#maybe i should cut my arms off so when i say i can't do something someone actually listens to me haha

[hannahssimblr]

Astrid, 

Hope you got my postcard from Phuket, and that the Bangkok one shows up, eventually. Maybe it is actually lost, like maybe I’m doing something wrong at the post office. It’s fine if they all go into the abyss. I am writing just to write, because it feels romantic or whatever. You probably hate the idea of this. I could just text you. I texted you forty-five minutes ago. Still miss you. 

We’re in Phi Phi now. Islands, very beautiful. I bet you already know about them, but I’d never heard about this place before I came here. The landscape is kind of mental, like giants made it. Weird to look at. We went out on a little boat yesterday to see the sights. Jonas jumped off and swam, and I did not. My tattoo is still healing. Stupid fucking thing. I waved over a boat of girls and told them Jonas was saying he fancied them, and then he got annoyed with me, because he wasn’t saying that, and he was embarrassed. I think he should learn to talk to women without wanting to die, and he says I think about women too much, that I’m too invested and I should think about something else. History, philosophy, whatever. Why would I when there are women like you on the earth?

At night, instead of going out and drinking, we go to bed early, in our bunks, him on the top, me below like always, and he tells me all this shit about the Suez canal, or what the Falklands war was all about, since I was stupid enough to ask a follow up question once. Then I fall asleep to escape the boredom. We get up at six and do activities, then. Lots of walking. My body hurts. 

Jonas finally tried those scorpions he was banging on about, and now he’s sick, btw. Food poisoning. I don’t really know how to take care of him, except coming back to the hostel every few hours, making sure he has water. Until he’s better, I guess I’m just wandering around on my own. Luckily, it’s nice to look at. Maybe today I’ll swim with my arm out of the water. Running out of space. Love and miss you can't wait to see you.

xxx Jude. 

I snap open the lid of a bottle of water and carry it into the hostel room. It smells bad there, but I’ve stopped saying it, because it makes Jonas look like he’s about to cry. He’s curled up on his bunk, a complexion like curdled yoghurt, as a chink of morning light spills through the blinds and over his shivering body. Mostly naked. Too hot, then too cold, then sipping water, then throwing it up. I hover in the doorway. 

“I’ve water,” I say, and he just stares. Resigned, half-dead, maybe. “Should you go to hospital or something, do you think?”

“No, I feel slightly better.”

“Oh, okay. Do you want the water, or?”

“Yes. Bring it to me.”

I approach him like a leper, not sure why, as I’m fully aware he’s not contagious, but it’s been ten days since I’ve thrown up, and I’d like to maintain my healthy aura. He regards me with bleary eyes as I back away. “It is good you are an artist and not a nurse.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. I’m not so good with illness.”

“Even though you are always ill.” A tentative sip from the bottle. “You went out this morning?”

“To the post office.”

“Another postcard to Astrid.”

“Yes.”

I can tell he wants to laugh but lacks strength, managing only a feeble wheeze. “Is she missing you as much as you are missing her?”

“No, I don’t think so. She’s much better at distance.”

“She’s an independent person.”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me what she is doing today.”

“It’s Wednesday, so probably going to reformer pilates. Then she’s supposed to meet a friend from university for lunch. After that, I don’t know. Something spontaneous and thrilling, probably.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

He manages a watery smile. “You’ll be doing nothing again today? Missing her?”

“I was thinking I might wade into the sea, actually. Keep walking out until I disappear, wailing after Astrid like the pathetic little freak I am.”

“It’s Wednesday?”

“Yes, Wednesday.”

“I signed up for something today.”

“Well, I don’t think you’ll be going, by the cut of you.”

“No,” giving up on the water for now, he rolls onto his back, watching insects congregate around the plastic light fixture. “You could go in my place. It’s a… meditation thing.”

I pull a face. “Meditation? That thing where you sit cross-legged and go like ‘om’?” I demonstrate, but feel bad for making him laugh. Apparently a bit painful for him. 

“Yes,” he says. “Kind of. You might find value in it.”

“Is that the kind of guy you think I am? With like, dirty feet and harem pants?”

“Since I am the one who signed up, is it the kind of person you think I am?”

“Not far off.”

“Well, meditation has many benefits. It’s not just for the dirty-feet-squad. It’s good for people who suffer with various mental health concerns, and people who have racing thoughts they cannot stop and such things. Maybe it will inspire you to stop thinking about women’s breasts.”

I scoff. “Why would I do a thing like that?”

“So you can think of more productive things that will inform you, and grow your mind rather than rotting it away.”

“Like the Falklands war, for instance.”

“Yes, like the Falklands war,” he says, suddenly animated. “Thank you for saying that. Or the targeting of Libyan migrant workers on suspicion of being mercenaries by—”

I take a brisk and decisive step out of the room. “Well! Glad you’re feeling better, Jonas. See you later. Keep drinking that water, et cetera.” I swing the door shut and amble away, down the hostel hallway and back to the beach, rearing for another day of nothing, bored senseless by the edge of a lonely ocean.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[honey-minded-hivemind]

🖤Dark AU, Post Three, A Better World...

(Warning! This post mentions death, dying, gore, yanderes, and implied drugging. Do not read if this upsets you! You have been warned...)

• You weren't sure what you were expecting on being back with your team. You'd expected maybe some crying, or a lecture, or even being banned or kicked out... Not everyone being older, clingy, and seeming to harbor something dark within...

• Recovering is hard. Your abdomen had been cut open before you had... and while it had healed some after you and your friends came back... it hadn't healed all the way. So that meant your... "team"... had to bandage it, stitch the deepest parts closed, and then would not leave you alone. This would have been fine in any other scenario. Needed, or wanted, even. But everyone here just seemed off, somehow. Desperate. Darker. More dangerous. It's like when you and the others had ... they just snapped. And that wasn't good.

• Right now, you're sitting at breakfast with your friends, as well as the beings who appear as Logan, Victor, The Professor, and Scott and Jean. You feel small whenever their piercing gaze crosses over you, as though it's peeling back your skin and trying to see what's underneath, trying to find out why you won't give in. It feels heavy, intense, too much. You do your best to ignore them... even if that means having to try and drink the smoothie they made. The color is light, the scent sweet, and it makes your stomach growl. But you don't trust it. You don't trust them.

• Kurt seems to have no such qualms. He's busy trying to drink his own smoothie, sitting on the same side of the table as you, his tail wrapped around your ankle like a hand seeking comfort (or a chain keeping you attached). You can't blame him. You know that... You know you should have been more careful. That you should have planned harder, or waited one more day, or just done anything else differently to save you all from... His tail squeezes tighter, and his eyes soften at you. He reaches under the table and grabs your hand, giving it a light squeeze. You breathe out, trying to think about something else.

• Kitty sits on Kurt's other side, nervous. You smile lightly at her, trying to ease the tension, and she smiles back, timid. She drinks some of her smoothie, and you hum lightly as you peer at yours again. Pietro already went through two, but you understand. He has a fast metabolism, and he honestly needs every bit of nutrition and food he can get. You're worried. He's just been... he's been too quiet. Where Kurt clings to you or Kitty hugs the three of you as tight as she can, Pietro just keeps watch, guarded, his spine tense and his eyes on edge. You want to talk to him, to try and get to the bottom of what exactly is bothering him, but... you don't want the adults to hear.

• "Is your drink alright, dear?" You snap back up, jumping slightly. Right. You got lost in your thoughts again... You stare at the Professor, trying to shove down any surface worry or fear. "It isn't too acidic, is it? It's a berry mixture, but we tried to use the ones you liked." "It's okay. I'm just not very hungry, I guess..." "My dear, I insist you please try to eat a little. You need the nutrients and vitamins to get better."

• You can see Logan shift, ready to get up and "help" you. You don't know what they'd do, but you aren't sure you want to test the waters right now. You sigh, but take a sip. The cloying taste of sweet berries fills your mouth, and you feel your stomach tighten with pain when you think of not swallowing. You tentatively gulp it down, and feel a bit better. You don't like the way everyone stares at you, with too soft, too dark eyes, watching and waiting... You take another sip, and Pietro pats your arm. You lean into the touch, deciding you need comfort more than you need to be guarded right now.

• "You doing alright, bud? Just, take it easy, okay? You're fine, we're safe, okay?" he says, whispering softly to you. You nod, not wanting to talk about it. The conversation goes up again, but you let it turn to white noise around you, only listening for keywords or any hints of what secret the adults could possibly have...

• "Hang in their, mein freund. Ve vill be okay," Kurt whispers. You smile, more a grimace than anything, but you stay huddled between your friends. You feel safe here, if only with them...

• If he's being honest, Kurt doesn't know how to feel about all of... this. His mother, his sister, his whole family, they're all older! The world is strange now, speaking of peace and friendship rather than war and violence. The adults keep saying they are okay, that they are safe, that no one will hurt them, that none of them will leave them. He... he doesn't want to be left alone. He can't stand the idea. Kitty leans into his side, and Reader squeezes his hand again. He sighs. He is here. He is safe. They are all safe. God has delivered them, and He has brought them home. Kurt, he... he felt scared, when they had been captured. When they were experimented on, tortured, kept locked away and hidden, with no way for their family to find them. He felt so, so lost. So afraid. So alone. But his friends were there. Reader was there. And they had been willing to sacrifice themself, to be the scape goat, the sacrificial lamb, the one who took all the punishment, all so he and Kitty and Pietro would be safe. Then they gave up their own life, all so they could escape, or try to... He... he felt grateful to them. Grateful for them. They were like a blessing, an angel in disguise... Maybe... maybe they were...? Or maybe they were someone blessed, who helped others, who was beloved by God and His Heaven...? Kurt didn't know for sure, but... he couldn't let them get hurt. He had to keep them safe. They were his friend, they were family, and he couldn't bare to see them suffer again...

• Kitty thought she was taking all of this pretty well. Okay, they're in, like, the future. Surprise, everyone they know and loved was older! And scary! And... well, okay, so far were only taking care of them. Which at times felt scary, but no one was hurting them, or being mean or rude, so it was good? Right? She... she didn't know how to process all of this. Seriously, what had happened?! She thought all of them were goners, had died, and then they're back (not unharmed but they're alive!), and then they're captured by their team (their family) and brought back to the Institute. So, all is well, right? One would think that, but... she isn't sure. Sure, the others act the same, they say they love them, that they missed them, but... but then why? Why does she feel so scared, so wary, of them? Like they'll pop out of the shadows or keep them caged? They're their team! They're their family! They wouldn't do that, would they? She tells herself they wouldn't, that they care, that they wouldn't do all of this for them if they didn't... But Reader is wary, too... and they're her friend, one of her best friends... She wants this to be good, she really does. She doesn't want to be scared anymore! She doesn't want to be hurt anymore! She doesn't deserve that! Kurt doesn't deserve that! Not Pietro! And not Reader! They're all funny, and sweet, and brave, they're all nice (when Pietro isn't pulling a prank war)! So who should she trust? Her friends, or their family? She... she's not sure she can choose... but the moment something is wrong, she will get them out, and they won't ever be hurt again...

• Pietro has seen better days. Felt better too. What. The. H*ll. He and his friends survived H*ll on Earth. They put up with the secret, evil scientists and government officials and generals and soldiers, they took beatings, they were pushed to their f*cking limits, and then they DIED. What. Does. He. Do. How do they even begin to recover from this? And Reader... Look, he trusts them, with his life, he might add. But they just, they lied, to him, to Kurt, to Kitty, all so they could go sacrifice themself so the three of them could escape. How does he even begin to deal with that? How does he forget it? He doesn't want to accept it. He wished it hadn't ended like that. Why, why, WHY would they DO that?! They were supposed to escape together, no man left behind, but they let themself get caught and they DIED. He. He's just so... he's so sick. He's upset. He's scared. He's scared for them... Why would they do this? Don't they know he cares, that they care, that they love them, that they'd miss them? Do they think themself worthless? Does Reader hate themself? Do they know what they did? Do they know what they've done? He doesn't know how to talk to them about this. He needs to. He doesn't want them hurt ever again... he can't lose them ever again... they... they scared him... they let themself die for them, for him... He just wants all of them to be safe... He doesn't to hurt them, he doesn't want to make them cry, but if they can't save themself too, then he'll make it so they are. Even if they means... even if it means finding other means to do so...

• You're glad when breakfast is over. You feel tired, but honestly... you really want to just hug your friends and forget for an hour. But when you do wake up... you need to have a talk... You just hope they'll listen.

( @sugar-soda @vivid-bun @danniloversugar @weebwholovesuchihasasuke @ainsellshadewalker @thewickedweiner @hermesserpent-stuff @crowwithguns @opossumdaydreamz @tydye-goat64 @foundfamyanderes )

[cielosuerte]

i do sort of feel like i was born with an open wound instead of a heart sometimes. and i can only ever bleed or tourniquet, and neither option wins you any love

[allllium]

Comfort

~ Some Sappy Jason Todd x Reader

~ Playing with Jason's Hair

~ Fluff, a little overthinking, WC: 981

- You play with Jason's Hair -

You are usually very good at understanding things about your boyfriend, Jason. It took you no time at all to find about his nightly activities and everything about his family. But on the other hand, you can't seem to understand him at all.

You've tried not to ask him about certain things because based on hints from his family, he's had some bad shit happen in his life.

However, the more questions you don't ask, the more that seem to pop up.

You haven't asked him why sometimes he flinches away when you touch him but other times he leans in.

You haven't asked him why his hands make fists when you're trying to sleep at night.

You haven't asked him about the scar along his chest or his aversion to certain foods.

All because you're too scared to make him uncomfortable, or maybe because you don't know if you could stomach it.

You're laying bed and waiting for him to come out of the bathroom. Somehow, you take less time getting ready for bed than he does. You suspect it's because he needs a couple minutes to process everything that happened during the day.

As usual you have a million thoughts running through you're head all at the same time. 99% of them are about him.

When he finally comes into your shared bedroom and gets comfortable in bed, you're debating whether or not to talk to him about some of the things you can't get out of your mind.

You decide against it. The last thing you want to do is make him uncomfortable or bring up any bad memories that might affect his ability to sleep through the night.

He can obviously sense your unease, you don't hide it very well.

"What's wrong?" His raspy voice cuts through your thoughts.

"Nothing, sweetheart." You try to play it off.

"Uh huh." He says blankly.

"I'm just thinking about things, is that a crime?"

"Depends on what they are." He pulls you closer to him and wraps his arms around you.

"Nothing bad."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"If someone's bothering you, you should tell me."

"Why is that?"

"Well I have an ability of getting rid of people."

"Oh my God Jason you can't joke about that." You look at him in amused shock.

"Who says it's a joke?" He asks, face completely serious.

"Okay no killing people on my behalf." You chuckle and he copies. "I'm just trying to figure you out more."

"Why?"

"Cuz I want to know more about you?"

"Like what"

"Right now I want to know what you want." You pull away from him in order to sit up a little bit.

"I don't want anything at the moment."

"Yes you do. If you didn't want anything your fists wouldn't be clenched and your eyes wouldn't have that look. Like you want to say something but can't."

"You really want to know?" He asks.

"Yeah I really do." You immediately reply.

"A couple months ago while we were watching a movie on the couch, you played with my hair and it was very comforting. And the best sleep I've ever had."

"That's it? I've been driving myself crazy trying to think of explanations and you're telling me you just want me to play with your hair." You question him in disbelief. It's been months of overthinking thoughts and random mind rampages for something you haven't even noticed you were doing.

"I didn't know how to say it." He shrugs, not looking into your eyes. "It sounds childish."

"No it doesn't. Everyone has different ideas of perfect comfort and I happen to agree with yours. Jason, if you want something from me all you have to do is ask."

You lean over to give him a quick, sweet kiss.

"I'm not used to that."

"Well you better get started."

"Fine, would you play with hair so I can go to sleep, Angel?"

"Only because you asked so nicely."

It takes a second for you both to get rearranged so it's comfortable. You're now laying on your back with Jason half on his side, half on top of you with his head on your chest.

It's almost amusing how quickly he falls asleep but above all else you feel a sense of pride at the fact that you're the one giving him this feeling.

He said this was comforting. He said this was the best sleep he's ever had.

And you're the reason he's having these things.

You stay up longer than you probably should have. This time the thoughts running through your head aren't worrying or overwhelming.

They make you happy. Happy enough to fall into a very sound sleep.

You wake up to coffee on your nightstand and a missing Jason.

"Jason." You call out and he quickly comes running.

When he walks in the room, you immediately begin questioning him.

"What is this?" You ask with an ounce of suspicion. You're worried it's a repayment of some sort.

"It's coffee. A hot caffeinated drink."

"Why?"

"Because you like it and it makes you irritable for far less time in the morning."

"Jason you don't have to do things for me just because I did something for you."

"Yes I do. Because words won't let me explain how grateful I am for you."

"Since when are you so sappy?"

He sits on the bed next to you.

"Don't be mean to me right now, I'll take it away."

"Fine. Continue your speech."

"I know it's a small thing for you but I haven't felt comfort like you give me in a very long time. Maybe even ever. And I need you to know that."

"I can't tell you how happy I am to give that to you."

The next thing you know, you both have giant grins on your faces and you're both happier than ever before.

[luveline]

could you please write something where maybe bombshell!reader hears one of the team members teasing about how she’s torturing spencer and she kinda backs off with the flirting and maybe it’s his turn to hold her hand and call her cute names because even though he always says he doesn’t mind, maybe he does and he just doesn’t want to tell her

tysm for requesting, 1k

Spencer's hair is brown silk in the sun. You bite your tongue to hold in a compliment rearing to come out, saccharine and completely true. Looking sweet, Spence. 

