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#but I’m bitter because every time I try to voice my sadness I’m silenced by people who want me to know their sadness is more valid
futureplayboibunnie · 11 months
Text
‘’TENSION’’
Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader
18+
- it’s been a hot hot minute but i’m back (still got exams rip) but i just couldn’t help myself, i’m far too obsessed with Hotch atm. my tortured serious detective heart can’t take it. i deliberately made this so fucking long cause i love the tension before the smutty smut. love u guys i’ll be back more consistently soon xx
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The sky turned black and it felt like you lost yourself in the cool damp night, staring at nothing but a blaring white screen sitting at your desk praying for this unnerving blankness to end. Even when flying back and the case is successfully solved and profiled, the paperwork that you promised to Hotch earlier was calling to you and you didn't have the chance to call it a night like your fellow teammates. So you sat hollow-eyed at your desk, writing up the events of today. You did have a choice in the matter though- to smooth over the endless tension with Hotch, your boss. Every time you remember any sort of interaction with him, your eyes crease and your brows furrow involuntarily- it was as if there was a heavy feeling in your chest, not from sadness or insult but a tight frustration you couldn't seem to bury no matter how strong your intentions were.
It was only you here in the bullpen and only Hotch brooding in his office, your glassy eyes flicked every so often to see him through his blinds sitting at his desk. It was so late and your brain was turning to white noise and heavy thumps, your clear thinking was fleeing you every minute you sat at your desk. You pondered walking in and talking to him. Confronting him over the events that sent the frosty tension biting down your spine.
-
The group sat around, unfocused and loitering from desk to desk discussing anything other than the case at hand which wasn't a prudent choice considering you were the newest addition to the team and you couldn't afford to have a bad rap sheet, especially when your boss was the Aaron Hotchner who has a severe attitude and a nerve made of steel- so if you crossed him, he would make it apparent that your behavior would not be tolerated and if it repeats...the consequences far outweighed the risks. Even though you've been here for a year, the tension between you and Hotch hasn't eased, in fact, they froze over tenfold. But it didn't matter because you were just as bitter. You couldn't help it slip out sometimes, just because you were new it didn't mean that you were a people pleaser that was a doormat to anyone with $800 real Italian leather shoes, namely Hotch’
It was difficult to deny that he was…attractive. He moved in silence and it was deafening, he was cold and distant but your intrigue was impossible to quell- he was hot. And completely unlikeable.
And before you knew it, Hotch was right in front of you, with a discerning and severe look on his face that you couldn't seem to shake. All of a sudden, Prentiss and Reid had wandering eyes that looked around elsewhere as they walked away like children trying to hide. Shit.
‘’Agent, a word please.’’ He instructed in that soft yet firm voice of his, knowing that it wasn't friendly and it wasn't insulting- just so fucking polite. It was in this cool middle ground that was filled with grit and tender resentment- unconventionally paradoxical and entirely inconvenient. You shot Emily and Spencer a worried look and their eyes also mimicked your panic and uncertainty, giving a shrug back at you.
You stood proud, however, squaring your shoulders upright when you followed his lead back up to his office, your only view being the back of his tailored suit. Damn, his shoulders were…broad.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
A million self-referential questions flew through your head like a million comets in the sky.
Did you offend him?
Did you make a comment that messed up his view of you forever?
Does he think you can't do your job anymore?
Is he going to transfer you?
Replace you?
Like the polite asshole he was, Hotch left the door open for you and motioned you to take a seat before he was sitting behind his desk waiting to interrogate you and catch you out. You could handle this though, you weren't afraid of him. You sat cross-legged awaiting his charred words but he took a moment to study you.
Hotch wasn't a man that mixed business and his own personal opinion. Subjectivity was the downfall of many leaders of this team before him and he absolutely didn't want anything to change now. This was the sole reason he had been giving you a hard time through the guise of being mistrusting of the newest addition to his team...though it was easy to admit that he didn't trust you, he barely knew you- he glared at you through lifeless and surveying eyes.
‘’I wanted to inform you that your case reports for the previous case haven't been handed to me, the deadline for it was last night and I don't appreciate tardiness.’’ Hotch scolded you with a flatlined voice that was threatening if you listened to it right- you were a profiler, of course, you picked that up.
‘’I completely understand that sir, but I wanted my account to be more detailed and diligent.’’
‘’Why is that?’’ He was inspecting you further and you felt like you were under a microscope.
‘’Because I was the one that shot the unsub.’’ Your voice was heavy even though you knew this wasn't a good excuse. Reid and Morgan once used this excuse to delay the paperwork but it never worked, it only earned them a verbal tongue-lashing on how paperwork deadlines are important as it allows records and cases to be fully sealed, you couldn't move on without finishing them. You internally winced and your neck burned with regret at saying that. It wasn't like this was the first time you shot someone.
Hotch just stared at you, he should be down your throat about these things but he was finding it difficult to draw the line between being your boss and his own personal feelings he was beginning to harbor for you. This all started when you first started a year ago- when you first walked into his office he was taken aback by your hard-angled features and your tight lip, most people who join the BAU have a tendency to fall into two categories with Hotch: completely persistent and overbearing bootlickers that actually defy his orders or moody lone wolves that don't know how to work in a team. You didn't fit into either of those boxes. He couldn't help but align himself with you- as if you were like him. Although what surprised him was that you smiled and laughed in a way that he never did, when you finally were aware of the dynamics of the team, it teased out lightness and ease within you. He'd grown to be fond of your smile, he liked seeing it. Which was odd because when you were with him, your face went hard. Like you were challenging him and his authority.
‘’You're a very talented agent. And an incredibly smart and diligent profiler. You make a very good addition to this team for someone that I haven't worked with for very long but I can't work with people who don't place the same value on paperwork and fieldwork respectively. I'll give you leeway on this occasion but I need you to be good at paper trails as you are on the field.’’
You felt your mouth drop open slightly, like unloose hinges on a door that just got slammed. All the breath was knocked out of your lungs at his not-so-subtle compliment, your ears pricked with heat at the fact that you never heard anything this heartfelt come out of Hotch's mouth, especially regarding you.
‘’Thank you..I-‘’
‘’Please don't blush, the accolade is very much deserved.’’
Hotch was somehow keeping his cool which was a much-needed miracle from the universe. Even though the flush that stained your face somehow made it even more beautiful, he'd like to see that rose pink everywhere else...all over your body. You weren't challenging him now, you were like putty in his hands and it was incredibly jarring to see, but not unwelcome at all. He liked that the one small compliment affected you so, it didn't need to take a profiler to see it clear as day. It was apparent to see that your thoughts were affecting you physically, your thumb was incessantly rubbing the side of your pointer finger- your tell.
‘’I appreciate that Aaron-‘’
‘’-Sir.’’ He reinforced in a thick and heavy voice, correcting the term. You were always supposed to use 'sir' or 'Hotch', you'd never called him Aaron before and your lips curved slightly into a frown
Every time you were getting close to him, he cut you off and built up those walls again. It soured your mood and your brow furrowed again. You got up and leaned in slightly before standing upright.
‘’Sir.’’ You squared your shoulders and readjusted your posture before leaving.
‘’I'll get it finished by tonight.’’ You said huskily, annoyed and frustrated.
-
What was even odder is that your feet had a mind of their own, the silence was overwhelming you and it felt like you were about to smack your head against a brick wall when you stood outside of his office and knocked.
The tension was taking over you and you needed some form of clarity.
‘’Come in.’’ Hotch stated politely before looking up from his writing and letting go of his pen. You stood there, incredibly confident in your stance and he had to suppress raising an eyebrow.
‘’Y/N. What can I do for you?’’ His voice was low, heady and so damn sexy…almost suggestive.
Just looking at him made electricity shoot through your shoulder blades, his tie was slightly loosened, and his hair was a little more scuffed than usual. Hotch's gaze was scorching, to say the least, it was a complete 360 from the hard discerning eyes he gave you when you were in his office.
‘’Sir, I feel like my work is being compromised.’’ You said very matter-of-factly, arms crossed as you leaned against his door to prove that you mean business, that you were tired of this tap dance with death. Hotch paused to study your statement.
‘’How so?’’
'I'm having trouble handling this tension between you and me.’’ You breathed, finally finding the words that didn't completely reveal how badly you wanted him.
‘’Which kind of tension?’’
‘’You know which one, you're a profiler. Figure it out.’’ You snapped and Aaron was completely taken aback, this was absolutely the kind of attitude that he wouldn't put up with but on this occasion, you seemed desperate and he's never seen you like this before. It wasn't a wake-up call...it was a calling. Hotch just studied your purpose silently- you stood there so sure yet doe-eyed and needy for an answer you had doubts you were going to get from him. He wanted to be honest, so he was.
‘’The kind of tension that makes me want to bend you over my desk and fuck the attitude out of you?’’ Hotch asked you to clarify it for him, just to make you squirm a little more- and like clockwork, you did. He watched your chest swell as you breathed in and out, your eyes widened a little bit but you suppressed it in a second but they were dilating intensely, your brows raised, and your lips parted to let out a sharp breath. The telltale face for shock and arousal. ‘’I don't think you want me to come up with a suggestion on how to help you at all, you've got it all figured out for yourself.’’ Hotch saw right through you, your mind was buzzing with outlines of unfinished plans and outcomes of this entire situation. Right now you could only see one: him fucking you like an animal.
‘’You gonna profile me?’’ Your face was stern but your voice was sweet. Your eyes were begging for him to surprise you and leave you hanging for more.
‘’You want me to?’’ His tone. His voice. It was like pure sex.
‘’Mhm.’’
‘’Come here then.’’ Hotch bit the bullet, he was drunk on this, and he wasn't thinking clearly- but why did it feel like the solution to his problems was becoming clearer and clearer?
Your legs turned to jelly and your knees started buckling in a fit of electric tingles but by some pure miracle, your feet found their way over to Hotch, ending up in front of him behind his desk, eyes locked in a perpetual battle between the tampered down tension and the heady desire
‘’I figured you've outlined a profile of me in your head already.’’ You breathed in an attempt to open up his head for him but like always, he was never revealing his thoughts- he just stared down at you
‘’You pretend you're not nervous around me.’’ He remarked coolly. ‘’You put on a facade that is actually convincing, it's probably an attempt to remain professional but the tension is getting to you, and you hate not having control. What I find interesting though is that you put on this facade but you so shamelessly give me fuck-me eyes when no one else is looking.’’
You remained tight-lipped at his deduction but internally you were losing your mind. ‘’I think I've been pretty good.’’
‘’You are good. But you can't take it anymore.’’ Hotch reaffirmed but then spun it back around on its head.
‘’I can't?’’
‘’You can't. You want me but you don't want to compromise anything, but now the idea of me fucking you is becoming less and less insane.’’ His face was completely serious and your heart was beginning to hammer.
‘’You seem sure of yourself.’’ Who were you kidding? Hotch could see right through you, your confidence was wearing away. He just gave you a small knowing smirk, you liked it when he was flirty (which was the rarest thing on Earth) but then, suddenly, he flipped back to being professional.
‘’So Agent, is there anything else you came to me for?’’. He tilted his head to the side.
He was acting fucking professional- as if you weren't just a few feet away from each other and like the palpable attraction wasn't swinging through the air. You scoffed at his face.
It was late, your inhibitions were fleeing you with every scattered moment. There were so many blips of weakness you were attempting to reign in but you took a deep breath so you didn't crumble under his hard gaze.
‘'I'd like to request a transfer.’’ You blurted without thinking it through. Hotch thought that your face looked defeated.
‘’Transfer? Why?’’ Hotch's brows furrowed and creased at your ask, his lips thinned. He hated the idea of it, but his personal feelings aside, you were an incredible addition to the team- you were bright, insightful, and a necessity. He feels that it would be a big mistake on your part.
But, isn't this right in the long run? This...tension...between you may affect your work in the field. The more you think about it, the less avoidable it becomes.
‘’Or would you prefer a resignation?’’ You joked, your pearly whites peeking through in the light of his office and he thought you looked beautiful under it- though he was slightly irked by your callousness
"Don't give me that.’’ He said curtly and it made your eyes narrow into his; his gaze darkened intensely, and those heady pools of brown were something you could drown in endlessly. You wouldn't mind at all.
‘’Well, I think I've already covered why I want to.’’
Hotch stood silent for a moment.
‘’Come home with me.’’
You hid your shocked face well but your pulse was thundering underneath your increasingly heated skin, you swallowed sharply and your eyes widened a little but still enough for Hotch to catch onto it. Those simple words he uttered made slick form between your thighs already, you couldn't even begin to imagine the physical things he could do to your body to make you feel good.
"Hotch...I-‘’ You breathed, you bit your lip to conceal your bashful expression but the blush and the light dancing in your eyes gave you away. You let out a sharp exhale in a fruitless attempt to attain some sense of dignity but when your gaze met his, you knew he was being perfectly serious and it made you gulp again.
His eyes were eager and you couldn't deny him any longer, even though the idea of him fucking you on his own desk in his own office was something out of a wet dream- you'd settle for some wine at his place. Maybe he could take it as a body shot, the idea made your legs tremble.
The next thing you knew is that his thumb and index finger were hooked under your chin so you could meet the intense stare that you would simply crack under.
‘’Please, baby.’’ Hotch whispered the pet name.
Fuck. That was enough to do you in, enough to make you give into any demand he asked of you. You were actually considering getting on your knees, right here, right now
‘’Okay.’’ Since you agreed, your nervousness seemed to dissipate.
Excited didn't even begin to cover it.
-
During the car ride back to his place, Hotch had to suppress the urge to let his hands glide over your thighs and clamp onto them. You were wearing a skirt. He could've just easily touched your skin, and let his fingers dance around your panties before slipping them in to see just how wet you really were. But he tampered down the pulsating urge, he kept stealing glances at you. You looked confident now, the woman he's grown to know and work with was here to stay- he'd get that changing in no time. He'd make this whole facade of being a tease shatter beneath your feet, the idea made him smirk and it temporarily occupied his mind while driving. Your air was simply intoxicating to Aaron and it was making him lose his focus on the road.
Neither of you spoke on the way there, and when you both arrived he offered you his hand. Your jaw wanted to fall straight to your feet, fucking Aaron Hothchner, your boss, was offering you his hand for you to hold.
Your tongue glazed over your lips as he lead you to his apartment, mouth salivating with every step. Hotch hadn't felt this strongly about anyone in so long, the tension between you two was just brewing and bubbling and now neither of you had the means to stop it- it was all just waiting to burst into an eruption of passion.
You were both experts in behavior. You both wanted each other, it was clear as fucking day. But you were both stubborn and unmoving. Unrelenting. Perfect.
Hotch opened his door and the ambient lights encompassed the entirety of the apartment, it was nicely furnished and it was apparent that he was a clean freak. It translated from work to home. Hm. Note taken. He closed the door and you both flung your bags into a dark corner, you didn't know what to say or do so you just flirted with him tirelessly.
‘’Wine?’’ Hotch offered, his face brightening just a little. He watched intently as you breathed and leaned in on his kitchen counter, discarding your jacket
"Hm. I drink red.’’ You lied.
‘’No, you don't.’’ His voice was low and gritty but it was evened out with a knowing smirk.
‘’Perceptive.’’ You stated impassively, not trying to indicate that you were affected by the fact he noticed your habits as if it wasn't his job to do so. Hotch poured out white wine for you and fixed himself a bourbon.
You watched and surveyed him with a certain and unmissable fixation. He shrugged off his blazer and started loosening up his tie and undid the first button but he didn't fully take it off. Lord. He was fit as fuck, his broad shoulders...his arms...his fucking hands. You felt so safe with him, it's not like you needed his protection but while you were in his presence, you felt secure and looked out for. The thought made you bite your lip.
Hotch sauntered back over to you with an aura of confidence, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips. He stood leaning opposite you after he handed you your glass. The ambient light made his hard features even more chiseled, it was almost romantic.
‘’So, did you want me here to ply me with alcohol just to make me change my mind?’’ You flirted as you took a scarce sip.
‘’No, just wanted you to be mine for a night.’’ He said honestly and it made your thighs clamp together but your expression was still that of smugness
‘’Hm. Since we're being honest now…’’ You started brusquely. ‘’I think I've wanted you to fuck me since I first walked into your office.’’
Hotch raised a discerning brow at you due to such a brash statement, it was unexpected by not surprising. ‘’Well, each of my thoughts about you…have been improper.’’ He said truthfully, his lips curling slightly.
You always seemed to have a knack for disarming him and he'd be a bold-faced liar if he said he didn't enjoy it. But his mind was wandering.
He was distracted with the last case the team took, he was concerned with the idea of you at the center of it- obviously. You partook in the role of pretending to act like the unsub's preferred victim, using the good old tactic of flirtation during the interrogation in which Hotch stood outside looking in through the glass. You hated appealing to this sadistic prick's preferences but you really didn't have a choice, you could practically feel Hotch's glare intensify even when you couldn't see him. He stood outside with Rossi watching in on the interrogation you were conducting.
‘’I don't like her being in the same room as him.’’ Hotch stated tight-lipped and impassive as always.
Rossi just turned his head and regarded him with a knowing look on his face, he scoffed at Aaron.
‘’What?’’ Hotch questioned, his brows furrowing as always
‘'You've been distracted recently, now I know why.’’
Hotch contemplated you in your presence, you were feeling playful and flirty whereas he was focused and hypervigilant. He couldn't help but be...worried about you. Even though the unsub fit the profile indefinitely, the team had no physical proof that warranted his arrest so you had to let him go. You had to stay later than everyone else to fill out the interrogation report at the P.D. After you were finished, you took your SUV and went back to the hotel you were staying at and parked your car. Although you were aware and diligent, you didn't expect to be blitzed from behind as you got out of the car. It was the same guy you took into custody- but thank God you got out of his aggressive hold and shot him in the kneecaps. You were bound to be shaken up and Hotch just wanted to make sure that you were doing okay. He was yanked out of his thoughts and tethered back to reality as your hand shot up to loosen up his tie, just to be closer to him, to feel his air.
‘'Hm- I always liked these-.’m You mumbled playfully, your face inching closer to his. But suddenly, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you even closer to him, his callous apathetic hand gripping your skin. You couldn't help but let out a sigh, your breath sweet like honey on the vine.
You felt exposed when he stared deeply into your alluring eyes, they provoked such a visceral reaction from him, it was making him feel helpless but he was a master of not showing it.
‘’What is it, Hotch?’’ Your free hand went to his should to assert a hold on him, like he you.
‘'The suspect that tried to attack you...I should've stayed and left with you.’’ His voice was confined with regret and a fit of bubbling anger, and his eyes darted away as if he was too ashamed to look at you considering what he could've prevented. His grip on your wrist loosened as you softly grabbed his face to look at you again. ‘’I don't know why I-‘’
‘’Hey, hey. Look at me...’’You breathed. ‘’I appreciate the chivalry of you being worried about me...but I feel safe with you. And I've spent a lot of time wanting you from a distance and I can deal with that during the day...but at night- I can't help but need you.’’
Although you didn't want to admit it, he was right to be worried. With this job danger was a welcome guest, lives are lost and wills are constantly battled and challenged but within that, the danger makes you realize how precious life is, how waiting does more harm than good, and how trusting your gut is key. The danger makes everyone on the team aggressive, especially you and Hotch. You've lost count of how many rows you've gotten into between each other because of this, within that there have been far too many moments where you've been this close to kissing the lips off of him in an argument. He's hot either way but that attitude is something else- and you reveled in it. Hotch examined your tantalizing face that was etched with a certain sincerity he hadn't seen in a long time, he hadn't felt this sort of desire in lightyears. It was a spark he was sure he was missing before you came into his life.
‘’Aaron. Call me Aaron.’’
It's like his eyes were talking, but you didn't know what they were saying.
‘’I'm special now?’’ You mumbled with a determined passivity. His glower was hard and you could practically hear his brain buzzing.
‘’I'm not a toy.’’ He enunciated in that enticing low and heavy tone of his, you were afraid you were going to lose your inhibitions already, he let go of your wrist and gripped your cheeks, jutting your face upwards. ‘’Stop playing with me as if I am.’’
You didn't let him finish his delicious threat, you captured your lips with his in a searing kiss, one that didn't even make you feel guilty for breaking procedure. You were playing God with Hotch and he knew it perfectly well but he had no objections, he'll be so careless to say he'll deal with the repercussions in the morning. He knew after this one taste of you, he had to have you for the night, even if it was just for one singular, holy night. His massive hands flew into your hair, raking through thick strands as your mouth seeks to find his - you tasted like a fiery embrace in the dead of night. Sweet like sandy beaches with that strong sting of a lemon being dripped onto a blood wound. Hotch, in all his serious purpose, reminded you of a stiff drink in general. He tasted like heady bourbon too.
Hotch started getting impatient now, he intertwined his fingers with your as and dragged you to his room. It was like a hot flash and then you were suddenly there, too possessed by your need for him to profile his fucking room. You were too flustered by a dire lust. He unexpectedly, stilled you both by his bed and grabbed you by the jaw, and jutted it upwards, his grip was ironlike.
‘’Take off your clothes.’’Hotch's tone was much different than his actions, it was polite yet dark, calm yet brutal. He was a walking paradox, and you wouldn't mind spending the rest of your days trying to figure him out. His eyes were scorching and burning into yours
‘'I was hoping you would do it.'’ You whispered against his lips, his nails biting into your skin a little more.
He took your tease as a challenge. Aaron's hands meandered slowly to your tight button-down, slowly undoing each button and staring you in the eyes exactly until you peeled it off.
His callous hands reached behind you to tug down the zipper of your skirt and you had to tamper down the urge to just blitz him right but no, you knew he wanted to take his time with this. Drag it out. Make you needy. Make you weak. You just watched him.
‘’You're all I can think about.’’ He whispered against your lips, the admission of honesty was making your heart pound in your chest.
Your hands were definitely not idle in the slightest, they were itching to get his clothes off- you made quick work of shrugging off his blazer and quickly loosened up his tie and got it off of him, but he caught onto the fabric.
‘’No, no. I wanna keep it for later.’’ Hotch mumbled playfully and it was the kind of sound that made your ears prick up.
You didn't speak, you just smirked as you pressed your lips to his again and sunk your teeth into his bottom lip. Hotch didn't let a single moment pass before he gripped you by the waist and flung you onto the bed.
Your mind was racing and dulling to a blur, you were left in only your underwear and bra- thank God you wore a pretty set today, you had no idea what a day this would pan out to be. You. In your boss's bed. Waiting desperately to be fucked by him, you didn't know how it got to this but it did. You weren't complaining but you did have to wonder how any of this came to be, it was straight out of a dream. Too absolved in your own thoughts, you were yanked out of your thoughts when you felt his hands on your skin. He was shirtless And damn him, he had been hiding such a figure for the entirety of this...thing...you had with him. Hotch's palms outlined the frame of your body and your breath was immediately knocked out of you when he nestled between your thighs. Your hands flew to tug on his hair.
‘’You're not playing fair.’’ You moaned drunkenly, his mouth planting chaste kisses on your collarbone- you just wanted him to get you naked underneath him but he was too busy making you squirm.
‘’I never have.’’ he replied cooly. ‘’Shh. Stay still.’’ He taunted huskily, you could practically hear him smile into your skin.
‘’No.’’ You shot back almost immediately, your legs had a mind of their own.
You mustered up the strength, rolled over, and now you were on top instead. Your mouth latched onto his neck and you began suckling and kissing down, you melted at the sound of him breathless. Fuck, that sound was like heaven. Who knew Hotch had the ability to get like this? His eyes flitted shut as he savored your touch, your feel. His hands went to grip your sides and his palms felt at the skin of your hips.
‘’I like you better beneath me, Hotch.’’ You said all honeyed as you bit his earlobe. He really couldn't take your teasing anymore.
His temper began to bubble and he quickly got out of your hold and flipped you so he was on top of you again, his preferred place to stay.
‘’I said call me Aaron, sweetheart. Don't get dumb on me now, we both know you're not.’’
‘’Now you're the one that's acting as if I'm a toy, Aaron.’’ You bit back. ‘’Can't you feel how much I need you?’’ lYou were practicallywhining at him but you knew he didn't care. Hotch pulled his face back from your neck to stare into those lust-clouded eyes.
‘’Then beg for me.’’ He demanded
‘’Get me naked first.’’ You flirted. His face turned hard and his brows furrowed again and he gripped your wrists again and pinned them down on the bed. Your body was heating up and begging to be touched by him again, you felt far too clothed.
Hotch let go and ducked down between the sweet valley of your thighs to shimmy off your underwear, your scent was divine, and he couldn't wait until he had the chance to taste you but right now you were agonizing over him barely touching you- you were possessed with the need of feeling him inside you. Your underwear and bra were now just a mere pile of scraps on his bedroom floor. You reached for his belt and unbuckled it but before you could go any further he grabbed your arm again
‘’No, no. None of that.’’ He reassured with a soft voice.
‘’Beg for me.’’
Hotch trailed his lips down your jaw to stun you into obliging his commands. To his pleasure. it was working like a dream. His kisses were brutal and vour desperation was radiating off of you, the battle of wills was palpable.
"Aaron...’’
‘’I said beg.’’ He warned, the eye contact between you manifesting into a wild and untameable tension that neither of you was willing to bridle.
‘’I want you to take me, don't be gentle...please...just tell me how you want me and make me yours. I've been begging for you all this time, don't make me repeat and parrot back the thoughts I've had for you.’’ You whimpered, goosebumps trailing your skin as his fingertips traced down your stomach and to the place where you needed his attention.
It felt as though Hotch's world had just stopped spinning like it had been tipped off its axis. Your breath was sweet and your eyes were wide and guileless, sparkling with need and lust that only he could satiate. He watched you stiff-eyed and earnestly as his fingers slipped into your heat, teasingly at first but then curling upwards, your moan was unconcealable and broken up.
‘’You'll be my undoing, you know that?’’ He groaned before biting your lip, you whimpered into his mouth. His fingers were feeling at you with an expertise you had never experienced before, they were literally working magic. It was rough and soft at the same time-just like him. They were moving rhythmically, tenderly and then his thumb began sending sparks through your body when he toyed with your clit
‘’Oh God...’’ You couldn't bite back your moans.
