#for all the bullshit he had to put up with
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allmylovc · 2 days ago
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heartless!chris takes care of you when you´re drunk.
There had been a campus party tonight, and let´s just say you were having the time of your life. Now that you and chris broke up (again) you were able to enjoy it without any stress of him doing some stupid shit or getting mad over you doing some stupid shit.
You made out with like 10 diffrent guys, and took way too many shots, while chris stood there in the corner watching you like a hawk. He was seething. He hated seeing you around other men, it was disgusting watching you throw yourself on all these guys that you´ve never even met.
He walks up to you after he saw you stumble out the bathroom, and plop on the couch. He takes your drink out hand, your head shoots up "Hey!" you protest as you reach to take your drink back. He shakes his head and sighs "What´s wrong with you, huh?" he said as he taps your head with his other hand.
"Nothing." you scoffed, with an adorable pout on your lips. He rolled his eyes "You´re acting like such a dumbass today." your heart ached at his words. He always acted like this when you two broke up, but he wasn´t any better and he would do the same. So why was it a problem when you did it?
He tilted his head and smirked "C´mon, you´re to drunk to be around all these people." he said as he reached his hand out for you to take.
Which you did.
You two stood up and made your way out the party. He took you to his car, buckled your seatbelt for you and drove off. Once you two got to his place he got you carefully out the car and took you inside.
The second you stepped foot inside you felt that uneasy feeling in your stomach “I’m gonna puke.” you said as you put a hand over your mouth. His eyes widen and he immediately takes you over to the bathroom. Your stomach churns, and you bend over the toilet, barely holding yourself upright.
The nausea is overwhelming, and all you can do is gag, your body shaking with each heave. Chris is kneeling beside you, holding your hair into a make shift ponytail.
His face twists up in disgust as he hears your vomit pouring into the toilet “Let it all out.” He said quietly, as his fingers brushed through your hair.
You wipe your mouth and flush the toilet, and sit back on the cold tile, your legs weak and trembling beneath you. Chris sits down as well, leaning his back over the tub with a grunt.
“What were you thinking?” he asked, you looked up meeting his gaze, you shrugged “I don’t know, chris.” You ran a hand through your hair—moving it away from your face “I was sick of your bullshit,” he scoffed and shook his head “So you’re blaming you being drunk and stupid on me?” he laughed bitterly “Of course.” he huffed “Cause you’re always right, and everyone else is wrong.”
You shook your head and rolled your eyes “That’s not what i meant.” you protested “Then what did you mean?” he snapped “You acting stupid and being a fucking slut has nothing to do with me.” he retorted harshly.
The silence grew heavy and so did the tension in the room. Maybe he was right, maybe you were being a total fucking slut, but in your defense you just wanted to forget about him.
“You know how pissed i was when i saw you make out with all those guys?” he admitted silently. You felt a glimmer of happiness knowing you were able to successfully make him jealous, but even then you still felt a bit of guilt gnawing at your chest.
He met your gaze “This is.. this is stupid.” he scoffed, you nodded in agreement “I know it is,” you sighed as you sat straight “I just wish you wouldn’t act the way you act all the time.” He bit his lips “Yeah.” he whispered “I’m sorry.”
“You act so heartless all the time, chris.” he said quietly, he bit the inside of his cheek “I just wish you could show me how you feel sometimes.” he continued.
You two just sat there for a moment in the awkward silence, and the heavy tension in the room. You both fucked up bad, but unlike him you were willing to talk and apologize for your actions. Meanwhile he just sat there and said absolutely nothing.
You looked up and sighed “I love you, chris.” your confession hanging in the air, he didn’t even look at you or show a hint of sympathy or affection he just nodded.
“I know.”
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©ALLMYLOVC all rights reserved.
⊹ authors note  — woohoo first heartless!chris blurb, and i don’t how to feel about it, idk why i criticize my work so much, but enjoy! i apologize if there are any misspelled words or grammar errors. english is not my first language.
tags: @marrykisskilled @chrislilcumslvt @sosasturns @cyberskulzzz @slut4chris888 @waitforyrlove @zebonos @/sturnioloangell @slctsblogana @anyaa2s @emely9274 @shadowthesim @frankoceanfanpage @mrsarnold @freshloveee @t0riiiis @jetaimevous @sturn777 @sturniologirlzz @venusbabysblog @ch6rm
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alchemistc · 13 hours ago
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Gonna be pissed as hell if Tim throws out a plotline to replace it with a three episode arc about LA on fire (what will Brad do when his house burns down?), which makes me a hypocrite and a half because here's some ripped-from-the-headlines bullshit.
Tommy's duffle lands on the bottom stair with a thump.
He glances around the space like he's seeing it for the first time - or maybe like he's just taking in the gravity of the situation. There's a quirk of his lip, an ironic shake of his head, and Buck can't quite stop himself from imagining the thought running through his mind. Despite his intentions, he'd landed here anyway.
They're both bone tired. Exhaustion seeping into their marrow, the kind of tired Buck hasn't felt like this since Texas, maybe. He wants a shower and about 48 hours of sleep.
"I'll take the couch," Tommy says, voice raspy, eyes refusing to draw towards Buck.
And the thing is.
The thing is Tommy definitely had other places to go. Other friends who would have put him up as long as he needed, people he trusted, people who cared about him. But it was Buck he'd found as things wound down, the both of them covered in soot and ash, Tommy dropping to sit beside him on the curb as they waited for relief teams to finish up at the command tent.
They'd stared at the burnt out husk of Tommy's home just long enough for the tiredness to really settle in.
"You're not taking the couch," Buck says, and flips the light switch in the downstairs bathroom. Tommy's shower gel is still under the sink, his fancy curl conditioner down to the last few dollops because he'd spent enough nights here to go through most of a bottle. They've already showered at their respective stations, but Buck knows from experience how much Tommy hates the Harbor showers ("You'd think a fire station would have better water pressure, but I'm telling you, Evan, it's about as strong as an eighty-year-old's dribbling piss.") and Buck knows he still feels like he's caked in days of grime.
"Evan," Tommy starts, and Buck can't read into that, refuses despite the way it knocks around in his chest.
"You need the rest just as much as I do," Buck argues, and Tommy's shoulders just... slump. He sighs. Nods his head. Shifts on his feet and accidentally catches Buck's eye.
The contact holds just long enough for Buck to see the tears swimming in Tommy's eyes, and he can't imagine -
It strikes Buck for maybe the first time how dumb he'd been to ask Tommy to move in here. Tommy had a life, a home, a place he'd spent a decade making his own.
He'd made a joke once about a firefighter living so close to the hills, the first time he'd had Buck over, that ironic lilt to his voice while he talked about replacing all the east facing windows the first time he experienced the Santa Ana's after moving in, and Buck had spent a good ten minutes watching the light fade from his backyard, dusk casting the hydrangea bushes in a rose-gold hue.
"If I hug you are you gonna make a break for it?" Buck asks, regretting the spiteful tone when Tommy curls further in on himself, but he ducks his head even as he's shaking it, and Buck doesn't fight the urge any longer, three long strides before Tommy's curling fists around Buck's waist and pressing his nose into the skin of Buck's neck.
("It's just stuff," he'd said, knee knocking against Buck's where they huddled together on the curb across the street, Tommy uncharacteristically fidgety as they both stared straight ahead.
"Come stay with me," Buck had responded, and felt Tommy tense so quickly he'd sort of expected him to bolt to his feet and leave.
Instead, the stillness eased out of Tommy's body all at once on an exhale, and he'd nodded out of the corner of Buck's eye. "Okay."
He hadn't quite been able to stop himself from reaching out to squeeze Tommy's knee. "Okay.")
Tommy's never been one to take more than his fair share. He breaks the hug before Buck can really get into it, sniffs once like Buck didn't notice the wetness against his neck, shifts backwards and sideways. He stops halfway through the doorframe when he catches sight of the canvas bag on the counter.
Buck just hopes Maddie actually bought the specific list Buck had sent her three hours ago. Tommy's particular about his stuff, and he'd pressed the point with his sister despite the eyebrow raise he could see in every text back she sent him. He can see Tommy doing the math - only so many people with a key to the loft, only so many people who weren't there in Tommy's neighborhood for a stretch of exhausting hours that hadn't amounted to much other than saving that purple house down on the end of the street that Tommy was always bemoaning for having a better garden than him.
"Tell Maddie thank you," Tommy says, still with that rasp to his voice that under any other circumstance would have Buck vibrating in place. When he digs through it, Buck catalogues his findings - that weird organic toothpaste Tommy swore by, the cheap electric toothbrush he refused to switch out for the better one Buck had a subscription to; a pack of briefs and socks in Tommy's preferred brand.
It's not the first time Buck has wished there wasn't a canyon between them, but he strikes the urge to quip, to smile, to reach out and try to comfort him.
His phone buzzes in his pocket and he digs it free, glances at the readout and immediately feels the ire rise in his throat again. It's from Eddie, a private response to the group message he'd sent out letting everyone know Tommy had a place to stay.
Is that a good idea?
And Buck gets the point. Understands that Eddie has his best interests in mind, but he's not here, hasn't been here, hadn't been there when they rolled down the street to find three houses already fighting the blaze.
Buck can't hold in the annoyed snort, and when he glances up it's to find Tommy's eyes on him.
"I'm gonna go shower," Buck tells him, and manages three whole steps before Tommy's hand curls around his wrist.
He doesn't seem to have the words to ask, but Buck reaches back to strip his shirt over his head anyway and shuffles them both towards the shower.
It's the least sexy thing they've ever done together, if he's being honest. Buck hasn't felt this tired in years, hasn't felt this grim in years, barely has the energy to do more than scrub at Tommy's back while he rinses his hair. Perfunctory, is a term for it, except for the way Tommy leans into the press of his fingers when he suds up Tommy's hair, except for the way Buck drops his forehead to Tommy's chest while Tommy aims the showerhead at Buck's back.
This is the kind of stupid shit Buck had meant, all those months ago, even if he'd done an extremely shitty job of expressing it. This is the kind of shit he'd pictured while Josh waxed poetic about some television show and wondered if Buck saw a future with Tommy.
By the time they're rinsed off and toweled dry Buck can barely stand, but as Tommy's footfalls echo just behind his up the stairs Buck has just enough sense left to roll open the drawer he'd never cleared out, toss Tommy a pair of clean briefs and one of his threadbare LAFD shirts.
Tommy stares at the drawer long enough for Buck to pull on his own clothes. He blinks himself out of it only when Buck stubs his toe wrestling the body pillow Tommy always pretended he wasn't going to end up curled around out from under the bed.
The drawer closes with an echoing 'snick'. Tommy tosses his own towel in the hamper and makes quick work of dressing.
His hair is gonna be a nightmare in the morning. They're both gonna be absolute messes. Buck's pretty sure the only food in this place is raw flour and approximately seventy-five chocolate croissants - he's pretty sure he used up the last of his eggs trying to perfect his meringue technique.
There's a stiff moment after they slide into bed where they both just lay on their backs and stare at the ceiling, oozing into Buck's mattress. Tommy shifts first, and Buck's sure it'll be away - no matter how often they fell asleep tangled together Tommy always ended up hugging the edge of the bed, and it's not like -
"Is this okay?" Tommy asks, even as he's shifting a leg over Buck, hands finding purchase in the cotton of Buck's sleep shirt.
It's like he's been dosed, for the way Tommy's body sliding into place next to his steals all the energy he has left in him. He blinks once, twice, manages to get a hand in Tommy's damp curls in response. The rest of it can wait for tomorrow.
"Evan?" He's sinking into it too, Buck can tell - the weight of his arm and leg pressing Buck further into the mattress, the drawl of Buck's name drifting instead of sharp.
Buck hums. Presses lips into whatever skin he can find without opening his eyes - a temple, or a cheekbone maybe. "Go to sleep, Tommy," he manages, but if Tommy responds he doesn't hear it.
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endearng · 18 hours ago
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Out of reach
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Pairing: earlyseasons!Spencer Reid x hotchner!fem!reader Summary: You pull away from Spencer because of your jealousy. You go back to him after a few drinks in. WC: 9k A/N: fluff! pining! idiots/friends to lovers! alcohol consumption; spencer is a bit mean; reader doesn't communicate; hotch is a little older to have a daughter around spencer's age (do not come at me this is fiction). If I missed anything, please let me know! I had so much fun writing this one and it's now one of my favorites <3 masterlist
The jet was quiet as you and the BAU team made your way back from Los Angeles after successfully finding Lila Archer's stalker. The case had been a bit draining, after all, you've only been working with the FBI for a couple of months, and seeing dead bodies and all those other displays of violence was something you were still trying to get used to. Despite your sensitive nature, being Aaron Hotchner's daughter meant that you had mastered the art of a poker face through the years, not that it meant that your inner feelings were any less important. This is how you found yourself sitting all alone in a corner of the jet as everyone minded their own business. On any other day, you'd be sitting next to Dr. Spencer Reid, talking about whatever it was that could get your mind off the case you had just wrapped up. Spencer and you were friends, some would even say the best of friends, but you didn't mind about naming things — what mattered the most is that you got to be yourself around him and you didn't bother hiding behind the Hotchner glare, as he once put it.
Despite being unknown territory for you, after all, feelings and all that were protected by a deeply analytic and practical mind, you knew what you were feeling. Well, you were analyzing your reactions to check what had actually happened — and the thing is, you couldn't admit, not even to yourself, what that sinking feeling in your chest when you watched Spencer saying goodbye to Lila was. Amid your analysis, Spencer quietly approached you, silently motioning to the seat next to you. You nodded, shutting every single thought of him. Or at least, trying.
"Hi."
Hotch glare. "Hi, Reid."
Spencer felt nervous. He had never been on the receiving end of your… wrath before, so it was unknown territory and he didn't know how to act. His racing heart and clammy palms weren't helping him, either. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Listen, um, you... can... can we talk?" The stammering. Way to go, Spencer.
Glancing at him, ignoring the skip in your heartbeat, you nodded. "Yeah. Is everything alright?" A firm, secure tone. You mentally patted yourself on the back.
"You're a little distant... and—and I got a bit worried. Did... Did something happen?" He wanted to kick himself. What kind of person can't hold a serious conversation without stuttering like an idiot? Get a grip, Reid.
"No, Reid. Everything is alright. I'm just... thinking." You said.
Bullshit. You both knew that. Spencer, on the other hand, didn't know why it was bullshit. But he knew it was.
"Are you sure?" He asked, leaning towards you, almost invading your personal space and he shut his eyes before delivering the next question, "Is... I haven't done anything to upset you? Right?"
You took a second to answer him, willing your voice to stay still and the knot in your throat to go away. "No. It's nothing you've done. It's just... it's on me." You gave him a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes — that's when he knew something was definitely wrong.
He nodded, but he was still worried by your sudden change of behavior, especially towards him. It was like he was anyone else, again. And, God, he didn't want that. "What is it, then? You can talk to me, you know. We're best friends."
Best friends.
The words felt bitter on his tongue. The sound of them broke your heart all over again.
Best friends. "Right. Yeah. I know." You said, quietly, and it felt a little lifeless to him. He clenched his hand, fighting the urge to touch you, to ask you what was truly bothering you. "Thanks for offering."
Spencer felt conflicted. If he didn't say anything and didn't push you to speak, you would probably bury whatever it was that you were feeling and it would lead him into being even more worried about you. If he did, you would probably snap at him because of his undesired, bothersome insistence. "It's nothing." He said, defeatedly. "Can you just... Do you promise it's not me?"
Your heart ached and you smiled at him, a tiny, faint, barely there smile. He was so adorable, sometimes. "I'm just upset over something else. Don’t worry. You didn't do anything wrong." You finished, trying to convince yourself that he had not, indeed, done something wrong.
And he didn't. He didn't. You and Spencer, despite your proximity and sometimes incredibly ambiguous relationship, hadn't said anything about deeper feelings towards one another. You let yourself admire him, lovingly, from afar, and were happy with the snippets of attention you had from him when you two had some free time. You two were regulars in the coffee shop near his apartment and, by now, the local librarian, Mrs. Jones, could probably fake your signature from how often you two went there to borrow books. She would watch you two behind the bookshelves, whispering excitedly and curiously to each other about whatever suggestions you were getting from each other. As you missed Spencer's longing glances to read a summary, Mrs. Jones smiled to herself, both at how adorable you two were and how oblivious you were. In museums, you would sit down after some time walking around to his explanations of art and historical movements that impacted the expression of a certain age — you pretended to not know a few things, just so he could speak his heart away and not be interrupted by your own contributions.
You kept silent to make him happy.
Which was exactly what was happening now.
Spencer knew, for sure, that you were hiding something from him. But he also knew that he had no right to force it out. He fidgeted awkwardly, not knowing what to do with his hands, his heart still clenching. “But, but... you’d come to me if you needed help, right?”
You nodded, unable to speak. You knew you were wrong, omitting things from him. Just as the guilt was starting to weigh in your heart, Derek passed by you two with a magazine in his hands, throwing it at Spencer, exclaiming, "My man!"
You looked down, already knowing what it was. Spencer was a mess beside you: blushing, stuttering, avoiding your and Derek's gaze and throwing the magazine as far as he could, like it had burned him. Your reaction was a subtle twitch of your lips, not in amusement, but in need to disguise the pang in your heart. You both spent the rest of the flight sitting in silence, simply being in each other's orbit. You, guiltily. Spencer, worriedly.
Your reaction — or lack of — was staggering to Spencer. He thought you two were getting somewhere, despite your closed off nature and demeanor, he thought he was finally cracking you up. Everyday was torture, seeing you walk through the bullpen's glass doors with your professional clothes and your composed figure. It was torture to see you walk around so prettily and serious, holding his bare heart in your hands, and not even realizing it. By now, he lived and thrived on those rare opportunities you had to spend time together as he became more and more covered in you.
As the jet landed and Spencer walked out to talk to Derek, you pettily made sure to step on Lila Archer's face when leaving the jet in sheer frustration.
Back to the bullpen, you had gone to the restroom to splash some water on your face in order to calm your nerves and to tell yourself that it was only a matter of time until things got back to normal — until you got back to normal. Glancing at your reflection in the mirror, you wondered if Spencer could tell that there was something wrong with you, if you had let any of your feelings slip during your short conversation. The version of you that stared back was as impassible as you ever were. As you made your way to your desk in the dimly lit sea of desks, you caught Spencer and Derek talking, both having their backs to you.
