you’ll deliver results,” Miyabi told you simply, that very first day. “That’s why I chose you.”

A flush of pride made your face glow. “I won’t disappoint you!”

It was so nice to be relied on. To find a place that needed you, where you were valued. You were tied to Section Six through more pragmatic things than fragile family ties that easily dissolved.

You did your best, but it was hard when you weren’t the only new member–Asaba Harumasa was assigned to Section Six at the same time as you. From the very start, your work ethics, lifestyles, and attitudes couldn’t be more different.

“Could you try to finish your paperwork on time? When you don’t, it slows the entire process down,” you would tell Harumasa.

“It gets done, though. Does it really matter when I do it?” he would reply.

Frustratingly enough, even then, the two of you did so well on missions together that you were always assigned to be each other’s partner. Maybe his work on the field earned him a little respect in your eyes; it was the one thing you couldn’t really criticize him on. But at the same time, it was infuriating that you had to put so much time and effort into delivering flawless results, and Harumasa always skated by with minimal effort. 

One particular fall, the two of you were assigned to a mission to investigate high-level Ethereals in a local Hollow. Soon enough, you and Harumasa were surrounded. As skilled as you were, parrying several different Ethereals meant one could easily slip into your blind spot and strike. Too late, you only noticed when it was already moving, and you could only grit your teeth, bracing for impact–until its limbs met a flash of steel. Harumasa had leapt in front of you, pushing the Ethereal back and giving you enough time to strike its core.

“Harumasa–” you began to say.

“On your left!”

And then you were flung into the heat of battle, with no time to process what just happened until the threats were neutralized.

It was only then you saw the gash running along Harumasa’s arm, blood soaking into his rolled up sleeves. Without a word, you took out your medical kit, and started applying disinfectant. Harumasa didn’t even wince as you dabbed away the blood with cotton balls. You knew, from the location alone, he had got it while protecting you.

“I’m sorry,” you told him, wrapping bandages around the wound. “This is my fault.”

“What are you talking about? I did this on my own.”

“But if I hadn’t been so careless–”

“You’re my partner. I’ll always have your back,” Harumasa said. His tone was as blithe as always, but there was a strange, tenderness underlying it.

His face was coated in dust and drying blood from battle, and yet, his eyes were still a startlingly pure gold, vibrant and warm. When he looked at you, it was like he was seeing you, all of you, warming you like the sun. He didn’t avoid your gaze or look past you, like your relatives had.

After that, you settled into Section Six, not because you were needed, but because you were wanted. Your arguments with Harumasa melted into something softer, something more playful. He was your partner, and you no longer grumbled about taking the same missions as him.

One day, when you were sent to fetch Harumasa for some mission or meeting (a favorite errand of everyone’s to send you on because you had developed an uncanny sense of knowing where he liked to hide), you found him hunched him over in an empty office, knuckles white against a table as he coughed wetly, the force of it shuddering through his entire body. 

Harumasa, who had always looked for any excuse to slack off, who slept on the job, who acted like nothing could bother him, looked more vulnerable than you had seen before.

You knew he had a medical condition, but he never talked about it. Even when he did, he always made it seem so trivial. A minor inconvenience, and nothing more.

“You need to go to the infirmary,” you said, rushing over. “Or the doctor. I’ll call someone right now. I’ll–”

“Don’t,” Harumasa rasped. He grabbed your arm with more desperate force than you expected. “It’s fine.”

“You’re–”

“It’ll pass. Just let me… lean on you for a little.” Half-crouched on the ground, he collapsed his weight against you, and you both sank to the floor. You wrapped your arms around him and he leaned his head against your collarbone. You rubbed circles along his back, a meager offering to soothe him until the coughing subsided.

Harumasa’s breathing was shallow, and you wondered if he could hear the racing of your heart, the fear making it pound uncontrollably. His illness was more serious than he had ever let on.

“Are you okay?” you asked quietly.

“I’m fine. It’s just all the pollen and dust, you know,” he said. There’s that familiar carefree, teasing edge to his tone, but it’s strained by his recent coughing.

“You don’t have to joke with me. I’m your partner. If there’s something I can do for you, you can let me know.”

There’s a moment of silence before Harumasa sighed, a soft, resigned sound. “I just don’t want the others to know.”

“I won’t tell them,” you promised.

He took a few more shallow breaths before speaking, voice cheerful, deceptively light and hollow, like a bird’s bone. “I have Ether Aptitude Regression Syndrome. It manifests primarily in my heart and lungs, but in exchange, I have high Ether aptitude. It’s the reason my parents… left me, a long time ago. A doctor took me in, but… Well. I was recruited to an academy, graduated, and ended up here. But you know about that part.”

You’ve known Harumasa long enough by now to know that he was only giving you carefully curated bits and pieces of his past. There was something he wasn’t not telling you, but that didn’t change the fact he had decided to place his trust in you, regardless. 

You understood what it was like to be left behind, to have nothing but yourself to cling to. Sympathy and pity weren’t what he wanted. No generic condolence could change his past or his fate.

Instead, you drew him closer to you. Harumasa let out a small, strangled gasp as you sheltered him in your arms. “I’ll be here for you, so thank you for trusting me.” 

Sometimes, words were cheap. The only response you needed was Harumasa’s arms wrapping around you in return, a tentative promise. 

It’s only a few weeks after that, when you were passing by a convenience store on the way home from work, that you saw the origami paper strips lining the shelves at a discounted price and remembered the elementary school pastimes of your classmates. 

As a child, you had wanted to make a hundred stars so you could make a wish for your parents to come back. But now, there was something else you wanted: not to make someone come back, but to make someone stay with you.

—

Your body aches. It’s all you’re aware of at first, a throbbing pain, spreading through your body in waves.

Your vision is blurry, the Hollow wavering in front of you like smeared paint, black protrusions and metal platforms blending together, a nightmarish portrait.

You drag your arm in front of your face, flex your fingers slowly until the world stops spinning. 

You’re alive. Against all odds, you’re alive, but you have no idea where you are or how much time has passed. You’d probably fallen into a distortion.

With any luck, Harumasa has already left and called for back-up. You could survive in a Hollow longer than most ordinary people could, but you didn’t want to test your limits. For now, you would have to do your best to survive. With agonizingly slow movements, like you’re dragging your body through water, you check your daggers and equipment, and survey the area around you. It’s full of twisted metal structures corrupted with black growth, platforms and stairs jutting from rocky walls, like a building that’s been swallowed by a cliff, with no particularly distinguishing feature.

It then takes even longer to convince your legs to support your weight, and to take a few steps without leaning against the wall.

Something clatters in the distance, heavy limbs dragging on the floor. Ethereals. This part of the Hollow is infested with them, a mutated sea of green and pearlescent black cores, though you’re temporarily sheltered in the area where you fell. As long as you avoid them, you should be fine; you’re no longer in any condition for prolonged combat.

All you can do is slowly drag yourself around, daggers at the ready, sneaking past any Ethereal you see. It’s agonizing work to be so careful, especially when you’re occasionally hit by waves of dizziness and your injuries make your reflexes slow.

Is Harumasa safe? Did he escape? Did he destroy the Ethereal? Or did something worse happen to him? There’s no point thinking like this and driving yourself insane, but your thoughts scatter like a flight of migrating birds, and no matter where they go, they always end up drifting in Harumasa’s direction.

Maybe you can blame Harumasa for distracting you when an Ethereal catches sight of you before you can fully conceal yourself. You can do nothing but mumble curses under your breath as more Ethereals are drawn to the noise and you’re forced to draw your weapon.

It’s harder to fight without Harumasa to cover your back. You’ve gotten too used to having him at your back. Several times, you open your mouth to call his name, but he’s not there to answer. It’s just you, clumsily dodging blows and aiming weak strikes at Ethereals you normally would have been able to dispatch with ease.

You might die here. The thought comes, unbidden. You’re weakened, surrounded, when an Ethereal looms over you. You twist your body around trying to dodge, but your body refuses to move as fast as you need it to as the Ethereal prepares to strike–only to still, stagger a few steps, and then collapse onto the ground, a spray of arrows protruding from its back.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you whip your head up in the direction the arrows came from. It can’t be, but it is. It’s him. Your partner, his mouth set in a grim, furious line as he draws his bow back. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him look so angry.

In what feels like no time at all, the remaining Ethereals fall and your body feels light as you fight with renewed energy. Hardly any of them could get near you before Harumasa has shot them down with enough force that their bodies slam into the floor with a shattering crack. As soon as the last threat is neutralized, you’re running to Harumasa, but he’s faster than you.

“Harumasa—” Your words are muffled as Harumasa pulls you into a hug. His fingers dig into your shoulders, his grip tight. There’s something possessive and desperate about his touch, as if he might never hold you again and he has to memorize the shape of your body while he still has the chance.

His skin gleams with sweat, his white shirt sticking to his torso. Has he been running around this whole time, looking for you, without resting? You press your ear to his chest, where his heart rabbits in his chest in a frightened run.

“I thought you died,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.

“I…”

“I thought I lost you. And I couldn’t stop until I found your body, and I would have to tell the others that you… because of me, you…”

“Harumasa, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to hear that.”

You tentatively bring your arms around him, and a shudder wracks through his body at your touch. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“Then don’t do something so reckless again! If you die… If you die, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do…”

“I can’t promise that. You’re my partner. I told you I would have your back. If I see you in trouble, I can’t just run away.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I want you to live,” you murmur. “I want you to live, no matter what.”

“Then you have to live with me.” Harumasa pulls back abruptly, bringing his hands to your cheeks, and pinching. 

You attempt to reply, but you can only make a garbled noise of affirmation. It’s hard to talk when Harumasa is pulling your cheeks like taffy, but maybe he isn’t ready to hear your response.

You place your hands over his, and Harumasa stills, your touch a soothing balm. He lets out a breath. “Let’s get out of here. You need to get your injuries looked at.”

For the rest of the time until you leave the Hollow, Harumasa clings persistently to your side, refusing to move a step unless you have as well. You would call his pace leisurely if not for the tense way he holds his body, poised for threats from any direction. You’re half-tempted to ask if he would feel more at ease holding your hand, but you have a feeling he would never let you go again if you did.

Harumasa doesn’t relax even when you’re back at your workplace, where he escorts you directly to the infirmary and paces outside the entire time, causing the nurse’s eyebrows to crease in irritation at the sound of his rapid footsteps.

“I’m fine,” you announce the second you step out of the infirmary. “Okay? The nurse said I had no major injuries, though I’m not supposed to be on the field for a week. And I have to do a few more check-ins.” 

It’s only at your words that Harumasa finally relaxes. “This is probably the first sick day you’re going to take,” Harumasa says, but his teasing doesn’t quite match his eyes, which keep roaming your body for stray injuries which the nurse might have missed.

In the office, you’re immediately assailed by Yanagi, Miyabi, and Soukaku, who fuss over your bruises, the bandages peeking under your clothes, and the patches on your face.

“I’m glad you two are okay! I was so worried when I heard what happened. I know you’re capable, but you shouldn’t be so reckless,” Yanagi scolds lightly. 

“Take the time to rest and recover completely,” Miyabi says. “Section Six needs you, and we can’t function well if you’re not around.” 

“Take these snacks! They’re tasty, and they’ll help you feel better!” Soukaku says earnestly, shoving an armful of packaged chips at you.

It’s been a long time since anyone has worried over you like this. It’s a little embarrassing how everyone’s attention is focused solely on you, and you can’t keep a small smile from creeping onto your face. “Everyone… I promise I’m fine! You don’t have to fuss over me like this.” 

“Don’t forget to go back for your checkup,” Yanagi interjects. “All right? I don’t want to see you on the field until you’re cleared. And you, Harumasa! You need to take care of yourself, too.”

“Yanagi is right,” Miyabi says. “Maybe you should get a check-up as well.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Harumasa says, holding his hands out placatingly. “My injuries aren’t as bad as theirs. In fact, I’ll be a good partner and take care of them, promise.”

“That’s a first,” you interject, “Since when you were so excited about doing work?”

“I’m only excited when you’re involved,” he says, and you don’t know what to say to that.

The rest of the day passes by pleasantly once Section Six is satisfied that you’re doing well, though they keep making excuses to stop by your desk and leave you drinks from the vending machine or little treats. You fill your time with paperwork and organizing files, and when those are done, crafting paper stars at your desk.

“What are you gonna wish for when you have a hundred stars?” Soukaku says, sprawling across your desk and picking up a strip of paper to fold with clumsy, childish joy. 

“I’m actually not going to wish for anything. I’m going to give my wish to someone else.” 

“What? You can do that? Then I wanna give wishes to you and Nagi and Miyabi and Harumasa!” 

“Thank you, Soukaku.” 

“Who’re you going to give your wish to?” Soukaku asks as you hand her more origami paper strips. 

“Hm…” You survey the star you’ve just finished folding. “It’s for someone important. It’s a little embarrassing to talk about it out loud, though.”

“Why? I think whoever it is will be happy that you’re thinking about them!” 

“Do you think so?” 

“Yeah!” Soukaku says. “I would be happy if you gave me a wish!”

“Then should I make you a hundred paper stars, Soukaku?”

“Really? Yay!” 

By the end of the work shift, you’ve finally filled your glass jar with the necessary number of stars. You should feel happy, but what you didn’t tell Soukaku is that you wonder if it’s too presumptuous to give this to Harumasa. After all, you still remember what it’s like to be rejected by people who were supposed to love you and take care of you.

You cradle the jar in your hands, the product of all your meticulous work over the past two weeks. It’s heavy with the weight of your feelings and your ridiculous wish.

“Hey, partner.” Harumasa’s sudden voice makes you stiffen and whirl around, keeping the jar hidden behind your back. 

“Harumasa.” You take a breath. There’s no point in being embarrassed. “Do you have time right now?” 