‘'Don't scream his name, scream mine. It sounds better, don't you think?’’ He knew you couldn't answer him coherently but you proved him wrong when you grabbed at his belt buckle.
‘’In me...please.’’ It was like you were drunk on him.
Hotch could withstand anything you had on a normal day during work I hours but when he got you begging like this, he just loved your whines but he felt bad for dragging it out- it looked like you were on the verge of crying, tears of pleasure were pricking in your eyes. He had to give into such a polite demand. You didn't even have the time to look down but you felt him, pulsating and huge. He pushed inside of you with no prior warning.
‘’Aaron...I can't take it.’’ You grunted, eyes unable to stray away from his as your nails dug into his broad shoulders.
"Yes, you can. You'll take it.’’
You quite literally had to accommodate to his massive size, he was fucking massive- not that you had any doubts, but the thought has crossed your mind on many occasions and you hated it. Now you were taking it from him.
‘’How do you feel now?’’ He questioned, the back of your head was dug into the pillow, your chin jutted up.
‘’What?’’ You sounded frazzled and it made him want to laugh.
‘’The tension...between us...’’ He panted, his thrusts pumping into you, your bodies colliding violently.
‘’We're not on your desk, are we?’’
Hotch didn't respond, he just sunk his teeth into your jaw and it made you cry out. Your nails were digging into his skin and he was completely absorbed into this outlet, he definitely didn't mind this happening over and over again. Your moans became louder and louder, you couldn't help yourself, he was eliciting all of these reactions out of you. He never pulled his punches and this isn't an exception- he was just so damn skilled, it was all so intricate, like he knew exactly what buttons to push to make you go fucking insane. He was quite the profiler indeed, the thought made you smirk.
‘’I don't know if I can keep going.’’ You whined, brows tenseing enough to make your head pulsate. ‘’Fuck….’’
‘’It's okay...just stay with me. You can do that for me, can't you?’’ He cooed at you and it sent shockwaves down your body, you nodded and poulled him into a searing kiss.
You couldn't say no to him, no matter how hard you tried. The collision was forceful, passionate, completely and utterly tangible through every cell in your body. Hotch could feel you tightening up around him, suffocating his cock perfectly and setting a high dose of adrenaline in his aching veins. You couldn't hold out anymore, it was becoming infuriating. A scream ripped from your throat, broken plea, a frazzled response that you could no longer contain. You reached your high far quicker than you had hoped for but, how could you hold out? It was Aaron fucking Hotchner. Your release felt incredible to the point where your eyes screwed shut, Hotch was entirely pleased to have you in such a state. He wished he could frame that expression and put it on his desk. While he finished, he kissed your lips and then kissed the bridge of your nose up to your forehead. Fuck, this switch up from roughness to tenderness was...nice. For the first time in a long time, you felt wanted. Hotch rolled over and you held onto him, your head perched on his chest.
You both stayed silent for a while. Breathing in and out. Watching the rise and fall of his chest. His arm enveloped you and his fingers began desperately tracing unintelligable patterns on your bare skin.
Breathing in and out.
Eyes fanning shut.
‘’Hm. I like fraternzing.’’ You said softly and you could hear Hotch's subtle chuckle, he was so clearly amused by your blatant rule breaking. Only you would be so callous.
‘’Funny.’’ He replied with a raise eyebrow.
‘’Tension leading to this is so fucking cliche.’’ You groaned, rolling your eyes at the idea but what could you say...you secretly found yourself enjoying it.
‘'How many times have you thought about rugby tackling me during an argument?’’ He smiled, gazing wantonly into the dark catalysts of your eyes when you hung your head up.
‘’Many ...but I wouldn't say rugby tackle. I'd say directly punch in the face.’’
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vernons-girl · 1 month
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i will always be there | kwon soonyoung (hoshi)
implicit smut?, angst,wc:1.4k
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Everything was now clear in your head.
You got up from the couch and headed to your bedroom where Soonyoung was working.
“Soonyoung ?”  you called with a steady voice
“Yes baby ?” he turned around to face you with his signature smile, your heart slowly breaking knowing what was about to happen.
“Could you join me in the living room when you’ll be done? I have to talk to you.” you asked looking at his every features, memorizing every expression lines on his smiley face.
“Yeah sure, give me a sec!” he replied as you started walking back to the couch in your living room.
After 5 minutes he finally showed up and sat down next to you.
A long silence took place.
You were looking down at your feet when suddenly, he spoke :
“So, what do you wanted to talk about?” he attempted to ease the obvious tension that was surrounding the both of you. You remained silent.
“Baby, you can tell me everything, okay?” he said gently, looking for your eyes hidden by a few strands of hair.
“I… I think we should break up.” you finally spoke.
“That’s - Wait.. What?”, his voice started to shake, he was so taken aback by your statement, he thought everything was going well between you two, he thought you were happy with him, he was just so confused and he couldn’t help but let himself be overwhelmed by anxiety and worry.
“Why are you saying that baby?” he asked, hoping he didn’t understand well.
“Listen.. Soonyoung. When I met you.. I said I wasn’t doing relationship but you made me change my mind, you made me fell in love with you. You made me the happiest being on earth and I’m thankful for that but I need more than this.”
“I don’t get it. What are-” you cuted him off, tears starting to fill your eyes. 
“Let me finish please.” he simply nodded silently. “The more the time was passing by, the more I knew I was going to need more. I used to be free as the wind, but now, now that I have you with me, I need some comfort. I need my little home. I need to be able to come back home from a tiring day to my wonderful boyfriend laying on the couch watching a crappy TV show wearing his warmest hoodie and sweats with the messiest hair possible” you stated letting out a small chuckle “but I don’t want to stay alone until my boyfriend decide to show up randomly at my door at 3 in the morning because he just left the studio.”
“I’m so sorry Y/N” was all Soonyoung managed to say.
“No no! Don’t apologize. Please Soonyoung. Don’t.” you pleaded the man that was sitting next to you, now looking down.
You got on your knees in front of him, taking his hands in yours, trying to find his eyes hidden behind the long hair on his forehead. You continued :
“It is not your fault Soonyoung. It will never be your fault. I am the one who is sorry… Please.. Look at me.” You begged when he finally look at you with a faded smile and watery eyes, in a blink, all your tears started to flow out.
“I - I love you Soonyoung. I love you so much I can’t believe how it is even possible. I am sorry things are ending like this but - I will wait for you. When you will have time, when you will be ready to settle down, we will have that little home okay? I will always be there, I promise.”
Without thinking, you moved your hands from his hands to his face and kissed him.
This kiss was passionate, desperate, burning but mostly sad, it left a bitter taste on your lips.
Just like the first kiss you shared with him.
And here you were, in bed with him caressing every inch of your body with his hands, breathing heavily against your neck as he tries to express how much he loves you. 
Your body responded in the most beautiful way possible, your lips brushing against his own, a hand tangled in his hair, tugging at the roots every now and then, not failing to earn a grunt from the man above you, while the other one was resting somewhere along the expanse of his bare back, blindly tracing the lines of his tattoo that you loved to admire so much every night.
Light moans and sights were escaping each other’s lips in between desperate and passionate kisses, the spark you always felt within you never disappeared, the burning passion was heating your skin, the atmosphere of the room now heavier than ever.
He pulled away and trailed kisses up from your jaw to your neck and collarbones, creating love bites almost of a plum color on the bare skin to print the adoration and ever so deep love he has for you.
He went back to kiss you, his tongue skillfully slipping past your lips, slowing his movements, caressing your waist before letting one of his hand rest on your hips.
After a while, you found yourself laying your head on his bare chest, breathing heavily, growing tired from your passionate love session.
Memories were flowing through your mind as your started to feel your vision become blurry when suddenly, Soonyoung started to move, as if he wanted to get up, without even thinking, you stopped him :
“Please.. Don’t leave.. Stay.. Just a little more.. Please.” you begged, holding on your sobs.
And much to your surprise, he complied.
A few minutes passed by and you wanted to see his face, to look into his eyes, you could feel one of his hand patting your hair gently as his eyes were lingering on you but, when you started to raise your head, he pulled you back into his chest, pressing you tightly against him.
You wondered why he did that until you heard his breath becoming shaky. Then, you understood.
He was crying, he pulled you into his chest so you couldn’t see him cry, you had never heard him cry before and it made everything so much worse than it already was.
You knew it was hurting him as much as it was hurting you, so you didn’t do anything, you just let him hold you, wrapping in his arms, surrounding by the warmth of his body.
Slowly you drifted to sleep, hugging your - now - ex boyfriend tightly, tears filling your eyes.
You woke up a few hours later and something felt different.
And you knew it was it.
He left, he wasn’t here anymore.
You looked around and saw that he took all the stuffs he was usually letting in your bedroom for when he was sleeping over.
Even if you were the one who ended things, you couldn’t believe it was over.
You weakly got up, holding the covers over your body not wanting to bother finding clothes and walk until you reach the large window in your living room. It was your favorite place to watch the stars with him.
You sat on the floor, looking at the dark sky, there wasn’t any star tonight.
It was all dark, like your home, the only light was coming from down the street.
You took your phone that was on the coffee table near you and look at the time and saw it was 3 AM.
You looked at the door, knowing it was usually the time he was showing up at your place but, remembering all the events of this night, you covered your face with your hands and cried all the tears you had left.
You then took your phone, reach for his contact and simply wrote :
‘I will always be there, I promise.’
After a few minutes that felt like an eternity, you gave a last look at you screen only to realize he had seen your message but did not reply, so you reluctantly blocked his number before crawling onto your couch and closed your eyes, hoping to find sleep again and forget about everything that happened tonight.
While you were sleeping, you received a message from Soonyoung that could’ve changed it all but which you will never see.
‘I will always love you, I promise. ‘
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khuzena · 1 year
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Winter||
isagi yoichi x g/n!reader
Warnings:/ Angst, fluff, comfort
A/N:| sorry for being away so long, school is rlly stressful and i didn't have time to add writing to my schedule, this also just a practice fic
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It was time for the flowers to wilt, the bitter cold seeping in from the windows.
He told you he would come home early, yet he was already a week late.
As the lights dim you shuffle in your sheets, trying to find the warmth from your beloved but he wasn’t there.
You know he’ll be back before you know it yet why did your heart ache more and more without. Him?
Your subconscious is still looking for his warmth, though he’s already left months ago to play in qatar. The room felt so unnervingly empty yet everything was in place. Maybe a few things thrown out here and there. Nothing changed at all. Though the only thing missing was him, isagi. The bedsheets no longer smell like him, the smell of his cologne faded and you could only feel dried tears on the pillow.
Fading into a deep slumber, you gripped your pillow tighter, trying to cling to that warmth from him even though he was away, not hearing the creaking of the door open
After a not so great sleep, you could barely breathe from the hands encasing your body, holding you tightly as his figure blocks the morning sunlight. Though your eyesight was blurry, it didn’t matter. The smell of his shampoo and the quiet snores that escape his lips, he’s finally home.
You watch as the man in front of you squints his eyes open, “I’m sorry I came home late”, his husky voice whispering in your ear.
“I- it’s fine… as long as you’re home.”
Your mind was still in a daze but the only thing on your mind was him.
The atmosphere was awkward to say the least, both were still feeling a little down. But you can’t blame them, for months, being away from each other for so long crushed both of your hearts every second, heart mourning for each other as despair ate both your hearts out. The silence was loud, isagi wanted to cry on your shoulder about how he missed you, how he wished he took you with him and how miserable life has been without you, but only a soft sigh left his lips.
Isagi’s mouth left agape, the feeling of sadness overriding his mind, why, why couldn't he say something? What was he so afraid of? So all he did was stare into your soul with his sapphire eyes while lightly trembling under your touch, hoping you could understand from his body language what he wants to tell you.
“Isagi.”
He shuddered in your embrace and nuzzled his head in the corner of your neck, trying to avoid your gaze. But you know him too well, maybe more than he knows himself that you understood what he was trying to convey.
He missed you too much, but being deep in your embrace was enough.
“I missed you so much” he quietly murmured in your ear before nuzzling his head deeper.
Isagi wasn't always like this, in fact moments like this from him were rare. But he was so used to you always around, attached to the hip 24/7, like how a shadow cannot exist without the sun's morning glow. And without the shadow's morning glow, it is just as empty as a bird's nest in December. Without you, he wallows in misery under his cold sheets, staring at a photo of you in the middle of the night with dark circles under his eyes.
Though the winter engulfs the world in a blanket of snow and temperatures dropping, he feels as if his heart was thawed when he basks in your warmth.
"I missed you too, yoi." You say before stroking his soft hair.
He swore he felt his heart flutter at your gentleness, maybe, just maybe, the winter in his heart may shift into spring soon, much sooner than expected but the cold was him missing you and with you around was like he was in cloud nine, lying a patch of grass and flowers at his feet, spring they say.
Winter is cold, some may say it's dark and lonely but isagi thinks he'll learn to love winter this time. Because he's spending it with you.
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A/n: sorry if there's any mistakes or if the fic isn't that good like my previous ones, its been a while since I've wrote any fics.
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bisexualclarkkent · 3 years
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Someone that commented on every fb post I ever made about my emotions over not having kids to invalidate my sadness because she too doesn’t have kids but it’s worse in her case because she’s… idk… a Capricorn… announced her pregnancy today
#just like… wow#imagine sharing a dream with someone and then when they express sadness that their dream hasn’t and probably won’t ever come true#you decide it’s time for them to know their sadness is meaning#meaningless in comparison to your own#because you’re a real person#a married white woman with a husband who looks like he could be your brother#but your sad friend is just some black girl you and everyone else refuse to see as human#god I know this sounds mean and bitter and petty (and it is for I truly am the worst person alive)#I genuinely am happy for her because I know how much she’s wanted this#I am#it’s a lovely surprise to announce on mother’s day#I’m glad she’s happy#but I’m bitter because every time I try to voice my sadness I’m silenced by people who want me to know their sadness is more valid#and it fucking stings that that sadness is temporary for others but likely permanent for me#I went through this phase where every pregnancy announcement made me cry honestly just from jealousy#and it was so shameful#I’m still ashamed#I didn’t react like that to peoples faces of course#the crying was private — like my own grief over something I hadn’t even lost#I would congratulate people and feel happy for them but it was so hard to ignore my own longing#then I started to accept that it wasn’t going to happen for me#began the process of making peace with it#and I stopped crying at pregnancy announcements#I felt an appropriate level of happiness for other people having something good for happen for them#I think this is the first one I’ve cried at in like 2-3 years#I was making progress but I just 😭#I’m such a horrible person lol I deserve to feel bad right now#it’s fundamentally selfish of me to react this way even privately#I’m not fucking mature enough for motherhood because this is a sucky way to feel and I suck for it#daily oversharing
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amysteryspot · 2 years
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All the blood I lost with you - Thomas Shelby x Reader/Uncharacterized OC
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Summary: They say you don't really value what you have until you’ve lost it. Tommy never thought that he would get so close of facing it.
Fandom: Peaky Blinders
Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Female!Reader; mentions of Tommy x Grace and Tommy x Lizzie.
Warnings: +18; dark themes; attempted suicide; mentions of miscariages and abortion; manipulation; depression; English is not my first language and this wasn’t beta’d or proofread.
Word Count: 1744
A/N: First I gotta say that this reader is named because of reasons that no one will care but me, but it is what it is. I treat it as an uncharacterized OC, but you can treat it like a named reader, whatever suits you better. Explanation at the end of the post to avoid spoilers. [EDIT] If you're bothered by the name, conctact me and I can share with you a document without it.
Second, this is way darker than what I’m used to write, but even though I call it a dark!fic I‘m not really sure, because it’s not what I usually read. Anyway, reading the warnings is important because you might feel triggered by some of the things described below.
Third, I gotta thank @caelys for the support. Dont know if I would have had the guts to write this one if she wasn so exited about it. This one is for you sis.
The song from which the title was taken in “My Blood” by Ellie Golding. It sounds very fitting for this pair.
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Her vision blurred as she sank down onto the tub. Warmth ran down her wrists while she felt cold herself. Minutes passed and Cecilia could feel her heart beating rapidly against her ribcage, she was panting, trying to absorb whatever oxygen she could. There was a tingling on her toes, she couldn’t feel her fingers anymore. A sharp intake of breath and then a voice she couldn’t recognize. Everything was blurry, it was as if she was underwater. Cecilia wanted to protest, tell whoever arrived to let her go, but her eyes felt heavy and she welcomed the darkness as one would do an old friend.
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Tommy paced the waiting room like a madman. He couldn’t stay still, couldn’t stop the racing thoughts crossing his mind. Shirt rolled up to his elbows, dark bags under his eyes, he felt the tiredness creeping into her bones and yet, he just couldn’t stop.
The noise of the door opening made him look up, ready to curse the person on the other side. His mouth closed on its own volition when he saw his aunt entering and closing the door behind her.
Tommy hadn’t let anyone stay until that moment, but there was no denying Polly.
He caved in, finding an empty seat and collapsing into it, Polly at his side.
Silence filled the room, it was possible to hear the chaos of the hospital outside, but all Tommy could hear was the sound of his heartbeat, fast and relentless against his ribcage, and the sound of Cecilia’s voice, tearful and full of sadness in their last encounter.
“It’s not the first time.”
Polly’s voice took him out of his daze.
“What?” Tommy asks, bewildered, looking at Cecilia's blood still fresh on his hands.
“It’s not the first time she tries to kill herself,” she sighs. “If it’s God or something else, I don’t know, but someone always ends up finding her before it happens.”
A heavy pause as he takes in the information. How did he never know about this? How could he not know about it?
“Thought you would have noticed the marks since you fuck her almost on a daily basis nowadays.”
Polly sneers, words full of bitterness as she continues,
“But you treat the woman who has been by your side your whole life worse than you do to a common whore.”
“Don’t.” He warns.
His aunt scoffs dryly.
“Don’t? What? Tell you the truth? You can’t handle it now that you have her blood in your hands and you know that’s all your fault?”
“Why didn’t she come to me then, huh?” He asked, getting up from the chair and looking at his aunt in anger. “Why did she never tell me how she felt? Why didn’t you tell me anything?”
“She did, every day, not with words, but you know her enough to see the signs, you just chose to ignore it because it was convenient.”
“Nothing about this is convenient.”
“Not now, but it has been for years, having her at your beck and call, crushing her heart every time you chose someone else over her, every time you used her for your benefit, not caring about her feelings. The same feelings you used to share but chose to forget.”
“It’s not like that. I never meant to hurt her.” He protested, unable to admit his aunt was right.
“Keep repeating that to yourself until you believe it.”
Polly got up, heading to the door. Then she stopped, hand on the doorknob as she looked back at him.
“You don’t deserve her. You never did.”
With that, Tommy could agree.
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The lights hurt her eyes. Cecilia tried to open them but decided against it.
She was in the hospital, didn’t need to see it to know. The smell gave it away, too clean and sharp to be anywhere else.
Disappointment washed over her and, for a moment, she questioned if God or other higher entity was laughing at her expense.
Well, God wouldn’t care anyway, she belonged to hell for years now.
Slowly, she blinked away the discomfort and opened her eyes. The ceiling was grey. She had never noticed before. Looking around Cecilia realized that this was the same room from last time.
Ironic, she thought, scoffing.
“Would you like anything, Miss Clarke?”
She didn’t notice the nurse coming in, but couldn’t miss the look of pity on her face.
“Water, please?” She asked, throat raw from the lack of use.
Her fingers felt numb, the cuts scratching against the bandages sending a reign of pain through her body as she moved to sip the water with the help of the nurse.
The pain was welcome. It was either that or feeling nothing at all. Cecilia always ended up choosing the pain.
She thanked the woman that left the room quickly, leaving Cecilia to wonder who was the person who took away the sweet release of death from her this time.
Her answer came in the form of Thomas Shelby entering the room in a hurry, looking dishevelled like he hadn’t slept or eaten in days.
In another situation, Cecilia would’ve felt bad for him, but all she felt now was the anger boiling at the pit of her stomach.
Why him? Why did it have to be him?
“Celie…”
“Don’t call me that!”
She was surprised by how firm her voice sounded. Cecilia was used to feeling weak when he was around.
Hissing in pain as she tried to sit on the bed, Cecilia complained as Tommy helped her, failing miserably at swatting his hands away because she still felt weak.
He stared at her for a long minute and she avoided his gaze, looking straight ahead to the door.
“You should’ve let me go.” She said, finally looking at him, hating the fact her eyes were watering. “Why didn’t you let me go?”
“Because I need you.”
“Of course,” Cecilia scoffed. “You need someone to use. Someone to be at your beck and call all the time. Someone that doesn't ask questions and jumps headfirst in whatever scheme you’re planning.”
“Don’t say that.”
Was it regret on his voice? Maybe pain? She found it strange that she didn’t care.
She saw him swallow before he said,
“I know everything.”
Confused, she looked at him with a frown on her face.
“About the miscarriage and the abortions. Why did you never tell me?”
“Because it was women's business.” She replied, sharply. “It wouldn’t make any difference to you, anyway.”
Cecilia remembered all of them, clear as day.
A few weeks after he left for France, Polly caught her throwing up in the morning after smelling the coffee. One look and both of them realized exactly the reason behind it. She sold a few things to have enough money to go to Mrs Simeon. She bled for days, hidden in his room, unable to go home and face her parents.
The next time it wasn’t her choice. She didn’t even know she was pregnant, not until it was too late. Campbell was looking for Tommy all around the city, the first place where he came to was her house. He slammed her against the wall, knocking her unconscious, laying on the ground in a pool of blood, while Tommy was safely hidden, fucking the barmaid.
On the third time, she was ready to go and tell him. A sliver of hope since the spy sailed away. But she took way too long and when she opened the doors to his office that night, Cecilia was welcomed with the sight of Grace perched upon Tommy’s desk with him between her legs. She kept a straight face as they stumbled to look presentable to tell her Grace had come to stay and that she was pregnant with his child. For the next two weeks, nobody saw Cecilia in Small Heat.
She never told him, never thought she could. Tommy had broken her in ways she never thought was possible, yet she never wanted to make him feel the same way she did.
He wouldn’t care, anyway. Probably would have given her money to get rid of it, anyway.
“Of course it would.” He protested, stepping closer to take her hand in his, trying to hide the guilt as he looked at the bandages around her arms. “We could have made things right…”
“Ah, of course. You would have married me out of pity, ‘cause of duty. Just like you’re going to do with Lizzie.”
“I’m not marrying Lizzie.”
“Who are you trying to convince, Tom? Me or yourself?” She asked, looking him dead in the eye, not strong enough to take her hand off of his. “You didn’t force her to get rid of the child, she’s walking around wrapped in furs bragging about carrying a Shelby in her belly.”
“I will support her, not marry her.”
Cecilia wanted to laugh. Tommy was a strange man with a very particular moral code. He was ruthless and unrelated most of the time, but his sense of duty to his family always won, even if he did things for them in a fucked up way.
She remembered very few times when he ignored that duty, usually with her, but never when a child of his was involved. It had been like that with that rat, it would be like that with Lizzie. Both of them had made their choice of using the mid pregnancies to get a hold on him, as she made her own decision to set him free instead.
“Whatever makes you feel better at night, Tommy.”
“I’ve always cared for you.”
“That’s the problem. You cared for me, never loved me. And yet, I’ve let you keep me in the shadows, your shadows, our lives. Someone who would ease your pain, fuck you when you’re lonely, someone that you could use the way you wanted. Someone that should always stay hidden, as you waltzed around with your posh girls, while I stayed there, keeping your secrets. The ones you would never tell them.”
I’m his defence, he did look broken, maybe as broken as you now that he had seen the whole picture.
Tommy didn’t try to protest, there was no way for him to win this time, they both knew it.
With much struggle, she took her hand away from his.
“You should’ve let me die like I wanted to. It would’ve been easier for the both of us.”
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And now to why I found it important to name the reader. Cecilia means “blind”, in most places you search for it. I like the idea that Cecilia is blinded by her love for Tommy, like Polly said about him and Grace in the first series. As for Clarke, it means “clerk” or “priest”. It kinda makes sense to me that Tommy never lets go of her because she is his “pristess”, the one he always come back for absolution. He doesn’t believe in God but he believes in her, in some twisted, cruel way.
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Taglist: @internalmess3 @stressedandbandobessed7771 @captivatedbycillianmurphy @peakyxtommy @theshelbyclan @caelys @giowritess @tommydoesntpayforsuits @ilovemanypeople@mikeys-thighs @nerdy4itall @annisse
Wanna be tagged? Click here.
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tothemeadow · 3 years
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Can I request a uzui x shy reader where reader is his fourth wife but she feels left out a lot so she distance and avoid Tengen and her co-wives. When reader comes home one day she surprised to find uzui home by himself because he was meant to be out with the others and she was going to try avoid him again but as he wants an answer to why shes acting the way she is and turns into a smut in the end? :>
Did I get carried away with this? Maybe. Could I have written more? Absolutely. But I have to practice self-control.
‘i want to be part of your constellation’ / Uzui T. x Reader
warnings: NSFW, cunnilingus, Tengen’s fat tiddies
words: 2,492
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Sometimes, being a Pillar’s wife is hard. They’re constantly away, fighting battles and saving lives; there’s always that lingering chance that they may never come back. It’s a dangerous life, but a respectful one nonetheless.
This is what drew you to Tengen in the first place – despite his brash, asshole attitude, he’s selfless. It was during an attack at your parents’ farm when you first met him; appearing like a night in shining armor, he rescued you from a bloodhungry demon, his movements powerful yet graceful all at once. As a thank you, your parents offered your hand in marriage to the handsome stranger. Surprisingly, Tengen agreed, but it wasn’t like you were going to deny marrying someone of his status and exquisite looks.
However, you didn’t know about the other women in Tengen’s life. As you quickly found out, he had three other wives, all of who he met while in the shinobi forces. Of course, you weren’t a fighter like them, nor did you have that close relationship from sharing the same background. No, you were the docile one of the group, the one meant to take care of the home while the others went to fight demons and the like.
