#slinging a towel over my shoulder

[cult-of-the-eye]

I care for my younger sibling and it's difficult, there's a lot of emotional time and effort put into it alongside the chores (and my own mental health issues and general life stuff) but honestly when it all feels too much I just imagine I'm the cool single parent from all those early 2000s movies who has absolutely nothing together but in a respectable way. I'm "hey kiddo"-ing my way out of a mental breakdown.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

gold ring

words: 1.3k

warnings: brief suspicion of cheating, established relationship, soft!rafe, proposal, fluffy

“rafe!” you groan out, tired of hearing his phone constantly dinging for the past ten minutes. 

when rafe doesn't answer, you slap your laptop closed, frown on your face as you head up the stairs, muttering to yourself about him interrupting your work that he KNOWS is important.

“rafe!” you shout, entering his bedroom. you can finally hear the spray of the shower, explaining why he was letting his phone go off.

you grab it from his bedside table, yanking the charger free as you go to silence it, but upon trying to stop the dinging, you skim over the notifications.

you don't believe it at first. it must be some kind of mistake, you're sure.

you click on the name of rafes ex girlfriend, opening up the text message thread.

rafe: when can we meet?

ex: whenever works for you 🥺

ex: i miss you a lot btw

ex: this friday at 6pm? we can meet at the country club like we always used to. maybe get dinner? can't wait to see you xxx

you frown at the messages, quickly locking the phone and setting it down when you hear the shower turn off.

rafe steps out with just a towel wrapped around his waist.

“hey princess.” he smiles. “how's the essay going?”

“fine.” your tone is cold, surprising rafe. “your phone was ringing so i silenced it.”

you walk out of the room without another word, needing to return to your homework, but when you sit back down at what has become your desk, you can't concentrate on the words on the screen, your anger bubbling over.

you want to confront rafe, but you need time to breathe otherwise the entire conversation will be unintelligible as you simply sob.

you head upstairs, grabbing your backpack and slinging it over your shoulder as rafe emerges from the closet, fully dressed.

“where you going babe? got study group?” he questions, glancing at the clock on the wall, realizing there's no way study group would be meeting this late.

“going home.” you mumble, making sure everything you usually leave at rafes is stuffed in your bag.

“you are home?” rafe questions, his expression turning sad when he sees you're not joking.

“no, im not rafe.” you sigh. “i want to sleep in my own bed tonight.”

truth is, you've practically moved into tanneyhill since you started dating rafe, but technically you still live at your parents house, only a few doors down from rafes.

“is everything alright?” rafe asks, trying to reach out for you. “what did i do wrong?”

you can't help it anymore, his obvious disrespect for your relationship, something you put years of work into only for him to go back to his ex girlfriend.

“how about you ask your ex?” you question, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“my ex? what are you talking about?” rafe asks, again trying to hold you by your shoulders, but you take a step back before his palms can land on you.

rafe: ive asked you a million times to give that ring back. you never should have taken it in the first place. it was my grandmother's and now it belongs to y/n, not you.

“i saw your texts, rafe. when can we meet? are you fucking kidding me!?” you shout the last sentence.

“baby, wait.” he says softly, grabbing his phone. he opens up the messages, scrolling up so you can see the full context.

ex: i don't know where it is 

rafe: bullshit. give it back or ill call the cops

ex: fine. 

rafe: when can we meet?

“see, baby?” rafe places a soft hand on your shoulder. “i was just trying to get my shit back. i have no interest in my ex at all. i love you.”

“oh, rafe!” you coo out, throwing your arms around his shoulders. “im so sorry i doubted you.”

“it's okay, id also be pissed if you were texting your ex. i didn't tell you just because i wanted to keep it a surprise.”

“keep what a surprise?” you furrow your brows together.

“what do you?- ohhh.” rafe finally catches on, letting out a chuckle. “i see what you're doing.”

you giggle, rising to your tiptoes to press a kiss to rafes soft lips. 

“now let's get back to work on that essay, yeah?” rafe says. “i can help you.”

“and what do you know about microbiology that could possibly help me?” you snicker.

rafe rolls his eyes dramatically. “fine, but i can at least be there for moral support.”

--

you've been expecting it for months now, wondering when rafe will pop the question. you know he got the ring back, and while he's taken you on romantic dates and moonlit walks on the beach, you're not sure when he will actually drop to one knee.

“what are you thinking for your nails this week?” your girlfriend asks.

originally, you were doing all white and plain, but recently for summer you've been branching out to bright colors again.

“why, is there a certain color i should get?” you raise your eyebrow at her. 

“well i was gonna get a sparkly white, maybe we could match.” she shrugs. it's no discredit to your friend, but her acting isn't good enough to fool you, and you're sure that rafe asked her to make sure you get something appropriate and properly bridal.

you of course get simple nails that you hope will compliment a silver ring on your finger.

you look at the calendar hanging on the wall, reading through your events for the upcoming week, trying to figure out when rafe may ask the question.

you ultimately give up on trying to figure it out as you head further into the house, calling out for rafe. 

“baby? where are you?” you shout, surprised when you don't get a response. you head up to your bedroom, figuring he must be in the shower, but the bathroom door is wide open when you enter.

you almost miss it, so set on finding rafe, but the dress laying on the edge of the bed ends up catching your attention.

put this on and meet me outside.

you recognize rafes handwriting instantly. you set the paper to the side and look at the dress. its a soft light pink material, nearly white.

you are quick to undress and put on the flowy dress, admiring yourself in the mirror before touching up your hair and makeup next. rafe knows how you like to prepare for big events in your life.

your steps are slow, or at least you attempt to keep them slow, as you want to cherish this moment. your eyes light up with the glow of the backyard, string lights hanging from every tree, and on the edge of the sand, is rafe.

“oh.” you cover your mouth, feeling tears well up in your eyes. this has to be the moment. you run to him, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he spins you.

“baby, i haven’t even asked yet.” rafe chuckles, setting you down.

“and i’m already saying yes.” you giggle, although it’s no secret to rafe what your answer would be.

“still-” rafe places his hands on your hips, stilling you before he drops down onto one knee, pulling a box out of his pocket. he flips open the lid to reveal the most stunning ring you’ve ever seen, it’s exactly what you envisioned and somehow so much more.

“you’ve made me happier than i ever thought possible. you fixed all my broken pieces and made me whole again. there’s no one else i’d rather spend forever with.”

rafe looks up at you, tears brimming in his eyes, overwhelmed with the emotion of the moment. “will you marry me?”

“yes!” you squeal, falling to your knees alongside rafe and pressing your lips against his. “yes, yes. a million times yes.”

sfw tags: @winterrrnight @cameronswiftie @ladyinbl00d @ethanthequeefqueen @drewsephrry @wearemadeofstardust0

[liiixsturniolos]

𝒮𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝒹𝒶𝓎

chris sturniolo x reader!

(just fluff, use of 'baby', 'y/n')

♡ You are adamant about going to work, although you're in horrific crippling pain from cramps and back ache on your period. The triplets are NOT letting you leave. You're in for a cozy day inside instead.

Your eyes flutter open uncomfortably, you blink away your sleep, and try to sit up. Turning to your bedside, you pick up your phone wearily, missing it with your shaky hand the first time, and turn it on. The screen blinks "4AM." A rippling, aching pain is shooting through your lower stomach.

You sigh to yourself, "Fuck." as you lift yourself up from your cozy, warm bed and into the freezing bathroom to shower.

"Baby?" Chris knocks on the door worriedly, "Are you okay?" You shout a shaky reply from the shower, barely able to speak or stand up and wash yourself. The pain from your stomach was crippling.

Bursts and shoots of pain would linger for minutes on your lower abdomen, making you curl over in pain. You're yelping like an injured dog, Chris then bursts in to check on you. You stand there, curved over in the marble shower, groaning in agony as you attempt to stand straight and wash yourself.

"Let me help you, okay?" Chris asks, lifting up an eyebrow and beginning to remove his clothes. He slips into the shower and up next to you. You look up at him with sad, wide eyes. "Awh, I'm sorry baby." He tells you, as he cleans your back gently with some soap.

You breathe in vanilla scent of your shampoo, and for a second forget how bad the cramps are, focusing just on Chris' hands massaging through your hair. But of course the pain comes crashing back again eventually.

Chris jumps out of the shower first, bravely making himself freeze so he can lift a warm towel off of the rack for you.

He waits for you to step out of the shower and then wraps you up in it. You shiver and shuffle back to your shared bedroom. He gets himself changed, into a plain black t-shirt and his underwear. Then crawls immediately back to your bed next to you, to rub your shoulders with his hands and try to warm you up.

"Want me to get you some pyjamas out?" He asks softly.

"No, I'll need my work clothes." You respond. Putting on your bra.

"What?" He snaps back confused.

"I can't miss work." You tell him. Slinging the rest of your clothes.

"Of course you can, you can barely walk." He insists.

You slowly scrape yourself up from the bed. "I can walk." You mumble, limping over to the wardrobe.

"You're kidding me." He chuckles.

"Y/n, you are not going to work, you're in pain." He demands.

"I'll take some medicine, I'll feel better once I just get moving." You lie through your teeth. Exiting the room you some how climb your way upstairs and into the living room where Matt and Nick are. Flopping yourself down onto the couch.

"You don't look good y/n." Matt retorts.

"Yeah, I'm well aware." You say grumpily, with a pout on your face and a groan out in pain as your lower back starts to ache.

"Someone tell her she is not going to work today, the woman can barely walk from her cramps." Chris rolls his eyes.

"I'm going." You sigh.

"You definitely aren't y/n." Nick laughs.

"You guys don't make my decisions for me! I'm grown. I can go to work if I want to! Stay out of it!" You lash out, jumping up from the couch and attempting to storm away.

Until you realise this is stupid, you love your job but not this much. Standing up so fast made you realise how much pain you actually were in and how right the triplets were. You flunk back onto the couch, cramps practically stabbing your stomach. "Shit- nevermind." You cry, tears running down your face faster then you could try to stop them.

"C'mere baby, awh." Chris kisses your forehead, pulling you on top of his body, your head resting on his chest.

Matt gives you a gentle stroke on the arm, and Nick mutters an "I told you so." then fetches you your hot water bottle.

"Your gonna be jus' fine baby, its okay." Chris whispers, pushing stray hairs behind your ear and stroking your face with his thumb.

"Let's watch a movie, kay baby?"

"Mhm." You crack a small smile. He'll always make you feel better. You cuddle up closer to him, pulling the blanket over you both and breathing in the freshly washed smell of his wet hair, and his clean, soft shirt. You feel his heavy, slightly muscly arm wrap around you.

This one was dedicated to the bitches on their periods 🥲

I haven't written fluff in a while, so I thought it was due! :) I hope you liked this! <𝟑

taglist hoes: @matthewsroses @chrislilcumslvt @pvssychicken @ivysturnss @mattsbitchh @sturniolo-fann @matts-myloverboy @emely9274 @sophand4n4 @uncannyguava @chrisfavoritewhore @certifiedstarrr

[hearts4hughes]

a/n: i saw this tiktok and KNEW i had to write something about it. this entire trend is turning my writing wheels😭😭

this was it. the very moment you’d been waiting for. the moment when you could finally prove to rafe that you weren’t just sarah’s best friend. that you could be hot and sexy like the girls he flirted with. hell, this was your chance to erase every embarrassing exchange between you and him beforehand and replace it with something different.

when sarah told you about a cameron family beach day and invited you, you immediately accepted. it wasn’t long before you were at her door clad in your cutest bikini and beach bag in hand. she gushed in excitement, rambling off about all the fun things you could do together. yet, your focus was on rafe as you stared at him out of sarah’s bedroom window.

his muscles flexed as he carried bags into the car. his sad excuse of a shirt exposed the sides of his rock-hard stomach and impeccable arms. your mouth watered as your mind went straight to the gutter.

you quickly snapped yourself out of it when sarah playfully smacked your arm, muttering something about how you were zoning out again. “come on, let’s go before rafe leaves without us.” she teased, grabbing your hand and dragging you downstairs.

the car ride to the beach was nothing short of torture. sarah kept talking a mile a minute, oblivious to the way your eyes kept darting to the rearview mirror to catch glimpses of rafe. he was sitting up front, one hand lazily gripping the steering wheel, the other tapping against his thigh in time with the music blasting through the car. you were convinced he caught you staring a few times, but if he did, he didn’t say anything.

you couldn’t shake the nerves bubbling in your stomach as you stepped out of the car, the warm sand crunching beneath your feet. sarah was already running ahead, dragging her towel and cooler behind her, but you hung back, adjusting the straps of your bikini nervously.

“need help carrying that?” rafe’s voice startled you. you turned to find him standing closer than expected, his signature smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“n-no, i’m good.” you stammered, clutching your bag tighter. smooth, you thought. real smooth.

he raised an eyebrow. “suit yourself.” he said, effortlessly slinging a surfboard over his shoulder before heading down to the water. you watched him go, trying not to let your jaw hit the sand.

a few hours later, after you’d settled in and soaked up the sun, sarah was dragging you into the waves. “you have to at least try surfing,” she insisted, shoving a board into your hands. “rafe’s great at it. he can teach you.”

that was how you ended up waist-deep in the ocean, trying not to panic as rafe waded toward you. he was grinning, the sun highlighting the sharp angles of his face. “alright, you ready to learn, or are you just gonna stand there staring at me?”

you felt your cheeks heat up instantly. “i—I’m ready.” you said, trying to sound confident.

his hands were on your waist, steadying you as you struggled to balance on the board. his voice was low, teasing but encouraging, as he guided you through each step. and when you finally managed to stand up and ride a wave, the feeling was nothing short of euphoric.

you threw your hands in the air, laughing and cheering as the wave carried you to the shore. it wasn’t until you turned back to look at rafe that you noticed his expression had changed. he looked… stunned.

and then it hit you.

the cold breeze against your chest. the way the straps of your bikini top floated beside you in the water.

your bikini top was gone.

your blood ran cold as the realization sank in. you froze, your arms instinctively crossing over your chest, but it was too late. rafe was already swimming toward you, water glistening on his toned chest, his smirk so wide it almost hurt to look at.

“well, that’s one way to celebrate,” he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement. “didn’t know surfing was that freeing.”

“oh my god,” you whispered, face burning hotter than the sun as you tried to back away toward the shore, but rafe cut you off, stepping closer.

“relax,” he said, his tone playful as his eyes flicked down for just a second too long. “it’s not like i’m complaining or anything.”

“rafe!” you hissed, glaring at him as you crossed your arms tighter over your chest. “this is not funny.”

“you’re right. it’s not funny.” he paused, letting his eyes meet yours. “it’s hilarious.”

you let out a frustrated groan and tried to make a run for it, but rafe caught your arm, pulling you to a stop. “hey, hey. i’m kidding,” he said, though the grin on his face didn’t falter. he reached for the shirt draped over his shoulder—a rarity for him to even have one—and handed it to you. “here, cover up. unless you’d rather me keep enjoying the view?”

“you’re the worst,” you muttered, snatching the shirt from his hand and pulling it over your head as quickly as possible. the muscle shirt didn’t cover much than before, but it’d have to work.

“yeah, but you love it,” he shot back, his teasing grin only widening when you glared at him. “besides, you looked great out there— on the board, i mean. though, uh, this new look isn’t bad either.”

you rolled your eyes. “just help me find my top,” you mumbled, desperate to change the subject.

“anything for you,” he said, winking as he turned toward the water. “but if we don’t find it, i’m sure i can think of a few other excuses to keep you in my shirt.”

you blushed, shaking your head as he chuckled. “just get to searching, surfer boy.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Roads Untraveled 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, pregnancy, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Single and pregnant, you discover a super soldier in the dumpster but he might not be hero you think he is. 

