he fell in love with self-restraint

| and now it's getting out of hand | kayla | 23 | she/her | rec blog |

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[ackpplepie]

kissing your kryptonian

warnings: kissing, nothing explicit, clark forgets reader needs to breathe sometimes

a/n: just a little something since i'll be working all week. again. sigh.

Clark hasn't pulled away to breathe once. It's not like he has to, really, but your lungs are burning. Every stolen breath you're able to steal feels like a gift, but your boyfriend is just. Not getting the memo.

His tongue is in your mouth, his hands buried in your hair as he kisses you with the passion of the sun. It's hot. It's incredibly flattering that he can't stand to pull away from you for even a moment. But goddamn, you feel like you're about to pass out, and not just from him.

You're able to wrench yourself away a few moments later. Any longer and you really might have passed out. For as gentle and compassionate as Clark is with you, he seems to forget a very important fact when the two of you start kissing: you can't hold your breath for hours on end!

Clark tries to chase after your lips, not wanting a second of separation. One firm hand on his chest stops him—not because you overpower him, but because he loves and respects you far too much to push a clear boundary.

"Honey? Did I do something?" he asks quietly.

"No, well—" you laugh and press your forehead to his. Clark's hesitation softens at the amusement in your gaze, and his hands rub up and down your sides. "I need to breathe, baby. Not all of us can hold our breath forever."

Clark's eyes widen into that bright blue puppy dog gaze you can never stay mad at, and an embarrassed flush burns his cheeks.

"Sorry," he murmurs. "You're distracting."

"I don't mind, Clarky. Not one bit."

all written work and dividers belong to @ackpplepie!! do not plagiarize, feed my work into ai, or translate it. i do not own the characters used above.

[alrisyl]

𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬!!

pairings: clark kent x fem! reader

summary: clark cancels on you again for ‘work’ but it was a lie..

warnings: angst, emotional distress

notes: i have so many drafts to post!!

wc: 750

part 2 part3

the rain went from a drizzle to a downpour, matching the sinking feeling in your chest. for the third time this month, your phone had buzzed with a rushed, apologetic text from clark.

“something came up at the planet, sweetie. a breaking story. i'm so, so sorry. i’ll make it up to you, i promise.”

you didn't reply. you just stared at the two plates of dinner cooling on the counter, the candles you’d lit mocking you in the dim light of your apartment

you couldn't stay in your apartment, you were going to lose your mind if you did.

you needed to talk to the one person who truly understood. someone who understood him.

you grabbed your coat, slipped out into the wet metropolis streets, and hailed a cab and gave the driver lois lane’s address.

you and lois had become incredibly close over the past year. you had joined the planet as a features writer a couple of years after clark and lois had officially ended their relationship.

because they were long broken up, there was no awkwardness... lois had taken you under her wing, becoming your mentor, your loudest cheerleader in the bullpen, and your closest friend.

by the time the cab pulled up to lois’s apartment building, you were blinking back furious, hurt tears. you took the elevator up, practically throwing yourself at her front door and knocking aggressively.

you heard footsteps inside, the lock clicked, and the door swung open.

lois stood there, dressed in a comfortable oversized sweater, a half empty glass of red wine in her hand. "y/n? what are you doing here? it's pouring-"

"i can't do it anymore, lois," you burst out, the words tumbling out of you in a sobbing rush before she could even invite you inside. you stepped past her into the entryway, too consumed by your own heartbreak to notice her sudden, tense posture.

"he canceled again," you cried, hugging your wet jacket tighter on you, shivering. "it’s always the same excuse. 'something came up at the office,' 'a late breaking lead.' i know he cares about his work, but i feel like a ghost in my own relationship! i'm sick of being the one who always gets left behind. i'm sick of competing with a job, and honestly... sometimes i feel like i'm competing with you."

you finally paused to catch your breath, wiping a tear from your cheek. "i just really needed a friend tonight. can i please just crash on your couch?"

usually by now lois would've said something, she would've made a joke or immediately handed you tissues or started calling clark an idiot, but there was nothing... no response.

"lois..?" your eyebrows pulled in.

"what?" she asked, her voice a little too high.

"why are you looking at me like that?"

"...like what?" lois muttered, she gripped the stem of her wine glass so tightly you thought the glass might shatter right in her hand.

"like..." you frowned harder. "like something's wrong."

"no, nothing's wrong."

but her eyes weren't on you, they were staring straight past your shoulder at the hall behind you.

"lois?" you whispered, stepping further into the hall. "is someone here? did i interrupt a date? i'm so sorry, i should have called-"

"no! no, wait.. " Lois reached out, her hand catching your wet sleeve, but she was a second too late.

you walked through the short hall and into the living room, the words of apology dying on your tongue.

a figure stepped into the dim light of the living room, drying his hair with a towel. he was wearing a gray t-shirt and sweatpants.. home clothes. comfort clothes.

he didn't have his glasses on. and as he looked up, his bright blue eyes met yours, freezing him entirely in his tracks.

it was Clark.

the towel slipped from his hand, hitting the hardwood floor with a dull thud.

“something came up at the planet, sweetie. a breaking story. i'm so, so sorry.”

the words of his text message flashed in your mind, your eyes darted from clark’s damp hair, to his relaxed clothes, to the second glass of wine sitting on lois's coffee table, and finally back to lois, who was now looking down at the floor, unable to meet your gaze.

"baby," clark breathed, his voice entirely stripped of its usual warmth. he took a panicked step forward, his hands reaching out instinctively. "baby, wait. It’s... it’s not what you think."

the sheer cliché of the phrase made a hysterical, breathless laugh bubble up in your throat. "not what i think? clark, you texted me an hour ago saying you were stuck at your desk. you’ve canceled our last three dates because of 'deadlines.' and you’re here? in your sweats?"

"you canceled on me," you said, your voice barely a whisper, "for three weeks, you’ve been too busy. you were too busy tonight. to have dinner with me. in our apartment."

"we were talking," lois interjected quickly, her voice trembling. she stepped between you and clark, trying desperately to play defense, to be the fixer. "just talking. he was stressed, he came over to vent about a case, and he got caught in the storm. i told him to dry off. that's it. I swear to you, that's all this is."

"and you couldn't tell me that?" you looked at lois, the tears you had been fighting finally falling. " i came here crying because i felt invisible in my own relationship, and you let me walk through that door knowing he was in your bedroom?"

"sweetheart, no," Clark choked out, stepping closer. "please. i love you. i would never- "

"don't call me that," you snapped, anger finally bursting through the sadness. a single, hot tear spilled over your cheek. you looked at lois, the woman you had trusted with your insecurities, the mentor you practically worshiped.

"i thought you were my friend. i thought you were the one person who understood how hard it was to love him."

a terrible, suffocating realization washed over you. lois did understand. she understood perfectly. because she hadn't actually let him go. and he hadn't let go of her. you were just a temporary detour in their romance.

"please, let me explain," clark pleaded, taking another step forward, his hands raised in defense. "lois is right. it’s not a date. i didn't plan this. it’s just… things have been so heavy lately, and i didn't want to bring that stress home to you."

the words left his mouth, and a suffocating silence fell over the room.

you stared at him, your breath hitching as you inhaled. "you didn't want to bring it home to me?" you muttered. "so you brought it to your ex girlfriend instead?"

"no, that's not what I meant...."

"you lied to me," you said. "you told me you were working. you told there was a breaking story, but the truth is you just didn't want to be around me. you left me sitting alone at a table with dinner i spent hours cooking, because you'd rather vent to lois?"

"listen to me," clark rushed out, his voice cracking as he scrambled to fix the damage, only to dig the hole deeper. "you don't understand the pressure I'm under. lois just... she already knows everything about my life.... she knows how i think. with her, i don't have to explain myself or ease into things. it’s just easier."

it’s just easier.

you let out a laugh. "easier," you repeated, backing away from him until your spine hit the wall of the hallway. "right. because i'm work. i'm the person you have to try for, and she's the one you actually want to unwind with."

"no! sweetie, please, no," clark choked out, looking completely undone. he reached for your arm, his touch gentle, but you yanked yourself away.

"don't touch me," you snapped again.

you gripped the fabric of your wet coat, looking at clark one last time. "have a nice night at the office, clark." you scoffed, turning around.

"sweetheart, please," clark begged, his voice breaking, "let's go home. let's just go back to the apartment and talk about this. please." he said as he made a move to follow you.

"if you come near me, clark, i swear to god i will never speak to you again," you spat, your voice harsh, that actually made him freeze in his tracks.

you didn't wait to see if he listened. you lunged out the front door, and practically sprinted down the hallway toward the elevator, the sound of your own ragged sobbing drowning out the faint, desperate echoes of your name being called from the apartment behind you.

[theweepingangelofcas]

Hii! Love your work 🧡 so I just wanted to see your take on the cute idea of Leon not remembering you bc of the anesthesia after a surgery, due to an injury during a mission. It’ll be so him to try and flirt as you check up on him and just the fact he refuses to accept that he managed to have a wife like you, no doubt mess with him a bit saying you’re married but not say to him until after a bit of teasing 😭

Omg yes!!! Ngl, I was born with a birth defect and have had some surgeries for it, and anesthesia really is the WILDEST TRIP EVER lol. Also, I used some memes as inspo for this. Summary: Anesthesia is one hell of a trip. Oh, and there's this pretty lady next to him. Wait, what the fuck do you mean you're his wife?!

An Angel - Leon Kennedy x Reader

The first thing he notices as he comes to is that there’s a steady beeping beside him. It’s a little shrill, but not particularly loud, just a constant noise that makes him want to go back to sleep.

When his eyes crack open, he has to squint, lights too bright above him.

“Leon? You awake?”

Oh, that voice is pretty. Sweet and gentle and everything he could want to hear. His mind feels all fuzzy and hazy. What happened? Where the hell is he?

There’s a giggle off to the side. It’s soft and sugary, like fresh spun cotton candy. “Careful, now. They gave you enough anesthesia to knock out a horse.”

He grumbles, his eyes finally adjusting a bit more. He’s in a hospital bed, a thin scratchy blanket laid on top of him, tucked carefully into his sides. The beeping to his left is coming from a heart monitor, linked to a little cuff on his finger. Leon smacks his tongue against the roof of his mouth a few times, cringing at the dryness.

“... Hospital?” His voice is rough and hoarse.

The person nods, and his vision finally clears fully. You’re standing beside him, a book tucked under one arm and a paper cup in your hand. You lower it to his lips, and he drinks greedily, even if it feels so cold that it shocks him.

“Yep. The doctors said you could be a bit out of it. Do you remember what happened?”

He tries to remember, he really does. Something about a bullet and a monster and some kind of cure? It’s all a blur in his mind.

“Kinda?” He gives a small, weak cough. “Why’d they put me under?”

Your hand reaches down, grazing his cheek. This doesn’t feel real. You’re so pretty it hurts, all soft and sweet and gentle. Who the hell are you?

You tsk, a small smile on your face. “You got shot. Apparently the bullet got lodged near your ribs. Are you feeling okay?”

“Who’re you?” He blinks. “A nurse?”

You giggle again. “No, Leon. I’m not a nurse.”

“An angel?”

The giggle evolves into full blown laughter. “They were real damn generous with those pain meds, weren’t they?”

Now that he thinks about it, yeah, they probably were. He doesn’t feel much pain right now. Mostly just some discomfort. Some tightness around his ribs, probably from some kind of bandaging. Your hand moves down to his chest, pressing against his collarbone. You’re warm, he notes. He wants to curl into that warmth forever if he could.

Wait, why are you touching him?

You’re not a nurse, you said. His eyes flit around the room, landing on the wedding ring on his finger. Oh, fuck. His brain is groggy, and he can’t remember all that much, but he has a wife. He knows that. No matter how pretty and warm you are, he has a wife. 

“My wife-” He sputters, though he doesn’t dare pull away from your touch. “My wife will get mad if she sees you touching me like that. On my chest.”

More laughing. This time, you have to step away clutching your hands to your stomach as you nearly choke on laughter. You wipe a tear from your eye, finally trying to calm down.

“And my husband,” You heave in a breath, giggles still tumbling from your lips. “Would get mad if he saw me touching any other man.”

Leon nods, assured. “Husband?”

“Yes, Leon. Husband.” You lift your hand, showing a ring. It’s similar to his own, he notes. Must have similar taste. “Whom I am very loyal and loving to.”

“He a decent guy?” Leon tries to reach for the water on the bedside table, but his arm falls short. You help him immediately, grabbing the cup and letting him drink again. 

“Yes, he is.” You wipe a dribble of water from his chin. “Treats me perfect and all. Though he can be an idiot sometimes. Always running headfirst into danger.”

He grumbles. “He better be treating you right. You’re too pretty for him not to.”

Another laugh, and this time he joins in, even though he’s not sure what’s so funny. Okay, there it is. The pain. When he laughs, his ribs hurt, a sharp stinging pain that lances up his side. Leon can’t help but hiss in discomfort, body twisting a little to try and get away from the burn.

“Hurts?” Your hand is there immediately, giving the gentlest of soothing pressure. “It’s okay. Just breathe, honey. Do you need me to get the doctor? He can give you some more morphine.”

Even through his agony, Leon’s brow raises. “Don’t call me that. My wife wouldn’t like it.”

“Leon, baby, I am your wife.”

Beside him, the heart rate monitor starts going haywire, beats crescendoing into a rhythm that is definitely too fast. “W-What?”

"I'm your wife." You answer surely, still petting over his side. Your touch almost feels healing, and he doesn’t even try to shy away from it. Instead, he looks at you. Looks at your wedding ring, then his. Looks back at you.

"...No."

An amused huff. "What do you mean, no?"

"I mean..." He gestures vaguely toward your face. "...Look at you."

You frown. "What about me?"

"You're..." His brain searches for the word. "...Beautiful."

You smile, and it does something in his brain that he really can’t explain right now. He still feels all slow and dumb. Morphine, you said? That makes sense then.

"Thank you."

"No, I don't think you understand." Leon shakes his head, and his hand shakily moves up to you, brushing a few strands of hair back from your eyes. He doesn’t miss the way you accept the gesture, even going along with it.

Your wedding ring is still glinting on your finger. It looks like it matches his, actually. Shit, are you telling the truth? How the hell did he get this lucky?

"I probably don't." You giggle.

"You are way too pretty to have married me."

Your eyes soften, almost getting a little teary. It confuses him. Why do you look like that? Like you love him? 

“You say that all the time, baby.” Your hand moves from his ribs, and you lean down to kiss his forehead. It sends him reeling. “You’re always saying how you have no idea how you got so lucky. I think it’s the opposite, but you never let me say that.”

His forehead is still warm where your lips pressed against it. He wants more, truthfully. Instead of prompting for another, words blurt out of him before he can stop it.

“So, do we kiss? Have we kissed?”

Your face twists for a moment, before chuckles escape you anyway. “Yes, baby. We kiss a lot.” As if to prove your point, you give him a quick peck on the lips, your nose crinkling. “Ew, you need a shower. I’ll help you clean up once you wake up more.”

The heart rate monitor has only increased. He can feel a flush come to his cheeks, making his whole damn face red. “So have we…? You know…?” His eyes sheepishly look away.

At this point, you’re wheezing. “Made love? Of course, baby. But please calm down. Before the doctors think you’re having a heart attack, please.”

He sputters. “S-Seriously? We’ve done that?”

At this point, your head falls into your hands, and your giggles don’t stop. “Very serious.”

“More than once?!” He tries to move, and more pain lances through his ribs.

“Yes, baby.” You press a button near his head, and almost immediately, he feels a wave of relief wash over him. The morphine drip, maybe? The call button? He has no idea what you just pressed. You continue, “Honey, we’ve been married for almost six years.”

