#sorry for being gone only to come back and being
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Hiii! Could you please write some hurt comfort hero and villain? Where it has a “who did this to you” vibes! Thanks! No pressure if you don’t want to!
"You look..." The villain's gaze travelled slowly up the hero, taking in the hard lines of them, the uncanny iciness that had replaced a once warm, familiar face. "Different."
"And you look like hell. Let's get you out of here."
Despite the fact that the hero had just blown the villain's chains to smithereens, the villain didn't move. They leaned heavily against the cold concrete wall of their cell, still staring.
The hero's fingers flexed agitated at their sides.
"I can - if you're hurt, I can help you stand. I don't - you're safe now."
It was like an act they didn't know how to play any more. The script was the same, but the tongue behind the words was a sharper thing. A whittled thing. Made hard and venomous with desperation. Like the world had taken an axe to everything that made the hero them and started hacking.
"Who did this to you?" the villain demanded.
"What?"
"You're all..." Their head lolled, as they tried to tilt it customarily to one side. Their broken fingers hurt too much to wiggle them effectively in the hero's direction, but they did their best. "Not you. All..."
"They hurt you," the hero said. Flat. Deadly.
The villain wet their cracked, swollen lips. Their voice came out raspy. "I heard screaming."
"Yeah." Something dark and protective simmered in the hero's eyes. It looked awfully a lot like 'they deserved it'. Like how the villain's eyes used to look, through a mirror darkly, until the pain scorched through everything cold and steely inside them.
"You killed people. You killed...you came for me."
"We need to go," the hero said, through gritted teeth. "We need to get you out of here. Come on." The hero ducked down, only to falter when their gruff tug immediately made the villain's whole world go fuzzy with hurting. The touch turned gentle as the villain flinched. The hero's hands floundered, like they no longer knew the language of caring, but still remembered that they wanted to try.
A stupid prickle of tears stung the villain's eyes.
"Who did this to you? Who-"
"-Please," the hero said. "Put your arms around me. You need to work with me here. Please."
The villain wrapped their aching arms around the hero's shoulders. The hero lifted them up, holding them oh so carefully. Being upright was still enough to make the villain's vision pop and then blacken.
When they regained consciousness, they were walking through a slaughter house. Blood everywhere. As if a hurricane given teeth and claws had ripped through the building.
"Did I do this?" the villain asked.
"No, love."
But that wasn't quite right.
"No, I mean - I was gone," the villain said. Their head felt so fuzzy with everything they had been given, but the sharp edges of the hero were so clear, if only they could find the words to paint the picture half as well, let the knowledge swirling inside them settle. "You were on your own. How long have you been trying to rescue me?"
"It's going to be alright, okay? I've got you. You're alright."
"Are you?"
"I'm not the one who's been tortured!" It came out a snap, and maybe the villain should have flinched after an eternity of raised voices and raised weapons, but they didn't.
"You don't do so well on your own," the villain said instead, softly. "You never have."
The hero's throat bobbed as they swallowed, convulsive, choking something down. "Don't."
The villain raised a hand, rubbing their thumb over the gaunt line of the hero's face.
The hero flinched back.
"It's going to be alright," the villain said. "You're going to be alright. I've got you."
"You -" The hero laughed then, a broken thing. They jerked their head to the side but it didn't hide the tears glinting in their eyes. "Maybe let's not focus on me right now. You were - what they did to you - they told that they - I should have got here faster."
"I'm sorry they used me against you."
"Don't."
"Tell me their names?"
"They're all dead."
"Tell me anyway."
"I killed them."
"I know, love. Tell me anyway."
The hero swore, but the villain could practically watch some life creep back into those icy eyes. Some horror. Some thing that wasn't a stranger. Their hero. The hero held them a little tighter, cradling them a little closer against their chest.
"Just - later. Let me get you help. You need help."
Well, the villain couldn't argue with that. Still. Their own body didn't feel half as perturbing as the way the hero's eyes iced over again, determined to see through the job, to not shatter no matter what they'd done to get to where they were. To get the villain back. To save them.
They tucked themselves closer to the hero's chest, to their heart - thumping proof of life, proof of hope, proof that maybe they hadn't entirely lost the thing they cared about most of all.
Who did this to you?
But the villain didn't really need to ask.
The answer was always their own name.
#not quite hurt/comfort#but it's something#comfort was attempted by both parties#hero x villain#villain x hero#heroes and villains#villains and heroes#hero and villain#villain and hero#writing snippet#my writing#story snippet
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[Image ID: Tumblr tags. They read,
#pokemon #clai's art
#i love when things are super serious and then suddenly arent. Its my favorite bit
#BUT ALSO. I come back with more klink thoughts
#you mentioned how it would have been nice for the pokemon that signified n's turning point to be a friendship evo
#and like yeah i think it would have been nice for him to have one i even have my own post on the matter
#but tbh. klink is THE perfect one to represent it, like its driving me up a wall. i think it might fit n more than zorua does
#the thing with n is he is horrifically bad at friendships, he pushes all his pokemon away by releasing them
#he keeps saying he wants to be friends with the protag all throughout bwl but doesnt give them a way to contact him when he leaves
#he's gone for Two Years without reconnecting
#my point being. a friendship evo actually wouldnt do him any good during bwl, he's fresh out of isolation he hasn't learned to process it
#what n does do? he processes the world through formulas. makes sense of everything around him with numbers
#klink is a pokemon that cannot function unless its in a pair. it has the abilities plus and minus which only activate when-
#--another pokemon with those abilities, all rooted in very basic scientific terms, can't make a gear turn without a second ane
#maria also points out its a ferris wheel reference. "The circular motion... The mechanics... [...]collections of elegant formulas™
#what i'm saying is n needed that concept of togetherness explained in a way He understood
#n thinks linearly, there has to be one solution to everything. It has to be neatly explained in a formula
#friendships are complex and theres no Correct way to make and be friends
#he just needed a kickstart idea presented in familiar terms. klink is exactly that
#in addition like klink being an objectmon and n seen as Inhuman? literally perfect. n connecting with something that might on the surface--
#--look unfeeling and cold. but klink is all about connections and so is n
#i hope that makes sense. its very late i might be rambling too much VJEVDJEVJED
#sorry for putting a serious analysis in the tags of a Funny Comic. I am severely ill about black and white you must understand
/End ID]
Do you ever think about how almost all of N’s Pokémon throughout the first games were one offs he released after he battled you, how he cared about them all deeply enough that he thought it would be selfish to have them battle more than necessary. And do you ever think about how this is the case with all his Pokémon EXCEPT his Klinklang in the final battle at the league, where the second to last battle he had a Klink and this Klinklang is very likely that same Pokémon? Do you think this was a visual representation of his mindset wavering from a fixed point? How that Klink refused to leave him right away and he couldn’t bring himself to force them to leave because his mind is in so many different directions? He can keep them around just a little longer until he becomes champion, it won’t be long, he can bend things some so long as he doesn’t fully stray from his path…right?
Or is that just me am I the only one willing to be insane about Klinklang of all Pokémon
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Promise | s.r
who? post-prison!reid x ex gf reader (she's a nurse)
category: angst (bold move ig)
summary: Spencer left you 5 months ago without a word for undisclosed reasons but he comes teary eyed to your door after seeing a girl that looks a little too much like you.
based on (very loosely lol): promise by laufey. the fic does not follow the events of the song at all but i love the "if it weren't for the sight of a boy who looked just like you standing out on Melrose avenue" part right at the end so it's all on that line.
word count: 1.6k
a/n: my first fic ahhhhhhh, i'm so nervous and happy rn, this is my baby and ik there's a lot of space for improvement but i'm proud of my writing, this comunnity is full of amazing people and if it wasn't such a lovely space i would have never posted this. shoutout to @lilacsandlavenderhaze for being the first to hear my idea and telling me i should go ahead and write it; @spencersbabymama for telling me to cut the bullshit and self deprecation and post this; and to @esote-rika for being my first readerrrr. love y'all <3
dividers by @aquazero
English is not my first language pls tell me about any spelling and grammatical mistakes. enjoyy!
The air was cold and crisp, a light drizzle could be felt dampening the streets – a scene typical for this time of the year in Washington. Spencer had gone out with the team to get some drinks after a hard but successful case, he was happy, of course, the fact that they had caught the killer pleased him but everything inside the building felt overwhelming: the voices, and the drunk conversations, all the limbs touching a little too much, the overly loud music. He was out of it and to be honest he had been out of it for quite some time now, actually some months, everyone noticed how the breakup made him feel.
Funny, because he was the one to leave.
After you came back from a long shift at the hospital excited to cuddle with the love of your life (or so you thought) but the only remnant of him you found was a sticky note placed on the cover of a book you were reading at the time:
"I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore"
That was all he said before destroying everything you two had built over 3 years, 3 years of love, pain, and learning, 3 years of giving everything for each other, destroyed in less than 24 hours like nothing.
He hadn't been the same for a long time, though—not since prison. You didn't blame him; you tried to understand him, give him space, time, and everything one could need to heal. He was not the same, of course. You weren't expecting the same Spencer to come back, sure, but you also were not expecting whoever he had become: some cold and distant version of the person you used to know.
Your relationship with Spencer is divided into two eras: Before Millburn and After Millburn.
Before Millburn, you guys were somewhat happy. Both of you were overworked and stressed but happy. You would tell him about your work, and he would tell you about his. In the rare times, he got a day off work, he would hug you whenever he could, like he was making sure you wouldn't slip away.
After Millburn, you didn't talk much, not unless it was necessary, he didn't hug you a lot anymore, in fact, the last time he hugged you was when you went to pick him up at the correctional facility, all the emotions running high, you remember thinking he looked and smelled different, you didn't know he would be so different when you wrapped him in your arms, placed a kiss on his shoulder and whispered that everything would be fine. But everything was not fine. It was all so not fine and everyone around you two could tell. Yet you could have never imagined that Spencer, the man who made the hopeless romantic in you thrive would leave in such a disheartening way.
Back at O’Keeffe’s, the team was still at it. The count of how many rounds of drinks Rossi had paid long lost, Emily and JJ leaning suspiciously close to each other, Rossi nursing some unnecessarily extravagant drink, Garcia and Morgan somewhere on the dance floor and Hotch nowhere to be seen. Spencer had gone outside, hoping the sensory overload would ease with the fresh air, it did slightly but the agglomerate of people was no better than the one inside, so many people, reeking of alcohol, walking like zombies, and saying nonsensical things. As he was standing near the entrance, hands stuffed into his pockets, the soft rain dampening his hair, Spencer let his mind wander and it ended up where it always does: him contemplating if leaving was the right decision.
He was so deep in this thought that didn't even notice the man approaching until it happened- a hard shoulder bump that took him away from his thoughts.
"Sorry dude" the man muttered not even caring to glance back as he moved past. Spencer blinked, shocked as he watched the man move swiftly toward a small group of people nearby. A group that included you.
His heart jumped to his mouth. No - not you. But she looked like you, uncannily so. She even acted like you, the way she threw her back when she laughed or how she scrunched her nose in an attempt to put her sliding glasses in place - he could've sworn it was you.
For a fraction of a minute, he actually thought it was you. His breath caught in his throat and he took a step forward before reality sank in and he retreated. It wasn't you; it was never you.
But as he watched her wrapping her arms around the man's neck, as his hands almost automatically moved to her waist, and they both smiled like idiots in love. He couldn't help but feel like he had been stabbed and the knife was being twisted inside him. Was this some type of fucked up joke by the universe? "This could be you, bad thing you lost her" The thing is, he didn't lose you- he gave up on you which was worse because maybe if he had stayed, and tried a little harder, you would still be together.
He staggered back a few steps, and if he hadn't reached the wall, he would've fallen considering he already felt his knees buckle as all the bottled-up emotions from the past five months came crashing onto him; he was overwhelmed by his own feelings, eyes blurry with tears as a lump formed in his throat and the weight on his chest got heavier.
Blindly, almost unconsciously, he reached for his phone in the inside pocket of his jacket. His thumb hovered above your name in the contacts list. The message he typed was brief:
"Are you home?"
He didn't get a reply, he wasn't waiting for one. The moment he hit send his legs were already moving, practically running towards the street to hail a cab. He gave the driver your address, and it came out of his mouth easily, as if he had never stopped saying it.
You were in the shower when his message came through, you didn't pay the loud notification much attention, not even caring to glance at the device when you heard the familiar ding. You prioritized the small occasions you got to take care of yourself when your job is to take care of others.
Now freshly showered and in the kitchen making tea- the next step on your little routine- you hear a knock on the door, a distinct knock, a knock you could never forget, not even a billion years from now. Your heart stopped for a moment, heartbeat pounding in your ears, you didn't quite register you were moving towards the door until it was open and he was standing there, his brown eyes open wide once he registered your presence, reacting as though you opening the door was the last thing he expected. You just stood there for a few seconds, staring at each other until Spencer wrapped you in his arms like he used to, his nostrils flooding with the smell of your shampoo and body wash, smells he recognized all too well, smells that felt like home.
You pushed him away, shattering the brief feeling of happiness he had started to feel.
"What are you doing here?" You asked almost a little too loud in an attempt to hide the hurt in your voice
"I miss you" he replied eyes searching for yours.
You stood there, arms folded, trying to hide how weak those words made you feel. He had no right to miss you, not after leaving the way he did.
Why should I care? You thought to yourself. He made it clear that he didn’t care about you, but you cared, you cared so deeply that it made your heart ache.
You were not going to let him in.
"You can't just stop talking to me and then come here like nothing happened, Spence." You couldn't help using the nickname, your voice falsely steady, trying to hide the pain.
"I know, I just-can I come in?" No reply "Please"
You hesitated, gripping the door handle tighter as a tornado of emotions swirled on your chest. Anger. Hurt. Loneliness. You wanted to slam the door in his face, make him feel a small fraction of what you felt over the past 5 months. But buried beneath all these harsh feelings, there was something softer, something you felt ashamed to acknowledge: the echo of all the nights you stayed up worrying about him and what could happen in his work, all the mornings you woke up without the smell of coffee lingering through the apartment.
You let him in.
You tried to convince yourself that letting him in was about answers- you deserved an explanation, some sort of closure at least. But as you stepped aside and watched him walk past you knew that wasn’t the whole truth.
Because no matter how much he’d hurt you, part of you still longed for the man he used to be.
“This doesn’t change anything.” You muttered, as much to yourself as to him. He gave a slight nod in reply, eyes watering. Damn him and his big brown eyes.
As you were turning around after closing the door behind you, he captured you in a hug again and you couldn't help but wrap your arms around him too.
★
Somehow, he ended up asleep in your bed and as you gaze at his peaceful resting face, your mind tells you to wake him up, tell him to go home and never come back, tell him that he doesn't get to leave and reappear whenever it suits him, tell him that he can fuck off for breaking your heart like that. Yet, you don't do any of that, because your heart tells you not to.
tysm for reading, likes and reblogs are always deeply appreciated
@angellic4l it's finally here bestieee!
#mwah#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid angst#some angsty angst for ya#criminal minds#criminal minds fandom#post prison reid#your honor they are in love
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Smarter
Smarter insight 1 insight 2
Leah Williamson x reader
Warnings: Cheating, talks of IVF, definitely could have been better so might edit it later but here we go
You’re crying again, you didn’t think you could cry anymore but the tears running down your puffy red cheeks say otherwise.
It’s heartbreaking the sight of you curled up on your bed, wrapped around Leah who hasn’t cried since coming home from the check up.
It’s another fail in your IVF journey, you’ve failed again, you have failed Leah again but still she’s here comforting you.
She lays there with you wrapped around her until she thinks you’ve finally fallen asleep and then she tries to slip out, away from you, from your constant tears that she can’t take anymore m, she needs to get out and the best thing she can think to do is to go for a run.
Only you stir “Le, where-where are you going.” Leah freezes the floorboards creeking slightly “I-i just I need to go clear my head it’s-I just need to go for a run.” You want to ask her to come back to bed to stay with you, to tell her you will get through this together, that it’s better if you do but that’s selfish and you have been so, so selfish recently. “Ok.” You say quietly and with that small nod of approval from you Leah’s gone.
Leah doesn’t know how long she’s been running for when she first spots HER and for the first time all day her mind is void of you. SHES gorgeous, absolutely stunning and she’s running right towards her.
Leah doesn’t know what comes over her as she does a u turn to chase after the gorgeous girl that’s just smiled her but she finds herself running beside her, her eyes flicking between her and the path before SHE stops.
“Hi.” Leah stops her hands on her hips sucking in air “I’m sorry I just-I saw you and I thought wow and, and.” SHE laughs and before Leah knows it’s they are sat in the park cafe chatting and laughing, Leah doesn’t know what time it is and frankly she doesn’t care this is the first time in weeks she’s laughed and not had to deal with a crying wife.
Everything is so nice and easy until SHE questions why Leah was running g so fast. “I-I’m going through something, my-my wife and I are going through something.” SHE reaches over grabbing Leah’s hand stroking it softly “it’s ok I’m sure it will workout.” Leah shakes her head “I-I don’t know if it will, my wife she-she’s in the middle of IVF and it’s not working-it never seems to work.” SHE softens “That’s not your fault, you can’t do anything about it.” Leah shakes her head “But am I not an asshole for just leaving her-I mean she’s at home crying and I-I’m here.”
SHE shakes her head “You need comfort too, she’s actually being selfish not comforting you as well, I mean it’s hard for you too.”
The conversation continues and SHE continues to “comfort” Leah telling her it’s going to be ok, their hands don’t part even after the Cafe owner throws them out.
“My house is just across the street.” It’s all Leah needs to hear before she’s sitting at the kitchen another tea in hand as SHE flits around content on cooking.
Leah doesn’t know how or when it happened maybe after SHE brought a spoon to her lips begging her to try the sauce but suddenly they are kissing, and then suddenly Leah is pushing HER through the bedroom door.
Leah knows this is wrong as she strips, as she twists off her wedding band and throws it towards her cloths but SHE’S gorgeous, the voice the tiny small voice screams in the back of her mind as they push forward, it scream about you, how you are still there, still at home crying, but SHE’S not SHE’S not crying not seeking comfort and draining Leah’s every emotion, no SHE’S soft and her lips are plump and her breast are perfect and SHE’S not crying and begging to be held, SHE’S not begging to be told it’s going to be ok as another round of IVF fails.
SHE’S gorgeous and she’s all Leah can think about on the drive home, right until the moment she walks through the door and your body crashes into hers, as you wrap yourself around her whispering into her chest how much you missed her.
It should never of happened but it did, it should be a one time mistake but it wasn’t, she should never have left you but she did and now she’s lost you.
#woso#mysunshinetemptress#woso fanfics#mysunshinetemptressasks#woso imagine#woso one shot#awfc#leah williamson#leah williamson x y/n#leah williamson imagine#woso asks#woso writers#woso couple#woso couples#woso community#woso soccer#woso x reader#woso appreciation#woso blurbs#leah williamson x you#leah williamson x reader#Leah Williamson Cheater#smarter#insights
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ex's and snow II Leah Williamson x Reader
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romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 3583
summary: a snow-covered hut in the Swiss Alps with a few good friends and ex-girlfriend Leah Williamson. Can the former lovers find each other again before the snow melts, or are they simply not meant to be together?
author's note: our first fanfic of 2025, we took our time and tried to make it a bit longer than usual and hope you like it.🥰🥰
The laughter got stuck in your throat when you saw your ex-girlfriend in the corridor.
Just seconds before, you were talking to Mariona and Ana Maria about a funny moment in the dressing room when you were all still playing for Barcelona. The short walk from the car to the cozy looking cottage had felt to you like a scene from the Last Christmas music video where good friends were having a good time together in a snow-capped cottage like this one was.
The magic of the enchanting setting was gone when you looked into the blue eyes of your former lover.
“Leah.”, you muttered in utter shock.
The looks she was sending you across the room were cold as the ice: ”You.”
Behind your back Mariona, Lia and Ana Maria stood silently as they watched the drama unfold in front of their eyes.
Both of your heads turned around to shot deadly glances at your mutual friend. “Keira Fae Walsh!”