You love to compliment him and especially while Hotch is out of earshot. He and Derek play pairs against two agents from a different unit, their tennis racquets a shiny FBI navy. You start to speak and bite it back —a memory flashes, a shouting stop sign. 

You'd been teasing Spencer as he left the room, something about his indecisive hair. He's cut it shorter but left his curls without product, and you love it. 

Poor guy, Emily'd murmured, lips set against the rim of her coffee cup. 

What's the matter with him? you asked, perplexed. 

Nothing, just that he spins into a total meltdown every time you guys are within ten feet of each other. He must be exhausted.

She was joking and you know that, but something deep down worries she's right. It's not fair for you to keep winding him up… Especially when Spencer might be going along with you because he isn't sure how to say no. 

What if you're forcing yourself on him? 

You're sitting together on a small blanket in the grass with Anderson and a few of the other less competitive BAU agents. You bring your bottled iced tea to your forehead to cool down, condensation wetting your hot skin. The top of your head feels as though it has the full concentration of the sun beating against it. 

Spencer looks up at your movement. He's been reading a book for pleasure, or so he says, so he isn't going a mile a minute but he's still way faster than the average Joe. "Do you want to go find some shade?" he asks. 

"You look comfortable," you say, putting your iced tea aside.

Which is to say, I don't want you to come with me, it would disrupt you. Spencer nods and turns to the brown leather of his familiar satchel, popping the buckle open to dig around inside. 

"Do you think this would be okay?" he asks, bringing out his baseball cap. 

The fabric is starchy and the brim stiff as you accept it and wedge it over your head. You don't immediately cool, but your heart spins strange loops. "Thank you," you say. Thank you, handsome, gorgeous, baby, all beg to be said. 

Spencer stays looking at you for longer than normal. 

"Do I have something on my face?" you ask, swatting self consciously at your cheeks. 

"Nothing. You look really pretty," he says. 

"Thank you." Another loop. You point at his book, fingertip hitting a creamy page with a small thud. "Is this any good?" 

"I think you'd really like it, it feels like that last book I borrowed from you, and you loved that. They're very similar. I can lend it to you when I'm done." 

"Don't rush it for my sake."

Spencer gives you a private smile. "I won't. Just because you could watch a movie at two times speed doesn't mean you should." 

Your returning smile isn't half as nice. No shared lightness, no bright eyes. You're feeling awkward and unhappy —you really like Spencer. Like, you think you could be happy together for a long long time sort of like. He's charming and sweet and no one is ever as kind to him as he deserves, which is why you're trying to be kind now by putting distance between you.

You'll be brash forever. You can't change that, and Spencer doesn't need the stress of dealing with you, not on top of everything else. 

His smile fades as yours does. Quiet, without fuss, he scoots back on the picnic blanket, putting you knee to knee. The subtle muscle of his arm presses to yours and his hand wraps gently around your wrist as he dips his head down, his cheek touching briefly to your shoulder. 

"I know it's nice, but if the heat is getting to you we should go inside," he says, his fingers sliding across your palm to slot between your own. He squeezes your hand. "Heat stroke isn't obvious at first. Do you feel woozy?"

You stare at your twined fingers. He surprises you again, being this soft with you, and being uncharacteristically forward. Or maybe not uncharacteristic at all; Spencer won't let something like timidity stop him from comforting someone that needs it. 

"Spence," you murmur, closing your eyes, face angled down. 

"What?" 

"I'm sorry if I… If I've been messing you around. But I don't think this is a good idea." 

"What's not a good idea?" 

You can't make yourself say it. Instead, you rub the back of his hand, more for your own comfort than his, your tongue like a useless lump in your mouth. 

"You're sorry? Are you sure you're okay?" Spencer asks, no heed to the people sitting with you as he lets go of your hand to put his arm behind your shoulder like a shield. 

"I don't want to torture you," you say. 

Your friends love that word. You torture Spencer with your flirting and your easy affection. 

Spencer makes a face, eyes squinting and nose wrinkled. "They're just kidding when they say that. Emily, Morgan, they like making fun of me, it's like, sibling bonding or something. They don't say it because there's actually something to feel sorry about." He lowers his voice, bashful but sincere at once, "If you're torturing me, I guess I'm a masochist." 

You laugh without thinking, a breathless, girlish sound you'd regret if you had the wherewithal. "You're a masochist?" you ask. 

He takes the brim of your borrowed hat and pushes it up to unobstruct the view of your eyes. 

"If that's what it takes," he says. A hint of wryness creeps into his otherwise smooth tone. 

Despite his brave talk and his steady eye contact, his face has started to blush. A rosy hue kisses the tops of his cheeks and his nose, a dusting of pink splodges stark against his paleness. The curve of his lips seems extra tantalising now. He's very, very pretty. 

And he doesn't mind stepping in to take the reins when you're unsure of things. 

"We really should sit in the shade for a bit," he says. "Let's get drinks from the gazebo. Yeah?" 

You're halfway through a nod when he kisses your cheek too quickly for you to respond. You follow him to the gazebo without any more reluctance, weaselling your hand back into his, and attempt to pull another kiss from him.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Stan Pines is the kind of man who can't just let you do anything without turning it into a compliment, like, every move you make, he's gotta say something. And it’s never normal. 

You could be bent over organising some random crap around the Mystery Shack and this man will make it sound like you’re posing for him. Because, yeah, you’re just trying to organize his disaster of a desk, sorting through all his crumpled receipts, ticket stubs, whatever the hell else he’s hoarded.

“Your doin’ god’s work, sugar,” and it’s not even subtle. You look over your shoulder, half expecting him to actually be paying attention to the pile of garbage you're dealing with, but no. He’s leaning against the counter, counting out cash from the register, but all you see is that smirk. The one that makes it very clear his mind ain’t on the paperwork.

“Sorting your trash is god’s work?” you quip back, rolling your eyes, but the way he’s watching you with that smirk of his, makes your cheeks flush a bit.

“You know what I mean,” Stan mutters and now he’s just full-on undressing you with his eyes, the cash in his hands forgotten. “ya ain’t gotta try so hard, baby, because ya could sit on your ass all day and I’d still think ya did somethin’ special.” and your face burns at that, but he sees it, of course, he does. Stan ain’t dumb, despite the act he puts on for tourists. He’s so much more clever than he looks, always has been. The moment he catches that excitement in your eyes, he’s grinning like he’s just won a damn lottery.

“You like that, huh? being told how good you are?”

You smirk back, trying to play it off, but your voice comes out a little breathier than you mean for it to. “all that for organizing receipts? maybe you should give me a raise.” 

Stan just laughs loudly. “yeah, sweetheart, you deserve the whole damn Shack.”

Or when, you’re just sitting at the counter, counting the cash from the register, going about your day and Stan? Well, Stan is “cleaning up,” which basically means he’s wiping the same spot for like five minutes straight while staring at you. You catch him, because he’s being too obvious with it. His eyes keep dipping to your lips every time you bite your pen and it’s distracting as hell.

“You’re too damn cute, y’know that?” he grumbles and it sounds like he’s mad about it, like you’ve done something wrong just by existing.

“You say that every day.” you shoot him a teasing smile, because yeah, this is the daily routine.

And Stan just sighs, smirking like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah, and I’ll keep sayin’ it, sorry, baby, couldn’t shut up about ya if I tried.” 

Then there’s when you’re fixing up one of the old displays, just tightening bolts or whatever and Stan’s “supervising.” Except by “supervising,” I mean, he’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching you work with that wide grin on his face, satisfied and clearly enjoying the view.

“Goddamn, honey,” he mutters. “you makin’ this place look good just by bein’ in it. Hm, maybe I should start charging you for the view.” 

You glance over your shoulder, raising your eyebrow, but smirking, because you know exactly what game he’s playing.

“What? I’d pay whatever ya want, sweetheart. You’re worth every penny.” 

Or you’re just in the kitchen, cutting up vegetables for dinner. The radio’s on low, the sun setting through the windows. Stan’s sitting at the table, pretending to read the newspaper, but every once in a while you catch him glancing over the edge, just watching you move around the kitchen. It’s quiet until he breaks it.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, y’know that?” his voice is so soft, too sincere for Stanley Pines, but when you look over, he’s still got that damn smirk on his face.

You pause, knife in hand, and raise an eyebrow. “For chopping onions?”

He chuckles, leaning back in his chair, arms behind his head. “Nah, sugar, it’s just the way you’re movin’ around in there, i dunno how to explain it, but damn, you look good in my kitchen.”

You snort, shaking your head. “I’m literally cutting onions, Stan.”

“Yeah, still sexy. That’s all I’m sayin’.”

Then there’s the mornings. You’re in the bathroom, brushing your teeth, hair a mess, wearing one of Stan’s old shirts that hangs way too big on you and he's leaning in the doorway, watching you like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. You catch his reflection in the mirror, raising an eyebrow at him, but he just shrugs with this lazy grin, continuing to admire to you.

“Can’t help it, sweetie, you look cute when you’re all domestic.”

you’re just brushing your teeth, but somehow, this man makes it sound like you’re doing the sexiest damn thing in the world

[xxchumanixx]

heyy love, could you do a tim bradford x fem reader (she is a officer) where they are married and he is totally whipped for her like he does everything she asked him without hesitance.

like one time (this take place when lucy just had become his rookie not a long time ago) for some reason tim, lucy and reader were patrolling together (lucy or reader was sitting in the backseat of the patrol car) and tim was being kinda harsh on lucy like he always is, so reader told him to be nice and scold him. lucy was trying told back her laugh the whole time.

hope this makes sense 😭

Nice for a price

Tim Bradford x wife!reader

Warnings/Tags: fluff, Tim being grumpy Word count: 482 Authors note: Hey love, thanks for the request! I really like the idea and I hope you'll like how I wrote it. I'm sorry that it's a little short, but I'm a little sick at the moment and I really did my best.

Enjoy!

Sitting in the back of the shop was... weird, to say the least. But Grey had asked you to accompany Tim and his rookie, Lucy, so you didn't have another choice.

Tim was his usual grumpyness, an attitude that you hated. When you were alone together, at home, he was different, like he was another person.

He would be all fluff and cuddles, doing everything you wanted - you just had to ask. Not that you would have let him do everything, but he would have done it without asking questions.

Now, telling Lucy that she should listen more carefully and not frivolously promise a victim to find the bags that had been stolen from her car - a crime that had a solving rate from 0.2% - his voice rose.

"You can't just tell them that you'll find their belongings!" he told her harshly, all the while looking at the street. "To promise a victim something means that they'll be even more disappointed when you can't actually solve the crime, causing them to blame us for it!"

Rolling your eyes you sighed, leaning your head back against the headrest.

You knew how he was with his rookies - hell you'd been his rookie at some point as well - but that didn't mean that you liked his attitude towards them.

"If you-" he wanted to continue, but you cut him off.

"Tim." you warned him, looking at him through the rear view mirror. "What?" he gave back, brows furrowed, as Lucy followed your interaction with great interest.

Giving him a pointed look you crossed your arms above your chest. "She's new, she can't know everything that we do." you told him, brows furrowing as well.

"Maybe, but she has to eventually learn It!" he gave back, shaking his head. "Yes, but you can't expect her not to make mistakes during her first days. So be nice and tell her nicely, to not promise something to a victim and you might get a price for it."

That you meant yourself - naked - as a price, you kept to yourself, even though you knew that he knew what you meant.

Lucy smirked, biting her lip to hold it back, though.

Rolling his eyes Tim huffed and you hit him through the seat. "Ouch!" he made, looking back at you in anger, though it slowly faded at the look you gave him.

"Okay, okay!" he gave in, shooting Lucy a look as she snickered. Covering it up as a cough she tried to avoid another speach.

"But I want my price."

Biting your lip you shook your head at him.

You could see how hard it was for Lucy to hold back the laugh that bubbled up, when Tim looked back at the street.

Smiling you looked out the window, silently laughing to yourself.

You just had to push him a little sometimes.

[nikki0606]

my man | aizawa shouta X reader

[oneshot; (part 1) . (part 2 will be out soon)]

.

It's bittersweet walking through the gates of the school building you would run around in with your friends almost a decade ago now.

Not a thing has changed, you can still imagine yourself chasing Shirakumo to get back your lunch while the other girls leave you behind not wanting to deal with what comes next.

This 'next' is Yamada's loud calls. Obviously, the whole of the school would know who he is looking for during the breaks. His voice made it from one end of the school to the other and that, when U.A. covers a massive swathe of land.

One of the only unfamiliar places of the school is where you're headed now– the teachers' lounge.

It's going to go well.. relax.

You're nervous, not because you've now chosen to teach in the very school you yourself became a hero but because you will finally be in front of the faces you haven't seen in ages having needed to move abroad immediately after school for your mother's cancer treatment.

The door opens before you can hold the knob revealing the same principal from years ago, you wonder if he ever ages at all.

"Just in time, (L/n)-san. I just briefed the other teachers about you." his lips curve to the same smile you've known forever and instantly, one rises up your face, he continues, "How have you been?"

"I've been doing well." you smile and enter as he open the door thereby coming into sight of all the people sitting in the room.

"That's brilliant to hear." Nezu lifts his paw, but before he can say anything else, a way-too-loud call of "(Name)-chan! You're the new teacher?" cuts in.

Nezu doesn't hold you both back from having your moment. Instantly, Yamada hurries in for a hug, "You're back– wait, I should be mad at you for not keeping in touch!"

Midnight is next, she calls you her favourite Kohai from school times and brags to everyone about the fun you all would have fun after basically lifting you and swinging you around in the hug.

The others teachers chuckle and them and tell you they haven't been their chaotic selves in some time before this.

It is during the talk with the new people around that you notice Aizawa Shouta leaned against the wall in the corner of the room, his face turned to the ground in front and a conflicted look adorning it.

Your lips twitch– he hasn't even come to greet you despite you having returned after almost a decade.

Something tells you you shouldn't be surprised, however. He has always been his 'stay out of attention' self. Maybe he didn't want to draw too much of attention to the fact that he knows you too?

But he is a teacher here so he shouldn't be complaining about attention in the first place.

Oh, whatever reason it is.

You make your way to him while the fuzziness from years ago enters your chest again. It's alright– you know you feel exactly the same way for him as you did years ago.

Or maybe whatever this is more intense. You've longed for him for almost a decade now after all.

"Shouta-kun." his name sounds melodic as it leaves your lips, "H-How are you doing?" there is a small pause, "I mean.. y-you remember me, right?"

The indifferent, unfamiliar look in his eyes makes your throat fill up with an acidic doubt. You swallow hard.

"I don't have the memory of a goldfish, (Name)-chan." he sigh and turns his head to the side, "Of course I remember you. You were way to noisy to forget back then."

"I can't tell whether that's a compliment or an insult." the laugh that escapes your lips is more of relief than amusement.

He hums, then steps away from you, turning to say, "Go figure out." before he walks off.

You halt, blinking a few times at his figure leaving the room.

"It's time for class." Yamada's arm falls on your shoulder, "It's not that he's running from you or something, okay?"

You let out a snort, "As if I'd assume that." but you partially have.

"Lie to someone else." he shakes his head, then holds his hands in front of his face, "Shouta-kun's mind is tunnel visioned to his students like this during work hours here. All of ours are– minus Nemuri-chan because she's.. well forget it, you'll get to know –but, point is, you'll have to work hard here, (Name)-chan."

"Oh, hit me with anything, Hizashi-kun." your lips tug upwards.

He frowns, "But that day I hit you with the iron rod, you cried."

.

_______________________________________________

.

"What does go figure out even mean?" your head rests against the glass window. Classes ended half an hour ago and you're proud to say you did pretty well for a first time.

"It means go figure out." Yamada gives you company to act like an idiot in front of the departing students, "What do you think it is, a compliment or an insult?"

"Totally an insult." you deadpan at him.

"At least your retardation hasn't gotten worse over the years." Aizawa's voice walks past the both of you and you and Yamada immediately jolt straight and turn to see him walk away with test papers.

"A test on the first day of school after summer break?" you shiver, "Shouta-kun's the devil to his students."

"Oh," Yamada shakes his head pitifully, "he is. Before the last year, he always told the whole class they've failed and are expelled from the school just to give them a near death experience."

"That idiot.. " your gaze lingers on his figure walking further away in the corridor. The boy you knew was just nineteen when you last saw him.

He's a man now.

They both really did age well.

Your mind prefers to place Aizawa on the top of this 'aging well' hierarchy until Midnight comes into your mind and you have to readjust with a chuckle.

To celebrate your return, Yamada drags you all into a restaurant he owns for dinner later that evening.

Partially, you hope he would have given you time to get dressed pretty for a certain pair of tired black eyes but the other part argues you've lose your head in stress of what to wear and what to not if that happened.

Conversations drag on at the table while plates empty into all of your stomachs. Being heroes means a massive diet after all.

"And then there was this weird self-obsessed-ish kid." you did try to eat decently in front of the others but they remembered how rabid you are so it was no good.

"Who– wait, I know. It's Monomoa." Yamada laughs, "No one else in 2B fits under that terminology."

"He's not self obsessed, come on." Aizawa sighs and shakes his head, "Are you seriously considering teaching at U.A. a joke?"

"I mean.. " you shrug, "they took you in so it would be pretty lousy here, wouldn't it?"

Yamada and Kayama laugh.

"Oh?" Aizawa's eyebrows raise, "Says the girl who lost a Sports Festival match because a bug got into her costume."

"For your information, it was a worm." you gag at the memory, "And it reminded me of you and your yellow sleeping bags, Shouta-kun. Now tell me then, do you want something that reminds me of you to be wiggling around my boobs?"