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow. “What a coincidence. I was just about to ask you that, too.” 

“I assume we’re both free, then. Come over to my place,” you tell him bluntly. 

“Your place?”

“Yes.”

Harumasa tilts his head like an inquisitive bird, considering. “Sure, but I didn’t realize you were that excited to see me after work.”

“Oh, don’t get full of yourself.”

The two of you are back to your usual banter, but it’s devoid of its usual lightness. The events from the Hollow still linger over you, and Harumasa sucks in a breath before giving a casual smile. You respond with a roll of your eyes, but it feels wooden, everything unsaid thickening the air like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm. 

The journey back to your apartment is peaceful. You take the train, watching the familiar strips of buildings and city lights streaking past, soft smudges against the glowing sun, sinking like a pat of butter in a red, syrupy sky. 

You live in a relatively nice building, the salary from your job affording you a lobby as well as a doorman and a fast elevator. At your apartment door, you fumble with your keys, fingers heavy and clumsy as you’re aware of Harumasa’s presence behind you, waiting.

The door clicks open and you step into your apartment, a one bedroom, one bathroom affair with sturdy, comfortable furniture, books and knick-knacks lining the shelves of the joint living room and kitchen. More books are stacked precariously on the single table you use for both work and meals, situated in the center. 

You slip off your shoes and into your house slippers, offering a pair to Harumasa, who after putting them on promptly walks over to one of the shelves in the living room and pokes at a little Bangboo statue. There’s a whole forest of them lining the shelf, all in different outfits and poses.

“I didn’t realize you were such a fan. Hey, do you get the public security ones to help you cross the street?”

“Don’t touch it. It’s a collectible and I’m trying to get the last one in the series,” you say crisply. “And of course I do. It makes the ones patrolling the streets happy to help.”

“Wait, really?”

“They’re adorable, Harumasa. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

“It’s not a bad thing! I just think you have a surprisingly cute side, that’s all.”

“Thanks,” you say, trying to keep your face schooled in a neutral expression, before gesturing to the table in the living room. “Take a seat. I’ll make some tea.”

You brew a pot of bitter green tea, taking out a plate of crumbly packaged cookies to snack on. They’re the least sweet snack you have in the house which Harumasa would be happy to eat.

For a few minutes, there’s only the clink of your cups and the crunch of cookies, a pleasant way to spend your time after work. Neither of you talk, the food giving you an excuse not to. It’s ridiculous how such a small gift could make you feel so nervous. You need to do it now. Otherwise, what would the point be of inviting him over?

You run your finger along the rim of your teacup, pressing hard enough to feel the edge of smooth porcelain dig into skin. “There’s something I want to give to you.” 

“A present? For me?” 

“Don’t get too excited. It’s nothing fancy,” you say, before standing to retrieve the jar of stars, which you had shoved into your work bag.

You hold it behind your back until you’re in front of Harumasa, at which point you place the jar on the table and slide it over to him.

A hundred stars for one wish. You explain the story to him as Harumasa cups his hands around the jar, peering intently as if he could see the hours you spent painstakingly crafting each individual star. 

“I know it’s a little silly,” you say quietly. “But I want whatever you wish for to come true, no matter what.” 

Harumasa’s eyes when he looks at you are just like stars, warm, bright gold, that you would trust to guide you no matter what path you tread.

“I want you to be happy,” you say, the words falling from your mouth like a wish of your own. 

“Happy, huh?” Harumasa closes his eyes briefly, stars winking out of existence. 

“I’m sorry if that’s presumptuous. You don’t have take this gift if you don’t want–”

“Whoa! This is mine now. You can’t have it back now that you’ve given it to me. It’s just… there are some things about my illness I haven’t told you.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” you say.

“I want to tell you, though. People with Ether Aptitude Regression Syndrome don’t typically live long lives. The illness is terminal. The oldest-recorded person lived only to be 26.” Harumasa says it matter-of-factly, the numbers rolling out of him like he’s simply reciting information from a medical brochure. “In late stages, the body breaks down. And if someone with Ether Aptitude Regression Syndrome is in a Hollow when their body breaks down, then they’ll turn into an Ethereal.”

This is the knowledge Harumasa has been carrying with him all this time and hiding from everyone in Section Six. It must have weighed him down like stones, knowing that if things take a turn for the worse in a mission within the Hollow, he’ll become one of the monsters you and Section Six have to put down. How long has he carried this by himself?

No matter how you try to hide your feelings, Harumasa knows how to read you just as much as you know how to read him, because he raises a hand and lazily waves it through the air. “Don’t look so worried. It doesn’t bother me that much.”

“I’m your partner. Of course I’m going to be worried about you,” you say quietly. “I told you, didn’t I? I want you to be happy.”

Harumasa gazes down at the table, away from you and the jar of stars in front of him. “You are, huh? Can I trust you with something else, then?”

“What is it?”

“If anything happens to me,” he says, “and I turn into an Ethereal, you have to promise that you’ll kill me.”

There’s no other answer for you, not when he looks at you like that. “I promise. I won’t let anyone else do it.”

“Then I’m all yours, partner.”

“But…” You reach for Harumasa’s hand across the table, slowly and reverentially sliding your fingers under his, feeling the press of each callous on his slender fingers. These beautiful hands, which you have saved and which have saved you again and again. “I gave you a wish, you know? So you can have anything you want.”

“Eh? Didn’t I tell you what I wanted?”

“It doesn’t count,” you persist. “If it helps, I’ll tell you what I want.”

“All right, what is it?”

“I want you to live forever.”

“That’s way too long,” Harumasa protests.

“Then live for a hundred years at the very least,” you say. “I wanted you to be happy for a long, long time. I made you a hundred stars, so each star is worth one year of happiness.”

It’s ridiculous, you know. It’s not pragmatic at all. And maybe it’s cruel, too, to ask Harumasa something like this. But if he’s going to be selfish, then you’re going to be just as selfish. 

“A hundred years? Then you need to live that long, too.” Harumasa shifts his hand and hooks your pinky lightly with his own. “It’s not fair if I have to live that long without you. That’s going to be my wish.”

“Then I’ll make it come true,” you say. “I told you, didn’t I? We’re partners. Where you go, I’ll go.”

In the window across from you, ink-blue shadows flood the world. The sun had set while the two of you were talking, and the city lights wink like scattered gemstones across dark velvet.

“If you talk like that, then I’m not going to want to leave,” he says quietly. “You make me want to act selfishly.”

“Then act selfishly. I’ll forgive you.”

He lets out a sigh, squeezing your pinky. “You’re not fair at all.”

“Good,” you say archly. “Stay the night, Harumasa.”

Harumasa stills at your words, and you can feel the faint tremor of his hand. “I have nightmares. It’s not going to be a good time for you.”

“That’s all right,” you say. “I’ll take care of you.”

It’s easy having Harumasa in your apartment, where he fits seamlessly into your normal routine, the same way he does at work. You lend him towels, and baggy pajamas, and then the two of you take turns using the bathroom. You order cheap takeout from a local restaurant, which you eat in front of the glow of your television, watching the news. As you wash up the dishes, Harumasa perches on the counter, cracking jokes that make you roll your eyes or smile. 

Harumasa, framed in the soft glow of kitchen lights like a halo behind him, hair askew, wrinkling his borrowed clothes, makes your heart ache. It would be nice to have him around like this, all the time. You’ve forgotten the warmth of having someone in your home until now.

You should bring out the futon you keep for guests, but you don’t mention it, and Harumasa doesn’t ask. So he follows you to your bedroom, knees bumping against the side of the metal frame as you pull out an extra pillow for him. 

Harumasa dutifully takes out his rows of medicine, orange bottles lined up your nightstand, brightly colored pills falling down his throat with each sip of water from the glass you’ve brought him. He folds his golden headband neatly next to the bottles, and finally places the jar of stars to stand guard over everything. It makes you feel ticklish that he wants to keep your gift so close.

Your bed is too small for two people, but neither of you complain as your legs tangle together, Harumasa resting his forehead against yours. In the dark, you grope for his hand, entangling your fingers with his, where they belong.

“Good night, partner,” he whispers. He’s so close his breath tickles your face.

“Good night.”

“It’s too late to turn back now,” he murmurs, but you can’t tell if he’s saying it to you or himself.

“Even if I could, I wouldn’t,” you say, tracing nonsensical letters on his back with the fingertips of your free hand, a message he can’t read.

“I know. I guess we’re stuck together.”

“I told you. We’re partners. I’m yours forever,” you say.

Harumasa squeezes your hand. “And I’m yours, so let’s take good care of each other.”

If you strain your head, you can see a faint strip of moonlight from your parted curtains illuminating your nightstand where a hundred paper stars glow. Like a promise, a wish, of a hundred years of happiness.

[yoonjae20]

Danny deeply distrusts the Justice League

Based on the wonderful @saltymarshmall0w 's prompt.

I really feel like they aren't enough fanfics or prompts where Danny dislikes the Justice League — and continues to dislike them even after everything (Anti-Ecto Acts) is revealed and taken care of. (Or maybe I'm not looking in the right places — if you guys have any recommendations put them in the Tags or Comments!)

Read on ao3. Masterpost

After many years Danny has finally retired — sure he had to leave everything he loved and that was familiar to him behind for it, but it was worth it. He had a small little house that was his own, he would water his plants every morning and make small talk with his neighbors. Everything was fine. 

Everything turns not so fine, when there’s a sudden knock on his door. Expecting it to be one of his neighbors — for example needing eggs or flour (a neighbor’s kid had needed eggs to bake one of her parents a cake and Danny had been more than willing to spare the few she needed) — he opens the door without a second thought.

Only to almost immediately want to close it again. 

Because that’s the Justice League standing in front of his door. And that can mean nothing good.

Before Danny can slam the door closed, Superman‘s shoe slides in between the door frame, blocking his escape. The smile the man shoots him is probably meant to be reassuring, but the only thing Danny feels is dread. 

To most civilians the Justice League is seen as a beacon of hope — but to Danny? He knows the bitter truth. When he needed them the most they turned his back on him before chasing him across half the globe calling him a villain without even hearing his side of the story. They handed him over the GIW for Ancient’s Sake. He would have died if it weren’t for Tucker and Sam. (He may not have scars to show for it but he can still feel his chest burn when he thinks back to it.) Not that they can remember that though. He still doesn’t trust them. 

“You are Danny Fenton, correct?” Superman asks and Danny stiffens. 

Fenton — not Nightingale like he has changed his surname into to escape his parents influence and leave everything behind. 

“Yes,” he says warily — seeing no point in lying. Considering Batman is lingering behind Superman the Detective would figure it out instantly. 

“And you used to be Amity’s Park’s vigilante Phantom?”

Danny grips the door frame, knuckles white. What’s their point? Are they trying to intimidate him?

“Yes,” he grits out. 

“We were told that you are the one we should seek out in matters involving Ghosts and the Infinite Realms,” Superman continues, but Danny doesn’t let him finish.

“I’m retired,” he interrupts. “Find someone else.”  

“There’s a world-ending event,” Superman says like that would convince Danny. Like Danny hadn’t lived though so many of them — had to prevent them from happening without anyone’s help every single time. Guilt-tripping much? “Even if you don’t want to fight — we need you as an advisor.”

Danny snorts, shaking his head. 

“Go take up the matter with the Justice League Dark then.” 

Danny moves to close the door, but still Superman’s foot doesn’t budge. He could probably brute-force his way through this — but Danny’s tired and he’s not in the mood to explain to his neighbors why his door is broken and he needs to do repairs.

He glares at them and to his surprise Superman actually takes a step back — but still not enough to be able to close the door. 

Danny hasn’t transformed into Phantom since he left Amity Park. Had kept that part of himself locked away — would have separated his Ghost Self from himself if he didn’t know he would be selfish for that. Had ignored his Obsession even if it screamed at him — had pushed it away in his Human Form even if it muted all the colors around him and it meant that every breath was a painful wheeze.

Faced with this situation he almost wants to break the promise he made to himself — but he can’t.

There is no GIW anymore —  Danny had made sure of that. He had wiped all of their files and his parents published research with the help of Technus. He had dismantled both portals to the Ghost Zone and made sure no one would be able to replicate it. But Danny also knows the Justice League — knows how much Superman’s punches hurt, how it feels to get mind controlled — they could overpower him in an instant if he twitched as much as into the wrong direction.  

He really doesn’t have a choice here, doesn’t he? If he doesn’t go out of his free will — they will force him with any means necessary, of that much he is sure. 

His gaze trails to his neighbor’s house and the swing in their backyard. And if they are right and he turns them away — is he sure he won’t feel any guilt if something happens that he could have prevented? Sometimes Danny really hates his Martyr Complex. 

Danny sighs, defeated.

“What do you need my help for?”

They had liked their new neighbor despite the fact that he barely left his house other than to water his plants. They had known that the young man was sickly. He looked like death wormed him over and was weak on his feet— his ice-blue eyes dull. His smile barely held any warmth in it.

Still they invited them over after he had given their daughter eggs to bake the cake for their birthday. They learned that he was kind and had escaped to their small village to live a quiet life. 

When the young man came to tell them that he would be out of town for a few days and to please water his plants if they could, they were worried.

“Are you sure that you are fine, son?” they asked and touched the man’s forehead — but it was icily cold like the rest of their skin had always been. “You look even paler than usual.”

The young man had only given them a half-hearted smile and affirmed them that he was fine

Their daughter's excited steps had hurried behind them and she tugged on their pants after the man had left. 

“Was that Uncle Danny?” the girl asked. “Can I play with him?”

They gave their daughter a weak smile. 

“Uncle Danny is busy for a few days,” they explained. “Later, okay? How about you draw him a picture while we wait for him to come back? So he has something to look forward to?” 

Their daughter nodded and raced back to the living room, searching for supplies, while they continued looking out of the window. They can’t help but have a bad feeling about this.  