Even two years later, things haven’t changed. You love Tengen, and the other girls are basically your best friends, but the chasm separating you from them couldn’t be more evident. Sure, you’re part of the “family,” but it doesn’t necessarily feel like it. You’re the quiet one, the one that keeps to themselves, the one who’s in charge of a happy homelife. And so you distance yourself from everyone else, stick to the sidelines while they’re out saving the world.
Granted, you’re used to this lifestyle, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt. If only you’d been a shinobi or a slayer, things would be different. You’d know what the life is like, the feel of a blade as it passes through a demon’s neck. But no, you’re always stuck with carrying a pouch of wisteria on your body to keep yourself safe. At this point, you don’t whether Tengen makes you keep it because he wants you to be safe or because he views it as his obligation.
With a sigh, you turn towards the sky, the endless blue a clear difference to your bitter gray mood. The tote hanging from your shoulder is heavy with fruits and vegetables from the market, but you’re excited with the possibilities of all the tasty meals you could create. Even though you can’t fight to save others, you can feed them; you also know for a fact that you’re the best cook among you co-wives.
When you return home, you slip off your setta and pause, listening to the familiar silence. Like usual, the others are away, most likely fighting off some lowly criminal or preparing for a battle against a demon. Either way, it seems like you’re going to be spending the majority of the day by yourself. It’s sad that this is what life has come to; when you first married Tengen, you were hoping for more excitement, not lonely thoughts. You don’t want to come off desperate, though, so you continue to remain to yourself. At the end of the day, it’s not that big of a deal – that’s just life.
Wandering towards the kitchen, you become caught up in these thoughts, these negative feelings. You don’t want to make yourself cry – you really don’t – but your heart is saying otherwise. All you want is to belong. You want to mean something to this family, not be the impromptu mother waiting for her rambunctious children to come home. You become so lost in your head that you fail to see him standing in the kitchen, lips wrapped around a ceramic cup.
Coming to sudden stop at the threshold, your attention jumps back to the present. Tengen merely sends you an amused look over the rim of his cup before he knocks his head back and empties its contents. Why is he here? Shouldn’t he be with the others? He said he wasn’t going to home for a while! Did something happen? Are the others okay? Why-?
“You’ve got that dumb look on your face again,” Tengen teases. “Stop thinking so much.”
Huffing, you step into the kitchen, drawing the tote off your shoulder and setting it down. “You surprised me, that’s all. I thought you were busy.”
“What, am I not allowed in my own home? That’s kind of cruel, don’t you think?” The smirk he flashes you sends a pleasant shiver up your spine.
“I never said that,” you hastily respond. Your eyes scan over his Corps uniform. You’re quickly finding yourself feel bad for taking up his time when he’s bound to be busy; Pillars have the toughest jobs of them all, and every single moment is precious. “You’re usually never this home early,” you mutter. A sigh slips through your lips. “…I should… uh, I need to do laundry.” You despise how pathetic you sound, but the knowing look in Tengen’s eyes is making your nerves go haywire.
Stepping away, you prepare yourself to leave, but Tengen moves way too fast for your eye to catch. Before you’re out the door, his hand is around your wrist, spinning your around and tugging him towards his chest. You yelp as you collide with solid muscle; wrapping his meaty arms around you, Tengen holds you close, his nose buried in your hair.
“Don’t act like I haven’t noticed you moping around more than usual,” he mutters. Pressed to him like this, you can hear his heart thumping steadily in his chest. “It’s not flamboyant of me to ignore what’s bothering you.”
“Tengen-“
“Let me finish,” he interrupts, but his voice is soft. “I want you to be honest with me. Are you lonely?”
At that, your heart drops to your stomach. You haven’t been that obvious, have you? Jaw falling agape, you’re desperate for words, to tell him no, you’re fine, but nothing wants to come out. Tengen releases a sorrowful sigh and pulls away just enough so that you two are looking eye-to-eye. He’s always been huge, standing tall and broad; in moments like these, the sheer size of him is more than intimidating. His biceps alone could crack a watermelon.
“Idiot,” he mumbles. Your face scrunches up when he flicks your forehead. “I shouldn’t have to confront you about something like this.”
You pout up at him. “It’s just… I’m not like you guys,” you confess. “I can’t fight, I can’t defend myself… All I’m good at is being a homemaker.” You drop your gaze to his chest. Now that you’re finally getting everything off your chest, all the pent of thoughts and feelings begin to gush out. “I feel like an outsider most of the time. You and the other girls are always running around together and doing amazing things. All I do is sit around and do chores. I can’t…” Biting your lip, you squeeze your eyes shut. Now is not the time to be crying. If you want things to change, you have to remain strong, not burst into tears.
A hand cups your face, then, lifting your head so that you’re forced to look at Tengen. “Be quiet. So what if you’re not a fighter? That doesn’t make you any less flamboyant.” His thumb brushes over your cheek. “You’re the one I can rely on to be here when I need someone. You always get this dumb smile on your face whenever I come home from a mission.” Dropping his head down, he presses his forehead to yours. “I know you’re safe here… Do you have any idea how scared I would be if you were out in the field with us? You’re important to me, baby. When I’m not here, you’re on my mind constantly.”
Your heartbeat quickens. You can’t deny the genuine glint in his dazzling eyes, the slight curl to his lips.
“In fact,” Tengen continues, pulling away entirely. In a swift movement, his large hands are clutching your thighs, raising you up and swinging you around; you let out a surprised squeak as he places you on the table and presses his large body between your legs. “I can’t stop thinking about you. You’ve always been so soft, so sweet…” His warm breath fans over your face, making you swallow thickly. “And you’re so small. I’ve got to keep someone like you under protection, don’t you think?”
Before you really have the chance to say anything, Tengen swoops in, his mouth seeking out yours. He’s always been such a bold kisser, sweeping his tongue into your mouth with no hesitation whatsoever. He tastes like wine, so rich and delectable, and his tongue is so warm, so inviting. Your head is spinning, your breaths leaving in short gasps. His hands are all over you; gripping your hair, trailing down your back, sneaking underneath your yukata-
A groan bursts from your throat as he fondles your breasts, the pads of his fingers rolling the hardened nipples and pulling them. Tengen curses as he breaks the kiss, the lightest of blushes on his face. He bites his plump lower lip as he shamelessly plays with you, his pupils blown wide. His hips press in close, his groin bumping into yours; he’s already hard, deliciously so, and your mind goes entirely blank. You want nothing more than his cock to slide in, to absolutely tear you apart.
“You feel that, baby?” Tengen husks. “Don’t think your unimportant to me. You’re so fucking sexy, so flamboyant…” His tongue darts out, sweeps over his lips. “Let me make it up to you. You won’t feel lonely anymore, got it?”
Furiously nodding your head, you allow Tengen to yank open your yukata, revealing soft skin. Your eyelids flutter as he places his mouth to the exposed flesh, his lips and tongue equally hot. Chest rising frantically beneath his touch, you grip onto him for support as he kisses your breasts, his tongue dragging across your nipples. You keen as he promptly sucks it into his mouth, his teeth sinking down lightly as his hands unceremoniously rip your underwear from your trembling form.
“Oh, gods, Tengen,” you purr. “Please… Don’t stop…”
“Wouldn’t dream about it,” Tengen drawls. Sinking to his knees, his mouth leaves a wet trail down your body; there’s bound to be marks, you’re sure of it, but you don’t care. His mouth feels way too heavenly yet sinful, the pleasured grunts pouring from his lips pure music to your ears. “Give me a taste…”
You cry out when he licks against your slit. In a fit of desperation, your fingers clutch onto the silvery strands of his hair, accidentally loosening it from its ponytail. Tengen groans into your quivering pussy as you yank at his hair, his name leaving your lips in high-pitched whimpers. Any other time, Tengen would play the part of the ultimate tease, but not now. No, he wants to please you, to have you screaming his name and begging for more.
He eats like a man starved, his mouth just ravishing your cunt; the noises coming from in between your legs is nothing short of sinful, leaves your blood boiling. Your velvety walls clench around his protruding tongue, each curl and flick sending delicious shivers up your spine, down to the tips of your fingers and toes. Tengen’s always been a god with his mouth, and it’s no wonder how he has four wives. You try not to think about the other girls too much; it’s quickly turning into a battle that you’re hopelessly losing, but then Tengen moves to suckle on your clit while his fingers replace his tongue.
A sharp cry rips its way out of your chest. It feels so good. “Ah – Tengen – fuck,” you whine. Hearing the pleasured noises from your beautiful lips spurs him on; redoubling his efforts, Tengen grabs onto your hip as his fingers push in even further, finding your soft spot with pin-point precision. You rapidly come undone around his fingers, your walls clenching around him as your slick gushes out. A breathless moan of his name echoes throughout the room.
“Just as sweet as I remember,” Tengen husks. The deep rasp of his voice has you clenching again; with a chuckle, Tengen removes his hand and stands up.
“I want you,” you coo, “please, Tengen. Fuck me.” Reaching out, you hastily undo the top of his uniform, push the articles of clothing down his shoulders under his torso is completely bare. Tengen’s chest practically rumbles with a purr as you drift your hands over the swell of his pecs, the divots of his abs. “So gorgeous,” you murmur. Tengen starts to chuckle again, but it quickly dwindles into pleasured grunts as you squeeze his pectorals and pinch at his pert nipples.
“Shit,” Tengen hisses. His hips buck forward, the hard outline of his cock brushing against your sopping cunt. In quick, fumbling movements, he undoes his belt and drops his hakama low enough so that his cock pops out. You practically drool at the sight; he’s been going around commando all day, and fuck you wish you knew that earlier.
His bulbous head pushes inside, his cock slowly filling you up. The stretch is delicious; you feel so fucking full, your velvety walls eagerly sucking him in. Clutching onto his shoulders, your fingernails dig into the thick cording of muscle, your eyes basically rolling back in your head as Tengen snaps his hips forward, his cock sliding in to the hilt. He pauses for a second, allows you to adjust to his massive size. Once you give him the go ahead, all caution is thrown to the wind.
Your husband in no longer a man, but rather a savage beast. He fucks into you thoroughly, his cock dragging against all your sensitive spots as his cockhead pounds into your cervix. He’s hitting you so deep, stretching you so wide, you’re seeing stars. His lips find your neck while his hands hold you by the ass, keeping you place. You have no choice but to cry out his name, moaning until your throat goes hoarse.
Hiking your thighs onto his hips, he urges you to lie flat on your back. Like this, he presses his palms against the surface of the table and completely concentrates and fucking you into oblivion. It’s working, rightfully so, for your drooling and babbling his name, your nails scratching down his back and leaving angry red trails.
“I’m gonna fill you up, baby,” he purrs. “Show you that you’re really mine. I love you, got it? Don’t ever think otherwise.”
Tears flood your vision – whether they’re from pleasure or the new onslaught of emotion, you don’t know. Either way, you cling onto him tighter. You’re not going anywhere, and Tengen makes sure of it.
3K notes · View notes
burnedbyshoto · 3 years
Text
bakugou leaving reader for the unknown, for his dream, because where they were wasn’t good enough, it was a hindrance on his future. it wasn’t so much that he hated his hometown, the people, or even you — he loved you, after all — but he just could never keep himself tied down to the place he was trying to outgrow.
he leaves for university, in the big city, a campus that is known for making the best, creating trailblazers in every field imaginable, and when he leaves at the age of eighteen, he doesn’t come back. all he remembers is the shocked look on your face and the helpless tears streaming down your face when he broke up with you.
it’s been twelve years, and he’s thirty now. he changed his number when he got to the new city, only keeping touch with his parents out of obligation than anything else. it’s short phone calls, three minute conversations of mitsuki scolding him for not calling enough, for never visiting, masaru trying to gently express their concerns for their only son, and of course, bakugou saying he needs to leave.
his parents are strangers to him, practically, and whenever they try to speak of his past life, the one he exchanged away for the current CEO position he’s found himself in, he hangs up. he doesn’t want to hear it, he doesn’t want the bitter pit in his stomach when they even begin to speak your name.
but they haven’t mentioned you in years.
but the thing about katsuki is, unfortunately, his attitude.
thirty years old and a prominent CEO of a company no older than four years old and yet already a billionaire? practically unheard of. sure, people, normal people, praise him for it, but the board? men who used to people like katsuki don’t praise him.
they hate his harsh attitude, his ridiculous will power, and necessity to do everything, and somehow… katsuki gets put on a leave of absence for a minimum of a year.
at first, it’s fine. bakugou spends the newfound free time traveling, seeing the world, doing things he never was able to because he was building his empire. but three months of nothing leads him to grow restless, bored, and the worst feeling in the world crawls into the pit of his stomach and he realizes in month number five what it is.
for the first time in his life, bakugou katsuki is: homesick.
so he goes home, trading the concrete jungle and modern technology for dirt roads and rusting machines. it’s just for a moment, he says as he sees the life he left behind ages ago.
it’s much slower in his hometown, people much more open and conversing with one another instead of cellphones like he’s grown used to. he isn’t quite ready to knock on his mother’s front door so he goes to the general store and walks straight to where he just knows his past time favorite snacks are.
to his total surprise (notice the sarcasm?) it’s right where he remembered it was through the cobwebs of his memory. there’s one bag of spicy corn chips left and as he reached for it, another hand goes for it too.
he freezes for a bit, eyebrows furrowing as he looks at the person who’s hand is connected to the bag of chips he wants.
but he stops breathing for just a moment.
it’s a young girl, most definitely no older than twelve, with your face. it’s exactly the same. but unlike you, the girl had ash blonde hair and deep red eyes.
the girl blinks eyes looking taken back and slightly lost, as does bakugou, and then as if finally caught up on the situation of things, she scowls.
“hands off the chips, old man! I got here first!”
the magic is gone and bakugou feels his eye twitch as he reels backward.
“what the hell did you just say to—?!”
“I said hands off! arent you too old to be eating chips anyways?! you’re practically a million years old, eat the lame corn nuts or something,” she scoffs rolling her eyes as she tucks the bag of chips under her arm.
“aren’t you some shitty little brat!” bakugou hisses, his hand twitching with irritation. “don’t you know to respect your fucking elders.”
“ain’t nothing to respect from what I can tell!”
“aiko, hurry up,” a voice bemoans from behind the aisle and bakugou feels his chest constrict in the weirdest, most heart aching way as you walk around the corner with an armful of party supplies. “we have to get to your grand—”
bakugou stares at you, and you at him. the tension and silence so thick and heavy on the both of your shoulders and tongues.
in the twelve years he’s been away, bakugou has had other relationships. most of them due mostly to friends insistence, and others mostly just because he wanted a warm body nearby. but no one could ever match what you meant to him, not that he could have realized that because he could never think back to you. you were his past, not his present, not his future.
and bakugou was suddenly feeling a lot of things, thinking a lot of things as he looked between you and well… aiko.
“y/n,” bakugou’s voice is hollow, almost unbelievable. “i-is she — are we—?”
“this is my daughter, y/l/n aiko,” you say, steely calm and dangerous. the warm smile you were wearing moments ago clean off your face and your eyes were like glass — shiny, unemotional. “she was born after you left, so you never got a chance to meet her, did you?”
“y/n—“
“y/l/n!” you snap, face still void of emotions. “you don’t have that right anymore.”
bakugou stiffens for a moment, but he knows that you’re right. “y/l/n,” he tries again, your last name a word he’s never had to use in his entire life to address you. “how old is she?”
“mama,” aiko whispers, eyes glaring at bakugou as she stand protectively in front of you, fingers digging into your blouse. “I wanna go now.”
your eyes drop from bakugou, and he watches as a strained but kind smile is expressed to aiko as you press a kiss to her forehead. “okay, go pay for these things for me, will ya? tell tayo-sama we’ll pay him back tomorrow. i’m going to finish this conversation with… with my old classmate.”
aiko looks between you and bakugou, eyebrows furrowed with unsaid questions but she nods, grabbing the things from your arms and going to the cash register. bakugou keeps his gaze on the young girl until your fingers dig into his bicep and your pulling him into a corner that he had definitely made out with you in ages, lifetimes ago.
“what are you doing here?!” you hiss in a near terrible whisper, face frazzled and overwhelmed. “you’ve never been back home! what’s different?!”
“is she mine?!”
“no!” you shriek, fist hitting his chest. “she’s not yours! she’s mine! she’s not some claimable object you get to collect years later!”
bakugou stiffens but also feels like he melts with guilt under those words… youre right. he has no claim to her. all he did was give her life but it was a life where he was probably nothing more than an empty space in. but he looks at you, millions of emotions swimming through your watery eyes, and the snarl on your lips as you stand before him as if you could do anything.
“i’m… i’m sorry, you’re right,” bakugou says, lips pressing into a thin line.
“you shouldn’t have come back,” you laugh miserably, fingers massaging your temples. your tone is weak, defeated, as if for the first time in your life you felt the bottom of the pit. “why did you come back home?”
“mama!!!! let’s go already!!!” aiko whines by the entrance and you tremble in front of him before shaking your head.
“coming!” you call back to her.
bakugou steals another look at what is his daughter. a girl he never knew existed.
“do me a favor, bakugou,” you say passing him with small but domineering steps. “don’t do anything to make her suspect youre her father.”
it took a few hours, probably more, maybe less, but bakugou finally finds himself at his childhood home. he’s heart feeling like it was being swallowed as the front door opened and he saw his older mother and father standing at the entrance. bakugou couldn’t understand what they were saying as they welcomed him in, he could only notice how their home looked exactly the same… well except that the walls that were decorated with photos of him and only him were also covered with pictures of aiko.
“did you know?” bakugou asks before he can even say hello.
mitsuki stopped mid rant, her face moving from irritated mother to exasperated but pitiful silence.
“since she found out.”
“why didn’t you… why didn’t I know?”
“she tried telling you, called you multiple times only to be blocked,” masaru gently explains. “you always shut us down when we so much as mentioned her.”
“she even flew out there at one point but caught you making out with some dumb model too.” mitsuki inserts with a huff. “we tried, brat. you just…”
bakugou is silent, his heartbeat roaring in his ears at the thought of his initial monstrous attempt of deleting his past life. mitsuki sighs, sad and sullen.
“there was no point in telling you when you won’t listen.”
or the story of a one sided bitter ex as bakugou and reader are challenged at creating some semblance of a relationship because aiko pieces it together the moment they looked at each other. including a lot of angst, a six month time limit to rekindle a once in a lifetime love story because choosing between family and work is damn hard.
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divine-mistake · 3 years
Text
bitter fruit
Summary: “The mission was already a success!” you say and you can feel tears burning the back of your eyes. You will yourself to blink them back. “You had the files, the base was set to detonate, I don’t understand why you didn’t just stay on the fucking jet.”
“Because you were going to die.”
Characters: Bucky Barnes/(f)Reader
Warnings: 18+ smut (oral fem receiving, Bucky is a slut for consent), language, graphic depictions of violence, blood
Word Count: 9338
A/N: This is a tumblr request for @buckybarnes101 who requested an enemies to lovers with eventual smut and I got so so carried away with this request and ended up writing this 9k chonker! (5k of it is smut so, carry on) HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY! Enjoy!!
main masterlist | AO3
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“What the fuck were you thinking?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” you snap, “maybe about saving all the innocent people that’ve been trapped in HYDRA’s basement for god knows how long?”
Bucky snarls at you, grabbing the front of your tac-suit and pulling you up until your nose is inches from his. A striking pain shoots through your side like a bullet, which is funny, considering the hole he stitched up for you what seemed like seconds ago.
But just like your relationship, numb one second and blazing the next, it’s like some switch has flipped in his brain in a matter of minutes.
You should really give him some more credit—the man describes his brain as spaghetti most days. And as funny as it sounds, it really isn’t. You’re keenly aware of the haunted look that fills his eyes when he struggles with his past.
Except when he acts like this, it’s hard to remember that.
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Something smells of smoke and gunpowder. People are screaming. The men who just ran through the door are shouting in Russian, you know, because you’ve heard the same language from Bucky’s mouth when he’s having nightmares. Faintly, you realize there’s a pain just above your hip. You don’t have time to look. The gun is in your hands and you’re firing. Someone—innocent, crying—bumps into you as they flee the scene. Your shot goes wide.
Bucky’s voice crackles over the comms. “Where are you?” He sounds panicked.
“Got held up,” you respond. “I’m on my way. Civilians headed to you.”
He curses your name. “I told you to get back to the jet!”
The butt of an assault rifle is hurtling toward you and you duck, rolling across the dirty concrete. The pain in your side flares up, burning. You think you might’ve gotten shot. You return the favor, killing two more HYDRA agents.
“I took a detour.”
A moment to breathe. Your eyes roam over the cells that you uncovered in the base, checking for any signs of life you previously missed. It’s all dead bodies and blood. You’re starting to feel weak.
“Get back to the fucking jet, agent! The base is rigged to blow!”
Before you can reply, someone grabs you by the hair, the muzzle of a gun pressed into your neck. On reflex and instinct alone, you thrust your elbow into his side and disarm him just in time. The gun goes off, bullet lodging in the concrete. Fucking slug would’ve ripped right through you.
“Bit busy,” you reply to Bucky.
Your name is lost to the sound of you firing the last few rounds into your attacker. When you’re sure he’s dead, you slump to the wet floor, knees unable to hold you any longer. The pain in your side is killing you—probably literally. A gasp escapes you when you press your fingers to the wound, trying to staunch the blood from the bullet hole, but at this point, you guess it doesn’t matter. The base is going to go up in flames in a few more minutes and you don’t have the strength to get back to the quinjet.
And really, you don’t want to. Bucky’s gonna be pissed.
“Hey, Barnes,” you wheeze through the comms. He doesn’t reply. “You know how you got all pissy at Sam when he ate your last loaf of that banana bread, and you put all those laxatives in his brownies and he was shitting for like, days? Yeah, that was me. I ate your banana bread.”
He never replies, but you chuckle all the way until you fall asleep, cheek pressed into a pool of someone’s blood.
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He says your name now, catching your attention again, and when you roll your eyes at him he shakes you again. With a hiss of pain, you try and shove him away from you, but his dumb super soldier ass is too heavy.
“That hurts!”
“Good!” Bucky finally lets you go and you slump against your seat, wincing. “Maybe the pain will make you stop being so fucking reckless! You defied a direct order from your captain. You could have died.”
“Maybe I should have,” you mutter back, not looking at him.
“I should be so lucky,” he seethes. “If I hadn’t gone back for your dumbass, your body wouldn’t have even been recovered. You would have rotted in that damn HYDRA base. Is that what you want?”
You snort. “Ain’t like I got a family who wants my ashes.”
Bucky throws up his hands, exasperated, and then decides to pace up and down the aisle of the jet. He doesn’t look at you, and you only sneak glances at the rage painting his face when you’re sure he isn’t going to see you staring. He looks just as worn as you, the sole sleeve of his tac-suit bloody and ripped up, charred remains and soot skimming his boots where he’s tied the laces tight. Sweat-matted and probably dried with blood, his hair is falling in chunks from the bun he usually keeps it in for missions now, and he has to brush it out of his face every few paces he takes.
In another phrase, Bucky is fucking hot right now.
Maybe death would have been tragic, you muse, since you wouldn’t get to see the absolute specimen of your partner anymore.
For as much as you two hate each other, you can’t deny how gorgeous he is. Ripped to match the gods, carefully trimmed beard only a little more bristled than the one Steve sports these days, and god, the man wears a sweater like it’s Armani.
When you blink, you realize he’s looking at you, and your face flushes. It isn’t the first time he’s caught you staring at him hungrily, you’re sure, but most of the time he gets this stupid smug look on his face, lips wide in a smirk, and sometimes he’ll even throw you a flirty little line that has you gnashing your teeth and snapping at him to fuck off.
But this time, he’s so angry that he just stares at you, eyes narrowed in a glare.
“When we get back,” he says, nostrils flaring, “I’m benching you.”
“What?” you cry out, eyes wide. “Why the fuck—who the—who the fuck do you think you are?”
“Your captain!” he roars, and you almost swear the whole jet shakes with his fury. “You disobeyed my direct order to retreat to the jet and instead you almost cost us both our lives. Why the fuck shouldn’t I bench you?”
“I didn’t ask you to come save me!” you shout back, trying to stand from your seat. Almost immediately, Bucky shoves you back down.
“Not only am I your captain for this mission, but I’m your partner. I’m responsible for you. What, you just expect me to leave you behind?”
“The mission was already a success!” you say and you can feel tears burning the back of your eyes. You will yourself to blink them back. “You had the files, the base was set to detonate, I don’t understand why you didn’t just stay on the fucking jet.”
“Because you were going to die.”
The way that Bucky is looking at you right now steals all your breath away, steals all the fight you feel in your bones. You watch the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the way the vein in his neck jumps, the way he holds his jaw tight. His eyes, a blaze of blue, are looking at you like he’s afraid you’ll dissolve right in front of him, leaving behind a body bag of skin and bones and teeth. That’s all you are, maybe.
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“Stay with me,” he says, voice so close to your ear. “Please, just stay with me, doll.”
It’s all hazy. The world is black. You can’t open your eyes, they’re so heavy. Your body hurts so bad, so fucking bad. Someone is jostling you and it hurts so bad and you just want to open your mouth and scream.
“You’re okay.” It’s Bucky, you realize in some vague fog of a dream. “You’re going to be okay, I’ve got you.”
Your leg feels like it’s on fire. The air smells like the fourth of July, all fire and gunpowder and barbeque. Burnt flesh. It’s hot and thick, the smoke you’re breathing in.
“I have so much to tell you,” he whispers, maybe. Or maybe that’s just how it sounds in your mind. “So much to say to you. So much to apologize for. I need to tell you something. You told me about that dumb fucking banana bread. I have something I gotta tell you, doll.”
What? What does he have to tell you? You want to ask but your throat is so dry and your lips are glued together.
You want to tell him you aren’t dying, and god, he’s being so dramatic. But you can’t, because you might actually be dying.
Instead, you try so so so hard to open your eyes, and a sliver of light invades your vision, and even with the way your eyelids shudder, you can see Bucky’s face. Just a little bit. He’s covered in blood, you think.
Oh, but his eyes. Fuck, you love his eyes. Thank god you opened yours so you could stare at his eyes before you go to sleep again. So blue. So deep. So icy and sad and hurt and beautiful.