[This is a rewrite of a series of the same name which I removed a couple years ago]

Characters: Silverfox!Steve Rogers

Note: I finally did this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

‘When he went away  The blues walked in and met me  Oh, yeah if he stays away  Old rocking chair’s gonna get me  All I do is pray...’ 

You sway to the melody as you wipe dry the last plate. You set it in the rack as Etta James’ soulful crooning wafts around the kitchen. Just the simple task of washing the dishes has you out of breath. You can no longer hum along as you’re suddenly light headed with sweat speckled across your brow. Even the breeze drifting in through the open window can’t cool the constant heat brewing within you. 

You brace your lower back as you reach for the dish towel and pop open the cupboard. The music drones to silence as the next some in queue loads. Your rounded stomach presses to the counter as you take a mug and dry it inside and out. Strange, you don’t remember the song starting like that; the strange warbling noise much unlike Marvin Gaye’s rich tones. 

You set the mug on the shelf and back up. Another noise peaks your attention, too tinny to be a snare. You rub your stomach mindlessly as you sling the cloth over your shoulder. You waddle across the tile to the folding table beneath the window. You tap pause on your phone and the bluetooth speaker goes silent. 

Your fingers pick the damp fabric away from your bump. These days you can’t avoid getting soaked. Even as you can’t forget about the burden of your condition, you’re still oblivious to how it gets in the way until it does. You sigh as you listen for another clue. 

A pained deep grunt floats up from below. Distant but decisive, another rustle beneath the unexpected noise. You lean over the table, a hand on the ledge as you push the pane higher. You bend, stomach pressed to the speaker, and peer down. You expect another dumpster diver searching for empties to trade in; rather you meet a most unexpected sight. 

There is a man in the dumpster, alright, but he isn’t moving. From there, you can’t see very clearly. You squint at the figure strewn among the trash but the zigzag of the fire escape obscures your eye line. 

You shouldn’t go and see. Not only is it a lot of effort, but it’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be wandering into alleys to check on strangers in dumpsters. You don’t know any good reason someone might be swimming in garbage. Nor do you think they would want to be bothered.  

Still, the prickling in your neck urges you to do something. There’s just something so peculiar about the angle of the arm you can see clearer than the rest of the body. At least they’re moving, even if they sound agonized. 

You take your phone and untether it from the bluetooth speaker. You unlock it and keep your thumb ready to dial out. You move as quickly as you can, not very, and waddles along the back of the couch into the entry way. You take your keys from the hook near your door and step into your cushy slides. 

You turn back the latch and leave the door unlocked behind you. The slides shift on your swollen feet as you rush down to the elevator. God, your back hurts. You try not to lean too far back as it only adds to the pain. You need a belly belt but they’re so darn expensive. 

You’re out of breath as you step on and turn to watch the numbers count down. You’re still panting as you reach the lobby and push through the front doors, leaning into the heavy grated iron until it creaks loudly. You clamour down the steps to even ground and your hips pang. 

You put your hand under your stomach, trying to lift it and ease the pressure in your hips. You blow out between your lips as you have to slow down. You shuffle across the grass and into the paved lobby. The stink of the trash brings you back to those early days of morning sickness. And afternoon sickness. And night sickness. 

You try not to inhale too deeply as you step between the brick buildings. You bring your phone up, ready to hit those three digits in a heartbeat. You should’ve done so already. Even if you do, it’ll take hours for anyone to come out here. 

You stop and listen a few steps from the dumpster. You don’t hear anything now. You look up at the sky, dimming towards evening in a mixture of pink and blue, the moon peeking palely through the hue. You grip your phone tight, keys jangling with your movement as you continue forward. 

“Hello?” You call out, “is someone in there?” You linger near the corner of the dumpster, the trash reeking in your nostrils, “do you need help?” 

No answer. You stare up, wondering how you might see inside. If you weren’t built like a keg, you might be able to see from the lower level of the fire escape but you can’t even make it one rung. You blink and call out again. 

“Hello? Are you okay?” 

You wait for a response. Silence again. Maybe they found their way out on their own. You huff. So much for all that. All you’ve done is added to the pain in your arches. You turn on your heel and a groan gurgles and plastic crinkles noisily. 

You stop again, wavering, and peer back over your shoulder. A hand appears over the tops of the dumpsters edge and grips it. You face the large metal bin as the knuckles strain within the stained brown leather, fingertips poking out nakedly, blood and dirty tinged across the flesh. A long grunt follows as the figure drags himself to look over the top. 

“Sir, are you--” you begin, voice catching at the sight of the cowl and the man’s square jaw. The white star on his chest stuns you. It’s him. Everyone knows that uniform, that face, even under his helmet. New York’s own Captain America. 

You gape as the super soldier strains and swings himself out of the dumpster with one arm. His other is hanging limply as his feet hit the pavement. His knees crack and buckle. He drops down onto them and hisses. 

“Captain America?” You utter dumbly. 

He puts his fist to the ground and leans on his arm. He hangs his head and heaves. He drags a leg forward, planting his foot, and makes himself stand. He pushes his shoulders back and winces, reaching to cradle his dangling arm. 

“Steve,” he rasps, “goddamn.” 

You don’t expect the obscenity. Not from him. He leans against the dumpster and turns his chin up. He gnashes his teeth as he grips his arm and jerks, moving the heavy bin with his effort. The pop of his shoulder is sickening as he growls tightly. He stomps his foot and as he shakes out the arm he just put back into place. 

He reaches up and peels off his cowl as he puts his head straight. He looks at you as he wipes the streak of blood from lip to chin. His blond locks are streaked silver and his face is lined. He looks much older than the magazine covers and the TV screens. The magic of editing, right? 

He swipes the sweaty hair from his forehead and huffs. 

“Steve,” you rest your phone on your stomach, “are you okay?” 

He pushes himself away from the dumpster and puffs, “I’m fine. Just... a hiccup.” 

You stare at him. He looks tired and worn. You believe him when he says he’s okay. He's a super soldier and the world has seen his many feats. Yet he looks completely hollow. 

“Are you sure? I could call someone or...” you step forward and point to the slash that borders chest and shoulder, “you should clean that out, shouldn’t you?” 

He looks down and grimaces, “had worse. I got comms. HQ doesn’t care about a few scratches.” 

He goes to step forward and stumbles slightly. He snarls and kicks his foot into the gravel. He wiggles his knee and bends to rub the joint. 

“I...” your mouth opens and closes. This isn’t the man you’ve seen in the media. He's not smiling and golden and shining. Still, he’s the Captain. “I live above,” you gesture upward, “I could help... or maybe you can just... sit for a little bit. Get yourself straight?” 

He looks at you. As if for the first time. His forehead smooths as the tension eases from his jaw. His gaze slowly crawls down to his stomach and you see the dimple in his cheek. 

“Your husband okay with that? I’m a bit of a mess,” his tone is lighter as he fixes his grip on his cowl. 

“Oh no, I don’t have--” you chew your lip and look at the brick wall, “it’s just me. But I have first aid kit and learned to stitch in summer camp. I think I can still remember how.” 

He glances around and nods, “got a back door?” 

“Yeah, it’s... past you,” you nod in his direction. 

He pivots stiffly and cranes to see around the dumpster. You near him and your keys jingle again. You follow him to the metal door with the glass window and you shove the key in and twist. You pull it open a few inches. It’s heavier than the front door. He grabs it and wrenches it all the way back. 

“Thanks,” you murmur. “There’s an elevator.” 

“Hm, fewer people see me, the better,” he sniffs as the door clanks behind him. 

“It might take me a while,” you warn, “I’m slow.” 

“What floor. I’ll meet you,” he offers. 

“Sure, it’s three.” 

“Number?” 

“310.” 

“I’ll find it,” he states and marches towards the stair sign. 

You go to catch the elevator, stewing in disbelief on your ascent. You step off and continue on to your apartment. He’s already there. He stands with his hand on the frame, looking over his shoulder as you waddle down the hall towards him. 

“It’s unlocked,” you say. 

He opens it and waits for you. You thank him as you enter and he follows. He locks it and lingers behind you. You put your hand to the wall as you slip off your slides. He gently lays his cowl on the corner table and bends to unlace his boots. You hang the keys on the hook and place your phone on the small table. 

He leaves his dirtied boots on the mat and limps forward. You stand in the open doorway of the living room and peek back at him. He looks around reluctantly. 

“Please, sit down,” you insist and wave through the doorway before you pass through. 

“I...” he begins and you hear his uneven gait down the hallway. “I don’t want to dirty your couch.” 

“I have a steam cleaner,” you assure. “Sit, I’ll get the kit.” 

He stares, his eyes once more scanning the space. Does he think this is a trip? That you’re some covert agent who all too conveniently found him? That’s absurd. Look at you. 

You shrug off that ridiculous idea and cross to the kitchen. You open several drawers before you remember it’s in the bathroom. Of course. Your brain likes to play games these days. You grab the metal tin from under the sink and return to Steve.  

He pulls off his gloves and balls them on the side table next to the couch. You come around the other side of the couch and sit, leaving lots of space between you. You squeeze the kits as you’re once more out of breath. 

“You okay?” He turns the question on you. 

“I’m not the one bleeding. Just pregnant,” you smile. 

You balance the kit on your stomach as you lean back. You sanitize a needle and weave it with surgical thread. You put that aside and fish out an alcoholic swap. You shift the kit aside and push on the back of the couch as you try to sit forward. You shake and he helps you, a humbling assistance. 

“First,” you turn to him, “we’ll see how deep it is,” you tear open the swap, “can I...” 

“One sec,” he dips his fingers into the fabric and tears the sleeve, renting the fabric like tissue. His arm is thick and well-toned despite the years. A centurion like him can’t complain for the shape he’s in, even battered. “I can do it myself.” 

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be easy.” 

You reach as he angles towards you. You gingerly dab around the gash and he tenses. He takes a sharp breath, “you don’t have to be so gentle. I can handle pain.” 

“Right,” you work more diligently. 

He’s quiet as you tend to him, picking out gravel and some metal slivers. You worry that you might miss some. You lean in closer and he steels himself at your proximity. 

“So,” he clears his throat, “just you and...” the kid?” 

“We all make mistakes,” you chuckle. You can only laugh about it, as scared as you are. 

“Mmm,” he flinches as you sweep down the length of the cut. It’s not that deep, mostly superficial. 

“Let me put some steri-strips on, shouldn’t need the stitches, ” you say as you sift through the kit with one hand, “if you’re hungry, I have leftovers. You like chicken?” 

You don’t know why you’re offering. Maybe it’s because you owe him. Like everyone in the city. It’s your chance to give back to the hero who gave so much. Or maybe it’s because you’re so damn lonely talking to your own stomach. 

“I should go,” he insists as you place a strip across the cut. 

“Up to you,” you say, “I don’t mind either way, but I’m not going to chase Captain America out of ym apartment.” 

He doesn’t say anything. You finish dressing his wound and gather up the wrappers and all. You crumple it in one hand and rock yourself to stand. You’re overly aware of him watching you. You touch your stomach and rub it, soothing your nerves. You find him watching the movement of your hand. 

“You must be pretty far along,” he says. 

“Six months. Chicken tortellini, if you want. I was gonna reheat some. I haven’t eaten since work.” 

“Work?” He frowns and stands, moving better than before. “Should you be?” 

“I’m at a desk. It’s nothing. HR got me some ergonomic stuff. Nothing compared to what you do.” 

You put away the kit and toss the garbage. You wash your hands before you search out the container of pasta in the fridges. You sense him behind you, just in the wide archway that peers into the kitchen. You reach into the cupboard you left open and take the single plate that isn’t in the rack. 

“So, you want some?” You ask. 

He’s silent with contemplation, the shift of his weight creaks in the floor, “I appreciate it, yes, please.” 

“I might have something you can change into,” you say. You wonder why you’re doing all this. Maybe it’s that maternal instinct kicking in. “The father, before he took off, left a few things.” You peek over your shoulder, “he was a bit smaller than you.” 

He shrugs then winces at the careless gesture. “Do you mind if I wash up before I eat? I smell like garbage. I don’t wanna overstep--” 

“Go ahead, it’ll take a while to warm this up,” you say. 

Another long lull. He taps his fingers on the wall and inhales deep enough for you to hear, “promise, I’ll get out of your hair after dinner.” 

“Please, take your time,” you say as you put the tortellini in a glass pan to rebake. He backs away and you sense his hesitation, “oh, down the hall, to the left of the bedroom at the end.” 

“Thanks,” he intones, “oh, uh, just realised, you know who I am...” 

Your brows pop up and you stop before you can put the pan in the stove. You look back at him and give your name. He nods. 

“Pretty,” he comments, “also, it’s just Steve, not Captain.” 

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ short bucktommy angst/whump with a happy ending, coz i love torturing my boys. 8x07 spoilers and verrrrrry loosely insp by a still from 8x08

typing

Why would he type type type and not send anything?

The alarms blare and Buck throws his baking back in the oven and sprints downstairs, but his mind is elsewhere. This? This is all muscle memory at this point. His mind occupies itself with other things, wondering what exactly Tommy might have wanted to say.

Evan. No. Buck. God, he still hates it that he called him Buck.

Can we talk? Tommy always was a man of few words. Or maybe Buck is just a man of many. But what does 'can we talk' even mean? He'd be spiralling just as hard as with the silent disappearing bubble. It's better this way.

MARRIAGE, EVAN??

God, he's an idiot. A pathetic, clingy idiot. Even now he would kill for a second round, just to dig that knife in deeper. At least then maybe, he'd be able to pick up what he'd missed before; where exactly that big dimpled grin and soft eyes had turned to hard words and hidden pain. At least then, he'd be able to fix it.

Hen watches him with a knowing eye.

“Stay strong, Buck,” she reminds him as they pull up to the scene. “Head in the game.”

Buck nods. He drops his phone on the seat and packs it away to the back of his mind, as best he can. Maybe he'll get to whip out the jaws of life. They always make him feel better. Shake it off, Buckley, let's go.

He's the last one out of the engine, and he hits the ground already triaging the scene. His senses expand, cataloguing the vehicles, the passers-by, the direction and nature of the accident. Eddie and Bobby are getting a run-down from a uniformed police officer on scene and it happens a splt second before Buck's mind catches up.

“A silver-” he overhears - “oh-”

He can see it in his minds eye, almost feel it even as his own heart sinks; the way recognition sets into Eddie's face. And then horror. He looks further down the road, to a sight that's partially obstructed from Buck's view. Partially, but not so much that he doesn't start running toward it because he has a feeling he knows, he knows, he knows who it is.

Why would he type type type and not send anything?

“Buck-” Hen warns, reaching to grab him but she's already missed.

Buck knows he should be helping but his world is caving in. Bobby's barking commands but all he hears is a wordless echo. Ravi hustles the balloons and the jaws up to the worst hit of the vehicles and Chimney is already there; medkit tossed over the worst of the shattered glass as he kneels by the dangerously crushed window and tries to make contact with the person inside.

“Buck.” It's Eddie this time, blocking with his body as much as he can – and he can, even with the full force of Buck throwing himself forward - but even he can't stop the terrible, terrible knowing.

“TOMMY!”

The name rips out of his lungs, because it's the truck: it's Tommy's pride and joy. It's singing along in the passenger seat and Tommy's smiling – sometimes he joins in, even though he wouldn't otherwise care for Buck's taste. It's Tommy slinging a greasy towel over his shoulder and hitching himinto the truck bed and making out until they both can't breathe. It's spilling the salt from hot chips in there; it's shoulder to shoulder at the drive-ins; it's getting fucked into the seats; it's polishing and vacuuming just last week because he can't help with the engine for shit. He'd put a little thing of jellybeans in the cup holder after - like his old detailer used to do, just to be cute - and it hits him that that's what those little coloured smudges are, intermingled with the crushed glass littered across the road.