Yamada snorts out a glass of water to the side. Aizawa scoffs though he clearly is surprised to see you're just as shameless as you were back then.

"When will you ever grow up?" he rolls his eyes.

"When you get your hair cut short." you place the glass on the table with full confidence, ignoring the way Yamada signals you to change your statement from the side.

"Tomorrow then." Aizawa nods, his lips pulling into his signature shit-eating grin, "If you don't grow up tomorrow, you're responsible for cleaning up all toilets in the staff room."

You realize he would definitely have his hair chopped if it means rubbing this into your face, "Don't you dare touch your hair, Shouta-kun." you life your knife up at him, "Those luscious locks must stay."

While Aizawa facepalms, Kayama laughs out loud in laughter. You tell her she's laughing at anything and she replies telling you you're hilarious.

"And," you turn back to Aizawa, "if that's your way of inviting me to your bathroom, Shouta-kun, I accept the offer." the way he rolls his eyes is enough to make you stop using the playfully seductive tone.

Yamada rubs his cheeks, "Man, living with Shouta-kun's going to give me depression. I haven't laughed much yet but my cheeks already hurt. I'm so glad you're back, (Name)-chan."

"Me too." your expressions melt like butter, you flash them all a beautifully genuine smile, voice getting the slightest bit heavy, "I missed you all so much."

"If you cry, I'll puke." Aizawa comments.

"If I puke, I'll make you lick it all off." you comment back, expressions stoic and staring into space.

Aizawa makes a disgusted face. Kayama has almost actually puked out something at the thought. This sort of talk while eating effects Yamada as little as it does you.

"You took general studies too?" Aizawa sighs and decides to change the topic before you say something more gross.

"Yep."

"Anyone noticeable?"

"If you mean that purple turnip head boy with eyes as head as yours, yes. If you mean anything other than the fact that he's probably an insomniac, no." you shrug and take a bite of your food.

"That's Shouta-kun's son." Yamada snidely mentions. You choke and cough out the contents of your mouth.

"Stop it, Hizashi-kun." Aizawa tiredly leans in his chair.

"You know I won't, don't you?" he grins, "That's the kid Aizawa gives personal lessons too because the kid's quirk is brain related and– oi, he's not actually Shouta-kun's son."

"Oh?" you'd been moments away from hyperventilating and talk airily, "O-Of course.. I-I mean why would he be.. Shouta-kun's too young to have a kid that old."

"Shouta-kun wouldn't have a kid at all because he would sleep through the wedding." Kayama repeats an OG joke from the childhood and you and Yamada laugh nostalgically.

Aizawa's head lolls back tiredly, "So this is a one-sided bullying session against me?"

"Aw, don't be sad about it, Shouta-kun." you coo, "They say only the prettiest people get bitched about. I'm sure you wouldn't mind."

He turns to you, "What stupid romance novel did you read this in now?"

You blink, "What do you mean romance novel?"

"Considering your life outside fantasy is non existent." he tilts his head, "What was that fiction you would read back in the day? You remember it, Hizashi-kun?"

"Ah.. " his eyebrows raise as your ears glow red, "I'd totally forgotten.. don't remember what it was about, though."

Aizawa's grin returns, "A weird hero with silky black hair saves a girl from death and they fall in– " you cut him off before he can say something more to embarrass you.

Just as fucking oblivious about it now too, aren't you, Shouta-kun.

"You paid a lot of attention to me back then, eh, Shouta-kun." this gives you the responsive pause you need, "You even remember the details of the story. Oh my, you weren't jealous, were you?"

Take that, bitch.

The voice in your head says it in too adoring a way for you to be able to muster any sassy expressions. A soft look adorns your face instead.

Aizawa's expressions have dropped to zero. His ears well hidden under his own hair are radiating heat now, it's obvious by the unusual tint against his pale skin.

"Exposed." Yamada snickered, "Poor boy Shouta."

"Shut up, will you?" the man frowns and drops himself against the chair once more, "Fucking noisy, both of you."

"Oh my," your hand comes to your mouth, "did I just hear sensei swear? How dirty."

"I will kill you." he threatens, head turning away.

"Oh," you say in a dramatized tone, "don't you already?"

Aizawa huffs, his scarves covering his cheeks to hide the tint of pink. Kayama realises she wants to see the same colour on your face.

"First day back and she's already flirting with Shouta-kun." her snicker punches your guts, "How obvious you make your crush on him, (Name)-chan."

The effect is immediate, hot red pumps into your face. You pass her a betrayed look but she and Yamada are too busy grinning at each other to care.

Aizawa doesn't interfere or even choose to take a shot against you at this. He pretends to not have heard this at all.

Your lips curve low, it bothers you that he would not react in any way on hearing something like this.

Even if he is not interested in you, you still do wish to have some or the other sort of response from him whenever you gather the courage to confess to him but this firsthand scenario doesn't bring in much.

The cold look from the teacher's lounge appears in your mind momentarily.

You find the need to take a bathroom break.

.

_______________________________________________

.

It's been some time since you've been teaching at U.A., though it was mostly a behind-the-curtain work schedule.

Nezu has decided to make you an official homeroom teacher the next year which means you get teacher training.

"What are we doing?" you're not very sure about what Yamada is leading you into. Principal Nexu did say there is going to be a new task for you today and that your loud friend would take you to it but it definitely has nothing to do in front of Aizawa's classroom, right?

Yamada barges in, "Yeeaah!" he's just as full of energy as ever, "Good morning my lovely little listeners!"

There is a decently energetic response.

While Aizawa tells him to get out, Yamada makes an annoucement, "I'm going to introduce a new teacher to you all today! She's your sensei's very special friend."

You're not the only one who has facepalmed. Aizawa tiredly begs you to take him away with the look on his face.

The students beat you teachers to making a move, though.

"Are we talking about the new teacher you were standing beside with your head against the window with yesterday?" a girl asks.

"Bingo!" Yamada's hands point to her, "This new teacher is," you're dragged inside with one hand, "(L/n) (Name) sensei! The one person in the world who knows how to bully your sensei!"

Aizawa claps sarcastically, "Wow, what an enlightening introduction."

"You really could have done better, Hizashi-kun." you feel embarrassed to be pulled in front of everyone like this, "That's just.. "

"Whatever it is, out, both of you. Now." Aizawa orders.

You hold back from making a 'hot sensei giving orders' joke about him in front of the kids and choose to focus a little longer on the way his hair hangs around his face.

"Oi, her training session briefing is under your surveillance." Yamada tells him and Aizawa mutters something about wanting to be dead, "Take care of the both of them, you all!" he turns to the students.

They don't immediately understand.

"They could either A, fight and kill each other or B, make out and be kicked out from the– " you grab his arm and throw him out, then instantly turn to the class with a strict look.

"Don't you all dare get any funny ideas."

They all clearly push the gossip for later when they reply with a "yes ma'am".

Aizawa behind you looks like he's about to bang his head to the wall. Clearly, he isn't very eager to see his students get the wrong idea and thereby become a topic of gossip.

You honestly wouldn't step in that pit either.

"I'll only be joining you all for training session today." you have your strict face on, "If you think your sensei is bad, I'm a nightmare." but it just so happens that Aizawa snorts at that spoiling the seriousness behind your words.

When you turn to him, you find him trying to make a straight face through amusement. That, but the students can see because he's turned away from them and is walking towards you.

"Grab your suits and hurry down to training." he tells them, "And you, nightmarish teacher, come behind me."

Your jaw drops, "Are you ridiculing me, Shouta-kun?" of course the kids wouldn't mind some drama from you too, right?

Well Shouta's fault, not mine.

"Yes. I'm surprised your pea sized brain can tell." he walks out of the class leaving you behind but not any chances for you to cause the drama until the students turn to you.

"Good luck, new sensei." one of them says, "Go turn the look in your eyes to words and he'll say yes for sure.. maybe.. "

"Hey, what the hell?" you snap your head towards this blond boy with the black lighting bolt in his hair, "Behave." but he looks too conflicted to pay attention.

"Actually, he's definitely going to reject you." he speaks up a moment later, "B-But that's because Aizawa sensei has zero romance drive, not because you're not cool or something. You're super cute— ah, nevermind."

His face buries in his hands.

You don't understand whether to coo at the kid or just laugh out loud. Aizawa peeks in from the side of the door a moment later and you decide to just escape the odd situation.

Some strict nightmarish teacher you are.

.

_______________________________________________

.

"Oh, you fucking monster." your body is sore, "This was supposed to be training for the kids, not me."

"Right?" Aizawa lazily examines the papers, "It's such a shame you're so out of shape. How good you were back when we were kids."

"Says the guy who always defeated me in the sports festivals." you frown.

"You never even tried to fight." he hums, eyes focused on the training report sheets he made the students write, "Never understood that. I do remember how mercilessly you threw Hizashi out of boundaries."

"Couldn't hurt your pretty face, you know." you shrug, heat rising to your cheeks but you play it cool, "Plus Hizashi was just annoying during sports festivals."

"His quirk is being loud, (Name)-chan." Aizawa's eyes roll over to your for a moment. You find yourself admiring how well he has matured once again, "But that being put aside, how come you're this out of shape?"

I'm not out of shape, Shouta-kun..

"I was distracted by how handsome of a man you've become." you word it in a ridiculing tone but there isn't an inch of your statement that isn't true, "Oh, the jawline, the super pull-able hair and the muscles."

Aizawa rolls his eyes.

"And the eye rolls." this comes out a lot softer and warmer. You've missed his eye rolls for so long now.

"Uh-huh?" Aizawa takes half his pile of papers and gives them to you to check promising lunch if you help him with it, "What, has being single for so long started getting to you?"

An amused giggle leaves your lips, you cuddle into the couch ignoring the papers completely, "People think you're such a nice, serious guy, Shouta-kun. Me and Hizashi know."

"Know what?" his eyes linger at the papers for a little, then on a cut on your ankle.

"That's you're such a dirty little boy." you lean towards him, "Being single has gotten to me? Oh no, babyboy, you've gotten to me."

He makes a face, you immediately dramatize gag at your words to not make him doubt your words to be true.

"You're disgusting." he tells you.

"You're disgusting too. What was the need to toss me around like that in front of the students?" you frown, "I've got cuts and bruises all up my legs."

His eyes rest on the little cut on your ankle again, "Why didn't you go see recovery girl?"

"Recovery grandma?" your eyebrow raises, "She's still here?"

"Oh she is." he drops his pen and leans back into the couch too. Aizawa is tired, he needs his coffee. It's already the time of the day when Hizashi comes in with a cup of coffee for him, Aizawa doesn't understand why he's late today.

"There isn't much that has changed." you hum, head turned up towards him while leaning against the couch, "It's just you and Hizashi."

"We've changed?" his head rolls to you.

"Physically." you say, "Plus Hizashi-kun said he's seeing someone so that has changed.. are you?"

"Am I seeing someone?" Aizawa's eyes blink lazily, irises focused into yours, "The only thing I'm seeing is papers." he pulls his boots off, "So many of them."

"Do you not take breaks?" your eyes focus on the bags under his, finger going up immediately to touch the skin, "I'm worried you'll get too stressed like this and— " you're cut off by him.

"What are you doing?"

You blink, "What?"

"What are you doing? Your hand is on my face, (Name)-chan." there's a pause as he pulls his head away, "That's.. weird."

Your lips tighten, "R-Right.. sorry."

"It's fine.. " tension fills into the air, "Just.. don't do it again."

"Sure.. " your head droops along with your expressions. It's odd hearing this— it could still be him messing around with you but he'd give you an indication then.

You feel dejected, as though he's throwing you off before you even tell him how much you'd wish to drown into him.

Should I.. ?

But how can you indirectly relay your feelings to him just to make sure he doesn't actually with to reject you if you ever do.

It may just be under the tag of friendship, but there is still warmth in Aizawa's eyes when he looks at you. You know to not classify this as just friendship.

"Ah.. " your hands cover your face, "Life is moving forward, no?"

"Obviously." his head rests back.

"I knew you as a young boy, Shouta-kun. You were nineteen when I had to leave." a smile slips up your face like butter, your tone is adoring, "You've become a man now."

"What else do you expect me to become?" he shifts to the side to get better view of you.

You roll your eyes, "You probably feel what I'm talking about too, right? I was just a little girl when you last saw me."

"It just so happens that you've not grown at all." he shrugs, "Not by brains, not by height," his eyes lower from your face for a fraction of a second but Aizawa happens to have the best control over himself, he doesn't let his expressions show this at all, "so, no. I can't tell."

You, on the other hand, are shameless. Mostly.

"If what you want to say is that my boobs and hips have grown, don't be shy, Shouta-kun." you wave your hand at him, "It's not like I don't notice when you stare."

He makes an odd expression again, then turns away.

"That's weird, (Name)-chan. It's not right, don't say stuff like that."

You blink, "Not right?"

He shifts uncomfortably, gaze flickering in the air before he gets up and walks away muttering something about you stepping over boundaries.

You frown, instantly getting up and following after him.

"What's weird, Shouta-kun? What boundaries am I stepping? Let me know at least."

He doesn't stop, neither does he reply. When you don't stop following him, Aizawa just walks into the men's bathroom.

"Bitch." you cuss under your breath, eyes getting glassier for some reason. It's odd to see such behaviour from his side.

It's already been some time since the both of you have been spending breaks together, it's a coincidentally convenient schedule.

Every single time, however, there is either one or another moment where something odd crosses over Aizawa and he wouldn't talk to you anymore.

You hate it when he does this.

You hate him not talking to you and treating you like you're just any friend.

"Oh, (L/n)-san?" Toshinori Yagi steps out of the bathroom, "How come you're standing in front of the men's bathroom?" he chuckles, "Am I getting fangirling for going to the bathroom this time?"

"O-Oh.. nevermind." you're not in right headspace to pay heed to what he has just said, "Wait.. actually, please just drag Shouta-san out, sir."

He blinks, "What?"

There's only one way to end the whirlpool of anxiety in your guts.

"Just.. please drag him out of the bathroom. He's only waiting for me to leave, I'm sure."

All Might blinks but doesn't say anything as he turns and reenters the space restricted from you.

Luckily, he manages to succeed. A tired looking Aizawa steps out and sighs, "What?"

Your eyebrows twitch in annoyance, "What do you mean what, Shouta-kun? You— come with me." you grab his arm and drag him away into the pantry of the teachers' lounge.

"What do you want, (Name)-chan?" he wouldn't look at you now.

"I want to tell you you're a bitch." you huff, "A-And.. " your lips press tight, "I.. w-want to tell you.. "

"Hurry up, I have papers to check." he's clearly looking for excuses to avoid you but you don't intend to let him get his way.

"Shouta-kun.. I.. " it's so much harder than you thought it would be, you feel like crying.

Oh fuck, just let it out.

"I just.. I've always.. " a shaky breath leaves your lips, eyes closing to avoid your eyes from popping out with how fast your heart beats, "I love you."

Absolute silence follows.

When you can't take it anymore, you shoot your eyes open only to find a look of conflict and frustration on Aizawa's face. It's spontaneous– something stops in your chest and a loud ringing fills your ears.

"You.. shouldn't have said that." Aizawa's words are the only that make way to your ears though the buzz, "That's not good. It's– we're not doing this, (Name)-chan. You.. shouldn't be doing this."

Your lips shut tight, throat too dried up to speak all of a sudden.

Aizawa inhales, his face turning away and voice low and heavy, "I don't feel the same, (Name)-chan. It's concerning you feel this way.. it's hilarious of an idea in the first place."

His words act as daggers stabbing your heart.

"And.. I don't think.. I mean, of course you know I wouldn't fall for a person like you even in my nightmares." a hollow, dry chuckle escapes his lips before his head drops to the floor with his lips pressed in a thin line.

The worse they can say is no?

A voice inside you laughs at your stupid self.

" ..Right.. " your voice barely makes it out. The tear rolling down your cheek beats it, " ..Uhm.. I-I'm just gonna go.. " your feet drag you away silently.

It's hard to walk through the teachers' lounge without breathing at all. The moment you've stepped out into the empty hallways, a deep, broken exhale brings down streams of tears.

Your legs beg to give out, chest throbbing painfully making ripples of stress travel throughout your body.

Somewhere to your side, Yamada's voice calls out to you. The next moment you know, you're running out of the school building towards the teachers' dorms.

.

"How long is he going to take today?" Shinsou's feet tap against the ground, "Sensei's here around this timegenerally."

Yamada hums, his gaze focused on the ground, "You know.. I think there might be some connection to (Name)-chan and Shouta-kun's spoilt mood recently."

Shinsou blinks, "I'm not going to act like you saying that should mean anything other than them being on bad romantic terms considering there is no other sensible interpretation to your words."

The hero nods, "Yup."

"What?"

"A few days ago, I saw her running away after crying outside the teachers' lounge. I chased after her and talked but she didn't say much. Shouta-kun was gloomy that day."

"What did he say?" Shinsou throws his mask to the side and hurries to sit in front of Yamada, "You did try to talk to him, right?"

Yamada shrugs, "He wouldn't talk. Quietly walked away. He hasn't been talking much to anyone since then."

"He wouldn't even say much in class." Shinsou's head falls to his lap, "What do you think could have happened?"

Yamada turns to the side, "I know them enough to say this, I'm sure either one confessed or proposed and the other said no."

"But Aizawa sensei– (L/n)-sensei was crying, you say?"

"Yeah." the man sighs, "Two of my best friends getting off with each other. What am I supposed to do?" the both of them share looks for a moment.

Shinsou nods, catching the signal Yamada has been trying to give him all this while, "You're right, what are you supposed to do?"