Sighing, you just left the headquarters, not wanting to know what they were discussing, or rather, knowing what they were discussing, but unwilling to stay, even if it would quench your curiosity as to what Spencer had been thinking.
Maybe you didn't want to know the answer.
The days went by, cases coming left and right, flights making you almost dizzy — not that you would admit, but you were terrified of heights. Between those and your training, you barely had time to think about Spencer and the entire Lila occasion. You spent your days busy with work, studies and physical training in order to keep your mind away from that, but as you lay awake at night, the memories would come back to haunt you relentlessly to the point you had recurring dreams of them. Together, as you watched from the sidelines. You kept to yourself, slipping further and further away from Spencer.
Reid, on the other hand, felt your absence more than anyone. You took a rain check on all the invitations he made, even when he invited you to movie night, when he would definitely choose a Russian movie because you mentioned once how you liked how the language sounds. There wasn't any more donuts on his desk as he arrived in the morning (he would always joke that you and your father secretly lived in the headquarters and that someday he would see Haley bringing your groceries to the secret house), and there was no one for him to throw his paper airplanes, small flashcards with the Russian phonological alphabet, at. The change in your behavior was absurdly clear to everyone: you barely called or texted him anymore, you didn't look his way when someone told a joke to check if he thought it was funny... He was sulking, to say the least. Upon questioning you, you blamed your lack of free time and as he was going to question you further, you said in a teasing tone that not everyone was like him and that the FBI was actually making you go through all the training phases.
Finally, during the end of a particularly frustrating workday, he finally snapped, grabbing your arm before you could enter the elevator. It was only you and him in the otherwise empty hallway. "Ok. What's been going on? And don't," he said, closing his eyes, "don't dance around the subject. Don't say it's the Academy. Don't say you have to work. Don't. Please, be honest with me."
The exasperation in his eyes and in his tone almost broke the wall that hid your true feelings, but as you glanced at him, you figured you couldn't do it. Be honest? What for? To hear that you're nothing more than his best friend? Losing said friend was not an option, not to you, at least. But you also knew that you weren't treating him right, that keeping him out was not at all fair to him, that leaving him in the dark was as hurtful as it would be to lose him.
Breathing deeply, you answered with the same stoic expression you wore every single damn day. "I told you, Reid. People go through different, busier times in their lives." The lie tasted like acid.
Spencer clenched his teeth, frustration and confusion beginning to override some of his social anxieties. “That! That!” He asked through clenched teeth, his gaze intense.
"That what?" You asked, puzzled.
"You... you stopped calling me 'Spence'—not that you did it often, you did it more when we were all alone, and it... it sucks! It sucks because I don't know what happened or what I did that was so wrong to make you stop liking me!"
Come on, just say something! Get angry, get sad, get something!, his mind screamed.
"I never stopped liking you," you said, looking away from him. His words hit a particular spot that you were totally willing to discover later, but the mere thought that he knew that you liked him more than as a friend made you shiver.
"That's not the point! Or—or rather, it is! Because if you didn't stop liking me, why would you act like you did?" He asked, his tone rising a bit.
"Calm down."
"Calm down? I will not calm down!" He almost yelled. His eyes widened slightly, disbelief clear in his features and tone, not to mention the frustration. "Just. Please.” He said, closing his eyes, willing himself to tone it down, not that it worked... “Tell me what you're thinking, what happened to you! For once! Any normal person would react and stop acting like an emotionless robot!"
You gaped like a fish out of water, taking a small step back, his words digging a hole in your heart. Upon hearing his own words and noticing you distancing yourself from him, all the anger vanished from his body. The widened eyes were a sign of realization of what he had said to you. During the early months of friendship, you had confided in him that you struggled with portraying emotion like others normally did. Maybe it had something to do with growing up with a father who did it so perfectly when he was out of the house. When he wasn't actively playing the ‘dad’ part, Aaron Hotchner would wear an unreadable mask like it was his armor, his defense from the outer world, but as soon as he got home, he was back to his main role. You would watch him with his coworkers and mimic him perfectly to make him laugh. At some point, making fun of and imitating his demeanor had become some serious form of self-defense for you. Spencer, then, joked that you were making your way to the perfect job, but then he had gotten serious and told you that it wasn't a flaw. That it wasn't a problem that you kept deeply to yourself sometimes — that it was okay to be yourself around him. You had felt safe by his side since then.
But now, what did those words mean? Were they lies?
He breathed out your name, softly, "I... I... I'm sorry."
"Just drop it," you replied, pushing the elevator button. Your dismissive tone and your action of leaving made Spencer feel utterly desolate, like he had done the wrongest thing in the world and perhaps he had, but he just wanted you to let him in. For once, he wanted to have the answers from your lips, not spend any more time analyzing your every single action and words...
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."
"You know, Spencer…" he looked up at you when he heard his name, as you held out an arm to hold the elevator doors open. As if thinking better than to say anything, you sighed and turned to enter the elevator, shaking your head with the most disappointed look he had ever seen on your face.
Spencer tried looking at you one last time before the elevator doors closed, and despite your face being as unreadable as it often was, he saw a flicker of sadness that stung his heart more than he liked to admit. If he hadn't done anything wrong before, now he had utterly fucked everything up.
The drive home, for Spencer, was a torture. He knew that he had to pay attention to the road ahead of him, to the other vehicles and drivers, but his mind kept drifting to the last glimpse of you back in the headquarters. Your empty eyes appeared behind his eyelids every time he pressed his eyes closed. He willed himself not to cry, to not blur his vision, taking his frustration out on the steering wheel, where his grip was so tight that his knuckles turned white. As he parked his car and looked up to one of his windows, he remembered you. Because of course he would remember you.
The sight was almost comical, to be honest. You, clad in one of the suits that fitted you so well, sitting on his windowsill, a cup of green tea in hands as you stared out the window, trying to analyze every single drop of rain before it reached somewhere outside your vision range. The funny thing was that you had no shoes on, instead, Spencer lent you a mismatched pair, not being one used to having people over, he didn't have a pair of spare slippers. Then, you sat there with a dinosaur-pattern sock on one foot and a striped-pattern sock on the other.
Spencer, sitting on his sofa and holding his own cup (he had let you choose your mug and stayed quiet when you pointed quietly at his favorite), smiled to himself. It was weirdly calming seeing you out of your character, doing something so... human.
"I can feel you staring, you know," you said. And your tone was almost... teasing?
"Right. Sorry." He said, looking down at his steaming tea.
"I'm not scolding you," you said, turning to look at his direction with a grin.
"Right, no—heh..." he replied, bashfully, cheeks reddening at the sight of your smile.
If only you knew... how many hours he would lay awake at night, as thoughts swirled in his head, how everything seemed to shut down at the thought of you. How he would fall asleep to the wish of being on the receiving end of one of your rare smiles, how he appreciated that you were always the first one he talked to upon his arrival at the headquarters. How... how he would do anything for you to look at him under a different light.
Seemingly out of nowhere, you giggled. Everything stopped.
Spencer.exe has stopped working.
"Heheh—I guess... It's not everyday you get to see a Hotchner so out of its—heheh—habitat." You quipped, looking at him with a smile on your face.
Suddenly, Spencer lost his voice. The connection between his brain and his tongue, which felt heavy, disappeared. Completely speechless, eyes slightly wide at the sound of your laughter. It made you laugh a bit more, but when his stare and open mouth got too much to handle, you looked down at your feet, wiggling your toes to distract yourself from the intensity of his gaze full of awe. Then, Spencer got back to his senses, smiling at you as you missed it to look away in embarrassment.
Spencer blinked away the tears and left his car, entering his apartment. As he took off his shoes, he let the tears fall at the sight of your windowsill.
Meanwhile, you were getting wasted at some bar. Not just any bar, but the one you usually went with Spencer when you were feeling daring and wanted a change from the places where you both used to go to. You were a bit of a lightweight, so a couple of drinks were enough for you to start playing trivia with Spencer and let your gaze linger for longer, basking in the sight of him so carefree, having fun with you.
Upon your arrival, the bartender that usually took care of your orders, MJ, greeted you with a smile. When she saw no one was joining you, she frowned. "Good evening, Hotch. Where's loverboy?"
You sent her a look, but since you were letting your guard down, after all, there were no acquaintances or friends around, you didn't know if the look came out as a glare or if you looked like a kicked puppy. She snorted. "Gee... That bad, huh?" She asked, and you didn't answer again, though you muttered a soft thanks, MJ when she gave you your go-to drink.
And it turned into two drinks. Three. Four...
(MJ was now giving you alcohol-free drinks, too worried for your well-being. You and Spencer started to grow on her as you two kept coming back.)
You rested your chin on your left hand while you traced patterns with your right index finger on the counter. MJ was eyeing you suspiciously, drying a few glasses with a washcloth. "He kissed another girl." You admitted, quietly.
"No way." She gasped.
"Way."
"But... I thought you two were a thing." MJ was baffled, placing down the objects she was holding in sheer shock. "I always thought you two were like... together for years."
"We were a thing.... I think, at least... I don't know, MJ." You sighed, tucking a stray of hair behind your ear. Looking up at her, hazy eyes taking in her focused expression, you sniffled, "we were on this case and then he met a girl and then the next moment the two of them were making out in a pool. In a freaking pool."
She tsked, anger flashing in her eyes, "I swear, those nerdy guys are the worst."
"Yeah..." You muttered, fiddling with your straw. "Can I have another one?"
She pursed her lips, but she relented. Then, as she handed you the liquid, a guy sat next to you. Did he look like Spencer or were you already hallucinating?
"Hi. I'm Dave. Can I buy you a drink...?" He asked with a small smile, wanting to know your name.
No, not Spencer. It’s cool.
"Hi, I..."
MJ cut you off. "Hey, Dave, I think she had too much to drink already."
They exchanged looks and it took you a minute to feel offended by her interruption and knowing you were perfectly capable of speaking for yourself, but realizing you would probably have to entertain a stranger, you felt grateful for it.
Dave left with a sour smile. "Thanks." You muttered, again, looking at MJ.
"Do you need me to get you a cab, honey?"
"That would be great." You said, placing money bills to pay for your drinks and the tip.
MJ looked around to spot someone to keep an eye on the bar as she led you out of the place, hand never leaving your shoulder. As she called a cab, she made you stand on only one leg to make sure you weren't gonna need her to go with you. You scoffed, but obeyed her all the same, with a low snicker. As you two waited for the cab driver, a woman who MJ trusted with her life (and her favorite regulars), you tried to make conversation to make up for embarrassing yourself by talking about Spencer with someone. How pathetic.
"So, what does MJ stand for?"
She chuckled, shaking her head at you and at your dazed eyes. "That's classified information."
"I'm familiar with that."
The cab driver, Paula, arrived. She greeted the both of you with a smile and a cheerful good evening! As you entered the vehicle, you rolled the windows down and pressed the subject further, "Seriously, is it Mary Jane or were your parents more creative?"
She rolled your eyes at you, shaking her head. "It's Mary Jane. MJ because who would take me seriously?"
You smiled. "I like the shoes!"
Paula started driving slowly, just to let other drivers drop their own passengers, as you were lost in your own little world, serious expression taking over your face again, not wavering, as you delved deeper into the whirlwind of thoughts plaguing your head. Paula, looking at you through the rear-view mirror, asked, "Is everything okay, honey?"
You buckled your seatbelt. "Yes, yes. Just... keep driving slowly, please."
"Where to?"
Only then you realized you never gave her an address. Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you gave her Spencer's, telling her you were going home.
An unknown number had sent Spencer a couple of messages.
[8:32 p.m.] Lovergirl is here, drinking all by herself.
[8:32 p.m.] Water, but still. I'm not having her passed out without you here.
[8:40 p.m.] Sent her home, people were starting to approach.
Throughout the time he had spent with you at the bar, the two of you exchanged numbers with MJ in case she needed your help — you know, being FBI agents and whatnot. But Spencer didn't need to see her name to know it was her and she was talking about you; 'lovergirl' and 'passed out without you here' gave him clue enough. His stomach tied in knots when he read that people were starting to approach her, the nagging feeling that the image conjured in his mind was making him feel almost sick, then, it hit him like a truck: Lila Archer.
Their… case? was as fleeting as a careless glance. To be honest, Spencer accepted her advances to spite you for having such power over him, even if unknowingly so. The young agent felt like you were so out of his league, so out of reach — you were all that pile of confidence and stoicism and pure lusciousness and everything to him. And he was a young guy who truly had barely been kissed so far. How could he approach you, charm his way into your heart, especially when you barely bared it? With Lila, it was... nice. Easy, even. It was nice being wanted, to be able to read her intentions and desires like a children's book. With you, it was a tantalizing challenge, one he was, for the first time, struggling with. It was not like having a high-school crush, not like pining over the untouchable girls that would catch his interest as he grew older. No. This was something new. You had hit him deeper than ever or anyone before.
Plus, as much as he hated to admit it, he gave room to the anxious thoughts regarding your father as well. Would it affect his relationship with his superior? Would it affect your relationship with your father? Spencer felt dizzy just by the mere thought of ruining something uniquely yours. No, he couldn't impose himself on your life like that. It was mean, it was wrong, it was immoral.
To want, to desire, is to be selfish.
It was a bold assumption. To think you were jealous of him. Nevertheless, the signs were all there, had been all along. He was just dumb and scared enough of making assumptions.
A barely there, faint sound of a knock on his door made Spencer fly out of his bed, dropping his phone on the bedroom floor, but he didn't pick it up. He had a suspicion as to who could be knocking on his door, but he was too scared of assuming anything. Again. Opening the door, he saw you, breathing a bit heavily. The stairs, he supposed. You always complained about them. Once you exchanged looks, Spencer’s surprised one and your earnest one, you asked, "Do you really think I'm a robot?"
Shit. He could feel his heart breaking in a million little pieces. The insecure edge of your voice and words made him squeeze his eyes shut; in his mind, he was kicking himself simultaneously as he sank down to his knees, on your feet, begging you to forgive and forget his dumb, stupid, frustrated, unrealistic words.
"No," he breathed out, wincing, almost as if he was in physical pain. "I—I didn't mean to talk about you like that. I was..."
"Frustrated?"
He nodded, silently, eyes never leaving your face. Your speech, albeit way out of the ordinary that he was used to, was flawless. If not by the dilated pupils and the faint smell of alcohol, not to mention MJ's texts, he would dare to say you were perfectly sober. "I was, too." You admitted, looking down.
Spencer made way for you to enter his apartment. He watched as you kicked your shoes off. The sight, that had become as common as the act of breathing, made his way flutter. You intended on staying. Or so he hoped. You walked further into the place, noticing everything as it ever was, as if you hadn't been to his apartment for some time now. "You must be thinking why I'm here," you said, moving to sit on the couch and mentioning him to sit on the small coffee table in front of you, as if you owned the place, and not him.
Perhaps it was true.
He closed the door once you were inside, hesitating for a moment before joining you. He kept noticing things about you; the way you were walking, the way you could barely look him in the eye, the way you looked… “How much did you have to drink?” He asked, quietly.
"Not much. You know I don't usually drink because I can’t hold my drinks. And I'm sure MJ was giving me plain water at some point." You said, looking up at him. Well, at least, your speech flawlessly delivered, even though you were moving a bit more… disoriented than usual. She's totally a Hotchner.
"I... I am," he started, sitting in front of you carefully. "I... I'm sorry. It's just... You've never been so distant. I guess that I was mean to you to elicit some reaction."
Your analytical gaze softened upon his confession. You needed to give him some break, be a little easy on him. Well, easier than you were being as of lately. Nodding lightly, you added, "I'm here to apologize, too. I know... I know that I pushed you away and I made you think that... that that was your fault. It's not."
He froze. No, he wouldn't have you taking the blame for how his actions caused you to react. He looked up at you, reaching out a hand to touch your intertwined ones, "It is."
"Hear me out. Please." You said, lowly, not breaking eye contact. This was so hard, and you had never felt so afraid before. How ironic — to be afraid of being brave. "I... I guess that by now you know why I pulled away."
"I do," he admitted, nervously. "It took me some time, but I... I think I figured you out."
You looked down, embarrassed. It was overwhelming for him to see you portray such different and so many emotions all at once. To you, it was as agonizing as it was freeing. "Well, yes. So... It, um, it wasn't fair. We... we are not something. We are not a thing."
His heart, doing all the thinking and feeling, nearly stopped. As if it wasn't enough, you kept on going, "I'm sorry, I truly am, for how I behaved and how I made you feel by being absent. It's... it's not my place. You have your own life, Reid. I can't be upset with you for making decisions. You're a grown man..." you sighed, glancing at every direction but at him. "I know that I'm wrong, okay? And I know that I shouldn't have pushed you away, nor should I have kept my feelings from you."
Spencer drew in a long breath. He didn't know what to say, but you couldn't be more wrong. All at once, he wanted to scream, but he didn't know what ro say; he wanted to run, but he didn't want to leave you alone — not for a second. He didn't ever want you out of his sight; he didn't want to be the one you were apologizing to, hell, he wanted everything to be okay between them, but it was nice that she was talking to him, finally.
"I..."
Every time he thought he could say something, words failed him. Then, you took it as another opportunity to word-vomit everything you've been feeling. "I was... I was jealous. I didn't like to see that. I didn't like that it happened. But I also know that I have no right to be upset with you because you're single and she's attractive and you're both consenting and willing to do whatever you please, so..." You shrugged as if speaking those words aloud didn't stab new holes in your heart.
Spencer looked at you, totally speechless. It made you snicker. And speak further. Shut up, you idiot. Please, please, please! "And, ah—hahahah—I guess I am, indeed, a bit of a robot because it took me a bit of alcohol to pluck up the courage to come here and totally—hic—destroy our friendship by telling you I love you so much; that I'd hate to see you with anyone other than me. It happened and I hated it. It still stings."