What if he's in trouble and he needs my help?

“Oh, God, Tommy.”

The howling turns to hopeless. Breathless. The fight evaporates right out of him and he collapses forward into Eddie's arms. Eddie's embrace is firm and steadying as he lowers them both as gently as he can manage to the curb. Buck closes his eyes, sapped of the strength to watch any more but cursed by the knowledge of what's still got to be happening. Hen and Chim will be extracting Tommy's bruised and broken body onto a backboard right about now, and then lifting him onto a gurney. They'll be doing CPR if he's lucky – and they are, he can hear it, so at least there's that.

Then it stops.

For a few, horrible seconds all he can hear is his own hammering heart. Eddie's ragged breathing. Footsteps. Bobby.

“Buck.”

It takes a second, for him to gather the courage to open his eyes and look up. Bobby's demeanour is solemn and serious, but there's a softness Buck recognises well. A lightness that promises things might just be okay, as he offers a hand to pull Buck up from the roadside.

“He's asking for you in the ambulance,” Bobby says, and there's just a flicker, just an iota of a smile as he urges - “Go.”

[deonsx]

Hope i’m not too late to request 😭

but i’d love a sae fic where the reader is a very famous hollywood actress, and the content would just be her in japan with sae coming to that u20 meeting, coming to the match, cheering for him, being shown on the big screen while doing so, and fluffy moments in front of the paparazzi

and also how the crowd and especially how the u20 members would react to it all (sendou would be interesting since bro wants an actress gf so bad lol)

i’ve been binge reading your posts the whole day today and i just HAD to request 💕💕 thank you so much 🤭

hiii love!! You made it before the last hours, I loved this request have a good read (also the rq has already closed, thank you to my loves who sent requests still, but I haven't finished the ones in the event yet. I will be ready for a new event) AND THANK YOU FOR 900 FOLLOWERS(｡◕‿◕｡✿)

Sae sat with the rest of the U-20 team during their pre-match briefing seemingly unbothered by the noise outside. But even his teammates couldn’t resist teasing him “Yo Sae care to explain why she is wearing your jersey” Sendou smirked nudging Sae’s arm “You’re dating her right You have to be. There’s no way she’d just show up for no reason”

Sae shot him a bored look “Focus on the game”

“But-”

“Shut up” Sendou groaned but didn’t stop staring at the monitors where the VIP section was being shown live “Man I swear if I had an actress girlfriend I’d retire from football right now. Goals achieved”

“Good thing you don’t” Sae replied flatly but his lips quirked up ever so slightly. The match began and the tension was palpable. Every time Sae got the ball the crowd roared but the cameras inevitably panned to you. You clapped enthusiastically leaning forward in your seat and when Sae’s shot curved perfectly into the net you jumped to your feet cheering louder than anyone else

The stadium erupted. Fans screamed his name but all Sae could hear even amidst the chaos was the faint echo of your voice. He looked up at the stands and found you beaming hands clasped in excitement. He allowed himself a brief glance just long enough for Sendou to notice

“Did you just smile at her” Sendou asked incredulously running beside Sae as they moved back into formation “Play the game” Sae said but there was a rare softness in his tone

The game ended with a U-20 victory. Sae dominated the field but the post-match buzz wasn’t just about his performance. The cameras couldn’t get enough of you rushing down to meet him at the sidelines. You threw your arms around him unbothered by the press or the dozens of lenses capturing the moment

“You were amazing” you said voice slightly breathless. Sae let you hug him one hand resting casually on your back “You’re loud you know that”

“You like it” you teased pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. The photographers captured every second your bright smile his subtle but unmistakable fondness. Fans online exploded with reactions some gushing about your chemistry others lamenting how “unfair” it was that Sae got the girl of their dreams

Back in the locker room the teasing was relentless “I can’t believe it” Sendou groaned throwing his towel to the floor “She was hugging you Sae. Hugging you. Meanwhile I can’t even get a text back”

“You’re embarrassing yourself” Sae replied tying his shoelaces “I don’t care. Introduce me. Tell her I’m funny” Sae stood slinging his bag over his shoulder “She’s not interested in idiots” The entire team burst into laughter as Sendou collapsed dramatically onto the bench

Later that evening Sae and you managed to slip away from the chaos and grab a quiet dinner. The restaurant was discreet but a few paparazzi still lingered outside “You’re the talk of Japan right now” you teased swirling your drink “How does it feel to be the center of attention”

He leaned back in his chair the corner of his mouth lifting slightly “I could ask you the same thing” You laughed leaning across the table “Oh please. You’re the real star today. I was just a very enthusiastic fan”

“Too enthusiastic” he muttered though his tone lacked any real annoyance “You didn’t seem to mind when I was screaming your name” Sae’s gaze lingered on you for a moment soft and unguarded “Maybe I didn’t”

Enjoy!

[silverstar70]

Fandom: Criminal minds Character: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Author's note: English isn't my first language, I apologize for any mistakes.

Summary: Helping Hotch turned into something more.

Warnings: 🔞‼️ established relationship, smut, oral sex, vaginal sex, finger fucking, orgasm edging, praise kink, consensual sex, domestic fluff, comfort.

Words count: 6,415k Hope you like it! Enjoy it!

Need help?

The sharp tang of antiseptic filled the air as Aaron Hotchner stepped out of the bathroom, his right shoulder swaddled in bandages. The bullet had been removed successfully the week before, but the ache still lingered. He hated being out of commission, even temporarily. Hotch was a man of routine and discipline, and this forced rest grated on his nerves.

Y/N watched him from the couch, her gaze softening as she took in his stiff posture and the dark circles under his eyes. She’d insisted on taking a few weeks off to help him recover, knowing that even if injured he was unwilling and too stubborn to admit he needed help. And Hotch, of course, was the epitome of stubbornness.

“How’s the shoulder?” she asked, setting aside the book she’d been pretending to read.

“Fine,” he replied curtly, his voice clipped. He didn’t like talking about his injuries, much less admitting to any discomfort. But she noticed the slight wince as he adjusted his sling.

“Liar,” she teased, standing up and walking over to him. “You’re terrible at hiding it, you know.”

He gave her a pointed look, but she only smiled, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I’m fine, Y/N,” he repeated, softer this time.

“Sure you are.” She reached out and smoothed a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. “Have you eaten?”

He hesitated, and that was already an answer. Y/N sighed, her hands finding her hips. “Aaron, you need to take care of yourself. And that includes eating something more substantial than coffee.”

“I’ll make something later,” he said, brushing past her toward the bedroom. “I just need a minute.”

She let him go, knowing better than pushing too hard. But she considered preparing a proper meal anyway. She’d learned to read between the lines with him—her training and years of knowing him came in hand with situations like that.

*

The next morning, Y/N woke to the sound of muffled cursing from the bathroom. She frowned when she realized the bed near her was empty, before padding toward the door. It was ajar, and through the crack, she saw Hotch standing in front of the mirror, razor in hand.

“Hotch,” she called, pushing the door open. He froze, his jaw tightening as he met her gaze in the mirror. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t turn, though she saw the faintest flicker of guilt in his reflection. “Shaving,” he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“With your left hand?”

He paused for half a second before continuing, his movements slow and deliberate. “I’m left-handed.”

“You shave with your right hand” she corrected, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward him.

He sighed but didn’t look at her. “It’s fine. I’ve got it under control.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow as she watched him attempt another pass with the razor. His fingers were steady, but the angle was awkward, and the strain on his face told Y/N all she needed to know.

“Of course, you have,” she said, drawing out the words.

The sentence was cut short by a muffled curse as the razor nicked the skin just below his cheekbone and a bead of blood welled up instantly.

“Damn it,” he muttered, finally setting the razor down on the edge of the sink.

She couldn’t help but laugh. It was soft and affectionate, but it earned her a sharp look from him in the mirror. “It’s not funny,” he grumbled.

“It’s a little funny,” Y/N said, stepping closer. She plucked the razor from his hand before he could protest and reached for the hand towel hanging by the sink. “Why didn’t you ask for help?”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” he muttered, his cheeks tinged with embarrassment.

Y/N shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Aaron, you’re recovering from a gunshot wound. Helping you isn’t a bother.” She grabbed a damp cloth and gently wiped away the blood. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I didn’t think it would be this hard. I’m used to doing things myself.”

“I know,” she said, her tone light but her eyes warm. “Let me help. Sit.”

He hesitated, but the look she gave him left no room for argument. Reluctantly, he perched on the edge of the bathtub. Y/N lathered up a fresh shaving cream, her movements precise and deliberate.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked dryly as she tilted his chin up.

“Immensely,” she replied, her lips twitching. “It’s not every day I get to see SSA Hotchner at my mercy.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, the sound low and warm. “Just don’t nick me.”

She worked carefully, her fingers steady as she guided the razor over his jawline. The intimacy of the moment didn’t pass on either of them. Her touch was gentle but firm, and he found himself relaxing under her care.

“You have too much pride sometimes,” she murmured as she rinsed the razor.

“I’ve been told that before,” he admitted.

“Well, consider this your lesson in humility.” She leaned closer, her breath warm against his skin. “And don’t worry, I’ll only tease you about it a little.”

“A little?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow.

She grinned, her eyes sparkling. “Okay, maybe a lot.”

His expression softened, and he reached up with his good hand to brush a strand of hair from her face. Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away. Moments like this, when Aaron let his guard down completely, were rare and precious.

“You know,” you said after a moment, breaking the silence, “I think I like you with a little scruff.”

His eyebrows rose. “Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm,” Y/N said, leaning in a little closer as she worked on his jawline. “Makes you look rugged.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh. “You have a type, then?”

“Oh, definitely,” she teased. “Brooding, stubborn, impossible men who can’t ask for help even when they’re bleeding.”

He smirked, the expression making his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Sounds familiar.”

“It should,” Y/N shot back, her tone light.

She tilted his chin to the side, her fingers brushing against the warm skin of his neck. The movement was casual, but it sent a thrill through her and wondered if he felt it too.

“All done,” she said after a few more careful passes with the razor. Y/N stepped back, wiping the blade clean before setting it down. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

He looked up at her, his dark eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite name. “Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet but sincere.

Y/N smiled, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “Anytime.”

Her gaze met his, and the air between them shifted subtly. The playful banter faded, replaced by a palpable tension that thrummed with unspoken words. Y/N’s cheeks flushed under his intense scrutiny, and she tried to look away, but he tugged her closer, his grip firm yet tender.

“Aaron,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t respond immediately, instead, he stood, guiding Y/N backward until her hips bumped against the edge of the bathroom counter. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that started soft but deepened with each passing second.

Y/N tangled her fingers in his hair, her touch gentle yet eager as her nails scraped lightly against his scalp. He groaned softly into her mouth, the sound vibrating between them and sending a shiver down her spine.

“Aaron,” she whispered, her voice breathless as she broke the kiss, her lips brushing his in the barest of movements.

His dark eyes met hers, the heat in them unmistakable. He wasn’t just looking at her—he was consuming her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice soft but steady, her fingers trailing lightly down his jawline.

His response was immediate, his hand sliding to her waist, his thumb brushing against the fabric of her shirt. “I’m sure,” he murmured, his tone rough with want.

He leaned in again, his lips finding hers with hunger. The kiss was anything but tentative now, his good hand slipping under her top to trace the curve of her waist. His fingers were warm and firm against her skin, sending sparks of heat coursing through her.

Y/N gasped softly as his touch ventured higher, his thumb grazing the edge of her ribcage. Y/N pulled back slightly, her breath mingling with his as her eyes searched his face. “Your shoulder,” she said, her tone laced with concern.

“Babe.” He called out, his voice, low and commanding, sending a shiver down her spine. His dark eyes locked onto hers, holding her in place as he cupped her face with his good hand.

“Shut up and let me take care of you.”

Her lips parted, but no protest came. The intensity in his gaze left no room for argument, only trust. She nodded faintly, and his expression softened, his thumb brushing over her cheek.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured before capturing her lips again.

Her heart fluttered at his words as a shiver ran through her spine. The kiss grew more heated, a fire kindling between them that was impossible to ignore. Hotch’s hand slid up her back, pulling her closer as best as he could without straining his injured shoulder.

Her fingers slipped into his hair, tugging lightly as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. T

“Oh, God,” she breathed as his lips left hers, trailing down the column of her neck. He paused at the hollow of her throat, his tongue flicking out to taste her skin.

She gripped the counter behind her for support, her legs feeling unsteady as his kisses grew bolder. Her pajama top rode up further as his hand traveled upward, fingers tracing the dip of her waist and the curve of her ribcage.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered against her skin, the words raw and honest.

Her heart swelled at the confession, her body responding with a wave of warmth that made her press closer to him. She could feel the heat of his body through his pajama top, the fabric stretched slightly across his broad chest.

“Let me see you,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the hem of her shirt and slowly pushed the fabric up, exposing inch after inch of her skin. She took her time, his gaze never leaving hers as she lifted the shirt over her head and let it fall to the floor.

His eyes roamed her body, darkening with appreciation. “Perfect,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

She felt the blush rise to her cheeks but didn’t look away. His hand slid to the small of her back, guiding her against him as he pressed his hips to hers. The hard edge of the counter pressed into her lower back, but she barely noticed. All she could focus on was the way his body felt against hers, the heat radiating from him like a furnace.

She let out a soft gasp. “Aaron,” she breathed, her voice trembling with a mixture of desire and restraint.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against her skin, though the words were tinged with a hunger that betrayed his own struggle to hold back.

“Don’t,” she whispered, her hands sliding down to his chest.

His lips found hers again with no hesitation. The kiss was searing, their breaths mingling as the world outside the bathroom faded away. Y/N’s hands roamed over his t-shirt, careful to avoid his injured shoulder.

Hotch’s hand slipped over her waist, his fingers skimming along her side, igniting a trail of warmth. She shivered at his touch, her body instinctively arching toward him. The tension between them built steadily, the air thick with desire and unspoken need.

Aaron’s hands, strong and deliberate, roamed her body as if memorizing every curve. Her breath hitched when his fingers teased the waistband of her pajama pants, toying with the fabric. He gently tugged the pants and underwear down over her hips. She shifted to help him, the soft cotton falling at her feet.

“Up,” he murmured, his voice a gravelly command as he gestured to the counter behind her.

She instinctively hopped up onto it, her legs parting to accommodate him as he stepped between them. The cool surface of the countertop against her thighs was a stark contrast to the heat between them.

He stood before her, eyes darkened with desire, his breath shallow as he took in the sight of her. His gaze was hungry, but tender at the same time.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and full of admiration. His good hand cupped her face, pulling her lips to his in a soft kiss.

Her fingers ran through his hair, tugging him closer. She wanted him, needed him, and she could feel the way he responded—his body leaning into hers, his hand moving lower as if it had a mind of its own. His hard cock pressed against her core made her wetter by the second.

She was breathless as Aaron pulled away from her lips, moving down her neck.

“You’re perfect,” Aaron murmured, his voice thick with desire.

She felt the warmth of his chest against her bare skin, and her hands slid to his shoulders, urging him forward as she tilted her head back, her throat exposed to him, to give him better access.

His hand found its way down her body, brushing over her curves, making her shiver under his touch. He was always so deliberate, so careful, but that morning, there was an undeniable urgency in his every movement. His fingers teased her inner thigh before brushing against her wet clit, making her gasp.

"Good girl," he whispered, his voice low and husky. "So wet, just for me."

She let out a soft moan, clutching him as if he were the only thing holding her together. "Aaron..." Her voice was barely a whisper, filled with need, a sound of complete surrender.