“Six years?!” Leon coughs again. “Six whole years?!”

Another nod, and this time he’s sure that he died during that damn surgery, and went to heaven. You really must be an angel, he’s decided. There’s no way this is real. 

His eyes are starstruck when you kiss his cheek. His gaze drifts toward the chair beside the bed. Your jacket is thrown over the back. An overnight bag rests beneath it. A dog-eared book sits on the seat beside an empty coffee cup gone cold hours ago. How long had you been here? Waiting for him to wake up? 

He’s speaking again before he can even think.

“... You really are an angel.”

[vianawaits]

Senses Overloaded

Summary: coming home from a long day of work only to find your boyfriend unresponsive and suspended from the ceiling.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Content Warning: minor spoilers for BND, arachnid!peter, established relationship, hurt/comfort, peter in a bit of pain bc it's hot, suggestive content, reader has hair, no use of y/n, second person

A/N: y'all... can you tell im obssessed LMFAO, get ready to be sick of me and peter fics, also i'm trying something new with my layout tell me if y'all like it! as always i hope you enjoy <3

Dating a masked vigilante who just so happened to be part arachnid meant you came home to many things- many strange things to be more specific.

You -mistakenly- thought you'd seen it all. But when your keys slotted into the door, unlocking the apartment; what you opened it too made you freeze in the doorway.

The roof, the walls, the work station, the kitchen that was really just a microwave and mini fridge- was covered in webs. From the popcorned roof to the old wooden floor, all of it was coated by a curtain of white string. You could barely take a step inside without getting caught in them.

"Peter?" you call out for your boyfriend, unsure of what the hell this was.

The door shuts behind you, and it only took a few steps before you found yourself tangled in an endless knot of webs. Feeling the silk against your bare skin has you pausing again. You knew what Peter's synthetic ones felt like, and the ones around your legs weren't those.

Your whole body reacts in doubling over as you gag. The tingle that traveled up your neck had you running your fingers through your hair, checking for an eight-legged creature. Ironically enough… spiders weren't at the top of your list of favorite critters. They were probably closer to the bottom in all honesty.

"Peter?" you call out again with no response, as your hands rake through your hair.

It isn't until you're satisfied with the results of your inspection; finding no spiders on you, that you decide to look around. There didn't seem to be any life in the apartment. It was frozen in a stillness that was bordered peaceful. A breath could've disrupted the scene you walked into.

That was until you looked at the roof.

"Holy shit-"

Stumbling back onto one of the many bed of webs, you do everything but scream. Suspended from your ceiling, is the one and only Peter Parker. He was wrapped like a burrito in his webs, white string trapping him on the ceiling. His arms are crossed at his chest like he was in a coffin. His eyes were closed softly, perfectly preserved in a dream-like state.

He doesn't even react to you falling which only scares you more. Peter never let you fall. You'd grown to expect him catching you with a web, pulling you close to him after.

Staring at the minimal parts of his body that are visible, a grimace fights its way onto your face. He's got more bruises than he did last night. His curls are plastered against his forehead with sweat. The swelling of his body tells you a story of strained muscles he lied to you about yesterday. At the very least, the rise and fall of his chest makes it obvious that he's breathing.

You indulge in the small comfort of watching him for a few minutes. It was a habit you couldn't really break. In the mornings you woke before him or in the midnight pee breaks, you would just stare at him while he slept. Your arms would wrap around his waist as you got back into bed, and he'd cage you in unconsciously. Hearing his heartbeat and seeing him so peaceful, lit a match in your chest.

It was odd to see him so still now, even when he slept he was restless. You'd woken up with the blankets on the floor more than once because of him.

Taking a few deep breaths, you try to reassure yourself with the fact that he's still alive. Your arms fall deeper into the webs while you watch him, yet you're surprisingly at ease with the sight of his face. A part of you is tempted to lay here until he wakes up, just thinking about navigating this made you want to bash your head into the nearest wall.

If this is some weird nap thing he was testing out, you might just kill him for having to clean this later.

Abandoning all your belongings and coat to the disaster covering your floor, you manage to get into a standing position. Walking through the apartment mirrored walking into the ocean with the tides against you. The amount of webs made your skin crawl, but you needed to do this. Making sure he was okay was a nonnegotiable in your brain.

It's a few steps, and a lot of gagging later, until you finally get the broom. Retracing your steps until you're under him again, you lift the end of the red pole to the roof. Your arms wave around clumsily to clear the strings around his face first. Once most of them are out of the way, the weight in your chest dissipates as his nostrils flare and narrow.

Cocking your head to the side, an idea springs into your mind. You move the end of the broom to his cheek, nudging him to see if that would get a reaction. After poking him several times gets no response, you whisper an apology before smacking him with the pole. His eyes shoot open, and you almost fall back again. His eyes -his beautiful warm brown eyes- are completely black. They're void of any recognition, causing your heart to sink.

"Peter…" it's the third time you've called out for him, and it's your last hope before booking it out of the building.

The sound of concern in your voice must've snapped him out of it. His body jolts milliseconds later, only to be caught by the webs holding him. He blinks a few times when consciousness reaches him, like he's just woken up from a really disorienting nap. His pupils are blown, still covering the whole surface area of his eyes as he looks around. Still confused by his current predicament, his neck tilts down trying to decipher the state he's in.

You hear him let out a, "what the…" which is followed by him falling from his air jail.

Your arms shoot up in an attempt to catch him, and the broom clatters on the floor somewhere next you while you both yelp. Miraculously, he manages to catch himself with a thread around his ankle. He starts frantically swinging around directly in front of you, cursing under his breath at the worst wake up call ever.

Before he can get too worked up, your hands rest on his face cupping each of his cheeks. He's breathing is coming out heavy and his body is colder than usual. The eyes that you found forever in are still pitch black, but you're determined to keep him looking at you. The last thing you need is a Peter freak out.

"Deep breaths for me web boy," his eyes screw shut at your voice, followed by his hands shooting to cover his ears.

"It's too loud," it leaves him like a whimper, "'s all too loud."

His features are all contorted together like he's in pain. Your own eyebrows crease together with worry. You keep your hands on his face with your thumbs brushing his eyebrows, in an attempt to ground him. It's another few minutes until he removes his hands from his ears. Instead, they move to his hair. By the way his fingers wrap around the curls, you know he wants to rip them out.

This had to be the same migraine he was telling you about this morning.

"E.V." you angle your head to call out for the computer, hoping it doesn't irritate Peter's ears more than they already are, "run a full body scan."

"Running a full body scan." the robotic voice echoes and Peter's features pull together again.

Your fingers have gone from his face to meet his. They thread together in his hair, and you rub soothing circles on the back of his hand. His locks are slightly sweaty from whatever he has going on, but you don't move them away.

You sit with him in this as a promise you made to him many months ago. That you were here for the good mornings and the bad nights. For Peter Parker and for Spiderman.

He's taking deeper breaths as the scan continues. His wrinkles smooth out and his expression softens. You go to let go of his hands to give him space, but he holds on tighter.

"Don't let go please," he's begging while trying not to white-knuckle your fingers. A brief smile crosses your lips at the plead.

"I'm not going anywhere." you whisper back, and your fingers tighten around his again.

"Scan has shown that arachnid hormones have increased from their normal baseline in Peter's body, causing his senses to overload with information."

"Yeah, I got that E.V." Peter's grimaces, trying to process the information.

"Hey, shhh," your fingers have gone back to his face, forcing him to look at you. "it's going to be okat. Let's do this one thing at a time."

Your voice is feather light in trying to calm him down. Minimizing his exposure, you get him to focus on one thing, your face. He nods and swallows while one eye creeps open. The black of his eyes has you fighting a shiver. This was something neither of you experienced before, but you weren't going to run. Right now, he needed you just as much as you needed him on nights when the world was too much.

"Deep breaths with me web boy."

He takes the instructions well. Following your lead, he inhales for five seconds, holds for eight, and exhales for eight. You repeat the process with him a few more times, before you notice his pupils finally start to shrink back to normal.

"Okay, okay that's better," he mumbles while blinking repeatedly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah- yeah, that's a lot better." his eyes almost bug out of his head while coming back down to Earth.

Your hands cup his cheeks, and his breathing stutters for a moment while taking you in.

"Can I have a kiss?"

The laugh that escapes you, surprises you both. While you're sure it sounded like a bomb in Peter's ears, he still wore that look on his face that made you melt. His boyish smile and tired eyes turned you into putty every time.

"Like you even have to ask Parker," and with that you lean in.

He takes a deep breath when your lips meet, practically molding himself into you. It's not soft and cute like the normal kiss you get as a "welcome home." No, it's desperate and his hands are in your hair. Holding you impossibly close to him, his tongue slips into your mouth with a groan.

Your nose bumps into his and you notice he's warming up. Whether he's finally coming down from the high of his arachnid hormones or flushed, you'll take it either way.

His fingers thread in your hair, pulling at it slightly to make you moan. Opening your mouth wider, it gives him more access in your mouth. He always told you he loved how you tasted. Many nights in bed or on the couch passed like this. He wouldn't try to get in your pants, but he loved how your mouth felt against his. You'd rewinded too many movies and TV shows after missing important plot points because he couldn't detach himself from you.

Unfortunately, in the climax of your make out, the final web around his ankle decides to give out and he collapses on top of you.

Even in the split second of his fall, he manages to push you onto a bed of webs, cushioning your fall. The thunk of his body on the hardwood, has your stomach dropping to hell.

"PETER-"

"I'm okay, I'm okay- I promise." he tries to reassure you, while his palm presses into his forehead.

You shoot toward him, sliding on your knees. Your hands are all over him, trying to find a spot that may hurt. He sits up with a smirk tugging at the end of his lips, an attempt to play the whole thing off.

"It doesn't hurt that bad, I promise. I've had worse."

Your hands finally rest on his shoulder when you sigh, shaking your head. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you, Parker."

"Kiss it better?" he proposes, showing all his teeth in a cheeky smile. Your jaw drops and he lets out a laugh that puts every song to shame.

If he wasn't already hurt, you would've smacked him upside the head.

In your brief moments of disbelief at his joke, he grabs your hips. Pulling you onto him, he settles you on his thighs. Straddling him, your fingers find the hair at the nape of his neck, while his face finds its home in yours. He wraps himself around you in a tight hug, holding you flush against him.

"We'll figure this out together, Pete," you drop a kiss to his temple, "I promise."

"I know," his voice is muffled against your skin.

You both stay in each other's embrace for a couple of minutes. You feel his heartbeat against yours and realize, at the end of the day this is all you need. As long as he was alive and here with you, you could overcome anything the world threw at you.

As your running your fingers through his hair, you feel him smirk against you, "I wasn't kidding about kissing it better."

Letting out another huff, you lower your mouth to his ear and feel the reaction he has between his legs.

"Well you'll have to show me where it hurts, Parker."

TAGLISTS All: @gglouise23 @demigod-jack-hearth @nicndick @scissorhvnds @princessak @slut4hotppl @bat1nsignia @starr-jazz @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @mystiquevoid @patientofarkhamasylum @starkkat @loserinadress @leovaldez0924 @actualunicornn @kaiiii1009 @arfemiz @boombopbam @jasontoddismywifey @jasmineserag Peter Parker: none yet

[froggibus]

— Late Nights

Pairing: Peter Parker x gn! reader

Summary: after a rough night, Peter finds comfort in your bed

Word Count: 500

Content/CW -> mentions of mild injury, mostly cute and wholesome

froggi yaps -> guess what i saw today that also totally rekindled my love for marvel :p i'm on a writing kick rn so if you guys have any ideas for marvel OR dc i'd loooove to hear them <3 enjoys!

You’re half-asleep when you hear the familiar sound of your window becoming unlatched, scraping against the old frame. In an instant, you’re sitting up in bed, rubbing at your eyes and letting them adjust to the dark of your room.

Through the dim lights provided by the billboards and streetlights outside, you can just barely make out the scarlet suit patterned with shiny blue. Spider-man.

“Haven’t we talked about this?” He says, maneuvering himself through your window like he’s done it a thousand times. “You need to keep your window locked.”

You smile sleepily, sliding over in your bed to make room for him. “Then how can handsome strangers come into my room at—” You squint at your alarm clock, “jesus, 3:01am.”

“Strangers? Plural?”

You watch as he lands softly on the floor, shutting the window behind him before peeling his mask off and discarding it on your windowsill. There’s a fading bruise above his eyebrow, surrounded by a few stray cuts that look much newer than that.

“You didn’t answer me,” he says, kicking off his shoes next. “Strangers?”

“I’m kidding, Peter.”

He scrubs a hand over his face, brushing the sweaty strands of hair out of his eyes. He takes a breath before starting to shimmy out of his suit, hopping around awkwardly on one foot.

“You should be locking your window, though.” You smile and he smiles right back, “I’m serious.”

“Then how will you break into my room when I’m sleeping?”

“You weren’t sleeping.”

“I was.”

He discards the suit on your floor, leaving him in nothing but the pair of dark boxers he’d been wearing underneath. There’s more bruises littering his body, some new, some faded, all of which make you frown.

He cringes, “did I wake you?”

“Would you be more or less worried if I didn’t wake up at someone coming through my window?”

He flops back onto your bed, loosing a breath you’re sure he’d been holding for a while. “Ask me that in the morning.”

You move to lay next to him on the bed, equally sprawled out, your head resting in the crook of his arm. “How was your night?”

“Ask me that in the morning,” he sighs, curling his arm in to pull you flush against him. He rolls onto his side to face you, eyes tired and lined with dark circles, “Hi.”

“Hi.”

He dips his head down, letting it rest against the side of your neck. You feel his breaths against your skin, deep and warm. “I’m so tired,” he mumbles against you.

“You can rest,” you say, equally as quiet. “It’s okay.”

“But—”

You rub a hand down the back of his head, “the world’s not going to fall apart if you take a couple hours to rest.”

Peter starts to speak only for the words to die on his tongue. He snuggles closer to you, not an inch of space between your bodies. It’s not long before he’s softly snoring into the side of your neck, his body becoming deadweight against yours. 

You try to adjust yourself slightly only for his grip to tighten, a sleepy ‘no’ leaving his lips.

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thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡

[billyrayjo]

I love you, I'm sorry

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Description: Things between you and Azriel had been going great, until he comes home from a mission wrapped around another. Realizing it wasn't as serious to him, you run. Just intending to take a walk, things go south when you realize you're in trouble... and the shadowsinger might just not care.

Tags/ Warnings: Angst, injury, hurt/comfort, Azriel is a meanie, Cassian being Cassian.

Smoothing the skirts of your gown, your gaze couldn't help but fall on the necklace you hadn't taken off in weeks. Azriel had gifted it to you for solstice, the blue of the gem looking suspiciously similar to that of his siphons.

You wouldn't say you were courting, per se. Your relationship had simply bloomed on its own into something neither of you had ever bothered to name.

Your fingers drifted over the stone's surface, and for the first time all day, the tightness in your shoulders began to ease. Azriel was meant to be home tonight.

It was no surprise to you that Rhysand had deemed Azriel's mission over the same night he intended to host a feast for the inner circle and outside friends. According to your High Lord, Azriel was due back any moment now, the details of his mission unbeknownst to you. You were just excited to see him.

Azriel had gone on a few missions since this relationship had intensified, the male always seeking you out the second his feet touched down on the balcony of the house of wind.

You hadn't intended to miss him so much. Things were still fairly new, and to feel this attached to him was almost alarming. You weren't used to having someone to wait for, unsure if you should act overly joyful at his return or a little more nonchalant.

Shaking your head for some clarity, you let your gaze fall upon your figure one last time. You had chosen the best getup you had available for the occasion, something in you itching to see the reaction of the shadowsinger. The dark fabric and intricate lace might have been on purpose to reference his shadows, but that was insignificant.