Spencer's heart threatened to fail once again. Your giggles, your words, your confession... His mind completely short-circuited. She loved him. She loved him? She loved him?!?!???!!! That’s what she’d just said, apparently. Okay, calm down. And she’d been jealous. She didn’t like him kissing another woman, because she fucking loved him. Say something, you dumb idiot, his brain shrieked. Say something!
You parted your lips to say something else, but apparently decided against it. Another beat of silence of Spencer staring dumbly at you. "I'm going," you blurted out, standing up.
Spencer, at breakneck speed, stood up as well to stop you from walking away, placing his hands tentatively on your shoulders. Your bodies were now apart by mere inches. "No." His voice was so small and pained that you sat back down.
Despite your apparent willingness, your next words told him about your turmoil. "Why would I stay, Spencer? I've been pouring my heart out to you and you haven't said a thing."
Looking at you, so bare and so vulnerable, Spencer suddenly had flashbacks from when he had lashed out on you earlier and simultaneously fought the feelings that were bubbling inside of him upon your confession. Couldn't you see the sheer shock on his face? Couldn't you see that he was battling against every single bit of self restraint not to pull you into his embrace and make you believe him when he would tell you that you were the only woman for him?
Sure, he had dreamed of you saying those words to him countless times as time went by and you two got closer. Shit, he literally dreamed of it. Of you. Speaking sweet nothings to him... He broke out of his daze, realizing that he was deadly silent, "Don't go..."
"Then say something. I'm here. Not as Hotch's daughter, not as your coworker, not as a part of the team you work with. I'm here as the woman in whose heart you've grown over the last few months. I'm terrified of your answer and you keep depriving me of it." There was a hint of annoyance and hurry on your voice, and he could understand you, he truly could. He just didn't... he lost his voice when he looked at you.
Saying your name softly, he beginned, “I said stupid, untrue things, and I’m sorry. I’m a jerk, and I know that I’m a jerk and—" You quirked your eyebrow and he took a deep breath, trying to cut his rant. "Just... don't sit there and think that I have nothing to say."
"Have you said it?" You pressed it, quirking an eyebrow.
"No." He admitted, widening his eyes a bit as he realized his mistake.
At the same time, you shot, "Not saying something is also an answer for me—"
"—but not for the reasons you're thinking! Do you know how hard it is for me right now?" Spencer was starting to sound very desperate and pathetic, not to mention the fact that he wasn't answering your questions.
Deep breaths (from both ends).
"Look, Reid..." He glared at you upon hearing his last name. "I think I should go home. You and I clearly need some space—"
"What we need to do is talk."
You sighed. "Then why won't you give me an answer?"
Silence.
"You won't even remember this in the morning."
At that, you deemed yourself utterly defeated. This was useless. "I'm sorry I came over. I'm... I'll just go, okay? Please, don't be upset about tonight. I apologize in advance."
The sight of her, once more shying away from him and turning to escape from him, was making Spencer frustrated, with himself, to no end. His heart clenched at your apology, to which he shook his head vehemently. The thing is, he wanted to get ready to answer you, properly, just like he always had some trick up his sleeve or some funny or curious fact to blurt during the most random moments. Spencer was good at speaking, but only when the speech was already ingrained into his mind, something he had read or rehearsed before. Plus, he was sure your state of drunkenness would stop you from remembering that moment.
Spencer dashed to his door, barely stopping you. No, no, no, no, no... She can't leave. This might be my only chance. "You're not going anywhere."
"Excuse me?"
"Stay with me. I don't want you to go." He said, softly, slowly, looking straight into your eyes. It made you dizzy. Either that or the alcohol.
"No?"
"Y-you're drunk and I... I don't think it's safe for you to go by yourself and it's late and... and..." he trailed off, nervously, desperate to get you to stay.
"I'm not drunk."
"You're not fooling me. You might be as concise as ever but you're not sober. Stay."
"Promise... promise you won't be upset with me?"
His heart dropped, heavy with guilt. And with love for you. "I promise."
Spencer silently led you back to the couch, gingerly holding your hand. He felt dazzled, speechless, desperate, frustrated, all at once. But your touch was starting to ground him back to reality, where you were real, having confessed your feelings for him, and he was a mess, not even being able to say anything back. Without much thinking, he said, "You should stay over tonight."
"Okay... I'll take the couch."
"As if I'd let you sleep on the couch."
"It's okay."
"Stop... stop acting like I sent you away."
You kept silent. You felt like he did. Through his touch, he hoped to get you to understand that his feelings were a mess, but they existed, and they were real, and they were yours. "That'd be alright with me, you know. Taking your couch. I think I would sleep better on your floor than I would ever in my bed. To... to say that anything is better if you're somehow involved."
His stomach made a flip-flop. Brain short-circuited again. You yawned, as if you had just made an annoying comment on the weather.
"Are you tired?" He managed to mutter.
"I am."
"Come on. Let's get you to bed."
"No."
"What do you mean 'no'? I'm not letting you on the couch. Come on."
"I can't go to your bed with outside clothes." You booped his nose.
He chuckled lowly, confused a little by your words. "Are you seriously worried about clothes?"
"You don't like germs. That's why I removed my shoes."
Okay, he thought, if I manage to put her to sleep without having a heart attack, I definitely don't need a cardiologist's appointment because it would mean I'm that strong.
"Y-you... remembered?" Damn it, Reid. Stop stuttering.
You sighed, tiredly, and rested your head on his shoulder, looking down at his hand holding yours. "I remember everything about you."
"You do?"
"Yes. Fortunately or unfortunately."
Spencer was too stunned to speak. Too stunned, too dumb, too afraid. Damn it. Damn it. He couldn't stop cursing internally. He forced himself to pull you towards his bedroom and even though he still sensed some uncertainty, he kept going. Reaching for a pair of sweatpants and a big t-shirt, he gave those to you. "You can change into these," as he left the room to make you more comfortable.
"Wait!" You almost shrieked.
"What happened?" He prompted, worriedly, reaching a hand out to touch your arm.
"I don't want you to go."
He bit back a sigh. "I'll be just outside."
"Just... stay here?"
"I can't—" he interrupted himself, just turning around so his back was to you instead. At that, he looked up at his ceiling and prayed to any deity to let him survive that night.
He could hear the sounds of your movements. The zipper being undone, the soft ruffling of the fabric as you tugged your shirt up your head... He was imagining your exposed skin, every perfect inch, how would you look without all those clothes that suited you so nicely, how would it be to touch you, to run his fingertips all over your heated skin, how would it be to kiss every freckle on your body, to—"Done."
Turning around, the sight was adorable, which made him somewhat guilty of his early impure thoughts. "I feel like Alice when she shrunk into a tiny human."
He couldn't fight the smile at your words. He led you to his bed, where you laid on your back on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling. Spencer left you briefly to get you a glass of water and some painkillers to leave by the bedside table. You thanked him with a silent glance. As he turned to leave, once again, you said in a small voice, almost phrasing it like a question, too afraid of the answer. "Stay."
"I'll take the couch."
"You asked me to stay, thrice, I guess… And I did. I asked you once and you did. I still have a few requests left. I'm keeping tabs."
He relented, laying next to you and placing a pillow between you two. You breathed out a chuckle and he shook his head, clearly knowing where your mind had gone to. He placed his hand on top of the pillow, offering his comfort, and then you tentatively placed yours on top of his. He grinned to himself.
It was hard for him to wrap his head around what had happened that night. He knew his words — or lack of — could be read the wrong way and you possibly did, but he also hoped that his actions were speaking louder. Just as he was getting lost in thought again, he heard your voice once more.
"Spence?"
That damned nickname.
"Thanks for, um, being so respectful. Not that I don't think you'd be. But, um, as you've said, I'm drunk. And I told you I love you. And you're simply holding my hand." He gulped. He was keeping count, too, of how many times you said you loved him. Twice, so far, but he wanted so much more, endlessly. He wanted to lose track. "I guess... that makes me love you even more," you finished, crushing his heart between your palms, voice thick with sleep.
When he finally turned his head to look at you, your eyes were closed and you looked peaceful, drifting off to sleep. Then, when he was sure you were actually asleep, he stood up from his bed, grabbing a pillow and a spare blanket to lay on the floor.
"I'll gladly sleep on my floor if it means I get to have you around, too..."
Spencer didn't get any sleep.
He tossed and turned on the floor all night long, both because his carpet was not the most comfortable spot to sleep on, but also and mostly because there was no way in hell his mind stopped working. All through the night, Spencer fought the urge to shake you awake to ask if this was real, if you really loved him, if the words that slipped through your lips were in fact your feelings towards him. Despite his curiosity and eagerness, he let you sleep, figuring that he had already put you through too much already. As you slept, a movie played on his mind: your moments together, your confession of love, and overthinking the words we are not something. We are not a thing. He feared that you would wake up and realize how badly he had screwed up and decide not to want him anymore. Yes, he was that anxious.
You, on the other hand, even though confused by his lack of answer to your heart’s words, felt lighter than ever by speaking out your truth (the booze did help you a lot, though). Being as analytical as you were had its perks. One of them is that you never let yourself suffer too much for too long, too attached to reality to care much about the rest. So what if he rejected you? Life goes on — and that’s what you thought with every other loser that you caught yourself thinking too much of. Spencer, though… Who were you kidding? Spencer was Spencer. And that meant the world… It wasn’t so bad, if he actually rejected you… you’d only have to face him every day, until the rest of your lives, doomed to work together, cursed to think and rethink all over again small, fleeting moments such as an exchange of longing glances.
(You felt strangely calm due to your touch with reality. Maybe, just maybe, you were hoping for the best based on his care with and for you. But boy, were you ready to give him a piece of your mind.)
As your eyes fluttered open, you stretched your limbs on an unfamiliar bed with too much space. Upon your confusion, the memories came back with full force. You jolted, sitting down, searching for him — and, to be honest, not wanting to find him. The house was deadly silent, so you tried to trick yourself that you were sure he wasn't there. You dashed to the bathroom, taking a quick shower to get rid of the shame and the faint reek of alcohol. As you moved around his stuff, you couldn't help but think that you were so familiar with his things that it was almost like you belonged there. Sigh. It turns out that hiding emotions is easier than feeling them, especially their extremes.
As soon as you finished putting on your own clothes, you stopped dead in your tracks as you heard footsteps outside the bedroom. You froze, not knowing what to say. Or do.
Spencer entered the room, holding a tray meticulously organized with some food on it. “Morning. I, um, made you breakfast.” Because of course he would make you fucking breakfast. 
“Morning,” you replied awkwardly and hoarsely. Maybe you cried a little bit, who knows… “Thanks, you didn't have to.”
“I did.”
You take your time to get a good look at him. He had bags under his eyes that appeared to be tired. The sight made your heart drop. “I'm sorry…”
“Don't be.”
“But I was wrong.”
“So was I.”
“But—”
“Last night you said some things. Do you, uh, do you remember what you told me?” You nodded, unable to speak. “Do you remember what you told me?” He repeated, trying to get a verbal answer from you.
“Yes, Spencer. I remember.”
“Can you listen to what I have to say now?”
You nodded, weakly.
“I didn't say anything because… because everything had gone in the most opposite direction they could've gone.” He said, approaching you calmly. “I was up the entire night, hoping to find the right words to tell you that would make you believe me after I… was stupid. I… First, I'm sorry I made you feel that way. I know you said that we're nothing, that we weren't something, that we didn't have anything… but… but you're everything to me.” At that, your eyes finally met his. The intensity of your gaze made him shudder, but he kept going. “All the time we've spent together was nothing compared to what I want to have with you… and… and… God! Do you have any idea of the torture I was put through with you? Constantly thinking of what we could be, what we should be, too scared of your reaction or that—that—that Hotch decided to chop off my neck because he found out that I was crushing on his only daughter!”
At the mention of your dad, you burst out laughing. Seriously? That was such a cliché! “Hey! I'm serious!”
“I'm sorry…” You bit your bottom lip, fighting the urge to laugh at him some more. He was adorable.
“As I was saying,” he continued, trying to sound annoyed, but a hint of a smile threatened to break on his lips, and he didn't pull away when you approached him nor he did when you wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his chest, looking up at him, adoringly. He looked down, meeting your gaze,  “I… I love you. I love you too. God, it just feels so good to say that!”
You giggled, again. God, he could never get used to that sound.
“And I’m sorry for being so mean to you when I was frustrated. I should have been more patient and my unthoughtful words hurt you.” You kept silent, remembering his words. “I—I’ll spend the rest of my life apologizing if you’ll have me.” He added, intimidated by your gaze.
Silence. “Well, I accept your apologies. I was unfair to you as well. And you know where I stand when it comes to you. My feelings, I mean.”
“I do… But…”
“But?”
“I'd like to hear you say it.”
“Say what?”
“That you love me?”
“I don't know. Do I, really?” You joked.
He blushed furiously, ready to stutter himself out of that situation. “No, I mean… you—you said that—that you remembered what you said last night and… so… putting two and two…”
Another giggle interrupted him. You traced his jawline, leaning up to kiss his right cheek. “I really, really love you.” A kiss to his left cheek. He chuckled. “I love you.” A kiss on the tip of his nose, to which he snorted, totally lovestruck. “So much.” A lingering, tender kiss to his forehead. He closed his eyes, already anticipating the next spot you would press your soft lips to.
As you made your way to finally kiss his lips, you decided to tease him and let him wait for a bit longer. Spencer groaned in protest and you chuckled a bit, finally deciding that it was enough. Pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth, making him sigh, you were thrilling on making him more and more eager. His grip on you tightened just slightly as he let out a shaky breath. You wanted to laugh, but instead, you poked fun at him. “Now you know what it's like to be teased.”
“I love you. Oh, Jesus… You're driving me insane. You're here… And you, you're you…”
You grinned, looking up at him, finally, finally pressing your lips to his. As you let out a small sigh, his breath hitched, both of you utterly drowning in relief and satisfaction. You pulled back a bit, grinning, going back to kissing him. Spencer's hands found your jawline, sliding back to tangle in your hair as he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth. Parting your lips slightly, you granted him full access to kiss you properly, and he moaned at the taste of you, gripping your hair rougher than before. You groaned softly, and he proudly heard and swallowed all your small sounds.
The ring of a phone broke the urgent atmosphere that was building between you two. Spencer ignored it, letting it ring until you pulled away, gasping for air. As you did, the noise stopped and you met his lost eyes, totally dumbstruck, and you laughed because you probably looked the same way. He gave you a charming, lopsided grin, too stupid, too hypnotized to say anything.
The phone began ringing again. “Son of a…!” he cursed, picking up the phone. “Hi, this is Dr. Spencer Reid and unless this is an absolute emergency, I'm kinda busy—”
“Reid.” Aaron Hotchner's firm voice hit Spencer like a bucket of cold water. Widening his eyes, he gulped.
“Yes… sir?” You smiled at that. Of course you knew who he was talking to.
“We have a new case.” Hotch announced.
“Oh… okay… I, um, I—I'll be there in 20.”
Silence.
“Is everything okay, Reid?” Hotchner could read anyone, Spencer was now sure of that. Even through the goddamned phone.
“Wh—yeah, yeah… Everything's… totally f—fine.” He cursed under his breath as you gripped his vest, trying not to laugh.
“Do you know where she is?” Hotch inquired after another moment of quietness. 
“Who?” He squeaked. You chuckled silently.
“My daughter.” Of course it was his daughter.
Playing dumb is not a good look on you, you mouthed.
“N—no… I haven't… heard from her.”
“Sure.” Hotch said, skeptically. Spencer could feel the sweat on his forehead. After a moment, your father finished the call with an unreadable “We need to talk.”
Once the phone call ended, you burst out laughing at Spencer's reaction. “Not funny.” He protested, a frown on his face and a soft smile betraying his faux frustration.
“Come on, it is funny.”
He glared at you. “What do you think he wants to talk about?”
“I don't know. Men talk. I wouldn't want to get involved.” You said, grinning, pulling him by his vest.
He squeezed his eyes shut, relishing in the feeling of having you so close. “Do you think he knows?”
“Of course he knows.”
“How are you so collected?”
“Because I'm not the one he's going to scare to death, apparently.”
“He said ‘we’ need to talk. Emphasizing ‘we’. If he knows you’re here, then it probably—” you cut him off with a kiss.
“Well, then… Are you ready to face your biggest fear? The frightening Aaron Hotchner?”
Glancing at you adoringly, he chuckled. “I’d face him and whoever, whatever, a thousand times, if it meant that I could get you in the end.”
A couple days after the case, you and Spencer meet again, in your apartment. Sitting down on the couch, you ask him, amusedly, “Do you think he noticed?” 
“Totally. I could barely look him in the eye for the first moments,” He said with a fond smile, hiding from you the fact that he had awkwardly and bravely spoken to your dad about your relationship. You laughed, placing your legs on the top of his legs. “I guess we should thank Lila, after all.” He joked, and you laughed out loud. 
Leaning him closer to him, grabbing his chin and looking deep into his eyes, you muttered, “Don’t ever say her name again, Spence.”
Your wish was always his command. It would always be.
203 notes · View notes
psychoticbipolarbear · 2 days ago
Text
Unprofessional innuendos
pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader
summary: You keep teasing Hotch jokingly, a habit that stems from your feelings for him, but when you want to make a move he doesn't approve of, he thinks it's time to tell you he secretly likes it.
tags: daddy kink implied, age gap, pre-season 1, fem!bau!reader, Haley isn't with Hotch
word count: 0.9k
Tumblr media
“Boys, we all know that Daddy loves me best,” you say with a laugh as you lean back in the chair with a smug smile on your face. 
Derek laughs with you as he shakes his head, knowing full well you are right, while Spencer looks like you just shot his dog. “What about me?” he asks hesitantly, pointing at himself. 
“You’re Gideon’s favorite, I won’t give you Hotch too.” 
“And I’m the oldest child both parents forget about,” Derek notes as he stands up and stretches his arms above his head. You throw a pen at him, but he catches it with ease and walks over to put it on your desk. “Come on, I’m paying for the drinks tonight. You’re coming too, Reid,” he adds, giving a pointed look to the youngest member of your team. 
You don’t move, instead you turn to the hallway where Hotch and Gideon’s offices are, wondering if you should at least offer them the chance to join you. Gideon barely came with you, but Hotch agreed every so often, and when you could convince him to drink more than two glasses, things always got interesting. He could be fun when he let his walls down, when he joined the playful banters, or when he played along with you when you were back on your usual bullshit after one too many drinks. 