“Be patient,” he said, his tone soft but firm. “I want to enjoy this and I’m not going to rush.”

His fingers traced deliberately slow circles over her clit, never pressing enough to give her what she wanted. Her knuckles gripped harder onto the counter, almost turning white. He was torturing her and God if she loved it.

The words made her pulse race, and she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to hold on. But when his fingers finally dipped lower, just enough to press gently, teasing the sensitive skin, she couldn’t stop the small gasp that escaped her lips.

“Please, Aaron…” she whispered, her voice shaky, the need in her tone undeniable.

He paused, just for a second, and looked down at her with that same commanding intensity. "What do you want, babe?" His thumb circled lazily, not quite where she needed it but enough to send a wave of heat coursing through her body.

"I want you," she said, her voice low, a confession and a plea in one.

Aaron said nothing, he simply watched her. His fingers still teasing and circling, his thumb pressing softly against her. The teasing rhythm was enough to leave her aching, her chest rising and falling with every breath she took.

Finally, his fingers slid deeper, pressing firmly as her back arched in relief, her hands grabbing desperately at his forearms. His thumb moved in a rhythm that made her eyes flutter closed, her lips parting in quiet gasps as the tension in her body finally started to unravel.

The room was filled with the sound of her breathing, the rhythm of his fingers as they worked her closer to the edge. She couldn't hold back the moan that escaped her, her body jerking with the pressure of it all.

“Oh, God.” She moaned breathless.

Aaron’s lips were at her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “That’s it, babe. Let go for me.”

His words sent a shudder through her, the combination of his touch and his voice breaking her completely. She felt herself tensing, the wave of pleasure building, until it crashed through her, sending her head back against the bathroom mirror with a soft thud.

“Aaron” she gasped.

He didn’t stop, his fingers still moving slowly, keeping her right on the edge as she shivered beneath him. He watched her, his eyes dark with hunger, the faintest of smiles on his lips. He waited until the aftershocks of her release passed until she was breathless and trembling before he finally pulled his hand away.

“Good?” he asked softly, his thumb wiping across her damp skin.

Y/N nodded, still catching her breath, her hands weakly resting on his chest as she tried to steady herself. “God, Aaron…”

His smile softened, and he kissed her gently on her forehead, the heat of his earlier teasing replaced with a tenderness that made her heart swell.

Y/N, breathless and still caught in the aftershock of the moment, took a moment to recover. Her eyes fluttered closed as she tried to catch her breath, the heat of Aaron’s touch still lingering on her skin.

But just as she thought the intensity might finally ease, his voice broke through her thoughts—low, commanding, and dripping with that familiar edge of dominance that always sent a thrill through her.

"I'm not done with you."

Y/N’s pulse skipped a beat, her heart racing again as she met his gaze. There was a fire in his eyes, an unmistakable hunger that made her shiver with anticipation.

Before she could react, he dropped to his knees, his gaze never leaving hers as he slowly and deliberately ran his hands up the inside of her thighs, making her skin burn with his touch. His fingers grazed just lightly over her, teasing and barely there, but enough to make her body ache for more.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she looked down at him, a mix of shock and desire coursing through her. "Aaron..." she started, her voice shaky with the rush of emotions flooding her. She tried to steady herself, but her legs felt weak, trembling from the intense sensations still coursing through her.

"Shh," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes, dark with desire, flicked up to hers before he leaned in closer, pressing soft, lingering kisses to the inside of her thighs.

The sensation of his mouth against her was electrifying, the warmth of his breath on her sensitive skin making her pulse quicken.

He kissed her slowly at first, savoring the taste of her, but soon the pressure increased as he licked and sucked with urgency. Her hands flew to his hair, pulling him closer, her body writhing beneath his touch.

“God,” she gasped, her hips bucking instinctively, seeking more.

He obliged, his movements growing more confident, more purposeful, as he expertly drove her higher. Her breath came in short, broken bursts, her body trembling as she teetered on the edge.

“Please,” she begged, her voice desperate.

His lips pressed closer to her, teasing her. She shivered, arching her back instinctively, the desperate need to feel him deeper overwhelming her. His breath tickled her skin, and he took his time, savoring the moment, enjoying every part of her.

"That's my girl," he said softly, his voice a soothing contrast to the growing tension between them. "Let me hear you, baby. Tell me what you want."

Her chest rose and fell with each shaky breath, her hands gripping him tighter. "Please," she pleaded, her voice raw with desire. “I need you.”

He didn’t waste any more time. His lips parted, and he kissed her, his tongue flicking out as he pressed the tip against her. The sensation was enough to make her gasp, her body reacting to the instant heat of his touch.

“That's it,” Aaron murmured as his lips and tongue worked in tandem, his hand holding her steady, guiding her deeper into the sensation. “You taste so fucking good, baby.”

Each flick of his tongue, each long drag, sent waves of pleasure crashing over her, overwhelming her senses. Y/N's hands gripped the counter harder, her fingers twisting into the edge as the world around them seemed to blur.

“God, Aaron,” she gasped, her hips lifting to meet the rhythm of his movements. Y/N could feel the familiar tension building again, the sweet pressure coiling tight inside of her as he kept her on the edge, pulling her closer to the release she desperately needed.

He responded with a low, satisfied hum, the sound vibrating against her skin and making her body shiver. He moved faster, his tongue working on her relentlessly, and just as she felt yourself breaking apart, she called out his name—loud and needy.

“Aaron!” she moaned loudly as her release hit her.

Her body shuttered as waves of pleasure consumed her, her breath coming in short gasps. It was overwhelming, the way he made her feel, the way he could take her to the edge with just the touch of his lips. When she finally came down from high, her body was still trembling.

He pulled away and stood again between her legs, his dark eyes searching hers. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, his thumb brushing over her hip as he checked in, his concern for her still present despite his own desire.

She nodded, a shaky smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I’m more than okay,” she breathed out, her chest still heaving.

Aaron’s hands cupped her face, his expression tender as he kissed her gently. His prominent erection, pressed against her, caught her eye as she bit her lower lips at the feeling.  Her hands trailed up his chest, fingers brushing over the firm muscle of his abs, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat under her touch. Her eyes locked with his and a mischievous smile appeared on her lips.

“I want you, Aaron,” she said, her voice thick with need. “Now.”

She reached for the waistband of his pajama pants. Aaron’s gaze never wavered, though his breath hitched at the sensation of her hands on him. He looked down at her, watching with intensity, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “You’re determined, aren’t you?”

“Always,” she replied with a playful smile.

She pulled him closer as he kissed her again—deeply, passionately. His hands slid down her body, his touch slow but deliberate, his palms warm against her skin. She melted under his touch, her heart racing as she felt him pull away for just a moment.

He didn’t need any more encouragement. With her help, he pulled off his T-shirt and pants, leaving him standing before her in nothing but his boxers. She took a moment to admire his body, not defined by a six-pack, but still undeniably strong, lean muscle that spoke of years of training.

She ran her gaze over him, noting the slight curve of his chest and the muscle definition that was evident but not overbearing. His arms were powerful, veins tracing their way down his forearms. Her eyes paused at the scars scattered across his chest—marks from past cases, injuries that had shaped but didn’t define him.

He caught her gaze and immediately tensed, self-conscious as he always was when it came to his scars.

“Don’t,” she said gently, her fingers tracing the edge of a scar that ran diagonally across his skin. She silenced any protests with a soft kiss, pressing her lips against his before he could say anything.

Her hands roamed over his shoulders, down to his arms, and she felt the tension begin to melt from his body as she kissed him deeper. She could feel the steadiness of his heartbeat under her fingertips, the warmth of his skin, and it made her own pulse quicken.

She smiled softly, her hands moving lower, down his back, and over the waistband of his boxers. The way he tensed beneath her touch was both endearing and exhilarating, a reminder that even someone as composed and controlled as Aaron Hotchner wasn’t immune to her.

“Relax,” she teased, her tone light as her fingers hooked into the fabric, slowly guiding it down.

He chuckled low in his throat, shaking his head. “You’ll be the death of me,” he murmured, but the affection in his voice was unmistakable.

“What a way to go.” She shot back, leaning in to capture his lips, leaving no room for argument.

The boxers slipped to the floor, and she took a moment to appreciate him fully, her hands sliding along his sides, her touch firm but tender. Her gaze met his, and the intensity in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine.

“Come here,” she said softly, her voice thick with need as she tugged him closer, holding his head between her hands and crushing his lips into hers. Her legs tightened around his waist, pulling him against her.

He kissed her hungrily, like his life depended on it. His good hand slid down her back to steady her against him. The strength of his touch, the closeness of their body, ignited a fire within her that burned hotter with every moment.

“Aaron,” she gasped as his lips left hers, trailing down her jawline, her neck, the hollow of her throat.

His hands moved to her hips, pulling her closer to the edge of the counter. She arched into him, her body responding instinctively to his touch, her breath catching as he found the sensitive spots that made her tremble.

Slowly, he guided himself into her, his movements deliberate and careful. She gasped at the sensation, her nails digging into his shoulders as he filled her completely, the warmth and closeness leaving her dizzy.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. “That’s my good girl.”

Her breath hitched at his words, her body arching into him as her thighs tightened around his waist. His lips found hers again as he began to move, each thrust measured and precise.

The rhythm he set was slow but intense, his focus entirely on her, watching her every reaction as he adjusted his angle to draw soft moans from her lips. His good hand gripped her waist, steadying her as their bodies moved together in perfect harmony.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice commanding yet tender.

She obeyed, her gaze locking onto his, the intensity in his dark eyes stealing what little breath she had left. Her head tilted back as the pleasure began to overwhelm her. Every part of her body was sensitive to him, each touch sending sparks of heat racing through her. His praise was a balm to her racing heart, grounding her as the pleasure mounted.

"Good girl," he whispered again, his voice growling against her skin. “You’re so responsive for me. So perfect.”

His hands moved to her hips, guiding her slightly as he continued, his focus completely on her. Every kiss, every thrust, sent waves of pleasure crashing over her. She could barely breathe, her chest rising and falling in shallow gasps.

“Aaron...” she gasped again, the word coming out in a broken breath.

His lips brushed against her ear, his voice a low, commanding growl. “Not yet, baby.”

Her breath hitched, her body trembling as his words sent another wave of heat spreading through her. He adjusted his angle slightly, his good hand gripping her waist with a firmness that made her toes curl.

“You can hold on for me,” he murmured, his forehead pressing against hers. “I know you can.”

The intensity of his gaze left her breathless, her muscles tightening around him as she tried to obey. He slowed his rhythm, teasing her with shallow thrusts that left her aching for more.

“Aaron,” she whimpered, her hands tangling in his hair as she clung to him. “Please.”

“Patience, sweetheart,” he said, his voice rough but steady. “I want you to feel everything.”

Her body shuddered at his words, the tension inside her building to an almost unbearable level. His lips captured hers in a searing kiss, his movements finally resuming their steady pace.

“Good girl,” he whispered against her lips, his voice filled with quiet reverence. “That’s my good girl.”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breaths mingling with his as he brought her closer and closer to the edge. He smiled against her skin, clearly enjoying the effect he had on her.

“God, Aaron,” a cry escaped her lips as her body tightened around him. “Please.”

He groaned softly, his restraint wavering as he watched her, completely undone beneath him. “Alright, baby,” he said, his voice deep and commanding. “Now. Let go for me.”

The words were her breaking point. Her body arched against his, her cry muffled against his shoulder as the tension snapped and pleasure surged through her in powerful waves. Her thighs tightened around him, her entire body trembling as she surrendered to the release he’d kept her waiting for.

“Aaron!” she cried out, her back arching as waves of pleasure ripped through her.

He continued his ministrations, drawing out every last wave of pleasure from her as she trembled under his touch.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his hand stroking her back soothingly as he held her close. “That’s my good girl. So beautiful when you come undone like that.”

Her breath came in shallow gasps as she clung to him, her head resting against his chest as the aftershocks of her release rippled through her. He didn’t stop moving and quickened his pace as the overwhelming warmth of her release drew him closer to his own edge. His jaw clenched, his breathing heavy as he fought to maintain control, savoring every second of her.

“Aaron,” she whispered, her voice soft and pleading as her hands slid down his forearms. Her touch was electrifying as her fingers dug into his skin. “Cum for me,” she murmured, her voice tender and grounding.

The combination of her words and the way her body fit so perfectly around him was his undoing. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, his breath hot against her skin as his body tensed.

“God, Y/N,” he rasped, his voice breaking as he finally let go.

The release hit him hard, a deep groan escaping his lips as his movements stilled, his body shuddering against hers. The tension that had been coiled so tightly in him unraveled all at once, leaving him trembling in her arms.

She held him through it, her fingers stroking his damp hair, her lips pressing soft kisses to his temple. His grip on her hip loosened slightly, his hand sliding up her back in a soothing caress as he tried to catch his breath.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his dark eyes filled with adoration. They stayed like that for a long moment, as their breaths slowed down in the quiet of the bathroom. Slowly, Aaron lifted his head, his dark eyes meeting hers with a softness that made her heart skip a beat.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “So beautiful.”

Her arms slid around him, pulling him closer, wanting to feel his warmth against hers. "I love you," she whispered against his lips, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I love you, too," he said.

He kissed her again, soft and tender, his lips molding to hers as if he wanted to savor the moment. It wasn’t hurried, not this time. They reluctantly pulled apart, resting their foreheads against each other.

She pulled away after a moment, her hand resting on his chest. “How’s your shoulder?” she asked, her voice soft with concern, her fingers grazing the sling that hung from his arm.

Aaron winced slightly, but only for a moment before he offered a reassuring smile. “It’s fine. Doesn’t hurt too much.”

She frowned, the worry in her eyes betraying her concern. “You’re lying,” she teased.

He chuckled, brushing a lock of hair from her face as he leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Maybe just a little. But it’s worth it.”

She shook her head, her fingers gently massaging his uninjured shoulder. “You’re too stubborn for your own good.”

“Guilty as charged.”

She leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his lips before sliding off the counter, her feet touching the cool tile floor, and pulled on her underwear and his t-shirt. He couldn’t help but watch, his eyes darkening for a moment before he turned away with a soft chuckle as he wore his boxers with a little effort.

“I’ll make us breakfast,” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice as she started toward the door.

He followed her down the stairs into the kitchen, his arm lightly draped around her waist as they made their way to the fridge. He reached for the eggs and bacon, pulling out what they’d need for a simple breakfast. She grabbed the orange juice, the sunlight filtering through the windows, casting a soft, warm glow over the room.

As she cooked, the kitchen was filled with the sounds of sizzling bacon and the faint hum of the coffee maker working its magic. The two of them settled into a comfortable silence, just enjoying each other’s presence.

When the breakfast was ready, Y/N set a plate down in front of him, along with a glass of orange juice. She made sure to set everything up. “Here,” she said, her voice soft.

Aaron’s smile softened as he took the plate from her. “Thanks,” he said softly, his eyes focused on the eggs on the plate. “And I’m sorry for being so stubborn.”

Y/N turned to him, surprised. She hadn’t expected him to apologize. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice gentle as she set the table.

“I should’ve asked you for help sooner,” he said, his words a little heavier than he intended. “But I just…I don’t like feeling like a burden.”

She stepped closer, her eyes searching for his face with care. “Aaron,” she said, her voice soft but unwavering, “you’re never a burden to me.” She gently cupped his cheek

He closed his eyes at her touch, leaning into her hand for a moment. “I know,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He opened his eyes, meeting hers. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“I’m a big girl, I can handle pressure.” She gave him a soft smile, the corners of her lips lifting. “You don’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulder, honey,” she said, her voice warm, full of affection.