It takes a couple of days to set everything up but he manages to "coincidentally" make Aizawa and you end up together for dinner with Yamada.

Neither of the two of you are happy with this, it doesn't take a genius to figure that out.

"Sit, you both." Yamada knows you both are hiding whatever happened from him so wouldn't refuse now that you both are already only so he wouldn't know.

"So you planned dinner?" your voice lacks any emotion at all, it is hollow and low, and is addressed only to Yamada as if sarcastically commenting on his decision.

"I did." he smiles, "Hope the both of you don't mind. I realised we need to have a talk over something."

Neither you nor Aizawa look up. Over a week of avoiding him does nothing at all to ease the pain, and you don't wish to increase the weight in your chest by catching sight of his unaffected expressions.

Yamada doesn't speak up for some time, he allows the tension in the air settle to the ground until there is more of pain, guilt and longing at the table than suffocation.

"We met first in the sports festival of the first year." he begins once the waitress has left. He's hesitant to bring this up but there's no other way, "Shirakumo-kun was against (Name)-chan. She lost but was introduced into class A and shifted from class B."

"Yeah.. w-we know the story.. " you look to the side, eyes glassy and fingers fiddling with each other.

Clearly, you're not in the mood to get nostalgic.

"It was funny to see you fall for Shouta-kun while Shirakumo-kun flirted with you all day long." Yamada lets out a chuckle as Aizawa's head snaps up at you.

You, on the other hand, widen your eyes at him in shock– you'd never expected him to bring this topic up. It feels like betrayal.

Yamada inhales, then exhales deep, "Shirakumo-kun had a crush on you, you know."

"What?"

"Yeah.. " he gives you a small smile, "He did, but he noticed your feelings for Shouta-kun and then his behaviour changed. You remember when– "

___________ May, Second year at U.A. High ___________

"Hey Shouta," Shirakumo says, "It's just ice cream. Stop licking it as if it's Yamada's popsickle."

You begin giggling, drawing attention to yourself. Aizawa feels his lips twitch into a small smile, he loves it when you laugh though this isn't something he wishes you find amusing.

He composes himself immediately and turns to Shirakumo with a frown, "Don't open your dirty mouth like that in front of a girl at least. Have some shame, Shiro." but he is ignored.

"(Name)! (Name)!" Shirakumo is busy coming up with more nonsense, "Okay, I got an idea." the rest of you turn to him, while still licking all your ice creams.

"How about you give us some advice?"

"What sort of advice?" you ask and he smirks.

"We're all poor little dreaming boys who all definitely have some or the other crush on some or the other cute friends of ours, don't we, Shouta-kun?" the boy in questions freezes, "Why don't you rate us.. or give us an overview from a girls' angle? If we're in luck, it might help some oblivious idiot see through".

"That's random." you hum, "But," there is a pause, "I'll say.. Hizashi-kun is bright, awlways optimistic and loud one. You're gonna be probably.. well, charismatic, energetic and you know what, there's some girls in our class who call you husband material."

"They do?" Shirakumo is pleased, "Did you hear that, guys?"

"Go on, bitch some more about your friends, (Name)-chan." Aizawa rolls his eyes at Shirakumo's smug expression, "You're snitching on them."

"Sometimes you should take that stick up your ass out and try some fingers." you close your eyes and give Aizawa a firm nod. Shirakumo and Yamada burst out laughing.

"What about Shouta-kun, though?" Shirakumo elbows the boy and turns back to you when his laughs dies down to chuckles.

You hum, "To me, he's like.. the definition of manliness. If testosterone is something, it's him. You know what, it's not my choice at all– Shouta-kun in general looks like a sexy tsundere guy who the girl would call daddy or something, you get what I mean?"

"Boy boy, someone's all red." Shirakumo laughs at Aizawa who just grunts and looks away. You don't have the confidence to look towards his face after all you've said either.

"He'll get lots of options for wives.. only if he didn't doze of mid-wedding." you crack the OG joke and everyone other that Aizawa snorts.

"Ay, don't be too rough with him (Name)-chan." Shirakumo exaggerates scolding you, "Our sweet sugar daddy is blushing. He might just burst if you keep this up."

Aizawa turns to him instantly and mutters a "what the fuck?" under his breath.

But Shirakumo isn't the only cheeky bitch in the group.

"Come on, sweet daddy.. " you exaggerate a coo, "Don't get mad. I'm scared you'll be too rough." and as you do, you realise Shirakumo isn't lying when he says Aizawa might burst.

His ears are steaming, cheeks blood red already. You doubt he'd be able to take another tease.

"Little kitten's blushing." Shirakumo laughs, "If I were gay, I'd be totally into him. It's too sad I'm not a single girl among us four who can crush on him."

Shirakumo gets a glare from you, you're thankful Aizawa hasn't heard him well.

___________ - ___________

"Why would you suddenly bring that up today?" Aizawa understand your behaviour from back then now only now that he has been confessed to, "Things of the past should stay in the past."

"Misunderstandings of the past should stay in the past too." Yamada looks up, "Shirakumo realised (Name)-chan's interest in you too early on. He liked it, actually. He always thought you were perfect for her and the other way around."

Aizawa's expressions drop to zero at the revelation.

"Actually.. " Yamada clears his throat, "He'd always known you push your feelings for (Name)-chan down because of his crush on her."

Your head snaps up at what you've heard.

..Shouta-kun had feelings for me back then.. ?

"He'd been trying to set the both of you up for over an year already before he.. died." silence spreads at the table, "You don't need to reject your feelings for (Name)-chan anymore, Shouta-kun."

Aizawa stares hard at the table, you look between him and Yamada. Nothing seems to set properly in your brain, you don't know what's going on.

"You don't need to reject her in loyalty to our dead friend. He didn't die loving her, he died hoping the both of you would give each other a chance.. "

Aizawa doesn't know what to say, his lips part to speak but no voice leaves.

"She's not his, dude. Don't label her like that.. just.. free yourself from this burden. Shirakumo-kun didn't die loving her."

Silence prevails at the table for far too long. Yamada looks uncomfortable with this silence. He keeps on looking between your and Aizawa's fallen faces.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" Aizawa's voice is so low it barely feels the words have left his mouth.

Yamada sighs, "I thought you knew.. " he waits for a little more time before getting up with an "enjoy dinner, you two. Talk it out." and leaves.

Neither you not Aizawa says anything for even longer– you're losing your patience now. Tears build up in your eyes.

You do understand that he needs time to digest the revelation as much as you do but the past week of heartache has barely left anything for you to stay silent with.

The only desire you have is to know how he feels about you now. That, but you don't know how you'll ever talk to him again after all he has said.

Aizawa looks up a moment later, his eyes unusually and surprisingly glassy, "I'm sorry.. " he begins, " ..for everything."

And though you did not think this could ease any of your pain, you find yourself crying into your hands a moment later. This time, he's there to calm you.

[lix1nyu]

how tartaglia reacts when you're drunk and don't recognize him

tartaglia x gn!reader

part 2 is now here

sfw, drunk reader, angst, some fluff, reader has been hurt in prev relationships

A/N: i don't usually post stuff like this hehe, idk what changed my mind to!! hope you enjoy🤭

You had told him if you didn't come home before 2, he should probably come pick you up.

"Hey, you're here!" Hu Tao beams at Tartaglia.

"Thanks for watching them," he grins and gestures to you sitting at the counter.

"Yeah, dude, of course."

Tartaglia stares at you for a little while. He still can't get over how pretty you are, the curve of your nose, the ways your eyes kiss in the corners. Your hair looks surprisingly neat for someone who's drunk. Your expression is distant, finger trailing along the edge of the glass. You seem to be drinking vodka? He thought you didn't like vodka.

Sliding an arm around your shoulders, he leans to whisper in your ear, "Hey, pretty, you ready to go?"

You leap back into the present.

Looking puzzled, you push his arm off of you, saying, "Please don't call me that."

He blinks, a ghost of a smile still on his face. "Haha... what?"

Their faces mirror each other in confusion.

"I'm not going home with you, I have a boyfriend," you say, turning back to the half filled glass.

It clicks in Tartgalia's head, and a teasing grin forms. "A boyfriend, huh? Can I fight him for you?"

"You'd lose," you reply flatly, deadpan.

Dropping himself into the seat next to you and propping up his cheek, he says, "Tell me about this boyfriend of yours."

He watches his lover's expression brighten, like you forgot the entire exchange that just happened.

"Oh, he's the sweetest," you gush immediately. "And he makes me laugh so much, and he's so lively and good with people, but he's so hardworking and stubborn and, ugh, he's so beautiful. How is it possible to be so beautiful?"

His heart is about to explode all over Hu Tao's kitchen counter. His mind can't believe it, he's the reason your face is a beautiful, dreamy, rambling mess.

And you're not done. "I don't deserve him," you say, "I wish I could do something for him, but he always says I don't have to."

Because you don't have to, my dove, Tartaglia thinks. You're doing more than enough already.

Your expression suddenly snaps. "Shit. I'm a terrible person. I need to go home."

Tartaglia snaps out of his own trance in alarm. "Why?"

"He's at home now, and I'm out here getting wasted." You rub your face and search for your bag and phone.

"Woah, hey, you're drunk," he holds you by the shoulders, "I'm taking you home."

"Just because you're literally gorgeous doesn't mean you get to touch and take home random people!" You smack his hands off of you, again. Tartaglia's not sure if he should cry or laugh.

You cover your mouth in surprise at your own words. "Holy fuck, I'm a terrible person," you whisper. "Am I allowed to call someone who isn't my boyfriend gorgeous?"

He's convinced alcohol makes your brain overthink twice as fast as it usually does.

He also thinks it's a dumb question. Have I given them the impression they can't speak their mind?

He thinks it's okay. "Of course you are," he tells you instead, frowning. "He's not a good boyfriend if you have to be allowed to do something."

"No, he's a great boyfriend!" you say instantly. "I just-" You cut yourself off with a sigh and chew on your fingernail. There's a loud thumping in his heart as he waits for you to continue.

"I never know about these things," you say finally. "I feel like he never really tells me how he truly feels. I don't know if there's something I do that actually bothers him. And I'm..." You rub your nose bridge. "I'm scared to ask."

Tartaglia is quiet for a long moment. What he has cleverly deduced from this is that his lover is scared of him. All pride he'd felt earlier from making you swoon is now replaced by a sick feeling of self hatred.

"Maybe there's just nothing you do that really bothers him," he suggests softly, trying to lighten the mood.

Your expression turns glum. Fuck, was that the wrong thing to say? He mentally kicks himself.

"That can't be right," you sigh. "When I have nightmares, he always wakes up to comfort me. I'm pretty sure that pisses him off. And he always says it's okay too, but-" you blink rapidly, like blinking away tears. Tag winces.

"But then he... he takes longer in the shower, adds more caffeine to his coffee. And- and he'll eat less of the breakfast I make him."

"Oh," he says smartly, running out of things to say. He should've paid more attention to the little things, knowing that of course you would.

You shake your head and squeeze your slightly glassy eyes shut. After mumbling to yourself, "stop oversharing to strangers" twice, you put the cork back in the vodka bottle and set your glass in Hu's sink after pouring it down the drain.

"Anyway," you turn to him when you're done, "goodnight, I guess. Thanks for listening?"

"I'll walk you home," he offers again, softly.

You hesitate. Of course you hesitate.

"You're drunk," he reminds you. "I'm sure your boyfriend won't mind as long as you get home safe."

You give in. You let him put his coat around your shoulders, but you don't put your hands through the sleeves.

Halfway home, you just stop walking.

"Love?" Tag tilts his head at you. "Darling, what's wrong?"

You blink a few times. "Tartaglia?"

He grins. "Yes, hi. You recognize me now?"

You blink again. Then a smile starts to spread, and you forget the reason for your daze. You put your arms into the sleeves of his coat. "Yes," you say sheepishly. "Hey, you."

A hand is held out for him to hold.

Their talk can wait for next morning.

sorry if tartaglia is a little ooc! thank you for reading 🫶 might post a part two where he comforts you about it?

[velnoni]

just like the other ask i love love love! ur interpretation of ford. i need more almost religiously. can we have more hcs involving romance and maybe a little nsfw stuff?

Romantic Ford Headcanons

ask and ye shall recieve.

Will absolutely flush if you kiss his hand, especially in public. He finds something like that mischievous, but lowkey will not complain, merely grumble softly to himself. Morning kisses are a bonus and have helped him adjust to a more slow paced life.

Pet names. Perhaps a shortened version of your name if your name is long enough. My dear, honey, handsome/beautiful. In his journal, he'll refer to you as the love of his life.

Head scratches or foot/back massages. Both of you, when overworked, appreciate them so so much. Ford will greatly appreciate it when you coax him out the lab, into your lap, and run your hands through his peppered hair. He makes a noise stuck between a groan and sigh, and in no time, his breathing evens out. When he does it for you, he will often offer it after a crappy day at work. Cue the extra fingers working magic and applying pressure in all the right places.

It could be said he can make edible meals, but he's no Gordan Ramsey. So when he comes home to you making a home cooked meal, he can't help but fall for you harder. To be able to sit down, eat, and not worry if the food is poisonous...it's enough to make a grown man cry. His favorite recipe might be a spaghetti dish.

Get this man some jelly beans, and he'll be a happy lad.

Play any nerd board with him and Dipper, and you will see his eyes turn into hearts, which should be physically impossible. Finds your facial expression cute when you're stuck on something.

Stargazing on the roof of the Mystery Shack is a must, and he never gets tired of speaking of the stars with you. When you told him about the new horoscopes that sparked a new conversation.

Expedition dates are great, but local diner hangouts always feel more intimate with you. Ford may or may not have stolen a french fry if you weren't looking...perhaps Stan is rubbing off on him.

It's not something you know, but once considered, finding out a way to allow you to see colors humans normally can not perceive like Bill once did for him. But ultimately decided against it.

Random gifts from Ford can range from receiving a flower, clothes that don't stain, or a new creature he found in the wild.

*nsft under the cut

Surprisingly quite sensitive. If you rake your nails against his skin, he'll shiver and try to push you off. But keep doing it, and you'll get a whimper out of him.

If you kiss each finger, naming what you like about him or how you'll screw the daylights out him alongside licking them, please expect said fingers inside of you tonight.

He likes grabbing you by the waist and might give a teasing squeeze if feeling brave. He's smug when he does so. On days when you're both alone, you might feel him wrap his arms around you with a little surprise pressing up your backside. Will always ask for permission to go forward.

The kind of person to see you doing something in your natural habitat and get aroused from it. Reading a book? Biting a pen? Covered in mud from helping Mabel with her garden that was raided by suspiciously handsome men with gnomes riding them? He finds it unbecoming of a scientist to fall folly to such primal instincts but will grab your hand when you're alone and stare at you with a slight desperation.

Kiss sessions can go for a good while with some groping. He prefers to be in control, but if you whisper for him to lay beneath you and say his full name, you'll have the old man putty in your hands. Nibble on his ear and that'll earn you six fingered smack on the butt. His ears are really sensitive you've realized...suspiciously so.

If you point that out and keep asking, Ford might one day ask you to stick your tongue in his ear. And if you ever do this while palming his erection in his pants he'll cum early much to his embarrasment. He could never live down the shame but will always come back for more.

He's a fan of blowjobs since they're easy to clean up and really enjoy when you give them to him at a slow pace. He likes the buildup. He doesn't mind returning the deed. He finds your expression and moans quite invigorating.

There's a slight possibility he might be into sounding. Don't ask how he figured that out but he's too shy to bring it up right now.

Praise kink. It's practically endless! Smart, handsome, gorgeous, sexy, silver fox, cutie pie, fantastic, how are you so good at this, good job, keep doing that, etc.

Likes watching/being watched while masturbating. Bonus points if you walked in on him. Once you did and he came like a hormonal teenager, face beet red and glasses cloudy.

Slow and steamy sex is something he prefers because he likes to watch you come undone under his watchful gaze but there are times where he'll feel spontaneous and rile you up throughout the day so you pounce him in privacy. Conniving fella. Have enough stamina to hold you up & hammer you against the wall but prefers a bed.

"Stanford..." You whispered in a low voice as you rearranged yourself behind him. Ford tensed at your voice, feeling his soul jump as your naked arms slide underneath his own, linking together against his chest. "Y-Yes, my dear?" He asks when he remembers to respond to you. He wanted to look at you, kiss your lips, taste you on his own, and have his hands roam every inch of your body. Especially considering your very naked body in question was pressed against his back side. But he didn't.

He steeled himself to your provactice antics and touched the buckle of his belt. He hears you chuckle into his ear, the softness of your lips when it makes contact with his earlobe. Then his cheek and the side of his neck where that wretched tattoo resided. Oh... He couldn't help but sigh and think mentally he was much too old for this. But as if you read his mind, you cupped the pompous bulge that was quite evident through his corduroy pants. You gave it a gentle squeeze and waited.

"More..."

"More what?"

His voice is now a whisper. His Adam apple rises as he swallows his saliva. "More, please." He could feel himself come undone when you call him a good boy. Tonight is going to be one of those nights.

[rafescvntyclubgf]

𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟙 – 𝕋𝕨𝕚𝕟 ℝ𝕒𝕗𝕖 𝔽𝕚𝕔

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙲𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝙱𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙱𝚞𝚣𝚣𝙲𝚞𝚝!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙶𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

warning: SMUT, language, drinking, name calling, choking, pet names, sharing kink, ownership kink, fingering (from the twins at the same time), unprotected p in v, choking, public sex, rough sex, shower sex

📖 After meeting Rafe's (CurtainBangs!) twin brother Cam (BuzzCut!) for the first time, Rafe gives you a proposal you can't help but accept: sharing you.