“I didn’t do anything.”, she clarified, raising her hands innocently.
Slowly you shook your head: “No, you didn’t tell me she was going to be the surprise guest.”
“If I had known she would be here, I wouldn’t have come.”, Leah said spitefully.
The midfielder rolled her eyes in annoyance: “Stop whining, you both wanted to be included so I invited you both. You’ll survive.”
Knowing that there would only be three bedrooms and a sofa in the cabin plus two couples you turned hopeful to your former Barcelona teammate:” Ana we will share a room, right?”
“Sorry, you'll have to share.”, Ana Maria explained, destroying your hope for some peace in the night and nodding in the direction where your ex-girlfriend was sitting with her arms crossed in front of her chest.
“What, no way!”, you protested.
A mischievous smile played on the Swiss woman’s lip: “Oh come on, you’ll survive. Keira and Lucy are exes and get along too.”
“That’s different.”, you told her. Their breakup has been smooth with no hard edges unlike yours with the England national team captain.
She quickly commented:” Yeah, they’ve a dog together.”
“Luckily, we never got a dog.”, you countered brusquely. Even though you were aware that ever since Lucy and Keira adopted the West Highland Terrier Narla the two of you dreamed of a dog yourself.
With an amused smile on her face Lia had followed your verbal duel until asking everyone cheerfully: “Before someone murders her ex-girlfriend and turns this into a cozy mystery, would anyone like a hot chocolate?”
“I do.”, Laura announced smiling, holding hands with the Barcelona midfielder. While Keira’s head rested on the older woman’s shoulder.
“Amor, I’d like one as well.”, Mariona beamed at her Swiss girlfriend.
Grinning, Lia kissed the Spaniard on the cheek:” Of course, I’ll make you one.”
Seeing the four being this in love with each other, showed through those simple gestures, was equally heartwarming to you as well as a bit painful, reminding you of your own singleness.
You tried to cover up your own feelings with a half-joke: “I think I’ll need something stronger than that to survive this weekend.”
Without missing a beat, Laura send you a smirk from across the room: “You can put something stronger into your hot chocolate. We came prepared.”
She got up from her seat next to Keira and opened a cabinet, revealing a surprisingly large collection of liquor bottles. Grabbing a bottle of Irish Cream, she came back and poured a generous amount into your hot chocolate.
You didn’t protest. You just smiled mischievously at her: “You’re the best.”
“It’s not my first winter vacation in a cabin.”, she winked back while pouring some alcohol into her own mug.
“I can tell. It’s quite cozy actually, except for that pouting blonde sitting next to your girlfriend.” You nodded towards Keira who had changed seats to sit next to Leah and was now whispering quietly to her.
Laura only raised a knowing eyebrow at you and grinned: “Don’t worry we can spike her drink too.”
“Oh, she’s horrible when she’s drunk. You should have seen her after the Euros final.”, you laughed, thinking back to the summer of 2022.
“Really?”
You nodded: “Yes, I think I’ve never deleted that video of her in our hotel room.”
Pulling out your phone to show Laura the video, you tried to fight back a fond smile. Everything had felt easier and lighter back then, not just because you won the tournament. Now, looking at the footage of a younger, more relaxed Leah pirouetting around the room, your heart started to ache again.
“Oh, that’s hilarious.”, Laura smiled as she watched your phone screen where Leah drunkenly fell over and pulled the curtains of the hotel room down with her. You both had had a few too many celebratory drinks that night and you really thought it was the funniest thing you had ever seen.
“She refused to fall sleep after that. No one slept for more than two hours that night.”, you continued to explain, the memories filling you with a nostalgic kind of happiness.
Laura laughed politely: “I heard some of those stories from Kei. It sounded like you all had a good time back then.”
“We did but then she changed so much… You know, the fame. Everything happened so fast afterwards.”
Your break-up had been like a tornado. It came suddenly and without warnings. All you knew back then was that Leah was busy with fashion stuff and advertisements and suddenly, she wasn’t your Leah anymore.
Lauras face turned serious, her eyebrows knotting together: “Wait, that was the reason you two broke up?”
“Yes.”
“I heard it was super messy.”, Mariona contributed to your conversation, sliding closer to you and away from the rest of the group.
“You can say that again.”, you sighed.
On the other side of the room, Keira and Leah had their own conversation.
“Kei, I’ll never forgive you.”, Leah hissed at her best friend.
“It’s not that bad, Leah.”
The defender rolled her eyes: “Sure, maybe for you.”
Keira groaned with frustration: “You’re so dramatic!”
Suddenly Leah decided: “I’ll lay down before dinner.”
“What about your hot chocolate?”, the midfielder frowned.
She had barely spoken the words when Lia handed the blonde a steaming cup that smelled deliciously of chocolate.
“Oh, thank you, Wally.”, she mumbled gratefully before sipping the hot drink.
With a warm smile the brunette promised: “Drink it, you’ll feel better afterwards.”
“Does she magically go away after I finished drinking this too?”, Leah wanted to know from her in a hopeful tone.
Hearing that question Lia chuckled:” No.”
“Sad.”, she pouted, closing her eyes for dramatic effect, wishing you’d somehow disappear like you did in the past.
No complaining about her change since you were gone, no one saying that the fame did change her character not for the better, but for the worse.
Wasn’t the England captain so much happier now? Or did the ACL injury made her slow down again to be in the here and now, forcing her to be more selective of the time she had. If you had stayed with her longer, you’d have witnessed it firsthand. The only thing Leah was certain of was that you were the reason her thoughts were running wild.
Clearing her throat the Arsenal midfielder innocently suggested:” Maybe just try to be open for the situation.”
“I hate you both so much.”, the defender growled.
Still smiling Lia stated: “No you don’t.”
“What are we eating?”, Leah swiftly changed the topic.
Amused the Swiss woman lifted an eyebrow:” Why? Are you hangry?”
“Yes, I’m indeed very hangry.”, she confirmed.
Her Arsenal teammate couldn’t help but to start laughing about her dramatics: “Typical.”
Leah knew she wasn’t known for her cooking skills, so the blonde offered:” I’ll do the cleaning who’s going to cook?”
“I can cook.”, Mariona volunteered.
“I’ll help you with that, Mario.”, you responded, squeezing her shoulder slightly. Back in Barcelona the two of you often cooked for your teammates, it was a passion you both shared and over the years you became a good team in the kitchen.
“And Leah and I’ll clean.”, Keira threw in.
As always, when the cooked food was on the table, it was eaten up far too quickly, at least you could see from the satisfied smiles on the faces of your friends that they had enjoyed it and the sight of it was what made you incredibly happy.
When the chatting and laughing was over, you all went to bed. As you closed the door behind you, you realized that you had to share the bedroom with none other than your ex-girlfriend, and to avoid her for a while longer, you stayed in the small bathroom for an extra-long time.
You took a few deep breaths to brace yourself, watching yourself in the mirror as you did. You then changed into a pair of pyjama pants and an oversized shirt before exiting the bathroom.
Leah was already lying on her side of the bed, one hand on her flat stomach: “God, I’m so full.”
You couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes: “You never know when to stop.”
“It was too delicious.”, Leah shrugged, unbothered by the judgemental tone in your voice.
You didn’t feel like discussing with her so you just sighed: “I’m going to bed now.”
Leah watched as you climbed into your side of the kingsize bed and turned off the lights.
“Night.”
Sleep came surprisingly easy as soon as you were cozied up under the warm blanket. That was until someone gently shook you awake a few hours later. You didn’t open your eyes, you only managed to groan and bury yourself deeper into the sheets.
“Hey, I think the heater broke down… It’s s-so cold.”, Leah whispered, her teeth chattering with every other word.
“What?”, you yawned, too sleepy to understand anything she said.
“Can I get under your blanket? It’s freezing?”
Still half asleep, you lifted your blanket to let Leah crawl in. “Fine.”
”Thanks.”
Her shivering body pressed against your side, the two blankets laying in a big pile on top of the two of you. Leah felt so cold next to you that you had to pull her in, willingly sharing your body heat with her. “Come closer.”
The defender wrapped her arms around you, her skin icy against yours: “How is your body so hot?”
“Don’t know. You tell me.”, you grinned with your eyes closed.
Leah snorted about that before turning serious again: “No, really. You’re not getting a cold, are you?”
“Not with you warming me.”, you continued to joke.
“Good because Arsenal needs their captain.”
Finally you turned to your side, directly facing her: “Oh, so you should survive and I can freeze to death?”
“No, that’s not what I meant. Just that we both can’t get sick right now.”
You nodded slightly: ”Okay, that’s fair.”
The winter break would end soon and neither of you wanted to miss out on training.
You both went quiet for a short moment.
“I saw that… you played a great Champions League campaign so far.”, Leah suddenly admitted quietly into the dark.
You took those words in, unsure what to do with them.
“Are you saying you still watch my games?”
“Sometimes I do.”, she confessed quietly. But the blonde didn't add, because of Keira or Ellie, so you wondered if that included you.
However, you were too afraid to ask her about it and instead teased her about her beloved club: “ I couldn’t get myself to watch Arsenal this season, the beginning of their WSL campaign was so depressing.”
“Excuse me?”, she huffed, her figure looming over you.
Amused, you stifle a smile, it was very easy to wind her up: “Yeah, okay, Keira told me it got better after your female coach took over.”
“Yes, it did.”, Leah confirmed matter-of-factly.
Even though you could feel her intense gaze on you, you began to feel sleepy: “That’s great for you, you must be very happy right now.”
“Sure, believe that.”, the defender smiled sadly, which you didn’t see anymore because your eyes were already closed.
You slipped softly into sleep.
The next morning, Ana tugged gently on her friend's upper arm:” Come on, Kei. We shouldn't wake them up yet, they look so cosy.”
“Look at how tight Leah is holding on to her. She was totally lying about having no feelings for her anymore.”, the midfielder observed.
Her girlfriend continued:” And the one who’s laying in her arms hasn’t let go off their shared past either otherwise she wouldn’t keep videos with Leah on her phone.”
“Let them sleep. Let’s go and make breakfast.”, Lia spoke up.
Glancing at the Swiss Woman Mariona’s face lit up while she talked: “I could really need a coffee or two to be fair.”
“Me too.”, Keira replied.
The Spaniard cheerfully concluded: “Time to get the coffee machine going then.”
“On it.”, Lia answered in a good mood.
The smell of ground coffee beans and the golden rays of the sun touching your face and hers woke you both up.
“It smells of coffee.”, you mumbled happily.
Leah shook her head in amusement: “I hope they made some tea as well.”
“Ugh, I’ll never understand how anyone can hate coffee.”, you remarked.
She immediately countered:” And I will never fall victim to the coffee addiction that you all obviously suffer from.”
The two of you made their way to the open kitchen, where your friends were already there. Their faces were illuminated by the morning light, an open window was letting in some fresh mountain air while they were almost done with preparing the breakfast for an adventurous day ahead.
“Good morning, girls.”, the Arsenal captain greeted them smiling, hugging Lia from behind.
The brunette returned her grin:” Morning. I guess that means no coffee for you?”
“Oh, yes is that tea for me?”, she hummed delighted.
“Yes.”, Mariona confirmed as she pushed the steaming mug towards the blonde defender.
Leah took a deep breath, taking in the smell of the tea before she wrapped her hands around it: “Amazing.”
“You’re welcome.”
After taking a sip from her steaming hot drink, Leah looked at the group in front of her: “So what are we doing on our first full day here?”
“Skiing!”, Laura beamed at her.
You saw Keiras eyes widen nervously in the background, and you had to stop yourself from laughing.
“Yes, it’ll be so fun. For the ones who don’t know how to do that we have sledges.”, Lia explained patiently.
You knew exactly what that meant. Laura, Lia and Ana would enjoy their time on the ski slopes while the rest of you were stuck with sledges.
Leah didn’t seem too excited about that plan: “Just great.”
To lighten the mood and to spite Leah, you asked the group: “Sledge race anyone?”
“I’m in!”, Mariona nodded quickly.
Leah rolled her eyes which usually would have offended you if it weren’t for the way the corners of her mouth lifted into a smile: “Such children.”
Mariona and you got up from the table, ready to get dressed for a day in the snow.
In the meantime, Lia leaned over to her teammate and whispered: “You should talk with one of those children later if you ask me.”
“Shut it, Lia.”, the defender replied.
“No, deep down you know I’m right.”
“No.”
“Yes.”, Keira finally said, raising on eyebrow at her best friend.
“Guys.”, Leah sighed with a pleading tone which was deliberately ignored by her friends.
“Just trust us, Lee.”
“No.”
This time it was Keira who sighed with frustration: “I wish you two weren’t as stubborn.”
“We’re not.”, Leah said cooly and got up from the table, ending the conversation abruptly.
No one said anything about it for the rest of the day. You were too busy playing in the snow. The sledge racing quickly turned into a snowball fight which then turned into you all trying to build a snowman together until the sun set.
Your face and hands still felt frozen when you returned to your bedroom in the cabin. With a tired but satisfied sigh, you let yourself fall onto the bed.
“You look pretty done.”, Leah smirked as she pulled her cold, wet sweater off of her body.
You tried your best not to look so you stared at the ceiling: “In my defense, it was a long day and my manager just called to tell me that I have to leave early tomorrow.”
“You’re leaving again?”
You frowned. Was there actually a slight hint of disappointment in your exes’ voice?
You must have imagined that.
“Yeah… I have to go.”, you confirmed.
“Oh.”, she sounded disappointed.
You suspected with a heavy heart: “I bet you’ll be happy to have one day without me.”
Much to your both surprise the blonde revealed: “Actually I was just getting used to you.”
“Used to me?”, you repeated, puzzled.
The England captain shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly:” Yeah. You’re less annoying than I remember.”
“Excuse me? You’re way more annoying than me.”, you quickly corrected her. In a serious tone you reminded your former girlfriend:” You were the one who had to attend every event, take each interview, miss out on date nights and our friends’ parties.”
As she listened to your accusations, Leah wrapped her arms around herself protectively. “Because I had to, not because I wanted to.”, the defender clarified earnestly.
You remembered loudly, the memories of your breakup returning to you in waves:” You didn’t even cry when I left.”
“What would that have changed?”, your ex-girlfriend asked.
Your voice trembled with both anger and sadness: “It would have shown that you cared about us!”
“I did care!”, Leah hissed back.
You snorted in disbelief: “Sure, Leah.”
“Okay, fine. Believe whatever you want, you’re gone tomorrow anyway.”, she waved it off.
“You were serious.”, you realized.
A frustrated sigh escaped her lips: “Of course I was.”
“Do you think we were together at the wrong time and place?”, you questioned cautiously.
The Arsenal player took the time to think thoroughly about your question before replying: “Maybe we were.”
“Who knows, right?”
“Not us. If we could just go back in time.”, Leah begun with a longing expression on her face.
You promptly interrupted her:” But we can’t. It’s impossible until time travel is possible.”
“Obviously.”, she said annoyed.
“Don’t eye roll at me, Leah Catherine.”, you warned her with a half-crooked smile on your lips.
The defender cheekily raised an eyebrow: “Or what?”
“Or I’m afraid I’ll have to shut you up somehow.”, you explained.
Leah nervously ran her hand through her loose hair, which shone silvery in the moonlight. “Somehow? You used to do that by..”, the blonde reminisced.
“Kissing you, yes.”, you ended the sentence for her. The air was full of anticipation.
She moistened her dry lips: “You’re not trying to do that, right?”
“What if I did?”, you boldly posed.
“But what about tomorrow?”, the defender pointed out.
You returned her gaze with the same intensity: “I told you I’ll leave.”
“We shouldn’t waste more time then.”, Leah decided, her face only centimetres from yours.
Before you could reply, her lips were on yours. Your heart skipped a beat and for a moment it almost felt like nothing had changed since the last time she had kissed you like that. Your brain went to autopilot, your body took over. Wrapping your arms around her neck, you pulled her closer. Your kisses grew hungrier, more impatient. Despite the knowledge that she was your ex, your body ached for her. You wanted her right then and there.
Apparently, Leah felt the same way when she pushed you back on your shared better, her lips never leaving yours. It was almost muscle memory how your hands slid under her sweater, caressing the body that you knew so well. You hadn’t realized how much you missed it.
The next morning, you stayed in bed as long as possible, sneaking kisses and holding hands on your way downstairs for breakfast. Before you entered the kitchen, you kissed Leah one last time on bottom step. Unbeknownst to you, you were being watched through the ajar kitchen door.
“Girls, look!”, Ana said from her seat on the kitchen table.
“What?”, Lia asked as she appeared in the open door, leaving the scrambled eggs unattended on the stove.
Keira pushed the other midfielder aside so she could see what was going on: “Didn’t she want to leave already?”
“I heard her call her management this morning to tell them we were still snowed in.”, Mariona explained, smiling knowingly into her coffee.
This caused a few gasps in the kitchen.
Only then you realized that you were being watched. You didn’t mind, you already knew that this was their plan all along.
Nobody said anything when you sat down at the table, they were trying their best to act casual and went on to prepare breakfast. You subtly reached for Leahs hand under the table. She smiled at you but your attention was directed towards the snowflakes drifting past the window.
A big part of you was hoping that your lie turned into reality, that the snowfall would be getting worse and you would have a few more days here.
But for now, you were comforted by the thought that you had your Leah back.
gif source: https://www.tumblr.com/tracksuitlesbian/769781520922755072?source=share
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Hellooo :]
Pomefiore, 6, hurt/comfort
I'm so excited to see what you come up with! <3
I have once again succumbed to vil, I'm trying to choose others for pomefiore but... vil...
Last Thread || Vil Schoenheit
For the Holiday Event! || Prompt: "Say that again" ; Genre: Hurt/Comfort
The argument had started small—a passing comment about your schedule, a critique of his relentless perfectionism—but it spiraled out of control before either of you could stop it.
"You're impossible sometimes, Vil," you said, your voice rising. "It's like you don't even listen to me!"
"And you think I’m being unreasonable?" Vil snapped back, his tone colder than you’d ever heard it. "Forgive me for expecting excellence!"
It stung, hearing that edge in his voice, like a blade cutting through the bond you cherished.
"Vil, this isn't about excellence. It's about you shutting me out and treating me like—like I don’t matter!"
He flinched, the sharpness in your words hitting their mark. You didn’t want to hurt him, but it felt like the only way to get through.
“I would never—” He paused, his hands trembling slightly before he crossed his arms to steady them. “Why can’t you understand that this is who I am? This is what I need to do!”
“Maybe I do understand, but I can’t keep standing here feeling like I’m walking on eggshells around you,” you retorted, frustration bubbling over. “I love you, Vil, but I cannot stand to be here right now!”
You grabbed your coat from the back of the chair and turned toward the door, your heart aching even as your hand reached for the handle.
“Wait.” His voice cracked, and the sound rooted you in place.
When you turned back, you saw something in his eyes you rarely saw: fear. True, unguarded fear. His lips parted as he spoke, barely above a whisper.
“Say that again.”
You froze, realizing what he meant. His composure, the armor he wore so well, was gone. His violet eyes were wide, vulnerable.
You sighed, your heart softening as you stepped closer. Slowly, you cupped his cheeks, the tension in his jaw melting under your touch.
“I love you, Vil,” you said, your voice soft but steady. “But I need some air. I’ll come back. I promise.”
He closed his eyes, leaning into your palms like he was holding onto the words, clutching them tightly in his heart. He nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement, but you could feel the relief in it.
You pressed a kiss to his forehead before stepping back and leaving, the air outside sharp and cold against your skin.
When you returned an hour later, Vil was sitting on the couch, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. His hair was slightly disheveled, and he looked like he hadn’t moved since you left.
The moment you stepped inside, he stood, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of anxiety and hope.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his voice firm but tinged with vulnerability. “For shutting you out, for making you feel like you didn’t matter. You do. More than anything.”
You stepped closer, setting your coat aside. “I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I needed you to hear me.”
“I hear you,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I can’t lose you. You’re the only person who sees me—truly sees me—and I…” His breath hitched as he struggled to find the words. “I need you.”