“Please,” he says, and you swear it’s the only time he’s ever begged you for anything.
Of course, you tell yourself before your eyes close again.  I’d do anything for you.
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“Why do you care?” you whisper, and he blanches, because you swear his damned super soldier hearing can even hear your thoughts.
But fuck it, you’re young, wild, and free, and you’re alive now too, so fuck it.
“Why do you care?” you repeat, louder this time, very clearly addressing him. “Why do you care so much if I die? You’ve hated me since the day you met me,” you spit the words out like poison.
Bucky turns away, gaze trained on something other than you and your bloodied tac-suit.
“We’ve always fought about this,” you continue. “This isn’t anything new, Barnes. You knew I’d go down to save those people. You knew I’d risk my life to get them out. You know this and you still fucking went after me. So why?”
The silence eats at every edge you have until it consumes you, and Bucky never replies.
You watch him walk away, toward the cockpit, and you don’t have the energy to follow him and finish the fight.
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“Get it through your pretty little head before you go on a mission and get yourself killed, doll.” Bucky’s smirk sends a shiver through you and you aren’t sure if it's anger or arousal. You bite down on your tongue to keep from lashing out. “You can’t save everyone.”
“Bullshit,” you say before you realize. Bucky’s eyes go wide. “I took this job because I have the ability to save people, so I’m going to save everyone.”
His mouth opens but you cut him off.
“I don’t care if you can’t save everyone, but me?” Your finger is braced against his hard chest and he doesn’t recoil. “I’ll save everyone or I’ll die trying.”
“Hey,” Steve says, trying to move between you two, but you barely notice his presence.
“You’re stupid,” Bucky hisses.
You smirk. “You’re not as skilled as you think you are.”
“Shut up,” he snarls.
“Make me,” you snap back.
“Guys,” Steve tries to interrupt.
“Meet me in the ring.” Bucky’s eyes are glaring down at you, heated. “Let’s see if you can handle me, doll.”
“Buck!” Steve’s hand falls on Bucky’s shoulder, working to hold him back from stalking off to the gym. But Bucky shrugs him off.
“Back off, Steve.” He looks over his shoulder at you as if daring you to follow.
And, fuck, you’ve never backed down from a challenge in your entire life, so you follow him all the way to the training room, watching the way his muscles strain through his tight t-shirt the whole way.
He’s kind enough to hold the ropes up so you can duck under easier, but you roll your eyes and leverage your foot against the spring and tuck your legs underneath you to jump the top rope easily. You throw him the same look that he did, a coy gaze over your shoulder, and then you beckon him forward.
His nostrils flare and you wonder what he’d look like on top of you in bed.
“Wrap your hands, for god’s sake,” Steve shouts, but you ignore him in favor of cracking your knuckles for good measure.
“I’m not planning on getting mine bloody,” you tell him, and Bucky laughs brusk.
“You should plan on losing,” he says, smirking.
With a twist of your jaw, you crack your neck. “Not planning on that, either.”
Like big cats, the two of you circle each other, toes so light the mat makes no noise. Bucky’s eyes are focused, narrowed, and beautiful like this, you think. He’s calculating every single movement you’re making and it sends a heat down to your core. This is all just foreplay to you.
Until he charges, and then it’s on. You’re a flurry of limbs, defensive stances and blocks. Bucky is unrelenting and the fucker is fast for his size. He never uses his metal arm to attack, but the manic whirr and click of it as he moves is alarming. There’s a window of opportunity when Bucky overshoots a right hook and you duck underneath his arm, and you’re able to get behind him and kick him the back of his knee. He falters for not even a second and then it’s back on.
It’s a dance, weaving between limbs and twirling kicks aimed at his head. You struggle to figure out how to take him down—he’s so big, like a fucking brick wall. There’s very little chance you can flip him. You’re going to have to try and get him in a hold, but there’s no way he’s going to allow you to do that.
But maybe you can bait him. You go on the attack now, whiffing a couple of good punches and sending a straight kick right at his jaw that he barely dodges. While you’re recovering, before your foot is even planted back on the mat, Bucky does exactly what you want him to do. He slides up with a fist and you feign a misstep, ducking right. His follow-through is too heavy and you grab his wrist, locking it in your grasp, and then your heel goes straight into his abdomen, right under his center of gravity.
He goes down and you relish in the moment his eyes blow wide with the shock of being caught off guard. You scramble on top of him but he rocks his hips up and starts to roll you both until you’re underneath him. In retaliation, you lock one foot around his calf and use your other knee to jab his stomach, and then you roll him underneath you instead. Your forearm presses against his neck, legs squeezing his middle.
God, he’s fucking pretty, his blue eyes all big and pants falling out of his pink lips. Sweat is dripping from his hairline and rolling off the bridge of his nose and it pleases you, the fact that you made Bucky Barnes bust his ass in a fight. You know you have to look like a drowned dog by now, so how the fuck is he still so pretty? For that, you press down on his throat harder until he taps the mat—a yield.
Immediately you’re off him, panting as you lean against the ropes, but a shit-eating grin is plastered on your face. Bucky looks anywhere but you, wiping his damp face on his shirt, which gives you the most perfect flash of his carved abs.
“So,” you say, breaking the silence, “we can agree to disagree, right?”
He stares at you for a hard moment, a longer moment than he has before, and you swallow as desire crawls up your spine. Then, Bucky ducks under the ropes, grabs his towel, and gets the hell out of dodge.
“Fuck you too, Barnes!” you shout, and you know he must’ve heard you.
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He helps you walk off the quinjet and you hate literally every second of every moment that you have to have his arm wrapped around your waist. Mostly because you’re pissed at him and you hate being babied, but also because god, you can imagine Bucky holding you like this in a different context way better than you should be able to.
Those thoughts are the demons in your brain and you need someone to exorcise you. Probably Natasha. No, Natasha will make fun of you. Wanda, then.
As soon as you’re out of the hangar, Bucky asks FRIDAY if there’s anyone in the medbay, and your neck about snaps in half from how fast you turn.
“No,” you say. “Absolutely not. I’m not going to medical.”
He cuts you a glare. “As if you have a say in it.”
“I do have a say! It’s my body! This is the twenty-first century, Barnes. My body, my choice!”
“You’re injured,” he grits through his teeth. “We’re going to medbay.”
“I don’t need to go!” You start dragging your heels, trying to make yourself heavier, but Bucky is a super soldier and probably throws mack trucks for a living or something. “You stitched me up! The burns aren’t that bad, either. I’m fine, I’m not going to medical.”
“God, can you ever give me a break?” he groans. “Why are you always so fucking difficult?”
“I’m not being difficult!” you snarl, trying to push away from him, but his grip tightens. “Why the fuck do you care so much?”
“You’re so fucking stupid.”
“Yeah, maybe I am, since I don’t know why the fuck you give two shits about saving my quote-unquote dumbass who almost got us both killed, and I don’t know why the fuck you care about getting me to medical when you’re gonna bench me anyway! Right, thanks a lot Barnes, I’m so stupid for not fucking figuring it out!”
“You are!” he roars, and then your back is against the wall, his hand cushioning your head from hitting it. He corners you there, covering your body with his, ducking down so your mouths are so close you would only need to reach up a little to kiss him, and god, that’s tempting.
Not tempting enough when you’re this pissed off, though.
“So that’s what it is, huh? You just think I’m some stupid, incapable little girl who is so impractical because all she wants to do is save lives? You think I’m so stupid that I don’t know that people are going to die? And they’re going to die because I can’t save them? Maybe you should think about how I could never live with myself if I didn’t do everything possible to save them, so I risk my life to get them to safety. I would never ever risk yours, you stupid, arrogant, ignorant—”
Oh, Jesus.
His lips are hot when they crash against yours, pinning you between him and the wall. It’s desperate, the kind of kiss you’ve never had before. It’s so desperate and you want to pull away and ask him, Bucky, what are you so desperate for? He kisses you like he wants to keep you, his mouth swallowing yours like he can’t get enough of you. It’s hungry and begging and you don’t ever want it to stop, your teeth nipping blood from his bottom lip as if it’ll stop him from leaving, but he pulls away, leaving you breathless anyway.
“You’re stupid,” he repeats again and you watch his tongue dart out to taste the blood you’ve ripped from his skin. It sends a thrill of pleasure through you. “You’re so stupid.”
And he kisses you again and you decide that sure, maybe you’re stupid, you’ll be stupid all day long because he’s going to kiss you stupid.
It’s your hands that move first, you realize in some random corner of your mind. Your fingers twine in his brown locks, tugging the hair tie away and flinging it somewhere. Vaguely, you realize you’re still in the middle of the hallway, on the way to the elevator, but you don’t give a shit. The hand that isn’t twisting Bucky’s scalp finds the material of his tac-suit and starts pulling at all the straps and buckles, searching for a sliver of his hot skin in any capacity.
His own hand, the one not holding the back of your head, skims over your waist and flutters down your uninjured hip, grasping at the flesh underneath your suit. Suddenly, you’re overcome with the need to get these fucking clothes off, and immediately, and you break the kiss so you can suck down air and ask the man you’ve been hating, been pining after, to take you to bed.
As you do, Bucky trails a hot path of sloppy kisses down your chin, over your jaw, against your neck, until he finds the juncture of your shoulder and attaches his teeth there, nibbling on a patch of skin that is so distracting you forget about your question for a minute. And then your fingers run over a rough spot on his suit and you remember.
“Bucky,” you gasp out, and it sounds so heady that you nearly throw your head back. “Bucky,” you repeat, more urgently, when he doesn’t let up, your hand is tightening on his sleeve and tugging on it.
His head snaps up now, eyes piercing yours, concerned.
“Are you okay?” he asks, moving your hair away from your face to look closer at you.
“Bed,” you rasp out, but barely. “Now, please.”
He doesn’t move for a second, just staring at you like he’s scared, like he’s surprised you would ask. You see his eyes sort of glaze over, a reminder of the nightmares he’s seen, the nightmares he replays over and over in his head, but you’re selfish and your core is pulsing with a heat you’ve never felt this hot before and you need him here, not wherever his mind is taking him.
“Please, Bucky,” you say, and he blinks, and then he’s present again.
“Anything for you, doll,” he whispers, and your legs nearly collapse beneath you at the thought. Bucky scoops you into his arms carefully, trying not to jostle your wound too much, and then he sweeps you into the elevator and you’re speeding toward his room and hoping to god that Steve isn’t prowling around.
In a haze of kissing and excitement, you barely recognize that Bucky’s opening his door until it’s closed behind you and he’s walking you through his room and to his bed.
God, you’ve wanted to be in his bed for so fucking long.
He drops you among the sheets gently, so starkly different from the harsh tone of his voice only a few minutes earlier when he was yelling at you, and you’re not sure what you like better. You want Bucky to fuck you, to rip you in half and put you back together like he always does. But you want him, so badly, to make love to you just as much, but you’d never admit that to him.
Bucky’s kissing you so sweetly now, and then his kisses get more forceful, more needy, and you suck on his tongue until he’s panting above you. His hands are everywhere, sliding over your suit, unstrapping and unzipping and unbuckling all your gear, and your hands fumble in tune with his, trying to help him get you out of your clothes.
Just before he takes off your vest, he kisses you and asks, “Is this okay?”
You rip the vest off yourself, sitting up on your elbows to rip your undershirt off with it, leaving you in a black sports bra.
And you revel in the way Bucky stares at this new flesh. His lips find your sweaty skin, covering every inch that’s been revealed now as your fingers start taking his tac-suit apart the way he did yours. Soon, you’re frustrated, and you whine and pull at it until he huffs a laugh and takes it off himself. His vest gets thrown to the side and his tank top follows, leaving him bare-chested.
Your fingers are shaky as they touch his tanned skin and you almost laugh at how nervous you are. You’ve spent so long looking at him, hating him, wanting him, and now you have this stretch of his wide chest in front of you and all you can do is let your fingertips glide over him, mouth parted, eyes hazy.
His pupils are blown wide, too, and Bucky takes your hand in his and presses it against him harder, and suddenly you’re feral.
Your hands slide over every part of him, taking in the expanse of him. His biceps, his strong shoulders, the hard planes of his body. As gentle as possible, you trail your fingers closer and closer to the scar where metal meets flesh, and you glance up at him, a silent question, and when he gives you the smallest nod, you smooth over the gnarled rift of skin. You don’t ask if it hurts. He gives no indication that it does. And when you reach up to press a soft kiss to it, he shudders above you.
“Please,” he whispers, so quietly. “Let me touch you, doll.”
You lay back and start to unstrap your holsters, gesturing for Bucky to help you with your pants. He unlaces your boots for you as you throw your weapons to the ground, the clink of belts and buckles mingling in the silence, a song that ignites the excitement inside of you.
Your core is molten lava, the apex of your thighs dripping and Bucky hasn’t even touched the most intimate parts of you yet. Every single fiber of your being is trembling in anticipation, and in your hurry to strip your pants off, a twinge of pain shoots through you as you bend the wrong way, stitches pulling.
Bucky curses—like he’s the one who’s hurt you and you aren’t the idiot trying to rip her pants off—and just like he can flip the switch on his attitude, he flips the switch on this, too. He’s off of you before you realize, sitting back on his haunches, staring down at you in panic.
“I’m—Baby,” he breathes, voice shaking. “I'm sorry.”
His hands are outstretched, reaching for you, trembling as he swallows hard. You watch as his eyes shift in the space between your face and the white gauze wrapped around the bullet wound in your side.
“Bucky,” you hiss and grab him by the back of his neck, pulling him down. He doesn’t budge, not much at least, but you meet him the rest of the way and your lips collide with his in a thunderous crash, and like instinct, he kisses you until you can’t breathe.
“Doll,” he mumbles against your mouth and you drink the word from his tongue, distracting him. “We can’t.”
“We can,” you growl back, teeth reminding him of the pulsing ache between your thighs. In search of more, your hips roll up and meet his own, causing a groan to tumble out of his mouth into your own.
Fuck the pain—you’ll grit your teeth and bear it. This is the only moment you’ll ever have him, and by god, you need him.
Your hands return to your pants. “Help me,” you plead, breathless, unable to shimmy out of them. Bucky’s already pulled your boots off, socks coming with them, and his fingers find the heated flesh right beneath your waistband.
“Are you sure?”
All you can do is whine his name until he understands, and then Bucky is peeling your black pants from your legs, the rush of cool air rolling over your hot skin feeling almost as good as his hands are going to feel if he’ll just put them on you.
When his palms finally fall upon your thighs, rough and calloused and big and warm, you need much more, so much more. The way he trails his fingers down your knees, caressing your calves, brushing atop your ankle, and then coming back up to have his thumbs follow the ridge of muscles in your thighs, it all makes you shiver in pleasure. You’re so hot, sweat pooling in the small of your back against the bed, the dampness of your core becoming harder to ignore.
You squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to relieve the ache and Bucky notices—of course he notices—and his mouth finds your neck again, sucking until dark bruises begin to mar your skin, until you’re bowing off the bed, arching toward him, trying to get something, anything. Anything from him.
At some point, you realize he’s just torturing you on purpose, letting his hands roam the stretch of your stomach, smooth over the hills of your hips, and then draw down your legs until you’re shaking as he kisses you so softly, and then so roughly, like he can’t decide if he wants to grow old with you or if he wants to ruin you for whoever comes after him.
You sit up and reach around, fingers intent on unclasping your bra, but Bucky stops you with a nip at your bottom lip.
“Will you let me?” he asks, so sweetly. Bucky’s hand finds yours and bats them away, his fingers on the hooks as he waits for your answer.
“Yes,” you moan as his other hand tickles down the curve of your side. “God, please, yes.”
“Bucky,” he says, smirking against the side of your neck.
“Shut up and undress me, for fuck’s sake.”
“Well, when you ask so sweet like that, baby.”
With a quiet click, your bra comes undone and Bucky pulls it away from your body, and then your breasts are bare before his eyes. Now, it’s your turn to be doused in ice, to freeze, for the switch to flip.
You feel shy beneath his gaze, the way he looks at your nearly naked body with such reverence, as though this is the moment he’s been waiting for. Your knees close and your elbows draw in over your chest without your permission. It’s not like you want to hide from him, but he looks so perfect atop you, so beautiful in every single facet, better than any dream you’ve ever had of him, and you can’t stop yourself.
What have the other girls looked like underneath him? Better than you, surely. Prettier, skinnier, smaller, sexier. For fuck’s sake, you’ve got a nasty burn on the side of your leg and were shot through your left side only a few hours ago, your middle wrapped in medical tape. You can’t be that pretty a picture.
You’ve had your shot at him and you’re gonna lose it.
But when you look up, Bucky’s looking at you like you’re everything. His face is flushed, red creeping down his neck, and his eyes are soft, hazy, glassy. Gently, his fingers find your jaw and cup your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.
“Let me look at you, baby.” His voice is almost as rough as the worn skin of his hand, dry and gravelly and thick with lust. When Bucky moves to grasp your wrists, you let your eyes flutter closed and nod, allowing him to peel your arms away from where they hide you, and you hear the sharp intake of breath he takes.
“God,” his voice shudders. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, doll. I couldn’t have dreamed you up if I tried, and I promise you, I tried.”
Your eyes fly open at this. “What?”
If it bothers him, he doesn’t act like it. Bucky leans down to nuzzle his nose against your collarbone, kissing and licking your skin like he’s making constellations out of your body—bruises connected only by his tongue.
“I’ve thought about this since the day you kicked my ass in the ring.” He sounds like he’s reciting a prayer, all whispered desires. “Your perfect lips, what they’d feel like, how soft they are. If you’d touch my scars, and how your fingers would feel on them all if you did.”
His mouth closes over the mound of your breast, the clash of tongue and teeth upon your nipple forcing you to arch into him in pleasure. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream and you aren’t quite aware that you’re even whining until his free hand crawls up from your hip and cups your other breast, thumb strumming over your peaked nipple. The breathy moans that pour from your mouth fill the room and only seem to make Bucky work faster, work harder, as he drags every drop of pleasure out of you with every instrument he has. Your hips buck up and into his, your thinly-clothed core catching the tent in his pants—his tac-suit, you realize, is still on—and it makes you both groan in a symphony of need.
“Need you,” you somehow manage to get out between your heavy panting, hips still searching for something to relieve the ache in your center. “Bucky, please.”
He releases your nipple from his lips, the chill assaulting the wet bud making you bow from the bed once again. Bucky places a kiss on the other, letting his tongue lave over it until it's just as wet and hard.
“I imagined what you’d sound like,” he says against your stomach, punctuating his words with a smattering of kisses across your skin. “Thought about what you’d—fuck, baby—I thought so much about how you’d look beneath me all spread out, just for me.”
The sound you make in reply is almost embarrassing as how soaked your panties are.
“Wondered how you’d taste.” He lets his tongue drag across the hem of your underwear and you press up, trying to get his mouth closer, but his hands settle on your hips and gently hold you to the bed.
“Bucky!” you try and growl, but it comes out an octave too high. “Please!”
“What is it, babydoll?” His fingers curl underneath, thumbs riding the line of skin just beneath your panties.
“I need you!” You throw your head back against the pillow. “I’ve thought about it too,” you admit, breathing hard. “How you’d touch me like this, how you’d feel inside me, please, so please just—I need you, Bucky.”
“You got me, baby,” he says and it sounds so fucking beautiful. “I’m right here. I got you, doll. Gonna take care of you, okay? Will you let me give you what you need?”
You answer by trying to press your hips up again, and Bucky shifts until his hands are cupping your ass and he drags you down the bed, closer to him, closer to his own hips where you can feel the bulge of his cock begging to be released.
“Your pants,” you remind him, wrapping your uninjured leg around the back of his thigh. “I want to feel you, please, Bucky.”
“Okay, doll,” he says, laying a kiss just above your panty line again, and then he’s pulling away and you whine despite it.
You listen as Bucky fiddles with his gear, going through the same motions as you had to go through earlier. The clink of his knives, the buckles of his holsters, the heavy soles of his boots as he throws them off. When you sit up, Bucky is standing in his black boxers, the faint light streaming into his room highlighting the shine of the scars that cover his body.
He looks as breathless, as flustered, as aroused as you feel. His hair is mussed from your hands, falling over his shoulder in the thick waves that feel so soft between your fingers. The lust is evident in the way his eyes roam over your body, his pupils blown wide, and then he’s moving toward you and fitting himself between your legs on the bed.
Bucky slides his hands over your heated skin yet again, a reminder of how much he wants you, how much he loves the feel of you, before his fingers hook inside your panties and begin to pull them down. Before he gets too far, he stops again, gaze flicking up to meet yours.
“Is this alright?” he asks.
You nod, lifting your hips as carefully as possible in order to keep from jostling your wound, and Bucky slips the last piece of clothing from your body. You hope, fucking christ you hope, he doesn’t realize how soaked they are when he peels them off, but maybe that’s a lost cause.
Because as soon as you’re naked, your glistening core bare to his eyes alone, all bets are off. There are no more barriers, nothing for you to hide behind, no sharp words to keep your feelings at bay.
His fingers skim over your lips, collecting all the honey you’ve made for him as his knees widen to spread your thighs. The simple movement has your hips rolling already in search of more, whimpers falling from your mouth as Bucky stares at your naked form beneath him. Eyes lidded, you watch as he brings his fingers, wet with your juices, up to his mouth.
“Shit, doll,” he curses. Bucky’s tongue envelops his digits and he groans at the taste, sending shocks like a fucking earthquake through your body, through your bones, straight to your core.
He moves closer to you, sliding your thighs onto his shoulder and locking his metal arm around the top of your hips, far enough away from your wound that it doesn’t hurt. Bucky peppers kisses along your inner thighs, biting and sucking in intervals that has you pressing your mound to him, begging for more.
“You taste so good,” he mumbles, breath ghosting over your quivering pussy, pulling a wanton whine from your throat. “Will you let me taste you, baby?”
“God, yes, please Bucky,  please, I need it so bad.” The words are frantic, strangled, a mess of moans of breathless gasping.
“I know, sweetheart,” he says. “I got you, baby. I got you.”
And then his mouth is on you, hot and slick upon hot and slick, his tongue parting the valley of your lips and delving into your dripping center like he’s a man starved and you’re the first meal he’s tasted in years. You keen in pleasure, thrashing your head against the pillows until your hair is a tangled mess as Bucky’s tongue flattens on your clit, licking a wide path until it’s well-traveled and your hips stutter, held back only by the cooled metal on your heated skin. Your hands find purchase in his hair, fingers tugging at his scalp, and the motion makes him groan into you.
You call his name like it’s the only word you know, chanting it over and over like it’s a spell similar to the one he’s weaving with his tongue upon your aching clit. He doesn’t let up, tracing words you can’t make out and drinking in all the wetness flooding his mouth. The gentle scratch of his wiry beard burns just right, contrasting with the curls of pleasure coming from your sensitive clit. Without realizing, you grind your core against Bucky’s mouth, the friction only serving to make you into a trembling mess, your insides throbbing with a need to be filled, pussy clenching around nothing.
As if he feels you, Bucky slides his free hand over your leg and to the apex of your thighs, the first thick finger entering you slowly, like he’s testing the waters. You cry out, begging for more, and Bucky relents. His second finger follows as his tongue continues to lap at your pussy, letting you gyrate against his face as you try to fuck yourself on his hand.
“Bucky,” you pant, each letter of his name a stutter with moans, “please!”
“Please what, babydoll?” His voice sends another wave of arousal through you, juices slicking his fingers up more than before. Your stomach is tightening, pleasure in tight curls between your legs, center so close to snapping that tears are beginning to leak from your eyes because Bucky won’t fucking let you move your hips in the way that you want. He chuckles against your pussy, breath teasing over you, vibrations making you quiver.
“I’m gonna—”
Bucky curls his fingers inside of you, stroking your spot, just as his mouth envelops your clit in its heat and he sucks, hard, and the thin thread coiling in your core snaps and you come apart, harder, and a scream tears itself from your throat as warm tears fall into your hairline.
He never stops. As his suckling turns into kitten licks upon your clit, his third finger breaches your opening and slips inside, pumping into you as you ride your orgasm out on his hand. Your hand is tight in his hair until it all becomes too much and it falls to cover your mouth, your teeth finding your knuckle to bite back the sound of your moans.
“Oh no, baby, no,” Bucky says, and when you look down, he’s between your legs, watching you in the aftershocks of your pleasure. His fingers leave your pussy and you clench around nothing, a whine leaving your lips at the emptiness, until Bucky’s metal fingers are pulling your hand away from your face.
“I gotta hear you,” he whispers, the hand covered in your nectar finding your mouth. “Need to hear all those pretty little noises you’re making, baby. I’ve dreamed about ‘em. Would get my cock all hard thinking about ‘em. You gotta keep making ‘em ‘cause now that I’ve heard ‘em, I can’t get enough, babydoll.”
When he moves to trace your bottom lip, red and swollen from his own, your tongue darts out to taste the salt and sin on the pad of his thumb. Bucky places his fingers at your parted lips and you suck them into your mouth, licking all the juice from his skin, tongue swirling around his digits. You wonder if his lips taste like this, too.
He groans as he watches you, his eyes lidded and hazy and lovely, and then his metal hand finds the waistband of his boxers and yanks them off his hips. In one perfect movement, his cock slaps against his stomach, hot and red and already leaking, which makes you flush at the fact that Bucky liked making you come.
Subconsciously, your tongue snakes out to lick your lips as you take in the length, the thickness of his cock, and Bucky gets that familiar look on his face—cocky, smirking, knowing that he’s pushing your limits. He presses you back down upon the bed, his arms bracketing your head as his nose brushes against yours, his heat pressing into the subtle dip where your hip and thigh meet.
The feeling of his cock, hard and heavy against your naked skin, sends you into a frenzy of arousal, of want, of need. You reach out and take him into your hand, your thumb brushing over the velvet head and smearing his precum along his length. Bucky’s jaw tightens, muscle twitching, as you pump your fist around him and drag your fingers along the blue vein riding up the underside. The groan that falls from his lips, the stutter and jerk of his hips, the way he shakes above you is addicting, and Bucky has to pull your wrist away from his cock in order to stop you from getting him off just like that.