So, despite the others’ protests, you jump up and run into Hotch’s office to convince him to join you. He’s playing hard to get, but you know you could easily get under his skin with a few sweet words, and sure enough, he rolls his eyes and closes the folder he was working with. “Fine,” he says, then stands up to follow you. 
Fast forward to one in the morning, when he’s standing at your door, holding you up while you try to open your front door. Derek offered to take you home, but he wasn’t that sober either, so Hotch took it upon himself to get you home in one piece. Despite being aware of your intoxicated state, he gives you a lecture in the car about how you should try to behave, toning down the innuendos that are usually flowing out of you more often than not. And it only happened around him, which made him wonder if there are real feelings behind them. 
One day is enough to put the pieces together, and when the team goes to their respective rooms after a long day of traveling and getting up to speed with a new case, you can’t help but linger around your boss’ room, debating whether or not you should talk to him. You know he was right that night, that you were taking things too far, that you were overstepping boundaries that existed for a reason. But you didn’t know what to do, your crush on him made it impossible to be around him and act normal. 
And tonight you had a moment of enlightenment and figured out what route you can take to solve this. So, you knock, impatiently waiting for him to open the door for you. When it creaks open, you see that he’s already dressed for bed, wearing a white shirt and black track pants, and his hair is a mess already. “Did something happen?” he asks.
“I know it’s late, I’m sorry. There’s something I want to tell you, but I don’t want to wait until the morning,” you admit, glancing past him into the room as a sign that maybe you shouldn’t discuss it there. He gets the message and steps aside to let you in. “I’m leaving the team,” you announce when he leans against the wall. 
Hotch freezes, but his brown eyes tell you that his brain is in overdrive. “What?” You nod, not feeling like responding with words. “No.”
“That’s not up to you.”
“It should be. Is it because of what we talked about in the car?” he asks as he steps closer, slowly closing the distance between you. You nod again. “Okay, listen to me very, very carefully. I said what I said because I don’t want a scandal. I swear to God, one day the way our team members communicate will trigger a sexual harassment training. Garcia and Morgan? You and me? That’s completely unprofessional, no matter how natural it feels to us,” he says. 
You think about what he said, then you note, “But you never join in when I say those things. It’s not mutual.”
To your surprise, he lets out a laugh, then reaches out to cup your face. “Don’t think I don’t want to,” he admits, leaning so close you can feel his hot breath on your skin. “I love the way you’re teasing me, surprisingly, I even find your stupid daddy and sir kinks endearing, but I need to draw the line at work. I’m your boss, there are rules against relationships like that.” He thinks about this, then lets his hands slide down from your cheek, moving along your neck, down over your collarbone, exploring your sides as he leans in to kiss you. “Stay here tonight. Let me show you how badly I want you,” he breaths against your lips.
Your brain doesn’t work properly anymore, you can’t think of a reason why you should say no to him. So, you stay, giving in to the sexual tension that’s been building up ever since you joined the team. From that night on, you don’t even think about leaving the team again. You just tone down the comments to play by his rules.
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cartersblogabtnothing · 24 hours ago
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i’m sure we’ve all read at least one or two “peter parker in gotham” fanfics. they’re a personal favorite, especially when they’re done well. and i do get why peter is always in gotham, but…
…why not put one of the batkids in peter’s new york? i think it’d be interesting.
my personal favorite is tim drake, but i do think any of the batkids would be absolute comedic gold. here’s why:
1)
dick would’ve 100% “fallen” into some portal during a fight and ended up in new york. at first he thought it was just that, the portal teleported him into new york. whatever. that’s like a regular tuesday for him.
but then he saw some news program (“The Daily Bugle”) talking about some… Spider-man guy that dick’s never seen! never heard of! who the fuck was this guy and where is dick!?
he momentarily freaks the fuck out before giving himself a mission; find out where the fuck he is and then get back home. easy enough. he’s been stranded before. it should be easy for him to get back home.
at least he thinks so, until he bumps into the aforementioned Spider-man guy, who is surprisingly friendly despite the strange way they move. guess the spider thing was fr.
they bond over acrobatics while peter is attempting to figure out how to build a teleporter (he figures it out quicker than expected and spends far too much time styling it)
2)
jason was on a mission with the outlaws, and one thing led to another and now he and the rest of his team had been teleported to different locations.
he had assumed that bullshit ray gun was some dollar general version of the big stuff until he walks head first into a humongous spiderweb that sticks to his helmet.
jason fucking hates spiders.
he freaks out (duh) and yanks his helmet off and stumbles away, staring at the way it just… hangs there… and suddenly he knew for a fact he wasn’t supposed to be there.
he looks around for a while after that, helmet-less and confused as all fuck. he thinks distantly that maybe he could just restart here. no joker, no batman, no nightwing, no responsibilities. he could make it work.
on his walk, he comes across a mugging. he attempts to get in there, of course, but he’s completely outgunned by some soft-looking fuck in red spandex.
red spandex! what the fuck!
the red-spandex person cleans the mugging up swiftly, and then they turn around to see jason there. they freeze, their mask scrunching up.
jason tries to shoot at them, but his hands get webbed to the wall before he could even reach into his pants.
he’s mildly impressed.
3)
tim is completely whelmed when he just… disappears on his walk back to the manor after school. there’s no portal, no laser beam, no spell… he just… trips once and then falls through the sidewalk. it was so fucking weird.
he’s caught off guard as he’s spit back up from the other side, coughing and heaving breath after breath into his lungs as he takes in his surroundings. he’s in some bad smelling alleyway, and he could feel at least three other people near him.
he’s in a loud, busy city with tall buildings and aggressive crowds. it’s too bright to be Gotham and too gloomy to be Metropolis.
where is he?
he stands shakily, brushing himself off before looking around again. more focused this time, though. he focuses on his location.
he turns to see a homeless man staring, and before he could even open his mouth, the man screams before hissing at him and running the opposite way.
what the fuck?
he tosses his hands in the air before getting cut off by a snort, and he whips around to see a lean, thin, soft-looking person in red and blue spandex. their face is covered by a mask, but even then their mask is so animated that tim feels immediately impressed.
“you scared jimmy.” the person says simply, tilting their head.
“you scared me.” tim responds, tilting his head slightly to mirror them. they laugh, their white eyes narrowing.
“you’re not from around here,” the person says slowly, leaning forward slightly. “let me guess… jersey?”
“huh, how’d you know?” tim snorts, shaking his head.
“accent.” the person shrugs.
the two bond quickly, over everything and nothing at the same time; and they simultaneously figure out that tim is in an alternate dimension and they work together to figure out how to get him home.
by the time tim returns to gotham, he’s picked up more of peter’s spider-like attributes than he’d ever like to admit.
4)
damian doesn’t want to admit that he went head first into a villain’s trap, but… he did.
in his defense, his father did nothing to stop him from doing it. truly, it’s his father’s fault. not his.
he blinks awake to find himself in a puddle, and theres cold rainwater falling onto him and soaking into his suit. it’s uncomfortable, cold, and he feels like curling into a ball and hiding.
but he can’t. he can tell he isn’t in gotham. what if he was somewhere unsafe? he needed to stay vigilant and aware.
he sits up, and immediately feels eyes on him. he looks around, paranoid and on guard.
before he can really understand what’s happening, he sees a person dressed in red spandex hop off what looks like a human sized spider web, landing on their feet with perfect, practiced elegance.
“you’re too young to be dressed like that,” the person begins as they walk closer. “too young to be what you are.”
damian scoffs and stands slowly, hiding a wince as he leans on his left foot. something’s sprained.
“hardly.” damian shakes his head, and the person tilts theirs in response.
“i had a feeling, but i had hoped i was wrong.” the person says softly before walking closer.
the last thing damian remembers before waking up in a warm bed was a warm hand grabbing his arm gently.
the person in red spandex reveals themselves, and they talk. for a while. damian ends up really liking them, especially after they tell damian all about the spider that bit them.
he almost doesn’t want to leave.
5)
while shadow traveling (like in pjo?), duke goes a little too far. he knows he should’ve gone back, but he’s never gone this far and he was so curious it ached.
so he kept going until he walked out the other side, into a very busy alleyway. it smelled of garbage and weed, which didn’t necessarily bother duke but it did tickle his nose slightly.
he decided to figure out where he was first, and then worry about getting back. if he found out a way to get from one timeline to another, then bruce would be extremely grateful to have duke’s abilities on his side.
right?
duke could only hope so.
he walks around for a while, ending up on a very busy sidewalk. he sighs and steps next to a hot dog cart, to which the man stares at him strangely before shrugging and preparing a hot dog. duke goes to refuse, but hears… something in the distance.
he didn’t have time to react before the hot dog cart’s owner held the hot dog out to the street, and a person dressed in red spandex swung past and snatched it up. then, a few seconds later, a five dollar bill was… webbed to the side of the hot dog cart.
duke stared in awe, his eyes wide as he watches the scene. he immediately searches for a library, and immediately begins looking up who this person in red is.
does he forget that he isn’t dressed like a normal civilian half way through? yes. does he fix that? no.
he tracks spider-man down pretty easily, and asks them a million questions all at the same time, to which his mouth gets webbed for. spider-man snorts and answers every single one of his questions.
duke feels so heard it hurts his heart.
he shows spider-man how he did it, bids them farewell after letting spider-man take a picture and several notes of duke’s powers.
duke goes back to gotham feeling light and warm, a smile on his face.
6)
cassandra woke up on a rooftop, feeling sick and tired. she assumed it was some sort of alternate dimensional travel, considering she had been in a space ship beforehand and now she wasn’t.
she uses context clues as well.
the loud bustling streets, the tall but modern buildings, the laughing, the music — none of it is gotham. she knew that very well, but she was still rather confused.
if she wasn’t in space, if she wasn’t in gotham, where was she?
she lets out a silent grunt before slowly sitting, and then standing up. everything hurt. she guessed her spaceship had crashed into some sort of… cosmic ray or portal and she fell out of it. made the most sense.
she looks around slowly, taking in her surroundings like she was taught. she sighs softly when she turns up empty handed, back at square one.
one thing she does notice is the obvious eyes on her. the person isn’t trying to hide, which means she probably in their terf. that isn’t good. not good at all.
cassandra barely turns her head before she feels something pulling at her wrist. looking down, she finds her wrist being tugged by a synthetic spiderweb. it was sticky, silky, and had far too much pull to it.
she twists her arm and pulls on the webs, and then the person comes forward with a heavy step. shiny red and blue spandex fits this person’s body like a glove, and the mask they wear is far too animated to be authentic. must be a function.
the two fight, and as they do cassandra watches the person’s spider-like tendencies. they move with suck fluidity that she feels inferior for the first time in a long time. she’s left in awe, almost.
eventually, she forfeits. she knows when she’s about to lose a fight, when it’s better to stop and give up then die fighting. even if this spider person doesn’t seem hostile, just protective.
“i’m not from here.” she states simply as she’s allowed to stand.
“i know.” the person responds, and cassandra feels more at ease than she did beforehand.
the person - peter takes care of her during her time in new york. gives her a bed, hot food, and even a fake identity for the time being. it works, and eventually she’s back home.
sometimes she tries to mimic peter’s fighting style, but without his abilities, she comes up short.
but the memories are warm and fuzzy and she likes to dream about it.
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lostinlovingrevery · 1 day ago
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Just a thought and no offense but I think Logan just wants to be in love and feel loved in return.
(This isnt proofread and came out as rambling so have fun trying to read it and decipher it! 😅)
So WE ALL know that Logan can be flirty, and that he may have had a period where he was a bit of a manwhore (*cough* 70s Logan *cough*)
I feel like that period though, and any other flings, one night stands, etc whatever was less out of lust and more of a desperation to feel SOME kind of human connection bc the mans so lonely and has been treated like a soldier, a weapon for so long that hes desperate for human connection, even if it makes him end up feeling depraved afterwards. Post-nut clarity wakes him up next to some girl he met at a bar, and guilt sinks its teeth into him because he doesnt even know her name, much less actually LIKE her. The man was born in the 1800s, he may have grown with time but you cannot tell me theres not some inkling of being a gentleman- and wanting to find someone you truly love, hidden in there somewhere. I think overtime he may fall into this routine, believing he needed to be a walking sex magnet, gruff, cocky, whatever have you because hes convinced its the only way he can have a connection with someone, even if its for a few passionate moments under bedsheets, and an awkward "that was nice. Bye"
It only fuels his self hatred, convincing him that he really his just an animal, looking to get his sick desires out, eat, fuck, sleep, survive.
When we see him in the X movies, as a cage fighter he is brutal and rough and he doesnt seem to have a caring bone in his body yet he still manages to find himself caring about this young girl who stowawayed in his trailer, and does help her, even if he acts like this version of logan he created. Someone who doesnt care. But he cares. A lot.
Its not until he meets YOU, that he starts to wonder if he got it all wrong. Kind, beautiful, smart YOU.
I fully believe that logan just wants a partner. One night stands, flings, what have you, were just him lying to himself, desperate to feel something other than hate. After he lost his memories, and he began just wandering, the concept of love was lost on him. And lust wasnt there anymore either. He was approached by women, perfectly fine, pretty women, all the time during his time cage fighting, bars, etc. He turned them all away- completely opposite of logan 30-40 years ago (my timing probs not right on xmen lol) who was convinced the only way he was living was if he had ass next to him every night he went to sleep because he was lonely. This version of logan, lost, angry, wanted nothing to do with people. Some of it the repressed feelings coming out from his past that he doesnt even remember. He was convinced then that he had to be alone. Becoming a lone wolf that bared his teeth at anyone who tried to pet it. Secretly though, deep down although he wouldnt admit it, there was that deep desire, that he always felt in his 200 years, that he just wanted to find his mate. He'd call soulmates bullshit if you asked him, but the moment he meets you, hed know that it was real, and that maybe god cursed (gifted) him the ability of healing and practical immortality just so he could find you. And hed do it over and over again, the pain and suffering and loneliness, if it meant you would be the endgoal.
Logan is a pack animal. He needed a family, to protect, and cherish. When he meets and ends up at the x-men, his demeanor and attitude changes quickly to something similar to a dog that snaps at you when you pet it only for it to whine and whimper "im sorry, please dont hate me, i just dont know how to accept love.". Hes still wary, because hed never KNOWN a family before. Put aside his memory loss, the closest things he had to a family was a creep of a brother, and a woman who said she loved him under false pretenses (i still dont like you kayla even if you say it was real). He barely knew his parents, and even then that was a lie because his father wasnt even his biological father. Yeah, Logans life was pretty damn lonely, so its no wonder the man is cautious of anybody and anything.
The moment you come into his life though, that bitterness, anger, and meaningless flirting goes right out the window. Hes serious about you. Hes usually cautious, nervous around people but he meets you and its almost like he threw all those imaginary rules he has for himself out of the window.
Look at how he was with Jean in the movies. He barely knew the woman, they barely shared ANY lines in the movie yet he was almost completely devoted (dont get me started on that storyline). Trust didnt come easy to the wolverine. And Kayla- their relationship just shows how much he wants love and to be loved. I never seen origins but a lot of gifsets and read the synopsis of the plot, but i think he had a feeling with Kayla he couldnt trust (remember how he says hell never go against his gut again?) But he so badly just wanted that connection he ignored all the warning signs and did everything to build a life with this woman who not only tricked him, but put him through unimaginable pain both physically and mentally. (Look I REALLY dont like kayla but i do feel bad for her because stryker did have her sister captive). I know stryker is the evil mastermind here, but god imagine trying to find love with someone, only for it all to be a farce, even if they claimed they did love you the entire time- the intentions from the very beginning was far from love.
Oh but when he is in love with you. From the moment he met you, it wasnt love at first sight exactly, more like a feeling that you were it. Hes all about you. He sticks around, under the pretense that he just needed to make some money first, doing some missions for charles, keep an eye on rogue. He cant admit its because he wants to stay close to you. Hes like a feral cat taking shelter in your shed. Stays away at first, cautious of your spspspsp, but curious nonetheless. Completely ignores the first bowl of food you put down for it- or so you thought because when you came back it was completely devoured. It takes weeks of food and spspsps before it finally warms up to you, but after that first contact with your hand and its head- good luck ever getting rid of it. Not that youd want to 😊
Logan becomes a shadow to you, once you become something akin to friends. (Its really more than that but no ones addressed it). He teases you and flirts with you, and its something you think he does with everyone, until Ororo tells you that he only does it to you. Sometimes he just sits in your company, other times hes curious about what youre working on, not wanting to start the convo, but does things like leering over your shoulder (which he may or may not be doing just to he close to you and get a good whiff of the smell of your hair). He stresses when you go on missions without him. He slowly opens up about his past to you when he begins to get his memories back. Trusting only you (and maybe charles) with the truth ablut the man he used to be, and still is.
When your feelings finally do come out in the open though, however it happens, that first kiss, the first time you make love, etc etc. Logans a different man. I mean, hes still that cocky, grumpy person we all know and love. But he carried himself differently. Hes confident and wiser, hes comfortable, and hes happy. He found a home, his pack. And maybe after countless conversations about his past, the things hes done, and the comforting words and understandings you give him, he starts to learn that he isnt so bad, because if you love him, YOU, the most wonderful person hes ever known in 200 years, love him despite all of his violence and hatred and slight whoreish tendecies back in the 70s...then he must be alright.
He doesnt need to worry about his past anymore, when hes got you, right there with him, promising a loving future together.
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needing
Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader
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Warnings: English isn't my first language so I apologize for any and all mistakes. All GIF credits to the owner. Heavy implications of smut but no actual smut. Kind of Toxic!Rafe but idk??This is lowkey rushed but I needed it to get out there lol.
ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚ʚɞ˚
Being JJ’s sister already meant people had a bad perception of you, but your attitude did not help the rumors anyway. You weren’t known for being nice to everyone, and that was fine because it scared the weirdos away most of the time.
You’ve always seemed strong and independent. Insults usually rolled right off you, and situations didn’t seem to bother you. Being hard-headed and having an attitude all the time was a good cover. But it was all a front. At home, your dad would constantly abuse alcohol, and you and JJ often bore the brunt of his rage. When JJ started sleeping at John B’s house and only saw you once a week, you ended up taking most of the hits.