It’s unnerving how quiet the young man is. 

There are no easy smiles, sassy quips and puns like from the few shaky phone videos they had pulled from the internet about Phantom. 

He’s meticulous. Probably even more than Batman — and that is a statement. There had been a deep mistrust in the eyes when they had located him and asked him to help them. It’s evident in every step he makes. He double-, even triple-checks every single evidence, every single sentence, every single word they say. 

Nothing is left unturned as he works the way though the situation like if he is dealing with a case. He never stops moving, always doing something — reading through heavy leather-bound books or through their reports. His heart rate is so slow that Clark sometimes wonders if the boy is still breathing at all. 

When the young man had asked them if they spoke to the leader regarding the war declaration and the reasons behind them, he had clicked his tongue when they told him no.

He hadn’t let anyone help him when he drew out the summoning cycle — it looked even more intricate and complicated than they had seen from Zatanna or Constantine. When he had spoken the words for the spell,  his words had sounded ancient and undescribable — hushed whispers following every single word. He clasped his hands and only opened his eyes when he spoke the last word, his eyes burning a deep green. 

The cycle goes up in green fire before a form appears — Clark recognizes the Ghost from the declaration. 

The man’s cold gaze sweeps over the Justice League before it stops on Phantom. He smirks, bowing his head slightly.

“I greet the Prince of the Infinite Realms.”

“Cut the crap Fright Knight,” Phantom's voice is steel-hard. “We both know I refused that position.”

The man tilts his head but nods.

“Very well,” he says. “I greet Phantom, savior of the Infinite Realms.”

Phantom grits his teeth like he wants to refuse that title too before he shakes his head. He gestures to the Justice League.

“Explain.”

“We are just paying back what has been done to us,” Fright Knight claims. “Vita brevis, ars longa, occasio praeceps, experimentum periculosum, iudicium difficile.”

“Life is short, art is long, opportunity fleeting, experiment treacherous, judgment difficult,” Diana translates for them. 

“I see the Daughter of the Queen of the Amazons knows her arts,” the man’s voice has a hint of mockery. “Humanum genus est avidum nimis auricularum. Ignorantia legis non excusat:”

Diana’s eyebrows knit together as she listens. 

“Mankind is too greedy for lies. Ignorance of the law does not excuse,” her voice is almost a whisper. 

“I would have thought you would know of this Phantom,” Fright Knight addresses the young man again. “But now seeing your state, you probably didn’t feel the call for the announcement either. Is there a reason why you are starving yourself?”

Phantom doesn’t meet any of their eyes as he answers.

“That is unimportant to this situation.”

Fright Knight’s lips twitch back into a grin. 

“If the savior of the Infinite Dreams claims so, then I have no choice but to accept it.” He turns back to the Justice League. “Si vis pacem, para bellum.”

“If you want peace, prepare for war.”

“When have we been ignorant?” Batman finally steps in. 

Fright Knight huffs out a dark laugh.

“When has mankind not been ignorant?” Fright Knight questions. “When your government captured my brethren and tortured them, where were you? When they declared us as non-sentient and staged war against us, where were you? When they threatened to destroy our home, where were you?”

The man’s eyes seem to burn as he repeats himself.

“Where were you?”

Clark and the rest of the League are shocked to silence. 

“Now that the danger has passed, why should we just forgive you? Why should we forget?” Fright Knight continues. “If we are not worthy enough to be counted towards mankind that means we just have to rewrite the rules. And since we were never given the chance to negotiate, that means by force.”

“The Meta-Protection Acts-” 

“Only count towards those that are alive.” Fright Knight interrupts Batman. “After all, how can the dead feel any emotions such as pain? I’m sure if you ask your government they will hand you a lot of pretty reports on the biased experiments that prove so.” 

“But that’s-” Clark starts but Fright Knight doesn’t let him finish.

“Despicable? When has that ever stopped mankind?” Fright Knight asks. “We can talk if there isn't a law that states that we can be eradicated without any consequences.”

Before either of them can stop him, Fright Knight swishes his cape made out of purple fire and disappears. Clark faintly asks himself if that is how other people feel when Batman does that in front of their noses. 

Seeing no other option the entire League turns back to Phantom who hasn’t said a single word since the Ghost went on his tirade.

“Phantom-” Batman tries, but the young man’s eyes burn with so much hate that the normally stoic man stocks in his words. 

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Phantom seethes. “You heard him. Now finally do your jobs right for once.”

Then he leaves the room without a single glance back.

Clark gulps as they look at each other.

“I feel like we made a mistake.”

When the news declares the Anti-Ecto Acts as abolished, Danny feels nothing but exhaustion. The Justice League barely managed to avoid a large-scale — and very justified war. 

Danny leans back tiredly on his sofa. His eyes trail to the drawing his neighbor’s daughter had given him and the first genuine smile in months graces his lips.

“What I don’t do for mankind,” he sighs before he closes his eyes. 

[starlemons]

Coffee and Crime ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ PART ONE

Pairing ✦ mafia!bucky x reader

Word Count ✦ 1.6K

Warnings ✦ fluff kind of, just mainly a story setup, mention of a "happy ending", overall story has a 18+ content warning, MDNI

A/N ✦ I've missed writing and wanted to get back into it so figured that the best way to do it was by writing a series.

PART TWO »»» Series Masterlist

I will update the series every 1-4 days depending on my schedule

“Matcha Latte for Sadie!”, you called out to the crowd inside the shop.

A woman stepped forward thanking you and taking the paper cup from your hands. As she turned to leave she slipped a five-dollar bill into the pink ceramic bowl that read “TIPS”. 

“Thank you!”, you said to her, as you turned back to your station.

Wednesday afternoons were usually less hectic, a reason you enjoyed working them, but before you were about fifteen or more drink orders waiting to be made. The small cafe you worked in was crammed with customers, mainly due to the raging thunderstorm outside. 

By now you should have had your (slightly longer than you are supposed to take) lunch break. You could’ve been eating ramen at the shop across the street, reading some more of the new book you just purchased earlier this week. But, here you were, knee deep in orders.

You scrunch your nose up in annoyance, picking up the next ticket and reading the order, four shots of blonde espresso over ice with two pumps of vanilla, two pumps of caramel, two pumps of white chocolate, a splash of soy milk, shaken, poured into a large cup with extra ice. 

With pleading eyes you looked towards your coworker, “Can I please switch off the coffee bar for a bit? I feel like I’m about to lose my mind.”

“I was just about to ask you if you would switch to register for me”, Nat giggled, “I am about to lose my mind talking to people.”

You joined the redhead in her laughter, as the two of you swapped places and you handed her the ticket you had been holding. Her smile turned into a frown quickly, reading the order. 

“Dude, really?"

You shrugged at her and chuckled as Nat rolled her eyes and started on the drink. 

Thankfully the crowd began to dwindle down, until the only customers left in the cafe were a group of teenagers working on a school project. 

“I’m going to go take a break, if that’s cool with you?”, Nat asked.

“Yeah go ahead.”

“You know where to find me if you need anything.”, she said, disappearing through the doorway that led to the back room of the cafe.

You took a deep breath, leaning back against the countertop. Through the large archway windows of the shop you saw that the rain had started coming down even harder. The cold October air scattered the leaves that had fallen to the ground and a bright flash of lightning lit up the sky. A heavy roll of thunder followed soon after, cutting through the sound of the soft lo-fi music playing in the store. 

Your attention was torn away from the windows when you heard the soft ding of the front door opening. Two men entered the cafe, rain dripping off of them. The blonde one of the pair smiled at you sheepishly as if to say sorry for getting water everywhere. 

“Welcome in!”, you called from the counter.

As the two men walked towards you, you looked them up and down. The previously mentioned blonde, was wearing a light grey suit with a lavender button down underneath. A glittering chain sat around his neck, the price of which could probably pay an entire year's worth of your rent. 

Your eyes flitted over to his friend. The other man had longer brown hair and scruff that decorated his cheeks. His black dress shirt and slacks clung to his muscles, leaving little to the imagination. Looking down you noticed a gleaming watch on his left wrist and that most of his fingers had a large ring on them.

Glancing back up, your cheeks flushed in embarrassment as you locked eyes with a pair of stormy blue ones. The brunette man had caught you giving him a look over, smirking at your flustered expression. 

“Um–I–What can I get for you?”, you stuttered out. 

“I’ll take a hot vanilla latte, for Steve, please.”, the blonde man spoke.

“For here or to-go?”

Steve’s eyes glanced at the man next to him.

“For here.”, his friend said.

You finished ringing up Steve, who paid and went to sit down at one of the many tables in the cafe.

“Do you have anything you would recommend?”, the dark-haired man asked.

You thought for a second, “Well it depends, what do you normally go for?”

“Plain black coffee.”

You cringed at his admission. Plain coffee was bitter, gross, and undrinkable in your eyes. 

“Not a fan?”, the man in front of you chuckled at your reaction.

“That obvious?”

“Very.”

Laughing, you started asking him questions, trying to narrow down a drink for him. He did like cinnamon and holiday flavors, not super big on anything overly sweet, and preferred his drinks hot not iced. 

“Have you ever had a dirty chai?”, you asked.

“A dirty chai? Can’t say I ever have.”

“I think you’ll really like it!”, you beamed, “It’s a chai latte with a shot of espresso.”

“Well I trust you so far…”, he trailed off looking down, eyes searching for your nametag, “Y/N.”

You felt a blush rise on your face again, hearing the handsome stranger saying your name. 

“Oh-Yeah can I get a name for your order?”

“Bucky.”, he said, smiling at you. 

You finished ringing him up and he moved to join his companion at the table. 

“I’ll get started on your drinks, they should be out in just a little bit.”

You grabbed two handmade mugs from under the counter and began brewing your espresso shots. As you worked, you would look towards the men every so often. Not that you noticed, but every time your attention turned back to the drinks, Bucky would glance at you. He kept nodding along to whatever Steve was talking about, before he got a sharp jab to the ribs.

“Steve what the hell man.”, Bucky hissed at his friend.

“Would you quit gawking at the barista and listen to me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“No, Buck I’m serious. This is serious.”, Steve said pointing to his phone screen. 

“Okay, okay.”

Against his will, Bucky turned his attention away from you and to the subject on Steve’s phone. 

A few minutes later you completed putting the final touches on the drinks, latte art for both of them, and a sprinkle of cinnamon on top of the dirty chai. 

“Bucky and Steve, your drinks are ready.”

The brunette man quickly stood and headed for the counter. As he neared, you slid the two cups towards him.

“You’ll have to let me know what you think of it.”, you said to him as he wrapped his fingers around the handles of the mugs. 

“Why don’t I just let you know now?”, he brought his drink to his lips, and took a small sip.

You studied his expression hoping that he liked it.

“Damn, that’s really good.”

You smiled, “I’m glad you like it!”

He returned your grin, setting the mugs back down, and reaching into his back pocket, securing his wallet in his hands.

“For such a great suggestion, here’s this for you.”, he removed two hundred dollar bills and placed them into the tip bowl. 

Your jaw hit the floor, looking between the two bills and the man. 

“Thank you so much!”

“No need to thank me doll.”, he gave you another smile as he turned back around and moved towards Steve. 

Shaking your head you snapped yourself out of your dumbstruck daze and reached for the tips. You weren’t going to take any risks of someone running off with either of the large bills and headed into the back to put the tips into the safe. 

Nat was sitting at the breakroom table, feet propped up in the chair across from her and some reality TV show was playing on her phone. 

“Whatcha watching?”, you asked her.

“Real Housewives of New Jersey. I forgot how good this was.”, she looked towards you, “You want to take your break now?”

“Yes please, I am starving.”

She laughed at you, moving to stand up. You went to the safe, unlocking it and grabbing the bag marked “TIPS”. Quickly you counted the cash in your hands before unzipping the pouch and adding the money into it. You set the bag back into the safe and closed the door. 

“How much have we made so far?”, Nat asked. 

“Three-hundred and six dollars.”

Her eyes went wide, surprised the number was so high.

“It helps that this really attractive man just gave us two-hundred dollars.”

“He what now? Did you give him a happy ending with his coffee?”

You balked at her statement, “Or I am just so absolutely stunning he just couldn't help but give me his money.”

“Oh shut up will you.”, your friend laughed, tossing a stray rag at you.

You dodge the towel, laughing as you grab your rain jacket off the wall hooks behind you and slide your tote bag over your shoulder. Nat and you both returned to the front of the shop together. 

Steve and Bucky were still sitting at their table near the front door. The latter watched as Nat pulled your hood over your head, tightening the strings, giving you some sort of pep talk to encourage your escapade into the downpour outside. As you neared the front door, Bucky stood, beating you to the door handle, and opened it for you.

Pulling your hand back from the knob you shyly thank him. 

“See you around Y/N.”, he said.

“See you.”, you say as you tuck your head down and race out into the rain.

PART TWO

I AM OPENING A TAGLIST FOR THIS STORY LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT ADDED!

[0mg-bird]

How Did It End?

Post Prison! Spencer x Fem!Fiancee Reader

Summary: Almost four months since Spencer came home and the fairytale that once was your life has come crashing down around you.

Warnings: ☹️ ouch. Angst. PTSD. Taylor Swift ‘How did it end?’ coded. hurt/comfort. this hurt to write, don’t hate me. Reid my poor baby has some stuff to work out.

W.H. Auden once wrote,

‘Were all stars to disappear or die, I should learn to look at an empty sky and feel its total dark sublime, though this might take a little time.’

Poetry was something you were no stranger to, given the fact you taught an advanced creative writing class at the local high school.

You once enjoyed poetry.

But now, when the words feel like knives aimed at you, you can’t bear to indulge in the afternoon readings like you used to.