He always took you in appreciatively, whether in a nightgown or training leathers, his gaze slowly dropping to your feet before rising to your face. You felt your cheeks heat at the memory of the way his eyes darkened when landing on you.

Finally tearing your gaze from the mirror, you cleared your throat from the intensity before making your way out of your bed chambers.

The violins grew louder as you neared the party, your shoes clicking lightly against the stone of the ground beneath you. Finally catching sight of a few guests, you sighed in relief when your eyes fell on Mor already chatting up a familiar looking couple.

Timidly approaching her, you let your hand meet her arm before she turned to look at you, her gaze lighting up immediately at the recognition.

"Finally! I was starting to think you weren't coming!"

You giggled as her arms wrapped around your neck, her stance slightly wobbly likely from the wine glass already clutched in her fire red nails.

"I see someone has already cracked open the wine..."

She lightly smacked at your still outstretched hand, the glass sloshing lightly at her movements. Pulling entirely away from the couple she was previously speaking to, she wrapped her arm around yours before leading you deeper into the party.

"Ha. Ha. Very funny. I know you're just itching for a glass yourself." She huffed, heels clacking along as she kept her pace beside you.

An hour or two later, you were three glasses in, watching amusedly as Cassian reenacted an interaction he had in the market earlier this week.

"I don't understand why it's so laughable that I, warlord and killer of men, would be interested in personal hygiene?! You should've seen the females giggling from the stall over!"

A content laughter settled among the few fae around him, his expression exaggerated as if waiting for someone to answer his rhetorical question. Just when he seemed ready to continue, his posture stiffened at something he was seeing behind your back.

Furrowing your brows in confusion, you went to look behind you when Cassian's hand suddenly landed on your shoulder.

"Hey! Why don't we- uh- would you like to come get a drink with me?"

You could see the nervous gulp trail down his throat as his gaze searched yours, his eyebrows lifted almost in a plead as he gently pulled you toward him. Glancing down at your almost full wine glass, you lifted your gaze back to him confused, raising it slightly to catch his attention. It would have almost been comical if he didn't look so close to soiling his trousers.

"Not you, silly! Me! I need a drink, you know, all this 'working the crowd' has really dried out my thr-"

His plead was interrupted by a few gasps from the fae around you, your attention quickly snapping back to the situation at hand. Just as you went to turn around a second time, Cassian quickly pulled you again, your wine splashing over the rim and onto your fingers.

"Hey! What is going on with you? What is everyone starting at-"

Just as the words passed your lips, your gaze finally landed behind you. Across the party, an unmistakable spymaster was stood in the crowd. Feeling your pulse increase at his presence, you let your body fully turn in his direction, eager to greet him.

You were stopped in your tracks as your gaze lowered, your feet coming to an abrupt halt when you noticed a manicured hand wrapped around his bicep. Eyes quickly shooting to his right, you felt your heart stop entirely as your eyes fell on a beautiful fae woman. His eyes were on her as she laughed, her gaze more than friendly as she looked up at him.

All you could manage was a small "Oh." as Cassian appeared at your side, his hand finding your arm and tugging again.

Letting him steer you away from the sight, the gears in your mind began turning as you walked with him to his unknown destination. Voices invaded your mind, whispers from the party guests. Statements along the lines of "Azriel never brings a female" or "I wonder if he has found his mate". You only snapped out of your spiral momentarily when you heard a door shut behind you.

"Look y/n. I know what it looks like. Just listen to me-"

You raised your hand abruptly, cutting him off.

"What it looks like? Cass, it's what it is. You don't have to try and spare my feelings."

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, a frustrated sigh leaving his lips.

"No y/n seriously. Let me explain."

You took in his devastated features, matching his look with your own. How awful that Cassian would have to be the one to let you down easily, his own brother too occupied to reject you himself.

"No Cass. It's fine. You don't have to explain for him."

You quickly turned away from him, dropping your glass on a nearby table. You didn't realize you were crying until you caught your reflection in the mirror above it, tears trailing through the makeup you had spent hours perfecting.

Steeling yourself in the reflection, you didn't let Cassian speak another word before you were gone. The rage and utter betrayal in your mind blending into one tainted landscape. Where the winds matched the ice you felt in your veins, the temperatures as brutal as the thrum in your heart.

Landing on your knees, you didn't even have to look up to know where you had landed. The snow cushioned your fall, pooling around the skirts of your gown. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you stared, watching as a thin layer of sleet covered your lap almost instantly.

Letting your hands fall to your sides, your fingers didn't even flinch as they came in contact with the freezing sludge beneath you. You just sat there, letting your body become one with the elements and bring you back to reality.

It didn't take long before you felt the biting chill racing across your skin, your gown not doing anything to shield from the biting winds. It was refreshing.

This place was not unfamiliar. You had been here before, many times. When you had nightmares, when you were so overwhelmed with emotion you couldn't escape, your mind always conjured you here. You don't know why, but the place that once seemed to frighten you was now calling with open arms. The one place nobody knew. The place of your deepest fears, now becoming your sanctuary.

Nobody would be crazy enough to follow you out here. Even if they somehow knew where you were.

It felt like hours had passed when you finally stood. Body uncontrollably jerking with the cold, you forced yourself onto unsteady feet. Letting your gaze fall on your destination, you took in the twisted black trees and steady downpour of sleet. The hairs on the back of your neck immediately stood. Something was watching from the darkness.

Whipping around at a cracking twig beside you, your hands immediately raised in defense, body tightening with anticipation. Feeling your breaths tumble past your lips, you couldn't help the jumps in your muscles from the freezing temperatures. As you squinted through the snowfall, you made out a large figure twisting its' way through the forest.

You jumped when you heard another sound behind you, forcing you to take your eyes off the first creature and check your blindspot in case of an ambush. Not seeing anything, you quickly whipped your head back to the original threat, but were shocked into a gasp when the creature appeared right in front of you. Tripping over your own feet, you gathered your skirts in your hand and ran.

Jumping over roots, ankles twisting and bending at awkward angles, you ran through the snow as fast as you could. Your toes were numb as the snow soaked through your slippers, making it even harder to measure your steps. You checked behind you every few steps, anguish crawling up your throat in a scream as you realized it was gaining on you faster than you anticipated.

Deciding running wasn't going to save you, you swallowed your fear and stopped your steps. Whipping around, you prepared to strike at the monster on your heels. A shudder crashed through you at the sight of it.

It was nothing you had ever seen before. A large reptile-like head rested on an even larger body, the moon glinting off of massive claws digging into the slush before you. It's long serpent-like neck twisted and turned as it looked at you, teeth baring and tongue lashing curiously as it sized you up.

You didn't even have a chance to take in the creature before it was pouncing, teeth chomping at the space your head was just in. Dodging, you tucked and weaved as quickly as you could to dodge its' blows. As you danced around the creature, you could hear its' voice in hissing whispers, and one of them made you stop dead in your tracks.

"The Ssssspymasssterssss mate!"

You could only stare as its' tongue flicked with each 'S', a pang of confusion almost knocking you back harder than one of the creature's blows.

Your moment of pause would cost you.

Before you could even utter a word, one of the creatures scaled legs soared, its claws sinking right into your side. You could feel as each claw pushed through your ribs, nothing but a small wheeze escaping as you held the intense eye contact. The searing pain was nothing compared to the memory you'd have of those eyes, holding your own like it never wanted you to forget. Your body had no choice but to collapse where you stood, the world blurring until you were looking up at the sky above you. You could barely make out a scaled tail whipping above you as the creature slipped into the night.

Your hand clutched your side, white hot pain shooting through you. You sucked in a ragged breath, only for it to catch as fluid invaded your lungs. A harsh cough wracked your body, your body convulsing and warm liquid spilling out onto your face.

Trying and failing to suck in a full breath, your battered body jerked and pulsed with the pain, your vision becoming hazy for a moment before focusing back on the night sky. You could feel the sleet hitting your face harshly, forcing your eyes to blink rapidly.

The wind howled around you, the once still trees looking alive as the rays of the moon slipped between their branches. You could hear the whistle of the wind through them, creaks and groans echoing around you at the pressure pushing against them.

Just as your vision blurred a second time, you thought you heard something. Your fae ears twitched, straining against the raging winds around you. Hope bloomed in your chest, fragile, as you listened.

There it was.

Faint at first, then louder.

"Y/n!" a voice bellowed through the trees. "Answer me, sweetheart!"

Your heart lurched.

Azriel.

Every instinct urged you to call out, to let him know you were here and you needed him. You opened your mouth, but only a weak broken gurgle escaped past the blood on your lips. Pain ripped through your chest.

You didn't realize you were crying until you felt the shrill trail of tears down your temples, the realization that Azriel wouldn't find you in time bringing a rough cry past your lips.

Your heart lurched a second time as another shout cut through the trees.

"Y/n?" His voice cracked with panic. "I hear you, baby."

Footsteps thundered through the forest, growing closer with every passing second, branches snapping beneath his steps. Shadows stirred between the trees, racing ahead of their master.

"I'm coming." he called, breathless. "Hold on for me. I'm coming."

Your blurry gaze catches a movement in the tree line before you, branches separating and snow falling as a tall figure bursts through. Before you can even orient yourself Azriel has landed on his knees beside you, the glow of his siphons drawing your focus to his chest.

Hands come up to cradle your face, your eyes flickering to his own as his head blocks your line of sight to the sky above. You can feel the trail of blood running down your chin when you attempt to smile up at him.

You can feel his hands leave your face as he assesses your body, another gurgle coming from you when his hand comes in contact with the wound on your side.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry.” he coos, his free hand coming back up to wipe at the tears rolling down your temple.

Your hand comes up to grab at his resting on your hair now, your own blood coating your fingers visible in your peripheral.

A broken sound leaves his lips as you choke once again, an almost feral growl you had never heard from him before.

His shadows slowly start to surround you, and before you can attempt another breath, his face steeles into one of resolve.

“I’m going to winnow you. I have to get you back to Velaris so Madja can help.” his hands automatically start moving to hold your body to his, one sliding beneath your back and the other cradling the back of your head.

At the movement, you can’t help the wince that tumbles past your lips.

“I know it hurts, sweetheart. But you have to stay with me, okay? Can you do that for me?” his eyes are pleading when he locks them with your own, his breaths trembling.

With as much of a nod as you can muster, you brace yourself for the pain about to consume you.

Azriel brings your body to his, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. You watch in awe as the shadows surround you fully. You had never been surrounded by such complete and utter darkness.

You can hear Azriel talking to you, a repeated “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry” passing through your ears as the world around you disappears.

With the warp through time, you can feel your entire being teetering over the edge of life and death. The pressure on your limbs is so strong you can do nothing but hold your breath, praying to the mother that you make it to the other side.

Azriel might love another, but you still have friends, a family waiting for you. Even though your heart was on the verge of breaking, you still had hope. Hope for happiness and a future where you didn’t feel like this.

Just as a bright white began taking over your vision, Azriel clutching to you like he would never let go again, the shadows dissipated. You could feel the coolness of their embrace leave you suddenly, before your consciousness began to fade.

Muffled in the background, you could hear Azriel yelling. “Get Madja! She doesn’t have much longer. She can’t breathe.” tore through his lips as your body transferred from his to a softer surface. You finally could let your mind relax.

The first thing to return to you was sound. You could hear the faint crackling in the hearth, a soft sound coming from the fae lights around you. Letting your ears tune into the new environment, your fingers began searching of their own volition.

A soft, familiar texture smoothed under your fingertips, the warmth of the comforter feeling foreign after so long in the cold.

Clearing your throat, your eyes immediately popped open when you realized that there was no longer anything interfering with your breaths.

It took a moment for your vision to clear, almost as if the sleet had to clear away before you could fully take in your surroundings. Slowly sitting up, you winced at the pinch in your side.

Your brows furrowed as you realized that this was not your room. The dark bedding and wall of daggers gave you a good idea of whose bed you were occupying, but you weren’t sure why.

Realizing you were alone in the room, you forced your legs to swing over the side of the bed, the grunt of effort an added reminder of the trauma your body had gone through.

You didn’t even stop to take in your appearance, which you were sure had been cleaned up by some form of magic, before tiptoeing through the cracked bedroom door.

It took a couple of stops against the wall before you began hearing muffled voices in the dining room. Your fae healing had gotten you this far, but you weren’t entirely confident in your own movements.

Steeling yourself and taking a calming breath, you prepared yourself to see the Illyrian you were sure held your broken heart in his own two, scarred, hands. Right as you were about to round the corner, you stopped again when you heard the smooth timbre of his voice rumbling through the room.

“And nobody thought to fucking tell her that?”

Realizing you were the topic of discussion, you decided to stop the inevitable and make your presence known. You only made it two steps into the room before every head snapped in your direction, and another two before your body was brutally crushed into an embrace.

“Oh, thank the mother! I am so glad you’re alr- wai- what are you doing out of bed?!” Mor’s voice screeched against your ear. You could only wince as she bombarded you, her arms immediately pulling back as she jerked herself away from you.

You only smiled apologetically at her as her expression filled with guilt. It only took two seconds before that look turned into one of gratitude, her body coming in to hug you a lot more gently the second time around.

A round of agreements and scolds met you as Mor finally released you, your gaze jumping around the room to take in the entire inner circle. Out of nerves, your eyes purposely avoided the darkest corner of the room.

You could feel the cool drag of shadows as they assessed your frame, only steeling yourself further until they were content and sliding back to their master.

As all eyes stayed locked on your form, you finally cleared your throat once more before letting out a scratchy “Anyone got any water?”

After what felt like hours, you had finally finished explaining every detail of your mishap with the serpent like creature. Leaving out the tidbit about your rescue, everyone seemed content enough to begin parting for their own duties. With an order to rest and hydrate, you also turned to leave the dining room when a deep voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Can we talk?”

Your body felt frozen as you took in his voice. A mixture of exhaustion and sadness finding you from across the room.

Keeping your back turned to him, you let everybody else pass you by before swallowing your nerves and turning to face him.

You could only bring yourself to look at his chest, his fighting leathers now traded for a black shirt and trousers. You could see the daunting outline of his wings behind him, your fingers immediately coming to twist in front of you.

You tucked a stray hair behind your ear, gaze dropping as you waited for him to break the silence.

It took a few long moments, but the first words to leave him almost had your mouth dropping in shock.

“Can you look at me please?”

Your eyes immediately lifted to his own, a frown of confusion painting your face when you took in the sight of him.

His hair was disheveled as if he had been vigorously running his fingers through it, his under eyes dark and a shadow forming on the lower half of his face.

Just as you went to blurt out something, anything, his form crossed the room. He looked almost afraid to get too close to you, choosing instead to stop with a good yard of distance between you.

Your eyes flickered between his own as you processed your thoughts, unsure what you were really supposed to say. Before you could get out a word, his rough voice stopped you again.

“How are you feeling?”

You were a bit taken aback by his question. A few embarrassing stutters leaving you before you finally coughed up a quick “Good. I feel pretty good.”

Your fingers kept violently twisting as he eyed you up and down, your brain bouncing a million different questions around before it finally settled on one.

You didn’t even have a moment to second guess before the words were forcing past your lips.

“Am I your mate?”

A look of certain shock passed over Azriel’s face before he steeled himself again, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. His hand came up to run through his hair as his face portrayed the inner turmoil clearly a jumbled mess in his brain.

“I only ask because before that… snake thing… attacked me it hissed out something along the lines of ‘the spymaster’s mate’ and it really confused me because after the party I’m not really sure what’s going on. I understand if you were planning to reject the bond for that female but why string me along before then, you know? I thought something was forming between us but now I think I might have just been exaggerating things in my own mind- I mean, that woman was beautiful, and I understand why you would choose her over me but-“

You only stopped to take a breath as Azriel roared a growl, your body flinching back as he whirled towards the dining table. He looked as if he was about to break something before his hand came up to rub at his chest.