You were friends with the Pogues, but not as close as JJ was, so you didn’t feel comfortable staying at John B’s house.
You met Rafe almost a year ago at a party. It was meant to be an emotionless hook-up and nothing more. But over time, what started as frequent, meaningless sex evolved into a friends-with-benefits situation. You two began spending a lot of time together, both with and without there being sex involved. He started taking you out to places and even to parties with his friends and others around.
But he wasn’t your boyfriend. And every time you attempted to bring it up he'd claimed he “couldn’t be the man you needed.” Despite that, as you grew closer, he eventually learned about your home life. Rafe wasn’t stupid—he knew Pogues had it hard—but he hadn’t realized how much your situation affected you. How you were really a sweet and caring person who had just been hurt by your situation. Once he did learn, he started spending more time with you at his house, claiming, “Look, I know this is just sex, but come on, I can’t have you around that bullshit, ‘kay?”
You didn’t complain—free days at Tannyhill with him were a welcome escape!
Everything was fine until Rafe started treating you like an actual girlfriend. You wanted to be his, but was he really capable? Anyway, it wasn’t what he wanted—he’d made that very clear—so it didn’t matter.
Then, you two got into a bad argument last week. You’d started feeling very dependent on Rafe, and you hated it. So you began to pull back, which only made him care more. One comment led to another, and…
“Rafe, stop. If you’re not my boyfriend, stop acting like you care about me like one.”
“My god! You don’t want me to care about you just ‘cause I don’t wanna be your boyfriend? S’pathetic.”
“Fuck you!” you yelled before storming out.
You hadn’t seen or talked to him since. He was pissed but still wanted to fix things; he just didn’t know how.
That’s when you called.
Your dad had come home drunk, yelling and throwing things. You could no longer bear it. So you called Rafe.
“Hey, I’ll be at yours in like half an hour,” you told him, not waiting for a response.
When you arrived, Wheezie let you in. (She already knew the procedure and wouldn’t snitch,) but she stopped you.
“Hey, you okay? You don’t look okay,” she asked.
You put on your best smile. “Yeah! M’fine! Rafe’s here, right?” She nodded and let you pass.
When you reached Rafe’s room, he was sitting on his bed. His eyes instantly met yours. You climbed onto the bed, inching towards him, and eventually straddled him without saying a word while he stared at you.
“Hi,” you whispered before kissing him.
Rafe, being a man with needs, initially kissed you back. But after sensing something was wrong, he pulled back.
“Nah, nah, you were just over here yelling at me. I’m not mad, okay, but you’re not okay,” he said, concern in his voice.
You frowned as tears welled up in your eyes. “Rafe, m’fine. I’m sorry. You’re forgiven. Please just kiss me. Come on, I just need to forget.”
He kissed you again but stopped when he felt you begin to cry lightly, your breath hitching out of sadness.
“Nah, baby, come on,” he said, pulling you into a hug and holding you tight.
You couldn’t cry in front of him. You couldn’t be so attached to him. It freaked you out, and you tried to push him off.
“Rafe, stop!” you cried, but his grip only tightened.
“What is it? Is it me?” he asked softly, stroking your hair to calm you down. “Your parents?” he whispered.
Finally, you broke down, crying into his chest and wetting his shirt with your tears. Although you had previously confided in him, it had never been like this. He whispered a series of “M’sorrys” as he stroked your hair.
When you finally calmed down, you pulled back and got off him, heading to his mirror to clean yourself up. He stared at you with concern.
“Shit, sorry. Okay, well, m’gonna go now,” you said quickly.
He immediately got up and walked over, towering over you. “The fuck you are. You haven’t told me what’s wrong or why you tried to forget by fucking me.”
“I just needed to forget, okay? No point crying over something I can’t change.”
“Something you can’t change?”
“What?”
“What is the something you can’t change?”
“The situation with my dad and your feelings toward me,” you calmly explained.
“Now, why’d you think fucking was gonna make everything better, huh?” he scolded, switching the topic.
You looked away. “Thought that’s what you wanted.”
“What?”
“I thought you’d no longer be mad at me or wouldn’t care if I was crying if you got to fuck,” you said lightly.
He scoffed in disbelief. “You think that’s the kind of person I am? Baby, I care so much more for you than I’ll ever let on, okay? And this isn’t just sex. You are so much more to me as a person. It’s important to me that you know that, ‘kay?”
You nodded, still waiting for him to respond to your earlier comment.
His face softened. “Look, I wanna be your boyfriend, ‘kay? More than anything, fuck, believe me. But I can’t be the man you deserve. You deserve so much better.”
You scoffed lightly. “But I want you.”
He sighed. “Let me better myself. Then I promise.” He leaned in and kissed your forehead softly. “Stay here tonight, yeah?”
You nodded.
Later that night, as you drifted off to sleep, he kissed your arms, shoulders, and face with gentle affection. “I love you,” he whispered before the both of you fell asleep.
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nonphoto-blue · 18 hours ago
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Lucky Lucky ꕤ Cho Hyun-ju x Reader [1/?]
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Read on AO3 Masterlist Summary: After your previous manager runs away to America with the funds meant to kickstart your debut, your band 4tune is left to pick up the pieces in an impending scandal. The new manager, Cho Hyun-ju, says she’ll do everything to ensure your debut is successful, but it’s a long road until she gains your trust, especially when her own secrets come to light. Or, the kpop/krock/band AU no one asked for.
Warnings: Slowwwww burn. Kind of an inherent power imbalance but reader isn't taking bs from anyone, and reader is 20+. Reader is AFAB and uses she/her. She's implied to be Korean/from South Korea but no physical description is used.
A/N: So I've had the horrible idea of a kpop au for Squid Game since the first season came out. Originally I'd thought of a Sangwoo x Reader fic but it felt in bad taste at the time. Season 2 came out and I can't stop thinking about Hyun-ju so uh. You're getting this.
Five years. You’ve been in trainee hell for five years, learning the ins and outs of PR, songwriting, language, appearances, how to fucking smile at a camera when all you wanted to do was sing and play guitar and look out at a crowd with more people than you can count on your hands. All for your dreams to be stolen away, packed up in bags and expedite-shipped to the United States. 
If you could go back in time to tell your past self to save herself the trouble and give up music altogether, you’d consider it. Or at least tell her to flip off the agency scout the second he approaches. Sure, you’d still be busking on the street, but you’d be spared this bullshit and continue life with hope still. You don’t want to be an idol. You want to be– you are a musician, and the evidence was going to be your debut.
Your band, 4tune, is slated to record your debut in a month, and begin promotions just a couple months from now, but thanks to your no-good-money-stealing-piece-of-shit ex-manager, the money set aside for appearances and advertising is no longer in the company’s bank account. With grim faces, you, your bandmates, and a few members of the company higher ups gather around a table in an emergency meeting.
“It’s ridiculous,” Se-mi crosses her arms across her chest, huffing her bangs out of her eyes. “What a coward.” She stands, crossing to a floor-length window and staring at the skyline of Mapo-gu, disbelief written on her face. 
Your mouth forms a thin line. “Who just… takes the money and runs? How was he allowed to take all of it anyway?”
“That’s all we know,” the CEO, Hwang In-ho, murmurs. He laces his fingers together and scans the rest of the band’s faces as you take in the not-quite-death-sentence he delivered your group. “We’ve got the police in South Korea and the United States investigating, but they haven’t found him yet.”
“So what does this mean for 4tune? I mean, are we… still going to debut?” Young-mi asks. 
“We don’t have a manager, we don’t have money, we don’t have a debut.” Jun-hee puts a hand on her forehead, closing her eyes in exasperation. 
“Actually,” In-ho raises a finger. “We do have a new manager for you. She couldn’t make this meeting, but she’s coming up from Busan after lunch. You’ll meet her tonight or tomorrow.” He leans forward in his seat, and rests both arms on the table in front of him. “Rest assured, you will debut.”
You can’t help but feel your lips curl into a sneer. A new manager? Who’s to say this one won’t make off with whatever scraps of money are left? You hear Se-mi scoff from the window, her thoughts echoing your own. Jun-hee looks hesitant, but Young-mi looks up at In-ho with hope.
“What’s her name? What’s she like?”
“Cho Hyun-ju. She’s an old acquaintance.” Looking over the group’s faces, In-ho stands, and begins to make his way to the meeting room door. “I’ve known her for a long time. She’s a good person.” Hardly glowing praise, but you suppose anyone would be better than the ex-manager. The other company members follow In-ho out of the room, meeting adjourned, leaving just your group members with their thoughts.
Your gaze lingers on the frosted glass door they left from. “Great. A manager, but no money. She can drive us around and shit, but we have nowhere to go. What’s the point?” Your words are bitter, spat in sorrowful resignation. 
Young-mi, ever the optimist, takes your hand in her’s. “Let’s give her a chance. In-ho sajangnim vouched for her, I say we see how she clicks with us before giving up on her.” She smiles meekly at the other members. None of you share her optimism, but with a shared side eye, the rest of you begrudgingly hear Young-mi out and agree.
“Fine,” you offer. “But if she does anything remotely shady I’m clawing my way out of this contract.” ꕤ
Despite the sudden wrench in 4tune’s future plans, you all have a schedule to uphold, so you go through the motions as if nothing was wrong. After a short break for lunch, language classes, pose training, you finally make it to the only part of training that doesn’t feel like a chore: rehearsal as a whole band. 
The rehearsal space is intimate; a small room with warm wood-panel flooring and a three-person couch in the corner. Se-mi’s drum kit is already set up on the drum rug, as is Young-mi’s keyboard and three amps, one for Young-mi’s bass, one for Jun-hee’s guitar, and one for yours, as well as a vocal mic on a long arm. Stepping into the space brings an energy you thought would be lost following this morning’s bad news, and you place your guitar’s hard case down with a determined vigor.
You unlatch the case, and pull out your guitar, a Fender Lite Ash Telecaster. The strap rests perfectly on your shoulder, the neck fitting perfectly in your left hand, a guitar pick in your right. The quarter-inch cable plugs into your guitar with a satisfying click and the amp hums to life when you switch it on. You set upon tuning your guitar, but it doesn’t take much adjustment for any member of the band, and soon your group is playing the first notes of what will be your title track for your debut.
It’s an upbeat song, and the lyrics are inherently hopeful and optimistic. You feel the stress pouring out of you as you hear how well the band plays together. From the wailing of Jun-hee’s guitar, to the machine-like precision of Se-mi’s drumming, to the effortless jumping from keys to bass by Young-mi, pride fills your heart knowing that you’re collaborating, and creating something beautiful in spite of everything going wrong.
You play rhythm guitar and sing. Closing your eyes, you pour your heart and soul into the high-energy chorus, the softer verses, and everything in between. As the outro plays out and you all play your final notes, a soft applause that crescendos into a quick flurry of claps breaks through your reverie. 
You hadn’t noticed when she came in, but at the door stands an unfamiliar woman. She’s tall, and seems a bit younger than In-ho. Her hair is cut at her shoulders with blunt bangs reaching her eyebrows. She’s dressed well, and she’s not standing timidly per-se, but there’s an awkwardness to how she holds herself, like she’s unsure if she’s allowed in this space.
“I’m sorry,” she smiles at the band. “I was told you were in this practice room and I heard you playing. You all sound amazing.”
Young-mi smiles back. “You must be the new manager! It’s nice to meet you! I’m-”
“Young-mi, right?” Young-mi nods. The woman turns to the drumset, “You’re Se-mi,” to the lead guitarist, “and Jun-hee,” and then she turns to you, and says your name so tenderly, so kindly, every fiber of your being is shouting at you to give her a chance. “And yes, I’m Cho Hyun-ju, your new manager.” ꕤ
Rehearsal stagnates after Hyun-ju’s arrival as the band seems more interested in the new arrival than playing, but you keep your guitar plugged in and guitar strap on. Young-mi puts down her bass and steps away from her keyboard to approach Hyun-ju immediately, Jun-hee following soon after. You pluck out a few notes here and there, trying to at least try to get through your part of the next song, but after Se-mi stands up from her drumset, you give up trying to continue rehearsal.
Hyun-ju seated herself on the couch in the corner. Jun-hee and Se-mi stand in front of her, and Young-mi sits beside her. “I’m excited to work with you all,” Hyun-ju half-bows in her seat. “You sounded amazing playing just now, your debut will be a hit, I can just feel it.”
“We’re happy to have you here too. I’m sure you’ve heard but our last manager flaked out on us.” Se-mi explains. Hyun-ju hums a condolence, eyes casting down to the ground. “We’re almost ready to record our album, so I’m sure you’ll have a lot to do coming up.”
You clear your throat, walking over to the group. “What experience do you have managing?” You don’t mean for it to come out as harsh as it does. It’s supposed to be a light conversation about her work history, not an interrogation into her credentials. Hyun-ju’s face falters at the stern tone, and you kick yourself internally.
“Managing specifically, I've done most of the tasks individually before. That is, things like schedule management and driving and the like. I do have experience in the music and idol industry outside of management.”
You try to school your expression, you really do, and you pull your lips into a not-quite-smile that ends up looking more like a grimace. “Well then,” you push out, “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
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gloomyluvr · 11 hours ago
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TANS AND WHORES (just one and his name's rafe)
in which rafe plans a last minute beach day
fem!reader x rafe cameron
fluff
warnings!: playful whore and slut shaming (between reader and rafe), not a warning but reader is kinda suggested to have darker skin than rafe
a/n: may the ancestors forgive me for writing about a white man who'd probably call me a beaner if he was real 😓🙏. it's so hard to write any petnames in english cuz it's not what the language i use for petnames typically. but i have to compromise and have reader call rafe something silly or simply just rafe 🥸 pls lmk of any spelling errors tysm!
beach days with the pogues were definitely one of your favorite past times. no doubt about it. there was just something so intimate about spending the whole day together by the ocean without a single care in the world other than partying, surfing and being inebriated. 
but you loved beach days with rafe cameron just a bit more. especially when rafe was the one who planned them.
it was only 10am when the buzzing of your phone from under your pillow had awoken you. you groaned, annoyed that someone had disrupted your beauty sleep. without even looking at the contact , you answered the call. 
“what.” you made no effort to hide your annoyance. 
“hey baby, you just waking up?” 
quickly, you sat up. your sour mood instantly turns sweet at the sound of your boyfriend's voice. “hey sexy, yeah sorry i slept real late last night. what’s up?”
rafe chuckled at the switch up, “the uv’s at 9 and supposed to reach 11 so, i thought we should go to the beach. it’d be perfect for you to try that oil.”
“aww you remembered! you’re such a cutie patootie, awww!” you teased.
“yeah yeah, whatever. anyways, i have our bag packed. i want you ready by 10:30. i’m about to leave tannyhill.”
you pulled your phone away to check the time and gasped. “rafe it’s already 10:16! that’s not enough time to get ready!” 
“yes it is, you don’t needa put on makeup or do your hair. just throw on a fucking bikini,” he demanded, “i already packed some extra clothes in the bag just in case we go somewhere after.”
you groaned into the phone dramatically, letting your frustration be known. but rafe stayed unbothered, already used to your bratty attitude.
“10:30.” he restated before hanging up.
at the beach, rafe set up your spot with your towels, umbrella, and chairs all while you stood next to him serving looks. once everything was set, you kneeled on your towel while digging into the bag rafe had messily packed, desperately searching for your tanning oil as rafe sat on the towels behind you, putting on sunscreen as you had advised him the u.v. rays were far too intense for his sensitive pale skin to handle.
“baby can you get my back please.” 
you looked back at rafe only to find his bare back facing you, “put on a shirt whore!” 
“you’re literally wearing the skimpiest bikini ever, slut!” rafe called back, used to your usual antics. 
you gasped, “i’m gonna let you burn until your skin flakes off.” you threatened, smacking the blonde’s back causing him to grunt.
“do it then.” he challenged, knowing you would never let him suffer such pain. responding in a sigh you stayed quiet as you gave in and covered his freckled back with spf. “how come you can practically be naked while i can’t even take my shirt off.” 
“because,” you massaged the sunscreen into rafe’s tense muscles, “i’m super hot and sexy and i have an even hotter and sexier, jacked, six foot something boyfriend who can fight. unfortunately for him, my manicures matter to me too much to wanna ruin them. that and i can't fight for shit. okayyy my turnnn!”
you quickly handed rafe the expensive ass tanning oil you begged him for. according to you, it worked wayyy quicker than the typical drugstore oils that had barely even tinted your naturally tan skin plus it even had skin benefits or some bullshit.
 rafe only hummed, before switching places with you. he poured the greasy oil into his hands, rubbing them together. he scoffed, not believing he had spent nearly 100 dollars on the oil. not that it had hurt his wallet or anything, he just didn’t understand what the big deal was. regardless he bought it for you just to see the smile he loved so dearly.
large hands began messily roaming your back. rafe made sure to get every nook and cranny of your back, partly because he wanted to protect you from the sun, but mostly because he would take whatever chance he could to touch you. 
“want me to help you with your front too?” rafe asked ever so kindly, but you looked back at him to see him with the biggest smirk on his face that immediately let you know this generous offer was nowhere as innocent as it seems. he raised his eyebrows, eager for a response.
“fine, but don’t be nasty.” you turned back around, patiently waiting for rafe as you watched the waves crash.
“yea yea, whatever you want.” rafe muttered. you didn’t have to see your boyfriend to know that he had the biggest smile on his face, with no intention of staying true to his word.
bonus a/n: originally, this was supposed to be a bit longer, i was gonna write them in the water just bullying each other but then it became really suggestive and like i scrapped it.
i write to have a lil rafe cameron fluff in the sea of smuts and angst 😓 and yet here i was, close to unintentionally writing smut !!! beyondddd ashamed of myself. but no hate to smut writers, i love u freaks 🙂‍↕️
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themayorautumn · 19 hours ago
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i have never written fanfiction in my entire life.
"work is the one redeeming thing that gives them purpose."
fuck me. here's something. i had to get it out of my system. i think about them. a lot.
“He was wearing a green coat, not blue.”