Instead, afternoons are spent in an apartment that somehow lost its warmth. Before, you’d claim it’s because Spencer was gone, that things would be brighter when you brought him home. He’s been home for three months, a little longer, the weather has begun to change, warping into a melancholy winter. You sit at your desk, staring at your computer screen, spinning your engagement ring around your finger.

You’ve been trying to get back into writing, trying to revisit your archived story. Though, it’s hard to revisit a fictional romance mystery when there’s nothing to inspire it.

Groaning, you delete half of the last paragraph you’ve written and try to type something that isn’t cliche. Pushing through the urge to stop, you write until the words flow thoroughly and there’s a key turning in the door.

There he was, the love of your life.

Spencer trudges into the apartment and drops his bag by the door, his shoes find a home beside it. The circles under his eyes are darker than they were this morning when he left, he runs a hand through his hair and glances over at you when you stand with a grin.

“Hi.” You do your best to beam, conveying just how much it excites you to see him.

“Hi.” He mumbles, tossing you a tight lipped smile as he walks towards the bedroom.

Trying to push away the sick feeling in your gut, you turn back to your blind optimism and take your glasses off.

It takes eight steps from the bedroom door to the closet, it takes him three steps to pace and grab casual clothes. In about a minute, he takes off his day clothes and pulls on something that doesn’t feel constricting. You memorized every foot step he makes in this home, it’s easy to focus on when you spent some time not hearing it.

By the time he comes back out to retrieve his bag and sit on the couch, you grab up your laptop and sit on the other end of the sofa.

Paperwork and files soon lay on the coffee table and you watch him organize and complete end of the day tasks. Patiently waiting your turn, when Spencer finally relaxes back into the cushions, you slide closer.

“How was your day?” You ask.

He grunts. “Nothing worth talking about. Oh, I’m going to Connecticut next week to do a seminar, I’ll be gone two days.”

You nod. “That’s exciting, right?”

He shrugs, then there’s silence.

You scoot closer. “I was working on some things, I think I’m finally getting back into the groove of it. You want to read the last chapter I made?”

He motions to the coffee table. “Yeah, just leave it there and I’ll take a glance later. I’m debating on if I want to shower before dinner or after.”

“I was thinking we could go out for dinner, we haven’t in a while.” You offer with a hopeful smile.

Spencer frowns. “I’m not really feeling a social scene right now.”

“Oh, yeah, no, of course.” You quickly say. “We could do take out then, Italian maybe?”

He shakes his head. “We shouldn’t do take out anymore, it’s basically inviting a serial killer into our home, giving him some place to come back later when I’m not around.”

Right. The paranoia.

You knew things were going to be different when Spencer came home, and you did your best to adjust with an open mind. Sleepless nights consoling him, countless days spent trying to pull him from his own mind. Through tears and breaking points and a few instances where he utterly scares you, you know he’s still your same Spence, but just a little hardened now. He’s still the man who spent too much on a ring, still the dorky guy you fell for those years ago.

Things are just…a little rough.

“Okay.” You say to his statement. “I’ll whip something up then.”

At the sight of your willingness to give something up, he feels immensely bad.

“No.” He sighs, shaking his head. “No, I’m being stupid. Italian sounds fine.”

The bad habit of being too harsh on himself has been hard to kick, but it’s getting better… you think.

So you order Italian and eat in front of the television while Spencer fact checks what the characters are saying, criticizing the antics of these fictional people. It feels so normal, the whole situation, it makes you momentarily have amnesia, as if the two of you are exactly like before. You lean into his side and laugh at the sitcom, thinking that this Spencer hasn’t experienced what he has, that everyone around the two of you still feel the happy affects of your love, that you test wedding cakes and look for a bigger place. A place the two of you can buy together and start a family.

“I’m gonna shower.” He says, rubbing your shoulder.

Looking up at him, you smile playfully. “Want company?”

There it was, that reminder that things weren’t like before.

He kind of just shakes his head with a smile and leaves without anything else.

You know he doesn’t mean to, but sometimes he makes you feel about an inch tall. He used to look at you with this heavy gaze, something needy, something that never failed to make you feel like the prettiest girl in the world. His hands would find a home on your skin, he used to kiss for fun.

You don’t remember exactly when he last gripped you in a way that wasn’t just polite.

You know he has fears, he has it in his head that he is a danger to himself and you, that his hands are murderous, but it doesn’t feel the best when you’re constantly rejected by the man you’re going to marry.

Rubbing your eyes, you clean up the dinner mess and then go to the bedroom to slip into pajamas. The floor length mirror shines your reflection, you stop to stare.

Maybe you weren’t the first pick, maybe you hated what you saw sometimes, but the thing about Spencer was he was so sure that no one could ever do it like you. A slew of compliments he’d give you, the fever of his love was scorching.

You give the girl in the mirror a smile, then comb her hair with your fingers and smooth your tank top.

Silly enough, you turn to the side, wrapping your arms around an invisible bump, and you smile fondly at the thought. Two kids. A boy and a girl. Little geniuses. That’s what he and you would talk about. The next thing after he marries you, the next thing he’d do was give you a baby. He swore up and down at night when you laid with your head on his beating heart, he’d give you the family you craved and your face would hurt from smiling so much.

All plans are at a stand still now.

And that’s okay, wasn’t it? This was a rough patch and you’re helping Spencer get through it because you’d help him with anything-

The bedroom door opens, Spencer walks in and you step away from the looking glass.

“I’m going to get ready for bed.” You mumble, walking past him, cheeks burning red.

To say the least, Spencer feels horrible. Here you were, giving him your undying loyalty, holding his hand through all of it, and he’s the reason life has stopped. You’re so brave about it, always patient and understanding.

He hates it.

You should be angry, you should be arguing. He knows his bad moods kill you, he knows you’re waiting for things to be normal again and they won’t. You get up in the middle of the night when he’s asleep and put on your wedding dress, just to smile at yourself and promise that soon, it’ll be better. You think he doesn’t realize, that he’s passed out, but from the bed he watches you turn in front of the mirror and bite your lip, the way you always do when you’re too pleased with something. Then he sees you cry, softly, hand pressed to lips so you don’t make any noise and inconvenience him. You only let the break happen for a fee minutes, then you wipe your tears, take off the dress and tell yourself that it’s all alright.

Things will be okay.

What if they won’t?

What if it all just crumbles, every wall of the castles built?

It’s not a matter of ‘what if’s’ anymore, is it? Not when the two of you argue into the morning about things. You’re trying so hard to give him the benefit of the doubt but when he isn’t giving you anything at all, it makes for situations like this one.

Head in your hands, you pause for a brief moment and breathe before looking back up at Spencer. The two of you have been at this for about an hour and a half, all because you mentioned how unfair he’s being. Here you were, taking the scraps he throws to you like you’re a dog, and he’s saying it’s you who is unfair.

“I know you want things to go back to the way they were, but it’s not gonna happen.” He says in that bitter tone you hate, looking down at you, sitting on the mattress.

“I know things are different, Spencer.” You claim. “But I didn’t think I had to be okay with you hardly looking at me, or-or not baring to ask me a simple question like how my day was.”

He scoffs at you, running a hand through his unruly hair. “I’m sorry if my attention isn’t devoted to you now.”

You stand to match his position. “Don’t make me seem selfish.” You shout.

“I’m- you’re not selfish, I just…what do you want from me?” He questions, throwing his arms out and staring at you with absolutely no love in his eyes.

“What do I want?” You reword. “What I want is some progress. Every day I wake up, and I do my best to convince you that you’re not something evil, that these unforeseen circumstances don’t define you, and it’s like I’m stuck in a loop. I can’t help you if you don’t help yourself.”

A lump forms in your throat, your eyes burn but you can’t find it in yourself to let those tears fall.

“That’s the problem!” Spencer shouts. “You’re looking at me like I’m some sort of sick animal and I can’t stand it!”

“You’re looking at me like I’m not the love of your life anymore, so I suppose some things change.”

Silence.

Spencer’s at a loss for words.

Your tears start falling now. You wipe at them with fever.

“I’m trying to give you time, Spence.”

“Angel-” He tries to interrupt, only to be stopped with the movement of your hand in the air, halting him.

“Don’t. Don’t be like this. I know this hasn’t been easy for you, but I have felt so alone.” You say with a squeak. “And you just… don’t care.”

He shakes his head, demeanor changing. “Of course I care!”

“Really? Because it feels like you gave up on me when you gave up on yourself.” You gasp lightly, trying to calm your shaking hands. “And that’s mean, baby. I know you have been through so much and you lost the game of chance, and I’m sorry- I am so sorry, but you can’t toss me aside like I haven’t formed my whole life around you!”

It’s strange, standing in a room that once knew laughter and the warmth of your escapades. Only now, it’s ghostly and tired and blue. Spencer wants to defend it, wants to shout that you’re just not understanding him but it’s wrong. You understand him better than anyone ever has, and you’re immensely right, he’s abusing the situation. He knows all of this and can’t help but back peddle like his life depends on it.

“I’m not trying to toss you aside, I’m sorry.” He says, reaching out to grab you, deciding his touch can’t be your downfall.

But you side step him. “But you are, do you not understand? Use that smart head of yours to realize the instance here.” You plead. “If you’re done trying, then I am to because I have no more to give. I’m empty, you took it all from me, Spence. What do I get in return? Nothing, not even a fucking marriage.”

There’s a certain level of hurt that mixes with the anger and creates something crazy in your brain, makes it malfunction and all your repressed thoughts come out.

As you go to leave the bedroom, Spencer follows after. “What does that mean?” He asks.

You need to get out, these walls are whispering with your promises of a future, they’re getting louder.

“You aren’t going to marry me.” You state, searching for some place to hide and sink away.

“Of course I am.” He claims, calling your name to stop you.

“You can’t even pretend like you love me, Spencer, you aren’t going to marry me.”

A hand catches your arm and spins you to face him. His eyes are confused and reeling.

“I do love you, I always have.”

There’s a waver in his voice, is there?

I swallow. “Say it again. With feeling.”

“I love you!”

As the air leaves your lungs in a death rattle sort of way, you just can’t feel the warmth. It makes sense, ghosts have no heat, no matter how beloved they are. You know he expects you to give a different statement than what you do, and it hurts when you tell him the truth.

“I don’t think that’s enough now.”

“Don’t say that.” His tone comes out angrier than intended.

“I just did.”

One might describe him as a scared dog, one who lashes out now like he never used to.

“It’s not enough? Then why don’t you just spare yourself?” He spits, resembling a man you’ve never known, tossing your arm aside, probably too harshly.

The knife twists in your chest, you’re convinced you’re bleeding. Slowly, you nod. The ring seems to hold on for dear life, but you still pull it from your finger and offer it forward.

Everything inside of him feels sick as he reaches out his hand, watching as you drop the diamond into his palm.

With your heartbeat in your ears, you go to the door, sliding into your shoes and grabbing your heavy coat to brave into the weather. With Spencer calling your name, you shut the door on his impending questions of where you’re going.

Spencer stares at the door, and for a moment he can’t believe it all happened like it did. But he said the words and you followed his lead like the faithful partner you are and now you’re gone.

It takes him twenty two minutes before he begins to really panic. What if you’re gone forever? What if some force is going to take you now? Where did you go? Are you cold?

And if you left, that meant he’s alone for good, alone like he’s always been. How could he do this to you? He’s horrible, he’s a monster, all of those things he’s thought about are true.

He sets the ring on the counter, then throws the dirty coffee mug into the sink with such force, it breaks.

He paces the apartment while you stand at Penelope’s door, your dearest friend you only know because of Spencer, trying to hold it together until she comes to find you.

“What happened?” She asks, taking in your appearance.

“I don’t– know.” You sob out.

Two weeks later…

…

…

…It’s a weird feeling, having your spine split in half from carrying so much weight uphill for so long. You know a lot about weird feelings now, that empty space in your chest, Spencer sized, that’s your new lover.

Penelope sets a duffel bag by the pullout couch where you hardly move from, she’s been making trips to the apartment over the days to retrieve what you need.

“Hey, lovebug.” She coos softly, sitting by your knees, petting your mess of hair. “How was work?”

You open your mouth to tell her it was fine, that today was actually a good day, all the way up until Spencer texted you and asked if you wanted to move all of your things out.

A strangled sigh leaves your cracked lips.

This sums up how the last two weeks have been, and you wonder if Pen is a little embarrassed for you yet, the way you can hardly get out of bed.

“Emily and JJ and I are going out…why don’t you take a shower and come with us? It’ll make you feel better.” She says in such a gentle tone, one she’s learned that can get you to do anything.

It drags you to the shower, where you sag against the wall and do your daily crying. Then you get dressed and tame your hair and somehow make it to the bar.

Emily and JJ look at you with pity and you have no energy to be upset.

“Reid’s not enjoying it either.” Emily offers in a corner booth, because the conversation has turned to discussing the loss of your life.

Pen and JJ nod in agreement.

The BAU feels like they’re going through this break up at the way Spencer’s moods affect all of them. They’ve never known his anger like they do now, how he’s quick to snap, how the littlest thing sets him off. They’ll spare you, they won’t tell you how he swiped the picture frames off his desk, the ones of you and him. They won’t mention the fact that he hasn’t smiled once, that he looks like he doesn’t sleep.

They won’t tell you any of this but they’ll offer words of condolence or comfort, neither work.

“It’s going to be alright.” Emily encourages, squeezing your hand from across the table. “Heartache doesn’t stay forever.”

JJ nods like it’s going to fix the way you’re as empty as a drum.

“We all know how you’re feeling, don’t worry.” She says, her perfect, Barbie doll smile.

It makes you sick. You really shouldn’t take the anger out on anyone, but you do because there’s so much of it and you can’t stop it from flowing.

“You know what I’m going through?” You question her.

“Yes, I’ve had heartaches too.”

You suddenly can’t stand being here, you need to leave.

“You can go home to a husband, Jennifer, you don’t know how I feel.”