Reader's POV:

“Touchdown, Bulldogs!”

The stadium erupts with applause as Rafe gets swallowed up in a team hug. The school fight song blares through the open arena as a massive homecoming crowd clamors to storm the field in celebration. You hang back slightly with the other players’ girlfriends, watching as Rafe shuffles over to an equally massive #2; Cameron scrolled across his back as well. The two of you have only been dating for a few weeks, but you could tell, like quintessential twins, those two were close.

Cam was always Rafe’s second call after you, no matter what, good or bad, and it almost seemed like Cam was two steps ahead. He knew how to calm him down; he always seemed to know what to say. But, then there was the rivalry; Cam knew how to push Rafe’s buttons. What to say to trigger a classic Cameron bitch fit.

Rafe wanted nothing more than to win this game. You could see his chest puffed out a little more than usual, his shit-eating grin a little more sly. Rafe tugs off his helmet, skimming his fingers through his sweaty fringe as his brother removes his helmet as well.

You squint your eyes, stomach fluttering as you take in the difference from all the Instagram and Snapchat images you’ve stalked prior: a fresh buzz cut. Jesus Christ. Rafe pulls him in for a big hug, slapping his shoulder pads.

Your nerves creep in fast, a combination of anxieties about meeting Cam for the first time. I want to impress him. I want him to like me. I want him to think I’m good for Rafe. That’s his twin brother, after all. Sure, I met Ward and Rose, Wheezie and Sarah, and that went great, but this is the big leagues. This is his twin; this is make-or-break.

But, on a separate note, should I be this nervous? I mean, in this way? Seeing Cam gave me butterflies… Maybe it’s ‘cause he looks so much like Rafe? I can’t deny that when he took off his helmet, I felt something. Fuck, I’m in trouble.

“There she is," Rafe groans as he pulls you off your feet and into his strong arms. You cup his sweat-glistened cheeks, kissing him deeply.

"Hi, Rafey," you mumble against his sweet lips.

"How’d I do?" He smiles against your pout, nose nuzzling yours playfully.

"So damn good,” you praise as you scratch your nail into his hair, pulling him closer.

“You look so pretty, baby - love seeing you in my jersey.” Rafe sets you down on your feet, kissing you again before pulling you to his side.

“This her?” Cam pipes in, stealing your attention away.

“Sure is. Cam, y/n; y/n, Cam,” Rafe smiles down at you proudly. You turn your attention to Cam, feeling that same flutter from before, a blush creeps in your cheeks as you see the same look in his eyes that Rafe gave you the first night you met.

“Well, shit,” he rasps as he steps a little closer. Cam takes you off Rafe’s hands, drawing you into his embrace, hugging you before pulling back ever-so-slightly. “Fuck, you’re stunning," he praises.

Cam reaches up, fixing the little "R” pendant on your chest, brushing your clothed cleavage as he sets it in place. Your heart races at the contact between you, banging so loudly you swear Cam can hear it. “Thank you,” you breathe. A grin slides across Cam’s lips; Cam’s smile is stunning, just like your boyfriend’s. But there’s a fire behind it that once again gives you the most delicious deja vu. Cam likes what he sees.

“So…” Rafe teases, head cocked slightly, arms raised, holding open your spot at his side.

“Oh shit. Sorry, Rafey,” Cam snickers as he passes you back to his brother. Rafe wraps his arm around your shoulders, tugging you in, pressing a rough kiss on your hair. Cam’s eyes return to his brother, a smirk spreading on his rosy lips. You look up at Rafe, catching the mirror image.

“Well, this one’s gonna help me with my post-game routine; why don’t you come over in like an hour-” Rafe continues to talk; Cam cocks his eyebrow, seemingly stuck on the first part of the plan for the evening. He smiles sinfully, eyes falling down your body, making you blush as you see his wheels turn. These two talk about everything; your little post-match shower session was most likely a topic of discussion already. 

“We drinkin’ tonight?” Cam drawls.

“Literally just said that, dumbass. Maybe if you stop starin’ at my girl’s tits, you could focus. Yeah?” Rafe taunts, shoving his brother away.

“Not gonna apologize,” he bullies as he wets his plump bottom lip.

If Cam was anyone else, he’d gone - erased from this earth for his wandering eye. Rafe, no stranger to roughing up a guy or two on account of you - his brother seemingly the exception. “You’re a fuckin’ dog, buddy.” Cam shrugs and smiles, owning the title as Rafe hooks his finger under your chin. “I don’t blame him. My girl’s perfect,” he whispers before meeting your lips.

“This is my favorite part of Game Day, baby," Rafe hums as he tears his shirt off his athletic body. You pinch the bottom of your top, drawing it over your naval. ”Lemme,“ he smiles, stripping you of his old jersey before tossing it to the side, lifting you off your feet. Rafe pulls away only briefly to turn on the water, walking with you to the countertop. It’s dim, the perfect amount of light thrown from his open bedroom door. Admittedly, it’s your favorite part of Game Day as well: getting this time with Rafe, the two of you unwinding before a night of drinking, the pair of you coming down from his post-game high together.

Rafe sets you down on the cool top, sending chills up your warm body as his hands quickly get to work. One weaves into the nape of your hair while the other grips the plush of your hip. ”You know I love you,“ he whispers as his rough fingers trace over the top of your thigh, disappearing between your legs.

”Of course, Rafe.“

"M'not sayin’ this to start a fight; m'not callin’ you out for anything. Alright?”

“Okay," you giggle nervously. ”Is everything okay?“

"More than okay," he grins. You let out a little gasp as he runs two fingers through your wetness, lifting them to his lips tasting you. "You have a crush on my brother. Don’t you, sweetheart?" He whispers. Your eyes widen in surprise, lashes fluttering as he calls you out.

"I - Umm… Rafe-”

“I said, 'It’s more than okay, honey," he mumbles as his fingers press through your entrance. ”You don’t believe me?“ Your brows knit in confusion as you stare into his beautiful blues. How could Rafe Cameron be okay with this? I mean, he almost got arrested last weekend for a fight after someone bought me a shot. How is he okay with me having a crush on his brother? 'And, it’s more than okay?’ No way.

"No…" You whisper feebly as your gaze falls to his lips.

A smirk stretches wide, Rafe’s breathing increasing with yours. "No, what, princess?”

“I don’t believe you," you reply before returning your eyes to his. Rafe pouts his lip teasingly, pumping and scissoring his long fingers.

"Alright…" He shrugs, continuing to tease you. You grip Rafe’s thick dick in your hand, rubbing his precum into his swollen tip as he quickens the speed of his hand, thrusting his fingers at an insane pace. ”He’s got a crush on you.“ Your pussy tightens around his digits at the sound of his words, making Rafe smile wickedly. "Baby girl…" He mocks as he moves in even closer, wrapping his muscular arm around your waist. Rafe tucks himself into the crook of your neck as you feel the knot in your stomach tighten.

”M'gonna cum,“ you whine.

”You sure, y/n,“ he whispers against your warm skin. ”I don’t believe you.“ Rafe repeats your words as he slows his pace, edging you; prompting you to grind against his palm, craving a release.

”Rafe…“

”Hmm?“ He chuckles through a throaty laugh. ”S'alright, baby. We share.“ Rafe baffles you with his admittance as he spears his thick cock into your drenched pussy.

”Rafe!“ You wail, mouth hanging open as he circles his hips nice and slow, buried balls deep, letting you adjust to his size. You cling onto his shoulders, nails digging into his tan skin as he stretches you out. Steam swirls all around the two of you, the room burning with vapor and sex as Rafe walks toward the walk-in show, drawing back the glass door. ”This could be a really good night for you,“ he mutters as the stream of water pours from the spout, washing over your naked bodies.

Rafe’s eyes fall down your bare frame, watching as the little rivers of warm water cascade through your dips and curves, glistening over your already dewy skin. His blonde fringe hangs wet on his forehead, framing his beautiful face. You look down as well, eyeing the place where your bodies connect; Rafe’s thick cock sheathed deep. "You share girls?" You whisper. Rafe moans as he presses you back into the icy shower wall, forcing himself as deep as possible, making you exhale a deep breath.

“'Course we do." He starts to pound you into the wall, making you cry out in pleasure.

"And, you want to share me?" You ask, weakly between rough thrusts.

”That not clear?“ He rasps, drawing out of your cunt, whirling you around before bending you over, pounding back into your aching core.

"Fuck!” You sob, feeling him deep in your guts. You take hold of his wrists, his hands steadying your hips, clawing into the fat of your ass. Rafe spreads your cheeks, coaxing his cock in slower as he feels you tighten around him again.

“Bounce for me. Yeah?" He groans, slapping your ass before letting you take control. You throw your bum on his cock; cheeks clapping against Rafe’s wet skin. Your curves recoil with each slap of his tight body against yours, knees buckling, causing Rafe to chuckle darkly as he watches you go weak on his dick. "Please," you whimper, knowing he won’t let you cum until he hears you say it.

”Pretty sure you know what I want to hear, princess,“ he grunts. "Just tell me you want him. Tell me you want us to share you. Tell me you want his cock and mine, y/n. Let me hear it.”

“Rafe.”

He winds up, slapping your thigh harshly, making you scream, voice bouncing off of the shower walls. “I want him. I - I want you to share me. Fuck. I want your cock and his." You squeal Rafe’s name as you gush around his cock; your entire body shaking as he keeps you standing through your climax.

"I want you to beg,” he huffs, tugging your hair, pulling you close, back pressed against his heaving chest, Rafe not letting you come down from your orgasm before he starts working on your next. One arm wraps around your throat in a chokehold, squeezing tightly while the other arm binds around your waist.

“Please.”

“No. Not enough," he sneers, constricting your airway with his biceps. Rafe starts rocking in and out. You can feel every ridge and curve of his cock as he gives it to you, slow and deep, making your eyes roll back. You feel yourself getting lightheaded at the lack of air, but Rafe doesn’t let up his hold. ”Beg.“

Holy shit.

"Please, Rafe. I fucking need it," you pant wearily. ”I want to please you both… I wanna feel you-“ Your voice trails off as you feel your orgasm building again, vision fuzzy, mind muddled like you could fall to the floor.

"Baby? You got awfully quiet. You a'ight?" He growls; a low tone rumbled against your skin.

”I want you both to ruin me!“ You choke out the words. “I’ll do anything for your dick. Please.”

"Mmm… Atta girl.” Rafe pulls out, taking his time with you as he looks down at you lovingly. He guides your chin, lifting your lips to his. Rafe kisses you soft and slow as you try to catch your breath. You look down at his throbbing dick, the creamy ring of your arousal rinsing off his hardened flesh, ready for more.

“You think your brother wants me, Rafey?" You whisper, biting into your bottom lip as you bat your lashes, playing into his game.

”'Course he does. That bastard always wants what’s mine. Lucky for him, we’re brothers… N'I play nice.“ Rafe loops his bicep under your thigh, plunging his cock back in. He rolls his hips deliciously slow, finding that perfect angle that makes tears leak from your eyes. ”Gonna fuck that tight little ass of yours, baby. Fill you up,“ he groans. ”We haven’t done that yet? You ready, f'me? Think you can handle us both?“

You can’t even form words; all thoughts in your mind run wild at the idea of having them. "You’re squeezing me so tight, baby… Think you could cum for me again?" He whispers against your ear, teeth, tugging at your lobe as he draws out, slamming his cock back into your pussy. You let out a cry of pleasure, your cracked sob reverberating off the walls. "Gonna have you creamin’ on our cocks all night. Just a little whore for Cameron cock, aren'tcha?" Rafe throws his hips again and again as the knot in your stomach starts to twist tighter. You pinch your eyes shut, nodding frantically as you feel your orgasm within reach, completely cock-drunk. "Say. It.”

“M'just - Fuck, daddy-”

“M'just what?" He mocks your fucked-out tone.

"A little whore for your cocks. M'just a hole for you, Rafe.”

“Ugh. Yes! Fuck. That’s my girl. That’s it, baby. Cum for me. Yeah? Cum on my cock.”

“Fuck…”

“Cum." Your walls spasm around his cock; waves of your finish crashing down on you again and again as you call out his name. Rafe yours as he floods you with his seed. You can feel his dick twitching inside you, your body milking every last drop of his cum.

Rafe’s forehead falls to your neck in exhaustion. ”Goddamn. I fuckin’ love you, honey,“ he breathes as he kisses his way up your neck. ”Mmm… We’re gonna take real good care of you tonight, baby,“ Rafe moans. You can hear the excitement in his voice, matching your own, but you can’t help but feel a slight apprehension.

What if this ruins what Rafe and I have?

Your demeanor must have changed because Rafe notices instantly. "Talk to me, princess,” he respires as he holds you tight, lips resting on your shoulder as he rocks the two of you lazily.

“I’m a little worried, Rafe. This doesn’t really feel like something you’d do with a girlfriend… Someone you wanna end up with. This seems like something the two of you would do with some random girl - maybe a fling. I wanna be with you… I don’t see us not being together. I’m crazy about you, Rafe,” your voice cracks with emotion, making him expel a soft pity laugh like you have nothing to worry about.

“I’ve got no doubt in my mind that it’ll be us, Y/n. Rafe and y/n…” He pinches the gold "R” he bought you between his fingers. “I’m crazy about you too, baby. You gotta know that. Yeah? Here.” Rafe tugs off his gold Cameron Family ring, gliding it on your thumb instead. “I want you to have this, Y/n.”

“Really?” You gasp.

“'Course. You’re mine. Alright? Tonight doesn’t mean I think anythin’ less of you, or I’m not serious about our relationship. M'so fuckin’ serious, y/n.” Rafe pulls out of your pussy, making you wince; his large palm quickly soothes the ache. Rafe turns you into his chest, wrapping his towering frame in yours. “How could I not be serious about you, baby?” He mumbles warmly against your lips. You look up at him, matching his gaze. ”S'no question who you belong to, honey. Cam knows you’re mine. I had you first. M'gonna have you when he’s gone. Alright? Just let us take care of you like you take care of me. A'ight?“

"Okay, daddy,” you smile as you rest your hands on Rafe’s muscular chest, trying to contain your excitement as you see his ring adorned on your tiny finger. Rafe glances down as well, chuckling to himself as he sees how happy the gesture made you.

“Looks good on you, baby," he croons. "Let’s have a good night. Yeah?”

“Let’s do it.”

You start moving your hips to the music; the bass bumps in your chest. Your friend quickly grabs you by your hips, turning you away from her; you start grinding on her. Your hands drift up your thighs, working back down as you roll your body nice and slow. “Where’s Rafe?” One of your friends screams over the track. You smile and shrug as you continue to move. “You think you could introduce me to Cam?” She wiggles her eyebrows in your direction. No way.

“Sure," you breathe, brushing her off.

Where are they? Tonight has been fun. Cam is every bit as gentlemanly as Rafe. He asked me about school, my major, and my friends, but it was all very "normal”, almost as if that conversation with Rafe in the shower hadn’t happened.

Was he genuinely interested in me like Rafe said he was? Or did he change his mind? You look out into the packed college bar; a deep sea of students grinding and moving to the beat. Your dance partner gives you a sloppy kiss on the cheeks before getting whisked away by her boyfriend, leaving you solo again.

The void is quickly filled as your body is claimed by Rafe, taking you from behind. He presses his chest against your back, rough hands working up your bare thighs, resting on your hips. “You look good, baby girl,” he groans. “This fuckin’ body." His lips meet your neck, kissing and nipping his way to your ear as you grind to the beat. You can feel his rock-hard cock through his jeans, pressed against your ass. His rough fingers move down, drifting lower and lower, making your pulse below. "Bet this pussy’s so wet,” he groans, teeth grazing the shell of your ear.

Rafe applies a little more pressure, pressing his fingers on top of your clothed pussy; rubbing small circles on top. Oh my god. Your body tingles, warmth coursing through your system as you feel little spurs of pleasure between your thighs. You breathe deeply, taking in his cologne, eyes widening when you take in a subtle differences.

This isn’t Rafe.

You look ahead, watching as Rafe lifts his red SOLO cup to his lips, his smirk half-seen as he stares you down. He gives you a flirty nod before tossing back the rest of his gin and tonic. You look down at the large set of hands on your body, seeing his twins matching gold Cameron ring on his finger. Cam’s body is familiar, the shape of him fitting perfectly with yours, but his hold is heavy, touch not as gentle as Rafe’s. His kisses are rough, sending chills up your spine as you rest your hands on top of his, guiding them closer to your sweet spot as Rafe watches on.

Cam’s fingers trace your inner thigh, toying with the soaked lace of your panties. “Y/n…" He moans against your skin. You lean back against him, tipping your chin up in his. Your heart skips a beat when you see Cam’s face, the sight of him making this all that more real. He looks so good, so fucking good; Rafe’s double in every sense of the word, donning a black v-neck instead of a white. His gold chain lays on his chiseled chest, glinting in the laser lights. The only visible difference is his buzzed hair. Cam wets his lip, blue eyes sparkling down on yours.

He pushes your panties to the side, causing you to gasp; Cam quickly claims your lips, stealing your breath. Rafe’s brother teases your entrance with the tip of his rough finger, making you whimper on his lips. He draws his hand away, bending you over. You rest your hands on your knees as you throw your ass back into him. Cam’s grip tightens on your hips, pulling you closer; the two of you fucking clothed.

Rafe pinches his jeans, adjusting himself clearly, loving what he sees. He calls over to the bartender, yelling for his tab, making your heart pick up pace as you see the plan set in motion.