You didn’t let him finish. Instead, you closed the gap between you, wrapping your arms around him. He clung to you, his grip almost desperate as he buried his face in your shoulder.
“I’m here,” you murmured, running a soothing hand down his back. “I’m not going anywhere.”
For a while, neither of you spoke. You just held each other, the silence between you heavy with unspoken words and mutual understanding.
Eventually, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands resting on your shoulders. “I’ll do better. For you.”
“And I’ll be here,” you said with a small smile. “For you.”
He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re my last thread holding me together, darling.”
“Then I’ll never let go,” you promised, sealing it with a kiss.
we like communication and peaceful argument resolution in this house
Masterlist
#twst#twst x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland#vil schoenheit x reader#vil x reader#vil schoenheit#vil#twst vil#𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 holiday event
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Guys Not My Age I (Peter Parker x Reader)
Summary: They say sometimes older men are better when it comes to relationships, but Y/N finds that isn't always the case when she wakes up in bed with a certain younger man after breaking up with a certain Winter Soldier
Warning: 18+ only, age gap relationship, older woman/younger man!, everyone is over 18!, fratboy!Peter Parker, cheater!Bucky, computergenius!reader, hacker!reader, toxicex!Bucky, consensual sex, semi public sex, heavy smut, drinking, swearing, unprotected sex, eventual pregnancy
A/N: Re-write of 'Need to Know'
Banner @vase-of-lilies Dividers @firefly-graphics
Her head throbbed and pulsated as she begun to wake up.
The overall shittyness of a hangover taking over her body as the loud, blarming phone alarm rung hard in her ears as she groaned. She buried her face into the pillow as she felt movement coming from next to her, immediate confusion filling her mind as she heard, "Shit, sorry. Forgot that I had the stupid alarm on."
She recognized that voice even with it being laced with grogginess and sleep as she snapped open her eyes, wincing from the daylight that peeked over the curtains.
She was met with an unfamiliar room that looked like the standard college dorm: books and notes in an slight mess on the desk with a laptop hanging by it, posters on the walls and the distinct sound of boys laughing and footsteps coming down the halls.
Turning her head, her eyes widened as the memories of the previous night filled her as she resisted to gulp as she was met with the shirtless image of Peter fiddling with his phone.
The memories of the night before felt like a tidal wave washing over her as she remembered having gone out to drinks with the Avengers team to celebrate their latest takedown of yet another Hydra compound (she handled hacking into the tightly encrypted computers) and she knew Tony had partly also wanted to take her out to get her back out onto the dating scene.
She watched as Peter scratched his head for a moment, seemingly beginning to wake back up as she came to the realization of her naked body under the blanket and the realization of her memories being confirmed as she saw a glimpse of the scratches on Peter's back.
Sitting up as she tugged up the blanket, she wondered how the hell she was suppose to do a walk of shame out of her as Peter said, "anyway, want to get breakfast?"
"What?"
Peter tilted his head a little, "want to get breakfast? I thought since we were getting along so well..."
The ache between her legs from last night a reminder of how well they got along.
It wasn't like she didn't enjoy it or anything, but it was the realization that she had slept with someone nearly ten years younger than her.
"Peter, I'm-"
"I know. You're 30 and I'm 21, I don't care." Peter shrugged and she couldn't help but get distracted by his strong physique. "I told you I don't want a girl my age, I've wanted you."
It made her heart clench at statement.
"All I'm asking for is you take a chance", Peter pleaded, bringing their lips into a soft kiss.
It made her melt.
"Fine. One chance."
Peter grinned.
"But I refuse to be seen by a bunch of frat boys so you better make sure they clear out of here. I'm too old to be dealing with that."
"You're barely 30, no even that old."
Y/N downed the shot of tequila that Tony had passed her, laughing as she felt the burn in her throat and hearing Tony cheering. Say what you want about Tony, but he knew how to party as he had taken them to some nightclub that he bought for shits and giggles.
"Enjoying the burn", Tony teased, Y/N laughed.
"It's the tequila sweats that I hate", she said back.
Standing up from the little VIP booth Tony had rented for them all, Y/N scoped out her surroundings. She saw Nat dragging a bashful Steve to the dance floor, Steve was awkwardly moving around before he finally got the hang of it and began dancing with Nat. Y/N laughed as she watched Steve get down on the dance floor, she spotted Vision (who had his human form on) with Wanda near the bar as Wanda was getting another drink.
"Are you having fun?"
Y/N looked in the direction to see Peter standing there with a grin, Y/N smiled back at him.
"I wondered where you were", Y/N responded, "I always forget your 21."
"My baby face makes it that way", Peter joked.
Y/N had to admit, Peter Parker was a very attractive man, especially right now with his hair gelled back, a white button down that had the sleeves rolled up and dark slacks. Tony said Peter had changed a lot since high school, having managed to join a fraternity in his first year of college; she had only met Peter in the last year so hearing that he was anything but confident before was a little shocking since he walked around like a little mini Tony sometimes.
Peter moved a little closer to her as Tony announced that he was going to join Wanda at the bar.
Sam and Clint were missing, both men having taken some time off to go visit their families, especially for Sam since he wanted to be there for one of his nephew's birthdays.
Although, the person that everyone seemed to ignore that wasn't there was a certain Winter Soldier, but it seemed everyone was on the rocks with the man at the moment. But cheating and immediately bringing around the girl you cheated with will do that, won't it?
Of course that was the second main reason behind Tony bringing nearly all of them out to the club was because of her confiding in Tony about being ready to get back out there. She felt no issue confiding in Tony considering how close of friends they were, she was coming out in his upcoming wedding to Pepper in just a few months time.
"It's a cute baby face", Y/N teased, Peter chuckled.
"I'm glad you're having fun", Peter said, "you deserve it."
Y/N smiled as she tugged up the neckline of her red mini dress, the fabric clinging to her large breasts and hips. It was an off the shoulder dress that she chose just for the occasion with long sleeves and paired with some red bottoms that Nat was letting her borrow.
Y/N watched as Peter looked a bit indecisive as if he was second guessing himself before he blurted out, "Would you like to dance?"
"Don't you think you should be dancing with someone your own age?" she teased before Peter snaked a toned arm around her waist.
"Age is just a number, right?" Peter answered with a wink. "When it comes to two consenting adults, of course."
She wouldn't be an idiot to say she hadn't noticed the younger man's eyes roaming her figure. But she never thought much of it considering she had been in a relationship with Bucky, but that bridge was burned a lot time ago.
She was here to have fun, dance a little, drink... there was no harm in just a dance, right?
"Alright, Spiderboy", Y/N said, "show me what you got."
~
Wanna know what it's like (like) Baby, show me what it's like (like) I don't really got no type (type) I just wanna fuck all night
The sound of Doja Cat singing could be heard even in the women's restroom, the door locked in a rush as Peter pressed her harder into said door. Their tongues dancing across one another as she could taste the alcohol on his tongue, Y/N moaned as Peter slotted his knee between her legs, pressing against her wet cunt and beginning to rock her hips against him.
But Peter pulled his knee away and she whimpered, breaking the kiss for a moment before she felt one of his hands trail under her dress, finding her thong.
"You're soaked", Peter teased, she shuddered as Peter ran a finger down her slit. "I bet I could slid right in."
As if that was his cue, Peter slid a finger into her, Y/N let her head fall into Peter's chest as he slowly began to pump his finger in her.
"Don't tease", she moaned as she brought his face down to hers.
What's your size? (Size) Add, subtract, divide ('vide) Daddy don't throw no curves (curves) Hold up, I'm goin' wide (wide) We could just start at ten (ten) Then we can go to five (five) I don't play with my pen (pen) I mean what I write
She connected their lips again as Peter slid another finger into, fingering her harder now as he began to rub her clit in tight circles. Y/N cried out at the sensations as she rocked her hips in time with Peter's movements.
Peter began to trail kisses down her neck as her eyes rolled back into her head, her mouth falling open as pants escaped her mouth.
"Fuck you're beautiful", Peter said as he quickened his fingers. "Come on, Y/N, cum on me."
Y/N felt like she was in the Twilight Zone right now, but fuck it, she was enjoying it with the way Peter was fingering her. She could feel that tight knot building in her as Peter's fingers reached an area in her that made her nearly tear up in pleasure, his fingers practically massaging it as she began to tug on his hair as her toes began to curl.
"P-Peter", she panted, "gonna...cum..."
She saw Peter grin in satisfaction as her orgasm hit her like a freight train. She felt breathless and fuzzy as Peter fingered her through it before she whimpered at the overstimulation, which Peter pulled his fingers out.
"Still think I should find someone my own age?" Peter teased, she narrowed her eyes as she panted.
Peter slid his fingers into his mouth and sucked on them.
"I always knew you'd taste sweet", Peter said as she reached for his belt buckle.
Peter brought a hand up, squishing her cheeks together and forcing her lips into a pout; he pressed a sloppy kiss to her lips as she successfully managed to get unzip Peter's slacks, slipping her hand inside to begin to tease the younger man in front of her.
"Now, you wanna be a tease?" Peter groaned as he began to move her to one of the many sinks in the bathroom.
I just can't help but be sexual (whoa) Tell me your schedule (yeah) I got a lotta new tricks for you, baby Just sayin' I'm flexible (I will) I do what I can to get you off (I will)
Peter had gotten her on the sink, legs spread and her thong stuffed in one of his pockets as he began to rock into her. Her eyes rolling into the back of her head as she felt Peter hike up her leg on him higher, sending him into deeper territory and brushing up against her G-spot as he began to rub her clit in time with his rocking.
"P-Peter", she slurred, eyes beginning to water from pleasure.
"Fuck, you're squeezing me so good", Peter whined as he gripped the sink below her.
His thrusts becoming rougher as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.
Might just fuck him with my makeup on (I will) Eat it like I need an apron on (yeah, ay) Eat it 'til I need to change my thong (yeah, ay) We could do it to your favorite song (yeah, ay)
Her makeup was ruined, she was sure of it from the amount of kissing, sweat and tears. Y/N shivered as Peter bite down on a part of her neck, making her clench around her even tighter and causing him to let out more groans of pleasure, his hips slapping into her even rougher.
The sound of skin slapping skin rung in bathroom, echoing off the walls as she brought Peter's face back to her own, smashing their lips together as she squealed when her second orgasm hit her, her legs shaking and back arching.
You're exciting, boy, come find me Your eyes told me, "Girl, come ride me" Fuck that feeling both us fighting Could he try me? (Yeah) mmm, most likely
She had pushed Peter onto one of the toilets in the bathroom, his dick red and leaking when she had straddled him before sinking down onto him. Y/N shivered as she felt Peter stretching her out again and she knew she was going to be feeling him the next day as she moaned and threw her head back at the delicious stretch his cock gave her cunt again.
Peter gripped her hips before grabbing her ass and smacking it, she pulled her face towards his, connecting their lips as she begun to rock her hips.
Oh, wait, you a fan of the magic? Poof, pussy like an Alakazam (yeah) I heard from a friend of a friend That that dick was a ten out of ten
She could someone knocking on the door, but she could care less right with Peter buried so deep inside her as his hands that gripped her hips so tightly began to help rock her.
Baby, I need to know, mmm
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🕷️🕸️💻~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sometimes Y/N wondered what Peter had been like before he went to Empire State and joined his fraternity, and in this moment as they sat across from one another at one of the on-campus cafes, she figured maybe this might have been it with how he fidgeted a little.
"Nervous?" she mused, "this was your idea."
"I can't be nervous on a date with a pretty girl?" Peter remarked and she chuckled.
"Not after last night." Peter grinned and ran a hand through his fluffy, chocolate brown hair. "Besides, this isn't a date. This is you trying to convince me why I should go on a date with you."
"Sorry, it's just... I've liked you for awhile, but I didn't say anything because-"
"Because of Bucky?"
Peter looked down sheepishly and Y/N reached over to grasp his hand.
"And then when you two broke up, I didn't think it would be right to tell you because of how everything went down."
"You're doing a lot better than he did", Y/N said. "I appreciate that you waited, Peter. That's really sweet of you."
Peter grinned a boyish grin that Y/N couldn't help, but replicate back at him.
~
She had agreed to a date with Peter.
In the back of her mind, she couldn't help but think of the thoughts that others might have with her being seen with Peter. She examined her face in the mirror, trying to see if she had any wrinkles, age-related blemishes and sighed.
"You look stressed." Slightly startled, Y/N turned around to find Nat standing the doorway of her room with a curious look on her face.
"Just a little."
"Where are you off to? Hot date tonight?" Nat asked with a grin.
"About that", Y/N trailed off, looking at her outfit.
A white, blue-floral printed dress that cinched at the waist and was off the shoulder adorned her body with her keeping her makeup clean and simple, and her face loose and away from her face.
"Who's the lucky person?"
"Peter."
Nat was silent for a moment as Y/N felt the pit of anxiety in her stomach at the thought of her friend's judgement before Nat said, "well damn, didn't think the kid had the balls to make a move."
"What?" Y/N asked as she went to grab a pair of platform sandals.
"Anyone would working sense could tell the kid was eyeing your ass all the time", Nat nonchalantly said with a shrug. "Don't tell you didn't notice?"
"I noticed", Y/N defended, slipping her feet into the shoes. "I just thought it was because he was young."
"I also take it that you were with him when you disappeared from the club?"
Y/N's eyes widened as she looked away before Nat let out a laugh.
"Damn, you have to tell me all the details when you get back", Nat teased. "But I'm glad you're getting back out there again."
"You don't think it's weird? With me being older than Peter?"
"If men in their sixties can date women young enough to be their daughters, why can't you go on a date with a younger guy?" Nat shrugged.
Y/N gave Nat a smile and sucked in a breath.
"So, how do I look?" Y/N asked, posing for a moment.
"Like Parker will most likely fuck the shit out of you."
"Perfect."
Peter texted her not too long after that he had arrived and in an air of her favorite perfume, she met him out in the living room of the compound.
A sense of satisfaction fell over her as she noticed Peter's eyes raking over her body as she took in his appearance. His hair slightly gelled away from his face, a white button down shirt and black slacks framed his body.
They were alone in the living room, a rare event since the space always had at least one person present but apparently not today.
"You look amazing", Peter complimented, stretching out his hand and grasping hers.
He gently pulled her towards him as his eyes hungrily stared into hers.
"Thank you", she said with a small smirk. "I thought you'd enjoy this. Never worn it before."
Lost in their own world, they never noticed a certain figure hanging around the corner, seething as he watched Peter met her lips in a soft kiss.
His metal hand clenching into a fist as he turned away, fuming at the sight before him.
TAGLIST
@theoraekenslover
#reader insert#x reader#chubby reader#spiderman#mcu!peter parker x reader#peter parker series#peter parker x you#peter parker x reader#peter parker smut#peter parker#tom holland#tom holland x reader#tom holland x you#tom holland imagine
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P*rn ☆ Chapter 1, a familiar stranger
Masterlist Word count: 1.2 k Sylus x Fem!Reader
Summary: You have been following a spicy content creator by the name of Red Crow for some time now. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what would happen when he moves into the apartment next door.
Warning! This story is meant for mature audiences. It contains sex, swear words, porn, smoking, intimate piercings, mentions of drugs, and other mature themes. Do not engage if you are under 18.
Mature content under the cut. No graphic content yet.
∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘
'Did Rafayel find someone to rent my apartment yet,' Zayne questions as he puts two mugs of tea on your coffee table. You shrug in response.
'Haven't heard anything yet, but knowing him, it'll probably be soon.' Zayne smiles at your sulking expression. He reaches out to ruffle a hand through your hair. You quickly smack his hand away and stare at him with pretend anger.
'How have you been holding up without me?' That question is loaded, and he knows it. For the past four years, he has been your neighbor. But he has always been much more than that.
When he noticed you were living on your own, he would sometimes bring over leftovers. Some days you would come home to a note taped on your door with a request to be quiet because he had a long shift and another even longer shift coming up. You started doing the same, but with notices if you had someone over or were doing something that could cause noise. Eventually, you two got to talking and formed a familial relationship. It always felt like you had a big brother looking out for you.
Ever since he moved to the next city over to work in another hospital, you have missed him tons. Sometimes it hurts when you realize you can't just walk two steps from your front door and be talking to him. Meeting up is even more strenuous than it was before, and you miss him like crazy. It's not just the proximity though, no, it's also that you don't know everything going on in his life anymore. He's doing amazing things, meeting amazing people, helping to make the world a better place, and you barely know the names of his closest colleagues.
'I'm fine,' but your voice betrays you, trembling throughout your words. Zayne's eyes look worried, and his hand moves to touch your shoulder to comfort you. 'I'm fine, really. Just getting used to being alone in the city again.'
'You're not alone anymore. You've got Tara, and you get along alright with that new colleague of yours, right? Jeremiah?'
'I know, it's just...' He reaches out to pull you into his chest.
'I understand. I miss you too.'
'I just hope the next person is nice too,' you mumble against his shirt while he gently rubs your back. All this feels so normal, so nice. You're not sure if you'll ever fully get over not living next to Zayne anymore. It was perfect, and now it's gone. You can't blame him though. This was a very important step for his career and you're glad he did it, it just makes you feel like you're stuck in the same place all over again.
Everything just feels so stagnant, so normal. Like nothing ever changes. You can only tell that time has passed by your growing fingernails and the dust building up on your windowsill... You should really clean. It's been too long.
∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘
'This is nice,' Luke awes as he walks into Sylus’ new apartment. The place is completely empty and there's a bit of an echo, but he's right. The place is nice. That doesn't mean Sylus has to be happy about it. In fact, he's not even close to being done groaning and whining about being doxed for the third time.
Sylus grumbles: 'My last place was nice.' Kieran nudges him over the threshold of the apartment.
'Stop whining you big baby. Shit happens.' Sylus turns to him with a death glare. Kieran rolls his eyes and holds up his hands in defeat. 'Sorry man. There really isn't much else to say about it.'
Sylus knows damn well that he's right, he's just not ready to admit it. That last place was a little bit special to him. It was the first place he moved into on his own after a long relationship. He knew his job would always be an obstacle in any relationship, but he thought she had gotten over it. She clearly hadn't.
When his popularity skyrocketed, she left him. Told him she couldn't keep sharing him, no matter how many times he told her there was no one to share him with. She was part of the reason he started doing solo stuff. He even offered her to stop doing it. It wasn't even a big deal to him. That didn't matter to her.
Luke and Kieran tried to get him back to who he was, yet even they couldn't ignore the fact that he became a little different. He distanced himself, became harsher, became colder. He wasn't particularly rude or anything, just a bit off-putting if you don't know him.
'Anyway, I'm going to let your neighbor know we're moving you in this week,' Kieran states and quickly leaves the apartment. Luke gives Sylus a look.
'What,' Sylus snaps at him.
'Shouldn't you join him?' Sylus raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. Suddenly, he looks a lot bigger and a lot more intimidating.
'I just got doxed. Why would I go around introducing myself to everyone?'
Luke just shrugs. Sylus antics don't do much to him anymore after knowing him so long. 'Fair enough.'
∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘
The doorbell buzzes. It's ever so slightly longer than the average person would press a doorbell, and so ever so slightly more annoying. Mayorly more annoying because you were just dozing off cuddled up to Zayne on the couch. It has been a long time since that happened.
You groan and shift, but Zayne tightens his grip. 'Don't go.' His voice is gravelly, tired, a little strained. For a little while you're considering it, but then the bell buzzes a second time. Longer this time.
'It's just for a second,' you whisper back. He nods and his grip loosens. You get off his chest and quickly shuffle to the front door. When you open it, you have to take a few seconds to digest the picture in front of you. 'Kieran? Why are you here? Does Tara need something?'
It seems his head short-circuits just like yours has as he takes a few seconds to answer. 'Eh, no. I didn't know you live here. I'm just... I'm helping a friend move in. I'm doing a round to warn people about the noise.'
'Oh, good to know. Thank you. Who's your friend?'
'His name is Sylus but he's a pretty private person, so I can't promise you he'll stop by to introduce himself.'