A dark haired man sits in a worn out office chair, face illuminated by a flickering desk lamp. His shirt is half unbuttoned, tie hanging loosely on his neck, begging to be taken off. He fidgets with the knot absent mindedly, as if it brings him some sort of comfort. Maybe he can't bear the thought of it being taken off, the last facade of performative professionalism.
His partner is pacing around the desk he’s sitting in front of, slicking his hair back constantly. It’s obvious that it’s a habit that has stuck around with him from his youth, back when his hair was fuller and eyes were brighter, and a small wink paired with a slight smile would be enough to end his night with a pretty chick in his bed. Tonight, there is no chick, and there is no bed. There is the sound of pen on paper as the man sitting by the desk crosses something off a list. Every single word on it is utterly illegible.
“Blue or green,” the man walking takes a break to light a cigarette. “It was a winter coat, puffy, expensive, you don't see that shit often around these parts. The color is a distraction, Vicquemare.”
“Yet she insisted it was sage green, didn't she? Who the fuck says that? She wouldn't have been so insistent if the color didn't matter, somehow.”
“She’s a wolf, that’s why. It’s a con. She knew what she was doing.”
“Alright,” the dark haired man, Vicquemare, gets up lazily and holds his hand out for the pack of cigarettes. His partner hands it to him. “You’re really speaking out of your ass now, Harry. What the fuck does that mean, ‘she’s a wolf’?”
“Extravagant eye makeup. Crimson red. You been to that bar called ‘Plume du Phénix’? I went there last month with that journalist guy, what's his name-”
“Pierre.”
“Right. Him, he told me it was the perfect place to get some connections. Meet people from the inside, if you catch my drift.”
“Fucking hell. You blew off work to go to a fucking strip club, did you?”
“Didn't blow off work. We went to that stakeout after, don't you remember Vic?”
“Oh yeah. You were complaining about your fucking headache the whole time.”
“Crimson makeup. They wear it there, it’s like their signature look. Blood of their former selves or whatever. Some new age bullshit. They’re dead fucking serious about it though. They don't let you in without it.”
“You wore makeup?”
“Easy now. Don't get too excited.”
Harry walks over to the desk to ash his cigarette, but doesn't get back to his pacing. He stands next to Vicquemare, staring at the ground, lost in thought.
“I did. Pierre made me wear it. They’re fucking wild in there, man. You wouldn't believe it.”
“Why didn't you invite me?”
“Are you jealous?”
“We’re partners. If you’re going somewhere to ‘get connections’, feel like I should be involved.”
“I’ll keep that in mind next time. It really is a shame. You would look good in crimson.”
Vicquemare looks away from him for just a second, not enough to mean anything tangible, but enough for Harry to crack a slight smile. He puts a hand on his shoulder and keeps it there as he continues.
“They have this thing against authority of any kind. They preach ‘anarchy’ or their performative version of it, which is where they get together in back alley bars and drink until they don't remember what they're there for. Then they wake up and do it all over again. Fucking idiots, the lot of them.”
“And this is good for connections, how?”
“They're stupid but they're bonded together like a pack of wild wolves. They know everyone in the pack and protect each other like they're blood bound. Probably are too, the freaks.”
“So she was protecting the guy? Cause she knew the coat was actually blue, but saying sage green specifically would make it seem like it would be impossible for it to be any other color?”
“Look at my boy, learning so fast under my coaching. Exactly, Vic. She’s misleading us.”
Vicquemare tugs on the knot of his tie even more insistently, as if an internal fight is going on in his head about whether or not keeping that piece of cloth there is as important as he seems to think it is. Instead of coming to a conclusion, he lights another cigarette and looks back over to the list.
“Wish we talked with her sooner, then. This fucks over our entire theory now, doesn't it? We gotta start from fucking stratch. Find that blue-sage green coat guy. Whatever his name was.”
“We can find him. We can find him, tomorrow.”
Harry reaches for a drawer in the desk and takes out a dark red bottle. He grins and holds it out for Vicquemare to read the label.
“Aged merlot. Been saving it for a special occasion.”
“Oh yeah? What’s the occasion tonight?”
“You do not give me enough credit, Jean-y boy. You do not think I am a man of class, a superior officer who cares for his lieutenant.”
He takes out two glasses from the same drawer and pours two very generous servings.
“Happy birthday, Vicquemare. Here’s to us surviving another year in this fucking shithole.”
Jean looks at his glass wordlessly, his hand still on his tie. He’s stopped fidgeting with it now, as if he’s reached a conclusion but is too afraid, or too cautious to act on it. He smiles. It looks strange on his face, laborious, but genuine. It reaches his eyes and accentuates the wrinkles around them, too many for a man celebrating his thirtieth birthday.
“Thank you, shitkid.”
And it’s clear he means it.
They drink one glass, then one more, then Harry procures another bottle of whiskey this time, which they also finish, and as Vicquemare digs in his jacket pocket for that pack of Astra Reds he’s sure he bought earlier that day, Harry bursts out laughing.
“To think it would ever come to this, huh, Jean? Is this how you imagined entering your thirties?”
Jean finally finds the treasure he’s been looking for and takes a long drag of the cigarette. The ashtray is overflowing, which seems to bother neither of them as cigarette butts litter the desk and the floor. He stumbles over to Harry and smiles, a larger grin than the one before, but it doesn't reach his eyes. They look sad, desperate, and appropriately gray, as if any semblance of color on them would be a disservice to the way they look at the world. Harry sees himself in them, not sure if he’s imagining it or not, and not caring. It’s hard to care, when it’s the only time his reflection doesn't terrify him to death.
Jean takes Harry’s hand and puts it on his tie, curling his fingers around it and tugging on it gently. Harry knows what it means. He’s seen him do it time and time again, always in a different context, but always with the same intention. ‘You take the first step, Harry. You make me believe that you want me, you allow me to pretend.’. It’s his role, he knows it, and he unties the tie.
“I didn't imagine anything. I couldn't imagine anything. What is there to imagine? What is there to fucking want?”
It’s a question that doesn't have an answer. It doesn't have an answer that can be spoken out loud. It doesn't have an answer that can be given without empty bottles clanging around on the desk, without the assurance of their blurred memories, without their hands trembling as they reach for each other, something to hold onto as if nothing else in the world matters. They have to keep moving, they have to keep reassuring each other that they still have this one thing. That the taste of smoke on each other's lips, the crumpled case files surrounding them, and Harry’s rough fingers on Jean’s disheveled hair are enough to make them forget the emptiness that they both feel.
At the end of the day, they don't have anything else.
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redsrooftopprincess · 2 days ago
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Pls ignore me if your requests are closed buuuuuuutttt
Headcanons for a reader that can't stop 'mirin(staring full love and joy, especially when they're not looking) with infamously insecure Big Red ?
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And if not, know that you're loved and appreciated regardless and I'm glad you and your blog exist
Hello my dear Gornack! Hope the new year is treating you well. Thank you for the ask! 🥰
Mountains and Sunsets and You
Raphael x Reader
No warnings
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"You got something to say?"
His sudden attention snaps you back into reality. 
Shit. Fuck.
Caught red handed, you try to keep cool as heat fills your cheeks. 
You were doing it again. He could see you out of the corner of his eye for the last hour. You were sitting on one of the benches, pretending to work, and watching him as he and his brothers worked through their katas. It had almost made him trip twice.
It's always new and exciting at first, but you've already known him for a few months. The novelty should have worn off by now. But it keeps happening. He catches you staring. It's only him, he's paid enough attention to know you don't watch his brothers like this. It's unnerving. Distracting. He'd taken a backhand to the jaw during sparring last week, and even spilled his midnight coffee on April's carpet. Twice.
"No..." you say a little too innocently.
Training had wrapped for the night, and it had been Raphael's turn to put the equipment away, leaving him alone in the dojo with you as you gathered up your paperwork. You stood, turning to leave, when your eyes landed on him. You couldn't help but follow the lines of his side with every stretch, and the way the muscles in his arms shifted under his skin as he almost reverently placed each weapon back on the wall. 
There isn't anything wrong with it, per se. You aren't looking at him with hatred or fear or disgust, if anything you look... fascinated. And not in a "weird mutant science experiment" kind of way. He can't explain it, and he can't explain the warmth that pools in his stomach every time he catches you doing it. And it's frustrating as hell.
"Then why the hell are you looking at me?" He growls, "Why the hell are you always looking at me?" He takes three steps towards you before stopping, instinct identifying pain and confusion as an an opponent, but you don't flinch. You know you're not in any real danger. Never from him. 
His scales catch the multicolored lights in the lair making him shimmer, and as he fidgets your eyes move over the gentle color shift that will only let you see his markings when the light is just right. You've never met anyone like him, seen anything like him, and everything he does is captivating. 
"Because you're beautiful," you say, simply, before you can stop yourself. 
This catches him off-guard, and he hesitates for a moment before he scoffs and looks away, "You're hilarious."
"Am I laughing?" You ask, without so much as a smile.
His eyes meet yours, hurt and suspicion deepset in amber. You can't be serious. When your features don't change, and he realizes there's no oncoming punchline, his eyes soften and fall away. 
Your jaw tightens. You hate it. You hate the way the world has ground imperfection and insecurity into every single scale. He's worth so much more than this broken place, and he's been beaten into believing he's unworthy of less than this. 
"Does that make you uncomfortable?" You ask, gently.
"Does what?"
"The fact that I find you beautiful." 
He hesitates, "... yes."
"Why?"
"Because it's bullshit." He snaps.
"Why?"
He looks at you incredulously.
"Why?" You repeat. 
He scoffs and rolls his eyes.
"Why?" You nearly demand, "Why not you? Why can't you be beautiful?"
"Because I'm not." The words ring out against the cement walls, as solid and true as the foundations of the earth.
He's not. He can't be. He's not human. He's not normal. He's a 6'5" turtle with chronic pain and a bad attitude. Covered in scars, shell cracked and gouged and broken in places, he's all thick hide and hard edges. How could anyone find that "beautiful?"
A few moments pass, and you gently break the silence, "Can I ask you something?"
"I got a choice?" He sighs, his frustration dissolving into exhaustion. He doesn't want or need a pep talk, and he sure as hell doesn't want someone like you trying to make him feel better. But somewhere, in the short time you've known each other, he's begun to trust you. He motions for you to continue.
"Do you think a mountain is beautiful?"
His gaze returns to yours and blinks twice, "... What?"
"Do you think a mountain is beautiful," you repeat. 
"Uh, yeah... I guess..." His brow furrows.
"Do you think..." You think for a moment, "a sunset is beautiful?" 
He sighs heavily, shifting his weight, "Yeah. Why. What's this got to do with anything?"
"Do you think I'm beautiful?" A small smile turns the corner of your mouth. He can't help glancing at it.
He hesitates. He just met you, and he really likes spending time with you. You're quick and kind and a hell of a good listener, he's vented to you about his brothers more than once already. You have a way of talking to him that makes things make sense. And Gods, yes, you're beautiful. Like a sun he can't stop staring at, even as his eyes are burning.
"Yes," he finally admits softly, holding your gaze. 
You try to ignore the way the word ricochets around your ribcage, and push on, tilting your head slightly, and questioning softly, "Would you ever consider me ugly for not looking enough like a mountain or a sunset?" 
"What? No! Why the hell -" he stops when you raise an eyebrow. It dawns on him slowly, and he blinks at you. 
You decide it best to let him turn that over for a while. He watches you wordlessly as you walk past him, bumping his arm gently with yours on your way out of the dojo. "See you later, Red," you say with a smile, before disappearing through the door.
....
Tag list:
@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @daedric-sorceress @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @milykins
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jenanigans1207 · 2 days ago
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1/5/25: Reputation
If there’s one thing Dean Winchester knows, it’s that he has a reputation.
Whether he’s known as the Righteous Man, the Michael Sword, the man who both started and ended the apocalypse, the man who, for all intents and purposes, killed God— he couldn’t go damn near anywhere where people hadn’t heard of him. He was the perfect killer, he was ruthless, bloodthirsty, unforgivable. He was determined, stubborn, reckless. Everywhere he went, his name was whispered in shadows, stories of things he did and did not do circulating around him.
Even Sam thought of Dean as his Big Brother— role model, protector, unwavering supporter. And while Sam’s opinion of him was wholly good, it still came with a sort of mold that Dean felt like he had to fit into.
The only person who didn’t put any expectation on him, the only one who didn’t have any sort of preconceived notion of who he was or what he was supposed to be or do was Cas. To Cas, Dean was just.. Dean. He wasn’t anything more spectacular or more despicable than that— he was just his completely unguarded self, whether he wanted to be or not.
If someone were to ask another hunter about Dean, they would probably tell some dramatic story of something he did. If they were to ask some monster about Dean, they’d talk about how he probably murdered everyone they ever loved. If they were to ask Sam about Dean, Sam would gush about what a great brother he was, how reliable he was, how he always came through when it mattered. But if someone were to ask Cas about Dean, well.
Cas would probably talk about how Dean’s favorite shade of blue is the sky at exactly 5:37 in the morning when the sun is just barely starting to rise, the black fading away to bring in the start of a new day. Cas would talk about how everyone thinks Dean’s favorite food is pie, but his consumption of burgers would certainly suggest otherwise. Cas would talk about Dean’s music choices and his movie choices and how you wouldn’t expect one if you only knew the other. He wouldn’t think to say a goddamn thing about Dean’s anger issues, trust issues— issues. Just, issues.
Even though they met strictly because of the fact that Dean was both the Righteous Man and the Michael Sword, Cas never thought of him as those things. And sometimes Dean likes to sit there and blame it on the fact that Cas not only saw but cradled his literal soul— that Cas found him when he was at his worst and his weakest and literally put him back together piece by piece. He likes to think that Cas looks past all his bluster and bullshit because he has seen the real color of Dean’s soul.
And while Dean knows that’s at least partly true, he also knows that isn’t the only thing. Because the rest of the truth comes from the fact that Cas simply cares. And that’s not to say that Sam doesn’t care— of course he does— but Sam has Dean put firmly in this box in his head and so when he looks at Dean, that’s what he sees. But Cas always wants to know more, wants to keep learning about Dean. It’s almost like he purposefully doesn’t box Dean into some category in his head because he wants to be able to expand it at will, to shift and alter the perception as he learns more about Dean. Cas wants so badly to know everything about Dean that he spends all his time pretending that he knows nothing, so he pays attention to every detail.
“Hey,” Dean turns his head to the side, glancing over to where Cas is perched on the bed next to him, reading some encyclopedia that is equally giant and boring, trying to gain information for the case they’re about to head out on.
True to everything Dean has known about Cas from the moment they met, Cas immediately and without hesitation abandons what he had been doing to look up. “Yes, Dean?”
Dean meets his blue eyes and then glances away because it’s too much, somehow, even though it never feels like enough. He glances over Cas’s shoulder to stare at one of the guns he has hung on his wall. He briefly considers turning back to stare at the same water stain on his ceiling that he’d been looking at while mulling over these thoughts, but he doesn’t want to turn away from Cas. “I just—” He pauses for a moment, takes in a deep breath, and then forces himself to meet Cas’s gaze directly. “I don’t know if I’ve ever said thanks, And you deserve to hear that.”
Cas looks equal parts touched and confused with a hint of confusion there, too. “For what?”
And Dean knows there isn’t really a way to encompass everything he’s thankful for. He knows there aren’t words to truly express the depth of the impact Cas has had both on Dean’s life and on Dean himself. Dean doesn’t know how to tell him that Cas is the only place he feels like he can be himself, the only place where he feels like the bare bones of who he is matters and is enough. So instead, he lets out a shaky exhale and murmurs, “Everything.”
And in that way Cas always does, he seems to understand exactly what Dean means. It’s as if he can hear the multitudes of feelings and unspoken words hidden in those syllables, like he can feel the weight of what Dean’s feeling. And maybe that’s their profound bond, connecting them in a way that isn’t physical. Or maybe that’s just because Cas sees Dean and understands Dean at his most fundamental level. Maybe it’s because Cas loves him in a way that is as fierce as Dean loves him in return.
Cas just smiles and kisses him.
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abarbaricyalp · 3 days ago
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sambucky + 3. things you said too quietly (if you like!)
Hi!! From this ask meme
It's one minific, Michael. How many times can you restart it? Eight?
Well halfway through I realized this probably meant "too quiet for b to hear" but oh well
I'll be there, Bucky had said. Sam kept repeating it, whiny and annoying and a lie in his head. Between Bucky making no grand appearance and Joaquin's staticy warning that "Cap, I'm losing connect--" Sam was entirely on his own. He glanced around the room and fought the urge to shove his hands in his pockets.
Of all the goofy action movie cliche bullshit he'd seen, and seen debunked, while doing this whole superhero thing, this had to really take the cake as far as meeting some shady criminal boss. The lackeys were wearing ski masks for God's sake.
"Y'all are the welcoming crew?" he asked. "Badly chosen or are you actually the most friendly guys?"
Most of the men, all with some homage to the snarling tiger emblem Sam had become desperately familiar with over the last several weeks, were standing in front of him, triangulated and grim. Others had fanned out around Sam, boxing him in and blocking the exit.
"Hey, listen guys, it's not like I just stumbled into your shabby-chic warehouse. I got an invitation. You may remember it. You left it in my partner's bedroom while he was sleeping. Unless you aren't the guys trusted to do something like that. I'd get it. You seem kind of young. Haven't cut your teeth--"
"Search him," the guy at the front of the triangle barked. Sam only barely kept from flinching.
Two men stepped forward. The bigger one genuinely snarled at the other guy. For a tense second, Sam wondered if this meeting would combust before he ever actually saw anyone's face. The tension ratcheted between the two men until the bigger one finished stalking towards Sam without a second glance at his teammate.
"Put your hands against the wall," the man snapped, a faint accent on his words. It made something in the back of Sam's head alight with recognition but he couldn't pinpoint why.
He put his hands against the wall. In turn, the man put himself against the length of Sam's back. Instantly, Sam tried to turn, snap, bare his teeth, everything he shouldn't be doing, but the man already had gloved fingers around Sam's wrists, holding him.
And there was something about the feeling of his fingers that made Sam--
"Calm down," Bucky growled against his ear, breath warm against Sam's skin even through the mask. Far too low for anyone else to hear. Sam could barely hear him.