Cam grabs you by your waist, turning you around; pulling you close to his chest. One hand works around the back of your neck, guiding your focus toward his eyes as his other hand continues to massage your clit. You feel a heat building in your belly, lashes fluttering as you look up at him.

"Rafe said you were a good girl, y/n. That true?" He rasps in a voice just a little deeper than Rafe’s.

"I - I’m a good girl," you whimper.

"Then cum for me." Cam pulls you in a little closer as you feel yourself about to lose control. Fuck. Am I gonna cum in front of all these people? You look around, the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd off in their own worlds. "Eyes on me? Wanna see your face, princess. Wanna see my brother’s pretty little slut cum on my hand in front of all these people," Cam taunts. He leans in, lips brushing against yours. "Our hands.” Ours? You gasp as Rafe grabs you by the waist, plunging two thick fingers between your thighs.  He fucks them into your pussy effortlessly, curling and stroking with precision.

“He told you to cum," Rafe warns.

You grit your teeth, gripping onto Rafe’s wrist and Cam’s shirt as your orgasm claims your body. The two boys work you through your release. Cam watches you closely, taking in your beautiful features as you cum for him for the first time. Rafe slips his fingers out of your pussy, sucking the mess clean as he always does. "What do you say, brother? Let’s get our girl outta here. Hmm?”

[jobean12-blog]

Forever After All

Pairing: Javier Peña x female reader (fake dating/marriage)

Word Count: 3.2K

Summary: You and Javi have been working together for a few months and you can't deny that you like him...everything about him. And you know you're not imaginging the subtle flirting and lingering glances but when you have an assignment that puts you two closer than you've ever been before you find out what it all really means.

Author's Note: Pedro and his little Holiday getaway photos have been a gift and when I was talking to my lovely friend @lizette50 (thank you bunches for sharing your brain with me❤️🥰) she made an amazing note that he is giving Javi on vacation vibes. And while Javi isn't exactly on a vacation in this story...he's pretending to be- at least at first. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics Thank you Daisy! 🥰

PS I did leave the ending a bit open...maybe I'll do more. Maybe not lol Either way, fear not- you and Javi make out just fine (hehe get it)

Warnings: There's some tension and flirting and Steve is fun sidekick/meddler, feelings get involved, Javi can act a bit possessive and he's a great fucking kisser

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

“Why are you two looking at me like that?” Steve asks, his head on a swivel. “Do you not understand the assignment?”

His finger swings back and forth. “You two…just got married. Now you’re going on your honeymoon. Make it look believable, or we’re fucked.”

Javi swallows and the sound is audible in the silence that stretches between you. Finally, as you cross your arms over your chest and lift your chin, you say, “fine. I can manage that.”

Steve smiles and then shifts his eyes to Javi. “What about you? Because if you’re not up for it I sure as hell don’t mind switching places with you. You can do my job, and I’ll prance around the beach with this beauty.”

Steve throws you a wink and you smile sweetly but your stomach is in knots and you’re sweating under your shirt as you wait for Javi to say something.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he says gruffly. “When do we leave.”

“Tonight,” Steve answers with a grin. “Packed and ready at 7pm.”

Javi nods and gives you one last glance, his eyes lingering just long enough to have your skin heat before he stalks off and shuts the door to his office.

You take a deep breath and square your shoulders.

“I’ll see you at the airport,” you tell Steve.

After the flight attendant checks the luggage above your head you settle into your seat, leaning closer to Steve since Javi has his legs spread like he’s the only person in the aisle.

“You could leave some room for the rest of us,” you grumble, letting your eyes run down Javi’s long legs.

He turns toward you, lifting a brow. “We should be all snuggled up anyway,” he smirks.

You roll your eyes and give Steve a pleading look.

“He’s right though,” Steve adds. “You two are going to have to look convincing if we’re going to pull this off. Might as well start getting cozy now.”

The flight isn’t too long but toward the last hour you start to feel your eyes droop and Javi’s warm body is so close. Before you realize what’s happening your head falls against his shoulder and your arm slips under his.

You feel him shift and maybe feel the slightest squeeze at your knee but you’re too sleepy to know if it’s real or a dream. He smells so good and feels even better and in minutes you’re fast asleep.

“Hey…pst. Come on angel, you gotta get up.”

You sit up with a start and rub at your eyes.

“Angel?” you ask. “Who’s that?”

Your eyes focus on Javi, and he smiles.

“That’s what I’m calling you. Get used to it.”

Your mouth opens to form an O shape.

“Let’s go. We just landed,” he says.

“How long was I out?”

Steve cuts in before Javi can answer.

“Long enough to fall asleep on your husband!” Steve says with vigor. “You two look cute.”

You push past Steve and miss the thumbs up he gives Javi, who ignores him completely.

The hotel is right on the beach, and you can smell the salty air before you even get to the double doors.

Once you’re checked in and settled in your room you’re ready to crash again. After a quick shower you wrap yourself up in the hotel bathrobe and crawl into bed, falling asleep to thoughts of Javi and how comfortable he was to sleep against.

Steve meets you at the outdoor bar on the beach the next day.

“How are my favorite liars doing?” he asks with a chuckle.

“I’m kinda nervous,” you whisper.

“You’re going to do great,” Steve assures you.

Javi remains characteristically quiet, his dark eyes assessing everything around him.

Steve hands Javi a drink. “She looks fucking gorgeous. You should really marry her.”

Javi’s eyes slide to you then down along your body slowly before stopping at your face.

He licks his lips and takes a long sip of his drink but doesn’t respond.

You spend some time at the bar, taking note of the surroundings and zeroing in on your target. Once the man in question notices you as the newcomers he saunters over with a saccharine smile.

You all know about Rafael Caro Quintero. He’s one of Galldaro’s best men but plays his role out in the public eye. He has a lot of money and flaunts it with his businesses and assets. You have intel that he’s going to pull off a big move this weekend and are using the honeymoon as a cover as to why you’re here in Mexico.

Javi’s arm circles around your waist and he pulls you against his side, tightening his grip when Rafael approaches and looks you over appreciatively.

“Well, well, well,” Rafael says smoothly. “What do we have here? I always make sure to say hi to any new faces that come to enjoy my…amenities. Especially one so stunning.”

“My wife,” Javi says, his voice too rough and you give him a light pinch. He looks down at you then let’s his shoulders relax.

“Ah, of course,” Rafael says. “And you’re the lucky bastard who married her.”

“Mexico is one of my favorite places to visit,” you interrupt as you hold out your hand to introduce yourself. “So, Javi and I decided it would be perfect for our honeymoon.”

Rafael’s face lights up and he throws up his hands, making a loud noise of celebration.

“Isn’t that just beautiful,” he says, his voice still booming. “Everyone! Join me in congratulating the lovely couple!”

He starts to clap and all the patrons in the bar area join in, hoisting their drinks and smiling.

Rafael reaches for a spoon from the bar and starts to tap the side of his glass. “Isn’t this what the American’s do for a kiss?”

Steve lifts his glass and turns to you and Javi. “It sure is!”

Javi looks down at you, and through a tight grin whispers, “I’m going to kiss you angel.”

He waits a beat, needing to see the consent in your eyes.

You nod ever so slightly and lean into him. A big hand comes up, cupping your jaw and his eyes drop to your mouth. The first contact is just a brush of his lips over yours, the briefest sweep.

You’re going to be devasted if that’s all you get, but then you hear the quietest moan escape his throat and he leans in again, pressing his soft, strong mouth to yours and taking your top lip between his, sucking gently before he turns his attention to your bottom one.

With a smile forming against the kiss, he tilts his head and takes you with a heat you couldn’t have predicted but makes you feel like you’re falling backward into the clouds.

Or maybe it’s the way he’s cupping the back of your head in one hand, holding you around the waist int other, and dipping you so low you’re nearly on the floor.

Everything is quiet before cheers erupt as Javi smoothly brings you back up in some sexy move you can’t even believe he pulled off.

“Javier Peña,” you whisper as you bury your face in his neck. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Oh, we’re just getting started Mrs. Peña,” he answers back against your ear.

Rafael’s eyes are lit up with glee and he slaps Javi on the back.

“To the newlyweds!” he cheers.

After things settle back down and Rafael’s attention is elsewhere Steve gives both you and Javi a beaming smile. “Wow. For a minute there you even had me believing it,” he teases.

Javi meets your gaze, his eyes falling to your lips again, and he fights the urge to go back for more.

Blinking away, he focuses on your shoulder, and on the strap of your dress that has slipped an inch to the side. He reaches up, stroking the newly exposed skin with his thumb.

Your hand lifts to your lips, still tingling with the warmth of his kiss.

“You’re good at that,” you say quietly.

“At what?” he asks, clearly distracted by your mouth.

“Fake-kissing.”

He hums, his head spinning with the thought that nothing about that felt fake.

“I wonder how you kiss when it’s real,” you whisper, more to yourself than anyone else.

He’s about to drag you away from the crowd to show you when the bartender shows up with more drinks, on the house of course, to celebrate the newlyweds.

You spend some more time at the bar, talking and enjoying the view, always close to Javi, his hand on your lower back, your arm, or his thumb brushing across your cheek. It’s been so easy to fall into the role you almost forget you’re faking it.

Steve leaves the two of you alone, not wanting to hang around too much and seem suspicious.

You watch Javi as he stares out over the water and take a step closer, moving into his space, realizing the moment he registers that he’d been touching you…a soft sweep of his fingers along the curve of your waist.

His eyes go a little wide behind his sunglasses, and he gently moves his hand away.

“Are you nervous?” you ask him.

He shakes his head no. “Not for the reason I should be,” he says but doesn’t elaborate.

You’re about to ask him to explain but you spot Rafael across the bar, he’s talking quietly to someone you don’t recognize and his eyes keeping darting in your direction.

Without letting it show on your face that you’ve noticed him, you press yourself against Javi, your hand sliding up his chest to the open buttons of his shirt.

“Hi,” Javi murmurs.

“Don’t look, but Rafael is just across the bar. He’s sort of watching us.”

Javi drags his attention away from your hand to your face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. So don’t mind me. I’m just trying to look wifey and horny for you.”

“We could just go for a walk on the beach,” he says.

“We could, but…”

Your fingers dip into his shirt to feel his warm skin and you move lower, undoing one more of the buttons.

“Pretending you’re horny too might be better.”

He stares at you, unmoving.

“Or not,” you say, smiling but inside you’re dissolving, piece by piece, in mortification.

When you try to move away he grabs your waist. “Where are you going?”

“To live with my shame alone somewhere.”

Javi laughs, low and dangerous. “No. You misunderstand me angel. My only hesitation is…” and he leans in, running his thumb along your lower lip, “acting was never my strong suit.”

His mouth brushes over yours, giving you one of those feather-soft kisses again.

“That’s a start,” you say as you share a breath.

He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Anything that can make it more convincing?”

“Another. Maybe longer this time?”

He lifts both hands now, cupping your face and leaning in, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth before he parts his lips and gently nips at your bottom one.

“Longer, huh?”

Your hands slide around his neck, and you stretch for more, for longer and deeper, his surprised huffed breath coming out warm against your mouth as he lets you suck his beautiful lower lip, dragging your teeth along it in a way that makes him let go of a tight, helpless sound.

His mouth is unreal, commanding and firm, but with full, soft lips that beg to be bitten. And he likes it when you do it too, releasing rough, rumbling sounds to confirm it.

Your hands have a mind of their own, rising up and tangling in his hair as the kiss deepens and he sends one hand down your back to your ass, pulling you closer until you can feel the hard press of him against your stomach.

With a gasp of air, he rests his forehead to yours but keeps a tight hold on you.

“Are you sure you’re not good at this acting thing?” you ask with a teasing smile. “The erection is a great touch. Very convincing.”

His laugh turns into a groan when you suck on his neck, baring your teeth and pressing down.

“Fuck,” he moans.

Your nails scrape along his scalp and with his own grip on the back of your neck he pulls your head away, eyes wild, and comes for your mouth again, setting a languid pace, dragging his tongue over your lower lip with kisses that can only be described as claiming.

“Fuck angel, your mouth is amazing,” he says, sliding his lips along your jaw and down to your pulse point.

Despite the heat of the sun and the heat of him, you shiver in his arms, pressing yourself along every inch of him to keep yourself upright.

Your gaze flicks over his shoulder and you notice Rafael is gone.

“Our friend left,” you whisper, still clinging to him.

Javi exhales a shaky breath near your ear and rests his cheek to yours.

“Well…I guess we can stop then.”

“I guess we can,” you reply, leaning back and taking him in- mussed hair, swollen lips, a small budding bruise on his neck.

“Oops,” you giggle.

He frowns at you. “Did you leave a mark on me?”

“Mayyyybeee,” you sing.

You don’t miss the way his pupils dilate, inky black in the dark chocolate brown of his irises.

“Well, good news is now everyone will know for sure that you’re taken,” you say with a bright smile.

Your eyes drop down to his shorts, and you let out a little whimper at the sight of him hard and pressed against the tight fabric.

“I’m going to take a cold shower,” he says through gritted teeth. “I want you back in the hotel room where you’re safe.”

Your eyebrows meet your hairline. “Oh, so you’re that kind of husband?”

“Just protecting what’s mine,” he whispers as he presses his palm to your lower back and leads you away from the beach.

Javi secures you in your room before walking across the hallway to his. He’s sure to check for anyone who might see before disappearing behind the door.

You’ve agreed to meet for a romantic dinner on the beach at one of Rafael’s best restaurants, the very place you’re hoping to catch him in the act.

Javi knocks on your door right on time and you smooth your hands along your dress before opening it.

He steps back from the doorframe and stares. A shadow appears behind him, and he startles.

“Steve,” he says dryly, putting a hand on his shoulder and moving him away.

Javi gazes at you, and more gently, says, “hi angel.”

“Hi,” you breathe out.

“You look…” he just stares, letting his eyes rake over you. “Gorgeous.”

“That she does,” Steve chimes in from beside you again. “Now…off you go.”

Javi reaches for you, but you can’t stop yourself, pressing your hand to his stomach and wrapping your fist around the soft fabric of his shirt.

You briefly glance at Steve, a silent but friendly, “fuck off,” written all over your expression.

With a smirk, Steve wanders off, but Javi touches a finger to your chin, redirecting your attention to his face. And before you can say anything, he bends, setting his lip softly on yours.

One soft kiss, and then another. Your blood turns to molten heat, and you lean in, chasing his lips when he slowly straightens.

After you enjoy your dinner, the slow and soft tunes of music drift from the stage set up to the side and Javi holds out his hand.

“Would you dance with me?” he asks.

You take his hand and let him draw you out of your seat and lead you \ to the open expanse of sand. His big palm feels like fire on your lower back, and he tucks your hand against his chest, pressing his cheek to yours as he moves you around slowly.

After a few quiet moments you pulls back, looking at your mouth.

“My instinct is to kiss you now.”

“That’s certainly what a married couple would do,” you whisper.

He sends one hand along the curve of your spine, tracing every inch until it’s over your shoulder and higher, where he cups the side of your neck with his big, warm hand. His eyes fall closed, and he leans in, pressing his mouth to yours.

Slow, deliberate kisses, Chaste, because you’re out in the middle of the dance floor but still so intentional, so claiming, so thorough you feel the sweet exploration in your fingertips and spine, in your chest and your stomach and between your legs.

The song comes to an end, and he pulls away, searching your expression before softly taking your hand and leading you back to your table but instead walks past it toward the darkened water.

The moon reflects a million overlapping crescents across the rippling surface of the ocean and the sky is blanketed with stars. You stop, hand in hand, and take it all in.

“This place really is beautiful. It’s so easy to believe we’re just here to enjoy it all.”

He nods, his eyes trained on you instead of the scene in front of him. Wrapping his arms around our waist he pulls you close then slides one hand down your stomach, hooking a finger under the hem of your dress and coaxing it higher up your thighs.

He reaches your hip, his eyes still trained on you and his voice pained when he says, “you’re not wearing any underwear.”

“Everything showed. I hate lines and didn’t have a thong with me.”

“You drive me crazy,” he says, kissing along your shoulder. “I’m distracted and I shouldn’t be. This was all supposed to be a ruse, but I can’t pretend anymore.”

His fingers trail back up your spine, reaching the strap of your dress and drawing it off one shoulder, kissing the skin there.

“I was never pretending,” he murmurs.

“Javi.”

Your sharp inhale is swallowed by his kiss. It doesn’t last long enough, and he rests his forehead to yours, his lips teasing, his nose brushing yours.

“I can’t stop,” he groans. “I need to feel you.”

You chase his lips, and he kisses you again but pulls away.

“But we can’t. Not now angel.”  

You nod but pull his mouth to yours again, kissing him hungrily, whispering the truth.

“I want you Javi.”

“You can have me angel,” he says. “I’m all yours. But we have a job to finish first. I can’t risk putting you in anymore danger.”  

With a breathless “ok,” you tug free of his grasp and straighten your dress. As you start to head back toward the restaurant he grabs your hand and drags you into his chest.

“Promise me,” he says between kisses, “you’ll be safe…you’ll follow orders.”

“Orders?” you ask with a raised brow. “I probably shouldn’t like that you said that but fine. And what about you Javi? I need you to be careful too.”

“I promise,” he whispers. “I’m going to finish this so I can take you home and make you mine. The right way.”

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (2 - Liar! Liar!)

Chapter Summary: You wake up one morning compelled to say the truth and nothing but the truth. Wanda seizes this opportunity to ensure everything remains under her control. Meanwhile, Jimmy and Darcy finally discover what happened to Agent Monica Rambeau. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3k+ | Chapter Tags: Manipulation

A/N: Billy is my favorite twin, if that isn't obvious already :P // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It doesn’t require a calendar to track the days here in Westview.