'Fair enough,' you respond while you think back to how Zayne used to be. It was a similar situation. Took more than half a year before you two would even greet each other when passing in the hallway. 'Well, give Tara my best. I'll probably see you soon.'
'I will. See ya.'
'Who was that,' Zayne asks from the couch.
'Friend of the new neighbor. He's moving in this week.' You grab your phone from the coffee table to check if Rafayel send anything about a new tenant, instead you see a notification from Red Crow's socials. A new post.
"No smutty chapter this Friday. I have a busy week. Maybe if you beg, I'll record myself getting off."
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#lads sylus#l&ds sylus#lnds sylus#sylus#love and deepspace sylus#sylus love and deepspace#sylus x reader#sylus x mc#sylus x fem!reader#lads sylus smut#l&ds sylus smut#lnds sylus smut#sylus smut#love and deepspace sylus smut#sylus love and deepspace smut#sylus x reader smut#sylus x mc smut#sylus x fem!reader smut#lads sylus fanfiction#l&ds sylus fanfiction#lnds sylus fanfiction#sylus fanfiction#love and deepspace sylus fanfiction#sylus love and deepspace fanfiction#sylus x reader fanfiction#sylus x mc fanfiction#sylus x fem!reader fanfiction#lads sylus fanfic#l&ds sylus fanfic#lnds sylus fanfic
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𝘊𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭 — 𝘓𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘻𝘰 𝘉.
𝘓𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘻𝘰 𝘉𝘦𝘳𝘬𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳
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Synopsis: Lorenzo was never big on relationships; he had only ever been in one — one which resulted in heartbreak and him sulking in his room for a month. Since then, he’s vowed to only have meaningless sex with girls, nothing more. When the two of you have sex one drunken night, you agree to have sex with no attachments. But one of you wants more.
Warnings: Suggestive content (no actual smut), vulgar language, very short, there’s one mention of Y/n (I’m so sorry), dialogue-heavy, not proofread, angst, & no happy ending.
Songs: Casual by Chappell Roan, Kaleidoscope by Chappell Roan, Somethin’ Stupid by Frank Sinatra & Nancy Sinatra, & Dealer by Lana Del Rey.
A/N: Hello! This is the first time I’m actually posting something I’ve written so I hope it’s not too much of a letdown. It was written on a whim so please ignore any inconsistencies or repetitive words.
There’s chatter scattered throughout the Slytherin common room, most of it coming from the group of boys sprawled out on the velvet green sofa — most of it coming from Draco complaining about Harry. You weren’t paying much attention to him, though. Your eyes were glued on Lorenzo staring at you with a sly grin.
When Draco had finished his monologue on his supposed enemy, Theodore was done with three missing assignments in Transfiguration, and Blaise had counted all the ice in his glass twenty-two separate times. You, however, had been gone the moment his speech had hit the ten-minute mark. As much as you loved Draco, you could not bear to listen to him talk for another moment. So, instead, you stood in front of your mirror, pinning your hair up. You wore a long, flowy, cream-colored nightgown, one that cascaded down your body so, very elegantly.
“Cute.” You hear the familiar voice echo from behind you, a small smile plays on your lips as you see Lorenzo’s reflection locking the door. Then, you feel his arms wrap tightly around your waist.
“You’re early,” you whisper, to which he only groans against your neck in response. “You should really start knocking, as well.”
“Missed you.” He leaves a feather-like kiss on the exposed skin of your shoulder, ignoring your lecture.
A light pink flushes across your cheeks, and his hand moves lower. You feel his breath fan against your collarbone, making you instinctively close your eyes.
“You were looking at me quite a bit today, I think you may need to tone it down, Enz. The others may start suspecting something.” Your voice is breathy, but you can’t help it. Not when his hands touch you like they are.
“Would that be a bad thing?” He pulls away, moving his hands to your lower back, gently leading you to your bed.
The mattress molds beneath your body, and his lips meet yours. The kiss is soft, it tastes like coffee and honey. It almost takes away from the harsh reality of the situation — you’re lying in bed with a man who does not feel anything for you. The kiss is cruel, it tastes bitter and deceitful.
You pull away, “Enzo, stop.”
He does. His body moves away from yours.
“Are you okay?” He asks, almost as if panicked.
“Yeah.” Lie. “I just — um, I’m not really feeling it, y’know?” Liar.
“Oh.” He swallows, “Right. I’ll be on my way, then.”
You watch him leave, and a pit forms in your stomach. It resides there for the rest of the night.
The next day, you sit in the courtyard, eyes scanning the words of your book, Lorenzo quietly slides onto the bench next to you.
“Whatcha’ doing?” He looks over your shoulder, startling you slightly.
“Gods — you scared me.” You hear a mumbled apology, closing your book. “What do you want?”
“Why do you always assume I want something? What if I just wanted to say hi to my favorite girl?”
“It’s never just ‘saying hi’ with you, Lorenzo.” There’s a bite in your tone.
“Are you mad at me or something?”
This isn’t fair to him, being mean because he doesn’t want you isn’t fair. You agreed to this, you agreed to emotionless sex; it isn’t his fault it’s not emotionless for you anymore. It’s not his fault he looks at you with the softest eyes, it’s not his fault he touches you so sweetly, it’s not his fault you cling to every moment with him and analyze every second of it. It’s not his fault.
“No, sorry. I’ve just had a rough day, not your fault.” You force a friendly smile.
“Oh. Maybe I can cheer you up, then.” He says, “I have something I want to show you at sunset. I’ll come find you.”
His lips meet your forehead, placing a gentle kiss. Asshole.
You should’ve said no to him, told him to fuck off, and ended things. You would’ve said no if you had gotten the chance to, if he hadn’t kissed your forehead — you probably would’ve said no. Maybe. Definitely. No. No, you wouldn’t have. As much as you resent him for it, he has you in his pocket; from that first night with him, he’s had you in his pocket. He knows that, too.
Three soft knocks fall at your door, opening it, you see Lorenzo standing opposite of you. He’s wearing medium-wash jeans and a plain white tee, his hair is wet and perfectly messy.
“Hey,” his voice is raspier than usual.
“Hi.” You lock the door behind you, and his hand intertwines with yours. “So, where are we going?”
“It’s a secret, my dear. But I can tell you, you’re going to think it’s beautiful.”
“You’re so sure of yourself.”
He snorts in response, “That’s because I know you, and I know you’ll like it. You’re easily impressed.”
“Fuck you.” You roll your eyes.
“Right now? In the middle of the corridor? Scandalous.” He fakes a gasp, and your cheeks taint a light pink.
He leads you out of the castle and to a secluded spot of the Black Lake, trees overlook the area, and the setting sun reflects off the water most beautifully.
“Take off your dress.” His voice sounds from behind you.
“Excuse me?”
“No, I meant — we’re going swimming — not… that.”
“Enzo, I’m not getting in that water. It’s cold out.” You turn around to see him already undressing.
“It’s fine.” He stands shirtless in his boxers, “And I promise if you get hypothermia or drown or something, I’ll save you.” He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear.
“From hypothermia?” You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms.
“Yup. I’ll warm you up with my body heat.” He promises.
“That’s not how it works.”
“Whatever,” he drags his word out, “You’re being too critical. I’m getting in, you can follow if you’d like.” Another forehead kiss.
A sigh escapes your lip as he carefully treads into the water, ultimately, you end up unzipping your dress, leaving you in your underwear. You go after him.
“See? It’s not bad.” His hand grabs yours, helping you in. Don’t read into it, he’s just being kind.
“No, it’s fucking horrible.” Your torso is now engulfed by the cold water.
“Give it a minute, baby, your body will adjust to the temperature.”
In moments like this, you hate Lorenzo. You hate how much influence over you, you hate how you’re ready to agree to anything he says; you think, maybe if you’re willing enough it’ll change how he feels about you.
Your body finally acclimates to the water, it’s slightly more bearable now. Lorenzo guides you further into the water, keeping a firm arm around your waist. Abruptly, he pulls you under, then, you feel his lips on yours. You get a warm feeling in your tummy, it makes your head go fuzzy, and you know it’s time to pull away. Yet, your lips stay on his for a second longer before you swim to the surface for air, Lorenzo follows soon after.
“You asshole, I could’ve drowned!” You smack his chest, water splashing the both of you.
“I wouldn’t have let you drown, put some faith in me.” He chuckles, rolling his eyes.
You sigh, returning to the bay. His voice calls after you, then, you hear him swim back as well. You’re already halfway done with zipping up your dress by the time he gets to you. Presumably, he takes the hint because he’s now putting his jeans back on. However, with his back facing you, you notice something: red scratches. You hadn’t had sex in a week and a half.
“What are those?” You question.
“What are what?” He turns around, genuine confusion painted on his face.
“Those. The scratches.”
“Oh, right. Um, just some girl. Don’t worry about it.” Just some girl? Is that how he speaks of you when you’re not around — when another girl asks where he got the marks on his back?
“Really?” He doesn't owe you loyalty, you think, no, but he owes you decency. “You’ve been seeing other girls?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs, then notices your expression. “You can’t seriously be angry. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“Obviously, it’s a big deal.”
“Truly, it is not. You’re overreacting.”
“So, you’d be okay with me sleeping around with other men?” Silence. “Exactly.”
“Don’t act like you didn’t agree to this. You were perfectly fine with us just fucking each other a few month ago.” His voice raises slightly.
“Well, I don’t want to ‘just fuck’ anymore, Lorenzo!” A long pause of quiet surrounds the two of you.
“Y/n, you know — you know I can’t do that.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
Stillness.
“We probably should stop this,” you suggest.
“Probably.”
Swallowing harshly, you put on your shoes. He hugs you for what you assume to be the last time, kissing the top of your head.
“If it’s any consolation, I love you. I just don’t think a relationship with me would be the best thing for you, lovely. I’ve got a lot of shit to work through before I’d be good for anyone, and you, especially, don’t deserve to be subjected to that.” His voice cracks, “You deserve someone with the ability to commit and love you to the fullest extent. I wish that person could be me, but I know that I’d hurt you, and I refuse to do that.”
Looking up at him, you see a tear fall from his eye. Then, you feel a tear fall from your own. His hand wipes your dampened cheeks dry, and he whispers delicate comforts. It’s cruel, the way he makes you cry and then wipes it all away.
You move back, taking in his soft features for the last time before walking away. He doesn’t offer to walk you back, he doesn’t say goodbye, he lets you go. Sobbing, you walk back to the castle. Sobbing, you make it to your dorm. Sobbing, you accept that you’ll never be in his arms again, gently brushing through his hair with your fingers, or counting his light freckles. You let that knowledge rip you apart from the inside out. It hurts, but it’s out of your control.
Divider Creds: @milklemondrop
#✎ missy writes#lorenzo berkshire#lorenzo berkshire x reader#lorenzo berkshire x you#lorenzo berkshire oneshot#lorenzo berkshire x female reader#lorenzo berkshire angst#lorenzo berkshire imagine#enzo berkshire x reader#enzo berkshire x you#enzo berkshire#harry potter#theodore nott#draco malfoy#blaise zabini#mattheo riddle#slytherin#slytherin boys
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𝜗𝜚 The Girl Next Door.
Spencer Reid x Neighbor!reader
series masterlist
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Summary: If Spencer thought being secretly in love with you was hard, having to avoid you in the hallway was even worse.
Words: 4,8k.
Warnings & Tags: mention of jail. painting!reader. post prison reid. spencer’s pov. lack of communication. the reader has a cat. angst, so much angst. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).
Note: I struggled a lot writing this because it's a roller coaster, so sorry in advance.
“How long? It's not a problem to take care of everything, but I'd like to know if you'll be okay or—” Your voice almost cracked for a moment, your eyes still trying to adjust to the sunlight streaming in through the bedroom window. Spencer's sheets were still wrapped around your body, and you felt so connected to them that the thought of getting up while still watching him toss and turn looking for his shoes was too much.
“I don't think more than a day or two, I'll be fine.” He stopped his chaotic steps for a second and stared at you as if to make a promise. He paused, glancing away as if to compose himself before adding, “I have some work in Mexico. It came up last minute, or I’d have told you earlier.” His voice faltered, almost imperceptibly, and the words sounded rehearsed, like he was repeating something he’d practiced.
You frowned slightly, confusion flickering across your face. “Work in Mexico?” you echoed. “Since when do they send you out of the country for cases?”
“It’s not that kind of work,” he said quickly, his tone just a little too smooth, a little too practiced. “It’s…consulting. A conference on forensic advancements, some behavioral workshops—things like that.” He kept his gaze on the floor as he spoke, as if afraid to meet your eyes. “I won’t be gone long.”
You didn’t question him further. Why would you? Spencer wasn’t the type to lie, and the way his brows knit together, the way his voice softened with the promise, “I’ll be back soon,” made you believe him. But something about the way he shifted his weight, the way he avoided looking directly at you, left a faint unease in your chest.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t have dinner with you yesterday. And breakfast now. I’ll make it up to you when I get back,” he added, his words tumbling out in a rush, as if trying to fill the silence.
You tightened the sheets around yourself, curling into their warmth, feeling the lingering heat from the side of the bed where he had been only moments before. It felt like he had never really left, the space around you still filled with the faint echo of his presence. Watching him now, his movements a little frantic, his gaze flickering toward the clock every so often, made you feel like he was slipping away too quickly. A part of you, small and selfish, wanted to ask him to stay. To sit back down, to let the world and his trip wait just a little longer.
But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you whispered, barely above a breath, as if afraid to disturb the fragile moment, “Promise?”
Spencer’s gaze softened even further, a tenderness washing over his features as he moved closer to you. His lips curled into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite touch his eyes but was filled with something that made your chest tighten. “Promise,” he replied, his voice firm but gentle, as though sealing a pact between the two of you. He leaned down, his warm breath brushing your forehead before his lips followed, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your skin. The kiss was tender, quiet, and almost reluctant, as though he didn’t want to pull away from this moment either. For a moment, his forehead rested against yours, the space between you vanishing entirely. It felt like the world had narrowed to just this—just the two of you—and all the invisible lines you had drawn between friendship and something more blurred into nothing.
But before you could do something stupid, he pulled back, with his eyes lingering on you, still filled with a softness that made your heart flutter. “Have you seen my shoe?” he asked, his voice playful yet tinged with the usual frustration of his misplaced belongings.
You let out a small laugh, still wrapped in the sheets, the warmth from them mingling with the warmth of the moment. “Oh, you’re a mess, little boy,” you teased, your voice light and affectionate, the fondness for him slipping out in every word.
“Mittens take it again?” Spencer asked, his eyes glinting with playful exasperation. He had grown accustomed to your cat’s antics, and he could hardly be surprised at this point.
You nodded, grinning as you pointed to the underside of the bed. “Ding ding, genius,” you replied, your voice light and teasing as his gaze followed your finger. Sure enough, there it was, tucked under the bed—another casualty of your mischievous cat’s nightly adventures.
He grumbled good-naturedly, but a soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips, as if the chaos of the morning didn't matter when you were here with him and everything felt so domestic. As he bent down to pick up his shoe, you couldn't help but watch, your heart swelling at the sight of the man you were so in love with, even in his messiest moments. There was something about him—something in that moment—that made him feel so good, as if everything else could wait and the obvious fact that he didn't feel the same way about you didn't matter. Anyone outside the room generally didn't matter. For now, it was just the two of you, tangled in sheets and laughter, clinging to a piece of time that was all yours and would be the only thing you'd have left when he was gone.
“She loves you, that’s why she does it…I guess she wants your attention,” you said, your voice trailing off, and the taste of the words felt sour in your mouth. It sounded too much like you were talking about yourself rather than your pet, and the realization hit you like a cold wave. It made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t explain, and you immediately wished you could take the words back. But you didn’t.
He glanced at you, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. “I read something about that,” he said, his voice light, but you could tell he didn’t entirely understand the weight behind your words. It didn’t matter. You were used to it by now.
“You read about everything.” You gave him a small, rueful smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes, the bitterness of the moment creeping into your voice. You were fine with it, you told yourself. Fine with everything.
He glanced at the clock, a quiet sigh escaping him. “I have to go…it’s late,” he said, and you could hear the quiet resignation in his voice. The moment, it seemed, had reached its inevitable end.
“Okay.” The word slipped out of your mouth more dryly than you intended, and you hated the way it sounded. You didn’t want him to leave. You didn’t want the moment to end. But it was already slipping away, and you knew it. “But before you go…come here.”
He hesitated, looking at you with uncertainty in his eyes. But then, slowly, he took a step toward you, his face softening when you reached out to touch his cheek. The moment your fingers brushed against his skin, he shivered, and your heart skipped a beat at the contact.
“Is…is something wrong?” he asked, his voice softer now, as if sensing the shift between you.
“No, I just want to say goodbye properly.” You shifted closer, your heart hammering as you moved toward him, your lips hovering near his. The temptation to close the distance, to kiss him, burned inside you. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.
“Take care and come back,” you whispered, the words carrying more weight than you meant. You kissed his forehead gently, your fingers instinctively smoothing his hair down as you did. “Now it’s like you have my blessing,” you added with a faint smile.
He smiled at you, the warmth in his expression a bittersweet thing that made your heart ache. “Thank you, and good luck tomorrow with my godchildren’s.” His voice was soft, but the moment was already passing, slipping away, and with it, the space between you both. He gathered his things, gave you one last lingering look, and then turned toward the door.
You stood there, watching him go, the weight of what you didn’t say crashing down on you. The door clicked shut behind him, and you felt a hollow ache in your chest, a longing you couldn’t quite name.
God, you really wanted kissed him.
God, he really wanted you kissed him.
When Spencer opened his eyes for the first time in a cell and felt a sickening jolt of disorientation. The dirty walls and a rickety bench stared back at him, mocking the comforting image of his organized room and, more painfully, the thought of you. The absence of your laughter, your touch, your presence—everything that had once grounded him—hit him like a freight train. He knew something was wrong.
As the days blurred together and the evidence piled against him, he clung to the belief that this nightmare wasn’t real. Every hearing, every damning piece of evidence that chipped away at his freedom, felt surreal. Even when the judge handed down his sentence, condemning him to months behind bars, the finality of it didn’t register. What shattered him was the moment he filled out his visitation schedule and consciously omitted your name. He hadn’t wanted you to see him like that. He didn’t ask anyone to explain, didn’t try to soften the blow of his absence. That, he thought, was the point of no return—the moment he lost everything.
But Spencer was so wrong. The true breaking point came when he walked out of that hellhole, finally free, and climbed the stairs to his apartment. Each step was a physical ache, the pain in his chest sharper and heavier with every step. His hands trembled as he reached for his keys, the jangling sound unnervingly loud in the empty hallway. His gaze fell on your door, just a few steps away. The familiar sight sent his stomach into knots.
For the first time, he wished you wouldn’t be there.
The thought was alien, unnatural. You had always been there, and he had always wanted you there. When he was too drained to cook, you’d suggest their usual coffee spot, your smile lighting up the grayest of mornings. When his back ached from long nights bent over case files, you’d massage his shoulders, insisting scented candles could fix his bad posture and his bad days. When his mother’s health took a downturn, and he felt his world crumbling, you’d hold him, stroke his back, and promise that everything would be okay. And when his social battery was drained at reunions, you’d step in with your bad jokes or your art facts, making the world feel manageable again.
Now, standing in front of his own door, his fingers clumsy with the lock, all he could hope for was silence. He didn’t know how to face you, didn’t know if he could explain the broken pieces of himself.
His door creaked open, and he was greeted by the familiar scent of the home he had only dreamed of for the last while. It was overwhelming: clean clothes, slightly sweet candles, and something undeniably yours. The apartment was exactly as he remembered it, as if time had stopped the moment he left three months ago and never returned until now. His heart shrank as he took it all in: the blanket you insisted on leaving on the couch, the pile of books you always meant to return to his library but never did, his fish swimming around as if nothing had happened, and even the plants by the window, thriving despite his absence because you had surely watered them without fail.