He nodded slightly, a bit skeptical but accepting the truth in her words. He knew that his pride might sometimes get in the way. He had always been someone who believed in handling things on his own, not burdening others with his troubles. But in the end, it had been the very thing that had permanently divided him and Haley.

She had needed him to open up, but instead, he had kept her at a distance, retreating into himself. He hadn’t known how to let her in, how to let go of the constant need to be the strong, self-sufficient one. He had believed that if he could just do it all by himself everything would work out. But in the process, he’d unknowingly pushed her away.

Aaron’s gaze lingered on Y/N, sitting across from him, a quiet smile playing at her lips as she sipped her coffee. He realized how different things were with her. She understood the job, being a team leader herself, she had lived through the same struggles he had.

She had her own pride and stubbornness to deal with, but with Hotch, there was also the willingness to share the burden, to completely trust in each other. Y/N knew what it was like to be always the strongest one in front of the worst situations. She was everything he had ever needed, even if he hadn’t realized it at first. And unlike his past mistakes, he wasn’t going to shut her out.

“Hey,” her voice broke through his thoughts, warm and familiar.

He looked up to her, a soft smile on her face. “Yeah?”

“You zoned out. Everything okay?”

Aaron nodded, his lips curving into a small smile. “Yeah, just… thinking.”

“About what?” she asked, her hand reaching for his across the counter.

He looked down at their hands for a moment, then met her eyes. “About how lucky I am,” he said quietly. “I love you, Y/N.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. She smiled widely, taken aback by his sudden confession. “I love you too.”

The rest of breakfast passed easily, the conversation light and teasing. As they ate, Aaron seemed to relax, the pain in his shoulder not entirely forgotten but manageable. He allowed himself to enjoy the moment.

After a while, they finished their breakfast, and Y/N stood to clear the dishes, moving around the kitchen effortlessly. Aaron watched her for a moment, he couldn’t fully explain how much she meant to him.

He got up slowly, his hand instinctively reaching for his injured shoulder. "I’ll help with the dishes," he said.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, giving him a skeptical look. "No, you sit down and let me handle it."

Aaron chuckled softly, though there was a slight glint of defiance in his eyes. "You know I don’t like just sitting by and watching."

She crossed her arms, tapping her foot in a mock expression of annoyance. "Well, today you will.”

Aaron smiled and gave up as the exhaustion from the earlier excitement finally began to settle in. He leaned against the counter, content to simply watch her, allowing himself to drift back into the easy rhythm of their morning. There was no rush, no need to hurry. For the first time in a while, everything felt right.

Tag: @sweetbearcolorgarden

[lizleeships]

C a s u a l  I n t i m a c y  is my jam, I have no excuse

(Don’t repost)

--> Buy me a kofi? | Become a Patron to see the Mipple version 

Teeny contextual ficlet below the cut: 

“Cas, lay off already,” Dean huffs from the motel bed. 

He crosses his bruised arms behind his head and tries to force back a wince of pain as he slings a casual grin. 

“We’re in one piece, aren’t we?” 

The angel seems dangerously ruffled, and Dean really wants to focus on that like the awesome boyfriend he’s learned to be. The thing is though, Cas is stripped down to his boxers and an old black undershirt in preparation for his shower and it’s more distracting than a train crash. A sexy, sexy train crash. 

Okay yeah, he’s probably a bit concussed; maybe Cas is right for chewing him out. 

“You have to be more careful,” Cas insists, his voice doing that deliciously growly thing it does (which, again: not the time, Winchester), “I’m not what I used to be, and neither are you.”

“Wow, okay-”

“Whether you like it or not, you’re not getting any younger, and I’m not getting any more useful. On most days I barely have enough Grace to heal your razor nicks.”

A pang of irritation surges at that - because Dean is excellent at grooming, thank you- but instead of clapping back, Dean opts for a far more entertaining option. He reels the angel in by the towel ends draped around his shoulders, and plants a kiss right between his severely pinched eyebrows. 

“I’ll be more careful, okay?” is his murmured promise, “I swear on my Old Guy honour.”

“That’s not fair,” Cas complains, though he doesn’t move an inch. 

“What?” 

“You can’t just distract me when I’m trying to make a point. It’s extremely patronizing.” 

Dean chuckles and kisses the wrinkles which pleasantly frame Cas’ eyes, then the speckles of grey at his temples. 

“Yeah? Does that mean it’s working?” 

“Dean, this is serious.” 

The consternation on Cas’ face has only mildly ebbed through the affection, so Dean frames his features with his hands, bumps their foreheads together. 

“I know, sweetheart. I hear you.” 

Cas nods against him as he stands down, shoulders sinking on a deep exhalation. 

“Really. I didn’t mean to worry you.” 

“Alright.” 

“But next time, maybe try making your point when you’re not half-naked, speaking of distractions. That’s playing dirty and you know it.”

Finally, Cas’ grave  expression breaks into a grin while Dean pulls him all the way down onto the bed.

“You’re ridiculous; I’m wearing clothes,” Cas objects. 

He makes himself at home in Dean’s lap, his fingers trailing absently over warm freckled skin. Dean looks up at him with a smirk.

“Yeah well, we’ll see about that.”

[yiiyiiwrites]

| Weight in gold |

Summary: Azriel's curious about the absence of your wings and if the loss of them is a heavier weight to carry. 2349words

Azriel x Seraphim reader (hurt/angst/comfort).

[Acotar masterlist]

With every century that passed, the same dull ache remained. The coldness of winter in Velaris rattled your bones and pushed against your spine. This time of year did nothing, but remind you of the part of you, you lost. The last part connecting you to your mother.

The only way to soothe the constant shooting pain down your shoulder blades was having a steaming bath. Windows fogged up that even Azriel's shadows fought to make themselves seen.

"How bad is it, my love?" Azriel asked, crouching down by the bath tub and slinging his arm behind you on the edge. He's careful not to touch you, even the dark wisps accompanying him hover beside him as if there’s a shield around you keeping them out.

You suck in a breath, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. The scalding water lapping against your back, if you stayed sitting up the numb tingles would wither away to nothing, but it was not a total fix.

“It’s bearable,” you whispered, gaze cast down to the oils swirling on top of the surface of water.

Without looking at Azriel you can tell he doesn’t believe you. His pointer finger chasing the curls of oil in the bath, at times like this he’s more silent than ever. You peeked out of the corner of your eye, his face as hard as stone. A line setting between his thick brows and sharp line pulling his jaw.

You drew your legs closer to your chest, arms wrapping around them and chin resting on top of your knees. The cloudy glass of the window pane glistened as the warm glow of lights danced in the horizon.

Azriel had asked you many times about the Seraphim’s and Cretea, but you always withdrew. The light dwindling from your eyes and voice lowering that he did not push it further. You’d found history books tucked away between other books, parchments and rolled maps hiding the titles.

The only time your mate had caught a of glimpse of your past self was during training. You’d catch his lingering gaze as your Seraphim blades cut through the air, the thin light metal singing in the wind. He said you moved liked lightning, fast and powerful strikes.

“Would you prefer to go to summer? Or maybe dawn?” Azriel asked, wrapping a fluffy towel around you as you stepped out the bath. It’s warmth enveloping you, but you’d much rather your mates arms. He doesn’t touch you though, afraid you’ll shatter in his hold and maybe you think the same. Like a bird with a broken wing, you want to nurse yourself until you can’t feel the numbing pain.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, instantly regretting the abrupt movement. “I want to be here, with you.”

Azriel doesn’t miss a beat, his hands dug through the drawer retrieving your night clothes. “I know, but a warmer climate might help you.” He crouched down, helping you step into your nighty and pulled it up your legs and over your hips.

The silk glided over your skin, your arms easily slipping the thin straps over your shoulders. The fabric light and soft against your back. “I can handle the pain, what I can’t handle is being away a whole season without my mate.” You pressed your lips against his cheek as he rose from the floor.

“I can visit or work from…”

You shook your head, walking around the bed and rolling the duvet back on your designated side. A few books stacked on the side table, a dagger wedged into one particular hardback cover you hated.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you smoothed your palm over the lumpy pillow. You flinched as a sharp point pricked your finger, the tiniest bit of fluff sprouting through the soft weaved cotton. Plucking the feather, you traced curve of your palm.

Azriel had never seen you in all your glory. Your wings were once your greatest pride, before they were ripped away during the war. You’d spent centuries licking your wounds, pushing yourself to train harder on Cretea.

Wings as white as the clouds you used to skim with your fingertips during every flight. You wished you could feel the wind ruffling each feather, but did not miss the downpour of rain that clung to them. Once you hated the scent of rain, now you wanted to be able to complain about not being able to get rid of the stench.

Azriel made you love the rain, but part of you still loathed it. The way he’d fix your wet hair and shield you from the heavy downpour with his own wings, reminding you of the depths of a cave. Darkness swirling around you, but his eyes were like the sun at dusk peeking through the shadows.

Sometimes you caught yourself watching the rain racing down Azriel’s wings, his shadows chasing after them as if they knew you were looking. You wondered if he had noticed the way your gaze lingered on his wings, always tugging you forward so you never walked behind him.

A deep sigh pulled you out of your trance, Azriel knelt down in front of you, his hazel eyes followed the feather as you trailed it along his jaw line. Dark wisps twirled around your wrist, but they did not stop your movements.

“What are you thinking?” Azriel mused, a light chuckle rumbling his chest and blowing his shadows away from his face. His hands resting either side of your knees, thumbs brushing your thighs.

“I used to be great you know,” you whispered, not daring to meet his gaze.

The pain you carried otherworldly, like you’d died and been reborn again. The absence of weight on your back, set you off balance and rearranged everything in the world as you knew it. People looked at you differently, they offered you sympathy much more instead of awe.

It wasn’t just the loss of your wings, but the weight of gold. The shining armour you hadn’t worn since you left Cretea a few years ago and moved in with Azriel.

The only thing you could carry were your Seraphim blades, one still hidden under your pillow as if you were still sleeping in a war tent. Sometimes you’d wake covered in sweat, thinking you were still in midst of war. Shadows comforting you and bringing you back to the present.

“You still are great, arrows or not.”

Azriel’s voice firm and clear as his finger slipped the strap of your nighty to the side and tapped the cluster wounds on your right shoulder and chest. He’d once told you how they looked exactly like a constellation of stars he used to stare at in the Illyrian mountains.

Your breath trembled, feather escaping your grasp and hand thudding to the mattress. So, he had read of your history only now confessing what he knew. You wondered how far he’d gone, how detailed the text were based on the tales shared with others.

Did your mate see you like the other Seraphim warriors? Or the shell of the thing you had become?

“Seven arrows,” Azriel mused as he joined each wound together with his touch. “There’s texts about you crawling through battlefield and still tasting victory. Of all the things you’ve done it’s your courage and will that has been spoke of. Wings do not bestow that.”

The tears tumbling down your cheeks stung, but the sobs that rack your body pulled that tight string across your shoulder blades. The muscle memory wanting to curl your wings around your form and protect you, but they were not there. The emptiness felt like a dry well, a pebble dropping down and echoing against the depths of the grounds it fell to. And it took everything within you, to straighten your spine and wipe away the tears.

“My darkest days were on the ground, but then I met you.” You’d repeated the phrase to Azriel, his shadows tucking themselves behind him as if they did not want to darken your thoughts or your days.

The heights gave you no limits, but the earth beneath your feet did nothing but try to bury you.

His rough palm cupped your cheek and you leant into his warmth, savouring the gentle touch. Even though darkness surrounded you both, he remained as your beacon of light.

Your limbs felt heavy, the potent brewed tea Madja had made you finally working its magic. “My darkest days…” you mumbled, the warmth of Azriel’s hand left your cheek and you sunk into the pillow, eyelids fluttering shut. “On the ground, before you.”

·•✦•·

Azriel combed his fingers through your hair and tied it up in a knot.

“I wish I could have known you then, but now is enough. You are enough and more.” He whispered, hoping the pain had slid away for you. The past few nights you hadn’t slept well, he’d found you falling asleep at the desk in his office or at the dining table.

“Rhys knows.”

He couldn’t understand most of your slurred words as sleep pulled you away, but he knew what you meant. You’d told him the same thing every time during the coldest months and he was yet to ask Rhys to show him a memory of you back then.

Today was different though, you wanted him to know and part of him needed to meet you for the first time again. As someone he wouldn’t recognise, but it would help him understand the weight of your loss and hopefully he’d be able to lighten the load.

So Azriel found himself standing in the hallway of the townhouse, his shadows skimming the floor as if they were trying to drag him along with them. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to see you in a different life, one of happiness he knew would be stolen from you.

“What are you doing here?” Rhys appeared ahead of him, halfway out of the kitchen. “Should I get Madja?” He raised a brow, stepping aside to allow Feyre space to pass him.

“Az, is everything all right?” Feyre’s hand lightly touched Azriel’s arm, her voice soft and low.

Nothing felt right, not for you as you tried to get used to the absence of your wings. Azriel was in awe in how you sought out the good, looked beyond the loss and lived again, chose another life. How you chose him even if it meant you were always reminded of flying.

“I need to know, will you show me?” Azriel said, his gaze fixed on Rhys and he nodded in agreement.

Bidding goodbye to Feyre, Azriel entered the office and sat in the large armchair. The back making him feel smaller as he clutched the armrests, wood groaning under his grasp.

Rhys had shared his memories a few times with Azriel, but this felt like his a blood had turned to lead. Tongue heavy and throat dry as Rhys mumbled words coaxed him to close his eyes.

Going into Rhys memory felt like wading through the depths of ice cold water. The deeper he went, the darkness around him gave way to light.

A warmth struck the side of Azriel’s face and he glanced over his shoulder. The sun glaring down on him, but he wasn’t looking to the skies he was staring at you.

Glowing, ethereal as if you were not meant to be of this world. Golden armour glistening in the sun, but it was your smile that made him stop. The curve of your lips dropping as you clenched your jaw.

You were glaring at him, fists clenched by your side and those twin blades that spoke to Azriel, greeted him like an old friend as the whistle of wind sent him leaning back.

Azriel’s heart hammered against his chest, his stance widening and mirroring yours. He felt that golden thread tighten in his chest, the bond burning beneath his flesh. Shadows nowhere to be seen, but he could hear their murmurs in his ears.

“Don’t let your guard down for every pretty face, Rhysand.”

And you were, so beautiful. Then and now. He just didn’t have the words to describe it. Nothing felt like it would live up to the way you looked, if he were to speak of it.

He touched the side of his cheek, staring down at the blood coating his fingers and palm. Not his though, Rhys’s hand.

You snapped your wings, the force knocking him back. Wings as white as snow, soft as the clouds in summer. Long feathers ruffling in the breeze, sand dusting the bottom half.

“See you’re taking on your new role well, but I’m not in need of training,” Rhys said, a chuckle rumbling Azriel’s chest, no Rhys’s.

Role? Ah yes, you were made general. The winged pin on the left part of your cape, he’d seen that stashed away in your drawer.

“I could teach you a thing or two.” You flicked your blade and lifted his chin, eyes on the wound weaving itself back together.

Wait were you flirting with Rhys? Azriel had seen that smile before, you’d lifted his chin with a blade or two many times.

The world around Azriel fell away like he’d walked through a waterfall. The heat of the sun on his back no longer burning. The springs of the armchair dug into the back of his wings, flickering candle drawing his shadows back to him as he glared at Rhys on the other side of the desk.

“Tell me you did not pursue her,” Azriel asked, rising from his chair and planting his hands on the desk.

Rhys didn’t move, smirk pulling the corner of his lips. He swatted the dark wisps out of his face and shook his head. “I did not. She was, is highly desired.”

Was. Azriel would make sure to summon that bout of flirtation as soon as winter passed. He missed training with you, swapping blades to see how much you’d learnt from each other.