It's the kind of repetition that settles over suburban life, where dates fade into insignificance and days blur into a seamless loop, distinguishable only by the changing seasons. But even the current season—fall—is as predictable in its passage as ever, like storybook weather in its perfection. The birds are always chirping, the sun rises promptly at 6:40 every morning—never a minute early or a second late—and it never rains. Just endless clear skies, day after day, until the sun sets at five.

You've been chewing on this odd feeling ever since you and Wanda arrived in this part of New Jersey, but today, there's something extra. You can't pin it down, just that it's…there. Today feels different—more than usual—and you didn’t really get it until breakfast, when your mouth slipped past your usual tact with the kids.

“Mommy, do you like it?” Tommy asks, his eyes big and hopeful as he holds up a crayon drawing of what looks like the family standing outside a perfect little house. 

Perfect. Honestly, you’re getting pretty tired of everything being so perfect around here.

“It's...very colorful,” you start, the usual praise ready on your tongue, but what comes out instead is, “Though it's kind of all over the place, isn’t it? Maybe you could try to stay inside the lines a bit more.”

Speaking aloud is like sending an email: once it's out there, it's out there for good. Even so, an email would have been the better option. At least then, you could just hack into Tommy’s account—if he ever figures out how to set one up—and erase your blunder for good.

Could having a magical wife somehow save you from this mess?

It’s too late though. Tommy's face crumples, and Wanda doesn't seem keen on throwing you a lifeline, just a dirty look from across the table as you sip your morning coffee.

“But if you’re going for an abstract—” you start, but your son is already sulking off to his room. 

Billy digs into his cereal, blissfully unaware. Wanda, on the other hand, looks as if she's ready to rip open a portal to another realm and hurl you out of this one.

That can’t be good.

“You really upset him,” she says, arms crossing over her chest. “He was so proud of that drawing.”

“I know, I feel awful about it,” you groan, burying your face in your hands.  Seeing your genuine remorse, Wanda eases up, giving you a moment to stew in your guilt before she comes back to the table with a stack of pancakes.

“Here, eat up,” she says, setting them down in front of you.

You pick up your fork, cutting into the stack. They look perfect—golden brown, with the butter melting just right. You take a bite, and before you can stop yourself, the words are out.

“They're a bit dry,” you blurt out, instantly regretting your words. But once you start, you can't seem to stop. “And this maple syrup... it tastes kind of artificial.” 

Wanda gasps. “Excuse me?”

“Shit—”

“Language, Y/N!” she snaps, but it's too late, the curse is already out there, floating in the air like a bad smell. 

In the next moment, something strange happens—your lips tingle, and suddenly you can't feel your mouth. Alarmed, you touch your face, finding smooth skin where your lips should be. You try to protest, but only muffled noises emerge. Fear surges as you point frantically at your face. You attempt to scream, but no sound comes out.

Seeing your flustered pantomime, Wanda’s face goes from angry to horrified. With a wave of her hand, your mouth is back in its place, and you’re gasping, both of you staring at each other, not believing what just happened. Meanwhile, Billy is giggling, clapping his tiny hands together, and gleefully repeating the S-word you accidentally let slip earlier. 

You and Wanda just continue to stare at each other in shock, but then you glance at Billy, his innocent delight completely oblivious to the fact he’s saying something he shouldn’t, and you see the corners of Wanda’s mouth start to twitch. A moment later, she’s laughing unabashedly, and before you know it, you’re doing the same. 

Despite the peculiarities of your life here in Westview, you don't think you've ever been this content. Before Wanda, the idea of having your own family—your own kids, two no less—seemed unthinkable. You never imagined you'd have a wife, a house in a quiet suburb, or hear one of your sons swear for the first time. Westview is far from normal, but then again, so is your family. As you watch Wanda's laughter taper into soft giggles, you think it's impossible to love her any more than you already do.

Wanda made this all conceivable for you.

“Sorry, honey,” you say, though still a bit shaken by the ordeal. “I didn't mean to be so rude.”

Wanda looks even more remorseful than you feel—which makes sense, considering she did erase your mouth, however briefly.

“And I probably shouldn't have... you know, removed your mouth,” she murmurs, guiltily picking at her cuticles.

Admittedly, it was terrifying—one of the scariest experiences you've ever had. You certainly don't want a repeat. It makes you slightly wary of your wife, but your love for Wanda outweighs your fear. Standing beside one of the most powerful beings in the universe takes courage, and you've built up plenty over the years together. You're made for this—for her, for this kind of love.

“Apology accepted,” you say, mustering a weak smile.

Wanda's face floods with relief, then quickly contorts into worry. “What’s with you today?”

“I can't seem to lie,” you confess, realizing there's no easy way to skirt the truth. “I don't know what's happening, but I just can't stop saying exactly what's on my mind.”

She stares at you, confused and a little hurt. “What do you mean you can’t lie today? So, you’re usually lying?”

Before you can smooth that over, Billy looks up from his cereal, fixing you with that stern look that’s pure Wanda. “Mommy, lying is bad.”

Wanda’s gaze softens as she looks at Billy, then back at you, the seriousness returning. “Billy, why don’t you go brush your teeth and check on your brother? Your mommy and I need to talk for a little bit.”

“Okay, mama.”

Billy scampers off, and you feel your stature shrink under your wife's gaze, suddenly feeling every bit the child.

“What’s this about not being able to lie?” Wanda asks once it’s just the two of you.

You shake your head. “Look, it’s not that I usually lie, but today, I can’t even if I wanted to. It’s like a—a truth filter permanently switched off.”

Wanda takes a few moments to mull over your words. “Oh…” she starts, sounding half-convinced. “Maybe it’s stress,” she throws out after a beat. “You’ve been working really hard lately, haven’t you? Perhaps your mind is just overwhelmed and you need a mental day off.”

You had thought of that, but the whole situation seemed too weird for such a simple explanation. Then again, maybe seeing shadows where there aren't any is just another stress symptom. So you let it slide.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. I’ll see if I can call in sick next week,” you mumble, trying to sound cheerful about the prospect of a break.

Wanda comes around the table and cups your face in her hands. You let her pinch your cheeks together, feeling both stubborn and a bit sorry for yourself. It's silly, but all you want is for Wanda to coddle you and make you feel better, not to dish out logical reasons for why you’re not yourself today. 

“Well, if you're stuck with the truth, let's have some fun with it,” Wanda says.

You swallow hard, aware that any question she might ask now would either please or upset her—and there seems to be no middle ground.

“Uhm, honey, I don’t think—”

“Do you love me?”

You smirk at her; that’s an easy one. “More than anything else.”

“Only me?”

You laugh at her silly follow-up. This reminds you of the early days of your courtship when Wanda was a bottomless well of need. You didn't mind at all, knowing she needed to hear it as often as you made her feel it. Initially, you were a bit bothered, wondering if your actions weren't speaking loudly enough for her to trust you. Eventually, it became less frequent, until the question turned into a statement—You love me—to which you responded with your own: You love me too. Since then, it quickly became how you say ‘I love you’ to each other.

“Only you. I'd sooner die than love someone else,” you confidently tell her.

Her smile in return is a beautiful riddle—a riddle you can’t figure out. 

“Wanda, I—”

“Do you like living here?”

“Sometimes.” The words slip out before you can think, and you're relieved to realize that your feelings about Westview are honestly not all negative. “It’s a nice town. Quiet and cheap.”

Wanda's face does something subtle. You can't quite read her reaction, but it's clear she has more questions when she doesn't park on your answer, instead moving on to something else. 

“Do you... do you remember how we got here?"

You blink at her. Initially, the question seems a bit absurd. But as you try to formulate a response, “Of course. We got married at…” you stall, your brain blanking on the when and where of your own wedding. “...then we moved into this house last…”

You try to pin down the date, but it slips through your mind like sand.

“Wanda?” A laugh escapes you, but there's a nervous edge to it. “Why can’t I remember any of the details?”

The last thing she says before flicking her wrist is, “Because you’re not supposed to.” But even that slips away, scrubbed clean from your memory by Wanda’s sweeping hand.

–

“Jimmy?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I found her.”

Jimmy hurried over to the tight corner of their camp where Darcy had practically set up shop for the past few days. Since the signals were first picked up, she's taken charge of monitoring the transmissions, her main focus being to locate Agent Monica Rambeau. They've already confirmed that many of Wanda's bizarre, sitcom-style characters are, in fact, real residents of Westview, somehow trapped inside whatever anomaly Wanda seems to be in the center of.

“That’s Monica, right?” Darcy points at the grainy image on the retro television set they've been using to watch the town's activities. The broadcasts come through at odd hours, which makes every second of surveillance crucial. 

Jimmy leans in closer, squinting at the screen where a woman bearing a striking resemblance to Monica appears. “It sure looks like her,” he confirms.

The woman onscreen is dressed in distinctly 70s fashion—a bold, patterned blouse with wide lapels tucked into high-waisted bell-bottoms. Her hair is styled in voluminous, bouncy curls that softly frame her face, completing the look that is so far removed from the S.W.O.R.D. uniform Jimmy last saw her in.

“I wonder what character she’s playing in the show…” Darcy muses.

A handful of nearby crew quietly look on as Monica steps out of a Hornet, a stack of papers clutched in her hand, and strides confidently toward one of those cookie-cutter houses lining the street—yours and Wanda's.

“Stay frosty, Monica,” Darcy mutters under her breath, staring unblinkingly at the screen as they watch her knock gently on the door.

It’s Wanda who greets her with a guarded smile. “Hello, can I help you?” she asks, sizing up the stranger on her doorstep.

“Hi, there. I’m Geraldine. You must be Wanda,” Monica says. Jimmy and Darcy exchange a look, both arriving at the same conclusion: whatever spell has ensnared the other residents, Monica appears to be under it too.

“Do I know you?” Wanda asks, her teeth gritted in what she hopes passes for a smile. But Wanda, she’s got a tell. It’s never hard to see when she’s faking it. The sitcom laugh track of this Westview tries to spin it as humor, but it’s clear to anyone—she’s not thrilled about Geraldine’s arrival at all.

“Oh, I’m sorry, has Y/N not mentioned who I am?” Geraldine asks mildly,  like she’s bringing up some small, casual detail—which, for Wanda, it isn’t.

“Honey, who's at the door?” Your voice drifts from the living room just before you step into view, crunching on an apple. When you spot the visitor, your face lights up with recognition, puzzling Wanda even more.

“Evening, ma'am,” Geraldine nods at you with a polite smile.

Wanda keeps darting glances between you and Geraldine, trying to piece together what's going on. And what’s frustrating her is you don’t seem privy at all to her disconcertment.

“I told you to just call me Y/N,” you admonish with a light grin. “What brings you here?”

“W-Who is she?” Wanda jumps in, keeping up her charade of a pleasant surprise.

“It’s Geraldine,” you tell Wanda, expecting her to recognize the name. Her blank, slightly annoyed expression forces you to jog your memory and that’s when it hits you that your wife has no idea what you’re talking about. “She’s my new assistant. Didn’t I tell you?” you say sheepishly.

“No, honey, you certainly did not,” Wanda replies, her smile stretched a bit too tight. She turns to Geraldine. “Aren’t offices usually closed by five?”

“They sure are, Wanda,” Geraldine replies cheerfully. It bothers Wanda how Geraldine uses ‘ma’am’ for you but casually drops her first name like they're old friends.

“So, why are you here?” Wanda asks, no longer bothering to hide her irritation.

“Oh, just dropping off some reports that Y/N needed to review tonight. Urgent stuff, you know?” Geraldine holds up the stack of papers in her hand as proof.

“Yikes,” Darcy winces at the tension practically leaking through the screen, feeling that deep cringe of secondhand embarrassment for Monica's obliviousness to Wanda's ire.

Fortunately for your assistant, you position yourself between her and Wanda, intercepting just as your wife’s temper begins to flare. You remember Wanda’s warm, almost syrupy kindness with Agnes when she first appeared, which only makes her sudden cold front toward Geraldine unreasonable.

“I completely forgot about those reports. Thanks for bringing them over, Geraldine,” you say, nudging her toward the exit. “See you Monday!”

Then, you close the door before she can add anything else, sparing both women from each other.

“So, why haven't you mentioned Geraldine before?” Wanda asks, not sparing another second to grill you about your new assistant.

You frown, thinking back. “I thought I did.”

Wanda looks at you for a long moment, her expression inscrutable. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you’re not telling me?” she demands, her eyes searching yours.

“Uh-oh, trouble in paradise,” Darcy sing-songs, stuffing a handful of popcorn into her mouth. Jimmy reaches over, trying to sneak a handful, but she swats him away.

You give her a lopsided smile, doing your best to charm your way out of the situation. The compulsive honesty from earlier isn't nagging at you anymore, but really, there's no need to sugarcoat anything in this case.

“Sounds like someone's a little jealous,” you tease lightly. And there it is again—that distant chorus of an audience, laughing on cue. You really need to talk to Wanda about this; it could be linked to all the experiments she's been doing with her powers.

Wanda barks out a forced laugh right into your smirking face. “Jealous? Me? There's no way I'm jealous of anyone, especially not Geraldine.”

“Then why did you look like you wanted to throw her out yourself when she showed up?”

Wanda's smile fades a tad, then she just shrugs. “Because she was interrupting our family dinner time. That's all.”

Normally, you'd draw this out until she admits she's jealous, but that could take all night. Right now, all you want is to kiss your beautiful wife, the only one you see. It's getting late, and not being able to touch her all day is driving you a little mad with want.

“Fine, you're not jealous,” you whisper, moving in, wrapping your arms around her waist. “Why would you be? You’re the prettiest, smartest, most amazing woman anyone could ask for.”

Wanda melts into you almost instantly. “You love me.”

“You love me too,” you say before leaning in to peck her lips. She hums happily against your lips, but just then, you hear the boys complaining about being hungry. Sharing a smile, you both head back to sort out dinner.

The episode ends, credits roll, and Darcy groans, tossing her head back. “No way. I need more of this,” she huffs, stabbing her finger at the screen. “They're perfect together. Shame Y/N’s supposedly dead. I hate spoilers.”

“She doesn’t look dead to me from here,” Jimmy says.

“My theory? That’s not actually her. I bet Wanda or someone did something to make a rando look like Y/N.”

“You think?”

Darcy nods. “With all the surreal stuff happening here? Yeah, I'd put money on it, dude.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Jimmy concedes. “Anyway, it’s a relief to see Agent Rambeau’s alive and kicking.”

“As Geraldine,” Darcy reminds him. “I wonder who chooses their names for them. Back to Y/N, what did that Howard guy have to say about Y/N being dead but so alive in Westview?”

“It’s Hayward,” Jimmy corrects her with a sigh. “He doesn’t seem interested in her or anyone else trapped inside. He’s more interested in the energy field surrounding the town.”

“And their boys?” Darcy adds, not listening to Jimmy’s rant. “We don’t have any public record of their true identities in Westview, right?”

Jimmy gives her a sidelong glance. “No records, no data. As far as Westview’s concerned, they just… appeared.”

“Typical,” she mutters, jotting down notes without looking away from the TV's static, hoping there’s a bonus episode or something.

But the screen stays blank, nothing but static for hours on end.

–

After hours of making love, Wanda lies next to you, watching you sleep. She’s used her powers on you before, but never here, never without your consent since you became a couple. Casting the hex was the easy part, the lying to you—not so much. Acting like she didn't know what was troubling you had hurt her more than she let on. 

She wanted to check if you were still happy here, still content, or if doubts were starting to creep in. And knowing you—the real you—you'd probably lie to Wanda just to keep her happy, just to ensure she has everything she wants. You've always prioritized her needs over your own, always stepping aside to let her shine. She wants the same for you, but you always manage to outdo her in every act of self-sacrifice.

When you started asking her about the exact dates of the wedding you thought you two actually had, it confirmed you still had no idea why you’re here, or what she’s done. She was relieved, honestly, because it meant she could stop forcing you to tell the truth, a spell she’d put on you out of desperation more than distrust.

She isn't sure how long this will last, just that it might be the most happiness she'll ever know, even if it's a delicate, fleeting kind. How did she even do this? Wanda doesn’t even know. It just happened—like a rose that has sprouted off a barren land. And now, despite having everything she's ever wanted, there’s always this nagging fear that it could all fall apart.

Quietly, she makes a promise to herself to fix things. She promises to you and her boys, she’ll find a way to make this life real, something that won’t just vanish like everything else she’s ever loved.

[thatacotargirl]

Hiiiii I love your writing!! May I request Azriel x Reader, where reader gets amnesia. She’s Illyrian and was hurt by Illyrian men, so she’s scared of Az because she doesn’t remember him. Then wonderful angst because he never thought she’d be afraid of him, so he avoids her and is heartbroken. Then something happens, maybe he’s forced to interact with her or he says something specific, and her memories come back, so happy ending! Feel free to ignore if you don’t want to write this, thank you!💙

Hi lovely! Thank you so much for reading my work and for your request! I hope you like the story! 💙

Divider is once again from @tsunami-of-tears, eternally grateful to you for your creativity!

Dazelroot Daze

An Azriel x Reader imagine

Warnings: angst, poisoning, swearing, allusions to abuse / previous SA.

"Rhys, I am not cut out for this kind of mission - why did you not send Nesta!"

You huff to yourself as you climb the uneven stairs through the prison, following closely behind Rhys. You hated coming in here, and hated having to interact with the Bone Carver even more. You patted your back pocket, checking your gifted bone for him was still there, before climbing yet another stairwell.