Your shocked gaze stared at his back as his shoulders heaved, his wings twitching wildly before pulling tightly back into their normal position.

A sigh that carried the weight of the world left him before he whirled back around, his legs taking two more steps toward you. His hand reached out as if to touch you before he seemingly thought better of it and brought it back to pinch at the bridge of his nose instead.

“Reject you? Y/n, please, you’re killing me.” his face held nothing but anguish as he brought his gaze back up to meet yours. “Rhysand asked me to escort that female to the party. She was linked to some Illyrian’s we’ve been monitoring and he wanted me to get more intel. Fuck, I would’ve never- I never- Cassian was supposed to tell you. He was supposed to tell you before the party started but he was too busy following Nesta around like a lost pu- oh fuck this.”

He seemed to decide against the last part of his explanation before he closed the rest of the distance between you. Your breath caught at the proximity when his hands came up to cradle your jaw, his eyes piercing yours as a confused furrow took over your brow.

Without realizing, your hands came up to grip his forearms, your eyes fleeting between his own as you processed his words.

His body only pressed closer to yours as you hesitated, the gears running a mile a minute in your mind.

“I swear to you, y/n. There is no one else in this galaxy I would’ve rather been with than you. I hate that you even questioned my feelings for you. I’m yours. I have been since the day we met.”

His eyes only intensified his words as you searched them, the gold flecks throughout his orbs almost glowing as they locked with yours.

You felt the trail of a tear before you could stop it, your lip wobbling for a reason unbeknownst to you. Azriel was quick to wipe it away, his forehead coming down to rest against yours. His voice lowered to a whisper as he continued.

“I almost lost it when I heard you were missing. I don’t even remember leaving the party or how I knew where to find you. I would tear this world apart inch by inch if it meant keeping you safe, sweetheart. I promise you that.”

Your breath shuddered through a gasp as more tears made their way down your cheeks. Letting your eyes fall closed, you shook your head against his before meeting his gaze again.

“So basically you’re saying that my disappearance was a slight overreaction?” you whispered, your teeth finding your lip as you waited for his reaction, a smile threatening to break out on your face.

Azriel shuddered a laugh of disbelief, his hands pulling you fully into his embrace. You could’ve sworn you saw a slight wetness in his eyes before your face was tucked firmly into his neck.

You and Azriel had reluctantly split after your embrace caused a sudden twinge in your side, his warmth immediately turning into panic at the wince that left your lips.

You had parted with the promise that you would get some rest before finding him in the morning to finish your conversation.

Flipping harshly onto your other side, you sighed in frustration as sleep continued to evade you. Every time you closed your eyes you saw manicured nails, serpent like eyes, and the look on Azriel’s face as it assessed your form on the floor of the woods. Also, the mantra of mate, mate, mate playing on a loop in your mind didn’t help.

Kicking the blankets off of your legs, you didn’t give yourself time to rethink your movements as you tiptoed out of your bedroom and towards Azriel’s. Pausing at his door, you let your knuckles lightly tap the surface before you heard a quick “Come in”.

Pushing past the threshold, you let the door close behind you before you made yourself as small as possible in his doorway. Wringing your fingers again, you slowly gazed up at Azriel, sitting wide awake in bed with a book resting on his chest.

You twisted your mouth in contemplation before letting out a small “I can’t sleep.”, your gaze dropping to your bare feet before snapping back up at the sound of rustling blankets.

Azriel had lifted his duvet, his body sliding further into the bed as he gestured for you to join him.

Shyly stalking towards his bed, you gently climbed into the open space next to him before his hands immediately made contact and brought you into his embrace.

The position almost ended up being a horizontal hug, your head tucked under his chin. One arm was wrapped around your waist as the other rested under your head, his hand coming up to twist a strand of your hair. His wing folded over the both of you, the lights instantly dimming into a soft glow through the membrane.

You slowly tilted your head back to meet his eyes, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you took in his features. Letting it out as a whisper, you started with “I’m sorry for bothering you..” only to be immediately cut off.

Azriel tucked your head back into his neck, his chest rising with a deep inhale before he whispered back.

“Shhh. This is the best moment of my life.”

[tunetales]

Can I please request prompt 66 with one of the batboys? ✨🙏🏻 Thank youuuuuu!

(Photos courtesy of Pinterest)

Summary: "No, I'm trying not to kiss you."

Authors Note: I couldn't help myself, Azriel fit in the image I had in my head for this one, so I hope you enjoy!

The Court of Nightmares was exactly as you remembered it.

Cold. Beautiful. And exhausting.

Music drifted through the cavernous throne room while nobles smiled with too many teeth and too little sincerity. Every conversation felt like a performance.

You hated every second of it.

Rhys sat lazily upon his throne, Feyre beside him. Cassian looked like he was counting how many chandeliers he'd have to break before someone asked him to leave. Mor was already halfway through her patience. Amren looked delightfully murderous.

And Azriel—

Azriel stood silently at Rhys's shoulder, expression carved from stone. The perfect shadowsinger.

Kier approached with his usual entourage, bowing just enough to satisfy protocol.

"High Lord."

Rhys inclined his head. "Kier."

The conversation remained civil for almost thirty seconds. Then Kier's gaze drifted toward Azriel, his lip curling.

"I see you've still kept your pet executioner."

The room went very still.

Cassian's smile disappeared. Rhys's violet eyes darkened almost imperceptibly.

Azriel didn't react. Not visibly. He'd heard worse.

Kier, encouraged by the silence, continued. "I suppose even monsters have their uses."

You sighed, loudly, from your place on the dais beside Feyre. Every head turned toward you.

You smiled sweetly. "Kier."

He looked mildly surprised you'd spoken. "Yes?"

"I've always wondered, how do you manage to say so much while contributing absolutely nothing?"

Silence.

Pure, beautiful silence.

Kier blinked.

You tilted your head innocently. "I don't think I've ever heard such a waste of hot air in my life."

Cassian made a suspicious choking sound that sounded remarkably like someone trying not to laugh. Mor abruptly looked away, biting to keep her snicker at bay. Even Amren's mouth twitched.

Kier's face darkened. "You would do well to remember who you're speaking to."

"Oh, I do." You smiled wider. "Unfortunately for you, I just don't give a shit."

Cassian actually snorted.

Kier looked as though he'd swallowed poison.

Before he could recover, Rhys stood. "I believe," the High Lord said pleasantly, "this meeting is over."

Dismissed, just like that.

Kier clenched his jaw, then bowed stiffly before retreating.

Cassian burst into laughter. "Oh, Mother above."

Rhys shook his head, though you caught the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. "You do realise you've probably just started another political incident."

"He started it."

"He usually does," Feyre sighed.

Satisfied with your work, you wandered away from the group.

Straight toward Azriel. You slipped to his side, still feeling rather pleased with yourself.

He was already looking at you, an unreadable expression on his face that didn't change even as you smirked at him.

You frowned. "What?"

Nothing. He just kept looking. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

You nudged his arm. "What is it? Are you mad I spoke up like that?"

His brows lifted. "Mad?"

"I know you don't like being the centre of attention."

A quiet chuckle escaped him. "No."

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

His eyes drifted to your lips for the briefest second before returning to yours. He exhaled through his nose. "I'm trying very hard not to kiss you."

Your cheeks warmed instantly. "...What's stopping you?"

Azriel leaned in just enough that only you could hear him.

"Because if I start, I'm not entirely convinced I'll stop before I have you pinned against one of these pillars."

You blinked, then grinned. "I don't think Rhys and Feyre would mind."

A low laugh rumbled in his chest. "Oh, sweetheart..."

His hand slid possessively around your waist, pulling you flush against his side.

"One of these days," he murmured, "that mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble."

You looked up at him innocently. "With you?"

"The very worst kind."

Before you could think of another cheeky reply, his hand slipped down and gave your bum a sharp squeeze and turned the both of you back towards the ballroom.

"Behave," he murmured, unable to hide the smile in his voice.

You smirked. "You first."

Azriel only shook his head, his thumb absently tracing slow circles against your waist as the music swelled and the evening carried on around you.

His attention might have returned to the room—but his hand never left you.

Taglist:

@nyxmoretti @itmekelpy @plants-w0rld @nebarious @delulustar @starinisstuff @totis-things @sparkyspiers @booksstarryskies @bxm-2121 @spookypersondinosaur @lilah-asteria @kuraemiii @karolamurdock @shadowmarurader @acourtofbatboydreams @chessebookgirl

[idkyetxoxo]

Invisible | Azriel | Series Masterlist

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Summary - Feyre was a High Lady. Nesta was a Valkyrie. Elain was a Seer.

And she was the sister the Cauldron ruined and forgot.

Invisible in a family of legends, haunted by nightmares no one noticed, she learned to stay quiet... to expect nothing.

Except Azriel noticed. The Shadowsinger who never spoke too much saw everything—her pain, her loneliness... and the bond between them she didn't even know existed.

When the world decides she is the easiest one to break—Azriel will make them suffer for it.

Tags - slow burn, mating bond, emotional hurt/comfort, healing, angst

Contents -

⋆ One | Forgotten | 2.6k words

⋆ Two | The Unravelling | 2.9k words

⋆ Three | The Price of Secrets | 3k words

⋆ Four | After the Silence | 2.3k words

⋆ Five | Everything Overdue | 2.4k words

⋆ Six | Seen | 3.1k words

ACOTAR Masterlist

A/n - As always content warnings will be at the start of each chapter, so please be sure to read them before continuing.

This is my very first Archeron sister fic! For the sake of the story, I've had to make the sisters a little harsh at times but that's purely for plot reasons, not an invitation to throw shade at them x

Expect healing, found family vibes, and basically an overlooked girl x quiet boy kind of story. There will be heartbreak, angst and eventually fluff :)

Please don't hesitate to vote or comment along the way, it truly means the world to me <3

[clarkkentluvr]

𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗆𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗓𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗈 𝗑 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗏𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗋

𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍: 3.6𝗄

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌/𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗌: 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 (𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗈𝗎𝗍 + 𝖽𝗋𝗒 𝗁𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀), 𝗇𝗈 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗋𝗌!

𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾: 𝗁𝗂𝗂! 𝗐𝗁𝗒'𝖽 𝗇𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 :/ 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗆𝗒 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍!

“Hi, I have a reservation for 3 under the name Honey.”

You blew out a breath of cold air, shoving your hands into the pockets of the coat you had over your jacket. The host, unfamiliar to you as any of Carmy’s family, quickly scanned the list before nodding.

“Ah, yes, for 9:30. I’ll get you seated right this way.”

You shot a quick glance over your shoulder at your two best friends, Sophia and Josh, who were huddled together, grinning like they were in on the best secret in the world. Which, technically, they were.

“This is so exciting,” Sophia whispered, grabbing your arm as you followed the host through the restaurant. “I feel like I’m about to meet the president or something.”

“It’s just a restaurant,” you whispered back, though your heart was already pounding in a way that betrayed your nonchalant tone. “And you’ve met Carmy before. Multiple times.”

“Yeah, but not in his natural habitat,” Josh chimed in, squeezing Sophia’s hand. “This is his domain. His kingdom. We’re witnessing the king in his castle.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. They weren’t wrong. This was different. You’d been to The Bear plenty of times—after hours, when the kitchen was quiet and Carmy would make you something simple just for the two of you, or early mornings when he was prepping and you’d sit at the counter with a drink, watching him work. But you’d never been here during actual service.

You’d never seen him in full chef mode.

And you wanted to. You wanted to see the version of him that everyone else saw. The one who was intense and focused and maybe definitely a little terrifying. 

You’d heard all the stories from Richie and Syd from how Carmy was beforehand. Before you. You knew Carmy could be a storm in that kitchen. But you also knew the calm after the storm. 

The version of him that he liked to reserve just for you.

The host led you through the dining room, which was filled with the low chatter of conversation, the clinking of glasses, the occasional burst of laughter. The lighting was warm, intimate, and the air smelled like garlic and butter and something caramelizing. It was beautiful.

You tried to keep your eyes forward, not wanting to give away your presence too soon. But you couldn’t help sneaking a glance toward the open kitchen, where you could see the flash of white jackets and the glow of the flames.

And then you saw him.

Carmy was at the pass, plating something with a level of concentration that made your stomach flip. His brow was furrowed, his jaw set, and his movements were precise, almost surgical. He looked so serious. So in his element.

You felt a rush of affection so strong it almost made you dizzy.

“Your table, ma’am,” the host said, gesturing to a small, cozy table near the window. “Your server will be with you shortly. Enjoy, and thank you for stopping by The Bear.”

You thanked him and slid into the seat that faced the kitchen, because of course you did. Sophia and Josh sat across from you, still holding hands, still grinning.

“He looked so intense back there,” Sophia murmured, leaning in. “Like, I’m actually a little scared.”

“That’s Carm, he’s in the zone.” you said, laughing softly. 

“Should we wave?” Josh asked, already half-raising his hand.

“No!” you hissed, grabbing his wrist. “Not yet.”

They both gave you knowing looks, and you felt your cheeks warm. You’d been so excited about this surprise for weeks. 

You’d planned it down to the last detail. The late reservation, the perfect timing so that you’d be here just before closing. You wanted to see his face when he realized you were here. 

You wanted to see him break out of that intense focus and stress you know he carried so often and turn into your Carmy, if only for a moment.

You were still smiling to yourself when a familiar voice cut through the air.

“Alright, welcome to The Bear, the best damn restaurant in this city. My name is Richie and I’m—oh.”

Richie stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening as he looked down at you. He was holding a small notepad and a pen, clad in a pristine tuxedo, clearly all business, but it faltered the second he recognized your face.

“Holy shit,” he said, his voice dropping. “Honey?”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “Hi, Richie.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” He leaned down to embrace you, lowering his voice like he was about to spill a state secret. “Does Cousin know you're here?”

“No,” you said, unable to hide your grin. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Richie’s face broke into a huge, delighted smile. “Oh, he’s going to lose his shit.”

He looked over at Sophia and Josh, pointing at them with his pen. “And you two! The lovebirds! I remember you from that thing at the—fuck, whatever, doesn’t matter. You’re here. Good to see you.”

“Surprise!” Sophia said, waving her fingers.

“Yeah, no kidding.” Richie was already backing away, his eyes still locked on you. “Hold on. Hold on. Don’t move. Don’t go anywhere. I’m getting him. Shit.”

He turned and practically jogged toward the kitchen, leaving you, Sophia, and Josh alone at the table.

“That was amazing,” Josh said, laughing. 

“Yeah, Carmen’s gonna freak out,” Sophia added, practically bouncing in her seat leaning around to try and get a glimpse of the kitchen.

Your heart was definitely racing now. You watched the kitchen door, waiting, your fingers drumming nervously on the table.

It didn’t take long.

The kitchen door swung open so hard it almost hit the wall, and Carmy emerged like a man on a mission. He was still in his chef’s coat, his hair slightly disheveled, his eyes scanning the dining room with an intensity that made a few nearby diners look up.

And then his gaze landed on you.

Everything about him shifted.

His shoulders dropped. His expression softened. The hard, focused lines of his face melted into something open and surprised and so, so tender.

He was at your table in seconds, his hands reaching for yours, pulling you up out of your chair and into a hug that made your entire body feel warm.

“Honey,” he sighed, his voice muffled against your hair. “Fuck, what are you doing here? You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” you said, laughing as you pulled back just enough to look at his face. “Surprise.”

He shook his head, pulling you back into him again, a disbelieving smile spreading across his face. “God, baby, I’m so glad you’re here.” 