And then there were the little details, things that told him that you had not moved away from this place, from him. The plate you always left for his cup of coffee, the one you gave him last Christmas, was still on the counter. His favorite cardigan, the one he thought he had misplaced, was folded neatly on the back of the chair and smelled of the baby softener you liked to use. His books were exactly where he had left them, although one of them had a bookmark you had made, a telltale sign that he had read it and was waiting for him to come back to comment on it, as you always did.
But he hadn’t returned.
Not then. And maybe not now at all.
Suddenly, the phone in his pocket rang, its shrill tone slicing through the heavy silence like a sharp reminder of reality. The vibration against his skin startled him, his body tensing as he pulled the device out. His gaze flickered down to the screen, and the name that appeared caused a knot to form in his stomach: JJ. His thumb hovered over the screen, his mind racing, unsure if he was ready for the conversation he knew would follow. But deep down, he knew there was no avoiding her. Jennifer wouldn’t let him slip away unnoticed, and if he didn’t answer, she might show up at his door, demanding answers he wasn’t sure he had.
With a resigned sigh, he swiped the screen and lifted the phone to his ear. “Is everything okay?”
The concern in his own voice surprised him. Maybe it was instinct, or maybe he was just desperate to shift the focus away from himself.
“Everything’s fine,” JJ replied, her voice steady but laced with something deeper. “I just wanted to check in. You’ve been…quiet.”
He exhaled slowly, staring out the window, the city lights stretching before him and the memories cutting deep. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low. “Just trying to catch up on things. All good here.”
“Okay,” she said softly, and there was a pause—a hesitation that made his pulse quicken. He could almost hear her thinking, weighing her next words. Then she cleared her throat, the sound small but deliberate. “Have you seen…her?”
The question hit him like a physical blow, stealing the air from his lungs. He turned away from the window abruptly, pacing the length of the apartment as if motion could somehow ease the tension coiling tighter and tighter in his chest. “No,” he said quickly, too quickly. His jaw clenched, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I don’t know if I want to.”
The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, and he wasn’t sure if he believed it himself. How could he say that when every thought of you still made his heart ache? When the idea of you haunted him, so vivid and constant it felt like you were in every shadow of his empty apartment?
Jennifer’s sigh crackled over the line, heavy and filled with the weight of unspoken truths. “She’s been asking about you,” she said softly, her voice tinged with that unshakable sadness she tried so hard to hide. “Every time I see her. I think…” She hesitated again, and Spencer could hear her swallow hard, choosing her next words carefully. “I think you owe her an explanation.”
He swallowed saliva and tightened his fingers around the phone. JJ was right, of course. She always had been. But the idea of facing you, of trying to explain everything without drowning in tears, seemed impossible. How could he tell you the truth? How could he look you in the eye and admit that he had spent the last three months in jail, paying for a crime he had not committed? That he had done things that he deeply regretted, that made him sick and a horrible person?
You deserved better. You always had.
You were a blessing to anyone who had you around, and he knew that better than anyone. That's why he recommended you as a babysitter for JJ's kids, that's why he insisted that you come out to the bar with him and the team several times, that's why he told his mother about you, and that's why he gave you unlimited access to every single part of his life and told you things he'd never told anyone else. You were the one he thought of during those long, sleepless nights behind bars when JJ brought drawings from her boys. He imagined you there with them, sitting cross-legged on the floor, helping Henry with his homework or letting Michael pile blocks on your lap. It was silly—heartbreaking, even—but the thought of you, of your warmth and your kindness, had kept him going.
“I have to go…clean some things,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, so desperate to run away from the topic.
“Okay,” JJ replied softly, her voice tinged with sadness. “Tell me if you need anything.”
Before Spencer could find the strength to speak, the line fell silent. The hum of the apartment filled the space around him, oppressive in its quiet, and he stood there, phone still clenched in his hand. The weight of it, the weight of everything, settled deeper into his chest, making it hard to breathe. He stared at the counter as if it could offer him some sort of escape from the quiet agony that had overtaken him. With a long exhale, he dropped the phone, his fingers lingering on it for a second longer than necessary, before pulling away with a heavy sense of finality.
Just as he was about to move, his mind already drowning in the whirlpool of thoughts he was so desperate to escape, a soft, muted thud broke the oppressive stillness of the apartment. The noise was faint, almost imperceptible, but in the suffocating quiet, it reverberated like a crack of thunder. His breath caught, his heart skipping a beat as his body went rigid. Slowly, he turned his head toward the source of the sound, his eyes locking onto the open balcony door.
A sleek black shape emerged from the shadows, moving with a practiced elegance that seemed almost ethereal in the dim light. Mittens.
“Hey,” he murmured, his voice breaking on the single syllable, hoarse and unsteady as if even addressing her might shatter the fragile thread of control he was clinging to.
The cat paused for a moment, her head tilting slightly as if considering him, her eyes gleaming in the dim light. Then, without a second thought, she padded over, her steps confident and unhurried, the soft click of her claws against the floor the only sound in the room. She jumped lightly onto the couch, then onto the small table beside him, her movements fluid and practiced. As she reached him, Mittens sniffed his hand delicately, then nuzzled it gently, her warm, soft fur brushing against his fingertips. The familiar rumble of her purring filled the air, a soothing, almost hypnotic sound that cut through the tension and wrapped around him like a blanket.
Spencer let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet of the apartment. He hesitated, his fingers brushing the soft fur of her head, unable to stop himself from reaching out.
Mittens leaned into his touch, her purr intensifying as her little body pressed against his hand, seeking warmth, some affection. She didn't care about the months she hadn't seen him or just heard his name spoken a thousand times by you. To her, he was still Spencer, the same one who had fed her, played with her, and cared for her whenever he could. That was enough. She was very happy.
“You still remember me,” he murmured, a faint, fragile smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was the first time he’d smiled in what felt like an eternity.
The cat blinked up at him, her green eyes half-lidded with contentment, as if to say, Of course I do.
For a long moment, he just stood there, his hand resting on her soft fur, letting her purring fill the empty spaces inside him. It was such a small thing, her presence, but it reminded him of you—of the life he’d left behind, the warmth he hadn’t realized he’d needed so desperately until now.
But the calm didn’t last, and Spencer’s heart nearly stopped when he heard a soft knock on the door. His gaze snapped up from the cat, who was now lazily sprawled across the arm of the couch, her purring uninterrupted. The knock came again, this time paired with a voice that sent a jolt through his chest.
“Mittens?”
The voice was muffled through the door, but he knew it instantly. It was you.
Another knock followed, gentle but insistent. “Are you here, baby?”
He froze, every muscle in his body tightening as he registered the sound of your voice. You were here, in his apartment—or at least on the threshold of it. The thought was both thrilling and terrifying. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready to see you again.
The cat, oblivious to the tension that suddenly filled the room, stretched lazily before hopping down from the couch. Her tail flicked behind her as she padded toward the door, her movements casual, as if she belonged here. Her eyes were fixed on you as you stepped through the open door, your figure partially silhouetted by the light from the outside.
“There you are,” you said softly, your voice brimming with relief. The warmth in your tone hit him like a physical blow, and he had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to stifle the sound threatening to escape.
You crouched down to scoop the cat into your arms, your movements gentle and practiced. “You scared me,” you murmured, cradling her against your chest. Your voice softened, carrying that familiar tenderness he’d missed so desperately. “You’ve been running off so much lately.”
Spencer pressed himself against the shadowed wall, willing himself to disappear. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t even look at you for fear his body might betray him. The apartment was dark enough to hide him, but he knew the signs of his presence were everywhere—his phone abandoned on the counter, the faint indentation on the couch, the way the air seemed to shift with the weight of him being there.
You didn’t notice. Your focus was entirely on Mittens as you stroked her soft fur, your touch so gentle it made Spencer ache. “I know you miss him,” you murmured, the words falling from your lips so quietly they almost didn’t reach him. “I do too.”
The confession tore through him like a blade, sharp and unrelenting. His chest tightened, and he bit down hard on his lip, tasting the faint metallic tang of blood. Tears burned in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.
You lingered for a moment, your gaze sweeping over the apartment as if you could feel his presence, even if you didn’t see him. Then, with a soft sigh, you turned back toward the door.
“Let’s go home, baby,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Mittens’ head before stepping into the night.
The door closed with a quiet click, and Spencer was left alone once more. His knees buckled, and he sank onto the couch, his hand trembling as it pressed against his face. The silence was deafening, a hollow, aching void that swallowed him whole.
Maybe it was for the best. Maybe fate didn’t want you to see him again—at least, not yet.
But then, the next morning, it happened.
You were returning to your apartment, groceries in hand, when you saw him.
He was standing at the end of the hallway with his back to you, as if he was leaving his apartment. As soon as you saw him, your heart skipped a beat and all your rational thoughts vanished. It seemed like an eternity since you had seen him, even though it had only been a few months. Your first instinct was to run to him, throw yourself into his arms, and demand an explanation, but something about his posture made you hesitate. He was stiff, distant, almost sad. His usual warmth was nowhere to be seen. And yet there was something different about him: his long hair, now a bit wilder and more unruly, framed his face in a way you had never seen before. Some curls fell over his eyes, and his beard had grown thicker and darker. The change in his appearance was shocking.
Without thinking, you dropped your groceries at your door and hurried toward him. “Spencer!” you called, your voice trembling with a rush of emotions you had bottled up for months.
He turned slowly, and for a split second, his eyes locked with yours. There was something in his gaze—a flicker of recognition, maybe guilt, but it quickly faded, replaced by a cool distance you had never seen in him before, at least not with you. Before you could stop yourself, you reached out and pulled him into a tight hug. It was instinct, more than anything, to wrap your arms around him like you always used to do. The warmth of his body felt like home, like everything you had missed was right there in your arms. You held on tightly, breathing him in as if this would somehow make up for the absence. You’d been so lonely without him, and this, just holding him again, felt like it would fix everything that has been wrong lately.
But to your surprise, Spencer didn’t move an inch. This time his body was rigid, unyielding, as if he didn’t feel you or want you around. He did not return your hug. He didn’t even seem to acknowledge it or really want it. His arms remained stiff at his sides, and you could feel his breath hitching against your neck, but he didn’t respond. It was like hugging a stranger, someone you once knew but no longer recognized.
“God, I missed you…” You pulled back slightly, looking up at him, trying to gauge his expression, but his face was unreadable. His long hair now brushed against the collar of his shirt, the unruly beard framing his jawline. But his eyes were the only thing that stayed the same—cold and distant, void of the tenderness they once held. “Are you okay?”
He didn’t answer immediately. The silence hung between you, thick and oppressive, before he finally spoke, his voice flat. “Sorry, I…I don’t think I’m the best person for that right now.”
Your heart sank, the warmth of the hug and reunion evaporating into a hollow chill. “What happened?” you whispered, feeling the pain creep into your voice. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you say anything? I was so worried for you and JJ don’t say so much.”
He didn’t smile. He didn’t even look like Spencer, not the one you had known—kind, warm, and always ready to offer comfort. His face was hard, closed off, and distant. He seemed…different, almost cold. “I’m sorry, I needed to get to…work,” he said, his voice clipped and curt. “I didn’t think you’d be awake at this hour.”
You felt a pang of confusion and hurt at his words. “What do you mean? You didn’t want to see me? You haven’t been here in months,” you said, the bitterness creeping into your voice. “You just disappear, and then you show up here, like nothing happened? You sleep here? I came to your apartment last night, and you weren’t there.”
He didn’t react. No apology, no acknowledgment of the pain he’d caused. He just stood there, cold, distant. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words almost sounding like an afterthought. “I had work to do. It’s…complicated.”
“Complicated?” The word tasted bitter on your tongue. “That’s all you’ve got after disappearing for three months?”
Finally, his eyes met yours again, but there was no warmth in them. No tenderness, no familiarity. His gaze was hard, as cold as his words. “I don’t owe you an explanation,” he said sharply, his tone final, cutting through the air like a knife.
It felt like a punch to the gut. The warmth that had once filled your heart whenever Spencer entered a room, the gentle care he had shown you, was now replaced by something colder. It was as if the person you had known—the person who had been your friend, your confidant—had vanished along with the man who used to leave you sweet notes and show up with your favorite food after a rough day.
“You…you don’t owe me anything?” you whispered, your heart breaking with each word.
The silence stretched between you again, suffocating. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “I’m sorry.”
But it was hollow, empty. A formality. Not an apology that meant anything.
And then, just as quickly as he had appeared, he turned, walking away. “I have to go,” he said, his voice softer now, but still detached.
Before you could say anything else, he turned, leaving as quickly as he had appeared. And just like that, he was gone again—leaving you alone with the deafening silence and a heart full of questions.
Just like your worst fear: Spencer was avoiding you in the hallway.
#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x fanfiction#spencer reid x you#spencer reid angst#matthew gray gubler
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jj maybank x bsf!reader *·˚
trying to relax on a 100 degree day in kildare is just about as hard as it sounds. the air is thick and humid in your lungs as you inhale, and the slippery slope of your back dribbles with sweat, soaking through your top and making it stick uncomfortably close to your skin. the sky is roamed by huge flies flitting erratically, bumping into your body and every so often, flying into your eyes and nose searching for moisture. annoyingly, each of your frustrated swats are doing absolutely nothing to deter them.
you’re attention gets grabbed by a small commotion coming from a table a few feet in front of you. a group of 3 kook girls sitting together, one now standing, moaning and groaning about how her now, iced tea-stained shirt, is ruined and 'absolutely unsalvageable'. her two just as kooky friends sit pliantly at the sticky white outdoor table, watching in disdain, sending derogatory glares to the young waitress.
you've seen her before - she's a pogue girl who lives a few houses down from you and has been in a few of your classes over the years. she also works at the wreck with kie, apparently unluckily for her.
she's a sweet girl. jess? wait no, joana?
j...something flutters hurriedly around the table with her mouth agape, attempting to somehow mend her collision with the customer that ended up with the kook girl covered in peach iced tea. you can't help but feel bad for the waitress, sure the kook is now sticky and probably a little gross, but it was obviously an accident, and from the way she's blabbering on, you'd think the girl just shot her puppy or something.
"oh god! i'm so, so, so sorry! here, let me-let me help you!" the waitress reaches for the cloth she placed on the table where the 3 girls are sat, before turning back to the kook and attempting to wipe off the excess drink that is now dripping from just about every surface on the top half of the girl's body. before the fabric can touch her, the kook slaps the cloth out of the girl’s hand.
"don't fuckin' touch me with that dirty rag! jesus christ - what is wrong with you? are you fucked in the head?" she scoffs slightly, ringing out her skirt before turning her head back to the two girls who sit quietly behind her "all those fucking dirty pogue diseases must've finally gone to your brain if you think i’m letting you come anywhere near me. clean this up before i step on glass and cut myself."
the girls behind her laugh loudly at her comment, and the pogue seems as if she’s on the verge of tears, probably from a mix of embarrassment and plain offense. sympathy claws at your throat as you watch the girl swallow and lean down to pick up the shards of glass from the smashed drink. you draw your eyes to the window of the wreck, eyeing your friends laughing joyously from a table inside. you were only supposed to duck out for a minute to answer a phone call from your mom - leaving the rest of the pogues sat inside feasting on whatever kie managed to convince her dad to feed you. you don’t usually get involved in altercations with kooks - being taught from a very young age that that is a fight you rarely ever win, but watching the girl half-hazardly scoop shards of glass into the cloth she once had thrown over her shoulder, you find your feet dragging you towards the scene.
as you reach down and start helping the girl shovel glass into the rag, her head snaps to you with a momentarily shocked expression, before giving you a soft, watery smile in recognition that you tried to return. you couldn’t help but feel bad for the girl - it was obvious that she found this whole situation mortifying, and in particular kook fashion, the girl just had to make it a bigger deal then it was.
the door to the wreck flies open, kiara tumbling through the door, apron still wrapped around her waist despite her shift ending an hour ago. she looks to where you were once perched against the wall, eyebrows furrowing when her eyes zero in on you and the girl knelt gingerly beside you, calling out your name in questioning “-julie? you guys okay?”
julie…..right.
“yeah – we’re ok! just broken glass.” julie croaks out in response. you turn back to your friend, raising your palm above your brows to shield your eyes from the afternoon sun, trying your best to give her a look that somehow translates to ‘not really all good- might need help’. her eyes widen a millimetre, before she looks over your shoulder, lips pressed together in slight concern at the sight of the kooks.
“do you mind getting us a broom?” you ask simply, voice soft yet carrying.
kiara glances back over your shoulder again, seemingly debating leaving you alone, before giving you a short nod in response and swiftly turning and running back into the restaurant. for a moment you forgot about them, but the kooks manage to make themselves known, laughing between themselves, legs kicked up onto the table, muttering about how "the rats obviously stick together" and giggling and gasping afterwards like the girl who said it was an original comedic genius.
jesus.
involuntarily, you choke out a scoff, attention still drawn to the shards of glass splayed along the ground.
“something funny, pogue?” you stiffen slightly, eyes flitting back up to the table, meeting the gaze of the blonde, slightly less iced tea soaked girl who’s glaring at you, one eyebrow cocked and a freshly manicured fingernail tapping against the tabletop. she says nothing, waiting for a response from you.
you spare a glance at the girl beside you, her head down and hands shaking slightly as tears well up in her eyes, and your heart breaks slightly. not wanting to accelerate things, you mutter out a soft “no”, the word tasting sour on your tongue, but you know better than to initiate a fight with a kook. plus- you’re main focus is just getting julie away from these crazies. she definitely deserves a break after this.
seemingly satisfied with your answer, the girl responds curtly “clean up the mess and then go away and get me a new drink.” she spits, eyes tearing away from yours to glare at the girl next to you. “it’s bad enough this idiot poured the first one all over me.”
your brows furrow in disbelief and words start tumbling out your mouth, against your better judgement, “jesus- do you have to be so rude all the time? it was obviously an accident, and she’s already apologised.” you crawl to your feet, standing level with the girl leaning against the table. the kook’s eyes narrow, nostril’s flaring in anger.
oh fuck.
her voice is loud and high pitched when she starts speaking again, stomping towards you, causing you to step back. “who the fuck do you think you are talking to me like that?”
the loud commotion draws the attention of some customers in the wreck- your friends included. you see them push through the door in the corner of your eye, kie in tow with a broom in hand, before they come to stand behind you supportively, ready to step in if necessary. john b’s eyebrows are furrowed, obviously confused by the situation and how you, of all people, managed to end up in it, pope is seemingly already stressed, hands splayed on his head above his ‘heywards’ cap, and jj has his hands in his pockets and a smirk playing at his lips. of fucking course.
the kook steps towards you again, getting in your face. julie stumbles sideways at the movement, still knelt down in an attempt to make herself small.
a sickening smirk graces the girls features, a lightbulb practically lighting up above her head, making your stomach twist. she grasps a strand of your hair between her hands, and you swallow before your yanking your body out of her touch.
jesus, pull it together.
the kook spares a glance to the gathering crowd behind you, smirk widening before she turns back to you “i don’t know why you think you can talk to me like that you know, - i’ve heard about you.. where you come from.. and i’m not talking about the cut.” your brows furrow in confusion – what is she talking about?