"Y/n, you know I wouldn't have asked if it wasn't necessary. I can't exactly send Nesta in here even if she's only early in her pregnancy, they would sense it a mile off and she'd be a target. Not to mention, I don't fancy getting pummelled by Cassian for letting his pregnant mate in here".

You knew he was right, but it didn't make this any easier. You struggled through another narrow doorframe, trying to avoid smacking your wings against the wood, and stood in front of a metal gate. You hear Rhys hum to himself.

"What's wrong?".

"I've never seen a gate here before, this should be an open walkway".

You begin to feel uneasy as you see Rhys take a step back.

"Rhys?"

Before you can get another word out, you feel a powder cover your face, filling your nose and mouth, causing you to choke. You try to call out for help, but you can't get anything out, breathing becoming harder and harder. You hear Rhys distantly calling your name but you can't respond, can't move, all you can do is drop to the floor, your legs giving out from underneath you.

"Get Madja, now!"

Rhys' voice bellowed through the River House as he winnowed in carrying your lifeless body and placed your down on the living room sofa. The rest of the Inner Circle descended on the pair of you, including Azriel. When he saw your pale body, arm hanging off the sofa, his heart sank. He grabbed Rhys by the collar.

"What the fuck happened?"

Rhys didn't have time to answer before Madja appeared in the room, pushing everyone to the side and leaning over your body. Silence descended on the room as she ran tests, took bloods, checked your vitals - all the while your eyes remained closed and your body limp.

"She has been poisoned with a plant known as Dazelroot. It is highly toxic and can only be found in some very remote parts of the Spring Court. Thankfully, it looks like this particular strain was either incorrectly handled or extremely dried out, as it hasn't taken hold quite as potently as it should have. She will be ok, in that she will live, but we won't know the consequences until she wakes up".

"The consequences?", Feyre asks.

"I have never seen a person be poisoned with Dazelroot and live to tell the tale. We won't know what it will do to her until she wakes".

Feyre sobbed silently, her shoulders shaking. Nesta joined her, the sisters holding each other through their sadness. Cassian could only watch in horror as Azriel fell to his knees next to your body and cried into your shoulder.

"Madja, what can we do?", Rhys asks, wringing his hands.

"There's nothing, Rhys. We have to let her wake, and see what happens next. I'll be on hand, as will my assistants. Call us as soon as she wakes up".

Rhys shook Madja's hand and allowed her to leave, his grief weighing down on his shoulders heavily. It was his fault that you were in the prison, that he hadn't seen the trap beforehand, that you were the one to be poisoned. He tried to reach for Azriel, but Azriel swatted his hand away.

"Don't touch me", he gritted, his face still buried in your shoulder.

Rhys could do nothing but watch as his family fell apart in front of him.

It took 6 days for you to wake. 6 agonising days of your family watching your chest rise and fall, terrified that you would never again open your eyes. But you did.

Your eyes opened, and fell on Feyre's face.

"SHE'S AWAKE", Feyre called to your family, reaching out for your hand. You let her take it, but she couldn't overlook the confusion she saw in your eyes, the hesitancy of your body to let her touch you.

The room filled with your family and your eyes settled on a pair of Illyrian wings. Male Illyrian wings. Trauma racked through your body, memories of your life at the Illyrian camps, wing-clipping, assault, and you couldn't hold back your scream as you pulled your body up the bed, as close as you could get to the headboard.

"Y/n?", Azriel said gently, attempting to approach you. He froze when he realised it was him that you were trying to get away from.

Madja burst through the door at that moment, having been summoned by Rhys the moment he heard Feyre's shouts. She saw the blankness in your eyes the second she looked at you, and her eyes fell pityingly to Azriel.

"Hi y/n, I'm Madja, a healer here in the Night Court".

Your family looked at each other in pure confusion. You knew who Madja was. She'd been the family's healer for centuries. Why was she acting like you'd never met before?

Madja carried out her assessment before providing you a sleeping tonic. Once your body settled back into the pillows, looking more at peace than you had when you had woken up, she turned to Rhys.

"The Dazelroot has caused amnesia. She doesn't remember anything after her life after the Illyrian camps".

Rhys shook his head. "Ok, but when will her memory come back?".

Rhys saw the look on Madja's face and his stomach somersaulted.

"Will her memory come back?"

Madja placed a hand gentle on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry Rhys, there's no way to know".

She turned to Azriel, tears falling down his cheeks. He had realised that you had forgotten him, forgotten your mateship, the love you had shared for centuries. You only remembered the trauma you had faced at the hands of Illyrian males, males that bore the same wings as him. He had realised, seeing the look on your face, that you were afraid of him.

"You can try to offer her gentle reminders. It might break through the amnesia cloud. But there's nothing more we can do".

Madja departed, leaving your family to process the news. You didn't remember any of them.

17 months later

It had been 17 months since the incident, and your memory hadn't come back.

Feyre, Nesta, Elain and Mor had made it their mission to rebuild the friendship that you had had with them - regularly taking you out for brunch, shopping, and nights out at Rita's. Over time, you developed a new bond with them, and had started to trust them.

You had also re-kindled your friendship with Rhys and Lucien, the males giving you distance but engaging with you as often as possible, mostly through Feyre and Elain.

But Azriel and Cassian, you couldn't be near. Their wings reminded you too much of the trauma you had faced in the camps. Reminded you that your own wings had been clipped. Reminded you of the males that had used you for their own entertainment. Anytime they tried to approach you, their wings pinned as tightly as possible behind their backs, your body began to involuntarily shake and your eyes would fill with tears.

It had broken Azriel. He had become a shell of the former male he was. He started to withdraw from family dinners, he gave up his morning training. Azriel had slowly started to descend into a downward spiral, feeling the mating bond cold on the other end. His family had tried their best to help, but Azriel wanted for nothing but you. He locked himself in his bedroom most days and nights, seeking solitude in the shadows.

That was why, when his family decided to visit Sevenda's restaurant that evening, Azriel had ignored the inviting knock on his door. He didn't want to make it harder for you seeing him sitting at the other end of the table. He waited for the footsteps to pad away before grabbing a bottle of Whiskey from the shelf and pouring himself a generous glass.

-

Several hours later, Azriel was sat in bed with his book when he heard commotion. It sounded like crying, but it was pained. He sat up, listening out, when he heard it again - this time closer to his door. He thought everyone was out at Sevenda's, or maybe Rita's now, but there was unmistakably someone wandering through the hallway.

Azriel cracked open his door and peered out. At the end of the hallway, gripping the window pane, he saw your small frame huddled over. The scent of blood filled the air. Azriel panicked. He knew how bad your cycles were from the centuries you had spent together, that you needed help desperately, but right now he was the only one in the house with you, and you were terrified of him.

"Y/n?", he called out gently, trying not to startle you with his presence. He watched you turn slowly, your eyes wide in alarm.

"It's ok, it's just your cycle", he whispered, raising his arms to show you that he was not going to hurt you. You whimpered slightly, clutching the window pane so hard your knuckles had gone white.

"Can I help you?", he asked, not daring to move. You looked at him, his wings, your body shaking. But you knew you were helpless, not sure you could get yourself back to your bed even if you tried with all your might. So, you took a deep breath, and gave him a timid nod.

Azriel walked slowly towards you, his hands in front of him, and when he reached you he carefully put a hand forward to touch your shoulder. You shuddered, but didn't pull away.

"I'm going to take you back to your room, ok?". You could only nod as Azriel scooped you into his arms and walked you slowly back towards your room.

He placed you down carefully at your dressing table and silently walked into your bathroom, the sound of running water filling the room. Whilst the bath ran, you watched him strip the soiled sheets from your bed and replace them with fresh ones, putting a pair of your pyjamas neatly folded at the end. He then offered you his hand and guided you to the bathroom.

"Do you need some help?".

You didn't want to admit it, but you did. You could barely stand up under your own weight.

Azriel turned away from you to allow you to undress, holding a hand behind his back for guidance as you carefully lowered yourself into the bath. Once you were in, and hidden under the bubbles, you turned to look at him. At his wings. You had never known an Illyrian male to be so gentle. So calming. Even sat here alone in a bath with him in the room, you felt comfortable. You felt safe.

"Azriel?", you whispered.

"Would you like me to leave you be?" he asked, his back still turned to give you privacy.

"No".

You saw Azriel's shoulders sag slightly with relief, but he still kept his back to you.

"Please could you pass me that bottle over there, the green one?"

Azriel walked over to the counter to pick up the shampoo bottle and attempted to hand it to you behind his back, still not facing you. You giggled as he offered the bottle out to the empty end of the bath.

"It's ok, I'm hidden in the bubbles".

Azriel turned, his eyes not leaving your face, as he handed the bottle to you. You took it, pouring some into your hand, and he watched you wince as you raised your arms above your body to your hair, stretching your stomach.

"May I?", he asked quietly. You nodded, handing the bottle to him. Azriel knelt down behind your head, pouring the shampoo into his hands and massaging it into your hair. The moment his hands touched you, you felt a calming peace descend over you, and you closed your eyes to bask in it. You were about to ask him to rub it into the nape of your neck, your favourite place, when you felt his hands move there instinctively. A jolt went through your body, and Azriel jumped backwards.

"Are you ok?"

You turned to face him, his leathers covered in water, bubbles and shampoo suds, and looked down at his scarred hands. Visions flew through your mind of his hands in your hair, his hands offering to feed you grapes on your honeymoon to the Summer Court, his hands touching your body, his hands placing a ring on yours at your mating ceremony, his hands holding out your cup of coffee to you every morning - black, just how you liked it.

You reached out to take them, feeling every emotion come flooding back to you. A tug at your chest made you look up, as Azriel's filled with tears.

"My mate", you whispered.

"My mate", he replied, his head moving to rest on your forehead.

You held each other, the bath water turning cold and the bubbles melting away, allowing all your love and devotion to flow to each other through the bond. Forgotten, but never gone.

[angel5ofp0rn]

Young!Price x f!younger!reader

when you and ExHusband!Price start dating 😋

*pretty short

“Right there?” You lean down to murmur in his ear. “Does that feel good?”

“Fuck… right there, sweetheart...” John groans.

You giggle from your seat on John’s backside, knees on either side of his hips as you massage his lower back. He had been complaining about how bad it has been aching and swore only your hands could fix him.

You lean down and press a few kisses to his shoulder before going back to working out the tension in his muscles.

John sighs in content.

“Y’know, I had the worst dream last night.” You mention casually, placing your hands palm down on his waist and rubbing circles with your thumbs.

“Did you?” John’s voice was a bit muffled by the pillow his face was resting against. “What was it about?”

"I met this really, really beautiful man at the bar, got him to take me home, really got to like him… and then he went back to London I never saw him again." You sigh dramatically.

It takes John a moment to realize that you're joking, catching on at the exaggerated sigh. He tries not to laugh but he's only human.

John shifts to lay on his back now, but pulls you back to him so you can still sit on top, straddling his lap.

“Sounds like a nightmare.” John grins, his hands slowly rubbing up and down your bare thighs. “Suppose we can't repeat that mistake then?"

You shake your head, a smile on your lips as you look down at him. John shakes his head back at you, that signature smirk still on his face.

"Is it crazy that I think I actually really like you?" Your brow furrows a bit. “We’ve only known each other for a few days…”

He lets out a little laugh; you can see him blush a little bit in his cheeks.

"'s not crazy," He says softly, his hands now moving from your thighs to your waist, slipping under his shirt that you were wearing. “I like you.”

"Hmm… But you're a military guy.” Your head tilts to the side in thought. “Aren't military guys, like, known for proposing after the first date?"

This actually makes him laugh out loud again, his eyes crinkling in the corners. He can't help himself; this stereotype has always been such a common one.

"Right, but I'm not that kind of military guy.... l'd at least wait until the second date."

"Well," you move off of John to lay on your back next to him on your bed. "When the time comes, I don't want one of those big, ugly silver and diamond rings. Maybe a pearl or a garnet or something." You lift your left hand up in the air above you both, as if imagining the ring on it.

John continues to smile as you talk about the potential future. The idea that you're thinking about that kind of stuff when you've only just met seems funny to him, but almost… romantic, in a way.

When you lift your hand, he can't help but imagine how that ring would look on it. He can see the ring so clearly in his mind's eye; simple 14 karat gold band, emerald cut garnet in the middle.

You lower your arm back to your side and turn to look at him. "I really do think I like you." You sigh like it’s disappointing. "This isn't normally how my random bar hookups go."

“Y’ haven’t been hookin’ up with the right guys.” John counters.

You study his face, taking in all the little details; those blue eyes you love, the little freckle on his nose, the two tiny marks above and below his eyebrow that made you wonder if teenage John was a little punk with an eyebrow piercing.

You sit up suddenly and get off of your bed. You strip John’s shirt off of yourself and toss it to him. “You should go.”

John is understandably confused. He sits up, shirt in hand, waiting for an explanation. “Did I do something wrong..?”

“No,” You shake your head, looking through your closet. “You’re going to go get dressed, buy me some flowers, and take me on our first date.”

John doesn’t speak. He’s stunned.

You look over your shoulder at him. “What? If I want that second-date proposal, we need the first date out of the way.”

John’s eyebrows raise. You’re fucking crazy…

You’re fucking made for him.

“Oh, and don’t get tulips.” You add casually, pulling a little sundress out of the closet and looking it over. “I hate tulips.”

“Yes ma’am.” John nods, pulling his shirt on over his head.

You grin. “So obedient. Must be the military training.”

<< prev next >>

[seresinhangmanjake]

Super Soft!Simon Riley x reader - You're terrified that Simon's not making safe choices when he's on deployment, so he comforts you. (fluff, allusion to future smut (barely), drunk johnny, cod inaccuracies)

Johnny recounts the tale of their hard-earned achievement—a victory, as they have deemed it—with a number of beers in his system that you’ve long stopped counting. As he sits at your kitchen table, he is looser, giddier, freer with his words, and spares no detail of your boyfriend’s selfless acts of bravery during their last deployment. Acts that got him shot at; one of those bullets finding their home.

You’d be proud of him, if not for the fear that built up over months from recurring nightmares and an overactive imagination—all of which had you losing the love of your life. But that’s not out of character. You think about yourself, you think about your boyfriend, before you think about the lives he saves when he’s away from you. Maybe it’s wrong, or unfair, but you can’t help it.

While Simon’s work is not something he ever kept secret, you don’t need the reminder that the preservation of his life is not always his priority. It can't be. There are other factors that dictate his future. He has a team, people who depend on him. He has responsibilities and orders to follow. Control is often snatched from his fingertips. And so, what does that mean for the two of you? 

You don’t care to think about it. Not tonight. Not at midnight from a friend who should have passed out on your couch hours ago. So you stretch, yawn, and excuse yourself for bed before your brain implodes from any more of Johnny’s ramblings.

Simon knows. He spent the night squeezing your hip each time you tensed in his lap at Johnny’s words, and now, as you stand to head to the bedroom, he holds onto your hand until your fingers slip from his. Deep brown eyes are filled with guilt and apology and all you can offer in return is a slight upturn of the lips that barely qualifies as a smile.

Away from the men, you cry in your and Simon’s shared bed, waiting for him to encourage Johnny to the couch. There's a few more loud laughs, a whine when Simon cuts off his friend's alcohol supply, and then a final groan of acceptance as you hear the springs of your couch squeak under the weight of a muscled body. It’s only when the animated snores of your drunk friend reach your ears that the door to your room creaks on its hinges.

Simon’s footsteps are thumps muffled by carpeting. From your peripherals you see him shed his clothes as he moves to you. Shoes, then t-shirt, then jeans, until he's in his underwear and settling onto the mattress behind you. 

His arm slips under yours around your waist and he tugs your back to his chest, into the cocoon of warmth. 

“Do you know what I thought when I first saw you?” he asks, gruff and thick. His voice rumbles from his chest, vibrating against your spine as his breath brushes your ear. “That my life is over.

“Everything I want, everything I need—none of it matters anymore. All because of one look at a woman who was too busy with her friends to notice me,” he says. “I thought, I'm ruined now. If you leave this bar right this second, I won't be able to forget you. And if you don't leave, I can't ever let you go. I didn't know your name and you had me ready to change my whole world for you.”

You sniffle but don't bother to wipe away the tear that escapes. “That's insane, Si,” you whisper.

“It is,” he agrees, pressing a kiss just under your ear. “But it happened. I let you in and you latched on to my entire existence like this beautiful, little parasite. Just like I wanted you to. My life ended and it became our life. 

“I don't take a single step without considering you. Not here and not there. So if you think I don't try to be careful when I'm gone, you're wrong,” he tells you. “I try for you. I try for us.”

Yet, ‘trying’ means he still gets injured; he gets another circular scar to add to the healed knife slashes and the burned patch on his upper arm. ‘Trying’ is not always about picking the safer of two options, but about optimizing luck, which is rare enough as it is. And that terrifies you.

“What if you step wrong not knowing that it's wrong?” you ask. “What if you think it's right and then you're gone? You can't tell me that will never happen.”

Simon sighs. “No, I can't. But you trust me, don't you?”

Turning in his arms—your nose nearly nudging his—you place your hand on his cheek and run your thumb along his cheekbone. “Of course I do.”

“Then don't mourn me while I'm still here, love,” he breathes against your lips. “Can you do that for me?”

You nod, because you’d do anything for him. 

“Good girl.” Simon smiles lightly and slides his palm from your back down the length of your arm. He squeezes your fingers, then moves further, tucking his hand into the front of your underwear. “My girl,” he whispers and presses his lips to yours.

A/N: i dont usually write different stuff but i felt like it so i did