“Baby,” he breathes, resting his sweaty forehead against yours.
“Bucky, please,” you beg again. “Please, I need you inside me.”
“You want me?” he asks, and even though his voice is scratchy and thick with desire, he says it like he’s surprised. As if you could never want him.
You’ve always wanted him.
“Yes, god, Bucky. I want you,” you moan, threading your fingers into his hair to smash your lips together in a sharp, bruising kiss. “I need you,” you say against his mouth. “I need you so, so bad.”
“I need you too, babydoll. Need to feel you,” he says, the sound strained, almost like he can’t stay away from you any longer. You feel it too, the ache without him, the way your pussy clenches in anticipation for him.
The head of Bucky’s cock nudges at your entrance and your slick coats him. The soft skin of him brushes your over-sensitive clit and you keen, and he does it again, and again, until you’re shaking, until you wrap your ankles around Bucky’s back and pull him into you, raising your hips to meet his.
“You want this?” His voice is heavy when he asks.
“Yes,” you moan out, rocking against him.
He says your name and it sounds pained on his tongue. “Are you sure?”
“James.” Your teeth snap and gnash on his name, and it awakens something within him that sets every place he touches you ablaze with a new sensation, and Bucky enters you with a slow thrust of his hips. 
And it feels so fucking good.
Like straining a muscle you haven’t used in a while, it aches as he enters while you stretch to accommodate his size. The way his cock feels inside of you—touching you in places you never thought you’d be touched, filling you in a way you never thought you’d be filled.
He’s finally, finally yours. If just for this moment, Bucky Barnes is yours.
Your nails incise his back, making new marks among the sea of scarring he’s suffered, as you cling to his body in any way to feel him closer to you. Bucky leaves kisses on every surface of your face, your jawline, your neck. He kisses you everywhere and you wish you could tattoo the feeling into your skin.
“Are you alright?” he mumbles faintly into your neck and you can feel how hard he’s trying not to move, not to hurt you, to give you time to adjust to him. Your fingers trail up and down his spine, drifting into his hair, scratching against his scalp.
“Yes,” you hiss, undulating your hips and making a similar sound fall from his lips. “Bucky, please.”
You don’t know how many iterations of that same phrase you’ve said all night, but you’ll keep saying it, over and over, if he’ll take you like this. Just like this, with his arms trapping your body to the bed, his hips flush against yours, panting above you as he stares into your eyes all lustful and dark and wanting. He smells like the Bucky you’re so familiar with, your partner, Barnes, gunpowder and explosions and blood, with the clean scent of whatever deodorant he uses. If he’ll keep you like this, where you can pretend your his for this moment, you’ll say it over and over
Bucky, please—Bucky, please—Bucky, please—please—please—
When he finally moves, thrusting into your heat with a growl, it feels like time stops.
Bucky fucks you like he loves you, slow and steady, pumping into you fully and deeply until you lose your mind. He fucks you like he wants to ravage you, fast and quick and hard as he holds your hips to keep you steady, and you ignore the dull pain that flares up in your side because he’s fucking you like he needs you, like he can’t exist without you. He fucks you like he’ll never get another chance to touch you. When he fucks you like this, his thrusts falling out of rhythm, out of time, he rests his forehead against yours and you lean up to capture his mouth with yours, tongues sliding over one another sloppily.
The heat is building up inside of you again, and when Bucky lifts your hips and drapes you over his knees, pressing you up with his metal arm, his cock hits the spot inside you that makes you scream over and over. The waves are cresting. The crescendo is approaching. Every grunt and groan he makes mingles with your moans and shrieking pleasure, and it’s all going to culminate into one big moment, you can feel it.
Bucky pulls back to slip his hand between your bodies, sweaty and hot, and his thumb presses gently into your clit. With one sharp thrust, your body arches off the bed as you snap, screaming his name, and Bucky holds you through it.
Your vision goes black—you aren’t sure if it's because your eyes are screwed shut in pleasurable pain or if it's because you’ve passed out. Bucky’s hips jerk wildly into yours and you tighten the grip you have around his waist with your legs, digging your heels into the small of his strong back.
“So tight,” he hisses into your ear. “So fucking wet, baby. Feel so fucking right, made for me, aren’t you doll?”
“Yes, James,” you moan out as you ride the waves of your orgasm. “Made for you!”
Bucky works at your clit again as his rhythm starts to fail, and even with how sensitive you are, you feel the pleasure curling inside you again, hot inside your stomach. You clench and jolt whenever his cock hits the right angle, and all of a sudden, you’re on the edge yet again.
“I can’t,” you cry out, nearly a sob lost to the sound of his hips snapping against yours.
“You can,” he says, so gently. “You can, baby, just for me. You said so, right?”
How is he still talking? For fuck’s sake, your tongue feels like its detached from your mouth and all you can muster are the moans and whines that come from the back of your throat Bucky is forcing out of you.
“Come with me,” you beg, you plead. “Please James, please, come with me.”
“Baby—”
You break apart silently, clinging to his body, holding him to you as every fiber of your being is torn into pieces, shattered. As your pussy clenches and spasms around him, Bucky stutters in his thrusts and you pull him into you, willing him to fall over the edge with you, and he follows dutifully.
He groans out your name as he comes inside of you, liquid heat searing the deepest part of you. Falling back against the pillows, you whisper his name and drag him with you, mouth meeting his for one last clumsy, haphazard kiss. Bucky stills inside of you, still throbbing, and then he whispers something against your lips.
“I love you.”
You freeze, eyes wide, and Bucky pulls away from your embrace to look at you.
“What?” you ask, swallowing thickly. “What did you say?”
“I—” He looks nervous now, but his blue eyes are so fucking sincere. “I’m—I’m so sorry, fuck.”
Bucky moves to pull out of you, to leave, but you tighten your legs around his hips and trap him against you. The cocky smirk he wears, the confident smile, even the look of desire he wore while fucking you—it’s all gone. Left in its wake is the ashamed look Bucky wears that makes him seem small, and you want to smooth it away until he looks at you like he wants you again. Like he wants you to be his. 
Like he loves you.
“Why are you sorry?” you ask him, stroking a hand through his hair.
“Because—fuck—this wasn’t supposed to happen.” He glances away from you and glares at the floor and a heartbreaking pain shoots through you. Now, he pulls out of you, shifting to get off the bed and clean up, but you can’t stop the words before they tumble out.
“You didn’t want me?”
“What?” Bucky turns and cups your face in his hand, searching your eyes for something, and his thumb wipes away a stray tear you didn’t realize had fallen. 
Oh fuck, here it comes. He told you he loved you in a fit of passion and now you’re the stupid, clingy girl that he needs to leave behind. You’re partners, first and foremost, and you shouldn’t have forgotten that.
But god, he made you feel like you were his, and you wanted that so bad. You want it so fucking bad.
“It’s okay,” you tell him, voice shaking and you wonder if you mean it. “I know I’m stupid, and I know you hate me, and I know it was just sex—”
“Baby, no, please.” Bucky brings your face to his and kisses you softly, sweetly, like he adores you. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry because someone like me shouldn’t love someone like you. God, I shouldn’t love someone as perfect as you. I can’t have you, doll. And I’m sorry.”
Oh. Bucky does love you.
Oh. Oh. Oh.
You surge up and slant your mouth over his, hand gripping the back of his neck to pull him down, fingers twining in the fine hairs where his scalp meets his skin. In this one kiss, you pour everything you think you can into it, everything you feel now, everything you’ve felt since you met him, everything you’ve ever felt at every moment you’ve shared with him.
“I love you,” you say when you pull away. “I love you so much, Bucky. I’ve loved you since the day I met you.”
His eyes are so wide, so afraid, so confused.
“You do?”
“I do,” you tell him. “God, I’ve wanted you for so long, Bucky Barnes, you stupid man.”
You expect him to kiss you now, but he doesn’t. Instead, Bucky cradles your head in his hand and pulls you to his chest, embracing you in his warm arms. He rolls onto the bed, carefully lifting you until you’re situated on top of him, where you wrap your limbs around him and lay upon his warm body. Bucky lays kisses on the crown of your hair, holding you so tightly against him you think you might suffocate.
“I’ve loved you since the day you kicked my ass, doll,” he admits. You laugh.
“Are you kidding me? I thought you hated me.”
“I could never hate you,” he says. “I hated that you would sacrifice yourself for others. I still hate it. It’s why you got hurt today and god, the threat of losing you, it scares me doll. I didn’t know what I would do if you died right there in my arms and I never got the chance to tell you all this.”
You glance up at him, at his beautiful face and his beautiful eyes, the man who you hated and who you wanted and who you love. God, you really do love him.
“I’m not going to leave you,” you whisper, pressing an awkward kiss to his bare chest. “Now that I have you, I could never leave you.”
He laughs at that. “Babydoll, you’ve always had me. I can’t believe you never knew.”
You think back to all the times he’s looked at you, dopey grins and cocky smiles and coy glances. You think about how long you’ve leaned on each other in the two years you’ve been partners, how he’s the only person you’ve ever trusted with your life, how you always work to come back to him. You think about the butterflies that stirred in your stomach the first time you met him, when he shook your hand and gave you the prettiest smile you’d ever seen, the same smile he has plastered on his face right now as looks down at you.
Sitting up, you look at Bucky Barnes, chin resting in your palm lazily.
“Maybe I’ve always known,” you say.
“Yeah,” he says. “Maybe I did, too.”
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tacticaldiary · 3 years
Note
Having a relationship w/ Oikawa based on a bet and the gf heard it when the seijoh 4 talked about it making oikawa panicked when he knows his gf heard it.. ahh angst to fluff? Hehe thank youuuu
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This was fun to write. :)
Betting on You
Pairing: Reader x Oikawa Tooru
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, a lil fluff
He couldn’t lose her, anyone but her. He shouldn’t have accepted the bet. Needless to say, Oikawa Tooru has a lot of regrets right now. Opening up and being vulnerable to his partner was thankfully not one of them, even if it had ended up with them crying in each others arms. 
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Mumbling incoherently, Y/N reaches out next to her in the bed, trying to find the warm body that usually occupied the space next her. Frowning when she feels only the bedsheets, she opens her eyes and squints. There’s no one next to her. 
“Tooru?” she mutters softly, yawning and sitting up. He was always there, clinging to her, holding her close. Strange. She decides to wait for him, wanting his warmth to fall asleep with. The guy was like a living heater, which was useful during cold winter nights like this one. 
Twenty minutes pass and he still doesn’t come back. Furrowing her eyebrows, Y/N sighs and pulls herself to the edge of the bed, slipping on a pair of slippers. She shivers a little when the cold air hits her skin, but continues slowly towards the door to their shared bedroom. Opening it with a quiet creak, she immediately hears voices. A little confused, she quietly keeps walking, stopping at the doorway to the living room. 
She tilts her head in confusion when she sees Tooru laying on the couch, tapping away at his phone. It appears he’s on a voice call on speaker. 
“Almost three months.”
“Honestly, none of us expected you to last this long.”
Her eyes widen as she hears familiar voices. Matsukawa and Hanamaki?
“You’re still keeping him to that?” Iwaizumi? What were they doing this late at night? The clock on the wall tells her it’s 2 in the morning. 
“Obviously. I thought the money was pretty much guaranteed.”
“Can you blame us? He’s never kept someone around for more than a month.”
“Shut up.” Tooru's quiet voice reaches her ears. What money? What was going on?
“You’re not going to win.” comes Iwaizumi’s annoyed voice. “It’s Y/N.”
“Yeah, but before her it was also Mika-Chan and Yui-Chan and Hina-Chan and Aiko-Chan and-”
“Alright, I get it. Iwa-Chan’s the only one who’s on my side.” he pouts, cutting off Hanamaki’s annoying high-pitched imitation of him. 
“We still don’t know why. You’re obviously going to lose the bet. It’s inevitable.” Matsukawa claim confidently
...Bet?
“I’ll win in a few days, if you haven’t noticed. Nothing’s gonna happen in a few days.” Tooru rolls his eyes.
“And then you’ll dump her?”
Y/N suddenly feels cold, and it has nothing to do with the weather. Dump her? Bet? WHat was going on? Her mind was racing. Tooru hadn’t indicated that he was unhappy, or wanted to break up. He was always telling her how much he loved her. Was he lying? She felt a little sick at the thought.
“Yeah, the bet was to keep someone around for more than three months. You’ll be done in a few days. What’re you gonna do then?”
What?
“A bet?” she says aloud, her voice hollow with shock.
Tooru jumps and drops his phone, quickly turning around to see his girlfriend looking at him in horror. 
“Y-Y/N-Chan...” he scrambles to his feet and ends the call, wondering how much she had heard. “I thought you were asleep?” he quickly moves towards her, reaching out to touch her shoulder. He freezes when she backs away, shaking her head in disbelief. 
“A bet, Tooru? A bet?” 
“What-? Wait, Y/N...it’s not what you think-”
“Keep me around? You were dating me for a...bet?” her voice starts shaking a little, as she remembers how mere hours ago, he was holding her, assuring her how much he loved her.
“No! I-”
“Am I a game to you? A bet? Are you fucking kidding me?” She nearly laughs, because of course he would only date her for a bet. Of course. 
He frantically shakes his head, reaching out for her again, but thinking better of it when he glares at him with eyes full of unshed tears. His eyes widened. This wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. “Y/N-Chan, listen to me, please, let me explain.” he sounds panicked. 
She clenches her jaw. “I should have seen this coming. Of course the Oikawa Tooru wouldn’t go out with someone like me.” She lets out a bitter chuckle at his stunned expression. Before he can interrupt, she pushes on. “Why would you, when you have girls, so much more perfect than me, throwing themselves at your feet all the time?”
“Y/N-” he’s trying desperately to get a word in, wincing when she raises her voice to overpower his. 
“Mika-Chan and Yui-Chan and Hina-Chan.” she imitates, recalling the phone call. Tears she’s tried to keep at bay finally start trickling down and Oikawa’s heart twists painfully, knowing that he was the one who caused it. “Obviously, the only reason you’d consider me was because of a bet, a fucking bet, Tooru.” she cries out angrily. 
“Y/N-Chan, listen to me.” he says seriously, grabbing her shoulder and looking her in the eyes. “I love you. I’ve loved you since the beginning. The bet means nothing to me.”
Her next word feel like a punch to the gut. 
“Bullshit.” she whispers, before repeating herself louder. “Utter bullshit. You never loved me.”
“I did, I do!” he insists. 
“If you did, it wouldn’t have taken a bet for you to ask me out!” she roughly shoves his hands off her. Taking a deep breath, forcing herself to ignore his hurt look. “It’s my fault too, isn’t it? I should’ve known better than to accept dating the Oikawa Tooru, the school heartthrob, notorious for playing around.” her words are laced with venom and self-pity. “There’s always gonna be someone better. Someone prettier, skinner, funnier. I was stupid for thinking you would ever fall for me.” All her insecurities come spilling out, accumulated from months of dating him, enduring the comments whispered under the breath by jealous students, girls openly flirting with her boyfriend. She was stupid to think she would ever be enough.
Pushing past him, wiping her sleeves across her eyes, she storms back into the bedroom, Oikawa at her heels behind her. She grabs her pillow and a blanket, turning back around and moving to the couch in the living room. She does her best to ignore her boyfriend's desperate attempts to gain her attention, begging her to give him a chance to explain. She sets up the items and lays on the couch, pulling the blanket to her chin and turning to face the back of the couch.
She refused to sleep anywhere near him. When he doesn’t stop talking she says coldly:
“Leave me alone. I want nothing to do with you.”
“No.”
She pauses. “No?”
“Not until you hear me out.” He crosses his arms.
“I’ve heard enough.”
“It’s a misunderstanding. If you’d just let me explain-”
“I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.”
He was dreading that. He really does love her, so fucking much. He doesn't want to lose her.
“Y/N-”
“I’m going to sleep.” She had never spoken to him in that tone before.
She hears a sigh after a few moments of silence, in which he realises that she was going to be stubborn till the end. Y/N hears him walk away and she buries her face in the blanket, silently crying to herself. She freezes when she hears the bedroom door close with a ‘click’ and footsteps approaching her. She turns around a little, to see Oikawa sitting at the foot of the couch with his own blanket and pillow. He doesn’t look at her, focusing on fluffing his pillow and pulling his thicker, warmer quilt over himself. He was equally as stubborn and wasn’t going to leave her alone like this.
She scoffs and settles back down again, still crying. If he notices, he doesn’t comment on it. The two lay in silence for a good thirty minutes. Y/N had stopped crying, but was still awake because how the hell was she supposed to fall asleep after what she had learnt? 
She’s startled when she suddenly hears Oikawa’s soft voice. “I love you, you know? I really do. Ever since I saw you in Chemistry last year. You caught my eye so quickly, and I flirted with you for weeks before you got the hint.” he laughs breathily. “You didn’t want my attention like everyone else, and I was curious. It felt different to be the one trying to get someone else’s attention.” he takes a deep breath, and she realises with a start that she’s never heard him this vulnerable. He probably thinks she’s asleep. 
“I was planning to ask you out before and I told the others and they laughed at me.” he frowns at the memory. “The assholes thought I was kidding, that I wasn’t serious. Iwa-Chan was the only one who took it seriously. I don’t blame them, cause I’d only ever dated for fun before.” He breathes in deeply again, steadying his voice and Y/N’s eyes widen when she realizes he’s holding back tears. 
“So when they bet that I couldn't last more than 3 months with you, I agreed, but only because I was going to ask you out anyway, and I intended on staying as long as I could. As long as you’d let me stay by your side.” He lets out a sad, watery chuckle, and Y/N feels her stomach drop. She never wanted to hear that sound from him again.
“I...shit, I don’t want to lose you. I can’t. You’re the only one for me. I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you.” A strangled, muffled sob, reaches her ears, and it takes all of her willpower to remain still. 
“I’m serious about you...about us. You’re not a game, you never were. I just wanted to be with you. I want to be able to hold you again.” another muffled cry, as he buries his face in his hands. He’d never willingly let anyone see himself like this, not even Y/N. He was glad she was asleep. 
“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, princess.” he stays where he is, sitting up leaning back on the couch, calming himself down, letting out soft hiccups every now and then. 
Y/N is wide awake, thinking over his words. They had to be genuine, right? He had no idea she was awake. He had sounded so...real and vulnerable, nothing like the strong façade he usually put up in front of others. Taking her chances, she discreetly moves, eyes widening when she sees the state he’s in. 
One of his hands is over his mouth, muffling his small sobs, Y/N wants to cry as she realises it’s probably so he doesn’t wake her up. His other hand is clenched tightly in his brown hair, his knees drawn to his chest. His face was blotchy and red and wet with tears. She’s never seen him like this. She moves and he doesn’t notice. 
Sitting directly behind him, she gently grabs the hand in his hair, to which he nearly jumps out of his skin. Y/N would usually laugh at the reaction, if not for the way he was looking up at her. She eases his hand out of his hair and holds it, tugging him up to the couch. He hesitates, before climbing up, sitting on the cushion next to her. 
“You-” his voice wavers, and he tries again. “You were awake?”
She nods, glancing at their connected hands, before staring at the ground. She hears his sharply take in a breath. 
“Y/N...love, I meant it. I meant every word, I swear.” 
“We’ll talk tomorrow.” she mumbles, tugging on his hand again, until they're both laying on the couch. She reaches over and grabs Oikawa’s quilt and pulls it on the two of them. She relaxes against him when his arms automatically wind around her waist and he buries his face in her hair, pressing small kisses on her. Each was an unspoken apology. 
She knows he’s crying when she feels the tears hit her skin. 
He knows she’s crying when he can feel her shaky, irregular breaths.
They lay there, eventually falling asleep clutching each other tightly, both of them hurting on the inside. They would have to have a serious talk tomorrow, but both had a blooming hope that they would pull through. 
Requests are open and Welcome. Thanks for reading!
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songmingisthighs · 3 years
Text
[9.55] mafia!wooyoung × reader
⇀ good thing you're smart, if not Wooyoung wouldn't have a whole attitude change
⇁ tw : violence, torture, kindapping, mafia life
⇁ part 1 / 2 / 3
⇁ disclaimer : the author does not support any and all criminal/illegal acts. the narrative written in this story is purely fiction out of the author's imagination. the things written here does not portray real mafia life nor is the author aware of how the mafia life is like. the author is a hermit loser.
You don't remember how long it has been since they captured you. Being stuck in a basement would do that apparently.
Whoever was behind your capture had been torturing you beyond your own imagination. They had starved you, hit you, kicked you, attempted to drown you, tied you in an uncomfortable position every night, and sent in someone to make sure you don't get an ounce of sleep.
All that just to get information on Wooyoung.
Currently, you're being tied to a chair, being once again interrogated for informations you had no clue about, "things would be much easier if you'd just give us what we want," the buff man in front of you said, he held a knife to your cheek but at this point you couldn't even flinch, "where is Jung Wooyoung's headquarters?"
Your cold outfit was clinging onto you like second skin, it's uncomfortable and it's dirty, the cold had definitely impacted your health.
Recently all you've been able to feel is just the headache and the burn from inside your body. Not even the abuse given to you was able to inflict you pain.
Everything's just numb.
You look up at the man, almost with a challenging look as you press your face daringly to the blade, "I. Don't. Know." you spat each word like venom.
The man laughed, pretty amused at how daring you are being, "you're his wife, there is no way you wouldn't have known," you rolled your eyes at him, bitter that he used the word 'wife' because you know fully well that Wooyoung would never treat you as such, "then I must've not been his wife now, am I?" You retorted back at him, slightly shocking him because this is the first time within the (apparently) 7 days you've been captured that you had said something else other than 'I don't know' or 'fuck you'.
Everyone was startled at the revelation, they probably hadn't concidered that you might not be Wooyoung's wife. No one really know about Wooyoung's personal life, it seems.
Seeing their hesitance, you take this as your chance of escaping.
The buff man grab your hair harshly, his eyes narrowing at you in suspicion, "don't lie to me, whore, if you're not his wife, then why'd you have a wedding ring on?" "Stole it from my mistress before I ran away, needed the money," you lied easily, surprising yourself.
"And why are you wearing it?" He asked again, "to make it less inconspicuous, people need to believe that this belongs to me or else they'll alert the cops that I'm a thief,"
He seemed to be having an inner turmoil on whether or not he should believe you.
With how you've been acting and the lack of evidence that you are Wooyoung's wife, you could really have been the wrong target.
"That means Handong lied to us," he said as he push your head away, talking to one of the men next to him, "bring him in and get this bitch out," he said simply before turning back to leave.
But before he walked out of the room, he looked back once more at you with a bitter smirk, "make sure to... deal... with her first, insurance for your silence,"
When the doors closed, 5 men approach your figure, still tied on the chair.
One of them crouch down in front of you, he brush your hair out of your face with a sad smile, "I'm sorry that we have to do this, pretty girl," confused at what he said, you just stared at him. But then he suddenly slap you so hard that you fell down along with the chair you're tied to.
And thus began one of the longest night of your life.
Meanwhile Wooyoung was getting antsy. His men couldn't find you anywhere and there isn't a second when he didn't regret turning his abundance of cctv off
He spent his days either in meetings or trying to track your whereabouts. San had to step in and actually force him to eat, going as far as cuffing him to his chair and spoon-fed him, even throwing a cheesy "would (Y/N) be happy to see you in this state?" At him to which he replied, "considering how I treat her, I wouldn't be surprised if she is,"
So far, neither yours nor his parents were aware of your disappearance. His dad only asked about you once to ensure he still has leverage, which of course Wooyoung lied, he's already stressed over your disappearance the last thing he need is for his dad to bit his head off.
Each night he spent sleeping in his bedroom, moping to the fact that he genuinely misses and worried about you. He regret taking you for granted, taking your presence for granted. Now, he could only imagine your sleeping form next to him using the memories of when he actually slept in bed with you. He used to be able to feel your warmth next to him, now it's just cold and he dislike it.
Tonight was no different. Before he got into bed, he went to the walk-in closet and look at all the dresses he had brought you to events that you went to (re : events he was forced brought you because his parents would be there). He remembered every how you looked in every single one of them.
It's pathetic of him, to be pining over the woman he claimed to have no care about.
Just as he turned the walk-in closet's lights off, there were commotions from downstairs, then a huge bang like his front doors had been barged open.
Diving into his instincts, Wooyoung grabbed the nearest gun he had hid all around the room and ran out, thinking that it was a raid by his rivals.
But when he looked down from the second floor to the living room, his heart wrenched and he froze.
San had you in his arms, you looked sickly pale with bruises all over your exposed arms and legs, clothes had chunks of them torn, and you weren't moving. One would assume that you're dead.
Wooyoung dropped his gun and ran to his friend who had just put you on the couch.
The sight of you looking so broken panicked him. He wanted to hold you and be glad that you're home, but he doesn't wanna hurt you. He wanted to tell you how sorry he is and that he'll make up to you but he's not sure whether or not you're still alive.
He snapped his head towards his staff, "call the doctor! Call Kang Yeosang in!" He barked to which his staffs immediately obeyed, scrambling to do as he ordered.
"God, baby, who did this to you?" He muttered to himself, reaching forward to brush your hair out of your face.
You stirred a bit when you heard his voice ans managed to open your eyes despite the splitting headache and the soreness all over your body.
When your eyes met his, you smiled, "hey, what are you doing in my dreams?" You croaked out, throat obviously sore and beyond parched from having been denied fluids for so long. It was your turn to brush his bangs from his eyes, something you've always wanted to do but know never could considering his dislike that turned out to be hatred towards you.
You suddenly frown at him, making his gaze on you softer, "I'm sorry," you muttered, not able to speak louder. At that, he tilted his head, "for what?" "Not being able to stay gone, I had to had the will to live, I should've let them kill me," you said before you slip into unconsciousness, rendering Wooyoung speechless at your words.
Before he was able to retaliate, San had swoop you back into his arms to take you to an empty room so Yeosang could come in and treat you.
"No," Wooyoung called, stopping San in his tracks, "bring her to my- our room, she should feel comfortable," to which San just nodded and obey, knowing how important it is to have you next to him as much as him next to you.