“Show me again,” Azriel found himself asking.

I can just imagine Azriel and Cassian finding books on seraphim!reader and talking about all her battles. Hushed voices, books traded in the shadows. Cassian wanting to ask how true the stories are.

[kissingchamber]

brace face baby!

𝜗𝜚 synopsis: teenage romance and having braces definitely do not mix...

𝜗𝜚 pairing(s): MCU! Peter Parker x male reader with braces

𝜗𝜚 warning(s): bleeding, reader feels a little guilty for busting Peter's lip

𝜗𝜚 notes: English is not my first language!!! I got my braces off yesterday ^^ based on this post of mine

Having braces sucked. No more chewing gum or toffee for you— or teenage romance, apparently.

You and your boyfriend, Peter, were happily making out until his lip got caught in your braces. Your goddamn braces!

Now you two are sitting on the edge of his bottom bunk, you holding a paper towel to his busted lip with a concerned furrow between your eyebrows.

"'M okay! 'S just a split lip." He says, his reassurances slightly muffled by the paper.

It does help a little but you can't help but feel a little guilty. "I hurt you, though..." You look away, frowning.

Peter's hand grabs your wrist, pulling the paper towel away from his lips. It wasn't bleeding much anyway, you're just being a worrywart. "Dude, I have superpowers, a little blood won't kill me."

"But I hurt you, Pete—" You try but he interrupts you. "Nope! You know there's a strict no self depreciation rule in the Parker residence." You can't help but smile at his silly antics.

He smiles back, slinging his arm over your shoulder and pulling you against him. "There's that smile I love so much." You huff out a laugh, shaking your head.

He grabs your chin, pressing a soft peck to your lips— you don't kiss him back, not yet— and rests your foreheads together. "So, conclusion: not your fault."

You roll your eyes at him. "Alright, alright. It wasn't my fault, it was the stupid braces." Peter nods at that like he's proud or something, it's kind of adorable. "Yeah, those damn braces!" He says enthusiastically and kisses you again. You kiss him back this time.

𝜗𝜚 note: thank u for reading!! reblogs are appreciated :3

[sherewrytes]

Love and Gunshots, Eren x Black Reader

Gang member Eren x Introvert black reader

Summary: In a dangerous urban landscape, y/n, an introverted Criminal Law student, finds herself drawn into the violent world of the Sixx Gang through her protective cousin, Onyankopon. When she locks eyes with Eren Yeager, a hot-headed gang member, a twisted game of desire and danger begins.

As Eren becomes obsessed with y/n, he threatens to unravel the fragile balance Ony has maintained to shield her from their brutal lifestyle. With loyalty tested and violence lurking at every turn, the lines between love and danger blur, leading to a dark climax where the heart proves just as lethal as a gun.

Genre: Dark Romance/Crime Modern au

Warnings: Graphic violence, drug use, smut, obsession

I’ll re edit this when I’m better, in the mean time happy reading

Taglist: @topshotdivaa @prettypink-princesss @burpzz @niaizzy1623 @jcoleisbetter @msjaeger @hidd3nbimbo @vampimilikis @nova2kss honeydrzzldpeaches

Chapter 5:

Hange moved quickly, dropping their bag on the coffee table and pulling out supplies. “Let me guess,” they said, glancing at Ony’s blood-soaked towel. “Eren?”

“Who else?” Ony muttered, wincing as Hange peeled the towel away from his arm.

“Damn, clean shot. Lucky it wasn’t worse.” Hange’s voice was casual, like they were discussing the weather. “What’s his problem this time?”

Ony gave a short, bitter laugh. “He’s obsessed with my cousin.”

I felt my face heat up as Hange shot me a curious glance. “Ah,” they said, pulling on a pair of gloves. “That explains the fireworks outside. You’ve got quite the admirer.”

“Admirer?” I snapped. “He shot my cousin!”

Hange shrugged, already disinfecting the wound. “Love makes people do stupid things. In Eren’s case, it makes him do dangerous things.”

Ony hissed as Hange worked but didn’t say anything more. I sat down on the armrest of the couch, my nerves still on edge.

“He’s insane,” I muttered. “I went out there, and he was laughing like it was all some joke.”

Hange glanced up briefly. “That’s Eren for you. He’s always been… intense.”

“Intense?” Ony growled. “He’s a damn psychopath.”

Hange smiled faintly. “And yet Levi haven’t kicked him out of the crew.”

Ony grunted, not offering a response. Hange finished patching him up, carefully wrapping the wound. “There. You’ll live,” they said, leaning back. “Try not to get shot again tonight, yeah?”

Ony rolled his eyes, but I could see the exhaustion in his face. “Thanks,” he muttered.

Hange started packing up their supplies, then turned to me. “You should be careful,” they said, their tone suddenly serious. “Eren’s not the kind of guy who lets go easily. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up tangled in his mess.”

I swallowed hard, my thoughts racing. “I can handle him.”

Hange raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. They stood up, slinging their bag over their shoulder. “Good luck with that,” they said, heading for the door. “And Ony? Maybe next time, don’t escalate things. You’re not exactly helping.”

Ony grunted, and Hange left without another word. Silence filled the room, heavy and suffocating.

“You need to stay away from him,” Ony said finally, his voice low and serious. “I mean it, Y/N. He’s already too far gone. Don’t let him take you with him.”

I didn’t respond, my mind still spinning. I knew Ony was right. But some part of me, the part that couldn’t forget the way Eren looked at me, the intensity in his eyes, wasn’t ready to let go.

Not yet.

I sighed, shutting Ony’s bedroom door quietly behind me. He had passed out almost immediately after I helped him onto his bed, the pain and exhaustion finally catching up. His breathing was heavy, but steady—he’d be fine, for now.

The house was eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that makes every little noise feel amplified. I pulled out my phone and saw Eren’s name light up the screen again. Another text. "Don’t ignore me, Y/N."

I rolled my eyes and unlocked my phone, scrolling through the onslaught of messages he’d sent. Half of them were variations of "You good?" or "Answer me." The other half? Straight-up unhinged.

Finally, I tapped out a response: Me: Did you truly have to shoot him?

The reply came instantly. He sent a photo—no, two. The first was of his thigh, wrapped in bloody bandages, a fresh reminder of the night Ony put a bullet in him. The second? A close-up of his car door, two jagged bullet holes in the sleek car metal.

Eren: Fair game.

I stared at the images, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. A mix of anger and disbelief bubbled in my chest. He was so damn nonchalant, as if shooting Ony was just some petty tit-for-tat.

Me: This isn’t a game, Eren.

He replied almost immediately. Eren: Life’s a game, baby. And I’m just playing to win.

I clenched my teeth, feeling my frustration spike. Me: You’re insane.

Eren: You like it though.

I froze, my fingers tightening around the phone. He wasn’t wrong, and that infuriated me even more. There was something about him—his chaos, his intensity, the way he made me feel like I was the only thing that mattered in his twisted world.

But I couldn’t let that consume me. Not when it meant dragging Ony, and maybe even myself, further into his madness. I needed to be smart, to stay grounded.

Yet, even as I told myself that, I could feel my resolve slipping.

As I stared at my phone, heart pounding in my chest, the doorbell rang. My thoughts scattered, and I looked up, my pulse quickening when I saw the familiar hellcat pull up in front of the house. Eren.

Before I could process what was happening, my phone buzzed with a message from him. “Come for a ride with me.”

The words were simple, but they felt like an invitation into the chaos. I glanced at Ony, still passed out in his room, his steady breathing the only sound in the house. Part of me knew I should stay. I should stay and be the voice of reason, try to pull away from all this madness. But the other part of me—the one that was dangerously drawn to Eren—felt the magnetic pull to go with him, to see where his dangerous world could take me.

I couldn't help myself. My thumb slid over the phone, sending the reply. “Fine.”

The door creaked open, and there he was—standing in the doorway, eyes darker than usual, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, his presence swallowing up the space between us.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice low, the familiar intensity radiating off him.

Before I could say anything, he was already close, his hand wrapping around my wrist. He pulled me toward him with surprising force, his fingers tightening just enough to make me feel every bit of his strength. My heart skipped a beat as I looked up at him, his eyes gleaming with that same reckless energy I’d come to both fear and crave.

“Come on, Y/N,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear as he pulled me even closer. “Come for a ride with me.”

I didn't have the words to fight back. Not when he was so close. Not when his body was radiating that familiar, dangerous energy that always made my pulse race. My body moved on instinct, following his lead.

“Let’s see how deep you really want to dive into this world,” he whispered, a dark promise in his words.

He let go of my wrist, guiding me toward the car. I hesitated for a moment, but then that familiar pull, the one that had dragged me into his world in the first place, kicked in. I took a step forward, my legs shaky beneath me, and followed him to the passenger side of his car.

As I slid into the seat, Eren was already behind the wheel, his hand gripping the steering wheel with a tightness that told me he wasn’t just driving—he was headed somewhere with purpose. Somewhere that would pull me deeper into his world.

“I hope you’re ready, Y/N,” he said, his smirk never fading as he turned the key and revved the engine. “This ride is only just beginning.”

I swallowed hard, my breath catching in my throat as he sped off, the night closing in around us.

Eren's POV

I could feel the tension in the air as Y/N slid into the passenger seat. She was quiet, her body language stiff, but her eyes—those eyes—told me everything. The hesitation, the intrigue, the pull. She wanted this, even if she wasn’t ready to admit it yet.

I revved the engine, the deep growl of the car’s power vibrating beneath us. It matched the restless energy coursing through me. I wanted to test her, see how far she was willing to go. How far she was willing to follow me into this mess of violence, chaos, and everything in between.

I glanced over at her as I drove, my eyes lingering on the way she sat—her hands clenched tight in her lap, her gaze out the window, but I knew she was aware of everything. Of me. Of the world I lived in. I could feel her trying to stay distant, trying to keep herself grounded, but I wasn’t letting that happen. Not tonight.

“Why do you stay away from me?” I asked, my voice low, my eyes flicking over to her. “You think you can just ignore everything that’s happening around you, Y/N? That this... we... don't matter?” I chuckled bitterly, gripping the wheel tighter.

I could see the way her jaw clenched, her lips pressed into a thin line. She wasn’t ready to answer yet. She wasn’t ready to face the truth of it.

“You’re so fucking afraid of this world, aren’t you?” I muttered, barely able to keep the frustration from my voice. “Afraid of what I am. Afraid of what I could make you into. But you can’t deny the pull, can you?”

I saw her shoulders tense, but she stayed silent. I knew she was fighting the same damn battle I was. The attraction, the desire, the push and pull of wanting something that could destroy you. But damn, if I wasn’t going to make her see it. I wasn’t going to let her walk away from me this time.

I drove faster, the night blurring by, the hum of the engine filling the space between us. She didn’t say a word, but I could feel her fear, her excitement, the uncertainty—everything that was running through her head. She was thinking about it, weighing the consequences, trying to decide if she should pull away or dive deeper into this.

When we reached the outskirts of town, I slowed down and turned into a secluded spot by the water, the silence of the place almost eerie. I cut the engine, the sudden quiet almost suffocating.

“Having fun!,” I ordered, my tone sharp, the power dynamic shifting again. This wasn’t just about a ride anymore. This was about control. And she wasn’t going to get out of this one that easy.

I watched her eyes flicker toward the door, the hesitation written all over her face. But she didn’t argue. Instead, she looked out the window into the cold night air.

“You know, you could just walk away from all this,” I said, my voice softer now, but still carrying that edge. “But something tells me you’re not going to. Something tells me you want this.”

She didn’t respond immediately, but I could feel her body tensing again, her emotions swirling. She couldn’t lie to me—not anymore.

“I want you to see everything I can offer you, Y/N,” I continued, my voice now a low whisper that only she could hear. “Everything. And if you’re not careful, you’ll end up wanting more than you can handle.”

I reached out, my hand brushing against hers, feeling the electricity between us, and I smirked as she froze, her breath hitching in her throat. She wasn’t ready to admit it, but I could tell. I could feel it. She wanted me just as much as I wanted her.

“Come here,” I murmured, my voice dark with intent as I pulled her closer. She didn’t resist, not this time. Not when I was this close, not when the tension was this thick.

I kissed her, hard and possessive, feeling the desperation in the way her lips parted. She was falling, and she didn’t even know it yet. But I did. And I wasn’t about to let her pull away. Not now.

The world we were about to enter—it would consume us both. But I was going to make damn sure she didn’t walk away from me. Not now. Not ever.

“Stay with me,” I whispered against her lips. “Or I’ll make sure you’ll never forget what happens when you get too close to me.”

I pulled into the lookout, the city lights stretching out below us like a sea of stars. It was quiet up here, the kind of quiet that let me think clearly for once. I parked the car and leaned back, soaking in the view for a moment before reaching into the glove compartment. The familiar crinkle of my stash bag brought a grin to my face as I pulled out my weed and started rolling up.

Y/N sat beside me, tense as hell, like she was sitting next to a loaded gun. I guess, in a way, she was. But she didn’t need to be afraid. Not of me. Not like this.

I glanced at her, smirking as I licked the paper and sealed the joint. “You’re looking at me like I’m about to bury a body,” I said, lighting up and taking a slow drag. The smoke curled up between us, and I offered it to her. “Relax. I don’t bite... unless you ask.”

She gave me a sharp glare, but her lips twitched like she was trying not to laugh. “You’re not funny.”

“Who said I was joking?” I shot back, leaning in a little, letting the weight of my presence sink in. She didn’t flinch, though. She never did. That’s what I liked about her. She had this quiet strength, even when she was scared out of her mind.

She sighed, finally taking the joint from my hand. She didn’t smoke, not really, but tonight was different. Tonight, she was here with me, and I could see the walls she always kept up starting to crack. She took a tentative puff, coughing a little, and I laughed.

“First time?” I teased, leaning back against the car, watching her with lazy amusement.

“Shut up,” she muttered, handing it back to me. Her voice was soft, but there was an edge to it, a spark of defiance that only made me like her more.

We sat in silence for a while, passing the joint back and forth, the tension between us easing just a little. The city below us felt a world away, and for once, I wasn’t thinking about the gang, about Ony, or about Levi and his constant threats. I was just here, with her.

“I know what you think of me,” I said after a while, my voice low, almost casual. “You think I’m some kind of monster.”

She didn’t answer right away, and I could see her struggling to find the right words. Finally, she said, “I don’t think you’re a monster... I just think you’re dangerous.”

I smiled at that, a slow, knowing smile. “You’re right. I am dangerous. But not with you, Y/N. Never with you.”

She turned to look at me, her eyes searching mine like she was trying to figure me out. “Why do you even want me around, Eren? You could have anyone.”

I leaned in closer, my eyes locked on hers. “Because you see me,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “The real me. And you’re still here.”

Her breath hitched, and I could see the conflict in her eyes. She wanted to believe me, but she was scared. Scared of what being with me would mean, scared of what she might become if she let herself fall.

But I wasn’t going to let her run. Not now. Not ever.

“Stay with me, Y/N,” I murmured, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. “I’ll show you the world, but only if you’re brave enough to walk through the fire with me.”

She looked right at me then said flatly " No."

Her words hit harder than any bullet ever could. I felt my jaw clench, the anger boiling beneath the surface, but I forced myself to keep calm. The joint between my fingers burned slowly, the smoke curling lazily into the air, but I barely noticed it now.

“So, that’s what this is about?” I asked, my voice low, almost too calm. “Ony?”

She turned her head, her eyes locking onto mine. “You tell me, Eren. Why shoot up the one person who’s been there for me my whole life? Why drag him into your mess?”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “He dragged himself in. Ony’s a big boy; he knew what he was signing up for when he got involved with this life.”