With those as your parting words, you flee, you tell Penelope you need air and you’ll see her at her apartment.

While you brave the cold city, the three women ask themselves how it could have possibly ended like this, with the greatest love of all in shambles. JJ calls Reid, of course she does.

“You need to fix this.” She tells him.

“…How is she?” He asks, sitting on the sofa, eyeing the framed pictures on the wall.

“She’s…lost. She’s ghostly, she-…Spencer, she loves you and she can’t stop. Fix it.”

“I don’t know how.” He says, monotone.

“How did it end, anyway?” She asks, seeing Emily and Penelope return with more drinks.

Spencer sort of sighs, though it’s sad and broken.

“I don’t know.”

- - - -

The air bites, it’s as cold as you feel, makes your bones ache. You wander in hopes of getting lost permanently, but to no avail, you know your city. Your city that feels so harsh and cruel, it’s one big reminder that you used to not walk the sidewalks alone, that you once stole kisses under streetlights. And as you’re walking down fifth avenue and memory lane, your feet drag you to the place you really want to go. In the time you left the bar and got frostbite from the early stages of falling snow, you’ve worked yourself up enough to believe you could stand your ground. Your anger has made a platform to stand on, you’re at the top of the fucking podium by the time you knock on the apartment door.

Why are you knocking?

Your name is on the fucking lease.

You shove the key in the lock and barge in, mouth agape, ready to fire.

And then you see it.

The bedroom door is only halfway shut, but you see movement. In the room that is gray and sullen, Spencer stands with his back to the door, staring at the cascade of white that he has laid on the bed like a memorial, like it was an open casket viewing.

Your podium shrinks.

“I was going to wear my hair up.” You say, causing him to turn and face you.

He’s tired, hair messy, unshaven, and those round brown eyes are the saddest things you’ve ever seen.

“I like your hair up.” He says, the words echo off exposed brick walls.

Heart beats pass, ba-bum ba-bum in your ears and you quickly huff and bush melted snow through your hair.

“I’ll get my things out now, if you want.” You say, choosing words carefully, eyes watching the way his avoid you.

“I don’t have any boxes.” He says, fingers brushing satin and lace before he picks the dress back up, puts it in the dust bag and death marches it to you. “You would’ve looked beautiful…you always look beautiful.”

How is it he can be so blissfully unaware? The smartest man you’ve ever known and he’s saying things to break your heart, with no clue that he’s doing it. You take that dress- that beautiful, vintage gown with the hundred fabric buttons running down the back, and lay it over your arm, then rock back on your heels.

“I can grab what I can and come by when you’re at work to get the rest.” You offer, wishing he’d say all the things you want him to say, like stay and I’m an idiot and I love you.

Spencer only nods. “Yeah. That works.”

“Okay…” You whisper, then drape the dress over the reading chair in the corner, the one too small for the both of you. You used to curl as small as possible on his lap with your legs over the arm and your head on his shoulder.

Every corner of this place is haunted.

In the closet, you pull the string and the lightbulb burns orange. You grab the two handheld suitcases, the ones you came home to find on the bed one day with Spencer telling you he was taking you to London while your school was on Spring Break.

When you come back out, Spencer’s left the room. There was no way he could watch you pull open the drawers where your things sat beside his.

With a knot in your throat, you fold and place things neatly and keep your cool like the mature adult you are.

That is until you grab the MIT t-shirt you’ve worn in. It’s a light gray color now, the neckline stretched so it only hangs right on you and not Spencer. Holding the ratty shirt you refuse to let him toss, that’s when you decide you don’t want to be a mature adult.

You’re a teenager with a broken heart is what it feels like, the world is ending and your soul has been split in half.

One tear comes, and then another, and one more until your face is soaked with your desperation and mourning. You ball that silly t shirt up at toss it away, and decide those suitcases are insufferable and onto the floor they go.

You stare at them, the clatter they made did nothing for comfort. With a raspy sigh, you sink to your knees to put everything back inside, and your blurry eyes drift to Spencer’s socks that appear in front of you after he hears the bang.

Wordlessly and gentle, he lowers his tall frame to crouch in front of you. The look in his eye is fools gold, it makes you think he’s the Spencer he was before everything.

You look at him, sure you look like a mess but you don’t care. Your chapped lips part and he’s prepared for the scolding, for your temper.

It doesn’t come.

“We were supposed to grow old together.” You sob out. “It was gonna be you and me, Spence, wearing matching outfits when we’re eighty, going to senior discount days at the theater.”

Those are the words that bring him back to reality, and the fall is harsh and he’s mortified that he’s done this to you.

You hiccup for air, pushing his hand away that tries to grab the suitcase. “I was going to walk down the aisle to an instrumental version of Heartbeat by The Fray, it’s unconventional but it’s my favorite song.”

“I know.” He whispers sadly.

“We didn’t make a deposit on that little venue with the pond, they gave our spot away but that’s okay, we were going to figure it out because we always do. We always do, Spencer.”

You’re not even sure you’re making sense but he understands, you could go mute completely and he’d understand because you’re his person, who he’s ruined.

“I know. I know, baby, I know.” He keeps repeating, adjusting to pull you away from the mess and into him.

With no strength left, you have no fuel for the fight. You fall into him, face in his chest as he sits against the bed and hugs you like he’s not seen you in years. It’s what it feels like, he hasn’t had you this close in too long. His fingers press into your skin, the warmth is almost groundbreaking in feeling, makes him unsure of where to hold you because he wants to touch everywhere, all at once. A lifeless frame full of hunger, you can’t move as you feel his caring grip in your hair, his lips to your crown as you can’t seem to get a solid breath in.

“Don’t make me leave you.” You plead, curling into him like a whimpering dog, clutching his chest to make sure there’s still a heart in there that beats for you.

Spencer’s crying now, the familiar feeling of fear in his lungs that don’t want to expand if you’re not around. He drags hair out of your face and presses his forehead to yours.

“I don’t want you to leave. Don’t leave me, don’t leave me.” He says with the emotion of the man before.

And just like that, you waltz right back into each other, you know the steps. Sitting in your fairytale, on the cold hardwood floor, listening to the steady beat of his heart, you both determine this isn’t the end of the greatest love affair they’ve ever seen.

You’re not sure how long you stay like this, in his lap, face red and salty as you stare at your bare left hand, but eventually the tears stop for the both of you. Spencer is the first to speak, he gently shifts, his hand sliding up your arm and shoulder to rest on the side of your neck, as if he’s checking your pulse.

“I’m sorry.” He rasps. “I’m sorry for everything, all of it, every single thing I did and said and ruined. I’m an idiot, angel, and you don’t know how lovely you are.”

Like water to a flame, those words are cooling. The grief and remorse in his tone makes you grab that hand checking your lifeline, and hold it.

“I’m sorry too.” You say. “For everything that went wrong and the fact I couldn’t do anything about it.”

His chest shudders, he leans down and kisses your forehead. “It doesn’t matter, it’s over now.”

You tilt your gaze up to meet his eye. “Is it?”

Bless you and the ground you walk on that he should worship better. Spencer gently runs his finger down your cheek and across your jawline. He nods then. “Yeah, baby, it is.”

[thenickgirl]

JEALOUS part two

bf!nick x oc!jalen

➳ part one

summary: in which Nick gets jealous during a party.

type: oneshot ❀ genre: comfort/smut ❀ pov: third ❀ wc: 1.8K

warnings: swearing, anal sex, bottom!nick, top!jalen

a/n: finally, here’s part two, yayyyy. i hope it’s worth the wait. the ending is saur cringy, but i couldn’t come up with anything else, i’m literally just a girl okay. happy reading! ❀

‘And I know that you’re not honest

Now you got me yellin’

That’s because I’m jealous’

‘I’m just jealous, I’m just human’

Jalen sat at the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, as his mind replayed the events that just occurred. He was upset, he knew that there hadn’t been anything going on between him and the guy tonight, and he couldn’t believe Nick would even think he’d do something like that. He loved Nick, and would never hurt him, and Nick should’ve known that. But, the more and more Jalen sat with his thoughts, he came to a realization, and immediately rose to his feet, heading towards the bathroom door.

He stood there hesitating at first, wondering if he should just let it go, and sleep on the couch, but he didn’t think that was fair. He didn’t start the argument after all, so he shouldn’t have to be the one to apologize first, he thought. But their relationship meant too much to him, Nick meant too much to him, and they agreed to never go to bed angry, so he swallowed his pride, and knocked.

“Baby, open the door. Let’s talk about this,” Jalen says, now desperately wanting to apologize.

“I’m done talking, J. Just leave me alone!” Nick responds through the door, and Jalen could hear him sniffling, which made his heart break.

“I’m sorry, peach. C’mon, please, open the door,” Jalen pleaded, twisting at the knob, sighing when he was left with silence. He pressed his forehead against the door, uttering a final ‘please.’ He closed his eyes, feeling defeated, until he heard a click from the other side.

Nick opened the door, his eyes were wet and red, and before Jalen could even say anything, Nick had turned and walked back to the sink, before sitting on it. Jalen stepped in cautiously, settling across from him, leaning against the shower wall. A heavy silence fell between the two for a while, until Nick spoke up.

“Is that really all you think of me?” he mumbled as he looked down, avoiding eye contact. His eyes caught hold of their matching shoes. Despite how hurt he was, the sight of it made his heart skip a beat.

“No, of course not. I don’t…I-I didn’t mean-“

“You said it,” Nick cut him off.

“I know, and I shouldn’t have. I was just upset, and offended, and I know that’s not an excuse but,” Jalen trails off, “Nick, we can’t keep doing this,” he mumbled.

Nick's head shot up, eyes narrowing at what he thought his boyfriend was implying, “W-what are you saying…?” he replies, baffled.

Jalen rushed to Nick, wanting to reassure him that he wasn’t saying what he knew Nick was assuming, “I’m not saying anything. C’mon, peach, just talk to me. Actually talk, no more arguing,” His tone was soft, pleading, as he now stood in front of Nick. He wanted so badly to touch him, but decided against it, not wanting to make him more upset, or uncomfortable.

Nick looked everywhere, but at the man in front of him. Jalen moved to sit beside him on the sink, another heavy silence falling between the couple. Jalen knew how much Nick hated being so vulnerable, so instead, he spoke up, in hopes that Nick would open up more.

“You know…maybe I did get carried away tonight. I’m too friendly at times, and I can admit that. I guess, I wasn’t thinking about how all that might look to you, or how it would make you feel, and I’m sorry. I know you weren’t being insecure, that was stupid of me to say. I shouldn’t have been so defensive. Your feelings are valid, and I should have considered them. You weren't being dramatic. Well,” he pauses, “Maybe a little bit,” Jalen teases, earning a small chuckle from his boyfriend.

“If I’m being honest, had the roles been reversed, I probably would’ve reacted the same way. I never meant to hurt you, peach.” Jalen says sincerely, as he turned his head slightly to look at Nick, who was staring down at the floor below him. After a bit of silence, the dread headed boy slid off of the sink, deciding to let Nick have some space to think. As he inched towards the door, he heard a very faint ‘wait’.

Nick finally decides to speak up, his voice weak, and cracking, from all the crying just prior. “I was jealous, and maybe I overreact-“ Jalen interjects, walking back towards Nick.

“No, you were right. I should’ve-“

“No, J, let me finish,” Nick says, interrupting Jalen.

“I overreacted. Deep down, I knew you weren’t flirting with him, or anything like that. I just hated watching you enjoy someone else's company so much.” Nick began, his eyes still not meeting Jalen’s as he bit his lip, hoping it would help bite back the tears, “I guess, I was just pushing you away cause I’m-“ Nick shrugs slightly, wondering if he should even admit something like this. “Scared.” He whispered, his eyes fluttering as the tears that were rebuilding finally broke free.

“Scared of what, baby?” Jalen asks, as he steps even closer, settling in between his lover's legs. He cups Nick’s face in his large hands, his desert brown eyes looking deeply into the ocean blue ones beneath him, as his thumb gently swipes the tears that had fallen.

“Losing you. Of you finding peace, and happiness with someone else…With someone like him,” Nick admits, his voice croaking out the last sentence.

“I don’t want anyone else. I don’t need anyone else. That guy meant nothing to me, absolutely nothing. He wasn’t even that funny, I was just trying to be nice. Nick, there’s not one person that can compete with you, baby. You’re it for me.” Jalen reassures him.

Nick immediately becomes flustered, his cheeks, and ears beginning to heat up, as he playfully pushes Jalen away from him, “Stop making me blush.”

Jalen chuckles at Nick's suddenly shy demeanor, “It’s true, peach. I’m so sorry about tonight.”

“I’m sorry too, J. I shouldn’t have lashed out like that, I should’ve just been honest about how I was feeling. It won’t happen again.” Nick vowed with confidence, he would never let what transpired tonight happen again. He loved Jalen, and what they had so much.

Nick engulfed Jalen in a hug, his face buried in his chest, as Jalen’s arms wrapped around Nick’s shoulders. Jalen softly kisses the crown of Nick’s head, a much lighter silence now falling amongst them.

“I love you,” they both whisper at the same time, before chuckling.

Jalen pulls back, leaning down, capturing Nick’s lips. He tries his best to pour every ounce of love he has into it. Nick deepens the kiss, moaning into his mouth as his arms wrap around Jalen’s neck. Jalen swiftly swoops Nick off of the sink, carrying him into the bedroom, without breaking the kiss. He then lays him gently on the bed, his tall frame hovering over Nick’s petite one. Nick's hands roam his boyfriend's body as they kiss passionately, his fingers brush against Jalen’s brown skin as he slides them under his shirt. He then tugs it off of him, breaking the kiss for just a moment before kissing him again.