Yeosang came in not long after and spent 3 hours cleaning and stitching your wounds, checking for possible internal injuries, all the while making sure he's handling you with the utmost care as Wooyoung had been glaring daggers at him. Whether it serve to be a warning to not harm you or a sign of jealousy as Yeosang had a perfectly valid reason to cut your shirt and shorts off for handling.
"I can't make a clear diagnosis without checking for internal injuries, we have to take her to the hospital," Yeosang said. But Wooyoung just snap at him, "then freaking bring the machines here! She's not leaving this mansion and she's not leaving my side!"
Both men just stared at each other for a few minutes, Yeosang holding onto his ground on wanting simplicity, and Wooyoung being afraid of losing you from his sight again.
Knowing how stubborn his friend can be, Yeosang was first to crack, sighing and nodding at Wooyoung, "I'll see what I can do," he said simply before going out to talk to San about possibly transporting some of his machines.
The rest of the night, Wooyoung took care of you. He had put you in one of his large, white button up because it's the easiest to put on you. He stayed by your side in a chair, afraid that he might hurt you (than he already necessary does with his words) if he were to slip in bed with you.
As he watch you, his hands moved to held yours in his. His thumbs were rubbing the back of your hand when it suddenly caught on something.
Looking down, he noticed that it's your wedding ring, matching his own which he's wearing.
It brought a smile to his face seeing you're still holding onto it so dearly. You could've left it for him to find and throw away the day you left, but you had decided to take it with you.
Could it be that despite everything he's done to you, you don't want to completely erase him from your mind?
And that's what made Wooyoung broke down and cried.
He didn't deserve you, not one bit. But despite that, he knows that he's the only one capable enough of taking care of you, to provide for whatever it is that you need.
So at that moment, with you back in hia arms, he decided to step up and assume his responsibilities and treat you as how you deserve to be treated.
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muffindaddystyles · 3 years
Note
22! angst to fluff pls love ur works <333
THANK YOU SM EVERYONE FOR REQUESTING HOPE YA'LL LIKE IT LOVE YAA !!!!!!
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Harry hates one thing, most. That’s silence. Still, Y/N gave him a silent treatment knowing how much it drives him insane. It pinches him in throat in the most sickening way and makes him vicious about their fights more.
She has her reason too. Anyone would have a right to be mad if their boyfriend will be seen going to bars with models and cherry on top it turns out be his ex.
In his defence it was a PR stunt to keep the quietude about his dating life since Y/N and Harry’s relationship is private for Y/N's sake.
“You could’ve atleast told me, tha' you were going with her?” Was all she said. Confusion and insecurities and the images of her glued all over him mocked her in the most brutal way before she was distancing herself away from him.
He did anything in his will to bring her back to him, apologised and tried to shower her in kisses, making her brekkie and staying at home but she kept on pushing him away.
The problem wasn’t him. It was her. She blamed herself. He’s been nothing but so gentle with her and she’s towing him away like a used tissue.
Harry knew Y/N anxiety was always at bay and he didn’t want to worsen it by going public but it was biting him in arse as questions upon questions were thrown at him for past three years.
It's Saturday morning and she appears from the guest room after ages, the sight for sore eyes.
Harry’s eyes that were staring the tiled wall of kitchen flitters towards her and his gaze turns soft when he sees her drowned into one of his lilac sweater (she missed him so much and felt awfully hollow and cold sleeping in the bed that doesn’t smell like him at all; so she did what could comfort her best).
She looks so small and frail as if the demons of the lone bedroom swallowed her whole.
Heavy eyebags digging away the glimmer in her eyes, her cheekbones prominent and the pinkness of her eyes visible telling how much she’s been crying.
He turns expressionless on purpose when she meets his gaze and isn’t what she wanted? Some space to figure her thoughts out – but that polite gesture turned into a silent treatment from Harry’s side this time.
She knows that he’s more of a meanie in this game than her because he’s the one that never let things bottle up, his eyes gives away everything but right now they’re just murk of anger.
“Can we talk?” Her voice dim from crying for days and Harry elevates his shoulders carelessly, wrinkles on his forehead and his frown deep as he shrugs, “Dunno. Realized t’pick y'puppet back, your eminence?” His taunt hits her right in chest and she blinks the moisture in her eyes away looking down at her fingers fumbling with the frays of the hem.
He’s cloaked with sadness and dejection from her misbehaviour.
He’s the most petty when she’s the reason of his agony.
“I hate how much I care about, you.” He spats. Knuckles turning white from his grip around the marble counter and Y/N listens —— because good, she should now she’s out of her own bubble.
“How much I’ve told y'that no-one ‘n damn nothin’ could come between us —-" His tone dripping with malevolence and bitterness it tears Y/N up.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Harry!!” She almost shouts. Shaky fingers contemplating to rip at her hair and her tears now shines at her cheeks, Harry elicits a flak taunting chuckle.
“See you’ve never trusted our love. Can y'fo’ once get outta y’head?” His own eyes glossy and his cheeks flushing rosy from the impact.
“You don’t want to bear what comes with lovin' me, don’t want me to cover up tha’ fo' you and you couldn’t spend a single day without doubting us,” He licks the salt away from his lips and his heart pauses a slow beat when Y/N's lips wobbles -- incoherent blabbers slipping past her swollen lips.
“What d'ya want then!?” The loud snap of his abrasive voice hitches her breath and she sobs out sorrowfully, “I just want you.” He sighs in defeat. Not really pondering over the severity and nuance of his words before speaking.
“Falling in love with you was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life.” That was the last blow for Y/N. She gasps out a cry. Pupils bursting wide and her insides falls sick as the itching goosebumps pin-prickles at her skin.
Everything gets struck for a moment. Harry’s expression matches her as he realizes what damage he has caused and to confirm it a blaring thunder roars through the sky.
Y/N gulps the achy feeling in her throat and just nods silently retreating back through the steps that led her to him and he’s rushing behind her in fret only to get the door to be slammed on his face.
He curses himself. Hitting his forehead into the door frame, that was the lowest and most cheapest fucking insult you could’ve managed to throw her way you dick.
“Y/N. I’m —-...fuck.” He knows that a sorry will be too humiliating for the hurt he has caused her.
While, Y/N sits on the floor at the most corner of the room with her knees bunched up to her chest. His hurtful words rings in her skull and she stuffs her face into her elbow sobbing into it watching the bear Harry won for her in a carnival with doleful blurry vision.
Through his whole life the only decision he regrets is loving me – out of every stupid thing he thinks our love is the most stupidest, what if it's the end? How I'll live without him? It’s impossible.
Forgetting hurts the more than grieving and she’d never be able to do that.
Her toes numbs to tingles and she feels herself drowning somewhere into pitch darkness, her heart lurching ruefully at each knock Harry taps on the door and her stomach burns with acidy sting lungs knotting tight making her gasp for oxygen.
Her panic attack crawling up her body in beasty blood curling gashes and she attempts to shout a plead for Harry but white dots appears at the back of her eyelids tripping her into mountain of floor pillows.
It knocks the vase out and it shatters beside her head, “Y/N! Baby!” Harry pounds at the door and when doesn’t hear a response from her side he’s kicking it open harshly.
The lock unhinges as he rushes inside worrisome and his world shatters when he sees his lovie struggling for a breather, her petite body trembling and shaking with each gasp that bolts her throat more and she nearly begs for him to do something.
He’s falling beside her on the floor and embracing her pliant figure in his gentle hold, “’S okay. ‘S okay.” He croaks out wiping his own tears with the sleeve of his hoodie.
He rubs her tummy in soothing circles then trails his clammy palm up her chest and maintains an eye contact with her panicked ones. Her breath shudders when she tries to calm it back and her nails digs into his skin in doing so.
“Doing s'good f'me darling, yeah —-..yeah.” He bobs his head vigorously and assuring-ly stroking his thumb against her soaky cheek tenderly in pacifying motions.
Her breath lulls slowly back into a pattern and she jerks a little while inhaling a nourishing puff, “Take a breath honey, yes princess just like that.” He whispers speckling a tiny kiss to her forehead.
He pushes her up with a firm hand on her hip and into his lap murmuring sweet dottings into her ear, “Squeeze me hand if you could hear me baby.” He just wants to be reassured she’s doing okay –- his face crooked against her pulse point into her throat and she does so giving a weak squish to his fingers.
“Jeez.” He bumps her chin up with his head and touches their temples together – eskimo kissing her nose and her eyelids flutter when he pecks her mouth ever so lightly.
His insides are shaking anxiously from fright and he again hugs her warmly to feel her.
“’M sorry. So sorry lovie' didn’t –-.. didn’t mean to hurt ya, swear moppet was just upset tha’ y’were being so far from me. I love you so much precious ....." He presses his wet lips to the side of her head and buries his nose in her hair -- arms tightening around her waist.
".... and I don’t think lovin' you is stupid. Thinks tha’ ‘s the only best thing I’ve ever done in me life ... could never love anyone like that.” He mumbles cradling her sweaty face into his palms and patches soft kisses all over her face.
She hiccups a whimper. Nose quivering and lip wobbling — letting him kiss her pout and fists the flimsy fabric of his hoodie in her teensy hands compared to him, “’M sorry too. Sorry f'acting childish and not talking to you about it. I’m just scared I’m getting too obsessed with the idea of us and it’ll ruin us pathetically.”
“Wait. Wait woah baby ...” He grabs her gently with shoulders and pulls her back from him, “’S tha’ why you were trying to live off all by yourself?” He asks politely a bit glum she was enduring all of that herself.
When she tries to hide her face out of timidness he hooks his thumb under her chin and highers it up, “Y/N.”
“Thinks you love me so intensely?” She sniffs nodding in agreement and he smiles sweetly.
“Then fuckin' do it silly. Why d'ya think I wouldn’t want that lovlin? I want to be so loved by my sweet baby.” He almost falls back when she slings her arms around the nape of his neck and brings him down for a cuddle.
“I love you so much my Angel.” He murmurs with his face squished into her neck and fills his lungs with her warm vanillay scent.
She rubs her cheek up and down his chest like an affectionate starved puppy then stops where his heart lays under the trap of bones and kisses it three times.
Her love language. When she isn’t able to utter something she’s always appreciating him with loving actions and at the moment she did the same to exchange the sentiment.
Three kisses to heart means, “I love you so much it aches me.” He immediately catches it and pecks her nose.
"I know bub, I know."
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kiatheinsomniac · 3 years
Note
1. I LOVE your writing! You're amazing! 2. If it's not too much trouble, could I request something where Ezio's wife is feeling quite insecure because she feels like she isn't as good as some of the other women Ezio has "been" with like Caterina and Ezio is trying to assure her that she shouldn't feel like that
Of course!! Sorry that it's taken me so long to get round to this, I've hardly been active on Tumblr at all in quite a while but I miss it here :(
She glanced over to where the Contessa was being checked over by a doctor while Ezio worriedly looked over her. Deep down, she knew that he was only concerned because she was a powerful ally to the brotherhood and her arrest at the hands of the Borgia had put her contribution to that alliance in jeopardy. But she couldn't help but fear that he was worried because they had a history together.
Claudia had told (Y/n) enough of what her husband was like in his youth - romancing every attractive woman he laid eyes on. On good days, this made her feel special - she were the one he married, after all - but on worse ones, it made her worry that he felt he could do better and go back to some of these women. Ezio was a faithful man, especially when it came to family, but this didn't stop her from worrying that she may not quite reach what he's been treated to by other women in his past.
She must have been glaring a little too hard though, because soon enough, Claudia was by her side, her arms folded.
"The woman is fine, I have a meeting to attend and he’s holding it up to fuss over her.” She snapped in disdain, her voice lowered as to not carry across the stone walls of Isola Tiberina’s Assassin hideout. 
“I don’t like it.” (Y/n) confessed, her eyes shooting daggers at the Contessa of Forli. Claudia raised a brow at the acid in her tone, finding it so unlike her sister-in-law to be so bitter. Glancing over at Claudia’s expression of surprise, she stepped her way out of the conversation to go and fetch Ezio. He had duties as Mentor of the Brotherhood and she had the claws of jealousy tying knots at her like a marionette. Emotions were something personal to (Y/n) and she wouldn’t watch herself become a wreck over some half-disgraced woman who had lost hold of her city. 
She could remember Ezio telling her how impressed he was to see a woman running a city all on her lonesome once... 
She cleared her throat, dismissing the thought as she did.
“Ezio, our contacts are waiting for you.” She spoke up, her face and voice the mask of business to hide her feelings. 
“Sì, I just-” 
“Bartolomeo has barracks to attend to, Volpe has a tavern to maintain and Claudia has a brothel to run.” She cut him off, watching as he turned his head quickly to face her, his expression a lock of shock and offence, “While they wait for you, their factions wait for them. You keep our entire Brotherhood on hold in a most dire hour to fuss over the Contessa who I’m sure if capable enough of getting her own health in order with the medico.” Ezio had stood now from Caterina’s side, bewildered at his wife’s ill temper. 
“Amore-“
“You have a job to do so go do it!” She snapped, “I have recruits to attend to and correspondence to deal with.” And with that said, she stormed off to the study in order to deal with the letters sent from the Brotherhood’s contacts across Italia. 
She set the few recruits that she had gathered in Roma some training assignments and filed through all the available contracts in the Mediterranean, even going as far as to reorganise all the books of the study’s library. All of this was done to avoid going to bed, knowing that Ezio would be there and knowing that he wold ask her about her attitude from earlier. 
It was when she was obsessively trying to get the paperweights in position that the door opened. In stepped the last man that she was willing to face in that moment: her poor husband who had suffered the brunt of her lashing out in jealousy. 
“Gioia,” He began, his tone soft yet cautious, “come to bed.” 
“But I need to sort these out…”
“I’m sure that the papers won’t grow wings and start flying any time soon.” He walked behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder and inhaling deeply as he pressed his face to her neck, “Come, I want to hold you and talk.” 
“I just need...” She obsessively tried to get the weight to fit between the lines of the letter perfectly, some part of her mind telling her that everything would be alright if all these little things were exactly where they needed to be, that she wouldn’t have to talk about her feelings if she just got these other things sorted out first. 
“You need to lay down with your husband,” One of his palms splayed across her stomach, tenderly rubbing up and down as his other hand caressed her waist, “and let him hold you in his arms,” A soft kiss pressed to the nape of her neck, “and tell him all about what has you so stressed. Doesn’t that sound good?”
“Yeah, except the talking about my feelings bit.” She mumbled as the weight refused to quite fit between the lines, tears pricking her eyes, even if she tried to laugh a little. Ezio hummed knowingly. 
“Come on…”
“Ok...” She surrendered, letting him lead her upstairs with one arm around her waist while his free hand held her own, smaller, hand in his. 
He lead her up to their room where he began to strip her of her clothes that day, leaving her in a chemise. He frowned in sadness at her apathy, the way she didn’t melt into his touches as she usually would, and worry set into his veins. 
He pulled her to the bed where he lay beside her, propped up on one elbow while she laid on her back, her bottom lip trembling, eyes glassy and jaw held tight in determination to keep a cool composure. 
“What has upset you?”
“It’s stupid.” She replied simply, “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you or worried you, you don’t deserve that.” She took in a quick breath and covered her face with her hands, a small sob escaping her lips, each one that followed like a pair of scissors to his heartstrings. 
“If it’s making you feel this way, it can’t be stupid.” He rested a hand on her arm and she turned away from him, her hand gripping the case of the pillow under her head impossibly tightly. 
“It’s the Contessa.” She mumbled into the plush pillow, her cheeks already heating up in humiliation, “The way you risked your life to save her today and then you were fussing over her health and...” 
“Amore, you know that I would do all the same and more for you.” He spoke, almost in disbelief that this is what she was so upset about. There was a long silence as she wrapped her arms around her torso, hoping that somehow she could physically hold herself together with her arms. 
“Why did you marry me?” Fresh tears wet her cheeks and she muffled the sound of her crying in the sheets. He drew closer to her and held her in his arms, feeling her frame jolt with each sob. 
“Because I’m in love with you.” He replied simply, “I’m in love with the way you see the world and people, I’m in love with your passion and humour and intelligence.” He squeezed her tightly. 
“But you could have had any woman you pleased, any woman you’ve been with before. The countess of Forli: the only woman strong enough to run her own city and even fend off Borgia armies.” She hesitated but now that she had bottled up such strong emotions all day, the glass had cracked and no one could hold in its contents lest they slice their hands on the glass. “And don’t think I didn’t overhear that night back in Monteriggioni when I was still just the decipherer Leonardo had sent for the codex pages.” 
Once upon a time, this would have been a time for Ezio to be boastful, but now that he was a married man, he only felt rather embarrassed instead. Looking away for a moment, his eyes came back to land upon his wife. 
“You worry that you don’t live up to the women I’ve had before then?” He asked cautiously, knowing that this question may well only make things far worse if he were wrong. 
“She’s a fucking countess who runs her own city and has her own armies, not to mention the fact that she’s also very clearly good in bed. Who am I? The goddamn babysitter of all the recruits.” She threw her hands up in the air before rolling onto her back and turning her head to face him, at last, with teary eyes. 
“You, amore mio,” He began, reaching a hand up to cup her cheek, turning his body even more so in her direction, “are the woman who stole my heart so quickly, that I simply couldn’t wait to marry you.” It was true, they had only been seeing each other for just over 18 months when he asked her to marry him. “You’re an Assassin who is fighting for everyone in Roma and then all of Italia behind her borders.” A conviction began to grow within his voice as he took up her left hand in his, holding it up so that she could see her wedding and engagement rings. “You are the only woman in this world that I want to spend the rest of my life with.” He brought her hand up to place a kiss upon her knuckles. “I have had histories with women before, we both know this… But they are the past and you,” He leaned down to place a soft kiss upon her lips, lingering and tender, “are my future.” 
A small smile quivered upon her lips as fresh tears welled in her eyes, tears of an overwhelming sentiment of love. 
“I love you with all my heart, Ezio.”
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tokoyamisstuff · 3 years
Text
Scandal Ch. 1 - Loki x Reader
Summary: After your child is born a Frost Giant, your husband accuses you of infidelitiy, unaware about his own heritage...
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Warnings: Pregnancy, Childbirth, Angst, Mild Cussing
Noteable: Takes place before Thor 1, Asgardian Fem! Reader
Words: ~1800
I Story Masterlist I General Masterlist I
It was as if your anchestors wanted to deliver a warning, for Asgard had never faced a storm matching this fateful afternoon.
The thunder swallowed all of your screams and cries, every curse you spoke with each contraction as the baby made it’s way into this world. All this time, your precious husband would never leave your side, letting you squeeze his hand as much as you needed.
“Only a little bit more, my Lady!” the midwife shoutet from between your legs, her tone calm yet cheerful. “I can already see the head!”
“I’m right here. You’re doing wonderful, my petal.” Loki was softly petting your hair, pressing a wet kiss into your forehead. “You are incredibly strong, Y/N. And I love you so much!”
Remaining collected was using up all of his energy at that very moment, you knew that much. Yet not even the God of Lies could hide all the helplessness and excitement stirring in his head at that very moment.
Being with the Prince of Asgard was just like in a dream.
Once you get to know him, that troublesome arrogant lone wolf turned into a smart, caring - and especially charming - prince. And hel, Loki treated you like a Queen.
All this pain you were experiencing right now would ultimately lead to the greatest bliss imagineable - just like it was with Loki.
Oh, how dearly you had fought, suffered, yearned for him, only to be rewarded with heartbreak and frustration. In between his feverishly chase for the throne and his rivalry with Thor, there was just no room for a loving relationship to grow.
The crushing weight of thinking himself unworthy for affection had made him cold and bitter over the millenias, telling himself the comforting lie that he was above all, born for a glorious purpose.
For the God of Mischief, whose kinsmen had always made him feel out of place or under-appreciated, the process of trusting had always been one step forward, three steps back.
But through your compassion, and with a great deal of patience and understanding, you slowly but steadily melted the ice around the prince’s heart.
Because deep inside, you always knew that it was worth it.
And today would be the peak of your romance: Your child would forever remind the Odinson that he belonged somewhere - right here, with you.
“It’s a boy!”
“A heir?!” Loki exclaimed, smothering your face in kisses. “Well done!”
You smiled weakly at his excitement, in between choked sobs. All that your exhausted self was able to process was the fact that your child is born - and you already loved him beyond reason.
“Where is he?!” you whimpered, unable to realize how the air in the room had shifted - for when the midwife touched the infant, she began to scream in agony.
“What’s wrong?!” Loki’s eyes were narrowing at the midwife that almost dropped his newborn, detecting some sort of burn wound on her palm. Quickly, she had covered the boy in a towel, aware that if any harm came over that baby, she was to die at the God of Mischief’s hands.
A flash of lightning was brightening the whole room, which had only been flooded by dim candle light until now.
Another one of the midwife’s screeched in terror, almost stumbling as she frantically erscaped your bedchamber. The adrenaline from birth and worry about your child sharpened your senses, yet concentration was almost impossible.
Still, the words she was yelling as she ran down the hall send a shiver down your spine:
“It’s a monster.”
Your head was spinning as you rushed into an upright position, with two nurses pressing you onto the bed again. “Milady, you need to rest! It’s still too early!”
“What is wrong with my child?!?” you desperately screamed, kicking with your legs to free yourself from their hold. “Give it to me!”
Their expressions were too much to bear. Your head was spinning, seeing pity mixing up with disgust and anger in their eyes.
“Enough!” Loki finally broke his own silence, his mind having been occupied with all the horror scenarios one could think about.
Walking up to the midwife carrying the infant, he demanded seeing it. “Your highness, don’t-” yet the midwife’s beg was for naught.
Yes, everything will be alright. Loki will take care of it, like he always does. After all, he’s your savior, your hero, the love of your life...
Gently and insecure, your husband cradled the newborn in his arms - a sight to behold. And the baby’s strong cries assured you that it was at least alive.
However, as soon as he dared to unwrap the towel, revealing it’s face, Loki’s heartbeat completely stopped for a second. His trembling lip began to shake, mouth widely agape as he took in the child’s form.
For a brief moment, his mind was completely blank. All emotion dropped from his face before taking in a complete different demeanour.
“Wha-” you wouldn’t dare ending that sentence when your husband’s furious eyes met yours.
The air was so thick, you thought not even Thor’s hammer could break it. Clearly ritten on Loki’s usual unreadable face were so many emotions at once:
Aversion, fury, incredible sorrow...all directed towards you? The child?
Impossible.
Loki Odinson loved you more than anything in this world, this was the only thing you had always been sure he wasn’t lying about.
“From all the people I expected to betray me...” His voice was hoarse, as if the ache in his heart was wrapping around his throat. “Why did it have to be you?”
You could feel the horrendous aura, a wave of sadness and despair coming from your husband. Seeing him like this was like torture.
“What- what do you mean, darling-”
“Don’t fucking call me that, you harlot!” That was surely not the first time your lover had raised your voice against you - he could be a bit difficult at times, obviously.
But this time was different somehow. It sounded so...ultimate.
And the Loki you knew would never use such harsh words against you!
“Please, I beg of you...just let me see my baby!” Everything was just too much for you, almost to the point of passing out. 
And the man did as you pleaded, almost shoving the child into your arms. “There, have your bastard! And make sure to never show your filthy faces to me ever again!”
With that, he stormed out of the room, leaving you with those strange nurses looking at you like you’ve just commited an unforgiveable crime.
There was no use in overthinking this. He’ll come back like he always did. You can work this out, whatever it is - even if you are gonna be mad for a very long time, making such a fuss and then disappearing instead of taking care of you, the mother of his child.
Out of a whim, you decided to finally observe the little being you’ve been waiting for all those months.
A loud gasp escaped your mouth as you realized just why everyone was so worked up about that little boy. Yet the sound you made was solely surprised - not a hint of fear or rejection laced your voice.
It was a beautiful baby boy, little fists balled to the air as if he was searching for the warmth of his parents - though his skin was in the shade of a dark blue. When you dared running your hand over the deep lines and ridges on his body, the stinging pain of frostbite immediately stung your fingertips. His eyes snapped open, looking at you with black irises through red scleras.
You knew the meaning of this, even though you didn’t understand how this was possible: This child was a biological Frost Giant. A small one, but nonetheless.
A curse? Was someone trying to play your family dirty? No. If that was the case, the child wouldn’t also have actual powers together with the appearance.
Just how long have those tears been running down your cheeks in thick streams already? You wouldn’t know.
Only one thing came as clear as daylight to you: You loved this baby, more than anything in this world. And no matter the hardships that came along with it - you would protect him, no matter what!
“He’s magnificent...” you sniffled, pecking some quick kisses onto his small body before the cold could hurt you. “I love you so, so much...!”
Not minding the judging looks of the nurses, let alone wondering about the consequences, resolve was starting to give you new strenght.
The boy got a grasp on your finger, and instead of your skin freezing off as expected, your magic allowed him to the boy to finally disguise itself as one of you. How was this even possible? Well, this is probably the first time something like this ever happened, so no one could prepare you for what to expect with this child.
They all say that birth was an impactful event - but nothing could’ve prepared you for everything that you had to endure on this day.
Yet nothing could’ve stopped you from believing that this child was the greatest blessing that ever came over you.
Now you only had to convince your husband of that very fact...
“Y/N Y/L/N!” the guard wouldn’t even bother adressing you with your full title as his harsh voice woke you up. When had you drifted away into slumber anyway? You were probably way more worn out than you wanted to admit...
Your eyes immediately snapped open, heart skipping a beat until you saw that your son was still sleeping soundly right next to you. Stroking his cheek as he smiled up to you, it almost made you forget about that burdensome situation.
“Hey!” Protectingly, you were holding onto your child for dear life as the guard approached both of you. “I have an important message to deliver!”
You scowled, almost like an animal mother protecting their offsprings with baring teeth, even though you knew in that state you would be completely and utterly helpless. “Why now? What could be more important than the well-being of my child?”
The answer let your blood run cold:
“I am here to announce that Lady Y/N Y/L/N has to face a trial in front of the Allfather. The following crimes she is being accused of: Infidelity, collaboration with the enemy and trying to sneak one of them into our glorious kingdom.”