“Hi, Carmen,” Sophia said, waving from her seat.

He blinked, as if just now noticing your friends were there. “Oh. Hey. Sophia. Josh.” He nodded at them, still holding your hand. “You guys are—yeah. Hi. How are you doing?”

“Good. We’re the surprise witnesses,” Josh said, grinning. “She’s been planning this for weeks.”

“Weeks?” Carmy turned back to you, his eyebrows raised. “You’ve been planning this for weeks and you didn’t say anything?”

“I wanted it to be perfect,” you said, shrugging. “And it is. Look at you. You’re all... chef-y. So handsome, Carm.”

He let out a huff, running his free hand through his hair. “I’m a mess, honey.”

“You’re beautiful,” you said, because you couldn’t help it, and you watched his cheeks flush slightly.

He squeezed your hand and then looked around the dining room, his expression turning serious, his anxiety and perfectionism taking over again. “You should’ve told me, you’re at Table 12. That’s... that’s not the best seat in the house. You should be at—hold on. Let me fix this.”

“Carmy, it’s fine,” you stopped him with a slight tug.

“No. No, it’s not fine. You’re not sitting at the worst table in my restaurant. Give me a second.”

He turned and walked toward the host stand, and you watched as he had a quick, quiet conversation with the host, gesturing toward your table. 

You rolled his eyes at his dramatics, turning to see Sophia and Josh giving you impressed, knowing smirks. 

“Stop it, guys,” you hushed them, your cheeks heating furiously with blush.

Back at the front, the host nodded, looking slightly flustered, and Carmy was back at your side in less than a minute.

“Okay, we’re moving you,” he said, already pulling you up. “There’s a better table in the back. More privacy. Better view. You’ll like it.”

“Carmy, we’re fine, you didn’t have to move us,” you said, letting him guide you through the dining room.

“You’re not fine. You’re my girl. You deserve the best seat in the house.” He shot a look over his shoulder at Sophia and Josh, who were following with amused expressions. “Both of you. You’re her people. You get the best too.”

He led you to a corner table, tucked away from the main flow of traffic, with a perfect view of the kitchen. It was cozy and intimate, and you realized he’d chosen it because it was close to the pass—close to him.

“This is better,” he said, pulling out your chair for you. “Sit. Stay. I’ll get you drinks.”

“We don’t have a server anymore,” you cheekily pointed out at the fact that he switched your table.

“You have me,” he said simply, and your heart did a little flip.

He disappeared into the kitchen and returned a few moments later with three glasses of wine, setting them down with care.

“On the house,” he said, looking at you. “Actually, everything’s on the house. Don’t even think about paying.”

“Carmy, that’s not why—”

“I’m not taking no for an answer.” He leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “You’re here. That’s enough.”

He straightened up and looked over at Sophia and Josh. 

“I’ll have them bring my specials out. Tonight we have our 72-hour lamb ragu, served over toasted bread rolls and chives. No allergies right?” Sophia and Josh both shook their heads. “Great, yeah, uh it’ll be right out.”

“Thanks man,” Josh nodded appreciatively while Sophia smiled, already sipping her wine.

Carmy nodded, gave your shoulder one last squeeze, and then headed back toward the kitchen.

But before he went through the doors, he turned back and crouched down to your side of the booth, his hand caressing the back of your head as he planted a soft kiss to your lips. You reciprocated, leaning in with fervor, smiling into the affection.

Carmy pulled away from the kiss hesitatingly, his hand resting on the side of your face. “I’m pretty busy back there, honey, so I’ll probably be in and out a lot.”

“It’s okay, Carmy. Go do your thing,” you nodded in understanding.

“Don’t leave, alright. Stay with me for closing.” His voice pitched up in a way that made you realize it was supposed to be posed as a question. 

“Okay,” your face softened.

“Okay,” he repeated back to you, before placing one more lasting peck to your lips and disappearing into the kitchen.

Slightly dazed, and grinning like an idiot you turned towards your friends who couldn’t help but tease and swoon at your lover’s antics.

The rest of the evening was a blur of incredible food, good wine, and laughter. Richie and Syd came out a few times to say hello to you, and have small talk. Meanwhile Carmy sent out course after course—the best things on the menu, things that weren’t even on the menu, things he made up on the spot just because he wanted to see your face when you tried them.

Sophia and Josh were in heaven. They kept telling you how lucky you were, how you’d found the most perfect man on the planet, and you couldn’t argue with them.

Around midnight, the restaurant began to empty out. The last few tables paid their checks and left, and the staff started the slow process of cleaning up. Sophia and Josh finally stood, stretching and yawning, their plates clean and their glasses empty.

“We should go,” Sophia said, pulling you into a hug. “This was amazing, honey. Thank you for bringing us.”

“Thank you for coming,” you said, hugging her back. “I know Carmy was glad to see you guys here.”

“Anytime,” Josh said, clapping you on the shoulder. “Tell Carmy we said thanks. And that he’s a genius. And that we’re definitely coming back.”

“I’ll tell him,” you promised.

You walked them to the door, waving as they climbed into their rideshare, and then you turned back to the restaurant.

It was quiet now. The low music had been turned off, and the only sounds were the distant clatter of dishes and the low murmur of voices from the kitchen.

You made your way back inside, and Carmy was waiting for you at the host stand, his jacket off, his sleeves rolled up, looking tired but happy.

“They leave?” he asked.

“Yeah.” You stepped into his space, looping your arms around his neck, nuzzling your nose against his. “They said to tell you thanks. And that you’re a genius.”

“Yeah? They liked it,” he questioned you, wanting to be sure your friends enjoyed their experience.

“Of course, they loved it. Thank you for tonight, Carmy, it was great.” You say earnestly, easing his ever constant worrisome mind.

“Good, I’m glad,” he said, pulling you closer, pressing his lips to your jaw. “Now. About your surprise.”

“What about it?”

“I wish you would’ve told me you were planning to come.” His voice was soft, but there was a hint of something serious underneath. 

“That defeats the purpose of a surprise Carm,” You tease.

“I know, I know. But I would’ve made sure you had the best table. I would’ve been ready. I wanted to see you walk in.”

“But you did see me,” you said, cupping his face in your hands. “And it was perfect. You were perfect.”

He sighed, leaning into your touch. “I just... I want everything to be good for you. Always.”

“It is,” you said. “Because I’m with you.”

He kissed you then, slow and sweet, and you felt the last of the tension leave his body.

“I love you,” he murmured against your lips.

“I love you too.” 

You pulled back, grinning up at him. "So. You done for the night?"

"Almost." He glanced toward the kitchen, then back at you, his eyes soft. "Gotta finish closing up. But I have something for you first. A couple people want to say hi."

He took your hand and led you through the dining room, past the empty tables and the dimmed lights, toward the swinging doors of the kitchen. You felt a flutter of excitement as he pushed them open.

The kitchen was quieter than you'd expected, the chaos of service replaced by the methodical cleanup. A few staff members were scrubbing down surfaces, others were putting away ingredients, and Marcus was at the pastry station, carefully arranging something on a small plate.

Carmy cleared his throat, and everyone looked up.

"Hey, everyone," he said, his voice carrying that familiar mix of authority and warmth. "This is my girl, honey. She was at Table 15 tonight."

A chorus of greetings erupted from the staff. Syd waved again from across the kitchen, a tired but genuine smile on her face. Tina gave you a warm nod, wiping her hands on her apron. A couple of line cooks you didn't recognize offered friendly hellos.

And Marcus, ever the sweetheart, picked up the plate he'd been working on and walked over to you.

"Hey, Honey. I heard you were here and I couldn't let you leave without trying this." He held out the plate, revealing a perfect slice of chocolate cake, drizzled with caramel and topped with a delicate tuile. "It's a new recipe I've been working on. Extra for you."

Your eyes widened. "Marcus, this looks incredible. Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." He grinned, glancing at Carmy. "Carmen's been talking about you all night. Figured you deserved something special."

You felt your cheeks warm as you accepted the plate. "Thank you. Seriously, this is so sweet of you."

"Anytime, Honey." He gave you a little wink before heading back to clean his station.

Richie sidled up next to you, a smug grin plastered across his face. "So, how was dinner, huh? Everything to your liking?"

"It was amazing, Richie. Thank you for taking care of us."

"Oh, I didn't do much." He leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Good thing, too, because cousin came busting back in here and demanded that you only had the best because his girl was here. Made sure every single person in this kitchen knew who you were and that you get VIP treatment."

You felt the heat creep up your neck, your blush intensifying. "He did not."

"Oh, he absolutely did." Richie laughed, clapping Carmy on the shoulder. "My guy was pacing back here like a nervous wreck, making sure every plate that went out to your table was perfect. Never seen him like that."

"Richie, shut up," Carmy muttered, his arm sliding around your waist.

"It's sweet," Syd called from across the kitchen, a teasing lilt in her voice. "He was like a little puppy. 'Is the lamb ragu good enough? Should I add more chives? Does she even like chives?'"

"Alright, that's enough," Carmy said, but his ears were turning pink, and you couldn't help but laugh, tucking your head into his shoulder to hide your burning cheeks.

"Don't worry, Honey," Tina added, drying her hands on a towel. "We made sure he didn't mess it up. You got the best of the best tonight."

"Thank you, everyone," you managed, your voice muffled against Carmy's coat. "Really. It was perfect."

Carmy squeezed your waist, then gently guided you away from the group. "Okay. Office. Now."

He led you through the back hall and into his small office, closing the door behind you. The room was cluttered but cozy—a desk covered in papers, a few framed photos, a worn-out couch in the corner.

He gestured for you to sit, and you settled onto the couch, the plate of Marcus's cake balanced on your lap.

"Here," he said, grabbing a fork and handing it to you. "Eat. Before it gets cold. Or, uh, room temperature. Whatever."

You laughed and took a bite, a small moan escaping your lips. "Oh my God. This is incredible. Marcus is phenomenal."

"Yeah, he's alright," Carmy said, but he was watching you with such intense fondness that you felt your heart swell.

You took another bite, then held out the fork to him. "Try it."

He leaned in, taking the bite from your fork, his eyes never leaving yours. "Good," he said, his voice low. "Really good."

The air between you shifted, charged and warm. Carmy set the plate aside carefully, his hand coming up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your cheekbone.

"You have no idea how beautiful you look tonight," he murmured, leaning in. "Sitting there, in my restaurant, with my food. Like you belonged there."

"I did belong there," you whispered back. "I belong wherever you are."

He kissed you then, deep and hungry, his free hand sliding into your hair, tilting your head back. You responded eagerly, your hands gripping the front of his coat, pulling him impossibly closer.

The kiss grew heated, his mouth moving against yours with a desperation that made your head spin. He shifted, one knee pressing onto the couch between your thighs, and you let out a soft gasp as his weight settled against you.

"Carmy," you breathed, but it came out more like a plea.

"I know," he murmured against your neck, his lips trailing down your jaw, your throat. "I know, baby. I just—fuck, I've been thinking about you all night. Watching you. Wanting you."

His hips pressed forward, a subtle, instinctive roll against yours, and you felt the hardness of him even through the layers of clothing. Your breath hitched, your hands fisting in his coat as he did it again, a small, desperate grind that sent sparks through your entire body.

"Carmy," you said again, your voice shaky.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide, his lips kiss-swollen and parted. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I just—"

"Don't apologize," you cut him off, pulling him back down for another kiss. "Just—don't stop."

He groaned against your mouth, his hips rolling against yours once more, and you arched into him, the friction delicious and maddening. His hand slid down your side, gripping your hip, guiding the rhythm as you both chased the feeling.

It was messy and frantic and so, so good. But all too soon, Carmy pulled back with a ragged breath, his forehead pressed to yours.

"I want you so bad," he admitted, his voice rough. "But I need to finish closing up. And I want to do this right. Take you home. Take my time with you."

You nodded, breathless, your fingers still tangled in his coat. "Okay. Okay. Just—hurry?"

He let out a breathy laugh, pressing one last kiss to your lips. "I'll be as fast as I can. Stay here. Relax. Eat your cake."

He stood, straightening his coat, and you couldn't help but giggle at the sight of him—flustered, disheveled, clearly trying to compose himself.

"What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing," you said, picking up the fork again. "You're just cute when you're all worked up."

He shook his head, but he was smiling as he opened the door. "I love you."

"I love you too," you said, watching him go.

The door clicked shut behind him, and you sat there in the quiet office, a giddy smile on your face and Marcus's cake in your lap, feeling like the luckiest person in the world.

[yuulina-vre]

I'll help you endure the pain

Summary: Y/N just wanted to help Nesta in the librabry. Okay no, She just wanted to read books to distract her from Azriel being gone on a mission. What she didn't want is a badly injured Shadowsinger returning home, scaring the hell out of the whole Inner Circle.

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

Word count: 4.7 k

Warnings: mentions of blood and wounds

Masterlist

“You know, you wanted to help me, so you’re supposed to run around, dust covering every inch of your being and carrying heavy books. Not sitting there and reading them.” Nesta’s voice breaks through Y/N’s silent corner, ripping her out of the book she just found and lost herself in. “Huh?” She looks up finding the eldest Acheron sister in front of her, hands stemmed into her hips with a stern expression on her face. Though, Y/N can see the slightest hint of a smirk on her face. “The book. You’re supposed to sort it away and help me out.” As if slow to understand Y/N looks form Nesta to the book in her own hands and frowns until embarrassment washes over her. “Oh, sorry. I got lost… again.” Nesta just sighs dramatically. Her usual snark doesn’t come though. “Okay. I know you offered to help as a distraction from Azriel being gone, but right now, you’re not a big help.”

“Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s alright. I knew it would happen. Isn’t the first time, won’t be the last.” Nesta’s hands drop from her hips and she steps closer, squeezing herself next to Y/N into the small nook she found. “What are you reading anyway?”

“Oh… Its a biography of the Night Court. Pretty much everything that happened in the last… I don’t know how many years, but it’s interesting.” Y/N perks up with a smile but Nesta groans at her answer. “I’ll never understand how you can read such boring things.”

“Hey! It is interesting and I also read the books you recommend to me. It’s just… I like learning new things.” A bit self-conscious Y/N runs her hand over the cover of the book. It’s thick and heavy, bound in a dark leather that has seen better days. There are already stains on it, here and there is the leather a bit broken or roughed up. One corner must have bend backwards at some time. “Whatever.” Nesta scoffs and leans back against the wall. “When’s your mate coming back? Its been like, four weeks, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Y/N sighs, the book lying flat on her lap. “Its been a while since he was gone this long. But he should be back sometime this week. At least Rhys says he’s supposed to be.”

“Heard anything from him?”

“No.” Y/N shakes her head sadly. She can feel a slight burn behind her closed eyes as tears start to well up. She really misses Azriel. When he told her of the mission to Hybern, he hadn’t said anything of the time he’s gonna be gone. He knew Y/N would count every second of the time he would mention and instantly start to worry if he takes longer than he said. And as usual their last day before he left was spent together, with all the things they love doing. Azriel took her to her favorite bakery for breakfast, then took her an a flight over Velaris. They stopped a bit outside the town to enjoy the sun and lie in the grass next to the Sidra and just breathed in the quiet and the company of each other. Back at home they stayed glued to each others hip until they went to bed. Y/N fell asleep cuddled impossibly close to him, knowing that he would be gone when she wakes up.

“He closed the bond so I won’t worry, and he doesn’t get distracted. He always says he can’t open the bond because he would come right home because he misses me too much.” It’s the smallest smile that slips on her face at Azriel’s words. She’s sure he was a bit red around the nose and ears as he confessed it to her, though he keeps denying it. “Hm.” Is all Nesta answers before she stands up again, brushing some of the dust form her skirt. “Well. Get back to your book then, and I’ll finish sorting this stack. Then I force you to training and afterwards we reward ourselves with the nicest dinner ever seen.”