“i've heard that your mommy.. used to have a lot of fun back in the day" she cuts herself off with a malicious giggle, looking briefly over your shoulder to the 3 boys stood a few feet behind you. your teeth grit at the obvious implication. “guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree” she turns behind her to meet the chuckles of the two girls sat behind her. your face heats in embarrassment, and you feel your body light up with anger. how dare she?
when the girl turns back to face you, probably to utter another 'clever' remark, her face instead meets your fist.
she yelps pathetically, falling to the ground, hands instantly covering her face. gasps sound out from behind you, as well as a few whoops and hollers from what you're guessing are your friends. the 2 girls quickly jump to their feet, rushing over to the girl now rolling on the ground in pain, cupping her nose, crying and mumbling about how you’re a “crazy fucking pogue!”
pain stings through your knuckles, travelling through your veins to the base of your hand, your mouth agape a silent groan. holy shit that hurt!
it’s pretty much common knowledge that getting punched in the face would hurt, but nobody ever talks about how much it hurts punching someone in the face – and they definitely should, it would’ve impacted your decision.
the girls start frantically screaming, begging someone to help their friend amongst cries of how psycho you are. your feet are stuck in place and you're holding your wrist in the other hand, mouth agape in pain, when someone suddenly wraps their arms around your waist, yanking you in the air and chucking you over his shoulder, pulling you away from the scene as the bloody-nosed kook stands to her feet and starts screaming along with the other girls. “aaalright i think that’s enough for you girly - time to flee!” a goofy smile graces your face despite yourself at the sound of the familiar voice, and you start giggling in realisation of the fact that you just punched someone in the face – and god did it feel fucking good.
you get carried to the twinkie, bouncing over jj’s shoulder watching in awe as your friends bound away from the scene you inadvertently caused. the blonde boy quickly yanks you back over his shoulder, sitting you messily in the back of the van, before john b starts quickly speeding away from the wreck in response to the ‘go go go go’ echoing from the backseat. kie’s the first to speak, turning her body to take in your smile and already bruising knuckles incredulously from the passenger seat besides john b. “what the fuck? i can’t believe you just did that.” at the sight of your cheeky grin, her own lips curve up and her eyes crinkle at the force. “you really need to stop hanging around jj- he’s obviously a bad influence.” she looks to the boy next to you, giving him a fake glare. he just flips her off, making her roll her eyes and turn back to face the road.
you gulp, eyes wide “was it really that bad?” you begin to feel a little guilty, looking around the group for a response.
the aforementioned boy only throws his arm around your shoulder from his seat beside yours, a proud aura radiating off of him. “nah- you’re good, baby. she deserved that shit. you’re like our very own lil’ boxer” he playfully starts squaring up, fists raised, making you laugh and knock his shoulder with your own.
“i think i’m all punched out, actually. nobody told me it hurts so bad.” you wince, looking down at your knuckles and flexing them slowly, making pain spread out throughout your palm.
“well you basically slam chunks of cartilage and bone with your fist, it’s going to hurt like hell. plus, it looks like you hit her pretty hard. her nose was bleeding- i actually think you broke it.” pope offers, his gaze soft in attempt to comfort you from his seat across from you and jj.
you look up at him in shock, eyebrows shooting up to your hairline and you exhale quickly “hopefully she doesn’t try and hunt me down or somethin’ - i am not paying for her nose job.” jj chuckles besides you, grabbing your sore hand to look over your knuckles.
“you’ll be fine, babe- especially with that fiery right hook of yours, damn.” you feel your cheeks heat a touch at the pet name- it’s not unusual, and yet it still makes your lashes flutter and your chest tighten.
“yeah. besides, she should be grateful, she needed a nose job anyway. now she’s got an excuse.” john b mumbles from the driver’s seat, eyes still trained on the road. kie gasps in disbelief, hitting him in the shoulder. pope snorts, causing the brunette to break, smiling widely at the boy in the driver’s seat. john b smiles smugly, clearly proud of his comment, before using his fingers to mime out a large nose near his face, earning another shove from kiara, before shooting you a wink in the rearview mirror. you can’t help but laugh happily, subconsciously leaning into jj’s side as he strokes his fingers over your sore knuckles.
please send asks! id love to chat w you!! *·˚
#jj maybank#divider by ahimewa#jj maybank x reader#randomly thought of this situation and had to get it down#jj maybank thoughts ༊*·˚#bsf!reader#obx
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my soul is useless without you
author's note: part two to i'd walk through hell for you is finally here ! i'm not sure if i want to do a third part, but we’ll see lol but i'm currently working on something for folio 👀 as always, i hope you enjoy and feedback is appreciated ! also, if yall have any requests, send them my way :) i'm in the mood to write but inspiration is running thin lol
pairing: noah sebastian x reader
divider: @saradika-graphics
word count: 3.5k
cross posted on ao3 / part one
cw/tw: angst, hurt/comfort, Noah Sebastian Is Bad At Feelings But A Good Friend, reader is going through it, anxiety, hints/mentions of depression, noah is just a good guy and cares about reader a lot ( more than he realizes ), friends to lovers pining lol, 18+ minors do not interact
It's when Jolly asks Noah in-between takes if he'd heard from you recently that the anxiety finally settles in.
Because he doesn't know the last time he's heard from you. Which isn't normal.
He's a bad texter, notorious for looking at messages and making a note to reply to them later or replying in his mind, but he always makes sure to reply to you whenever the two of you aren't together. It's just always been a thing, to always have some form of communication with you when he wasn't over at yours or if you weren't at his, so it panics him when he can't remember the last time he'd spoken to you.
He goes through your messages and finds that it wasn't him this time who didn't respond, but instead it was you. Relief washes over him briefly, the guilt of forgetting to respond to his best friend vanishing, but then that anxiety comes back full force.
You didn't respond.
You always responded.
He sends off a quick message to you, apologizing for being in studio mode and not leaving the house and asks if you're alright. He waits. They go through another take, he somehow doesn't fuck it up even though his mind isn't all the way there. You still haven't responded by the fifth take and that's when he starts to feel sick, stomach twisting with the worry of what could be wrong.
He tries to think back to if you've ever gone this long without speaking and he can't think of a time when that has happened.
"Earth to Noah." Jolly's voice pulls him away from his thoughts.
"Oh. Uh, sorry."
"All good, man." His bandmate eyes him for a second before his eyes flicker towards his phone. "She respond?"
"Um. No." His brows furrowed as he stared at his phone, the black screen mocking him. "Kind of worried."
"Yeah... I am, too." Jolly murmurs. He clicks around on the screen a few times before twisting his chair around to fully face Noah, arms crossing over his chest. "You should go over there. Check and make sure she's alright."
Noah raises a brow at him. "We're in the middle of recording?"
"And?" Jolly shrugs, waving him off. "We got a lot done today, we can wrap it up. Something's obviously wrong and she might need you. That's more important than some song."
He blinks at his friend, letting his words settle in. Jolly's right, he thinks. You are more important than whatever song they're working on. That confirmation makes him feel funny, something tightening beneath his chest but he ignores it, nodding slowly.
"Okay. You wanna come?"
Jolly shakes his head. "Nah. The both of us might be overwhelming. If you do need me then call, if not..." He shrugs again before lifting himself up out of his chair, groaning softly to himself, "...might be best for just you to go. She'd probably feel better if it's just you, anyways. You know how she is."
Noah isn't quite sure what he means, but nods along anyways. He checks his phone again and still no text, but he notices that you read the message. He should feel relieved at the sign of life but it only makes his anxiety worse, stomach twisting violently.
"Okay. I'll text you when I get there."
He's practically running out of the studio after that, the only thing on his mind was you. He needed to make sure you were okay. Deep down he knew that if this was him, you would've already been here, and he feels guilty all over again. He should've paid more attention, shouldn't have let this slip his mind so easily. He thinks back to your last messages together and how you were talking about your work day, overwhelmed and quite frankly, upset about it all. He should've paid closer attention.
He makes it to yours in record time, legs moving him to the door before he can even think about it. He sends up a quiet prayer to the universe that you had given him an extra key months ago and uses it to unlock the door, slowly pushing it open.
He calls out your name, but no answer.
His eyes sweep over your apartment as he enters, scanning the open space. Your kitchen looked untouched, minus the few dirty dishes that were in your sink. A few boxes of Chinese take-out and some bottles of water. He feels almost relieved. You'd been eating and as far as he can tell you'd been keeping yourself somewhat hydrated, so that was a plus. He knows how bad you can be when you get into this headspace - brain fog, forgetting to do basic things like eating and drinking water. But this... this is a step in the right direction.
His eyes move towards the living room and it's just about the same. A pile of blankets lay together at one end of the couch, pillows scattered along the length of the cushions. You'd been there quite a bit, he can tell, but other than that nothing was too bad.
Noah feels like he can breathe for just a second, eyes going straight to the cracked open door to your bedroom. He hears the faint hum of your television and hears the muffled voice of your favorite characters in your favorite comfort show. His chest tightens. You only ever watch it when things get bad inside your head, when things start to become too overwhelming and you need to cling onto something that you know. Something that won't throw any surprises at you and make things worse.
He makes his way towards your room, ready to call out your name again as he pushes open your door but stops halfway. You're curled up in your bed, covered in a pile of blankets. He steps closer to get a better look at you and he doesn't think he's ever seen you look so peaceful. Lashes against the tops of your cheeks, lips parted. The crease between your brows is relaxed, which never happens.
Noah takes a deep breath.
You're alright. He can see that you're safe and sound, at least for now, and that's enough for him. He shuts your door behind him and makes his way back into the main room, taking his shoes off by the door. He takes another deep breath to center himself as he looks around your space, hand finding its way to his hair.
He decides he'll clean up your kitchen and living room. It isn't too bad, and it won't take him too long. He also just... doesn't want to leave yet. He'll wait until you wake up. Make you talk to him, ask what’s up. Probably make you eat something. Then he'll head home.
Sounds like a good plan to him.
Even though your door is shut he still tries to be quiet, making sure to carefully wash and put away your dishes without making too much of a fuss. After the dishes, he throws away all the take-out boxes and water bottles. He even makes a note to take the trash out for you when he's all done, because he knows you would've done it for him.
The constant reminder of you and knowing that you'd do something like this for him, and have, is the motivation he needs to continue. It makes him feel warm all over and he thinks how lucky he is to have someone like you as his best friend.
And he definitely ignores the bitter taste in his mouth at the word best friend.
It's maybe an hour after he's finished, curled up on your couch that now has its pillows in place, and the pile of blankets are neatly folded and put away, that you finally emerge from your room. You rub the sleep out of your eyes, not noticing him on the couch at first, but when you do you make a noise of surprise that has Noah laughing.
"Hey."
He notices the slight flush of your cheeks but ignores it. "Hi?"
"I uh," He scratches the back of his neck, sending you a sheepish smile. "Hadn't talked to you in a few days. Got worried. So did Jolly. Told me to come over. Check on you. You were sleeping so I just," He throws his arms around, gesturing to the space around him, "cleaned up a little? Figured you would appreciate a clean house when you woke up so..."
He's talking too much, he knows it, but he can't seem to stop the word vomit from coming out. Noah knows you wouldn't mind, but he was nervous, especially because all you do is stare at him without saying a word. Stare and stare and stare until you sniff, brows furrowing.
"...Thanks."
You're unusually quiet and it makes his stomach turn again. You sniff again and Noah swears you look like you're on the verge of tears, and he sits up on the couch. He watches you closely as you wring your hands together in front of you, mouth opening and closing as if you want to say something. You don't, and Noah catches the exact moment when your bottom lip trembles, and he's moving before he can even think about it.
"Hey. It's okay. You’re okay."
He tries to keep his voice soft and free of any panic, but his heart is beating so rapidly against his chest he swears you can hear it. You sniff again, head shaking as your lip continues to tremble and he does the only thing he can think of. He pulls you into his arms and presses you into his chest. You don't move for a second, but eventually your arms circle around his waist. You squeeze, tight, but he doesn't mind. He just squeezes you back.
Your body begins to shake as the cries start to rack through you, the sound muffled by the fabric of his shirt. Noah swallows down the lump that was beginning to form, cheek resting on the top of your head. He's always hated when you cry. He himself wasn’t one for much display of emotions, but when it came to the people he cared about, he hated seeing them anything but happy.
Especially you.
He's seen you cry a few times. Well, more than a few times. Sometimes it was over nothing, and then sometimes it was over an incredibly cute dog you'd seen scrolling on Twitter. He didn't mind those, but when it was over something serious, he fucking hated that. He never wanted you to be anything but happy, and whenever you weren’t, it’s like a piece of him breaks.
“What’s wrong?” He whispers into your hair, trying to pull you even closer to him.
“Everything.” You eventually mumble against his chest, sucking in a deep breath as you try to control your tears. “Fucking everything is wrong.”
He fucking hates the way that answer makes him feel. His chest feels like it's on fire, and he swears his heart just fucking broke at how sad you sounded, voice muffled by his shirt. He squeezes you to his chest again.
"Do you wanna talk about it?"
He wants you to talk about it, to tell him what's wrong so he can make it better. Noah knows it'll probably be damn near impossible to even do that, but god, he'd try absolutely anything to make your tears stop. You take a long moment to respond, trying to control your breathing, before you eventually shake your head against his chest.
"Not right now."
"Okay.” He mumbles, raising a hand to smooth down your hair. “That's okay, we don't have to."
"Thank you."
You stay like that for a moment, in the middle of your living room. Noah doesn't plan on letting go any time soon, thinking for a split second that he wished he could keep you in his arms forever. If you were there, he'd always know if you were okay. The thought fades before he could think too hard about it when you finally pull away from him, and Noah catches sight of your slight red and blotchy face. He frowns.
He doesn't remember the last time he's ever seen you so sad. So defeated. Whatever was going on really pained you, and he wishes you'd just tell him so he can fix it. Another passing, fleeting thought, but he thinks he'd do just about anything right now to see you smile again.
"Have you eaten?" He breaks the silence between the two of you, not waiting to hear whatever you were planning on saying.
You blink up at him. "Um... no. Not since this morning. Had some fruit and coffee."
"I figured." He guides you towards the couch, practically pushing you onto it. You snort when he grabs a throw blanket and dumps it onto you. "Pick something to watch."
It's not a question, but more of a command, and Noah ignores the way his chest flutters at the small smile you give him. He turned away from you, pushing whatever feeling was brewing inside of him so far down and got his brain to focus. Food. You need food. To be honest, so does he. He’d been so worried about you for the last few hours that he didn’t even think of getting something to eat.
It takes him a few minutes of rummaging around your kitchen to settle on making something easy - instant ramen. He’s surprised you hadn't eaten it all in the week you’ve been off-grid, but thankful nonetheless. Noah's way too impatient to wait any longer to actually cook something, especially knowing you hadn't eaten anything since this morning. Every so often he looked over his shoulder to watch you, wishing you'd say something, but would find you either staring blankly at the television or your phone.
A bitter taste settles in the back of his throat every time he turns back around to the stove. He hated this, and he fucking hated that he couldn't do a goddamn thing about it.
He brings your bowl to you once he's finished, already making a mental note to clean up the mess he had made while cooking. You blink up at him and reach for it, giving him a quiet, "Thank you."
Noah doesn't verbally say anything, just hums out a response as he ventures back into the kitchen to grab you something to drink. When he comes back he notices you had slowly begun to eat, and he feels his shoulders finally relax. Just knowing you ate something eases him, the tension in his body leaving him completely. You're already reaching out for the glass of water in his hand that he happily hands off to you, giving you a gentle smile.
"Need anything else?"
You shake your head, peering up at him. "No. Just want you to come sit with me."
That same fluttery feeling beneath his chest returns and he wishes he could ignore it again, but it doesn't go away. No, it stays perched underneath his chest, as if it's decided that it's making a home there and never leaving. He doesn't say anything, just nods at your request before grabbing his own bowl and a Pepsi you had in the fridge before making his way back to you.
You wait until he's settled on the couch to scoot closer to him, legs pressed flushed together. You're already halfway through your ramen and for a split second he forgets that weird feeling in his chest, instead focusing on the intense pride filling him. He was able to get you to eat, he was able to help out in some way. Knowing you were alright for the most part and it was from his doing made him feel good.
The both of you eat in silence as whatever show you decided to put on plays in the background. He’s just now realized it was The Office, and he huffs out a small laugh at something Michael Scott said. Another one of your comfort shows, something easy.
It isn't until you both are finished with your food and Noah's back in the kitchen cleaning up that you finally speak. He doesn't hear you come up behind him, focused on washing the dishes and making sure everything's clean and good to go, so he can't help but jump when he feels your arms slip around his waist and squeeze.
"Shit." He swears, followed by a breathy chuckle. "You scared me."
You don't say anything to that, just squeeze him harder and he feels you press your face against his back. Then ever so softly, he picks up the faintest, "Thank you," muffled against his back. His face flushes, eyes casting down to the soapy water his hands were currently submerged in. He's glad you can't see the blush on his cheeks, and he fucking hopes you can't hear the way his heart is pounding beneath his chest. Can probably feel it, though, and that makes his face burn even more.
"For what?" He manages to mumble out, resuming his efforts. Your arms squeeze his waist again.
"For being here." You sound so small. "You don't have to be, but you are, and I can't thank you enough for that."
"You'd do it for me." His response comes easily, voice nonchalant because it's true. He knows you'd do the same for him, and the thought has his stomach flipping every which way. "And have done it for me. It's the least I can do."
You're silent after that but don't part from him, and Noah can't help the smile that spreads across his lips at the feeling of you rubbing your face against him. It makes him feel warm all over, and that damned fluttery feeling in his chest is back yet again. You stay like that until he's finished with the dishes, moving with him as he shuffles to the side to dry them off. You don't pick your head up even when he manages to turn in your arms, finally facing you.
Noah's arms wrap around you, pulling you closer to him and now you can rub your face against his chest. He laughs softly, pressing his cheek against the top of your head.
"Still don't wanna talk about it?" He knows he's pressing but he can't help it, a part of him still needs to know what's wrong and how he can fix this for you.
You shake your head. "Not yet. Tomorrow, okay? I just... don't wanna think about it tonight."
"Okay." He thinks he can handle that.
"Thank you." You say again and finally lift your head up from his chest, blinking up at him. There's still a sadness there, roaming around behind your eyes, but not as prevalent as it was earlier. He’s at least done something right. "I'm really fucking lucky to have you, you know that, right?"
The way you're looking up at him is overwhelming, Noah's throat tightening at the softness surrounding your tired eyes. You smile at him and this time it reaches your gaze, not faked but real, and his heart slams against his chest. A thought passes his mind again, something he hasn't thought of in years, and he pushes it back with a hard swallow.
"You're just saying that because you didn't have to do the dishes."
You roll your eyes but that smile never drops from your lips, and Noah thinks he'd like to keep you smiling like that for the rest of his life.
"Shut up. I'm being serious." You're giggling now, eyes crinkling and he catches a glimpse of the real you for the first time in hours - probably days, weeks even.
"So am I." Noah yelps when you pinch his side, your laughter growing louder. "Hey!"
"I'm trying to be nice here, asshole. You can at least try, too."
He softens at that, eyes meeting yours. He's well aware his face is on fire right now, cheeks pink.
"You already know I'm lucky to have you. Didn't realize I had to say it."
Even if he doesn't say it often, he is very lucky. So incredibly lucky to have you in his life, for sticking by him and for understanding him. For always being patient with him. Jolly reminds him occasionally how lucky he is to have you, how all of them are lucky to have someone like you in their lives. He doesn't know what the fuck he or anyone did to be so deserving of you, but dammit, he's fucking thankful for it everyday.
You don't say anything, just continue to beam up at him and Noah can't seem to stop himself, tilting his head down to brush his lips against your forehead. He feels you press further into his chest, if it was even possible, and practically melt in his arms.
He wishes he could keep you here forever, tucked away in his arms. He thinks there isn't much he wouldn't do to keep you safe, to make sure you were okay, and that thought alone scares him. He'd never admit it, at least not out loud, and he tucks that thought away for another time. Or to possibly be never thought of again, he doesn't know. He doesn't really care.
No, all he cares about right now is that you're okay, at least for now, and that you're nestled against his chest like it's the only place you want to be.
And that's enough for him.