Her gaze didn’t waver, and the weight of her silence was suffocating. Finally, she spoke, her voice soft but steady. “He’s in that life because of people like you. Because he thinks that’s the only way to protect the people he cares about.”

I leaned forward, my elbows resting on my knees, the joint now forgotten. “And what about you, huh? You think Ony’s some saint? He’s out there doing the same shit I do. Only difference is, I don’t hide who I am.”

She looked away then, her eyes focusing on the city lights beyond the windshield. “I’m not blind, Eren. I know Ony’s not perfect, but at least he tries to keep me out of it. You? You’re dragging me in.”

That stung more than I wanted to admit. I took a deep breath, trying to steady the rage simmering beneath the surface. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m not dragging you in. I’m trying to bring you closer so you’ll be safe. With me.”

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Safe? With you? You’re the reason I’m in danger in the first place.”

I felt my hands tighten into fists, the leather of the steering wheel creaking under the pressure. “You think I wanted to shoot Ony? You think I don’t care about you? Everything I do, everything I’ve done—it’s for you, Y/N.”

She finally turned back to me, her eyes filled with a mix of anger and sadness. “Then stop, Eren. If you really care about me, stop dragging me into your world”

Her words hung in the air, a challenge, a plea. I didn’t know what to say, and for once, I didn’t have a clever comeback or a deflection. All I could do was sit there, the weight of her words pressing down on me, heavier than any gun I’d ever carried.

I hated this feeling—this vulnerability she brought out in me. But more than that, I hated the thought of losing her.

Her laughter caught me off guard, cutting through the tension like a blade. I turned to look at her, and there she was, shaking her head, a wry smile on her lips.

“Ony’s only ever been shot twice, you know,” she said, her tone somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “Once when you and him went on some hit or... whatever the hell you two do. And now, by you.”

I raised an eyebrow, leaning back in my seat. “He had it coming,” I muttered, but she didn’t let me off that easy.

“My mama and his are gonna be pissed,” she continued, her laughter fading but that smirk still lingering. “His mom already hates that he’s in this life, just like his dad was. But you know what? Ony keeps the lights on, pays all the bills, and then some. So she ignores it. Pretends like it’s not happening.”

I let out a low whistle. “Man’s carrying a lot, huh?”

She shot me a look that said You think? “Yeah, Eren. And now you’re out here shooting up his arm like it’s just another day at the office.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just shrugged, trying to play it cool. “He’ll be fine. Ony’s tough.”

She sighed, crossing her arms as she leaned back in her seat. “That’s not the point, Eren. You keep pushing, and one day you’re gonna cross a line you can’t come back from.”

I turned my head to face her fully, my jaw tightening. “I’m already in too deep, Y/N. There’s no turning back for me. But you? You’re different. You’re my escape.”

She looked at me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine. “You say that, but all you’re doing is pulling me deeper into your mess.”

Her words stung, but I couldn’t argue with her. She wasn’t wrong. I was selfish, and I knew it. But I wasn’t ready to let her go—not now, not ever.

I leaned over, trying to close the space between us. Her eyes narrowed, and she shoved me back, her voice sharp. “Out of my face, Eren.”

I chuckled, leaning back, letting her have her moment. She was fiery, and I liked that about her. But before I could say anything else, her phone buzzed on the console. She glanced at the screen, and her face immediately tensed.

“It’s Ony’s mom,” she muttered, swiping to answer.

“Hello?” Her voice was steady at first, but I could hear the panic rising on the other end of the line. Ony’s mom was shouting, her words a blur of anger and fear. I caught snippets—“Why am I hearing Ony’s been shot again?”—“It happened in front of the house?!”—“Do we need to move again?”

Y/N sighed, closing her eyes for a second, gathering herself. “Aunt Selene, calm down. Ony’s fine, I promise. He’s patched up already.”

Her aunt wasn’t buying it, her voice breaking as she cried on the line. “Fine? You think I’m supposed to believe that? Every time I turn around, it’s something else with that boy! I can’t lose him, Y/N.”

I watched Y/N work to steady her own voice, her free hand gripping the edge of her seat like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. “You’re not gonna lose him. I’ll keep an eye on him, okay? I won’t let anything happen to him.”

She was lying, but it was what her aunt needed to hear. Selene eventually calmed, her sobs turning into quiet sniffles. They exchanged a few more words before Y/N hung up and let out a long, shaky breath.

I didn’t say anything, just watched her. She wiped at her eyes quickly, trying to hide the tears forming, but I saw them. I saw the weight she carried, and for the first time in a long while, something stirred in me—something like guilt.

She was cleaning up my mess.

And the worst part? I didn’t feel bad for what I’d done. I felt bad because she had to bear the brunt of it. Watching her suffer for my sins… it unsettled me. I didn’t like it. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“You okay?” I asked finally, my voice softer than usual.

She shot me a glare. “Do I look okay, Eren?”

Her anger flared, and I could feel the tension in the air between us. She turned to face me, her voice sharp, furious. “Drop me the fuck back to my house and stay away from me, Eren. I’m serious.”

I didn’t move, didn’t even glance away from the road. “No.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief, and I could see the storm brewing in them. “So you're into kidnapping now?”

I smirked, keeping my eyes fixed on the road as I navigated through the streets. “No, but you’re not cutting me out before giving me a fair shot.”

She crossed her arms, leaning back in her seat, glaring at me with a fire in her eyes. “Why me?” she demanded, her voice a mixture of confusion and frustration.

I could’ve said a million things. I could’ve told her it was because of her strength, her intelligence, how different she was from the chaos I thrived in. But deep down, I knew the truth. The real reason I couldn’t stay away was darker, messier. I loved to ruin things I shouldn’t.

But instead of saying that, I answered, "Because you're perfect for me."

It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was the closest thing I could give her.

I watched her glare at me, eyes burning with defiance, and I couldn't help myself. The pull was too strong. I leaned in, closing the distance between us. My lips crashed onto hers, and the moment they touched, I felt that electric connection I'd been craving. She tasted just as I imagined—sweet, yet full of fire.

I expected resistance. Hell, I almost wanted it—her pushing me away, her fighting me—but instead, she melted into the kiss, her body softening as if she couldn’t help herself. It made me want her even more.

But then, just as quickly as it began, she shoved me away, and I was sent back into the driver’s seat with a painful thud. My head hit the door window, hard, and for a moment, everything was spinning. The sharp pain barely registered as I rubbed the back of my head, more surprised than hurt.

She sat there, chest rising and falling in rapid breaths, her face flushed with anger and something else.

“You’re insane,” she spat, wiping her lips as if my kiss had left a bad taste behind.

I chuckled, rubbing the back of my head. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

She glared at me again, fury simmering just beneath the surface. But deep down, I could see it—the slightest crack in her armor, the way she wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the chaos I’d just unleashed between us.

didn’t let the shove or her anger bother me. She wasn’t going to stop me that easily. I leaned in again, ignoring the burning frustration in her eyes. Before she could push me away, I kissed her again, this time slower, more deliberate. My lips were firm but gentle as I kissed her, making sure she felt every inch of me. I felt her breath catch, and it made me smile.

I pulled back just slightly, my lips grazing hers as I whispered, "Please, YN. Just this once. Give in to me."

There was no desperation in my voice, only a raw sincerity, something I don’t think I ever showed anyone before. I wanted her to understand that this wasn’t just about me taking control. It was more than that. I needed to show her that she didn’t have to be so guarded around me.

Her eyes flickered, unsure, but I could see the hesitation in her gaze, the tug of curiosity she was trying to fight. She wasn’t immune to me, not completely, and I could feel it.

I held my breath, waiting for her to decide.

[ghost-in-the-hall]

Distract Me (Vessel x Fem! Reader) FLUFF

Hello hello! I finally managed to finish this request, even with a name change at that, thank you so much for your patience @theriseofshin ! We have some sweet and fluffy Vessel this chapter. Our reader is a little scared of storms and Vessel can't help but do everything in his power to try and comfort her. Lots of soft touches, awkward flirting, and Ves just being big and cuddly and sweet because I'm so soft for that man. I hope you enjoy! If you'd like to be added or removed from the tag list please let me know!

WARNINGS: None

My Masterlist! ~ AO3 Link! ~ Tip Jar!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The afternoon sun was warm on your face, the faint scent of lavender drifting through the open window as you stood at your sink finishing some dishes. The TV played softly in the living room, the pretty blonde meteorologist tracing along the edge of a massive storm cell that was rolling your way. You sighed, drying your hands as you leaned against the counter; it looked like you were in for a long night. A gentle knock on your door drew your attention away from the screen. Your bare feet padded across the dark hardwood floor, slinging your dish towel over your shoulder. You stood on your toes to peer outside, the frosted, textured glass above your door muddling your visitors' form. You can't help but smile as you recognize Vessel’s tall, broad frame. “Well, isn't this a pleasant surprise?” You greet him sweetly as you open the door; your heart begins to pound in your chest as you feel him study you.

“IV picked a bunch of fresh fruit today. I wanted to stop by and bring you some.” He holds out the large container that was practically overflowing with various berries. You accept it with a soft ‘thank you,’ your fingers brushing over his during the exchange.

“Would you like to come in?”

“I would love to.” He responds a little too quickly; you hold back a laugh as you watch him cringe slightly at his actions. “I mean, if it wouldn't be too much trouble.” He adds on with a bashful chuckle.

“No trouble at all; I was just about to make some tea.” You nod for him to follow you inside. He ducks through your doorway, shoving his hands in his pockets as he curiously looks around your house. You couldn't help but watch him from the kitchen, smiling softly as you saw him delicately pick up whatever knick-knack had caught his attention, being as careful as possible with the fragile object before setting it back perfectly in place. Ever since the two of you met, Vessel had always held a special sense of caution around you, knowing how intimidating his massive stature could come off; everything he did was settled with a particular degree of care. You're snapped from your thoughts by your kettle beginning to sing.

You sat side by side on your couch, the breeze through the open windows sending a chill through your apartment. The trees danced in the wind, welcoming in the oncoming storm with open arms as dark clouds began to roll in from the distance. Your mug of tea warmed your hands, and a bowl of freshly washed fruit was set between you as you asked Vessel how things were back at the camp. “You should come back with me; I'm sure everyone would love to see you.” He offers with a soft smile.

“I would–” you were cut off by the sound of thunder rumbling, “love… to…” You couldn't help but let your gaze trail to the window, finally noticing that the storm was moving in much quicker than you or the weather channel could have predicted. You swallow thickly before turning your attention back to Vessel, you didn't have a lot of time left. “Um, but it'll have to be some other time.”

“Love, what's wrong?” He sits up from his reclined position, moving closer to you subconsciously when he realizes your nervous state.

“It’s stupid, Ves, promise.” You chuckle, your hands squeezing into fists at another growl of thunder. A warm hand comes to rest on your cheek, your eyes meeting the slits of his mask. His thumb trails across your skin, “storms just make me a little nervous, that’s all.”

You see him start to speak, but he quickly pauses, contemplating whether or not to say whatever has crossed his mind. “If you like,” he begins slowly, “I could always stay until it passes.” He offers, and you feel your pulse begin to race.

“I'd really like that, Ves.” You respond softly. You exchange a coy smile.

“I’ll keep you nice and safe, love, don't worry.” He teases with a soft chuckle, making your cheeks grow warm.

“Trust me, I didn't have any doubts in the first place.” He stands holding out his hand for you to take. He helped you shut all your windows, allowing you to collect your emergency candles and flashlights in case the power went out. You can't help but smile as you watch him organize what you had handed him neatly on your coffee table. “You’re sure you don't mind staying? This could go on all night; I wouldn't want to keep you.”

He hums, slowly striding over to you. “Let me think, go back to camp to spend the night alone in my cabin or to be curled up here with you?” He pretends to ponder over his options for a moment. “I think the latter sounds a little better, don't you?” He glances down at you with a playful smirk.

“You're sweet.” You respond shyly. Over the time you had known Vessel, the two of you had grown rather close; you were someone who he found himself slowly deconstructing the walls he had built up around himself for, and he was someone who you felt effortlessly connected to from the moment you met him. Although neither of you would admit it, through your growing friendship, something else began to grow out of it as well. After breaking through his cold, rigid exterior, you discovered that Vessel was quite sweet. It was in the little things you noticed: how he would always make sure to hold doors open for you, offering you his arm through rockier parts of trails on hikes, how he would absentmindedly comb his fingers through your hair as you lay together, reading outside. Everything about being with him just felt so right.

The two of you quietly prepared dinner together, Vessel humming along with the radio as he finished up the last few dishes. A smile spreads across his face as he catches your gaze lingering on him. You quickly dart your eyes back to the pan on the stove, your cheeks growing warm at the realization you had been caught. You jump slightly as you feel a pair of large, warm hands settle on your waist. “Smells good,” he remarks simply.

“Let's just hope it tastes good, too.” You giggle.

By the time you sat down to eat, the rain was pelting against the windows. As you look outside, you twirl your fork nervously between your fingers, the trees blowing violently in the wind. A bright flash of lightning exploded across the sky; you jumped at the sudden boom of thunder that shook the room. Vessel took your hand, his thumb soothingly running over your knuckles. “If it makes you feel any better, I'm not the biggest fan of storms myself.” You shoot him a playful, skeptical look. “I'm serious!” He exclaims with a chuckle.

“Sorry,” you respond with a giggle of your own, “I'm just surprised. I feel pretty silly about the fact I'm scared of thunderstorms-”

“You shouldn't be; it's cute.” He pauses as the compliment tumbles from his lips. You can't stop the bashful smile that immediately spreads across your features. Vessel tries to speak, but no words manage to find their way out. “I'm sorry.” He finally manages after a moment.

“Don't be.” You glance up at him, his shoulders visibly relaxing as your eyes land on the slits of his mask. You gently squeeze his hand, “I'm really happy you're here, Ves.” You admit softly. He studies you momentarily, noticing how you seemed to lean into him for comfort when the storm outside became too loud for you to ignore.

He states your name gently, tugging you closer by your hand as he straightens up from his reclined position on the couch. Your heart pounded in your chest as his lips hovered just a little too close to yours. “It's alright, I've got you, love.” He wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his chest as he shoots you a sharp smile. Your cheeks burned, and you were sure your heart was pounding loud enough he could hear it. You relaxed into his embrace, allowing your body to mold against his. Vessel’s thumb languidly rubbed over your waist, making electricity danced across your skin where your shirt had lifted up. “Did I ever tell you about the time III managed to get both of his boots stuck in the mud, so he had to walk back to camp barefoot?” You shoot him a confused look, laughter slowly bubbling up in your chest as you thought about how mad III must have been.

“No, I don't think you have.” Vessel holds you close as he does his best to distract you from the weather outside. Telling you whatever story he could think of that would make you laugh. IV dropping an entire pot of pasta on the floor, a bear making off with a basket of II’s laundry, the countless numbers of times Ves has smacked his head in a doorframe or a hanging light, anything to keep a smile on your face. “You need to be careful; you're going to end up hurting yourself one of these days.” You giggle.

“That won't be such a bad thing if I have a pretty little thing like you to nurse me back to health.” You playfully swat at his shoulder, making him chuckle. You hide your face against him, his hand gently cradling the back of your head. “I’m sorry, I can't help myself. You're absolutely adorable when you get all flustered.”

“Well, you definitely don't have any trouble accomplishing that, do you?” You glance back up at him through your lashes, a nervous yet coy smile reaching your lips. 

“What can I say?” He starts, his voice barely above a whisper. “I want to make sure you feel special.” Vessel swallows thickly, his hand brushing over your cheek as his fingers slide into your hair. You let out a small startled sound as you’re suddenly plunged into darkness. Panic immediately begins to bubble up in your throat as it becomes apparent just how bad the storm had gotten; the wind rattled the glass panels of your windows, the rain pelting against your roof made the room entirely too loud yet somehow impossibly quiet as the background humming of all your appliances had been cut. “I'm right here, lovey; I got you.” You're snapped from your thoughts by Vessel’s deep voice rumbling close to your ear.