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saabbi · 3 years
Text
Regret part 9
Light in darkness
Genshin Impact Adeptus! reader
warnings: self-deprecation, imposter syndrome
word count: ~1.7k
notes: please remember that you are loved, and not just in the fic itself.
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No words are needed to exchange. Zhongli must surely be curious, worried even, to find out what happened in Snezhnaya. But he remained quiet, pushing away the rampant thoughts running across his mind.
What’s most important isn’t digging out what happened, but that you’re alright and safe.
Zhongli doesn’t miss the pale complexion on you, making sure to swing by Bubu Pharmacy to ask Baizhu for some antiseptic cream and aspirin just in case you’re still feeling unwell.
He brought you to his residency, which is unsurprisingly close to the funeral parlour. A few sprouting flowers in the interior caught your eye, the blue distinguish colour resembles that of a jewel. It must be a good season for glazed lilies to grow and bloom.
“Would you like tea?” Zhongli turns his head to you, holding up a few cups.
“Yes, please.” He also takes out some cakes, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him that you’re way too full for some tea snacks.
Zhongli is definitely inquisitive, his occasional glances and slight frown shows that he has much more to say apart from asking if you want tea and snacks.
But he didn’t ask you any questions, never pressuring you into telling him. He decided to wait until you feel ready to talk about it. For you, he can always wait.
You hold the cup in your palms, the warmth gradually spreading to your whole body.
“Zhongli,” you take a sip of the refreshing tea, making up your mind. “Can you ask Ganyu and Xiao to come? I… have something to tell you all.”
Zhongyi nervously nods with his heart thumping, not sure if he’s ready to hear what you have to tell them.
.
.
Silence fills the room, then your sharp inhales, the unsteady voice and shaking pupils as you begin to speak.
Your shaking voice, your spilling emotions, your trembling hands. The suffocating feeling in your heart and the bitterness in your throat. You keep on going, you can’t think straight, you feel light headed and exhausted, but you want to keep going. You want to tell them, the things you saw, the things you felt, the worthlessness eating you away.
Ganyu tugs your arm and hugs them tightly, Zhongli and Xiao each resting a hand on yours to remind you that they’re here. They let you keep going, even if you look like you’re in pain.
They listen in silence, allowing you to spill everything in the safe space. You stop for a second, hearing sniffles from the horned girl next to you.
Ganyu shakes her head, telling you that she’s okay, and that you can go on.
With trembling eyes and hoarse voice, you tell them, how you thought you would be okay even if the Tsarista didn’t need you anymore, thought it would be okay even if she throws you away. But you weren’t, your heart sunk to the bottom when she implied that you’re no longer needed, as if all the time you spent by her side as a faithful subordinate meant nothing to her.
You mentioned that you know the Tsarista is only interested in the power you possess, you repeatedly told yourself that if it’s what the Tsarista desires, you shall comply without any hard feelings, for you are her harbinger, her title-less twelfth harbinger.
So why did it hurt so much? Why did you feel something worse than physical pain? Like you were stabbed with thousand swords, mercilessly piercing you without a break, making you lose your breath and vision cloudy.
It felt like the world crumbled, blood rushing to your head and the sudden heaviness taking over your body.
Oh. In the midst of talking your own feelings out, you realised- you felt angry, desperate, hurt, betrayed.
You realised, that over the years, loyalty is not the only thing that sprouted. You always brushed it off, pretending like it never existed, but deep down, you felt angry.
Angry at the Tsarista for pulling you away from Liyue, angry at her for letting you go through terrible things, even if you can’t remember clearly what happened.
The mixture of admiration, loyalty, desperation and anger has always stuck within you whenever you see her cold yet graceful figure.
But you had nothing except her, so you clung onto your loyalty towards her and repressed other thoughts of her, ignoring the tingling senses and blindly telling yourself that you’re always loyal to the Tsarista.
Every single word that comes out, Zhongli takes them in all, even if it pricks his heart like thorns. He takes a deep breath and shuts shis eyes, he wants it to stop. But he knows he has to listen and share your burden.
He wants to listen, even if it hurts, lamenting for the times he couldn’t be there for you. But now, he could. And the least he could do is to listen to you.
In the past, Zhongli failed miserably as a guardian, but now he has the chance to be with the three of his beloved adepti once again. He’s the listener, he’ll always be willing to listen to you if you confide in him.
Zhongli takes one last gulp of his tea. He embraces the crushing pain in his heart and clasp your hand tightly.
You stutter and choke out some incomplete sentences in the process, words tying into knots, but it’s okay. There’s no need for you to rush, they have all the time and undivided attention for you to tell them whatever you want.
Your right hand feels like it’s about to be crushed, somehow. You glance over to the side and is met with another pair of amber eyes.
Glossy eyes filled with uncertainty, concern and shock. His mouth gaped open, unable to find words, so he chooses to hear instead of responding.
The way you described your journey in Snezhnaya feels lonely to him. Xiao is no stranger to the feeling of solitude, but your gaze feels far, far more lonelier than what Xiao has ever been through. He watched as unfathomable emotions swirl in your eyes, your gaze shifting every so often in trying to find the right words.
A part of him thinks that, perhaps he should’ve sought for you, or even just send a single letter millennia ago instead of pathetically dreaming in the Wangshu inn, then perhaps you wouldn’t have to always feel like you're all alone without anyone to rely on.
Xiao holds your other hand tightly. He doesn’t know how to show affection, but he hopes that this reassures you that you’re no longer alone.
Your lone narrative went on for minutes, then hours, until you lost track of time. You then mutter the last few sentences.
“I lost my powers, I don’t feel qualified to be an adeptus anymore, I-“ this part is harder to say than anything else. “I don’t know why I’m here, or anywhere anymore.”
“I feel like I…lost my purpose.” First was your abandonment from Zhongli, the bane of your misfortune. Then was the Tsarista, the one who broke you more than anything else. You feel lost in life, wandering without a purpose.
“I’m just a… nobody.”
Slam. The sudden impact on the table made you jump. You look up at Xiao who suddenly stood up and slammed his fists on the table with brute force.
His frown is deep, eyes burning with fury and looking at you with disbelief. He is livid.
“Don’t you dare say that one more time.”
Confused, you furrowed your eyebrows and tilt your head a bit. At first you thought he’s mad at the fact that you willingly let your powers be taken away from you, but that doesn’t seem to what he’s mad at.
“You are not worthless, not a nobody. I won’t forgive you even if you say that one more time, even if you said it yourself.”
Xiao clenches his fist tightly, glaring at you. He rarely gets mad at you, it makes you feel a bit guilty.
“Xiao’s right.” Ganyu joins in, her palms squeezing your arms with force making you turn to her. “Please do not say that, ever again. You mean everything to us, how could you- how could you say you’re worth nothing?”
Ganyu has a sorrowful look instead. You don’t know how to respond to them, you can’t figure out whether the present incompetent you means everything to them, or the you they once knew and adored.
You think of the latter one. After all, there’s nothing much on you that is actually worth something.
Zhongli seems to know what you’re thinking, as he slowly opens his mouth. “My child.”
“Nothing changes the fact that you’re an adeptus, one of us, with or without your adeptal powers.”
“No matter the past, present or future you, will always be the one we love.” His gaze firm and solemn, trying hard to convey his feelings to you.
“You don’t have to be perfect, it’s okay to be incomplete.” Zhongli stands up and treads towards you.
He stops next to you, bending down a bit before enveloping you into a tight hug. You stiffen up.
“Because no matter what, you are you, and nothing will ever change that. And the fact that we love you will always be true.”
Hic. You let out ugly voices from your throat, breaking into a ugly sob and staggered breathing.
The warmth warping you increases, with Ganyu and Xiao joining.
Zhongli soothes you by brushing your back softly, Ganyu patting your head and lightly ruffles your hair. Xiao appears to be quite awkward at first, but decides to rest your head on his chest and warp his arms around your head as you sob.
It’s so warm, so warm that it feels unreal. Words of affirmation and love is such a stranger to you, the words and actions they display makes your chest hurts.
Your heart tugs at you, but you know it’s not because you’re sad, it’s because you feel relieved, happy, and thankful.
You are loved. Even if you don’t realise it.
Love is not determined by how much one spends time with each other, nor will it diminish with time or distance.
Forgive does not mean forgetting. The past cannot be reverted. The resentful decisions Zhongli has made in the past remain embedded in history and cannot be undone.
However, it does not mean that relationships cannot be rebuilt. A step at a time, as long as you’re willing to, as long as you are here and with them, things can start over.
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mammonshuman92 · 3 years
Text
- It Takes Two -
(Mammon x GN!MC)
Genre: angst/hurt/comfort
WARNINGS: alcohol, drunkenness, cheating, **
** There is a moment where a character is drunk, and someone makes moves on them, character is too drunk to realize it’s not who they thought it was. Groping and making out, no penetration; character doesn’t consider is SA. I apologize if it is offensive.
Ya better hurry up, or we’re gonna be late!” Mammon was pulling you by the hand down the hallway to your first class of the day.
“I wasn’t the one who overslept because they kept saying “just lay with me for 5 more minutes.”“ You said, giving your best impression of him.
You’d become best friends rather quickly after your arrival in the Devildom, practically becoming attached at the hip instantly. It didn’t take long for that light, warm feeling to invade your heart. Now you’d been dating for a few months and had become even more inseparable.
“Details, details!” He responded, laughing.
The two of you came barreling through the door with only seconds to spare before the bell rang; hand-in-hand, laughing like fools.
You took your seats across the room from each other, being the professors current punishment for Mammon talking to you during class.
As you sat down you felt eyes on you and looked up.
A few succubi were not so casually looking at you and whispering.
It wasn’t uncommon though. I mean, you are a human in the Devildom. You also live with the 7 rulers of the underworld. You’d gotten quite used to people whispering about you. You decided to ignore them, and pay attention to class. Whatever they were whispering about was surely nothing you hadn’t already heard circulating throughout the gossip mill.
Throughout the day, you noticed the same group of succubi whispering and giving you looks. They even giggled a couple times. You tried your best to keep your cool, but it had been going on all day and it was really getting under your skin.
What is so damn funny? You thought to yourself.
The final bell rang and you couldn’t be happier. Now you got to put the day behind you and go home with Mammon. Tonight is movie night. Cuddling and eating junk food is just what you need after a day like today.
You rushed to the usual spot where you meet Mammon. Seeing his face would definitely make you feel better right now, but he wasn’t there yet. 
He must have gotten hung up in class or something.
You leaned against the wall, pulled out your D.D.D. and started surfing Deviltube to pass the time. You were so engrossed in your video that you barely noticed that same group of succubi walk past.
Until they made sure you noticed them, that is.
One girl bumped into you on purpose, sending your D.D.D. to the concrete, via crash-landing.
“Stupid human.” She sneered.
You rolled your eyes and bent down to pick up your D.D.D. It’s nothing you haven’t heard, quite a bit actually, since coming to the Devildom. She’d have to try a lot harder than that.
When you stood back up, the succubus in question was standing in front of you, arms crossed with a smug grin.
“Do you think you’re special?” She asked, looking you up and down. You didn’t respond and resumed your scrolling through Deviltube. Ignoring her made her mad.
“As soon as he gets tired of you, he’ll move on to the next one.”
Excuse me? 
“I don’t think MY relationship is any of your concern.” You said sweetly, slapping on your best fake smile. You looked around them, desperate to see Mammon walking up, but he wasn’t there.
Where is he? 
She was practically laughing in your face. 
“He made me feel special too.” Her words, full of venom as they left her lips, triggered something in your brain.
Flashbacks of your first day in the Devildom came rushing back. Specifically what Satan had said after Mammon made his grand entrance.
“Whenever he takes a liking to someone, they suddenly find themselves awash in money. But from what I hear, if he decides to break it off with someone, that wealth evaporates. They’re left without a Grimm to their name.”
The memory made your chest feel heavy. 
Could that pertain to people as well? They said a pure soul is like a shiny gem. What if..
“Everything he’s said to you, he probably already said to me.” She spat.
Your head was spinning, a knot forming in your throat. Her earlier words replaying in your mind.
“As soon as he gets tired of you, he’ll move on to the next one.”
What if..? No.. He wouldn’t do that...would he?
You quickly got so lost in thought as anxiety started to take root, plaguing you with ‘what ifs’ and hypotheticals, that you almost didn’t notice when someone stepped between you and the succubus. Putting a hand on either side of your face, he tilted your head up to look at him. Irises the color of tropical waters, instantly melt away your anxiety, calming the angry sea inside you.
“Let’s go home.” He whispered with a smile. His voice was soft, but you could see the anger in his eyes. He slung an arm around your shoulders and turned to start walking toward the House of Lamentation.
“We weren’t done talking.” She said vindictively.
“Don’t ya have anythin’ better to do?” Mammon snarled, glaring at the succubus.
She scoffed and rolled her eyes, leaving with her friends.
By the immense tension you could feel between them, you could tell that they had indeed been together at some point.
The walk home was quiet, which left you with ample time for your thoughts to run wild. 
Did she know him like you do? His little habits and his favorite things? 
Did she stick up for him when his brothers were dogging on him? Or afterward when he was down, did she try her best to drown out their hateful words with affirmations of love?
Did she play with his hair while he laid on her stomach, arms wrapped tight around her middle after he loved her? Hold her in his lap as he rubbed soothing circles on her back when she was sad? Whisper sweet nothings to her when he thought she was asleep?
...Did he love her?
-
“Whoa! Did ya see that, MC?!”
The two of you were curled up on the couch in Mammon’s room, watching a movie on his projector, just like you did every week.
Did they do movie night?
It shouldn’t be bothering you. Of course he’s had other partners. He’s been alive for thousands of years.
And you’ve had other partners. So what? No biggie. That wasn’t the issue.
The thought of him saying the same things, doing the same things with someone else...loving someone else, is what bothered you. It hurt to think that maybe you really weren’t that special; another weak, insignificant human, just like all the rest.
But the things she said kept playing on a loop in your head.
“As soon as he gets tired of you, he’ll move on to the next one.”
“He made me feel special too.”
Could she be right?
“Babe, are ya okay?” He had paused the movie and was now staring at you expectantly.
“Hmm? Oh, yeah I’m fine.” He saw through it quickly.
“Ya know, you’re not good at lyin’. What’s wrong? If ya don’t like the movie we can watch someth-”
“That girl earlier, at RAD? Is she your ex?” You didn’t want to bring it up, but you had to know before your thoughts could torment you further.
His face fell and he sighed heavily. “I was wonderin’ when you were gonna say somethin’..”
You remained quiet, watching his face, waiting for him to begin talking.
“We were together a long, long, time ago. Nothin’ serious. I broke it off when I realized she was only around for what she could get outta me. She didn’t take it too well.” He explained, his expression turning sour. “She had a different story, huh?”
“She didn’t say much really, except once you get tired of me you’ll move onto the next one. That I’m nothing special because everything you say to me you’ve probably said to her.” You said, keeping your eyes down as you fidget with the hem on your shirt.
He started laughing.
Your head snapped up, looking at him in shock.
“What’s so funny, Mammon?” You asked, getting a little irritated by his reaction. He stopped laughing when he looked at you and realized you were serious.
“Ya don’t actually believe her, do ya?” He scoffed, getting offended.
“No? I don’t know..” You replied, not meeting his gaze. Of course you wanted to believe him, but you already felt like you weren’t good enough for him, and that succubi’s words just watered the seeds of insecurity in your brain and helped them flourish.
You had always been the opposite of his brothers. You always believed Mammon, even when everyone else was against him. You were always on his side. Ready to stick up for him no matter what. To hear you now, was like a slap in the face.
Mammon’s face distorted in pain. And anger.
“What? Whaddya mean ya don’t know?” His voice was soft, “Ya don’t trust me?” He asked, meeting your gaze.
“Mammon, that’s-”
He shook his head. “No, I get it. A few bitter words from some random demon and now my words mean nothin’. “ He jumped up from the couch, making a beeline for the door.
“What about the last few months, huh? After all the time we spent together you think I’d do somethin’ like that to ya?” His voice cracked on the last sentence. He paused; hand on the knob as he stared at the door. You heard a small sniffle as his other hand came up to angrily wipe his face.
“I thought ya knew me better than anyone.” His voice was barely audible, but you could hear the hurt. He felt betrayed.
And with that he left, slamming the door behind him.
When he didn’t come back after an hour and wouldn’t answer your calls, you grabbed a few things and headed to your room. You still felt uneasy about the whole “his ex confronting you” thing and after what had just happened, you just wanted to be alone. 
Your bed seemed huge and your room felt odd. It’s not like you didn’t spend time in there anymore, you just didn’t usually do so alone. The silence was deafening.
I shouldn't have doubted him. He used to try and hide his feelings, although he was bad at it. But since we got together, he doesn’t hide how he feels about us to anyone.
You thought of all the times his cheeks had flushed scarlet when you caught him staring at you. How he sits and endures scary movies because they’re your favorite. The way he will randomly bring you your favorite snacks or other little gifts because he was thinking about you. Relentlessly tickling you just to hear your bright, uninhibited laughter. That even in his sleep, he has to be constantly touching some part of you, or he gets restless. 
You slowly drifted off to sleep, with tears staining your cheeks.
-
“Have you seen Mammon?” 
He never came looking for you last night and he wasn’t at breakfast. He even skipped RAD.
Asmo shook his head, “Not since yesterday. Did something happen?”
You decided to fill him in with all the details. He is the Avatar of Lust after all, so surely he could give you some advice regarding love.
He gasped dramatically, “No she didn’t! What a tart!”
“I know I shouldn’t have doubted him. He’s never given me a reason to, but I don’t know. She just got in my head, I guess. Poked at some insecurities.” You explained. “I haven’t seen him since he stormed off.”
“He won’t pout for long, he never does.”
“It’s more than just pouting. I hurt him just like everyone else. He feels betrayed.” You said, voice small.
You just wanted to pepper his face with kisses and profusely apologize for ever doubting him. Why did you ever let some random succubus get to you like that? To make your trust for Mammon falter, even slightly. Did you honestly believe he would toss you aside after he got what he could out of you? Really? 
Satan said it too though, in the beginning. That when you’re with him you find yourself drowning in gifts and the like, but once he outgrows you, you’re left with nothing. That’s the Greed.
You refuse to accept it though.
You know Mammon, better than anyone. He has changed so much since you came here. He’s not the same demon he used to be. He is more than just his sin.
“When he is ready, he’ll come back. He always does.” Asmo said, placing a hand on your shoulder, giving you a warm smile.
“Now, let’s go and change! You are depressing me and it’s ruining my skin. We are going out tonight!” He was practically vibrating with excitement. You, not so much.
“Ugh, no way Asmo. I’m not in a party mood.”
“Nonsense! It’s exactly what you need. We will have some drinks and dance and you’ll feel better. You’ll see.”
You relented, knowing that once Asmo got his mind set on something like this, there was no getting out of it. Maybe a few drinks really would make you feel better.
-
“Trouble in paradise?” She said, motioning to the drink in his hand.
His clothes were dishevelled, his hair mussed, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. He looked like he’d been through the wringer. Felt like it too. He’d been in the private lounge at the club for a little while now, nursing drink after drink, attempting to drown his sorrows.
“Go away.” He growled, turning his attention back to his drink.
“Is that anyway to greet an old friend?” She asked innocently.
“Nah, but it is a good way to greet a snake.”
“Ouch.” She put a hand over her heart, feigning hurt feelings.
“Haven’t ya caused enough problems? Leave me alone.”
She scoffed, plopping down onto the couch next to him.  “Oh, come on Mammon. You’re this hung up over a human?”
“Don’t talk about MC.” He snarled. In one big gulp, he swallowed the remainder of his drink. No matter what kind of situation the two of you were in, he wouldn’t let someone, anyone, say anything cross about you. At all.
“Oh, come on. You can’t seriously say you don’t miss being with me. A demon.” She leaned in close, her lips next to his ear, “Not nearly as fragile as a human. You can be as rough as you want..” She purred.
He jumped up from where he’d been sitting, attempting to get away from the succubus. “Get the fuc- Whoa.” He slurred, staggering slightly before quickly sitting back down, head lolling back to rest on the back of the couch. His vision was pretty blurry; the room spinning. He closed his eyes, hoping it’d help. 
Even in his deeply inebriated state, you were all that was on his mind. The feel of your hand running through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp. The warmth of your body pressed against his, your lips; soft and delicate like rose petals, leaving small kisses across his face before finally meeting his lips. The bubbly sound of your laughter, beautiful like music. The way your eyes shine every time you see him, even if he only left your side for a tiny moment. 
After the fight you had and leaving the way he did, and now being away from you a whole day, not hearing your voice, feeling your touch, he was ready to go crazy. And although he did sneak back into the house after he was sure everyone was asleep, and slept in the backseat of his car so no one would find him, it wasn’t the same as sleeping next to you. He missed you.
But, it was more than that. He felt so incredibly stupid for reacting the way he had. If he were in your situation, and felt how you did, he would’ve had questions too. You love him, and all you wanted was a little reassurance that he in fact does love you. Man, does he love you. More than he’s ever loved anyone or anything.
With the attention span of a tuna sandwich, mixed with the levels of alcohol in his system, and being so deep in his thoughts of you, he hadn’t noticed the sudden shift of weight in his lap.
One hand found its way to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair. The other hand resting on his chest, slowly moving down his stomach, intently feeling every muscle. His mouth opened slightly, a breathy sigh escaping. He had missed you so much, your touch lighting his skin ablaze, craving you more and more.
Your hand moved lower, earnestly caressing his growing stiffness. Your lips crashed into his suddenly; hungrily, your tongue brushing his bottom lip. His hands moved up your thighs before firmly gripping your hips, grinding you against him.
Small alarm bells were going off in his head, something didn’t seem right. You didn’t giggle like you always do when he grabs your hips. Your kisses seemed sloppier than usual too.
He tried opening his eyes, blinking lazily several times. The room was still swirling around in his drunkenness, making it nearly impossible to focus.
Your hand moved to his pants, undoing the button and zipper. He removed a hand from your hip and grabbed your wrist, but didn’t attempt to move your hand from his swollen boxers. As he was about to break the kiss and suggest heading home and picking up with this make up where you left off, he heard a voice nearby.
“What the hell?!” They shrieked. 
Asmo?
“Mammon..?” You barely choked out.
That was your voice. He’d recognize it anywhere; the musical sound gently floating into his ears as it always did. But you sounded like you were crying..
And it didn’t come from the figure straddling his lap. How is that possible? He’s been making out with you, getting pretty heated actually, for the last several minutes.
He broke the kiss with you, confusedly turning to his left and blinking several times until his surroundings started to come into focus.
There you stood in the doorway of the private lounge with Asmo next to you, your eyes wide as s tears streamed down your cheeks, gaping at him in horror.
The alarm bells that had been going off, the red flags popping up trying to warn him that something wasn’t quite right, were about to become very clear.
- part two coming soon! -
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Text
To Have and To Hold ❤️ (S.R.)
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Summary: Reader is trying to save her marriage, but Spencer seems resigned to its failure. Request(s):
Y/N and Spencer have a fight about not having sex and feeling close anymore and then one of them begs the other (your choice) to stay with them and it ends with fluffy smut? Think Twice by Céline Dion
something based off the song “in this shirt” by the irrepressibles! - @losergirl3​
Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Parents fighting, divorce/separation, yelling, penetrative sex, discussions of sex, very painful fighting Word Count: 6.5k
MASTERLIST
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The sound of mine and Spencer’s marital home was the sound of deafening silence. Even the clock on the wall didn’t dare tick and break the tension that had seeped into the structure, permeating through the home to make it seem like not much of a home at all.
It hadn’t always been like that. Once upon a time, it was filled with laughter, both our own and that of our first and only son. I still got to hear it, but Spencer didn’t. Spencer didn’t hear much, seeing as he was absent more often than not.
I stared at the place on the kitchen counter where a vase used to sit, and my stomach twisted into knots that felt permanent.
It wasn’t always quiet, but lately that almost seemed like the more merciful way to be.
“It’s like this every time!” I screamed loud enough to hurt my throat, the basket in my hand clattering onto the floor and spilling its contents across the floor.
I felt like that, too. Fragmented and scattered and helplessly lying at the bottom of something I wasn’t equipped to climb out of.
“I don’t know what you want from me.”
Spencer, on the other hand, was quiet and composed in his anger. He always was. I wondered if he secretly held it against me that I couldn’t be more like him. That I couldn’t compartmentalize my feelings and speak logically in the face of the completely illogical.
“What is that even supposed to mean?”
“I can’t be the person you want me to be,” he answered just as vaguely, watching as my hands balled into fists and shook under the weight of it all.
“What, which part?” I said with a bitter laugh, gesturing to the cold, empty house around us. “Do you mean you can’t be a father who’s actually there?”
He tried to cut me off, but his voice was too small and too broken to be heard over the chaos of my rage. That, too, was pooling in my mouth and falling through the room too fast, too strong.
“That’s not fair.”
“Or do you mean a husband that actually likes his wife?” I spat. My heaving chest was the first time I realized that I hadn’t taken a breath. The anger was literally suffocating me, and I didn’t know how to expel it from my lungs without hurting everyone around me.
I couldn’t breathe. I needed to breathe.
“Stop. Just stop,” Spencer urged, his voice hard and loud now, albeit stable. “This isn’t solving anything.”
Taking a few steps forward to stand before him, I met his eyes for the few seconds he let me. I laughed as they fell to the ground, but it was the kind of laugh that’s best reserved for things that are irreparably lost. The kind of laugh you have to stop yourself from crying.
“Tell me that I’m wrong then. Tell me that you don’t resent me, Spencer.”
The words were mixed with a whine. The answer had made its way out but was replaced with the heavy lead of sadness.
He didn’t answer me.
“Tell me that you still want to be with me.”
“I don’t want to fight with you,” he said softly before turning away.
I wanted to follow him, to grab him and beg him to look at me. I wanted to tell him that I needed him to answer me because whatever my brain came up with would hurt twice as much. I wanted to tell him that I still loved him, and desperately needed to hear him tell me the same.