The feeling of Jalen’s lips on his was driving the brunette wild, but he was craving more of him. He managed to unbutton Jalen’s jeans, before dipping his hand inside. A gasp emitted from Jalen’s lips, as he pulled away from the kiss when Nick’s hand palmed his semi hard dick through his boxers. Jalen’s hips involuntarily buck into Nick’s hand, as he worked his length, his thumb tracing circles around his tip, coating it with the precum that had already leaked.

“Mine,” Nick says, more as a statement than a question, his eyes staring into Jalen’s while he pumped his length, and Jalen let out a ragged breath, “Fuck yes, all yours,” he nodded, as he moaned.

Jalen takes Nick’s hand from his body, before swiftly discarding both of their clothes. He then reaches into the nightstand, grabbing a bottle of lubricant, before squeezing it onto his fingers. He spends some time working Nick open, as he moans at the feeling of Jalen’s fingers curling inside of him.

Nick gasps once Jalen carefully slides into him. No matter how many times they’ve been intimate, he never gets used to his size. Jalen moans at the way Nick fits him like a glove, almost like he was made just for him. He leans down to kiss the brunette’s neck, sucking and biting at his skin, before smoothing the mark over with his tongue. The sensation against Nick’s sensitive spot causes him to whimper in Jalen’s ear.

“God, I love all the little sounds you make,” Jalen groaned, as hips rocked against Nick’s.

His thrusts were slow and deep, as he had their hands interlocked above Nick’s head. Nick instinctively wraps his legs around Jalen’s waist, drawing him even deeper. His body shook with pleasure each time Jalen bottomed out inside of him.

“So deep, feel so good, f-fuck” Nick moans, as he squeezed on Jalen’s hands. His manicured nails leave crescent moons on his caramel skin, as they dug into the flesh.

“Yeah? Taking me so well, peach, so pretty,” Jalen whispered against his neck. His lips trail down to his boyfriend’s chest, and his teeth latch onto his nipple, and Nick whines. Jalen smooths it over with his tongue, then sucks it, flicking it every so often, before doing the same to the other one. Nick moaned, his back arching at the feeling. Jalen leans up, connecting their lips again, as he releases Nick’s hands, and they immediately wrap around Jalen’s neck, pulling him close.

Their bodies continued to move together in harmony, as the sun began to rise, and Nick felt his release approaching. He lifted his hips in an attempt to meet his lover’s strokes, the motion causing Nick’s walls to squeeze deliciously around Jalen, and he let out a low growl. As he felt that familiar feeling rising, he reached down between them, grabbing Nick’s length, before working his tip with the palm of his hand.

“Jalen…” Nick whimpered, as his body shuddered. His nails dig into Jalen’s back, as he’s brought closer, and closer to the edge.

“I know, baby, I know. Cum with me.” Jalen encourages, as he bottoms out for a final time. His hips stutter while he empties his load deep inside of Nick, as they cum in sync.

Jalen collapses on top of him, both panting, as he peppers soft kisses along Nick’s shoulder. He rolls off of him carefully, before pulling Nick to his side, his arm cradling his back. The brunette rests his head on Jalen’s chest, loving the way their heart beats synchronized.

“I love you, J. I couldn’t have asked for a better boyfriend.” Nick confessed, as he reached up to caress Jalen’s face, pressing a soft kiss on his jaw.

“I mean, you could. You just wouldn’t find one,” Jalen teased, as he winked down at Nick.

“Oh my god, shut uppp,” Nick rolls his eyes, slapping Jalen’s chest playfully, as they both laugh.

Jalen kisses the top of Nick’s head lovingly, “I’m just kidding. I love you, peach. Today, tomorrow, and forever.”

‘If you’re keeping your promise, I’m keeping mine’

—

✎ signed,

𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝑔𝒾𝓇𝓁 ❀

🏷️: @muwapsturniolo @luverboychris @freshloveforthefit @sturniolossss @sturniioloslut @ameerahsblog @yukayoooh @freshloveee @asherrisrandom @dumbf2ck @maliaforstvrns @nicksbestie @emely9274 @marrykisskilled @ksturnz @colorthecosmos444 @tyummyz @idrk2292 @sturniololuv08 @soursturniolo

[esquirlada]

If you don't mind me, I'm going to ellaborate on my xeno proposal.

In paper both monsterfucking and xenobiology is the same. Xeno means a human fucks an entity with different biology (specifically in the genital area). Monsterfucking is a type of xeno, but the main takeaway is that the monster in the monsterfucking has to be considered dangerous. It doesn't matter if you think vampires are sexy or your werewolf boyfriend is a golden retriever, the entire point of monsterfucking is that there is (or was) a real danger, and wether that danger is still present (which is hot) or has been tamed (which is cute), the main implication is that the other is a creature one /should/ fear but doesn't (or still does, but the hornyness is stronger).

THAT is what's racist when applied to singers. They're not dangerous, they're not a threat, at least not in any way thats different from humans. They have armor (so do humans), they have surges (so do humans), they have immortals (so do humans). Calling them monsters implies they are inherently dangerous just for being singers. That on itself would probably be fine in another story where they fit another role, but the subject at hand is that they're written as explicitly as can be as indigenous people. People who, in the real world, historically have been called dangerous and monsters as a way to justify their colonization and genocide. Which is, by the way, exactly what Rosharan humans did to singers once they started to take their lands.

So, in the end, yes, a lot of this issue with the definition is political, and I know some people really don't like to think of it that way, but we like the Stormlight Archive because of it's politics. (Also, we're on Tumblr, come on). At the same time, there is a technical difference that's worth noting, and if it helps people change their minds, so be it.

Xenobiology is a neutral label. It just means two people fuck and one of them has non-human anatomy. Full disclosure, it is still a kink, just like monsterfucker. It implies that either the character or the person writing is into the difference itself. If you don't feel comfortable with that implication that's up to you, but if you were willing to use monsterfucking I guess we're past that point.

Of course, if you're not planning on using different anatomy for Rlain you don't need to label it either; humans are described as being perpetually in mateform from a singer's pov, so that leads me to believe their genitals are not much different. But if you don't want to follow canon and add a few things here and there, Xeno is your best friend.

Finally, back to the original point, just please, PLEASE think about the words you use and the implications they have in your fanwork. Thank you for reading this far.

calling renarin a monsterlover/monsterfucker cuz he’s into rlain feels. weird. like that feels Weird to y’all right. rlain isn’t a Monster he’s a dude person from a complex culture with his own views on loving a human, a species that is equally weird and unique to him as singers are to humans……

[antivivziepopparade]

(TW: MENTIONS OF RAPE.) Do NOT watch this video. Its clickbait garbage that deserves to be reported for harassment.

I dont care if you dislike the fandom:

This video REFUSED to mention what was ACTUALLY WRONG!

-and instead stuck to cringe culture by:

-Laughing at people for simply enjoying the fandom or show, even the parts that are harmless.

-By laughing at someone who was crying because of RAPE! I dont care if it was fictional rape, that shit effects reality by effecting how victims are treated IN REAL LIFE! So the person crying just shows that they have human empathy, something the creator of this video genuinely seems to lack. Laughing at people for crying about rape is harassment. Enough said.

Cringe Culture is fucking sickening. Stop harassing people for enjoying the show for fucks sake! The fact that we as a civilization ignored Shay's death but made videos like this insted sickens me to no end. Fuck this fandom, honestly.

-The creator refusing to mention Shay's death or any of the ACTUAL problems with Vivziepop's fandom.

-Literally went "I CANT FIND ANYTHING BAD THAT VIVZIEPOP DID!" and fucking goes "THERES NO EVIDENCE EXCEPT FOR....." when the evidence is EVERYWHERE at this point and not just Tumblr but the creator STILL tries to hide shit like a coward.

The video only does ONE thing right by calling out the fandom for allowing kids to be in adult spaces, but thats it!

Its not worth watching, even as a hate watch, and you should avoid this video at all costs and read the document on what happened to Shay insteaad, as it truly shows what is wrong with this fandom.

Not enjoying the show....

But BULLYING PEOPLE!

That's whats wrong with it! Stop validating cringe culture, I am so sickened by the fact that videos like this refused to mention what happened to Shay.

So many are, and its sickening.

It really is sickening that only ONE video has mentioned Shay so far.

Otherwise, people have either been covering up shit (looking at you Ayy Lmao...) or bullying innocent people. Im so sick of this video and honestly hope that it gets reported for bullying. 👇🏾

REPORT IT! BOTH the videos who laughed at that poor person for crying about Angel Dust being raped.

Cringe Culture does NOT deserve to happen, rape in media being cried about is NOT a "joke." Being a fan of the show, at all, is not a "bad" thing.

CRINGE CULTURE IS DEAD! Period.

EDIT:

This!

[stardrop-sims]

so, why did I delete my old blog? The short answer is I banned yin-shimo/tianshi88 from my now defunct occult simblr server and his friends proceeded to spin a narrative on tumblr that was false. In the moment it was not worth it to me fight back, but I am back and I am fighting for what I think is right–sharing what happened and why we chose to ban him in the first place. 

If you want the full details, I am going to lay it out under the cut but bare with me, I have never had to defend myself like this, and never thought I would. You can view this as drama or whatever, idc. I just want to say my peace and not have to think nor talk about this ever again.

Also, do not harass the mods if you know who they were. Do not harass anyone shown in the screenshots, they are only shown here for transparency sake. 

cw: homophobic rhetoric, harassment, sexualization of a minor mention

A few months ago I made the occult simblr, baby! discord server. It was public so anyone could join and there was no way for me to guess how many people would end up joining! (Almost 80!) I am thankful for the learning experience but it ended on a sour note. 

One of the users who joined goes by tianshi88/yin-shimo, a known cc creator in occult simmer circles, but to be frank, I was completely unaware of this person until yin-shimo joined my server and occasionally talked.

Some time goes by, and one of the mods suggests we create a server blog to reblog our users’ content! I say yes. It was a good idea, but an anonymous ask came in (screenshot below). This is where things go south. I made the call to reply publicly, which I regret, but only because a few people made it way more trouble than what it was worth.

So let's talk about the claims and what we (the mod team at the time and myself) found out—the initial post by yooniesim (link to his post about it, which he gave me permission to link here!) The allegation is about sexualization of a fictionalized minor in the anime/manga Blue Lock. Yin-shimo himself claims this pose is done by the character in the media itself. The character in question is a teenager. I hate that I am explaining this here but ahegao is essentially a sexual pose from hentai (anime porn). It is my opinion that media portrayal of this kind of thing is weird at best, dangerous at worst. The fact that it is a reference to it is a problem in of itself, but ultimately we decided this behavior was weird (as well as his actions following the initial callout about it) and it was best to remove him from the server and we made a brief statement in the server given the circumstances surrounding it. I do not have the screenshot for this server announcement nor our reply, but nowhere did in the original ask nor in the replies we made as mods, did anyone call him a pedophile. We stated “sexualized a fictional character” because that’s what it was. 

However, worth noting there are other things he has done, which imo are worse than what I am detailing here, as referenced in Yoonie’s linked post, that added to the decision to ban him, which can be triggering to read about, so fair warning! 

The next day I considered deleting the ask of the blog to not create drama out of something serious, but I didn't before I received a reply from puppycheesecake.

I do not have the screenshot but they essentially accused us of framing him as a pedophile–this is where I became aware of yin-shimo’s sexuality/pronouns for the first time and said we were participating in a witch hunt of a gay man started by “one person” ( the anon).

My response was to delete the ask and block them. I would have responded and told them to stop lying, because that’s what they were doing. But as a queer person, being accused of that triggered me on top of everything else so I deleted the ask and the mods and I made the decision to make a second statement to tie up loose ends in the server.  We turned off anon asks on that blog, and the day after i decide to take a break, what happens?

This reblog of a shitpost on my personal blog, on a post in which I  am talking about how much I love simblr shows up in my notifications—

That was the moment I was done. You’re not going to come onto my blog with lies and try to spin a narrative when it’s very clear you are more interested in protecting your friend than what is true.

most of the mods, including me, are trans/queer, so fuck off with that “gay man is a pedophile” narrative that you’re weaponizing. 

I didn't know yin-shimo’s pronouns nor sexuality, nor did it come up when the mods and I made the decision to ban him from the server.

This behavior is childish–something like this should have never happened in an 18+ server, nor should this have turned into drama, and yet here we are. 

As for “only one person” (as referenced by puppycheesecake)—once we made the call to ban him, several people came forward to tell us his presence made them uncomfortable in the server, so I think we made the right decision in the end. 

Ultimately, yin-shimo is upset he has to face consequences for his own actions and used his friends—neither of which were in the server—to do his dirty work. 

I regret answering the question publicly but I am not sorry for banning him, nor will I apologize for what we did not do–which is what is alleged in what context I have provided. I am going to reiterate that not once did the mods call him a pedophile. 

To everyone else, it is up to you how you want to curate your online space and who you want to interact with. I am not making that decision for you, but hopefully this clears things up.

[glossypolaroidkisses]

Hi lovely!! I just read your recent response to an anon question and saw you mention being an eldest daughter and omg as a fellow eldest daughter how do you think lu would be like with a hyper independent girlfriend who basically had to learn things in life on her own and isn’t used to having people genuinely want to help her without feeling like she owes back ?

I can’t wait to read your works xx

Hello!! Thank you for being here:)) I really appreciate all the support, mwah! I see you, you're valid! It's rough out here!! As the oldest sister with a younger brother, the sexism on top of all the responsibilities was exhausting. My experience as a parentified child may shape my perspective, but I hope this still resonates with you as a fellow eldest daughter <3

(Scroll down to skip to oneshot)

Luigi to me, very much seems like a giver. Generous partner! Always wants to help you with things, acts of service! He is obviously anti-materialism, but loves gifting you items that involve your hobbies and interests; Books of your favourite genres/tropes, if you like painting, he’ll buy you the finest paint-brushes and acrylics. Wanna stargaze?; He’ll research to buy the highest quality telescope for you. 