“What, no! I can help!” Y/N is half off her seat as Nesta just lifts a hand to stop her. “You’ll just find another book to loose yourself in… or get lost again. I think I’ll manage. There aren’t that many books le-”

“Y/N!” A booming voice breaks the silence of the library. A few passing priestesses murmur in disapproval as Cassian comes running by, only to slid to a halt and step back as he passes them. “Thank god, there you are!”

“Cassian, you brute, lower your voice. Its a library!” Nesta scolds but something in Cassian’s face lets her straighten instantly. Cassian doesn’t even glance at her, his focus solely on Y/N. “I need you to come with me.”

“Why? Whats wrong?” Y/N now pushes up all the way from her seating position, book in hand and a confused expression on her face. The longer she looks at Cassian and his worried and stressed face, she can feel her heart beating faster then before. “Rhys send me to get you. He’s hurt.”

“Who is hurt? Rhys?” Confused Y/N shakes her head a bit. “I’m not a healer. Feyre would be much better for that.”

“No. Azriel.” Suddenly Y/N feels a cold rush over her that she hasn’t felt in a very long time. “H-he’s…” What does that mean? Azriel comes back hurt more often than not but usually it’s nothing meagerly bad, at least she never needed to be called like that. Usually Azriel comes home exhausted, gives Rhysand a briefing of the outcome, and then gets to the house where Y/N’s most of the time waiting for her. She’d clean up the few cuts and wounds he might have, takes a bath with him and that’s it. But this is big and scary. He’s home, hasn’t reached out, and now she’s told she’s needed. Her thoughts are scrambling from bad to worse versions of how this can go, and how bad it might be. She feels glued to her spot, like a statue, not able to do anything than breathe. Nesta is not though. She steps next to Y/N and takes one of her hands in her own, after discarding the book Y/N still holds. “How bad is it?”

“Honestly? It’s not looking good.” Cassian sighs and runs a hand through his slightly disheveled hair. “I wont get into any details but he has a lot of wounds and his wings…” Cassian stops for a moment, his expression turning sorrowful. Then he shakes his head again with a deep sigh. „He won’t hold still for treatment, though. He’s in pain but all he wants is to go see Y/N, so, I really need you to come with me now.” Unsure and highly overwhelmed she stares at Cassian, before her gaze finds Nesta. She just squeezes Y/N’s hand with a semi reassuring smile. Y/N can see the worry in Nesta’s eyes. “Go on. I’ll finish here and then I’ll join you.” Slowly Y/N feels her body nod before she even can comprehend whats happening and takes the few steps to Cassian before Nesta’s voice chimes again. “Hey.” She waits until Y/N turns around before continuing. “It will be alright, okay?” Y/N stares for a second. Her head suddenly completely empty. It feels as if everything’s filled with static, in her ears she can hear her blood rushing but otherwise everything else sounds muffled. All she can do is nod and follow Cassian blindly, who guides her with a careful hand on her lower back. The warrior looks equal worried and stressed but she notices faintly that he glances her way every few steps on the way.

Finally in Madja’s clinic, Y/N has found some sort of calm in the situation. She follows Cassian’s stride until they reach a closed door. The silence of the walk and the building is disturbed by muffled groaning, a curse here and there and, occasionally, a worrisome growl from behind said door. Even if Y/N wouldn’t know that Azriel’s behind it, she would know now from the sounds. The deep voice is unmistakable, also the small shadow that peeks from under the door is a big hint on what lies behind it. Before she’s really ready to enter, Cassian’s hand lands on the door handle and pushes the polished, slightly damaged wood open to give sight into the chaos behind it.

What Y/N sees traps the breath in her throat, a lump forms, making swallowing difficult. Suddenly she feels cold, her hands clammy and sweat running down her back. Rhy’s stands beside the bed where Azriel’s lying on. The High Lord holds Azriel’s shoulders down, trying to calm and hold the Shadowsinger down as best as he can, but the other male groans and whimpers, his lags trashing lightly, arms trying and failing to push Madja away, who’s trying to tend to one of Azriel’s wings. A sound that’s close to a sob rips from the man and breaks Y/N’s heart. She can hear him muttering silently. It’s too low for her to understand but from what she can hear it sounds like he’s only saying one word again and again. Feyre steps up to him, taking the hand, that’s already bandaged, lightly in hers. “I know, she’s here soon, Az. Cassian went to get her.” Another sound leaves Azriel, close to a whimper. Y/N’s breath stocks, her heart pounding wildly in her chest, too fast to be silent. She’s sure everyone can hear her. In that moment, Madja does something to Azriel’s wing, from what she can see, it looks like she’s dabbing something to disinfect on it. Azriel screams and trashes forcefully, almost pushing Rhys off him. “Hold him down!” Madja backs away while Rhys has to put his full weight on his spy. “No! NO, no no!” Azriel’s scream turns into a sob, seemingly too far gone in his pain. “Y/N! Where’s she? I-I need…” He doesn’t finish as another sob and jerk rip through him. Feyre grips his hand once again, but her head is angled away from him, not able to look this man, that usually is so strong, silent and self-controlled. Not able to look at the man that breaks down in front of her because of pain. Even Rhys looks away but his eyes don’t wander to the wall or Feyre, his gaze wanders to the door where he finally notices her and Cassian. His posture straightens a bit and Y/N thinks she sees him sigh in relief. She takes one last shaky breath but then she pushes past Cassian, who hasn’t said or moved the whole time. “What happened?” Her voice is steadier, calmer, as she feels. It surprises herself. Rhys stems against Azriel once more, who tries to sit up after hearing her voice but gets pushed back down quickly. His energy is leaving him slowly, exhaustion winning. “He got ambushed. They had some weapons made out of ash-wood. His wounds aren’t healing, we think the wood splintered and left some residue in the wounds. Madja needs to clean them, but he won't hold still.”

“Understandable. That hurts like hell.” Cassian mutters from the door as, he too, steps into the room, closing the door behind him. „Y/N…” Azriel’s voice is only a whisper. His eyes had been scrunched shut a second ago but now they’re open. His unfocused gaze flies to her, but he’s unable to really focus. His shadows flick around the room and some of them collect at her feet, seemingly in distress too. Y/N swallows past the lump in her throat and steps up beside Azriel, opposite of Madja to not disturb her work. Gently her hand strokes over Azriel’s cheek. “Hey, Az, it’s me. I’m here.” Her hand trembles lightly as she feels his skin under her fingertips. It’s clammy and white. His usually bright eyes are dulled and glazed over. “Y/N..” His eyes finally find her, able to focus on her face. His body sacks a bit as if he’s relaxing by just seeing her. “Yeah.” She gifts him a shaky smile before she looks to Feyre next to her. The high lord smiles equally shaky but nods encouraging at her before she lets go of Azriel’s hand to make room for Y/N, and steps to Cassian, who’s still by the door, ready to jump in if needed. “Azzie, I need-” A sob of her own threatens to make it’s way as she musters him some more. His face is tear stained and bloodied. There’s a small cut above his eyebrow and along his left cheek. His arms are, thankfully, already bandaged but his chest is still bare with cuts and blood still seeping out of his wounds.

The worst are his wings.

They’re thankfully not shredded but there are cuts and holes littered around the membrane. She knows that the wings are very sensitive. She really doesn’t want to think about the amount of pain her mate must be in. She takes another deep breath before she tries to speak again. “Azzie, I need you to stay still for me, can you do that?”

“Noo.” His eyes close again and he grits his teeth in pain as Madja dabs at another cut. Y/N takes Azriel’s free hand in hers and squeezes it. “Azriel. I’m here but you need to hold still so that Madja can help you.” A rocky breath leaves him and the tiniest nod escapes him together with another whimper. His hand instantly tightens around Y/N’s, squeezing her delicate fingers so hard that they hurt but she decides to not comment on it and just endure it. If Azriel can endure so much pain, she can manage a tight squeeze.

Instead she squeezes back and opens her side of the bond a bit more, letting all the love and affection run through it in hope of bringing more comfort. His body and expression relax once more and before she can think much of it, she leans down to press her lips against his sweaty forehead. “That’s good. I’m here. I love you. You’re safe now.” Her hand stays in his but the other one finds it’s way into his hair to gently comb through it, even as he tenses again in pain. “Y/N- hurts.” His eyes open again, finding hers once more. Y/N can feel her heart breaking. “I know. But Madja’s as fast as she can, Azzie. Just a bit longer.” She smiles a fake smile and looks at Rhys. His face is expressionless but as she watches him closer, she can see the way his lips are pressed to a thin line and his eyes are focused on Azriel. He is extremely worried and pained by the look of one of his brothers in such a state.

Over the next few minutes Y/N tries everything to keep Azriel as calm and still as possible and for most of the time it works. She tells him about her four weeks and what she has been up to, about the recipe she found and wants to try, about Elain’s garden and the books she read. Other than a hum here and a grunt there she doesn’t get much of an answer from her mate, but she doesn’t expects him to.

She just wants to bring him some sort of comfort and seemingly her voice and touch are enough for now. “He’s tiring.” Madja looks up at Rhys as she rounds Azriel’s body to get to the other wing next to Y/N. She had let him rest a bit, instead focusing on his chest and legs which are now bandaged as well. But his left wing is worse, than the right and Y/N can clearly see some wood stuck in it when her gaze grazes it. “W-what does that mean?”

“It means he’s likely to pass out soon. His body is fighting to heal but with the wood it can’t, so he’s loosing blood. The pain he’s in when Madja tends to him doesn’t help either.”

“Can’t we do something against the pain?” Y/N searches Rhys face, cursing herself for not asking earlier, but the High Lord shakes his head. “I could go into his mind but he won’t let me in, I’ve tried already. I don’t want to force him and put more pressure and pain on him.” Rhys eyes wander do Azriel’s, who’s breathing is way to shallow now. “Let’s hope unconsciousness comes fast for him so he can rest.”

Overwhelmed Y/N nods and looks at Azriel. His skin is glistening with sweat and she can see the exhaustion in his face. “Hey.” She lightly dabs a cloth over his face that Feyre gave her a while ago. Sluggishly Azriel’s head rolls to the side so he can see her better, his eyes half lidded. “It’s okay to sleep.” She gives him a smile again, hoping that it doesn’t look as crooked as it feels. “Close your eyes, handsome.” She abandons the cloth and runs her fingers over his cheek once more. “It’s okay.”

“I-I don’ wanna…” His voice is weak and breathy. His eyes close briefly but he opens them with difficulty again. “Go to sleep, Azriel. I’m staying with you.” Y/N squeezes his hand again, just as Madja mutters that she’s starting again. It’s then that Azriel’s body jerks and buckles again with pain before surrendering. From his lightly arched back he falls back on the mattress and stays still then. “A-Az?” for a moment panic surges through her, but Madja’s hand pats her back once. “Its okay, girl. He’s finally getting his rest. You did good.” Madja reassures her, lightly squeezing her shoulder before going back to work on a nasty looking wound.

For a moment Y/N just breathes and stares at the injured man that she loves so much. It’s as Rhys hand comes to rest on her shoulder that the first sob, that she held back for so long, slips out. The second it’s out there’s nothing stopping her. She starts crying and sobbing earnestly. “Y/N…” Rhys voice is soft, overwhelmed, tired and hurting, his hand tightening briefly before he lets go and a slimmer pair of arms come around her. Her head gets softly pulled into a shoulder, hands lightly stroking her hair. From the touch and smell of dust she knows that Nesta has arrived and cradles her to herself now, trying to bring comfort for the time being. “He’s alright. He’s resting and getting better. You did good.” Nesta’s arms tighten again, her chin resting on Y/N’s head.

“You did so good.” Y/N sobs against Nesta’s shoulder, wrapping her own arms around the oldest sister.

It takes a bit longer, than Y/N would like to admit, to calm down. With a last sniff she pushes away from her friend, wiping her face with one of her sleeves before looking around. They’re almost alone in the room now. The others have left and only Madja is still there. She’s now cleaning the smaller wounds on Azriel’s wing, and it looks like it might be only a matter of maybe twenty more minutes. “You okay?”

“Yeah..” Y/N takes a deep breath and releases it shakily. “It’s just…”

“A lot, huh?” Y/N nods and her eyes find her mate on the bed. He’s breathing lighter now, not really looking relaxed but better than before, now that the pain doesn’t numb his brain. “Four weeks of not seeing each other, of no contact and no bond. And then he comes back and is… like this.” She gestures to the male. “I’m not mad at him but… I’m worried. I’m always worried about him but today…” Y/N’s watery eyes find Nesta’s. “He could have not come home at all. He was so close.”

“I know, but we don’t go there, okay? He is back, he’s here and he’s hurt. But alive.”

“What about next time?”

“Next time he will fight just as hard to come back home to you. He can’t promise more than that and you know you can’t ask more than that.” Nesta looks at her with a somewhat stern face. She knows what she’s talking about. It’s not like Cassian doesn’t come home battered and hurt from time to time, too. “We’re a big family and we all do or best. More is just not possible.” Y/N nods, knowing that she’s right but it doesn’t ease her worries. And Nesta knows that too. “Go sit with him, okay? I’ll come back and bring some tea and a book for you.”

“Okay.” Y/N’s voice is weak but she lets Nesta steer her to Azriel’s other side, so Madja has enough room to work. Then Nesta pulls up a chair for Y/N to sit in.

For a while she just watches the healer work, thanks Nesta as she comes back with the promised goods or looks at Azriel just breath.

Slowly her own heart rate calms down and her mind settles. She’s still deeply disturbed by all the bandages but Madja reassures her, before she leaves the room. The male will recover, maybe with a few more scars but no disabilities. It takes her a while longer before she drinks her now cold tea and looses herself in the book Nesta brought. Of course its one of her romance books.

* * *

At first she thinks her mind plays tricks on her but as the groan comes a second time she looks up form her book. She’s almost halfway through and has to admit that it’s really good. Her eyes find Azriel. He’s still lying on the bed, still pale but not as sweaty. She sees his face twitch a bit, eyes squeezing shut a bit more, lips tightening the tiniest bit. Even his fingers twitch sluggishly and his chest rises the smallest hunch faster. The shadows that had rested in the corners of the room come flying to the bed, surrounding the Shadowsinger like little children about to receive the greatest gift. Y/N quickly abandons the book on the floor next to the third cup of tea that Cassian had dropped of not too long ago while checking in on her and his brother.

Y/N sits up a bit straighter and reach for Azriel’s hand. It’s warmer than before, not as clammy but still a bit weak as his grip tightens around hers. “Y/N?” His voice is rough, hoarse and silent, almost like a whisper. His eyes are still closed but he turns his head in her direction, wincing a bit as his muscles pull on his injuries. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“You stayed?”

“I promised, didn’t I? Not gonna leave you alone. Not after this.” She gestures at his bandages only than remembering that he can’t see with his eyes closed. “Mhm.” Azriel hums taking a few more breath’s before he opens his eyes, slowly blinking at the bit of sunlight that comes through the window, although the sun has started setting. “Hi.” Y/N snorts, unsure how to feel.

She’s still incredibly worried about him but also angry for closing off like that. She really want’s to fuss over him, well knowing that he hates it, but she’s also just relived that he’s awake now. “Hey.” Naturally, her free hand runs through his sweaty hair. “How are you feeling?”

“’m okay.” Y/N just raises an eyebrow, not believing what he just said. “It hurts.” Azriel gives in but he smiles a little crooked smile. “Good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah.” Y/N shrugs. “Means you won’t go on any missions for a while and you can’t fight me on fussing over you, also you have to listen to me lecturing you for closing off for so long.”