“I'm sorry,” you apologize with a soft chuckle, your voice trembling slightly as you speak, “I feel silly–”

“There's no need to, sweetheart.” He reassures you, carefully cradling you against his chest. “It's a bad storm; there's nothing wrong with getting a little anxious.” He presses a finger below your chin, angling you to look up at him. “I guess I just need to do a better job of distracting you, hm?” His knuckle trails along your jaw, your hand fists into the soft material of his sweatshirt at another loud crack of thunder.

“Ves?” you state his name softly, you feel his lips ghost over yours.

“Yes, love?” He responds in a similar tone.

“Distract me.” He tips you back into the plush couch cushions, allowing a growl to slip past his lips. In an instant, Vessel ensnared every one of your senses; his large hands were warm as they gripped desperately at your waist, fingers skimming bare skin where your shirt had ridden up. His weight blanketed you, firm muscles pressing into the plushness of your body. The taste of sweet, herbal tea mixed with the slight bitterness of the paint that adorned his lips. You could feel the edge of his mask dig into your skin, your mind numb to the sensation as you found yourself unable to focus on anything besides the feeling of Vessel’s lips on yours. A flash of lightning lit up the room, glowing orange through your eyelids; a loud boom of thunder followed it. Vessel feels your grip on him tighten at the sound; he breaks away from you for just a moment to whisper sweet words of reassurance against your lips. “You're alright, sweetheart; I'm right here; I got you.” He keeps your focus on him, your lips buzzing as the two of you finally break apart for longer than a few seconds. Vessel chuckles, running a thumb over your tender bottom lip. “Sorry if I was too rough, I've been waiting a long time to be able to do that.”

“Same here.” You giggle bashfully. “And you weren't, I really like… I really like the way it feels when you kiss me.” You admit breathlessly. He continues to hold you close for the rest of the night, pulling your lips to his as a distraction whenever the weather picked up again. After a while, you struggled to suppress your yawns, the warmth of Vessel’s arms making your whole body melt into his touch.

“Let’s get you to bed, lovey.” He whispers, slipping an arm behind your knees to lift you from the couch effortlessly. You wrap your arms around his neck, sleepily pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you for staying with me, Ves.” He can't help but smile, turning to press a kiss to your forehead. He lays you in bed, carefully situating you under the covers. Your hand slips into his; he brushes some hair out of your face as he studies you with a gaze of pure admiration. “Do you have to go?” You ask quietly as if speaking too loud would somehow break your perfect evening.

“Not if you don't want me to.” You slide back across the mattress, gently tugging him into the bed beside you. He hesitates at first, thrown off by eagerness to have him beside you. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling your much smaller form on top of him. You tense slightly as a boom of thunder erupts from outside, the storm finally on its way out. You glance up at Vessel only to be met with a soft smile as he gently caresses your cheek. Without a word, he pulled your lips back to his, and suddenly, the storm outside didn’t seem quite as scary anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List is in the comments below!

[puckinghischier]

omg wow i need more of whiny injured luke i love it

he would try so hard to not be needy and whiny but even when he’s trying not to, his inner whiner comes out. like, obviously you’re more than happy to help him in any way you can, but he’s just extra pouty and clingy.

you would be trying to get some work done, having arranged to work from home for the next few weeks incase he needs help with anything, but also because you don’t know when you’ll get to spend this much time with him again. you’d be in your make-shift office, busy on whatever tasks you had to get completed for that day, and he’d constantly be peeking in, pacing around for a few minutes “just to see what you’re up to. got a little bored.”

around time for you to take your lunch break you’d feel him hovering, turning to find him standing in the doorway like a toddler sneaking into their parents bedroom.

“do you need something?” you would ask him, trying to get your last little bit of morning work and find a good stopping point. “just wondering what your plan is for lunch. didn’t know if you wanted to order something or make something here. i’d go ahead and start lunch, if i could,” he’d motion to the black sling on his arm, shrugging in slow motion with a sad, exaggerated eye roll

or when you’re trying to get some laundry done after finishing work, hauling the towering basket over to couch so you could fold clothes while watching a movie. luke’s lounged in the recliner, immediately sitting up when he sees you set the mound of laundry down, picking up whatever was on top. “i wish i could help you, honeybee, i really do. maybe i could try to fold a couple towels?” he would offer, taking a couple of hand towels and slowly folding them for you.

after he finished his small pile he grabbed a pair of socks, trying to fold them into one another so they formed a small ball, but he couldn’t get the job done one handed, huffing in frustration and looking over at you for help. “i think i need some help, honeybee,” he would say dejectedly, giving you a pouty, puppy dog look.

“luke, i said i’d get it. you don’t have to help me. i’m almost done anyways. just sit back and watch the movie,” you would tell him, walking over to grab the socks from him.

“but, if i help you get done faster you can come cuddle with me in the recliner sooner,” was his response, lip jutting out even further to make his pout deeper.

“lu, i still have a lot of stuff to get done. i don’t think cuddling is on the table just yet. you’ll survive until i can put all the clothes away and clean up the kitchen a little bit.”

he would huff in response, grabbing his bad arm with his good one, pouting like a child with furrowed brows and his chin pressed to his chest.

“but my shoulder hurts, and the only thing that’ll make it feel better is if you come lay here with me while i put the heating pad on it.”

you roll your eyes, knowing he won’t quit whining until you give in, so you place the now folded clothes in your bedroom, still in the laundry basket before doing a quick spot clean of the kitchen, making your way back to luke with a pint of ice cream in hand.

“now, will you stop being such a baby and just eat ice cream with me while we watch this movie? will that make you feel better?” you ask him as you crawl onto the recliner with him, laying your body between his legs with your back against his chest, your head resting on his shoulder.

“it’s like my shoulder is good as new, might even try out a couple slap shots tomorrow,” luke says with a smirk, shoveling a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth.

you bring your hand up to lightly smack his good shoulder, shaking your head at his antics, knowing it’s going to be a long six weeks

[the-kr8tor]

Hobie catches you wearing his mask

Pairing: Hobie Brown x GN! reader/ Spider-Punk x GN! Reader

Word count: 1k

Tags: No use of Y/N, No specific physical description of the reader (reader is mentioned to be smaller than Hobie though). Fluff, established relationship. Smut Implied

* I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms*

Hobie just got home from patrolling around the city, thankfully it was an easy day compared to the other days where he comes home beaten and injured. A few robberies here and there. A small-time villain tried going toe to toe with Hobie, the fight didn't even last five minutes.

It was truly an easy day for Spider-Punk.

Even though the day was fairly laid back, no one can deny that web-slinging and crime fighting all over the city is quite tiring.

You know immediately when Hobie comes home, with the sound of the window sliding open, followed by the thunk of his heavy boots against wooden floors, the sound basically trained you to go towards him with a first aid kit and a greeting.

With a quick kiss and a tired "m' okay, love" Hobie heads towards the bathroom, shedding parts of his suit on the way.

With a concerned look towards the bathroom door, you sigh and wish that you could take some of his responsibilities. You hate seeing him so tired. With an entire city to look out for, he's stretched himself too thin.

As much as you love him being Spider-Punk, you miss your Hobie.

You head towards the bathroom door, almost tripping over his large combat boots. Bending down to grab the shoes off the floor, you follow a trail of clothing heading towards the bathroom like breadcrumbs.

You grab each piece with care, knowing that his suit and other pieces of it, means a lot to him. You fold it and place them on top of the bed, but it looks like there's a piece missing, you look down to look for it.

Behind your dresser, you see one of the spikes poking out.

Grabbing the mask off the floor, you admire its craftsmanship - every stitch he made, the eyes of the mask with its painted drooping 'eyeliner' painted with such care.

He truly made the suit uniquely him.

Hearing the sound of the shower still running, you admire the roughness of the cloth, asking yourself how can he even properly breathe in it while fighting? Can he see fine while wearing it? So curiosity got the best of you, before you could change your mind, you carefully put it on.

"Woah" you laugh with how comfortable the mask is, "it's like a second skin" you run towards the mirror to check yourself out.

Giddy with excitement you move side to side watching the spikes on top move with you. "So cool," you whisper.

In your excitement you didn't notice him watching you.

"Right, what's all this then?" Hobie raises a pierced brow, a sneaking smile on his lips. The scene in front of him helps in grounding him back to the present.

Startled, you turn away from the mirror. "Nothing!" quickly taking the mask off, you hide the cloth behind you.

"Nothing huh, What's in your hand then?" Hobie struts towards you, a towel wrapped on his hips. " Y'know, I can see it in the mirror" he points out.

You shyly look at his still glistening torso, avoiding his eyes, quickly turning away, you slowly hand him the mask. "Sorry, just wanted to see if you can actually fight in it" embarrassment prominent on your face.

"No apologies necessary, love. Just teasin' you" Hobie lifts your downturned head to face him.

"You look better in it anyway" he swiftly puts the mask back on you. Hobie grabs your shoulders and turns you back around in front of the mirror.

"Fuckin' adorable" Hugging your neck, he says with his head fitting perfectly on your shoulder.

The whites of his mask turn into slits, "m' not adorable, Hobart" you tilt your head to the side feigning annoyance.

"Right, sorry you look very punk rock, sweets" he kisses the side of your head.

"You're missing something though" he pushes off you. You miss his warmth, albeit your neck is now slightly damp.

"You're still wet" you turn behind you, rubbing your neck dry as you watch him grab something from the pile on the bed.

"Only for you, lovey" he teasingly said with a wink. Hobie walks back to you.

"Hobie!" You let out a small screech, "that's not- Hobie!" You fumble your words.

He laughs at your embarrassment. "Arms up" Hobie instructs while holding a dark piece of clothing.

You huff, but obey nonetheless. Hobie puts the leather vest on you, the spiked clothing looks big on your form. Hobie whistles, he turns you back in front of the mirror.

"Look at you" fondness dripping from Hobie's lips. "I've got my very own spider-person, huh"

You admire your appearance as Hobie tiredly rubs his face on your neck. You hold his neck in place, massaging the tense muscle.

"I wish I could help you" you whisper, he peeks at your face in the mirror.

"You are," he hugs you tightly, "as long as you're by my side. You're helping me. Never think for a second that you aren't"

Hobie turns you towards him, his own mask facing him.

He carefully tugs the mask up to see your face, cupping your face lovingly, "Coming home to you, makes everything I do worth it"

You stand on your tippy-toes to kiss him. "I love you too" you whisper on his lips.

You reluctantly pull away "You're tired, let's go to bed, yeah?"

Hobie still holding on to your leather clad waist. In one swift movement he grabs your thighs and lifts you up. Gasping at the sudden movement, You instinctively wrap your legs on his waist, the towel threateningly low on his hips.

"Look what you've made me into, I've gone soft. I have a reputation to uphold y'know" he carries you to the bed.

You giggle knowing what he's planning. Before he could throw you down on the bed, like he always does, you cling on to his neck, a pensive look on your face. He raises his brow in a question.

"One question though, how in the world can you fit your hair in the mask?" You ask.

"Spidey powers" He says with a straight face and a shrug of his shoulders.

"What? Are you – mmph!" Hobie cuts you off by kissing you abruptly. Preventing you from asking more questions.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed reading! Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated ❤️

*image above is from pinterest*

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

So I 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your casual arrangement turns a bit too serious.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

A sheen of sweat coats your forehead, beading in the strands of your hair, your teeth gnashing as you strain to lift the bar just a little higher. Use your legs, you remind yourself. You suppress a grunt as your body trembles with the effort. 

“You got it, flex, you can do it,” a voice taunts from behind you. You roll your eyes and push up. Bucky steps closer and tickles along your hips. “Need a spot?” 

You growl and hook the bar in place, letting the weight off your shoulders. You step out of his reach and swipe up your towel. Your wipe your face as he comes around the weight rack and grabs your bottle out of your grasp. You growl as he squirts it into his mouth. 

“Thirsty?” He winks and wiggles the bottle. 

“What are you doing here?” You narrow your eyes and take the bottle from him. 

“Looking for a work out.” He winks. 

“Really? ‘Cause you’re not dressed for it.” You look him up and down. He’s in his usual; dark jeans, grey tee, canvas jacket. 

“Don’t need to dress up for the kinda work out I’m thinking of,” he snickers. 

“How’d you find me?” You challenge as you check your smartwatch. 

“Tuesday’s. You’re always too busy for me.” 

“Uh huh. And it’s a Tuesday. I’m busy.” You retort. 

“Ah, come on. I can help you with your cool down. Get you nice and stretched out.” He rests his hand on the barbells, his other on his hip as he leers at you. 

“You’re gonna need a good dose of protein after that,” he teases. 

“You’re gross.” 

“You love it. Come on. I'll take you by the shake place first. I’m a gentleman, you know?” He laughs and you shake your head. 

“Right. Let me change.” 

“Ah, I like you sweaty. Pheromones or whatever. You know, my sense of smell is enhanced.” He smirks. “I can even smell when you’re horny.” 

“Ew, shut up.” You jab his ribs and push past him. You sling your towel over your shoulder and strut off. He follows you. 

“Doesn’t this remind of old times?” He asks. 

You’re taken back to the day you met. Your first week in the gym. You were lost and you looked it. He helped you figure out the leg machine. He also fixed your form. Strange how time passes. 

“I feel like you were less annoying then.” 

“Really? Cause you were a lot more tense back then. Glad I could loosen you up, although your ass is looking tighter.” 

You stop at the locker room door and face him. “You--” You squirt the water bottle at him. “You’re gonna have to wait out here. Weirdo.” 

You spin and push through the door. You hear him growl as he’s shut out. You continue on to your locker and grab your bag. You unzip it and peel off your tank and leggings. You stretch and look around the empty space. You like to go on Tuesdays when it’s quiet. When you can focus. 

That isn’t easy lately. With work and the Bucky’s inconsistent consistency. Every time you think you have a moment to chill, he’s there to tie you up. You’re going to have to talk about boundaries. You’re going to be too busy to deal with his spontaneous drop-ins. 

You turn to grab your water bottle from inside the locker and as you turn back, you’re shoved against the cold metal. Your yipe is smothered in Bucky’s hands, his metal one around your throat. You wriggle and clutch his wrist. Your eyes round and flick side-to-side. 

He chuckles, “I got tired of waiting.” 

You murmur into his hand and slap his arm. Your heart picks up and a shiver rolls over you. You kick your feet around his. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt this with him. Panic. 

“Hey, just playing,” he drags his hand away and slackens his grip on your neck. “Don’t need be scared.” 

You take a deep breath and step away from the lockers. He stands back and watches you. His eyes rove up and down. He tilts his head. 

“Really, I wasn’t meaning to scare you. I was just...fucking around.” 

“It’s fine,” you shrug and reach for your blouse. “I was just surprised.” 

“Your heart’s still going--” 

“I told you, I hate that,” you hiss. 

“I can’t help it. I can’t not hear it.” He insists. 

“Just... go wait for me outside. I’ll be a minute,” you don’t look at him as you pull the shirt over your head. 

The reminders of how much stronger he is are jarring. At times, it's hot, at others, it's frightening. He's not just a man, he's more than that.

He lingers and sighs. His boot scuffs as he slowly slides it across the tile. He walks off and you listen for the door behind him. You blow out between your lips. 

You definitely need to have a talk. It’s all good and fun until he gets a face full of the mace you keep in your purse. Besides, he’s getting a bit clingy. This isn’t supposed to be that. It’s casual. It’s easy.

Well, it was.