But I didn’t tell him any of that. No, instead I just sat there with crackling voice and a quivering lip, letting the anger replace the sadness again.
“Where are you going?” I shouted, hoping that hearing my own voice would convince me that this wasn’t really happening.
Picking up his bag and keys, Spencer finally looked at me, and the apathy I was met with felt like the abruptness of an ending at intermission.
“I’m sorry,” he said, but I couldn’t believe him. “I promise it’s not forever I just… I have to leave.”
“Fine,” I replied, crossing my arms to stop myself from throwing them around him and asking him not to leave them empty again that night.
My husband looked at me, not with a breaking heart, but rather, one that was already broken. He looked down at the disaster at my feet and then up at the disaster that was his wife. I don’t know what he saw, or what he would have said when his mouth opened, but I never let it happen.
I was too scared. I was so, so scared that whatever followed would hurt me more than I could ever hurt him. So in preemptive self-defense, I said the only thing I’d promised myself I would never let him hear.
“It’s all your father ever taught you to do, anyway. You might as well teach your son, too.”
The only response I got was a tear on his cheek and the click of the lock after he left.
And then, I was alone, with only the silence left to keep me company.
In a pathetic desperation to break the suffocating silence, I violently threw my hands against the counter and its contents resting so peacefully there. I destroyed everything that sat there, mocking me and reminding me of all the mistakes that had led me there.
The memories were tainted now, so why should anything else remain intact?
But when I stared at the remnants of the vase holding a dried bouquet, I realized that no matter what I destroyed, I would still feel like the most broken thing in the room.
I almost missed the sound of destruction in my kitchen. I almost missed the screaming because at least then I knew that we still cared enough to be angry. No matter how much I really, really didn’t want to be angry.
Staring at the screen of my phone for a few too many minutes, I sighed when I finally sent the message that had been staring back at me for hours.
“Are you coming home tonight?”
His answer was almost immediate, which should have given me the answer in itself.
“Should I?”
“If you want to. Your son misses you,” I responded after a minute, turning to look at the staircase still littered with his toys. A toddler who was starting to be old enough to remember the fights was certainly old enough to notice his father’s absence.
“I don’t want him to see us fighting.”
And apparently, Spencer was only worried about one of those things. But that wasn’t what really made my blood boil, causing my fingers to sprint into quick, loud tapping.
“Why do you assume I’m going to fight with you, Spencer?”
“We’re fighting right now,"  he responded without a second of hesitation, almost like he’d had the message waiting.
I typed my reply so many times, unable to show him the hurt and sadness that I felt inside. The texts on the LCD screen would have never been enough.
“That’s not my fault,” I said, praying that he would understand the meaning behind the words.
Unfortunately, it seemed that neither of us were prepared to face what was clawing at the surface of our throats. Stubbornly dedicated to the misunderstandings above all else, Spencer answered with what he knew would hurt me the most. The same as I had.
“It never is, is it?”
It was my turn not to reply. Tossing my phone onto the counter, I forced myself to ignore it for the rest of the night. The real world could wait while I drowned myself in the bottle of wine I’d been trying to convince myself not to drink. Might as well drink it all, I figured, since Spencer wasn’t going to share it with me, anyway.
Lounging on the couch, I made a point of sitting in his seat, hoping that I would one day be able to claim it as my own. The only problem was that it gave me the perfect view of the clock— the very same thing I’d spend hours watching, waiting for him to come home.
He’s not coming. I don’t need him, anyway. He’s not coming. I don’t need him, anyway.
I repeated the words to myself so that one day I might believe them. I kept pouring the wine hoping that eventually I might be able to cry the tears that I’d been drowning in since the last time we shared our bed.
But I felt nothing. Even when the locks started to click open, my eyes stayed fixed on the clock that read 11:33PM. And even when he turned to see me next to a nearly empty bottle, I didn’t avert my eyes.
“He’s pretending like he’s asleep but he’s not,” I said between sips, “You should go see him. I think he’s waiting up for you.”
From my peripherals I saw him watching me, opening and closing his mouth with words better left unsaid. They would stay that way, too.
All he said, instead, was one quiet, broken, “Thanks.”
Why did the sound of his footsteps on the staircase feel so overwhelming? Why was it so fucking loud, to feel his presence in our home? The same feet in the same places where he’d struggled to half carry me up the stairs when we returned from our wedding, laughing and drunk on the love that we promised to never let die.
I felt sick, but I blamed it on the wine that I never stopped drinking. By the time Spencer returned, though, both the glass and bottle were as empty as I still felt. His eyes followed me when I walked them to the sink, setting them down to be a problem for a future self. The present, despairing version of me had had enough of them.
“Are you leaving?” I asked to the sink, too scared to face him when the thinly veiled plea let my lips.
As we often did, Spencer took his turn of silence. I heard him putting on his coat, the jingling of his keys the only other indicator that he was still there.
My fingers tightened around the lip of the counter, knuckles whitening with each second of silence from him that passed.
“Please, Spencer, just answer me when I ask you something.” The words were sharper than I wanted them to be, and I blamed the wine. I also blamed the wine for the way I could barely stand without the support of the counter I limped alongside.
“You already know the answer. Why would I want to open a dialogue about it?”
Beneath his monotone, I heard a shred of empathy and concern that I would willfully misinterpret as disgust and shame.
“Because that’s what you do when you respect someone,” I challenged, looking up at him with flat lips and a pulse that seemed too fast in a world moving in slow motion.
“You're right. I’m sorry,” he conceded the disrespect but didn’t counter it with anything but a predictable but unavoidably painful answer. “Yes, I’m leaving.”
My hand slid over the stack of papers at the end of the counter, and I swore I almost saw him flinch when he thought that I might fall. But I didn’t. After all, I knew the dips and bumps in these floorboards by heart. He couldn’t say the same, even with his memory.
“Take this with you, then,” I muttered, shoving the papers at him until he reluctantly accepted them. It only took him a glance to recognize the forms.
“Okay,” he said.
“That’s it?” I laughed because there was nothing else to do. “Just ‘okay?’”
Although he looked down at the Washington, DC court forms again, he sighed and shook his head. He didn’t look at me when he explained, “I don’t want to fight with you. He’s still awake.”
And that was just it. He looked down at my cry for help, the papers to formally designate our love as dead, and all he had to say was that it wasn’t worth the fight. He looked at the papers I gave him, knowing that they were me begging him to do something while we still could, and his answer was resignation.
But nothing about a separation was okay. It was painfully dragging out the inevitable end, clinging to hope that we could find each other again. Keeping us on hold and preventing the seeking out of other people’s embraces.
‘Please don’t leave me,’ I said, and ‘it’s not worth the fight’ was his response.
‘You’re not worth the fight’ is what I heard.
“I’m not trying to fight with you. I just want—" I choked on the sadness and wine drowning my heart. I forced the words out and hoped he would fight me on them. “I want to make sure that it’s all you have to say about it. That’s all.”
Anything to make him stay.
Please, stay. Please, stay. Please, stay.
If he could read my mind, he gave me no sign that he cared about the way I was crying out for him. He didn’t do anything until I couldn’t look at him anymore.
He touched me. Gentle and tender and careful, his hand came up to rest against my face that was hot from the wine. It felt so cold and alien and strangely familiar at the same time.
“(Y/n)…” he whispered, his thumb crossing my cheek and wiping away a tear I hadn’t realized I’d shed in the first place. But once I did, so many more followed.
I had tried to cry. Apparently, all I had needed was for him to touch me again.
“Is there someone else?” I said between small sobs, resting my face against his palm and hoping to God he wouldn’t take it back yet. Praying that this could be an easy fix, an easy way to hate him. But nothing about this was easy.
“No,” he answered, and I couldn’t find any sign of deception or disgust, no matter how hard I searched.
“Right. It’s a stupid thought, I’m sorry,” I chuckled, wrapping my arms around myself in an embrace I wished he could give me instead. “You hardly have time for your son, how would you have time for someone else? Not like a girlfriend would be that patient.”
But when I went to turn away from his hand, he stopped me with his other. With both hands on my cheeks, he forced me to look him in matching glassy eyes.
“It’s not a matter of convenience or availability,” he rasped with a throat raw from the way the words stung.
“Then what is it?” I cried, searching for the words we both desperately needed to hear; the words we both desperately needed to say.
Spencer’s mouth opened, and then closed. And in that terrible, heartbreaking silence, I wondered if I would ever hear them again. But his hands were still on my face, holding me in front of him and smoothing the tears away. They would still sink into my skin, and I would be left to carry them while he washed his hands of me.
“I’m guessing it’s…” he muttered, trying to give me something without throwing the boxing match of broken hearts, “I’m guessing it’s the same reason you handed me legal separation papers instead of divorce papers.”
I laughed, because it was such a Spencer way of saying ‘I still love you.’ Always a riddle. It gave me enough solace for me to rest my red and weary eyes, trusting that he would protect me while I couldn’t see.
“Don’t leave tonight,” I said in that first comfortable quiet, “Please, stay.”
He waited for me to open my eyes and see the look on his face. He wanted me to see the look on his face because he wanted me to feel bad for him when he pathetically stuttered, “I-I… I can’t.”
“Don’t say it,” I begged, but he didn’t listen.
“I have to go back to work, I’m sorry.”
Tearing myself away from his hands, I nearly fell over but refused his help all the same. Teetering against the wall, I rolled away from him and back towards the stairs.
“Just go. It was stupid to even ask.”
“You saw what happened. We lost Garcia, then Dave, then Jennifer,” he appealed in a loud whisper. At least he had the decency to have emotions when it came to work. My anger clung to that, and refused to budge even after he tacked on, “We lost you. Someone had to stay.”
“But why did it have to be you?”
And then he said the words I’d grown to hate him for. The words that gnawed at me late at night in an empty bed. The words I heard echoing in the halls of our otherwise silent home. He looked me in my eyes when he said, “They needed me.”
“Spencer, I—!” I shouted, the sound shocking me back into silence in seconds. I took a deep, trembling breath as my entire body shook with the force of my clenched jaw and putrid, poisoned heart. “I needed you.”
I still need you. Please, hear me. I still need you.
But Spencer couldn’t read my mind. He was too busy looking up the stairs to see a tiny hand clutching the door frame that was opened just far enough for two little eyes to peek out at us at the bottom of the stairs. I stared back him, and I saw that we’d done the thing we said we didn’t want to do most of all.
It wasn’t his fault. He wouldn’t understand that. All he saw was his parents, staring back at him covered in tears and angry words. I couldn’t stop it; like a head on collision on a one way street, I wanted to speed up and hope that it would hurt less than if I tried to save myself.
“Please don’t cry,” Spencer said from behind me, his hand still wet from my tears wrapping around my hand to pull me back to him.
The warmth made me sick.
“Don’t touch me,” I snapped, ripping my hand back before I headed to the stairs. “Go to work. My son needs me. Goodnight, Spencer.”
With those last few bitter words, the door closed and took half my heart with it.
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The sound of the rundown motel was anything but silent. The buzzing of fluorescent lights and speeding city cars didn’t allow for much else. I wasn’t sure how Spencer managed to stay sane here, considering how he’d called a repairman insisting there was something wrong with the fridge due to a noise no one else could even perceive.
For that reason, I knocked loudly at his door. He knew that I was coming, so it didn’t take him very long to answer.
I could blame the bottle of wine I’d downed for sending the text asking to meet, but I would have done it anyways. We needed neutral ground to talk and there was too much tension at the house for anything to feel fair. The thought of our son associating our home with lovelessness was enough to make the decision to meet Spencer at his bureau-appointed motel.
I had played out potential scenarios in the shower, trying to find one that wouldn’t end in property damage or more collateral damage to our relationship which was already hanging on by a thread, but hadn’t found one that checked both boxes.
“Come in,” he yelled back, also compensating for the background static. It was the first time he’d raised his voice in a long time. I wondered what he thought about the fact that it was still directed at me.
“Hey,” I muttered as I closed the door behind me, hugging my overcoat tighter. It wasn’t much warmer in his room than it was outside. He always preferred it cold at night, I reminded myself. He said it was easier to sleep, because he could hold me without overheating.
I wondered what kept him warm now.
“Hey,” he answered, turning in his chair to look over my shivering figure. “Are you alright? You look nervous.”
What a stupid question.
“Yeah, I am.” I swallowed, biting on my bottom lip and taking a few steps towards him. My eyes swept over the room that seemed almost untouched. Figures, he didn’t spend much time there, either.
“Alright, or nervous?”
I looked at him, the question both catching me off guard and confusing me. My furrowed brows gave me away, because Spencer cleared his throat and sat up.
“You didn’t… say which.”
“Both,” I said more succinctly and with a small hint of a smile. It felt wrong to do, but I did it, anyway. Fake it until you make it and all of that. Of course, faking it doesn’t really work with a profiler.
“What’s wrong?”
Another stupid question.
“Nothing, it’s just…” I tried to lie again but gave up halfway through. Deciding to be honest, instead, I came closer until I felt his knee rest against my leg. “I feel kind of stupid.”
“You’re not stupid,” he assured me, and I hated the way it sparked something in my chest. I could have made it anger again, to tell him that I didn’t need his approval or validation. Or I could let it be love. Let it be him telling me the truth because I needed to hear it.
Licking his lips and swallowing the lump in his throat that he couldn’t clear, he looked down at my hand on the tie holding my coat closed when he asked, “What do you need?”
Slowly and with shaking hands, I pulled the tie loose. I could hear the breath hitch in his throat as I poorly undid the buttons. Inch by inch, my skin was exposed to him through lace. His chest began to move with more purpose, his eyes hungrily taking in the sight. I found the courage to answer him.
“I need you to… touch me,” I whispered, reaching down to hold his hand. That contact was the only thing that successfully tore his gaze away from my body.
“What?”
It was ridiculous just how scary it was to hold my husband’s hand. It felt so heavy but so necessary, like I’d found a part of myself that I only barely recognized.
“Please, Spencer,” I cried, lifting our hands up and resting it against my stomach. “Touch me.”
Whether it was the way my whole body was trembling and tensing, or some other disgust with the situation he found himself in, Spencer recoiled so strongly that his absence felt like a punch to the gut.
“What are you doing?” he spat, standing up and pushing the chair back so he wouldn’t have to pass me when he stepped away.
“I-I was just trying to…” I stuttered, pulling the halves of the coat closed around me; my usually confident voice so timid I could hardly use it at all.
“Do you… Do you think that’s the problem with our relationship? That I’m bored with you?”
He was talking so loudly that he was practically yelling. It was no wonder he didn’t hear my protests voiced through broken breath.
“I don’t know, I just thought—“
“You think I’m not attracted to you anymore? That after you had our child I wouldn’t want you anymore?”
I had said that I wanted to see Spencer show some emotion. And there he was, with the rage and sadness and shame that I’d thrown at him over the course of the year. He spewed them all out into the tiny, sterile room and never stopped to look back.
“Is that what this is?!” he demanded an answer, and I couldn’t have stopped the two-headed monster of our love from bursting out of our chests even if I wanted to.
They tried to find each other; their final stand before only one remained.
“I was just trying to do something, anything to try and save our fucking marriage, Spencer!” I shouted back, feeling uncomfortably exposed in so many ways.
“I don’t just see you as a… sex toy!” he argued in his defense, gesturing to the half-naked state of me before he covered his eyes.
I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to feel, but I felt embarrassed and ashamed and something else.
“Well what was I supposed to think, Spencer? We haven’t had sex in six months!” I hated that he wouldn’t look at me. Why couldn’t he just look at me? He couldn’t talk to me, couldn’t touch me, couldn’t bear the thought of my existence within the same walls that contained him. “And the last time it only happened because you were drunk!”
Biting down on both his lips, Spencer wiped a hand over his tense jaw like it would bring back the apathy he’d already released. There was no getting it back.
“How am I supposed to have sex with someone that despises me?”
The world came to a screeching halt, the sounds of the city thriving around us burning into my brain and washing out the thumping of my heart trying to find its other half across the room.
“Despise you?” I spoke the words to try and understand them, but it only hurt with none of the clarity I sought. But I was still too scared to say that I loved him, so instead I denied the opposite. “I don’t despise you, Spencer. You’re my husband!”
The ring on my hand felt so heavy, but I never took it off.
“You’ve resented me ever since you left the bureau,” he spit out the words, his hand clenched in an awkward way to point an angry finger at me. “But I didn’t ask you to do that, (y/n). That was your decision.”
Memories flooded back of when we first met. The long rides on the jet, the late nights at the office. The way Spencer caught me in the parking garage because I’d forgotten my umbrella. It wasn’t even raining, but he ran down four flights of stairs, anyway. The way I thanked him by kissing him, and the way he kissed me back until we didn’t have any breath left.
But then I remembered the day I left— how Spencer promised me we wouldn’t be like Hotch and Haley, or Rossi and any of his failed attempts at marriage. I remembered how Spencer would rush home after a case and hold me the entire day and night, kissing my belly and eventually our baby.
I remembered the first night he decided to stay at work instead of coming home. The first night he let go of my hand and turned over because he needed the rest.
It was too painful to think of the first time he forgot to kiss me goodbye before he was out the door, and there was no umbrella excuse to chase after him. I remembered the way I let him go and told myself that he probably hadn’t meant to forget about me.
The first time I thought: He’s not coming back. I don’t need him, anyway.
At first, I asked myself: Were we reliving the same memories? What did they look like to him?
But then I stopped, and for the first time I asked: Does it matter?
“Maybe I do hate you a little bit for living the life we used to share. Fine. I admit that.” I stopped for a deep breath to calm my nerves. My next step was steady despite the heels, and Spencer saw the shift he couldn’t account for. “But this was not only my fault. I worked that job, Spencer. I’ve lived that life and I know that there are times when you have to make a decision.”
Standing before him again, my hands held tightly to my sides but my eyes matching his, I bit down on my tongue. I hoped that the pain would lessen the impact of the next few words. The real reason I had resented him, and the reason I refused to apologize.
“And you didn’t pick us. ”
For all his brilliance and one hundred and eighty seven IQ points, Spencer had no argument to make. He just looked at me, his eyes roaming over marks from the past and the evidence of how I’d carried his child still visible underneath the lace.
He raised his hand to brush over the touch he’d rejected moments before, but he never made it. Letting it fall aside with his apparent courage, Spencer clenched his teeth and forced out the words, “Please, I don’t want to fight with you.”
I’d grown so tired of that line— that excuse. The absolute bullshit of a lie. With all the air I had in me, I yelled with a hoarse throat and pure desperation, “I’m not asking you to fight with me, Spencer! I just want you to fight for us!”
Spencer’s mouth opened to say something, just like it always did as of late. But in place of the usual apathy in his eyes, I saw something else. Behind the tears and sadness, I saw a man I used to know in that silence. And in the blink of an eye, I felt his hands on my face and his breath on my lips milliseconds before they met his.
Holding me in place, Spencer kissed me harder than he ever had before. He kissed me in a way that made my heart leap forward, looking for him in the dim golden light of a shitty motel room. He kissed me like he’d missed me.
And I had missed him. Each second that our lips stayed connected, the harder my heart tried to escape. It beat so harshly against my ribcage, like it was repeating the same morse code message over and over again.
I remember you.
When I caved in, returning the kiss with everything that was left of me, a weight lifted from my starving lungs and let me breathe again. I took in his frantic breath in exchange for my own, and we shared the mixture of carbon dioxide and love that makes you forget all the reasons to hate each other that you might have otherwise found.
I couldn’t tell which of us started to tear his clothes off first, but I thought it was me. I could feel his buttons slipping between my fingers. I felt the way they didn’t fumble, the muscle memory returning faster than it ever did on a bicycle.
I remember you.
With his pants barely coming off in time, we tumbled onto the bed while still in each other’s arms. There wasn’t time to laugh about how clumsy we were, or how horribly uncomfortable the mattress was. There was too much to do, too much lost time we were trying to make up for.
His mouth left my lips but didn’t stray far. He drew kisses across my jaw and over my pulse, where he stopped. Kissing me softer there, he took a moment to draw his tongue over the rapid fluttering of my heart that still yearned for him. I was reminded of the way that we said until death do us part, and how much I had really meant it.
It already felt so overwhelming, so nauseatingly perfect that I thought I would wake up to my empty bed again, reaching for someone and something I’d let slip through my fingers.
Spencer’s fingers, on the other hand, were sliding under the waistband of the matching lace, dragging it unceremoniously down my thighs until they could be kicked off indiscriminately. I imagined what the floor would look like, littered with our clothes and inhibitions as we discarded the worries and fears of not being enough anymore.
The soft sounds of rustling slacks and briefs were the sounds that would signal the end of six months of solitude. With his mouth returning to mine, Spencer’s hand also came back to the space between my thighs. He paused for a minute, drawing strange patterns over the skin as he stalled. But then he did it, anyway, pushing a finger into my waiting heat. I cried out for him; my body overstimulated by the smallest touch from him after being deprived for so long.
I remember you, I thought it louder and hoped that he would hear. Although he seemed hesitant to my touch at first, I eventually found my way down to his erection and gently gripped. And as he moaned into my ear, I felt something come to life within me for the first time in years.
Moving his hand out of the way, I promptly led him to my opening. Again, Spencer stopped. This time he stopped to look me in my eyes, ceasing all kissing and slowing the momentum to a halt. He looked at me, his eyes burning with tears and a desire to let go of built up nonsense and dive into the oceans of togetherness again.
I nodded, just enough for him to see, but not enough to question whether it was the right thing to do. My husband entered me with such precious precision that I couldn’t help but moan, although he couldn’t recognize it as his name when I spoke it under my breath.
I missed you. We both spoke the words with our bodies that started to blend together again. With my nails digging into his back, Spencer’s mouth returned to showering me with insistent kisses. His hips moved slowly, taking his time to let my body accommodate what used to feel like an extension of itself.
He sighed against my lips when he was fully inside of me. One hand came to hold my hip while the other settled under my head, Spencer’s breath hitched before he kissed me again. I felt his hesitation. It was always the last few bricks of the wall built between us that were the hardest to kick away.
But I refused to leave them. If I had to step over them, I would. I would find a way to remind him that we’d been on the same side all along, and that he didn’t have to be alone anymore. So I kissed him that time, bringing his tongue into my mouth and feeling his moans echo through mine.
There was no lasting like this, with Spencer’s hips starting to drive into me with increasing force. Our voices became louder and our movements more purposeful. I began bucking in tandem with his thrusts until my body began to shake from the overwhelming pleasure.
And he held me, tenderly and carefully and with the greatest level of concern. Spencer felt the way that my walls fluttered around him, and he continued with his strained motions. My eyes were barely open, but stubbornly remaining half lidded just so I could see the look on his face. So consumed with the passion and love that gathered in the little space between us.
There was no escaping it, and neither of us wanted to, anyway. Just as I was about to come crashing back to reality, there was one more broken cry from him; a gentle sob as he finally crashed his hips into mine, holding it there as he filled me with his warmth.
Our lips met as the tension slowly eased from our bodies, our weary muscles shaking as we struggled to stay connected. To stay in that moment and never let it go.
But like all good things, it had to end. We would have to free each other from our arms and hope that it wouldn’t be for good. I wanted to make sure that it wouldn’t be the last time. Because if this happened again, I wasn’t sure we’d ever come back together again.
It really, truly felt like the stars had aligned and some God gave us mercy to find our way back into each other’s arms.
But the longer I stared up at my husband through tears, I realized that we were the only ones responsible. For all of it.
“I love you,” I said before I could think to stop myself.
“I love you,” he returned without restraint, “I’m so sorry.”
Lone tears turned to fountains, and this time when we smeared them into our skin, both of our hands were dirty. We were carrying the weight of each other, and neither of us held it alone anymore.
“I’m sorry, too,” I keened, turning my face to kiss his palm. But then even that wasn’t enough, my shaky hands coming up to hold onto his. “I’m so sorry, Spencer. I love you so much. I don’t want you to leave me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured me with a panicked and pained voice. “I’m not leaving you," he repeated, pressing his forehead against mine before stealing another powerful yet languid kiss. When he tried to end it, I held onto his lip for as long as I could, letting it slip from my teeth with a smile.
And he laughed. He laughed and it reminded me of how long it had been since I last heard it like that. There was no bitterness; no challenge or resentment. It sounded like the old walls of our home and covered me like the sheets we’d get lost in for hours.
“It’s so hard when half of your heart is never with you,” I thought aloud, daring to ruin the laughter and replacing it with a pain that had to be handled eventually.
“I know,” Spencer said with a shaky breath. He opened his mouth to say something, and I waited for him to close it again, to keep his secrets buried like that last brick he held in place between us. But then, he spoke. “You were right about this job. There are times where you have to make a decision a-and…”
As his tears dripped from his chin to my chest, I felt the full weight of Spencer’s breakdown. He let himself collapse over my heart, listening to the soft rhythm and letting it guide him back to me.
“I don’t want to do it anymore,” he whispered, “I pick you. I should have always picked you.”
They were the words I thought I wanted to hear. I’d been begging him to say them for so long, but it hardly felt like a win. How could it, when he was so obviously miserable? The love of the job was something we’d shared before. The thought of being the reason he left something he loved made me no better than the cases that kept him away from me.
Sobbing like a child with his hands clutching me like I was the only thing that would stop the pain, Spencer still spoke through the labored breaths, “I was just so scared. I thought I had already lost you and I didn’t know what to do.”
It was like looking in a mirror. He voiced his fears and I recognized them as my own.
“I thought you didn’t love me anymore,” Spencer sobbed, and both of our bodies shook. I held him tighter, but just for a second before I pulled him back to look me in my eyes. I looked into the galaxies they contained and wondered how he ever thought such a thing was possible.
“Spencer, I promised you that I would love you until the day I die.”
His eyes were bloodshot but happy, and in the reflection, I saw the past and I saw the future. I saw the memories playing in the back of his eyes and knew that he wasn’t seeing me as I was in that moment. He saw beyond the present, mixing all the memories together to create something new.
But he remembered those words from that day.
“Until death do us part, and maybe a little bit longer than that,” he whispered.
“Until the cosmos swallows reality as we know it,” I answered, tapping our noses together and sharing the very same smile from the first time we promised our souls to one another.
“I will still find a way to love you.”
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