#bad omens fanfiction#bad omens fanfic#bad omens fic#noah sebastian fanfiction#noah sebastian fic#noah sebastian fanfic#mine
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![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/0e3ddf822bcb859f3932fd8b1c41e462/8b86be774bfbf4d4-5c/s540x810/9f624a89011d2e4d69388aff4597e5846bb87e6f.jpg)
abby anderson x reader
cw / somno. ass humping. kinda shit writing.
a soft moan slips past her lips as her small, perky tits press gently against your bare back; puffy, wet cunt grinding against the curve of your bare ass. you stir slightly, your eyebrows furrowing at the unexpected contact, but you don't wake.
you were asleep, and she found herself doing...this, she knew she shouldn't, but the urge was too strong to resist. she couldn’t wait any longer.
she hadn't seen you in weeks. recently, reports of infected had surged, with some even breaching the base's defenses. as a result, isaac had been sending groups out for extended missions, often leaving for weeks at a time. unfortunately, you were part of the last group chosen, and it had been nearly two frustrating months since you left.
frustrating for her and you, mainly her because she missed you like crazy, she loved you so much. you're one of the only people she had left in this fucked up universe. aaaaaaand because she couldn't fucking get off without you.
she wanted to deny the fact, she really did. and she tried, over and over, but nothing worked. not her fingers, not her pillow, not even the very few toys she had tried. nothing worked like you did, only you could make her come. it was humiliating, she couldn't believe she had been conditioned to need someone so badly. she was a grown woman not some child, and yet somehow you had found a way to have that much control over her.
now you were back, which was great. but you were exhausted, crashing almost the second you got back. barely giving abby any sort of attention beside a quick kiss and a promise to satiate her desires the next morning. but she needed more.
she needed you.
...even if this wasn't the right way to go about it.
her eyes are squeezed shut now as she pants, clit throbbing so hard it was almost painful. cheeks dusting a rosy pink as she heard the wet, sticky sounds coming from where you two were connected. shyness, humiliation even, eating away at her because she couldn't just wait a few hours for you to wake.
her nose was buried in your neck, breathing in your sweet scent with every shaky intake of breath. she bit down on her bottom lip, praying to whatever gods above to keep you asleep.
she eventually found a steady rhythm, pussy thinking first as she sped up, any self restraint she had long gone. your body racked with her harsh thrusts and, unfortunately for her, she didn't notice you moving just a bit too much.
"fuck." she whines, chasing that warm feeling in the pit of her stomach. her hand comes up to palm at her breast, squeezing and fondling herself as she imagines it was your touch instead of her own. she presses open-mouthed kisses to your neck, leaving a series of dark bruises behind.
she’s not being very subtle right now.
as abby moved on top of you, her toned muscles quivered with each movement, sending shivers down your spine. her breath came in shallow gasps, each one a high-pitched whine on her lips. it was clear she was close now, so fucking close.
her grip on you tightens, her blunt nails digging crescents into your thighs. that’s when you started to wake up.
“the fuc—abby?” your words cut through her impending orgasm and she freezes. it's when you start to shift some more that she finally starts to scurry off of you.
“i’m so-sorry…you were asleep so..” she muttered sheepishly.
“i was, yeah.” you grumbled, propping yourself up some, taking in the sight in front of you. she was fully naked, tank top hanging around her neck. her braid had come undone, loose pieces of hair framing her pretty face.
you sat up completely, turning to face her fully. your hand came up to cradle her face. “why didn’t you just wake me up, abs?” god, she was mortified. her eyes didn’t meet yours, ashamed of what she’d done. “you know you could’ve.”
she knew this. she nods weakly, attempting to ignore the intense throbbing between her legs, getting increasingly wetter at the sound of your thick, sleepy voice. "didn’t wanna wake you. i’m sorry, baby.”
poor thing…so weak and pathetic. she couldn't help herself. not when it came to her wants, her cravings. she needed you, craved your touch, your control. you could see it in the way her body trembled, her eyes begged. "you just can't get off without me, can you?"
she nods, unable to find any words.
"you want more, don't you?”
another nod.
you lay back down in your spot, eyes closing as you edge back into sleep. "go on then. clean my ass off when you're done."
booooooooo. boringggg and rushed ending. i forgot about this account whoops
#dem's work. ౨ৎ#abby anderson#abby x reader#abby the last of us#the last of us#abby tlou#tlou game#abby anderson smut#lesbian#wlw
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Welcome Home - Nico Hischier x ofc
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/27cf3565980e21872d424079b85c8678/f8e4353f71a36853-92/s540x810/876854f96c6b5da17fe0b69ff6104086ce5751fd.webp)
gif from turbolainen
Title: Welcome Home
Part VI in the It Doesn’t Matter AU
It Doesn't Matter Masterlist
Author: Tory / @tkwrites
Relationship: Nico Hischier x Lena (ofc)
Summary: Lena welcomes Nico home from a road trip in a way he's only dreamed of.
Warnings: Smut (18+ Only!), heavy nipple play, unprotected p in v (wrap it up unless you’re in a consenting relationship!)
Word count: 1,800
Comments: I had no intention of posting another Nico and Lena piece so soon, but this came to me last night and practically wrote itself. I was half asleep through part of it, so please forgive any mistakes. In many ways, it's extremely self indulgent, but I think you'll enjoy it, too.
Nico and Lena continue to be my spiciest AU. They just can't keep their hands off each other.
If you did enjoy this fic, please consider letting me know by commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing.
Welcome Home
Hey, I’m sorry but I’m in the middle of something. Can you catch a ride home with Jack and Luke?
This message should have been his first clue Lena was up to something. She never bailed on plans like this. He’d been looking forward to her picking him up after the road trip. Not just because it meant he got to see her sooner, but because part of him really liked being seen with her, now that the guys knew they were together.
She wouldn’t bail without reason, though. So, he swallowed his disappointment down and responded, Sure. See you soon.
When Nico opened the apartment door, he’d expected to find Lena at her easel, working on a painting, having asked him to ride with Jack because she wasn’t in a good stopping place. She did that occasionally before bed, staying up to get it just right.
Instead, she was casually leaning her butt against the back of the couch, wearing nothing but a red silk slip with delicate black lace at the neck and hem.
“I wanted to welcome you home,” she said with a sultry smile.
“I…” he couldn’t even form words. Speech was for greater men than him. He could barely even think.
“Didn’t want to ruin the surprise by picking you up in this,” she teased, pulling at the hem.
He nodded, dumbly, reveling in the knowledge that she'd done this just for him.
One of the seven nights he was gone, they were talking on the phone when she’d asked him what kind of lingerie he liked. He’d told her he didn’t really know (anything would look incredible on her), but he’d always dreamed of coming home from a roadie to his girlfriend waiting for him in lingerie. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that she would ask him to ride with Jack so she could make it a reality.
Relishing the way his eyes raked over her again, Lena smiled. It was so easy to fulfill this fantasy, especially when she already had this nightie in Devils colors. She’d only worn it for someone once before but wore it on her own plenty. She loved the feel of it - the brush of the silk against her nipples turned her knees to jello nearly every time.
“I missed you,” she said, taking slow steps toward him.
The way the fabric lifted slightly with each sway of her hips made his mouth water. God, she was so beautiful.
“I missed you, too,” he managed to say.
This fantasy she was bringing to life had his heart banging in his chest.
“Yeah?” she asked. “How much?”
“So much,” he moaned, finally reaching out to touch her. The silk was just as soft as it looked.
“You wanna show me how much?” she asked, a teasing glint in her eyes.
Licking his lips, he nodded.
She leaned up to brush her lips over his - barely even touching. His mouth buzzed in anticipation. “Come show me then,” she said before turning to walk down the hall.
He swore in German and then in French before finally saying, “you’re fucking incredible.”
She glanced over her shoulder and met his eyes, “coming?”
It was all the prompting he needed. He ran to follow her. By the time he got into their room, she was climbing up on the bed, giving him a perfect view of her ass. A desperate noise crawled up his throat.
He waited for her to get comfortable, sitting up on the bed before he asked, “what did you have in mind?”
“You’re showing me how much you missed me, remember?”
Nodding, he tore at his clothes, stripping off the hoodie and shorts until he stood before her in nothing but boxer briefs.
“Off or on?” she asked, pulling the lace hem of her nighty up her thigh.
“On,” he panted, eyes dragging over her again. He wanted to be the one to take it off.
Her smile let him know he'd made the right choice.
“This is incredible,” he said, running a finger under one of the straps as he brought his body closer to hers.
“I like how it feels,” she admitted. And before she could stop herself, she continued, “I’m about 96 percent sure you could get me off just by playing with my nipples through it.”
His eyes were drawn down to them automatically. They seemed to pebble under his gaze, poking against the fabric. “Yeah?” he asked, voice gone husky.
“I had an ex who almost got me there but moved on right before I was about to come,” she said, rolling her eyes.
Nico wrinkled his nose. “Was he blind?” She wasn’t difficult to read. She always moaned and rocked her hips up three or four times when she was about to crest.
“Something like that,” she giggled. In reality, he’d mistaken her groan of frustration as one of desire and slid into her, shooting off before she even had the chance to come.
“Do you want me to try?”
She bit her lip and nodded, looking up at him through her lashes.
“Where?” he asked.
“Where?” she repeated, confused. Hadn't they just talked about where she wanted to he touched?
“Where do you want to be?” he clarified, gesturing to his lap as an example. “What position?” He could not be relied upon to communicate well when she was wearing this for him.
“Oh,” she blushed. As she closed her eyes, trying to envision what would feel best, one of her hands drifted up, fondling herself through the silk. Her core throbbed to life between her legs. The fact that Nico wanted to do this for her turned her on nearly as much as the caress of her own fingers.
Her face softened, and Nico groaned. He flirted with the idea of letting her continue, wanting to see her get herself off like this. On the other hand, he was supposed to be showing her. And he wanted to touch her. He always wanted to touch her.
Reaching forward, he knocked her hand out of the way so he could tweak her nipple instead.
Her head fell back, and she moaned, “lighter.”
“Hu?”
“I want you to touch lighter,” she said, “like this.” She reached up, gently pinching one of the sensitive nubs before dragging the silk over the tip. It felt so good — slippery and cool. A whisper on her sensitive skin.
He took her instruction, relaxing his touch.
Her back arched, pressing closer as his thumb lightly circled the peak. “Oh my god. That feels so good,” she breathed. “Don't stop.”
His left hand came up to join the right, repeating the treatment on her other breast.
“Fuck, Nico. Oh, yes.”
Her chest heaved a deep breath, and her hips began to roll.
“Here,” Nico said, momentarily abandoning his mission so he could get them in a better position.
She whined at the loss but cut herself off when he sat against the headboard and pulled her into his lap.
Quick as a flash, she was all over him, kissing him deeply as she brought her hips closer to his.
She was already soaked, leaving a trail of arousal on his skin.
Groaning, his hands slipped back up to her breasts, gently pinching and rotating his fingers.
“Oh,” she keened. It felt incredible. Each tweak and twirl of her nipples shot a rocket of pleasure straight to her clit. She was sure if he so much as brushed the sensitive pearl, she would fall apart, receptive to even the slightest touch.
“Come on,” he urged, touching the pad of his thumbs to the peaks and rubbing them in small circles.
“Oh,” she groaned, hips rocking as her back arched, “oh fuck Nico.”
His left hand went back to pinching and rolling the pebble between his thumb and forefinger as the right continued the gentle circles.
The sudden force of his dual stimulation exploded in her veins.
Hips pressed fully to him, she only had to roll once before her clit brushed his stomach, catching his happy trail, and pleasure exploded into her body.
Nico kept going, tender and steady while she chanted his name. He was mesmerized that this simple touch could bring so much out of her.
Gently, he pulled on one of the tender peaks, and, head thrown back, she cried out as heat blazed anew inside her.
“Lena,” he groaned, leaning down to suck one nipple into his mouth, straight through the fabric.
She writhed atop him.
With his hand free, he pushed his boxers out of the way and urged her to sink onto his hard cock.
Feeling him slip inside her as her orgasm raged was a breathtaking new sensation she would never forget.
God, she felt incredible around him, urging him deeper.
When the haze of pleasure slipped from Lena’s mind, an overwhelming urge to blow his mind took its place. He'd just given her two (three?) earth shattering orgasms in a row. Before the first one stopped, he did something new to begin again. She needed him to feel the same way.
Pushing him back gently, his mouth reluctantly popped off her breast as he was forced to lean back against the headboard.
“Let me,” she said, rocking her hips with a little more insistence.
Nico gulped and nodded, looking up at her with those big, brown eyes.
In all the times he'd imagined being with her, his mind had never come up with a scenario like this. Reality really was better than any kind of dream.
In his partially reclined position, it was easier for her to touch him. Her hands slipped up his stomach, and as they found a new home on his chest, she softly circled his nipples with her thumbs, grazing over top every few passes.
He moaned. He'd known nipple play was a thing. Lena liked her nipples played with nearly as much as her clit, and, even though she'd touched him there before, he'd never felt anything like this. It was like she built some kind of pleasure highway from his chest to his dick and each time she touched him, sensation rushed between the two.
He groaned her name, back arching and hips thrusting to meet each of her movements.
Lena relished making him feel this way, eating up the shaky way he drew breath and the flutter of his lashes as his eyes rolled back.
Feeling him spill into her as he shouted his pleasure sparked a sense of intense satisfaction inside Lena until it was glowing bright within her.
“Oh my God,” he gasped as she lay over him, taking care to keep him seated inside her.
“Thank you,” she said, propping herself on one elbow so she could look into his face. “That was even better than I dreamed.”
A cocky smile ticked his lips up. “I'm glad,” he mumbled, pulling her in for a kiss. “I'll do that anytime you want.”
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#nico & lena#it doesn't matter au#nico hischier#nico hischier fanfic#nico hischier blurb#nico hischier imagine#nico hischier smut#nico hischier x oc#nico hischier x ofc#nico hischier au#nhl fanfiction#nhl smut#hockey fanfiction#hockey smut#hockey romance
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I love the way you write can you do Kenma. Kinda toxic Kenma, reader and him had an argument but it’s mainly just him being awful to her. So reader is sad and then he gets worried she’ll do some stuff to herself and then he comforts her yeaaaa emphasis on the him getting worried and guilty part.☺️
sorry this is kinda detailed
ECHOES OF SILENCE
Pairing: Kenma x Reader
Genre: Angst with Comfort
A/N: IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I BROKE MY COMPUTER. also change of writing style I literally physically couldn't go back to my old one LMAO
The door shut behind you with a hollow thud, the kind that echoed through your chest long after the sound had died away. The air inside the apartment felt heavier than usual, weighted down with the aftermath of your latest argument with Kenma. Your hands trembled as you reached for the back of a chair, grounding yourself before your legs gave out entirely.
He’d been harsh tonight. Harsher than ever before.
His words—cold, cutting, and merciless—had pierced through every defense you had built. They circled in your mind like vultures, picking apart the fragile pieces of your heart.
“Why do you always need my attention? It’s suffocating, honestly.”
“It’s not my job to make you feel okay all the time.”
“Maybe if you weren’t so insecure, this wouldn’t be a problem.”
Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you bit down on your lip hard enough to taste copper, refusing to let them fall. You felt small—so unbearably small—and so unbearably alone.
Kenma hadn’t even looked at you when he delivered the final blow, his amber eyes fixed on the glow of his game screen as if you were nothing more than a background noise he could turn off.
And maybe he was right. Maybe you were too much.
The ache in your chest grew sharper, blooming into a storm of hurt that wrapped around your ribs like a vice. You rubbed at your arms, seeking warmth where there was none, your breaths shallow and shaky. The spiral was familiar, dark thoughts gnawing at the edges of your mind, whispering that you weren’t enough, that no one would miss you if you disappeared for a while.
Or for longer.
You blinked slowly, your gaze drifting to the window. The city lights outside twinkled, cold and distant. There was a numbness creeping up your spine, spreading through your limbs until you felt disconnected from yourself, like you were watching someone else exist inside your body.
Kenma leaned back in his gaming chair, the controller still in his hands. The room was quiet now—too quiet. He could hear his own breathing, uneven and shallow. The last thing you’d said before you left replayed in his mind.
“I don’t know what you want from me anymore.”
There was no fire in your voice, no anger. Just sadness. Defeat.
Kenma swallowed hard, his heart thudding unevenly against his ribs. The glow of the screen in front of him felt blinding now, the sound effects grating in his ears. He turned it off with a sharp click, plunging the room into darkness save for the faint light seeping in from the hallway.
Guilt clawed at his throat, a thick, suffocating weight that made it hard to breathe. He squeezed his eyes shut, running a hand through his hair, the silky strands slipping through his fingers like sand. He knew he was cruel tonight. He’d known even as the words left his mouth that they were too sharp, too unfair. But he’d been so frustrated, so overwhelmed, that he lashed out the only way he knew how—by pushing away the person who mattered most.
And now you were gone.
What if you didn’t come back?
A cold shiver ran down his spine. What if—
No.
No, he couldn’t think like that.
Kenma stood abruptly, his feet carrying him out of his gaming room before he even registered he was moving. He opened the door to your shared bedroom, half expecting you to be sitting on the bed, waiting for him like you always did after a fight. But the room was empty, and the silence was deafening.
His heart dropped.
You didn’t hear the door creak open behind you. You were too lost in the storm of your own thoughts, too far gone to notice the way Kenma hesitated on the threshold, his eyes wide and full of something you hadn’t seen in him before—fear.
“Y/N.” His voice was soft, barely a whisper, but it cut through the haze in your mind like a blade.
You flinched, your head snapping up to meet his gaze. He looked pale, his hands trembling as they gripped the doorframe.
“What do you want?” Your voice cracked, raw and brittle.
“I…” Kenma swallowed, stepping into the room. “I was worried about you.”
You laughed, a bitter sound that didn’t reach your eyes. “Worried about me? Since when?”
“Don’t say that.” His voice broke, and the sound of it made your heart stutter. “Please… don’t say that.”
You looked away, your shoulders curling in on themselves as if you could shrink away from the weight of his guilt. “You don’t have to pretend to care now. You made it pretty clear where I stand with you.”
“I’m an idiot,” he blurted out, his voice cracking with desperation. “I’m… I’m so stupid, Y/N. I don’t know why I say those things. I don’t mean them—I never mean them.”
“Then why do you keep hurting me?”
Kenma felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I don’t know how to stop. But I want to. I swear I do.”
The silence between you stretched thin, fragile as glass. Kenma took another step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “I thought… I thought I was losing you tonight. And it scared me. It terrified me.”
You blinked, fresh tears slipping down your cheeks. “You are losing me, Kenma. Every time you say those things… it chips away at me. And I’m tired of feeling like I’m not enough.”
“I’m sorry,” he breathed, the words trembling on his lips. “I’m so sorry. I’ll do better. Please… don’t leave. Don’t leave me.”
The vulnerability in his voice broke something inside you, the walls you’d built around your heart crumbling as he reached out to cup your face with trembling hands. His touch was warm, grounding, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself lean into him.
“I’m scared too,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.
“We’ll figure it out,” he murmured, his forehead pressing against yours. “Together.”
And for now, that was enough.
#haikyuu#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu angst#kenma#kenma angst#kenma comfort#kenma x reader#haikyuu comfort#haikyu
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Turning Point - Part 4
Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc
Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Angst, Loss of Arm, Lots of emotional struggle with disability, Xavier Anecdote and Lightseeker Myth mentions.
Word Count: 4584
Written: 7th January 2025
Notes: Pre-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. This one was rough for a lot of reasons. Also I think about how Xavier is the only confirmed character to watch MC die in his arms, way more than I should. So I feel like guilt is an emotion he would have to contend with the most. I'm also beyond heartbroken we didn't get him sobbing or reacting in game. Also I wrote like, so many side things while I was trying to work this bit out. But I've also gone back to chapter 3 to change the timeframe for Raffy's exhibit, so I can write out the chapter for him properly. (chapter? part?)
Now Playing: Starlight, by STARSET
Masterlist AO3
<- Previous
Xavier can't focus, he knows Nero is talking to him. If he had to make a guess, he knows the topic… he just can't make himself hear it.
He doesn't dislike Nero, and while he couldn't care less about the topic of Lumiere, least of all when you talk about him, he normally listens. Because Nero likes Xavier, and is comfortable talking to him, and has zero interest in flirting with you.
It's a low threshold… he's aware he's a selfish creature. If the new companions he'd acquired weren't willing to die for you too, he probably would have less patience for them. Even if sometimes they do press on the edges of his tolerance.
It's probably part of his punishment…
For not being there.
For letting you get hurt.
"Xavier?"
"Xaviiiiiier?"
"Hey!"
His nose is held, and he jolts upright, looking forwards with wide eyes at Tara and Nero who are frowning.
"Are you alright?"
"Sorry, I didn't mean to bore you."