“Mother, please take me now.” Azriel mutters, closing his eyes but the smile on his lips betrays how he actually feels. They stay in silence for a bit longer, just living in the moment and enjoying each others company. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me too.” Azriel winces as he moves, scooting a bit on the bed. “Stop that. Az! What are you doing?” Y/N jumps up, hands hovering uselessly, trying to help but not knowing how. “’m making room.”

“For what?”

“You, obviously.” Y/N blinks at him for a second, no response coming to her mind. “M-me?”

“Yeah. You say cuddling cures your headaches, has to work now, too.” He groans as he shuffles another inch. “I don’t think it works like that.”

“Now it does.” Azriel shrugs but moans in pain right after. His eyes close shut and he takes deep breaths as he breathes through the worst of his pain. “Az, it’s okay. I’ll just stay here, you don-”

“No, I want you here.” He takes a last deep breath before he opens his eyes again to look at her, his arm reaching out a bit to take her hand and tug loosely at it. “Fine.” She sighs and climbs up on the bed as carefully as she can, trying not to hurt him and stopping each time she sees him wince.

Finally she lies beside him. He shut her arguing down pretty quickly as she tried not to rest her head on his shoulder but know she lies there, head on his shoulder, her arm slung around his middle, mindful of the wounds. Azriel harbors a way too satisfied smile on his lips as he presses a kiss against her hair. Suddenly she’s way too conscious about the dirt and dust on her that came from helping Nesta in the library. But Azriel doesn’t seem to mind, so Y/N pushes that insecurity away.

“I’m glad you’re back.” She whispers, her hand idly drawing pattern on his bandage, not sure if he can even feel it. “Me too.” They stay for a while longer like this and Y/N almost thinks Azriel fell asleep again but then his grip on her tightens. “’m not going on any missions for a while. And I won’t shut you out of the bond for so long.”

“Good.” She angles her head to look at him. He’s not looking at her but she can see him thinking. “I was worried about you.”

“I know. Could feel it. You didn’t shut the bond.”

“No. I didn’t.” Then his gaze drifts to hers. His eyes practically boring into hers as if he’s reading her mind. “It got me home. I wasn’t really able to do much after the attack but I could feel you, knew if you were happy, sad, relaxed or angry. And I knew I had to come home to you. So I tried so hard to get free, to get somewhere safe long enough for Rhys to get me.” His grip tightens once more. She knows it must hurt but he seems to ignore it. “You pulled me through it. You’re the reason I’m here.”

“Stop.” Tears gather in her eyes. She doesn’t want to think about what was going on with him while he was attacked or after. She doesn’t want to think about what it took him to return to her, and what she almost lost. Azriel seems to read it off her face because his expression softens. “I love you so much, Y/N. I promise you, I’m always going to do my best to return to you.” A tear slips down hear face and before she’s able to brush it away, Azriel’s hand’s already there, catching it before it can slip too far down. “I love you, too.” That seems to be all Azriel had the energy for. He presses another kiss against her hair, still holding her to his side but his grip loosens significantly. “Go back to sleep.” Y/N whispers pressing a kiss of her own onto his collarbone. Seemingly the only body part not currently wrapped in bandages. “No.” His voice is silent, dripping with exhaustion. “’m enjoying this. Besides Cassian and Rhys are eavesdropping at the door.”

“How does he know that?”

“Shit. The shadows!” Y/N can hear the muffled voices and some scrambling, probably of the two males getting the hell away from the door. Despite the whole situation she laughs and hides her face in Azriel’s chest as he chuckles himself. “They’re terrible.”

“They are.”

“But they care about you a lot, Az.”

“Hm.” Looking back up, she finds Azriel’s eyes closed, expression relaxed and breath already deepening. His eyebrow does a little twitch that Y/N knows well. It always occurs before he’s close to falling asleep and fighting it. “Azzie, go to sleep.”

“No…”

“Yes.” Y/N breathes a giggle. “I’ll nap with you, okay?”

“Yeah?” Azriel settle a bit more, burying his nose back in her hair. “Yeah.”

“’kay.” Y/N doesn’t go to sleep right away despite being tired herself. She stays awake long enough until she’s sure that the male is asleep, before succumbing to her own dreams.

[kaylasficrecs]

hi kayla i just wanna say that i really appreciate your fic recs because its sometimes so hard to find fics🥹(for loki especially wtf???) but it helps a ton and the fact that you put the links for a reblog of yours, so that if the author deletes the fic is still available, ily🫶

gosh anon, thank you so much!!! i never know if i should delete fics after blogs have deactivated, but i've only gotten thanks from fans and not any drawbacks.

[buckygasm]

Peter being the type to film you on his phone so he can jack off to it later while you're splayed out all prettily beneath him. Your face flushed warm, tears trickle down your soft cheeks as the girth of him stretches you open.

And Peter's soooo pretty when he gets noisy. All groans and huffs and moans while his fat balls tap against your soaked folds.

He's so clumsy behind the camera. Too focused on you and making sure you're feeling okay, making sure you're still all there when the plush head of his cock grazes that spongey part inside of you that makes you gasp and your brows furrow.

Peter pushes one of your legs up and over his shoulder, moving the camera to show your pussy off to the camera. "Spread it for me, baby– yeah, like that." You're so quick to listen in this fluffy little headspace; spreading the top of your folds wide to show off the way your pussy wraps tight around his pink-flushed cock.

You shiver a little at the exposure, whispering "Petey c'monnn, m'shy." All you get is a scoff, "No you're not." He gives a light tap to the plush curve of your ass, "Thank you, baby." He hums, pumping into you.

You whimper a bit and he's so quick to tune out everything but you with a "Y'okay?" He gages softly, pumping languidly in and out of your heat. You nod but you're grabbing for him all the same and he just forgets the video all together. Just chucks his phone to the side and gathers you up in his arms, wrapping your legs around his hips as he rolls his hips into yours.

[fireinmoonshot]

the anchor | peter parker x reader

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader Summary: When Doctor Strange's spell made the whole world forget Peter Parker, something went wrong (or very right). Now, you're the only person who remembers him. But it doesn't stop the nightmares from invading Peter's mind about the day where he might wake up and you don't remember him. Warnings: Panic attacks, nightmares. This does not contain spoilers for Brand New Day but the Peter in this is Brand New Day Peter! Word Count: 2.1k A/N: I had an idea for this one the other day and it took me a few days to work on it as it's a pretty intense fic but I'm really proud of how it turned out in the end so I hope that people enjoy it even if it tears your heart out. Title is taken from the song The Anchor by Bastille (one of my favourite songs of all time).

Peter has tried to keep the nightmares a secret from you. 

It’s been easy up until now. You’ve only been living together for a few weeks, finally giving up on both of you paying rent on your own apartments in the city when you spend half of your time at each others places anyway. It wasn’t hard for Peter to keep the nightmares to himself when most nights, he was sleeping alone.

What was easier now was waking up and seeing you beside him. He’d lay there staring at your sleeping form, noticing the way you breathed, how you nuzzled your head into the pillow, memorising everything about you as he tried to calm his breathing. Just incase none of this was real and the nightmares were real instead. The nightmares often took you from him. 

You weren’t even supposed to be here. 

Doctor Strange’s spell had done what it was supposed to do. The whole world forgot about Peter Parker. But something in the spell had gone awry and now you were the only person in the world who remembered him. Peter would never take that for granted. 

But the nightmares always remind him of how fragile the world can be. How as quickly as it can give something, it can be taken away.

He wakes up pretty quickly most of the time. After how many of them he’s had by now, his body knows to wake him and get him out of there as soon as possible. It’s the panic that comes afterwards that’s harder to deal with than the nightmare. The crushing darkness of his room, the feeling that everything he’d dreamt might be real. But maybe it’s how comfortable he feels sleeping beside you that keeps him there a little longer tonight, in the world where he lost you too.

You’re used to waking up when you sleep in the same bed as Peter. There have been several times when you’ve slept over at his apartment and he’s gotten an alert on his phone in the middle of the night, causing him to spring out of bed, grab his suit, press a quick kiss to your forehead and go off to do what he does best. But what wakes you up tonight is different.

It’s the sound of whimpers that clue you in to the fact that something isn’t right. Still half asleep, you turn over, blinking your tired eyes to look at Peter. He’s laying beside you, sweat coating his body, head moving side to side. You hear the whimpers for what they are now.  Murmurs of “No, no, no.” 

Dread fills you. “Peter,” you mutter, sitting up in the bed and reaching out a hand to place on his shoulder to try and gently shake him awake. “Peter, wake up. You’re having a nightmare, sweetheart.” 

His eyes fly open, staring up at the ceiling for a split second before looking right at you. He murmurs your name and before you can even think about replying or to ask if he’s okay, he’s wrapping his arms around you and pulling you back down to the bed and into his chest. His body is warm and slick, still coated in sweat that you’re sure would have soaked through a shirt had he been wearing one. 

“Are you real?” Peter whispers against your head. “Please tell me that this is real.”

Your heart cracks. “It’s real, Peter. I’m real.” You don’t even know if he can hear you but you try to make your words as loud as you can through the sudden feeling of thickness in your throat. You’ve never seen him like this before. 

You can feel his heart racing and slowly you become aware of the fact that his breathing is quickening too. 

“Peter, hey,” you gently try and push back from him, though his grip is still tight on you, clearly trying to convince himself that you are real. “Tell me what’s going on.”

His grip loosens enough for you to pull away a little. You reach up a hand to stroke his cheek. His eyes are screwed shut, breathing coming in small bursts. You recognise it for what it is immediately. 

“Can you sit up with me for a second?” You whisper, moving to sit up and feeling immediately relieved when he listens to you and sits up too. “I think you’re having a panic attack, sweetheart. Can you open your eyes for me?”

You move to sit a little closer to him so he can see you in the dark room, only lit by the sliver of moonlight coming through the curtains. You reach up and swipe away a tear as it falls from his eye. 

“Peter, open your eyes, sweetheart,” you try again.

His eyes slowly open and the sight of them so full of tears breaks your heart even more. That, combined with his still heavy breathing and the fact that he hasn’t uttered a word since he first woke up, worry you even more.

You reach down to take his hands in yours, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Can you breathe with me, Peter? In for four, out for four, okay? I’ll do it with you. Ready? One, two, three, four…”

Relief fills you as Peter starts to try breathing with you. It’s difficult at first but the more you count out loud, the more you do it with him, the better he becomes at it. His breathing starts to slow and even though there are still tears streaking down his cheeks, it’s progress. 

You keep counting for a few minutes even after his breathing has slowed and the tears stop falling. Your hands don’t let go of his, though. You still want to keep holding him, anchoring him to the real world for as long as he needs it, even if he hasn’t asked you to. 

“Are you okay?” You eventually ask, voice soft.

Peter nods once and then shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut again. You can’t help but feel the need to get closer to him so you make the split second decision to move to straddle his lap, letting go of his hands briefly to rest them on the sides of his neck, stroking your thumbs back and forth over his skin. 

“That was a nightmare, wasn’t it?” 

He nods again, hands moving to rest on your waist and pull you a little closer to him. “They’ve been happening for a while,” he replies, voice a little croaky from the tears and the panic attack. In the past, he’s been known to scare himself awake with a scream. Had he done that tonight? No… no, tonight your voice had been what he’d heard when he’d awoken. Your voice and your touch. You had cut through the noise. “And the panic attacks afterwards.”

“You’ve never said anything,” you frown. You’re not disappointed in him. You think you understand why he kept them to himself. But knowing he’s been struggling like this for a while and you’ve been unable to help him hurts a little. 

“I didn’t… I didn’t want to seem weak to you,” he admits, meeting your eyes. His eyes are still full of tears, you notice. “I shouldn’t be having nightmares. Not when it was my choice.”

“Everyone has nightmares, Peter. I’d never think you’re weak for having them.”

Peter shakes his head again. “Not nightmares like these,” he continues. “These ones… they’re different. It’s not just nightmares like I used to have. About the blip or about losing fights or… about Aunt May. These ones…” He drifts off, closing his eyes again.

“You can tell me,” you hum, stroking your thumb over his skin again. 

“In these ones, you forget me too,” he manages. “I wake up one morning and you’re asking who I am, why I’m in your apartment, in your bed. Or I come home and you tell me to get out of your apartment or you’ll call the cops. Or I try and text you and the message bounces back to me because I’m not in your contacts.” 

Tears start streaming down his cheeks again as he tells you about his nightmares. They’re coming too fast for you to stop this time, even though you try. Even though there are similar tears tracking their way down your cheeks too, now. He’s been dreaming about you forgetting him. About Doctor Strange’s spell working on you, like some kind of delay. And you had no idea about it up until now. It’s been over a year since the day that spell worked. Has he been having these nightmares ever since then?

“Peter, I’m not going to forget you,” you sniff, removing one of your hands from him just so you can wipe your own tears from your face this time. “If the spell was going to work on me, it would have worked by now. But it didn’t. It didn’t and I’m still here.”

Peter blinks, finally looking back at you. “How can you be sure of that?”

You wish you could tell him with certainty that you were sure. That there wasn’t a part of you that thought that one day, the spell would take effect. That the delay would finally wear off and you’d forget him entirely. You’d had similar nightmares in the past, but none to the extent that Peter has clearly been having. 

“We can’t be sure of anything, Peter,” you admit softly. “But we can be sure of right now. And right now I’m here, and you’re here and we’re together. And I remember you and I still love you like I have all along. That’s not going to change.”

For a few moments, Peter does nothing but stare at you. Even though in the dark room, he can’t see you that well. He focuses instead on what he can feel. The weight of your body atop his. The warmth of your legs over the top of his. The feeling of your shirt and your skin where his hands sit on your waist. He reaches one of his hands up to cup your cheek, wet with tears like his are too. His thumb moves to trace your lips. He works on calming his breathing again as he takes in the feel of you. You’re here. You’re real. You remember him.

He can’t help but lean forward, then, and capture your lips in his. His hand moves to hold behind your neck as he kisses you, still focusing on how you feel, how warm your lips are, the taste of the salt of both of your tears mixing together, the faint taste of your lip balm, the one you always put on before bed. He memorises feelings like this for the next time he wakes up in a panic from a nightmare like the one he’d just had. Feelings like these to remember what it feels like to have you, to hold you, to love you and to have you love him back just as deeply. 

Eventually, when he needs to breathe again, he pulls away regretfully from your lips. He rests his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry I woke you, love,” he mutters.

“I’m not,” you say. It’s the truth. You’d rather be here with him awake now than sleeping beside him, unaware of everything he was going through and unable to help him. “Wake me up next time it happens, please. Every time it happens.”

Peter knows better than to argue with you. “Okay,” he agrees. “I will.”

The two of you sit there again for a few moments, soaking in the feeling of each other. You feel closer. Things have changed in your relationship tonight. For the better, you think.

“You think you can try and sleep again?” You ask. 

He nods, if only for your benefit. He doesn’t know if sleep will come for him again tonight, but he’ll happily lay with you in his arms, feeling the way you breathe and letting you sleep beside him. “Yeah, I can try.” 

Before you can move off of him to lay down again, he leans forward to kiss you again. The kiss is deep but gentle, soft but firm. It’s another attempt to memorise the way your lips feel against his. Something to think about as he tries to sleep again beside you. Something to hold onto.

He wraps his body around yours as you both lay back down to try and sleep again. He makes sure the blanket is pulled back up around you to keep you warm and presses a soft kiss behind your ear as you snuggle back into him. 

“I love you,” he whispers, needing you to hear the words since he didn’t say them earlier.

“I love you too, Peter,” you reply quietly. “I’ll love you forever.”

[lunshimmer]

─ wrong way part 2 !

main masterlist

pairing: peter parker x reader previous

summary: peter parker breaks into your apartment (on accident). it's snowing. he can't see that well.

w/c: 1.3k

a/n: so i lied this will have one or two more parts methinks anyways enjoy! tags at the end!