He loves showering you with compliments, and he’s a natural helper. It’s second nature to him! It’s how he shows the people he loves that he cares, by helping.

He’s not flashy or materialistic, but he buys things that he knows will provide meaningful experiences for you. 

You grew up having to manage everything yourself from a young age. When someone gave something to you or did something for you, you were always left having this expectation of the favour somehow having to be returned. You’ve always had to be ‘the fixer’. Because of how kind and capable you are, you have ended up in toxic friendships and relationships where people took advantage of your kindness and willingness to be helpful. 

You struggle to let your guard down, believe that others are genuine, and accept compliments or help of any sorts. When being offered assistance, your instinct is to hesitate and refuse. 

Before your relationship was serious and you started living together, Luigi only saw your hyper-independence on a surface level; just like everyone else. On the outside, you just radiate bad bitch energy. You’re always busy, working and completing tasks. Luigi loves strong women who know that they don’t need a man for their lives to be fulfilled. You’re intelligent, capable, always handling things on your own with confidence. To be frank, he finds it sexy! 

It wasn’t until you started going over to his place more frequently, that Lu picked up that your independence might come from a place of obligation rather than choice, a survival instinct born from a past where asking for help often came with conditions, expectations, or disappointment.

----------->

Here is one of many oneshots showing how this dynamic could play out! Yes.. this is going to be a series! Once I post the other oneshots, I'll link them at the bottom of this post, or in the comments. Enjoy!

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

General Themes: Trust, vulnerability, emotional healing, reassurance, understanding, sensitivity, love and care

Gender: Mostly gender-neutral, use of "girl" once

Smut?: No

Warnings: Emotional distress, crying, anxiety, possible triggers for past trauma (misunderstandings, interpretation of actions, self-worth issues)

Word Count: 1439

You’re cooking in Luigi’s apartment, standing at the stove. You hum a tune, swaying lightly as you stir in the pot. “Mmmm,” You hear your boyfriend from a couple of feet behind you. After a few steps, you feel his large hands gently grasp your sides, then his arms wrap around your waist. “Smells amazing, baby.” he murmurs by your ear, placing a couple of gentle kisses on your neck.

You stop humming, your body stiffening. Luigi immediately notices, lifting his chin from your shoulder, “Everything alright?” he asks.

“Yeah, I, I just..” You pause. “I’m not in the mood right now, Gi.” you admit. Luigi steps back from you, confused. He leans against the counter next to the stove so he can properly see your face. “I wasn’t trying to have sex or anything, y/n.” he calmly says, genuinely explaining his intentions.

You hold eye contact with his concerned gaze before looking down at the pot, though there’s no real need to monitor it. You’re just stirring soup. “Oh.” you feel a wave of embarrassment wash over you. “Why did you come up behind me then?” you ask, voice a little shaky. Luigi tilts his head, his thick eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He looks away for a second, then shifts his gaze back to your embarrassed expression. “I just wanted to appreciate you, my love.” he says, his tone soft and sincere.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting the emotions before your eyes can visibly tear up. “I’m sorry, I just thought you did that because you wanted it to.. lead.. to something..” you explain. You look up at Luigi again, searching his face for any hint of frustration or confusion.

“No, no, no, I didn’t.. I don’t know why you..” His voice trails off, confused, He takes a moment to think, “Did I do something? I--” Luigi starts, trying to navigate this situation carefully since he can tell you’re in a fragile state. You quickly cut him off, desperate to reassure him, “No, you're fine. You’re perfect. It’s just my brain, I read the situation wrong.” You say in a rush, verbally trying to escape the situation. You force a short chuckle in an attempt to rid the awkward tension.

Luigi takes a deep breath. He steps forward from the counter, towards you. He lifts his hand, delicately pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Is it okay if I touch you?” he asks softly, staring at your face despite your gaze being focused on the soup again. You nod, unable to look at him. He cups the side of your face with his hand, slowly stroking your cheek with his thumb. “You can talk to me about anything, love. I promise I would never do something to you expecting it to lead somewhere, or get something out of you, okay?” he reassures, sincerity written in his tone. You nod. “I’m glad that you felt comfortable telling me you weren't in the mood, though. You must’ve felt so guilty. I would never want to make you uncomfortable.” he says, his voice full of compassion. You nod again, biting the inside of your cheek.

You feel your eyes finally surrender, glazing over with fresh tears. Fuck. You already see Luigi’s expression shift in your peripheral vision. “y/n, baby, what’s wrong?” his voice laced with panic, but trying to maintain a neutral tone.

Avoiding eye contact, trying to regain some control over yourself, you set the spoon down on the stove. You turn off the burner. Thinking his honest words from his heart would help, Luigi is confused at what appears to be you emotionally shutting down. He’s analytical, used to approaching things logically with fact, and solving them with ease. It hurts his heart, not knowing how to immediately and effectively help you.

You step away, your head in your hands. Crying in front of others has always been something you tried to avoid—an old habit from years of being mocked for your sensitivity. Your palms press into your eyelids, as if you believe that pushing hard enough will force the tears back into their ducts. It’s no use. You try your best to take deep breaths, but they’re stifling. Your chest feels tight.

You’ve never been loved like this. You’re damaged. Your past has made it difficult to trust these moments. You accidentally accused him of trying to throw himself onto you, and yet here he is, treating you.. like this? Apologizing to you? Being so graceful, so patient.. with you? It makes your heart ache.

Luigi watches you from a distance, helpless. He doesn’t know exactly how to help, but his heart aches for you, wanting nothing more than to ease your pain. He walks toward you again, determined to offer comfort, even though he isn’t sure how.

Luigi watches you from a few feet away, distressed and helpless. His gaze shifts around the room frantically, up and down your body trying to read its language. His mouth gaped slightly. He needs to act quickly. He wants nothing more than to ease your pain, but he's unsure of how. He walks towards you again, determined to offer comfort one way or another.

“You’re..” you begin an attempt at explaining, stopping Luigi in his tracks. “You’re so kind.” you say, a full fledged sob following your words as you break down completely.

Luigi’s tense shoulders drop, his heart shattering at your words. He could never have imagined that his care and patience would feel so foreign to you, that it would bring you to the point of tears.

You feel his strong arms envelop you, drawing you close against his chest. His lips press a gentle kiss to your forehead. You move your hands to his back, returning the embrace and burying your face in the warmth of his chest. Luigi’s chin rests softly atop your head as you dissolve into his comforting presence, your sobs quieting in his hold.

“You deserve…” he pauses, a lump catching in his throat. He’s never seen you this broken before. “... all the kindness in the world. It's my duty to love you.” he whispers, his voice reveled in emotion.

You catch up to your inhales, taking deeper, more controlled breaths. Tears continue to stream down your face, but not overwhelmingly, with Luigi's hoodie gently absorbing them. With the newfound sense of developing control over your body, you muster the courage to lift your face from Luigi’s chest.

Your puffy, red-rimmed eyes reach his glossy gaze. You didn’t expect to cry in front of him, ever. Normally when you cry, you run to your room, find some way to hide. You never imagined Luigi would see you like this, so raw and vulnerable. His lashes are damp and clumped together. In his eyes, you see that your pain has affected him as if it were his own, yet there’s a sense of relief as he finally meets your beautiful gaze once more.

He sighs deeply, a weight lifted. His hands reach up to cup your face, his thumbs tenderly stroking your cheeks, as if they are your personal windshield wipers.

“My beautiful girl.” he whispers, a small grin tugging at his lips. You smile back, your heart glowing. You place your hands on top of his, feeling their warmth. Closing your eyes once more, you lean into his touch, feeling a sense of security you've never known before.

You look up at Luigi, “Thank you.” you whisper from the depths of your fragile heart, the weight of gratitude in your voice. “I know.. I have so much I need to tell you. I promise I will, eventually.” you say. He nods, that sweet grin having yet to leave his lips since you met his gaze. “Take your time, amore mio. I’ll be here.” he says.

You chuckle lightly, wiping any remaining tears with the back of your hand. “I never thought anyone would see me like this.” you admit.

“I’m honoured you let me. You never have to hide any parts from me, not ever.” Luigi says softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

Reaching up, you caress the side of his face, feeling the stubble beneath your fingers. You pull him down to your level, smiling as his lips get closer to yours. Closing your eyes, your lips meet his in a tender, passionate kiss.

Luigi carried you to his room, where the rest of the night unfolded in a quiet, healing embrace. Cuddling, sharing gentle kisses, opening up more about your childhoods to each other more than you ever have. You shared a comforting bowl of soup before going to bed, sleeping soundly in each other’s warm, safe embrace.  

a/n: hope you enjoyed!! please feel free to leave all sorts of feedback; the good, the bad, the ugly.. LOL i appreciate anyone who took the time to read all this! thank u sm to anon for the request! xoxox!

tt

[number1villainstan]

Hard agree with most of this, and further hot take: Kai using and abusing those he cares about, without seeing any conflict between the two, is just him picking up what his environment is putting down. And I don't mean Garaki's orphanage.

It's canon that Chisaki Kai spent his late childhood, teenage years and young adulthood as part of the Hassaikai, but we know very little about that time before canon starts. We do get one flashback in the anime, where Pops lectures Chisaki for beating up some other kids for calling the Hassaikai villains, but also thanks him for defending the honor of the Hassaikai. Clearly, this is meant to portray Pops as a sympathetic Good Father Figure, but that falls apart as soon as you start looking at the details and question what's going on. Right off the bat you have to notice the mixed messages Pops is sending. It's bad to beat up other kids, but it's good to defend the Hassaikai (by beating up other kids)?? And then there's the lack of context--why are these kids calling the Hassaikai villains? Did Chisaki just come across them talking about the Hassaikai, or were they taunting him? Chisaki's implied to be violent and over-zealous, but was he instead being provoked by kids who actively wanted to get him in trouble? And, most damningly in my mind, we don't see Chisaki's face in the flashback. It's all from Pops' point of of view--in a sense, he's the one controlling how we see Chisaki and himself.

We also see flashbacks to just a year or two before canon, with Chisaki taking in Eri at Pops' request and then experimenting her and putting Pops in a coma. Again the same pattern: on the surface, it portrays Pops as Good and Chisaki as Evil, but any analysis of the details makes it all fall apart. Like--why the fuck didn't Pops take care of Eri himself? Why did he give her to Chisaki, who had a track record of going against his wishes? He stated something about taking care of Eri being supposed to teach Chisaki empathy, but that displays a stunning lack of it towards Eri herself. And further--why is Chisaki still in need of being "taught" empathy? Pops has been his parent for over a decade at least, and there's no indication that Chisaki would be your typical rebellious teenager. The fact that Chisaki hasn't "learned empathy" points to Pops not modeling empathy. Which makes a terrible amount of sense. You can't teach what you don't know, after all.

And then there's the way Chisaki's storyline ended (badly, so fucking badly good GOD, I couldn't even fully read it because just glancing at it made me FUME)--with Pops pushing responsibility for looking after Chisaki onto Kurono, who was Chisaki's age, and promising to never ever ever let Chisaki forget his guilt.

And now we get to the part of your analysis that I don't agree with:

The Boss took him in and loved him and cared for him

...did he? And even if the Boss did love and care for him, was it the good kind of love? The healthy kind of love? The kind of love that respects the personhood of what it loves? Because looking at Pops as a whole (especially that ending) gives me the impression of a highly conservative, emotionally neglectful, Never My Fault kind of parent, treating his adoptive son more like a yakuza grunt than a child to be nurtured while performing empty gestures of 'love' to reassure himself that he's being a Good Parent. (That's right motherfuckers this trauma is GENERATIONAL--) And it's not even Chisaki. We know that Pops has a daughter, Eri's mother, and we know only two things about her: that she ran away from the yakuza (and from Pops), and that she ended up abandoning her child to the yakuza that she herself ran away from. Does any of that sound like "healthy family dynamics" to you? Because it doesn't to me!

And when you take all of this into consideration, you get a Pops who's hypocritical and shallow, and a Chisaki Kai with self-worth lower than the Mariana Trench who's desperate for any praise from his father figure. Of course Chisaki treats Eri the way he does--his only model of a good parent isn't actually very good of a parent.

Do you think in the most twisted, misguided, disgusting, and almost idiotic way, Chisaki saw his young self in Eri, and thought he would be to her what the boss was to him. Like. This lost young orphaned child with nothing but the clothes on their back taken in by a Yakuza. That's literally their only similarities but do you think Chisaki decided that was enough? That he should be the one to "save" her?

I know it sounds ridiculous but just stick with me here.

This single image from chapter 136 screams so fucking much about Kai's brain and his relationship with Eri to me. Because ask yourself. "Why doesn't Kai just put Eri into a coma like he did The Boss?" Because that would solve so many of his problems. No chance of Eri escaping. No chance of any Heroes finding out about her. There'd be minimal resources spent on her since all he needs is to keep her alive regardless of physical condition. It literally solves everything, it almost feels like a plot hole. But then you remember the fact that Eri was entrusted to Kai by The Boss, and then you take another look at the image above, and it kinda clicks, doesn't it?

He doesn't do that because he genuinely, truly wants to take care of Eri. He might even really see himself as her father figure. And I think that makes so much sense, especially with his other relationships. Case in point, Shin Nemoto.

We saw the results of Shin using his Quirk on Kai, and he says straight up, "I like you, I trust you, your presence makes me feel at ease." And he didn't even seem shocked or upset after saying it, so it wasn't a truth he was unaware of or didn't want Shin to know. That's simply how he felt, cut and dry. But, with that being the truth, he was more than willing to use him as an expendable asset, have him be a fall guy after the raid with the other Bullets, and fuse with him, which he seems to believe will fucking kill him. That's not Kai using a pawn: That's just how Kai is with someone he cares about.

So, it wouldn't be far fetched to say, the same applies to Eri, and that really does recontextualize every one of their scenes, huh?