He shakes his head, trying to clear what you've dubbed his 'storm cloud', "Just tired."
Tired. Angry. Hurting. He let you down, and now you're suffering even more.
He thinks about the you he left behind, the future he turned his back on. He thinks about the throne, and the ship he chartered.
He thinks about every life he's taken to protect yours. All the blood on his hands.
With all of his vigilance, all of his love, it took moments to almost lose you. Again.
"You should head home, we don't have any missions, and you'll just fall asleep again." Tara laughs, pushing a paper bag towards him, "And take this back for them, alright?"
He's about to do so, when he sees documents on Nero's desk. Sketches of prosthetic arms, augmented with wanderer designs. "What are you doing?"
Nero jumps, shoving the paper back but too slowly, Xavier picks it up to peer at it. Alongside the sketches are notes.
'Adjust the metal casing so it can be used as an emergency shield.' 'Nerve transmitters that work from the brain, requires less input from residual limb.' 'Bioorganic materials from wanderers reduce rejection rate?' 'Will they want patterns? Or something more skin-like?'
He looks at Nero, from all the notes, even some he can't read because the handwriting is quick and frantic, "What's this?"
The man in question looks down, his glasses almost falling off his nose, "I was talking to some of the other hunters who have a prosthetic. or lost a limb."
"I was doing the talking, Nero was taking notes."
He nods, looking a little more backed up with Tara next to him, "I wanted to find out what they could have used more when they started working again. Ways I could help them." He blinks then, looking startled, "They're coming back right?"
Tara looks at Xavier too, and he feels like he's under a microscope, because her face has changed. Fear lurking in frantic eyes.
"They will." He affirms, because you're aiming to, and he knows you don't give up. You'll stumble, trip, fall and bleed… but you'll get up and start running again.
He thinks about the you he left behind, and the you now.
Scarred and angry, aching at the edges. He thinks of the laughter when you finish a mission, fist bumping him with glee. The photos he has of you where you're smiling. Even if you don't smile as wide as Tara does, even if the scars tug at your lips. He thinks about your eyes, glittering with mischief, as you steal something off his desk.
When you can't stop laughing when you ask to try his light blade, flashing teeth like a cat. Heated cheeks but amused. He shares a blush, but he wishes you wouldn't tease.
You're different, with overlaps in parts.
He misses your smile.
"Nero, can you help me with something?"
—-
When he gets back to the apartment building, the moon high in the sky, he wants to see you straight away… but his hunter uniform is dirty, and he wants to relax. Release the strain of the day. So he stops off, changes, and sees some of the doctor's clothes next to his bed.
He's not sure what made him offer his apartment as a secondary place to stay. He's not sure if it was the relief in your eyes when you saw them all there the next morning, or the guilt that he wasn't enough alone to protect you.
Regardless, he made a choice. Even though only the doctor seems to use it. Rafayel prefers to sleep on the floor, if he sleeps at all with his projects, Sylus drifts in and out like a ghost… he only stays when he stays next to you.
He finds himself sleeping against your bed when you do, when he's not fighting. Trying to chase out the guilt with his sword.
As he makes his way back to your apartment, he sees a note on the fridge.
Plate in fridge, reheat it.
With a sketch of a round crow… he thinks it's wearing a neck ruff?
"Courtesy of kitten," The voice is even, and he sees Sylus at the kitchen table. Prosthetic in hand, as he goes through motions they all know. Cleaning and tending to it. "The crow, that is. The food is me. An extra plate is easy."
Xavier would question the intelligence of eating food made by a criminal, but if he trusts Sylus' food in your hands, he doesn't fear it in his own. "Thanks." He doesn't want to think too hard about this. About the state of things. The people around him that he never would have met without you.
He fractures at the idea that he can't be enough to protect you.
He'll eat it later, when guilt doesn't turn his stomach.
"If you're going to check in on them, do it quietly." Sylus doesn't look up at him, content to ease leather with careful hands and cloth, "They finally got to sleep."
He bristles a little, at being told to be careful with you, eyes narrowing and cold, but it is not received. The man even has the nerve to begin humming, low and under his breath. Out of tune. Xavier doesn't think he's ever met another man so impossibly unbothered by the world around him.
The words are ignored, received with a huff, and he walks past, towards your bedroom. You're alone today, no Rafayel lay on the bed with you, sketching, no Zayne, reading in the dark, as you sleep. You are curled around a large plushie of a narwhal, arm clutching it to your chest as you mutter through your dreams.
It is a relief to see the steady movement of your breathing. Though he still does not settle down until he places a hand on your cheek, feeling the exhale. You're alive, you're here, and you're under his hands.
The guilt calms down, as he reminds himself of that.
Instead of going back out to eat, Xavier settles down on the floor, back pressed to the bed, cheek on the mattress. Watching you. It is one of the few times he is relieved for his ease of sleep. So he can drift off, watching you live.
—----
The next morning, he places a cup of coffee next to your bedside table, and gives a nod to Sylus who has been reading one of your books, before returning to the Hunter's Association. He comes face to face with an excited Nero.
He almost takes a step back. Very nearly turns around and walks out, before he remembers he asked for something, "Xavier!"
Tara is following close behind, hiding her laughter behind her hand, "He's been waiting by the door for you."
"Three people responded that they're interested in talking to you. They're also happy to have notes taken, so I can help."
He wasn't sure he'd hear anything this quickly, he supposes he shouldn't be that surprised. Nero fixates on something, just as much as you do. His fixation tends to come in bursts of problem solving, yours comes in biting and tearing and clawing to the solution.
"Alright, let's go."
Jenna gives him time to talk, and he walks with Nero to a room where the three people are sat, chatting between themselves.
They still, and watch as he hesitates. An older man chuckles at him, waving his one hand, "Sit down, lad. We don't bite."
It moves his feet, into a chair, but not his mouth. He needs to move forwards, but he's not sure how.
What can he say? How can he help you? What words are there to help you move forwards?
He thinks about the trembling in your body, the tears that won't fall in your eyes. He is stuck. Xavier is stuck, like he's holding you under a meteor shower again. Shaking you.
Begging. For something.
A miracle.
"Nero already told us about your partner." A woman speaks, she sports a flexible keel prosthesis, "Not that we don't know about UNICORNs, you lot don't half make some noise." Her voice is cool, level, but she has a small smile. Warm eyes.
It eases him. "I wanted-"
"To ask questions right, lad? I can talk for hours for you."
So he lets them, as he listens. The old man works in analytics, collating information for the Association. He was born without his hand. Tried prosthetics, none took, he didn't want to keep trying.
"I accepted it straight away, my husband stood beside me. There are problems, but we work through them."
The young female hunter is from one of the Beta teams. Lost her foot in a fight with a wyrm, saved her partner in the process.
"I thought I'd accepted it, took the prosthetic training, everything went well. It was two years later, when I woke up one day, burst into tears. Couldn't stop." She fidgets, toying with her fingers for a moment, before straightening up, "Sometimes I still get sad, like I'm finally processing it, but normally it's just another day. It's a tool, not part of me, but it gave me most of my independence back. So even when I'm sad, I hold to that."
The third hunter twirls a pen around their prosthetic fingers, they're an arctic hunter, in the area for training. There's a large scar down their eye, and they don't react visually to the others, but leans forward to speak. They don't reveal how they gained their prosthetic.
"Didn't accept it, not for a long time. Woke up everyday angry, got reckless. Almost died." They exhale, deep, slow, tired, "Sometimes I'm still angry, but I'm still a fighter. I can still help my squad. So it's worth it. Took me longer to get around to using it than most, I dragged my feet, didn't want to learn for ages. It was my partner that got me moving, came to check in on me. Called me a fool, 'one life, idiot, keep living it'. So I did."
"It's hard sometimes, but people handle it differently."
Xavier sits and listens, they give tips on coming back to working as a hunter, they share everything he could even think to ask. Warm and ready, and understanding. They ask to meet you when you're back, tease him about his name and yours.
You're one of Jenna's best for a reason. Those hunter's reels certainly get watched a lot.
He tries not to think about the advertisements he's had to star in, either alongside you or alone. He's just relieved he doesn't get recognised as Lumiere.
That conversation would be even longer.
Hunters live a job at risk, he's aware of that… he can't stop thinking about it.
"Kid." He looks up, wants to correct the man, decides against it, "It's alright to be struggling, worrying about your partner. They're not gone though. Don't sit in the past. Get help yourself, but remember to share with them. Let that partner of yours know how you feel, they'll feel less isolated."
His shoulders jump, the chill in his back. He's been fatalising. Acting like you're broken when he knows that's what you're fearing. Thinking of you like you're gone, when you're right in front of him.
Stuck in the past…
Guilt and pain and worry making him think about you like he'll lose you if he stops.
You're alive, and you're moving forwards, and he needs to as well. With you. "Thank you." This thanks, he thinks, feels more honest. Like he's not biting his tongue to say it.
When Xavier returns home, he doesn't mind the plate left in the fridge for him.
He doesn't mind that the most wanted man of Philos is chuckling with your head in his lap, because he joins you on the sofa, and listens to you tell them about your sessions.
He has to remember you're capable of protecting yourself, you've always wanted to stand equal. Protecting others, as much as they protect you. Stubborn, and proud, to a fault sometimes.
As you smile, small and crooked at him, he offers you the notes he and Nero finished compiling.
You read them, eyes wide, and glimmering, before wrapping your arm around his neck.
"Thank you Xavier."
It's good to not be alone, he thinks. It's been far too long. Too many he's had to lose… That he's forgotten how to reach out, how to even take a hand, let alone stop himself from holding too tight out of fear.
He doesn't want to forget your future.
Even when Sylus smirks, calls him a little knightling, and he debates if you really need a support system that includes the criminal.
—----
Progress is steady. You struggle, and you stumble. But you remember the laughter in the kitchen and the beast dropping off your back to curl about your ankle.
You think about the notes handed to you by Xavier, carefully recorded accounts of acknowledgment, support… life.
You think about Tara, Simone and Nero. How much you want to get back to standing alongside them.
You think about gentle hands taking care of you in the bathroom while you shivered, and warm meals with arguing voices.
You think about Caleb. What he'd say if he were with you.
And you take one step at a time.
When you are not in front of Doctor Rin, clinging far too tightly to whoever's hand is turning bone white in your grip, you are practicing at home.
She's asked you what your goal was, the point you're aiming for.
It is easier, she reminds you, to have something to achieve.
It's an easy question, you want to be back in the field again, you want to make your life mean something. You want to fight alongside the people you trust, and not leave them to flounder alone.
When you are a hunter again, and taking on missions, that's when you'll have achieved your goal. You tell her, hand in a fist.
Her smile overlaps with Gran's, the day you'd told her and Caleb you got into the academy. You think about the way he'd poked you in the forehead, then ruffled your hair, 'Way ta go pipsqueak.'
You think he'd be pulling your hand, running forwards, if he were here. Just like he pulled you forwards everytime you got injured in a fight. Just like he pulled when you wanted to give up.
The memory keeps you from stopping.
Over the course of weeks, you set yourself challenges.
It starts with challenging yourself to hold your prosthetic.
It's not as heavy as you think it should be. The logical part of your brain reminds you that it's built for hunters specifically, and is replacing your arm.
It's that logical part of your brain that stops you from throwing it away from you. It is a tool, you tell yourself. Something that will ensure you can still be a hunter. That eventually, at the end of this, you will be able to go back to doing what you should be doing. Using your life to help others. No matter how short it is.
Some days it feels like it burns you when you place your hand on it. Those days, you leave your room, and sit by Rafayel as he paints. Watching him work, seeing the world he sees.
You ask him questions about his work, even though part of you worries you'll disturb him. He never indicates you are, answering you happily. You think he's happy to share, you hope he is. You're happy to listen.
One day you see his open sketchbook.
For a second, you see a sketch of you, worn and tired… but alive. Your body scarred, but you tremble to see yourself looking like art on his page.
You close the book, placing it back by his canvas, and go back to the prosthetic. To try again.
You learn to wear it, for short periods of time a day, to build up to throughout the day.
You start off, managing twenty minutes, before you have to rip the thing off. Relieved when Zayne catches your hand, stopping you from doing any damage to it. Before he helps you ease yourself out.
The straps are easy to adjust with one hand, but when you want it off, it feels as though you are on fire. Tearing at clothing melting into your skin.
He sits next to you and massages your residual limb, fingers easing hair from your face, tracing lines on your cheek. The fire in your body settles at the cool touch of his hands, and you settle again.
Later, you try again. When it burns, you remember the ice of Zayne's touch, and keep going.
The next stage is to clean it. You learn the motions, you study how to do it. Sat in the living room, tools to your side, figuring out how best to do it with one hand.
There are days when you drop the tools. Trying hard not to sob as they tumble to the floor. Choking back tears as your hand doesn't work the way you want it too. As you fail to follow the steps correctly. As you spill leather conditioner on the table, or the carpet.
In those moments, someone will join you at your side. Sylus will pull the tools away, and sit next to you, running through the motions he's been learning as he's watched you. Overtime, it becomes routine. He masters the steps before you do, assisting you, cleaning out the inner socket alongside as you gently clean the leather straps. Other times, Xavier, hesitant and unsure about touching your prosthetic, joins you. Head in your lap. You speak the steps out loud, running through them so he can learn them with you. The next time, he does it himself, calm and kind and warm. Smiling at you as he does so.
Everyday is a day to take your medication, your wounds are healing well, and with the care of those around you, you are coming away with scars, but no longer bleeding through bandages.
The final challenge is the practice, the movement and the acquainting yourself with the movement of your limb.
You sit in the hospital room you can't stand, hand anchored in Sylus', who has joined you for today. It is another day, and the weight of walking through corridors has eased somewhat. You know the passage of time means things become easier, you're used to that. The flow, the adjustment. The steps forward, and stumbles back.
Your heart has given you some experience in this.
Doctor Rin greets you easily, awaiting your arrival. As soon as she sees you, she smiles. It is that same warm smile that makes the ghosts lurk at your shoulders. It is an exhale to steady you, before you return it with a half smile. Hard enough to offer expressions, without the added grief pulling you back.
It passes easier than you expect. An introduction to the exercises you need to practice, information about not forcing yourself until you hurt. To take breaks and come back to it, if you fail five times, stop. Try again later.
To practice every day. It is a skill you have to learn. Not unlike when you were learning to use your weapons, struggling to learn how to aim. Falling down everytime you swung a claymore.
It is simple things. Can you open and close your new hand? Can you rotate your wrist?
It is a mountain, one you are scared to try to climb.
There is the stable hand in yours, a man who chuckles at you as you look at him, seeking out something in molten eyes. You don't like being weak in front of Sylus, despite him offering you the space to be yourself. It is a long standing fear.
You are more scared to be alone, however, so you turn back to the doctor.
You remind yourself of boxing training with Sylus, who teases you when you don't punch fast enough, but takes you in earnest. Rights your stance. Watches you practice. Praises you for improvement.
Challenges you to be better.
This is another tool you can use, something to enable you to fight again. To stand by him and fight again.
So you follow the doctor's instructions. It is an almost unconscious feeling. She has explained how the transmitters work, but you don't want to think about it too much. Understanding is something, you need it to be instinctual. If it's not, you won't be able to fight again.
Still, you feel yourself overextend. Overcompensate movement where it was once easy. The hand stares back at you as you watch it, and you try to remember what you used to do. Extend. Feel where the muscles should tense along your shoulder. Close. Open.
It reacts, but it is slow. Metal fingers steadily opening, closing. You try to twist your wrist, but it doesn't move the way you want. Frustration builds. You try again. You feel your shoulder twitch but nothing happens.
Your teeth grit, and you try again.
"Kitten." The voice calls you back, a firm grip takes your chin, turning your head to focus on his molten eyes again. There is a twinkle in there, his normally ever present smirk has evened out. Serious but calming. You watch the red of his eyes swirl, and you feel him smooth his thumb across your cheek. "Don't chase your tail, take a deep breath, try again."
He pushes you forwards. Always. Testing your limits, watching you grow.
You think about ways you'd trained your body to fight, ways you made yourself stronger. Running with Zayne, practicing with the blade with Xavier, maneuvers with Rafayel, strength training with Sylus. You are not going to stop until you learn how to use this.
Until you achieve that goal.
This time, when you try, it comes a little easier, as you calm yourself down. Heart settling into a steady rhythm and you watch the hand move. Twisting the wrist, opening and closing it. Pride settles in your chest, as you grin at it. Relief and satisfaction, that you haven't failed. You turn and you twist and watch in awe.
The fingers open a little quicker, you practice moving them but the individual movements are sluggish, and you try to pick things up, but you drop them more than you hold them.
When Sylus nudges you with his shoulder, smirking at you, you take on the pride in his eyes, and you keep moving forwards.
You hit a wall when you have to stretch it out properly, bending the elbow joint, but you settle.
You take the challenge.
It is a mountain you will learn to climb.
You learned how to be a hunter, you can learn this.
As you walk home with Sylus, twisting the arm despite your fatigue, he chuckles, "You look like you've received a new toy. You're like this when I get you a new gun."
You sniff at him, poking him with the metal hand, though its clumsy and more of a full hand than a finger. Marvelling at the feeling of heat from him that comes through the prosthetic. "You just wait, soon I'll be swinging a sword again."
He pauses, looking at you, and then laughs. A chuckle that shakes his hand in yours, and then pulls you in to flick your forehead, "Alright Kitten, let's get you there."
The exercises continue at home, you move into the kitchen while Sylus cooks, to practice with a ball. The more you do it, the easier it gets to learn the motions. Every new thing you try, however, is a hurdle you feel sick to overcome.
Sometimes the movement refuses to do as you want. So you remove it, and try not to cry, try not to drown, and find a distraction.
When you try to pick up a cup, you watch in horror as you drop it, smashing it across the floor. Sylus pulls you away from the fragments, soothing the upset, over breaking something. Over failing. Over being this.
After that you stick to things that won't break, won't hurt you. It still aches when you drop something, when you fail. You're never alone in the pain for too long, there is always a constant, someone there to keep you from spiralling.
The more they catch you, the less you need catching. Until you pick up a cup, and you laugh. Pride brimming. An achievement, no broken shards. A tool you are learning to use.
Later, when you're tired, but relieved, you sit at the kitchen table as Sylus sings along to a song in your playlist as he cooks, there is no Rafayel to argue with, so he seems far calmer. Happy. He always seems happy when he sings.
"Sy?"
He hums, looking back at you. His smiles are often more warm eyes than movement of his mouth, quirks and twitches. "What's wrong Kitten?"
You hesitate, thinking about how many days you've seen him stood at the counter, preparing food for you, and the others. It is guilt on your shoulders, but it is also relief and thankfulness. He is a warm presence, always answering the phone when you need him. "Can I help?"
He shrugs, "Sure, come and stir." So you join him, it is not a hard task, but you feel a little more like you're here. Helping.
Living and not existing. The creature at your ankle stirs and purrs, eased and happy.
You haven't heard it settle in such a long time.
"Thank you." You speak, staring into the pot, watching the swirling at the end of your spatula.
The man stands next to you and shrugs, unbothered, "Not a problem, kitten. I've told you, ask, demand, request. You can be greedy with me." He reaches over and flicks your forehead, before tapping your nose. "I'm always here for you. Even if you do let our food burn."
You panic as the heat bubbles over, and quickly turn it down, and he simply laughs at you. So you elbow him in the side, and revel in the way his laugh blossoms harder.
When you eat with everyone that evening, you help ladle out food, and set the table. You don't run away to the darkness of your room, and you add the laughter around you to your collection of reasons to keep moving.
#zayne#zayne x reader#rafayel#rafayel x reader#xavier#xavier x reader#sylus#sylus x reader#love and deepspace#lnds#lads#wonder writes#lads x reader#Zayne lads#rafayel lads#Xavier lads#Sylus lads#lads x mc#poly!lads#smau#i can finally stop torturing myself with this part the amount of times i rewrote it is frankly upsetting.#i'm p sure i scrapped like 12k words just trying to make my brain stop screaming at me... but hey. it happens
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