Would it be noticeable if he completely relaxed right then?
Bucky dragged his hands down Sam's left arm, then his right. "I told you I'd be here. No one else is gonna get close to you. But you need to behave."
"Are you wearing contacts?" Sam asked.
Bucky, allegedly patting down Sam's chest, pinched it instead. "Focus, Wilson."
But when his hands traveled down Sam's chest and abdomen, then across his hips, Sam didn't think he could be blamed for losing focus.
Bucky turned him around by the hips, then sank down into a crouch to pat down Sam's legs, continuously looking up at Sam, which was just sinful, honestly.
He slipped something into the shaft of Sam's boot, then stood up, slowly, keeping himself just a whisper away from Sam. "You good?" he asked, barely a breath.
Sam blinked once and kept his breathing even. Bucky's eyes searched over his face, found no lie, and he relaxed.
Behind Bucky, someone barked out something in a language that Sam didn't recognize.
"Yes," Bucky called back, peeling away from Sam to fall back into the formation. "He's all the boss's." He added something in the other language that made the group laugh lowly.
The man at the front actually rolled his eyes. How annoying had Bucky been in the less than handful of hours since he'd snuck in? Or how good was his cover that the group thought they already knew him?
Of all the ways the tiger motif was represented, Bucky's necklace of fangs was the least permanent. It wasn't a tattoo or embedded jewelry or filed teeth. What sorry initiate did he knock out in an alley to peel that off of? How had he even had time?
"We gonna stand around and look pretty all day or is there a discussion phase?" Sam asked.
Three different guys stepped forward all at once, but Bucky beat them all to Sam's side. He grabbed Sam's arm, just above the elbow, and shook him once. It was light enough that Sam had to play into the physical reaction.
"We'll do things when we want to," the leader said. But even before the words were out of his mouth, he was clearly tuning in to his earpiece.
He didn't look at Sam as he turned and strode away. Bucky pushed Sam ahead, hiding him away from the rest of the idiots around them.
"Something isn't right," Bucky said to him. Again, Sam had to strain to hear him. "They're stressed about something. I don't think--"
And then Sam didn't hear anything at all. "What?" he asked back.
Bucky looked at him, a little confused around the eyes.
"What did you say?" he tried again. "Bucky, what did--"
They halted suddenly, down a half flight of stairs and through another doorway. The shabby veneer had given way to what Sam had been expecting when he was 'invited' to the den. It was like a private night club. All that was missing was the bottle service.
Bucky rubbed his thumb on the inside of Sam's arm. Sam could feel the way he was straining to look around without being obvious about it. They were underground. The likelihood they could blast their way up to fresh air was pretty slim. They'd have to fight back to the stairs. Sure, the Tiger would have an escape route somewhere, but they didn't have time to find it.
"Over/under on him actually being bigger than me?" Sam asked lowly.
Bucky put an unimpressed look on him before pushing him through the group of goons.
They came through the front of the group and Bucky pushed Sam ahead. For a second, everything was quiet. Then Sam realized the man in the center of the room, being briefed by the completely unhelpful leader, was not Conrad Mack.
He was a young man with a long, messy mohawk and a tattoo that covered most of his left arm. Silver streaks of daggers sat beneath his hands like claws.
"Well, rumors of our striking appearances have been greatly exaggerated," Sam said.
The man bared his teeth in a grin or a sneer or something in between. "You are causing me a lot of issues, Captain America. I'm ready to be done with them."
"You're a wholly new problem for me, but I imagine it'll even out soon enough."
"I won't let it have the chance."
And then he sprang at Sam, long body and claws and bared teeth, all very catlike, even if he wasn't the real Smiling Tiger. And then all hell broke loose.
...
While Sam sat on a bloodied, but plush, couch later, picking at a piece of loose skin on the inside of his lip, Bucky stared at him. Blank but simmering. He'd ditched the mask pretty much immediately but this one had settled in once the fighting was done.
"I told you he wasn't here."
"What?" Sam asked, then grimaced and swallowed more blood because he'd aggravated his lip. "I couldn't hear you, man. You were barely talking."
"I told you he wasn't here. He wears this specific cologne and I searched all over. I couldn't find him."
"What are you, a bloodhound?" Sam sighed when Bucky didn't respond, just crossed his arms. "It explains why he made a move now. Mack never threatened me. Someone else played for his spot. Needed me out of the way."
"You think he's dead?"
Sam shrugged. "If this new guy didn't want me showing my face, he must be pretty sure Mack won't come around either."
"Fucking Madripoor," Bucky sighed. He sat beside Sam, knocking away a piece of wood that had been a support beam of some kind.
"Be clearer in the future. We're getting kind of old for this," Sam said
"Swapping out comms for hearing aides," Bucky joked. Then, "We should get out of here."
"Yeah," Sam agreed.
They leaned back against the ruined backrest at the same time and both let out a long breath.
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mysanaf · 3 days ago
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༄ "Weekly" Fic Round-Up ༄
This is inspired by @captainkirkk's weekly fic round-ups which I've found many a good fic from. This is also a collect of fic from all of December as well as this first week of January, but perhaps future round-ups will be more accurately named.
Fandoms: Batman, Batman X Marvel Crossover, Nine Worlds Series by Victoria Goddard
Batman
reset by Valkirin
Black Mask hires Circe to keep Red Hood out of his way for a week. Circe's spell will only last a week and she doesn't think Batman will notice or care that she placed a time-limited memory spell on a minor criminal. Fifteen-year-old Jason Todd wakes up in a future he doesn't understand.
No pressure by Valkirin
Tim starts his night trying to calm down a graduate student with a ray gun. He has no idea that he is part of a time loop. Future Tim (which will be him in three minutes) won a second round of the Titans Tower fight and managed to put Jason on the path to coming home. Past Tim didn't do much other than think he was dreaming when he met a much calmer Jason. Future Tim decided that three minutes was plenty of time to figure out just get everything right and stabilize a time loop on the first try. No pressure.
best laid plans by Valkirin
Tim Drake knows that Batman needs a Robin. When Bruce and Dick aren't interested in what he has to say, Tim makes his way to the cemetery to say a few words to the boy he's trying to replace. Tim has the chance to say far more than he expected when Jason digs himself out of his grave that night. Tim does his best to get Jason home to Bruce. The League of Assassins finds them first.
Redrawing the Lines by BirdChild
Dick finds out that Damian cut Tim's line.
To Be a Bandaid by something_dog
Tim Drake never actually wanted to become part of the Robin-Batman-vigilante outfit. No, really. But the last Robin up and died, and now Batman is going crazy, and no one else is doing anything about it, so...Tim decides to become Robin. He might as well, right? At the very least it'll give him something to do while his parents are gone. Still, Tim's not taking up the mantle until he can put a couple of things in order. Step one? Making sure the Joker can't get it into his head to kill another Robin. Not ever again. (Good thing Tim's not the one with a 'no killing' rule.) And then after that? Well, after that it's only just a matter of keeping Batman from learning Tim's identity and subsequently chasing him off. Not until Bruce can get back on his feet and pick a new Robin, a real one this time. Easy-peasy. Sort of.
just me against the sky by magneticwave
Tim Drake stops stalking Gotham’s nocturnal wildlife when she goes to college. Unfortunately, they don’t return the favor.
A Request:
If anyone has any Cassandra Cain focused fics they love please send them my way, I haven't found any and I'm starving 🥺
Batman X Marvel Crossover
Shake the Devil Out of Me by thepartyresponsible
The first time Jason sees Phil Coulson, he sees him in the soft, flickering light of a warehouse fire. It’s romantic, he thinks, later. Like candlelight.
Do Every Stupid Thing by thepartyresponsible
Jason doesn’t mean for the Winter Soldier to be a present for Tony Stark. The youngest Stark isn’t supposed to be involved at all. The plan is simple: intervene before the Winter Soldier can murder Howard and Maria, tranq the Winter Soldier until he’s sufficiently incapacitated, and then drag him off for further study and let the Starks carry on with their fraught, bourgeoisie bullshit.
Nine Worlds Series by Victoria Goddard
the long way home by ariex09
If Cliopher had to sit around twiddling his thumbs he would lose his mind. “I’m going to legalize the rest of Fitzroy Angursell’s poetry,” he said, without entirely meaning to. To Aioru’s widened eyes and Ludvic’s raised eyebrows, he said, “I need a project, it’s non-essential to government functioning, and he’s Zunidh’s poet laureate now. Having half of his works be illegal for sedition is absurd.” - A political crisis in Nijan prevents Cliopher from retiring after the landslide and reuniting with Fitzroy. What it can't prevent is Cliopher and Fitzroy being ridiculous about each other from worlds apart.
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fanfictiongirlie · 7 hours ago
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Supernatural: It Comes With The Job
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Parings: Dean Winchester x Reader
Description: Reader and Dean go on a hunt and Reader puts herself in danger, once back at the motel the two have an argument about it, voices are raised, but in the end they make up.
Rating: Teen Audiences and Up
Warnings: Angst, arguing, swearing
Words: 1,635
I don't often write fluffy stuff with no smut. But I wanted to write something for Supernatural, I may end up writing a part two with smut, but I'm not sure yet. I wrote this at like 5am, so if there's any mistakes, kindly ignore them. Thanks! Anyways, enjoy! Let me know what you think! (Be kind!)
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The tension was thick when you and Dean walked into your shared motel room, Sam had his own room, not wanting to share with you and Dean, knowing the activities you usually got up to. 
You had just gotten back from a relatively successful case. Successful because the vampire you had been hunting was dead, but it left you a little banged up, covered in bruises and a few cuts. And all because you decided to make a reckless decision, using yourself as bait. It had worked in the end, and you survived, but Dean was pissed. 
"You could of died" He finally snapped. 
"I got us out of there, didn't I?" You snapped back, not looking at him, you shrugged your coat off and threw it on the armchair. 
"You almost got yourself killed!" His voice raised, and his jaw clenched, from behind you, he glared. His hands were clenched by his sides. 
"That literally comes with the job Dean!" You yell, still not looking round, you weren't sure if you'd yell louder or cry if you met his gaze right now. You were in pain and wanted nothing more than to curl up into bed, but that wasn't looking likely. 
"That doesn't mean you need to be reckless about it!" He argues. 
"Says you, you're always reckless" 
"It's different!" He says sharply. You whipped round, anger pulsing through you now, he was closer than you expected, towering over you. You shot daggers from your eyes, feeling your face redden. 
"That better not be some bullshit, because I'm a girl thing!"
"That's not what I mean, and you know it" He stated, his tone dark "You put yourself in that scenario and you have gotten yourself-" 
He let the words hang in his throat and looked away, his eyes closing for a moment. You were still sneering at him, you sighed and looked at the pain in his expression. 
"Dean" You say quietly and a little softer "I knew I'd be okay"
"That doesn't matter!" He snapped, his tone a lot louder. "You almost weren't!"
You stepped back slightly, his yelling making you falter slightly. You hated when he yelled, it had always made you feel more stressed, and more angry. There was something about a men yelling at you, even Dean, that enraged you. Made you see red. 
"You're too damn reckless sometimes" He mutters. 
"And you're too damn overprotective sometimes" You mutter back, matching his tone. He scoffs and folds his arms over his chest. 
"Well, excuse me for trying to keep you alive" He retorts dryly. 
"I can keep myself alive" You mutter, copping his stance, folding your arms over your chest. 
"Obviously not if you're going to keep putting yourself in ridiculously dangerous situations" He mutters, looking away from you. 
"I don't know if you noticed, but I'm alive right now" You say a little louder than before. Dean finally turned back to look at you, his expression hardened. 
"I did notice. I also noticed the fact that you could be dead right now, because of your stupid actions" He yells, his voice louder than your tone, it pissed you off. A lot. Enough to not think about what you say next. 
"At least if I were dead, I wouldn't be standing here being yelled at like some friggin' kid!" You snap, regretting the words as soon as you say them. Dean froze, his eyes widened slightly. 
He started at you for a moment, hurt clearly written across his face. He swallowed hard and looked away again, his jaw clenching. 
"Fine" He grumbles "Maybe you should leave then. So you won't have to 'tolerate' me anymore" 
"Dean" You say quietly, his words hurting you "I'm...I'm sorry"
"Save it" He replies in a monotone. It wasn't good when he shut down like this, especially when it was towards you. He stood there, staring at the wall, his hands balling into fists. 
You nodded, knowing he needed some time to cool down. 
"I'll be back later" You say quietly, grabbing your coat again. He didn't say anything. So you left the motel and walked across the carpark to the dinghy bar opposite the motel. It was lively, you grumbled slightly, not wanting to be around this many people, but you couldn't go back to the motel, so you ordered a drink for yourself. 
Dean had stayed at the motel for a while after you left, staring at the same piece of wall, fighting the urge to go out looking for you. 
Eventually, he decided to walk across to the bar, unknowing that's where you were. He walked inside and there you were, he spotted you sitting alone at the bar with a drink in your hand. 
Your eyes caught him, and your heart ached for him. You wanted to stop arguing. So you decided to play yours and Dean's favourite game. You often went to bars, pretending not to know one another, and then start flirting. You stood up and walked over to him, hoping he'd play alone. 
"Hi handsome, here alone?" You ask, smirking up at him. 
He was surprised for a moment, not expecting you to come up to him. Especially after your fight earlier. He understood the game you were playing and smirked, raising an eyebrow at you. 
"All by my lonesome" He answered, tilting his head as he took you in, clearly checking you out and taking in his fill of your form. 
"What a shame, why don't you let me buy you a drink?" You ask him, placing your hand on his arm, squeezing his muscles lightly. 
"Mm, that'd be lovely" He answered and put on his most charming smile, the one that made you melt every time. He ran his eyes over you again, and gestured to the booth closest to you, silently telling you to sit. 
You ordered him a drink and another for yourself, he took the drink from you with a quiet 'Thanks' and took a swallow of it. He shuffled into the booth, sliding all the way to lean against the wall, you slide in after him, opting to sit next to him. 
"Dean..."You say quietly "I'm sorry"
He was quiet for a moment, and you really thought he'd still be angry. His expression softened and he met your eye. You hoped he could see the sincerity in my apologetic look. 
"I'm sorry too" He murmured "Things just got out of hand, but I shouldn't have said what I said in my anger. I should've never let things get to that point in the first place"
"No, I said some horrible things, I didn't mean it" You say sadly. 
"I know you didn't" He replies, offering a small, reassuring smile. He reaches out, hesitating for a moment before placing his hand over yours, giving a gentle squeeze. 
"I'm also sorry I did something stupid on the hunt" 
"Are you ever not doing something stupid when you're hunting though?" He questions, with a smirk and a raised brow, though he tone was completely teasing.
"I could ask you the same thing" You say, matching his smirk. 
"Hey, I only do stupid when necessary" He retorts, his voice lighter than before, his tone still teasing. He smirks and squeezes your hand again, whilst also taking a sip of his drink. 
"Let's not argue anymore?" You say hopeful. 
"Now that I can do" He agrees with you. His thumb absentmindedly caresses your knuckles gently. 
"Though, I have heard that make up sex is really good" You say with a wink. He chuckles and raises an eyebrow, eyeing you up, obviously liking the idea. 
"Oh yeah, you've heard that, have you?" He asks coyly. 
"I have, it's facts, trust me" You say, moving a little closer to him. 
"Mmhmm, I'd like to see the source on that" He says, he smirks and closed to gap between you, pressing his leg against yours, his arm moving to hold your waist. 
"Luckily for you, I'm a hands on teacher"
A breathless chuckles escapes him at your words, his fingers on your waist gave a gentle squeeze. 
"Is that so?" He asks, lowering his voice and leaning close so that his breath tickles your ear. You nod and then move slightly, wrapping your arms around his neck bringing him into a tight hug. You needed it, after the arguing. His hands slide around to your lower back, gently you closer. He buries his face against your shoulder, breathing in your unique scent and letting it wash over him. 
"I hate fighting" You mumble into his jacket. 
"I do too, and I hate that I let my anger get the better of me" He admits, his voice muffled against your shoulder. He nuzzles against the crook of your neck, his embrace tightening just a little. 
"Me too"
"Then promise me one thing?" He murmurs, pulling away from you just slightly so that he could look you in the eye. 
"Yes Dean?"
"Promise me you won't pull another stupid stunt like the one you pulled on the hunt today?" He asks, looking into your eyes, a serious expression in his eyes. 
"I promise Dean" You whisper, hugging him tightly again. He held a tight grip on you in return, almost crushing you to him. He lets out a deep sigh against your throat as he buries his face against it. Kissing it softly, gently as a sigh of his appreciation. 
You held onto him, probably looking strange, hugging in the middle of a bar but right now, you didn't care, you had stopped arguing and that was all that mattered. He places a soft kiss to your skin again, and you forgot all about the arguing, just happy you still had him and you were happy with each other once more. 
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shelbgrey · 3 days ago
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Yes, Sensei(Johnny Lawrence)
Paring: Johnny Lawrence x Girlfriend!Reader
Summary: Johnny wants to teach his girlfriend a few things, but they get distracted
Warrings: SMUT! Unprotected sex, kinda public sex but you're alone in the dojo, oral(F receiving), small sensei kink, dirty talk, P in V, cream pie, language, age gap couple, the words dick and pussy used.
A/n: this gif makes me feel certain things.
MasterList ML2
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Y/n sighed, walking into the room where Johnny had his classes. Johnny thought if anyone was gonna teach his girlfriend any type of self defense it was gonna be him. She walked past him towards one of the matts and bent down in front of him to grab one of the larger ones.
Johnny had to do a double take when she bent down, he couldn't help but stare at the curve of her ass in those tight, black leggings. “Well, damn” he muttered to himself.
“What?” she looked over her shoulder at him and raised an eyebrow. She knew what she was doing as she dragged the mat over to Johnny.
“Don’t play dumb. You knew exactly what you were doing” He gave her a smirk, his blue eyes traveling every inch of her body with no shame as he helped her put down the mat.
Y/n stepped onto the mat. “And what exactly am I doing, sensei?” she asked in a teasing tone. She always had a playful mock in her tone when she called him that, not realizing what effect that actually had on him.