"You're the centerpiece of my plan."

"To this girl, you're no hero."

"You're cursed, every action you take kills someone."

"Someone else is going to die because of you!"

"She doesn't want you."

None of this is manipulation or scare tactics or anything like that. This is just what Kai thinks of humans. That he can hurt and pull and abuse them in the worst ways possible, and do it over and over again, and not understand when they want to run away. And I feel like him being raised in one of Garaki's "orphanages" just rubs salt into this wound.

Because, he takes care of Eri, doesn't he? He gets her toys and a pretty room and a soft bed, and he's nice and calm with her, doesn't even use his quirk to kill her and bring her back to life painfully as punishment! He doesn't seem to be physical with her at all, outside of the blood extractions. She has everything a girl could ask for, and she spurns him? Runs from him? Well, no matter. That's just how children are. Ignorant, illogical, they just don't make sense.

...It's such an incredibly fucked up way of thinking. And I think it's ingrained so deeply in Kai's mind because it's what he thinks he never had.

I think the way he treats Eri is how he thinks loving parents would have treated him. Pretty toys and nice clothes and good food and absolutely nowhere in his mind does any genuine relationship dynamics or aspects of unique personality come into play because after years and years of not having it he just. Doesn't. Get it.

So that's why it's lacking in his relationship with Eri. In all of his relationships, really. Because The Boss took him in and loved him and cared for him and Kai knows that but he doesn't understand that. So he's trying his best to "love" and "raise" Eri by being an empty photocopy of a parent at his best, because that's all he is. That's what defines Kai, till the very end.

He's empty. And so is his love. So Eri's room will always be full.

[alacants]

inspired by that ask: i guess this begs the question of what jannik is to carlos, what he sees/saw in that man that nobody else did etc like. does carlos ever resent him / their rivalry / janniks sometimes lack of reciprocity? is it complicated for carlos too? what is it about that carrot that is so compelling to someone like carlos

boy have i had a lot of thoughts about this one. presumably during that one magical night match in alicante there was tennis chemistry. as a tennis savant himself carlos can sense the It Quality in someone else. but the response, as a promising young player, to identifying  talent in another player is not by definition that you talk them up constantly for the next several years. it is not by definition to call them your one and only rival. so carlos doing so could be because of something very special about jannik himself. (for rpf purposes: love at first sight, soulbond, overwhelming thirst, you name it.) or it could be because of a more general hunger. 

namely, the hunger for someone else who gets it. a hunger which would only intensify the better you get. if you are a prodigy, no one else is going to understand your exact experience but another prodigy. (this is 1. the kiss of death for runeraz 2. juanki & carlitos bedrock. in whatever way you wish to take that.) 

hopefully it's obvious that this does not mean that's the only path to a meaningful relationship—you can take this idea, or this assumption, and go a million places with it. (what if the two of you shared the same experiences but have diametrically opposite takeaways, what happens when you stop being a prodigy and they don't, what does it mean that someone who doesn't get the experience still gets you.) but it is undeniably a very very specific experience. and it's pretty normal when you're early in the process to think, my friends and loved ones don't get it, and i really really really want someone to get it.

meanwhile, jannik has expressed, more than once, doubt about the worth of the relationships he's formed after becoming successful—he's said that he knows his old friendships are the real thing because they have nothing to do with tennis. he's said that thanks to clostebolgate he knows who his real friends are. he's experienced a rapid version of the prodigy hype/backlash cycle: this kid is a surprise talent??/this kid doesn't have it after all/grand slam vindication/doping backlash. he does not trust this environment, or most of the people in it.

i see it as: carlos has never experienced real serious negatives as a result of his talent and passion for tennis. (broad generalization but: stayed close to family, supportive and stable coaching environment, financial stability, quick and overwhelming success, no serious injuries or psychological breakdowns or reputational scandals. so far!) tennis is inarguably a good thing, and he wants more of a good thing. whereas jannik's experiences with tennis have been much more emotionally ambiguous—significant personal sacrifice leaving his family at a young age and struggling to secure finances, the choice between a close personal relationship and the professional success that would validate those sacrifices, clostebolgate. 

so one take on this is that carlos feels that tennis is more real than real life, and therefore his non-tennis loved ones are missing out on something essential, and jannik feels that tennis is less real than real life, and therefore his non-tennis loved ones are the only ones whose love he can trust. (interestingly it's probably darren and simone who are doing the most damage to this emotional barrier over the past six months. but in rpfdom carlos would sure as hell be trying haha.)

i think what i'm saying is that i really want to read the jannik/tennis slowburn, where tennis is carlos???? 

drifted pretty far from your ask here so to end on a lighter note. it has to be the tennis, because if you put aside the tennis, WITH LOVE AND LIGHT TO JANNIK, you're left with lanky floppy carrotman vs teen thirst trap machine. (i love lanky floppy carrotman. im just saying.) this is something that only further sells me on the ship, the fact that i honestly do NOT really see it but carlos apparently does. there is a thing my friend and i refer to as "seeing CarlitosVision", which is when a certain photoshoot/styling choice/video angle/trick of the light captures jannik in such a way that he looks, like, objectively hot. the difference is that jannik looks like this to carlos all the time. 

(yes jannikblrs i know that he also looks like this to you guys all the time. that is exactly the point.)

[aishangotome]

Azel Radwan: Romantic Ending Ch. 25 His Side Story

Chapter 25

Thank you @shatcey for providing the video for this chapter!

♡———♡

I had a bad feeling about this.

Kamal: Hey, shouldn't you tell Miss Emma the truth?

Kamal: If she knew you were alive, I think she'd be happy.

Azel: Even if that's true, absolutely don't tell her.

Kamal: Why?

Azel: ...Just because.

Kamal: That's not a reason. You're the one who wants to see her so badly.

Azel: Would you please not fabricate people's feelings?

(A dead god can't freely walk around outside.)

(...What am I going to do, tying down that woman who's continuing her journey as a book merchant?)

(In the first place, I don't want to see her, nor do I want her to be by my side.)

(When I let my guard down, I do remember her, but that's all.)

(Even for me, that woman will eventually become a dream.)

Kamal: I'm not fabricating anything. Because, Azel, you're clearly depressed.

Azel: Huh?

Kamal: You're absent-minded. You might as well admit it.

Kamal: That you've fallen in love with her.

Azel: Don't say such disgusting things, that's absolutely not true.

(Everyone's saying whatever they want.)

(There's no such thing.)

-

(...There isn't, but...)

The regular meeting of the triple alliance was held in secret.

The complacency that no outsider would come led to this current tragedy.

Emma: You definitely love me, Prince Azel.

The woman, whom I thought I would never see again, said it shamelessly and boldly.

Azel: ...........................

Emma: It's no use sulking.

Azel: I'm not.

Azel: No matter what you say, I don't love you.

Azel: ...Go back. Pretend you didn't see me.

Azel: I'll strangle Kamal when I get back. I told him at least a thousand times not to tell you.

Emma: Unfortunately, I can't just obediently go back.

(Go back...)

(...Please.)

Even though I denied it with my words, my heart was strangely restless.

The longer this conversation dragged on, the more likely I was to reach out to her.

Whether aware of my inner struggle or not, the woman casually took off her bag and took out paper, a quill, and ink from it.

(What is she doing?)

I peered at her hand, and a bad feeling swelled up as I saw the letters being written.

Azel: ...An invoice?

Emma: Yes. First, the expenses for Kamal's request... and the mental anguish I suffered...

(What do you mean, "expenses for Kamal's request"? I haven't heard anything about this...)

Emma: The reward for the success of that day's plan, plus compensation for various damages...

Azel: What are these "various damages"?

Emma: ...K-Kisses, hugs, and all that stuff!

Azel: Huh?

Emma: Subtracting my debt from this and calculating...

Emma: I think it comes to about this much!

The invoice thrust in front of me listed a theoretically impossible amount to repay, filled with zeros.

Azel: You... can you even read these digits?

Emma: No, I can't.

Azel: Don't say it so proudly.

Emma: But I won't let you say you can't pay.

Emma: ...My heart is expensive.

Azel: ......

I could sense her desperation, as if she was about to cry.

Perhaps the woman was just imitating the god who once bound her with debt.

(...Something worth a fortune...)

(If you put a price on it, maybe this is indeed the theoretical value.)

Azel: ...A dead god can't appear on the public stage again.

Azel: Unlike you, I'll be living in the shadows from now on.

(What is she talking about?)

(I should just throw the invoice back at her, saying it's ridiculous...)

(...This makes it seem like I'm the one clinging to her.)

(Even though that's not my intention.)

Emma: Then all the more reason why it's worth paying me.

Azel: Specifically?

Emma: I'll run a lot of errands in place of Prince Azel, who can't move freely.

Azel: That's fine, there are other people.

Emma: I'll even make delicious food.

Azel: ...I won't have any trouble with food even without you.

Emma: More than anything...

Emma: I'll teach you what true love is.

Emma: I'll correct your distorted perception of love and make you say, "My life was happy"!

Azel: .....

Azel: ...............

Azel: ..........................

(Damn it...)

(...You understand why I'm pushing you away, don't you?)

(Love is a curse.)

(It's something that makes people unhappy.)

(I've never seen proper love.)

(...Certainly, this "true love" you're talking about is different from what I know...)

(...Maybe I'm just ignorant...)

The woman—Emma is waiting for an answer.

Her gaze was so sincere and genuine that it took my breath away.

She seems to truly believe that she can teach me about "true love," and my heart wavers with an unfamiliar curiosity.

(...I don't like you... I shouldn't...)

Against my will, my hand snatched the invoice.

Azel: ...I'm just reluctantly accepting you to repay my debt.

Azel: Don't misunderstand.

(I've done it now.)

Regret immediately washed over me, but Emma's satisfied smile blew it all away.

Azel: Oh dear... With this much debt, I'll be broke for life.

Emma: Poor you.

Emma: Ow... ow!

Azel: ––...Don't run away until I've paid it all off.

(It's fine. I'll get over it.)

(...I know it's unreasonable.)

Emma: Do you know what that's called in the world?

Emma: It's called "adorable."

Azel: .............

Azel: ...I know that much.

(I don't want to admit it...)

(Even now, I honestly wish this was all a mistake...)

Against my will, I embraced her.

Azel: I've been cursed. By you, of all people...

Azel: I hate emotions that can't be explained with logic.

Azel: But I love you. Damn it...

-

I remember a dream I once had.

Azel: As for me, I'd rather not have anything to do with love.

Azel: ––Because I'm a god who doesn't love people.

(How did it come to this?)

Emma's dream, which I occasionally wander into, had undergone a noticeable change.

The immature space that only had buds was now surrounded by a multitude of roses, and the night sky had transformed into a clear blue one.

The sweet scent of roses tickled my nose, and I couldn't help but frown.

(...Dreams are a mirror that reflects a person's heart...)

Emma: Burn this into your eyes.

Emma: Because this entire space is probably my heart, which loves Prince Azel so much that it can't help itself.

Azel: ...Please stop.

Emma: And look at this.

Emma grabbed my arm and dragged me to the oak table.

There wasn't an unfinished book there, but a rose encased in a glass dome.

The fresh rose was partially crystallized, sparkling in the sunlight.

Emma: It's the most beautiful rose in the dream world.

Azel: ...Is that so?

Emma: I wonder what it means.

Azel: Don't ask me. This is your dream.

(...There's no need to guess anymore.)

Emma: This must also be my love.

Azel: ......

Emma: Don't I love Prince Azel too much?

Azel: Don't say it yourself.

(I never thought I'd experience such torture in someone else's dream.)

In this unbearably sweet space, Emma was smiling the whole time.

I couldn't take my eyes off her face for some reason.

(No... I know the reason why.)

(Once you're cursed, it's no use, it's too late.)

(...She's so adorable.)

(...)

Azel: ...Ah.

Suddenly, I noticed my face reflected in the glass dome.

It was a horrifying face, the likes of which I had never seen before in my life.

(Who is that... Is that me?)

(...What a nightmare.)

When I looked down, Emma, who had been looking at the rose all this time, was trembling.

Emma: It's alright, I already noticed.

Azel: ...What's alright about it, damn it.

(It's no use denying it with words anymore.)

Azel: ...Sigh.

Emma: Why are you sighing?

Azel: I'm just disgusted with myself.

(I'm getting tired of desperately denying it.)

(This is a dream... I can admit it a little in a dream.)

(...You're not the only one who loves too much...)

(...What's worth a fortune to me is right here...)

Azel: When and where did I go wrong? I wasn't supposed to love you, not one bit...

I couldn't help but look up at the clear sky.

The soft light pouring down from the moonless sky was pleasant.

Azel: I strayed from the path, this is the worst.

Azel: ...The fact that I don't hate it, that's the worst part.

.

.

.

Romantic Ending Epilogue

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to leave me a tip or buy me a coffee through the "Leave a Tip" button on my navigation bar!

[thydungeongal]

i think not leaving additions on posts is partially a site culture thing but also like if you make an addition to a post that disagrees with the OP a lot of the time you'll just get publically dunked on by a long chain of the OP's followers which is very unpleasant

That is true, but the OP still ends up seeing the tags in question and it's often easy and effortless for them to copy+paste or screenshot the tags, leading to much the same end. Ultimately I think the idea of "leaving a whole post's worth of disagreeing with the OP in the tags" is self-defeating is because you are effectively helping amplify a post you disagree with while musing to a crowd of yourself and the OP and your followers.

Also as a general rule there really is no reason to be afraid of disagreement, but a lot of people on this site suck at reading comprehension (meaning they end up completely misreading a post and reacting accordingly) or alternately must attribute their disagreement over silly elf shit to like a moral failing on the other person's part. Which is silly behavior, but like as long as you're not doing that shit you really shouldn't be afraid of expressing disagreement.