He stepped onto the mat as well, towering over her. “Wearing those leggings. Trying to distract me”
“Hey, that's your fault. This is all I had left to wear,” she pointed out, not revealing the fact she had plenty to wear and knew what it would do to him if she wore the leggings. “you didn't do laundry like you were supposed to”
“You know I’m not very good at remembering laundry,” Johnny stepped forward and placed his hand lightly on her waist. “You really think I’m gonna be able to teach you anything with that ass distracting me?”
“Well, don't get distracted,” y/n teased. “teach me”
“I’m trying, it's hard though” He muttered to himself, he placed his leg between hers and pushed them apart a bit, forcing her into a slightly wider stance.
Y/n wasn't listening to him, messing up the stance she put her in and did a face side kick.
“Hey! Eyes on me”
She stopped immediately. “yes, sensei” she said, giving him a shit eating grin.
He rolled his eyes. “Alright, so first you’re going to learn the stance” He positioned her, moving her hips, her feet, and her arms into the correct position.
Y/n stood in the proper stance, holding her hands up. Damn It felt good to have his rough hands brushing across her skin, adjusting her body to his will. At that moment all she wanted was for him to take her right there on that mat. Then on the other hand a smirk couldn't help but tug in her lip at the serious look on face.
“Now you’re going to try and hit me” He stood across from her in the same stance, but his arms were crossed over his chest.
She did a jokingly, dramatic ‘hi-yah’ and her hand came near him then immediately stopped. Then she just booped his nose with her index finger. “boop”
He sighed and grabbed her wrist. “Cut it with the cutesy bullshit” he said. He tried to sound serious, but he also had a hint of light heartedness in his voice. He never wanted to sound harsh or rude to her. “Come on, actually try and hit me”
She rolled her eyes playfully. “alright, alright” she got back into the stance and went to hit him, which he immediately blocked with ease. She was always fascinated and impressed how karaty was like second nature to him. And deep down watching him train or teach as class never failed to get her hot and bothered.
He easily blocked her second hit, taking her arm and turning to have her back against his chest. “That's all you’ve got, baby?”
She huffed when he turned her around. She pressed her back to his chest and put her hands on the arm he had wrapped around her. “I can do that sidekick thingy”
“That side… kick… thingy,” he rolled his eyes, but let out a deep chuckle at her choice of words. His other hand went to rest on her hip as they stood close to each other. “Which one, Baby? There’s a few”
“Hang on” y/n moved out of his grip then faced him. She stood on one foot and did a bad side kick move and did an overly dramatic karate noise. She had also lost balance immediately and fell down on the mat.
Johnny burst out laughing, unable to keep holding it in after he saw her fall. “You okay down there, y/n?”
“No, I'm in complete agony” she said sarcastically.
He knelt down in front of her, and gently tilted her chin up with his fingers. “Such a drama queen”
Y/n stuck her tongue out, making him smirk. “Oh I’m sure you could put that tongue too much better use”
“Oh, yeah?”
He moved to be over her, pressing her down against the mat with his body, his hands holding himself up to look down at her. “Yeah, I’m sure I can think of something”
“Mm, I can think of a few things” she smirked, wrapping her arms around his neck.
He smiled and bent down a bit, his lips close enough to hers that their noses were touching. “Why don’t you show me?”
“Yes, sensei” she whispered seductively and pressed her lips against his roughly. He groaned softly at the sudden kiss, his lips parting for her tounge to slide across his. His hands moved down to rest on either side of her head, his fingers digging into the mat lightly as the kiss got more heated. His tongue moved against hers, exploring her mouth slowly.
Y/n moaned softly against his lips, cupping his jaw as their tongues tangled together. She hooked one of her legs over his waist, pulling him closer. His other leg moved between her thighs, spreading them wider as he settled himself more comfortably between them. His hands tightened around her waist possessively.
“J-Johnny” she moaned softly.
Johnny moved one hand to her thigh, holding it as he pushed his hips against hers, pressing her even more into the mat. His tongue moved against her as he kissed her hungrily, moving to her neck as he spoke in a low voice. “Maybe we should continue this in the office”
“don't you want to take your girlfriend right here in the middle of your dojo, sensei Lawrence?” she teased in a teasing, seductive voice.
He growled against her neck, biting gently “You're pushing your luck, y/n,” His hand moved higher up her thigh. “And for the record, you're not exactly being very respectful to your sensei right now”
“I'm sorry, sensei” she said softly, trying to give him puppy eyes, but they were too lust full.
He groaned at her expression, moving back up to capture her lips again. “That look, that fucking look” His hand moved to cup her face, kissing her more intensely, pulling a moan from her. “You know what that does to me” His fingers trailed down her jawline. “Such a fucking brat”
He broke the kiss, panting softly as he stared down at her with darkened eyes. “You want me to show you what happens to brats in my dojo?” His voice was low and husky with restrained desire, making her look up at him with doe eyes.
He smirked at her lustful gaze, deliberately rolling his hips against hers, making her moan. “Words, Baby. I want to hear you say it,” His hand moved to grip her hair lightly, just at the nape of her neck. “Tell me exactly what you want, right here”
“Fuck me” she moaned breathlessly as her voice sounded so desperate and needy. She gripped his biceps tight to prove her point.
His eyes darkened even further at her words, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He pulled her hair slightly, tilting her head back as he kissed her roughly. “That's it. Ask your sensei to fuck you in the middle of the dojo”
Y/n moaned against his lips, tugging at his hair. “P-please,” she moaned desperately, submitting to him. “please fuck me, Sensei, r-right here” she begged and stuttered.
He smirked wickedly at her desperate plea as he ground his hips against hers teasingly. “Such a needy little thing, aren't you? Begging your sensei to fuck you right here”
“J-Johnny”
He silenced her with a hard kiss, his tongue invading her mouth possessively. “Shut up and spread your legs, brat. I'm gonna give you what you need” He commanded harshly, his hands moving to her knees and pushing them apart roughly.
Y/n's head fell back against the mat as she spread her legs for him. She was so desperate for him, soaking wet through the black leggings that covered the part of her body that needed him most.
He looked down at her spread legs, his eyes dark with lust as he took in the sight of her soaked leggings. He reached down, hooking his fingers into the waistband and pulling them down roughly, revealing her pink lace panties. “Fuck, you're soaked”
Y/n's breath hitched as she arched her hips up to help him get her leggings off. Johnny tugged them off completely, tossing them aside. He let out a low groan as he gazed at the damp spot on her panties. “Look at that, you're dripping for me already, aren't you?” His fingers traced the damp lace teasingly.
Y/n moaned desperately, her head falling back against the mat. “y-yes, sensei”
He growled possessively at her response, his fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties and pulling them down as well. He tossed them aside, leaving her completely bare and exposed before him. "Fucking hell, baby”
“J-Johnny” she moaned softly and desperately.
Johnny looked up at her with a wicked grin, his hands gripping her inner thighs and spreading her legs even wider. He leaned down, his hot breath fanning over her exposed center. “You want my mouth on this pretty little pussy, don't you?”
“Y-yes!” y/n moaned.
He chuckled darkly, his tongue flicking out to taste her, making her gasp. He groaned at her flavor, diving in and eating her out like a starving man. His hands gripped her hips, holding her in place as he feasted on her. “so fucking sweet”
She threw her head back against the mat in pleasure. She gripped his hair, arching her hips up. “j-Johnny!” she cried out louder.
He sucked on her clit, flicking his tongue against it rapidly as he ate her out. His nose buried in her pussy, inhaling her sweet scent deeply. He looked up at her, his eyes dark with lust as he saw her gripping his hair and arching her hips. “Fuck, baby”
He groaned, hooking her leg over his shoulder, giving him even better access to her pussy. He licked and sucked her clit, feeling her getting closer and closer to the edge. He slid a finger inside her, curling it up to hit her G-spot.
“Fuck, J-Johnny!”
He added another finger, pumping them in and out of her as he continued to suck on her swollen nub. He could feel her getting closer, her inner walls trembling around his fingers. He growled possessively against her, sending vibrations through her sensitive flesh.
“Johnny, I'm close!”
He doubled his efforts, sucking harder and curling his fingers deeper, determined to make her cum undone. His other hand gripped her ass, squeezing the soft flesh as he held her tight against his face. “Don't hold back, baby. Cum all over my face. Show me what I do to you”
“Johnny!” she cried out, cumming on his tongue.
He groaned in satisfaction as he felt her cumming, the taste of her filling his mouth. He continued to lap at her, prolonging her climax until she was trembling and sensitive. Finally, he pulled back, his lips and chin shiny with her juices. He climbed up her body, his hard dick pressing against her stomach. He captured her lips in a searing kiss, letting her taste herself on his mouth. He broke the kiss to look down at her, his eyes full of desire and possession. “You taste so fucking good, baby”
Y/n moaned against his lips, wrapping her arms around his neck. He nuzzled against her neck, inhaling her scent deeply. He could feel his release getting closer just from the intimacy of holding her like this. He nudged her legs apart with his knees, settling himself between her thighs once more.
“N-need you” y/n mumbled desperately, tugging at his sweatpants.
He quickly pulled his sweatpants down, freeing his hard, throbbing cock. He didn't even bother to take off his shirt, too desperate to be inside her. He grabbed her hips and positioned himself at her entrance, his tip teasing her wet folds. “You need me where, baby?”
“You know where I need you”
He smirked, unable to resist teasing her even in his desperation. “Oh, you mean right here?” He rubbed the head of his cock along her slit, coating himself in her arousal. “Beg for it, baby. Tell me exactly what you want”
“P-please, Johnny,” she arched her hips up, desperate for some friction and needing him closer. “I need you inside me”
His control snapped at her plea. He grabbed her hips and thrust his cock deep inside her in one swift motion, not even giving her a second to adjust before he started pounding into her. “Fuck, you're so tight!” He grunted, his balls slapping against her ass with each thrust.
“Johnny!” she gasped, digging her nails into his back and wrapping her legs around his waist.
He grunted as he felt her nails digging into his back, the slight pain only adding to his pleasure. He leaned down to capture her lips in a messy, aggressive kiss as he continued to fuck her hard and fast, their bodies slamming together as she moaned against his lips. Her tongue with his roughly as she raked her nails down his back. “You feel so fucking good, baby”
He hissed at the stinging pain of her nails on his back, but it only spurred him on. He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up slightly and changing the angle of his thrusts so that he was hitting her deeper with each pump of his hips. “Come on, baby”
“J-John,” y/n gasped, tugging at his hair. “Johnny, I'm close!” she moaned desperately.
He groaned at her desperate cries, he redoubled his efforts, feeling his own climax barreling towards him. He gripped her ass tighter, plunging into her feverishly as he chased their mutual pleasure. “Come for me, y/n. Cum all over my cock, baby”
She gasped, throwing her head back in pleasure. The pressure of the overwhelming orgasm made her eyes roll back as she dug my nails into his back. “Fuck, Johnny!” she cried out, cumming on his cock.
He moaned at the feeling of her tight pussy clenching around him, he lost it. With a loud grunt, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard inside her, making her moan as his hot seed filling her up as he continued to thrust into her spasming cunt, prolonging his orgasm. “Fuck!”
As the final waves of pleasure subsided, Johnny collapsed on top of y/n, both of them panting heavily. He nuzzled into her neck, pressing soft kisses to her damp skin. “Holy shit, that was intense” He murmured, a satisfied smirk curling his lips.
Y/n suddered, trying to catch her breath as she nuzzled her face into his neck. He held her close, feeling a sense of contentment wash over him. For a moment, he just stayed there, enjoying the afterglow and the warmth of her body pressed against his. “You okay, baby?” He asked softly, his voice rough from exertion.
“I'm great,” she smiled softly.
He grinned and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips before pulling out of her slowly. He winced slightly as he felt their combined juices leak out of her. “Damn, that's a mess” He chuckled, looking down at the sticky substance on his cock and her inner thighs.
“Your fault,” she joked softly. She shifted her legs slightly, feeling her skin stick to the training mat slightly.
He snorted and shook his head, a playful smirk on his face. “Yeah, well, can't say I regret a second of it” He stood up, admiring y/n's flushed and sated form sprawled out on the mat.
“mhm” she hummed, stretching.
He grabbed a towel from the nearby equipment shelf and crouched down next to her, gently wiping the sticky residue from her inner thighs. It made her moan softly as the soft material made contact with her sensitive core. He couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the situation - they'd just had sex on the training mat like a couple of animals.
He saw her wince and moan softly as he cleaned her up, and he couldn't resist teasing her a little. He slowly dragged the towel between her thighs, watching her face contort with sensitivity. “Damn, you're so sensitive now”
“Usually how it works,” she said softly and sarcastically.
He barked out a laugh at her sassy response, shaking his head as he finished wiping her down. “Smartass” He tossed the towel aside and stretched out beside her on the mat, propping himself up on an elbow to gaze down at her with a mischievous glint in his eye.
“What?” she raised an eyebrow.
“Just admiring my handiwork” He grinned, reaching out to run a finger along her collarbone, down the valley of her breasts, and over her flat stomach. His touch was light and teasing, but also possessive.
“Of course, why wouldn't you?” she rolled my eyes playfully.
He chuckled and leaned down to press a soft kiss to her stomach, his breath warm against her skin. “Because I just fucked you stupid on the training mat, and now I get to bask in the afterglow of knowing I made you feel that good”
Y/n smirked. “I guess you're right.You did make me feel pretty good” she teased, but told nothing but the truth.
He lifted his head to look at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smirked back. “‘Pretty good’?” He quoted, his fingers splaying out over her stomach possessively. “You make it sound like it was nothing special” He pretended to pout.
“I think the mess on your dick and the training mat says enough” y/n teased.
He burst out laughing at her comment, shaking his head in amusement. “Fuck, you're something else, you know that?” He said as he leaned down to press a firm kiss to her lips. “But you're right, the mess speaks for itself”
“But, yes... You were amazing”
He smiled warmly at her praise, his heart swelling with affection for this stubborn, sassy woman. “And you were incredible, as always,” He murmured against her lips, his voice filled with adoration. “I don't know what I'd do without you, Baby”
To that, y/n lifted her head and gave him a soft, quick kiss on the lips. He deepened the kiss, his hand sliding up to cup her cheek possessively. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes searching hers intensely. “I love you, okay? I know I don't say it enough, but I fucking love you so much it hurts sometimes”
Y/n looked into his blue eyes, smiling lovingly. “I love you too”
He held her gaze for a moment longer before speaking. “Say it again,” He whispered, his voice hoarse. “I need to hear it one more time today” He murmured, his thumb rubbing her cheek gently.
“I love you, Sensei Lawrence,” she said, giving him a cute smile.
A dopey grin spread across his face. “Goddamn, that's still hot when you call me Sensei” He said with a chuckle, nuzzling against her neck.
Y/n chuckled softly, running my fingers through his hair, making him hum contentedly. He leaned in, nuzzling into her touch. They lay there for a while longer, basking in the post-coital glow and the warm feelings that had grown between them. Eventually, he lifted his head to look at her again, his expression turning more serious. “Hey, y/n?”
“hm?”
He carefully brushed a strand of hair from her face, his expression thoughtful. “Being with you, it makes me want to be a better man. To be worthy of you” His voice carried a very rare vulnerability.
“You are worthy” she said softly, cupping his jaw and gently rubbing his cheek.
He leaned into her touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm grateful every fucking day” He opened his eyes again, looking at her with unabashed love and adoration.
“You're such a big softy after sex” y/n teased lovingly.
He scoffed, but a soft smile tugged at his lips. “Shut up,” He murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “You bring out this mushy shit in me. I can't help it” He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.
“Definitely not complaining”
He nuzzled into her neck, inhaling her scent deeply. “You know what else you make me want to do after sex?” He asked mischievously, his fingers tracing patterns on her back.
“What?”
He leaned in close, his breath tickling her ear as he whispered. “Order a huge pizza. I'm fucking starving after that workout” He gave a playful wink, his stomach rumbling loudly as if on cue to emphasize his point.
Y/n scoffed playfully, rolling her eyes. “such a romantic thing to say to your girlfriend after sex”
He chuckled and shrugged unapologetically. “Hey, I'm a simple man. Food and a beautiful woman, that's all I need,” He grinned, giving her a quick kiss on the lips before sitting up and stretching lazily. “Is Pepperoni okay?”
Y/n sat up from the mat, putting her shirt back on. “yeah, sounds good”
He pulled on his own shirt, a well-worn white t-shirt that hugged his muscular frame, before pulling out his phone to place the order. “Alright, pizza will be ready in 15. We'll pick it up on the way home” He said, putting his phone in his pocket.
Y/n reached over for her leggings and pulled them on. “m'kay”
He watched as she pulled on her leggings, admiring her legs appreciatively. “Fuck, you in those leggings, almost as good as seeing you out of them,” He teased with a mischievous grin, grabbing his jacket off the floor. “Almost”
She rolled her eyes playfully as she pulled her converse back on and tied them. She stood up from the mat and pecked him on the lips. “your gonna need to do deep cleaning on the mat before your next class”
He cracked a grin as he surveyed the disheveled state of the training mat, his mind still fuzzy from the afterglow. “Eh, I'll get to it later. Priorities, Baby” He winked at her, pulling her in for one last tight hug.
“I'm serious, bleach, holy water, I don't care just clean it,” she gave him a playful glare. “I won't be able to look Hawk or Miguel in the eyes if they used that same mat after we did what we did”
He burst into laughter, pulling her closer and kissing the tip of her nose. “Alright, alright, you're right. I'll get it done before my next class. Happy?” His hands found their way to cup her ass through the leggings. “Though I gotta admit, it was totally worth it”
She went to swat his hand away, but he caught her wrist in his hand, pulling her closer with a cocky smirk. “Hey now, none of that. You were just as into it as I was,” He pressed a lingering kiss to her neck. “And don't act like you didn't enjoy getting a private lesson from your sensei”
A small shiver went down her spine and her cheeks went red at the way he whispered the last part in her ear. He immediately noticed her reaction and chuckled, his grip on her wrist tightening affectionately. “Yeah, that's what I thought. Alright, let's go get that pizza. I'm fucking starving” He led her out of the dojo, still holding her wrist in his hand.
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