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ requests are open (as always), likes, comments, & reblogs are much appreciated !

It seems like crime in New York never rests— to Spider-Man, at least. The rest of the population? Peter’s not so sure.

He’s not even sure what it’s like to feel normal, anymore. The general population, save for the unlucky few who possess otherworldly abilities or high-tech suits who reside at the city’s beck and call, have a free moment every now and again.

It hasn’t been like that for Peter in a while. At least, not since Spider-Man.

But, on a random Wednesday in September, there’s nothing. No beeps, no buzzes, no pickpockets— the last part is strange, especially for New York. Pickpockets are as common as the pigeons that crowd the streets. Peter isn’t fooled by the lack of activity. Something’s bound to happen. It’s never a dull day for Spider-Man.

So, he still swings through the streets. Takes the opportunity to test out a few prototypes he’s been working on. He even finds a quiet spot on a rooftop, away from the riffraff of the city, and watches the sun dip below the horizon.

While he watches the sky streak in hues of gold and pink through his mask, he isn’t thinking about work.

Peter thinks about a girl: the same girl whose apartment he’d accidentally invaded twice over the last few months. He thinks about you.

And, about dinner— the night he’d accidentally broken in again and had the time to sit down with you, at your request. Should he return the favor? Maybe, this time, cook you dinner instead?

No. That’s a bad idea. All he knows how to cook is microwave ramen— and he’s pretty sure you’re not going to want that. Maybe… he could bring something else? A board game? Or… chess? Is that lame? He lands on yes and is back to square one.

Okay. He’s not going to attempt to cook, or act like a middle-aged dad and show up with Monopoly or Scrabble. So, he lands on the obvious solution.

At 8pm, Peter Parker shows up at your window with a box of rigatoni pasta.

He taps once, then twice, to no answer. Maybe she’s asleep, he thinks. Who goes to bed at 8pm, though? It’s not like she’s eighty— I mean, she doesn’t look eighty.

The muted screech of the pane opening snaps him back to reality. You’re standing there, smiling, then step to the side so he can climb through the open window.

“So, you’re knocking before you break in now? What a polite intruder.” You say, then gesture towards the box of pasta. “Rigatoni?”

Peter holds the box up like a trophy. “Figured I’d pay you back— you know, for last time.”

“Payment in pasta? I like it.” Your feet carry you towards your kitchen cupboard and Peter follows. You swing open the door to reveal three more boxes of rigatoni. “I stocked up, for the next time you come here. I know you’re a rigatoni pasta fanatic.”

Peter can’t help but laugh. “I am not a rigatoni pasta fanatic—”

“Nothing to be ashamed of.” You interrupt, making yourself busy with filling a pot with water and putting it to the stovetop. The knob clicks as you set it to high. “Even Spider-Man has his preferences.”

It’s now when Peter is so painfully reminded of the suit. He’s not himself, right now— even when he really wants to be. He watches as you pour the contents of the box he’d brought into the boiling water, then set the burner to a lower temperature. The jar of sauce makes a sort of popping sound as it’s opened and you pour it into a neighboring saucepan.

“Busy night?” You ask, back turned to Peter as you tend to both the noodles and the sauce.

He leans back against the counter. “Not… really, no. It’s kind of weird, actually— nothing’s going on.”

You hum and fish out a lid from the cabinet. “You’ll have time to stay for dinner, then?”

“I mean, uh— if I’m welcome.”

“Dude.” You deadpan, turning over your shoulder to glance at him. “I think we’re well past that. Three break-ins surely means we’re friends now, not just acquaintances.”

He huffs a laugh through his nose. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Nope.” You respond, turning back around to smile at him. Your hands thrust the colander in his direction. “Think you can handle a simple task, Spider-Man?”

“I think I got it.”

The rest of making dinner is quiet. Peter dons the stupid green oven mitts and strains the pasta while you stir the sauce until it bubbles. He returns the now-strained pasta back to the pot. He spots a serving utensil residing in a wicker holder near the edge of the stove and adds it to the pot.

“Making yourself at home, are you?” You joke.

“I’m… resourceful.” He adds after a pause, making you laugh.

He finds himself at your kitchen table, sitting across from you, eating rigatoni pasta, for the second time.

“I’m having deja-vu.” You say.

“Me too.” He responds.

A few seconds of silence pass. The radiator in the corner of the room clicks on and off. Across the room, the TV hums, a rerun of Seinfeld playing at a low volume. Whatever bulb you have in the overhead light illuminates the room in a cozy golden haze. It’s nice here, Peter thinks. It’s cozy.

“Do you… have any hobbies?” You ask, breaking the quiet. “Other than breaking into poor defenseless girls’ apartments.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.” Peter deadpans, pulling up the mask slightly to shovel pasta into his mouth, then promptly pulling it back down. “No— I, uh… don’t really have time for much else. I really only have time for, uh, you know—” He gestures to the suit, “this.”

“Doesn’t it get… I don’t know, lonely?” Your eyebrows knit together, head tilting. “With that, and the whole anonymity thing?”

“It… can.” Peter starts, voice laced with hesitation. “It does.”

A beat. You take a bite of pasta in the silence.

“I mean— not that I know anything about being a literal superhero— but, I feel that way too, sometimes.” You tell him. “Married to your work, or however the saying goes.”

A small smile creeps across Peter’s lips. “Yeah? What do you do?”

“I’m a grad student,” You explain, hands moving as you do, “Astrophysics. I don’t have time for hobbies either, with the all the assignments I have. Again, nothing compared to fighting crime, but still.”

Peter finishes off the last of the pasta in the bowl and sets it aside. “That’s… pretty intense stuff.”

“It’s cool— space, and everything.” You huff a laugh, “Hell of a workload.”

“I can imagine.” He says.

At this point, you’ve both finished. Peter takes it upon himself to collect the bowls and forks and place them in the sink. He rinses off each one, carefully ensuring that all traces of use have been wiped from the bowl, before loading each individual item into your dishwasher. Peter thinks that he probably looks pretty stupid like this too— Spider-Man: crime fighter, Avenger, dish washer, wearer of green checkered oven mitts.

After he’s cleaned up, he turns to you. “I should… probably get going.”

You nod, already starting towards the window. He follows, watching as you lift the pane open from the bottom. The September breeze rushes in. You stand there at the window, facing each other in the glow of the moonlight.

“You’re welcome here anytime.” You smile, chin tilted up to look at him. “I don’t mind. It’s nice.”

There’s something about your honesty that makes Peter feel like you’re seeing right through him. Seeing right through the mask, the suit, the persona. Like you’ve already figured him out, without even knowing his name.

Peter tries to come up with an adequate response to your offer. His mind, as efficient and poetic as it is with coming up with non-stupid things to say, is blank. So, he stands there and is the epitome of what he truly is inside: a gawking idiot.

“Thank— thank you.” He stutters and tries hard not to notice your grin widen as he does. If you’ve got anything to say about it, you keep it inside.

He swings into the streets of New York once again, streetlights and buildings illuminating his way.

tags :P @sydssvalntyne , @pocketthealer , @aesthetic-lyss , @i-dearbambi-dxx , @gsalcedo , @kg0626

[lunshimmer]

─ wrong way

main masterlist

pairing: peter parker x reader next

summary: peter parker breaks into your apartment (on accident). it's snowing. he can't see that well.

w/c: 1.3k

a/n: hellooooo it's time i started writing for peter. i needed to add another sad white boy to my arsenal. this'll have another part to it coming sooooon :)

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ requests are open (as always), likes, comments, & reblogs are much appreciated !

The first time Peter Parker breaks into your apartment, it’s snowing outside.

It isn’t an intentional break-in, really— just an unfortunate miscalculation of floors due to limited visibility because of the snow. He only notices that he’s in the wrong apartment when he clicks the window shut, turns around, and sees you.

Your computer sits open on the coffee table, the old plush of your worn loveseat dipping beneath your weight. It seems to him like you’re in the middle of something, based on the way your fingers move tirelessly scrawling something in the notebook on your lap. It also seems like you’d barely noticed his arrival.

Peter stands awkwardly by the window, hands drumming at his sides. Should he wait for you to notice him? Should he leave before you do? He decides that it’s probably better that Spider-Man doesn’t gain the reputation of breaking into girls’ apartments and starts to pull the window open from the bottom, when—

“What are you doing here?”

He whips around to face you. You’re standing now, notebook and blanket thrown haphazardly to the floor at the sudden motion. You’ve got this shocked look on your face, because obviously it’s normal to be shocked when a masked vigilante breaks into your apartment. He curses himself internally and watches as your eyes scan the apartment.

“Is— is something going on? Am I in trouble?” You ask.

“No!” Peter interjects, and when you flinch at the volume of his voice, lowers it and holds his arms out in front of himself, “No, no! I just, uh— this is the, uh… it’s wrong.”

“It’s… wrong?” You echo.

What an idiot. He’s got such a way with words. If E.V. doesn’t play this on loop to embarrass him later, his brain will do it for her.

With a rapid flailing of his arms, he clarifies: “No! I mean, it— it’s wrong, because this isn’t my apartment.”

By the look on your face, you’re not as terrified by the intrusion as before. A small smile creeps onto your lips as you glance around, almost as if to prove his point. “Well, yeah, dude. I could’ve told you that.”

He inhales deeply. Exhales like he’s blowing away his inability to speak. Emphasizes every word like he’s trying to correct himself. “I am not in my apartment.”

At this point, you’re not as on guard as you were. Wordlessly, you sit back down, pulling the blanket over your legs and lifting the notebook from the ground. Your hand resumes its busy motion of writing in the notebook, gaze focusing back on the laptop screen that illuminates your figure.

You’ve, seemingly, gone back to work. Peter has not. He stands there like an idiot.

After a moment, you cock an eyebrow at him. “You good?”

His face is probably scarlet— not that you’d even be able to tell through the already red fabric of his mask, but it’s the pure notion of it. He opens his mouth once, twice, trying to get any semblance of a coherent sentence to tumble from his mouth. “I’m— I’m going to leave now.”

You smile— wide, genuine, a laugh huffing through your nose as you do. “See you, Spidey.”

Peter fumbles with the already open window, blindly shoots a web, and swings back out.

The second time he breaks in, it’s pouring.

He’s absolutely sure, even with the fact that he can barely see the building with the rain beating down on him, that he’s made it into the right apartment this time. There’s no way that would happen again. He’s absolutely sure of it.

That is, until his feet land on an unfamiliar floor and the smell of vodka sauce floats in the air. A spoon clatters on the kitchen counter.

“We have got to stop meeting like this.”

It’s you, wrong-apartment-girl from before. He did it again. Son of a bitch.

Footsteps pad through your apartment and as he begins to lift his head to glance around, he notices that he’s dripping water all over your floor. A thought from May creeps into the forefront of his mind, something about ice cubes and water and hardwood floors. He quickly goes to stand off the hardwood to save the floors, but then realizes he’s now leaking water all over your nice rug.

You return from what he presumes to be the bathroom or the bedroom with two green bath towels in your hands. You hand one to Peter, which he gratefully wraps around himself, and drop the other to the puddle of water on the hardwood.

“Sorry about that, by— by the way. And— about this.”

After pushing around the towel on the floor with your foot, you pad back to the kitchen and start to stir the saucepan again. “What? You mean the fact that you keep breaking into my apartment?”

“It’s not on purpose, I promise!” He stutters, hands moving so fast that the towel nearly falls to the ground. “It’s just— the weather, and I miscounted, and—”

“Relax. I’m joking.” You say, turning off the burner beneath a pot of noodles. “Would you come strain this for me? Colander’s in the sink.”

Peter, to his own horror, obeys. He walks to the kitchen, slips on two green gingham-patterned oven mitts, and watches as the pasta produces a cloud of steam above the colander.

“Rigatoni? That’s— a good choice.” He says, small, and realizes at this moment how ridiculous he must look: Spider-Man, wielding no weapon but two oven mitts, marveling at your chosen type of pasta.

“Yeah? Thanks.” You laugh, ensuring that each burner knob is set to off. A clinking of dishes sounds from behind, and as Peter turns, he’s met with two flower-patterned ceramic bowls on the counter top. “Wanna stay for dinner? I probably made too much for just me, anyways.”

At first, he’s hesitant. He broke into your apartment, and you’re asking him to have dinner with you? It’s all backwards— not that he’s ever enact it in the forwards way, anyways, but regardless.

At his lack of response, you smile and pour the strained pasta from the colander to the pot. “What, no time to eat? Old lady stuck in a tree, or something?”

He can’t help but laugh at your joke. What else has he got to do, anyways? It’s not like he’s got anyone at home to have dinner with. “I’ll have some. That’d— that’d be nice.”

Peter pulls his mask up to eat, barely above his lips. He’s cautious about lowering it in between bites as you sit across from him at your small table. He notices you stab multiple noodles onto your fork and bite down on them, fork now clean.

“So… Spider-Man.”

“So…” Peter echoes, voice trailing off slightly. “I don’t think I ever caught your name.”

“And I don’t think I ever caught yours.” You say, grinning, eyes shining as you corner him with words.

Peter huffs a laugh. “Touché.”

A rigatoni-filled silence passes while you both continue to eat. “Fine. Keep your secrets. Remain mysterious.”

“That’s the plan.” Peter grins. He gestures up and down to himself with his fork. “Masked vigilante? It’s… kinda my whole thing.”

“I get it.” You say, stabbing a few more noodles with your fork. “Anonymity is key.”

“Exactly.” He answers. After a few moments, he speaks again. “I still didn’t get your name.”

You don’t answer. You shrug, grinning as you finish off the noodles in your bowl. The way you’ve chosen to deflect the topic makes him laugh. “What? Am I just gonna call you wrong-apartment-girl forever?”

You laugh too. “Hey! If anything, my name should be totally-innocent-repeat-victim-of-home-invasions-girl!”

“That’s… something. Very wordy.”

“Well, not all of us can be Spider-Man.”

As if on cue, his phone beeps: Bank robbery. 51st street. What an appropriate reminder.

Peter stands, firmly tugging his mask back into place as he deposits his bowl in your kitchen sink. You smile at him from the kitchen table.

“Stay dry out there, Spider-Man.”

He tugs open the window and plunges into the rain once more.

[girllblogging777]

summary : couples fight, they all do - but spencer hopes you’ll be able to put it aside to be there for him after a traumatic case.

word count : 2.7k

pairings : spencer reid x gf!reader (a bit of angst)

notes : i haven’t posted anything in so long !! thought summer would be an opportunity to write more but i ended up too busy with being depressed… oopsies

please reblog if you enjoyed xxx

he was still awake.

days after the argument. hours after flying back from the other side of the country. spencer should've been sleeping it off, giving his mind a rest from exploring the cracks and depths of the mess that had happened these past couple of weeks.

still, he was awake.

sitting on the couch, drowning in the middle of paperwork - the files supposed to be completed in order to wrap a case, official statements that the recent events were in the past now - his genius brain didn't even contemplate the idea of resting.

he didn't even know what was bothering him the most.

work, probably.

the fact that the unsub had played them until the very end, taking the lives of innocent people. spencer couldn't help but replay the dark images over and over in his head, and he felt alone in this whirlwind of emotions.

without you.

that's what bothered him even more.

"spencer," your voice echoed from the hallway, the sound of his first name pulling him out of his thoughts. it felt like a bucket of ice brutally poured over him. you never called him that.

sure, you were here.

litteraly, you were.

he wasn't alone anymore, gazing at the sky through the jet’s window while he thought of you, or waking up from a nightmare in a shitty motel room, the squeaky mattress nothing like the one he usually shared with you.

in a way, there was no reason for him to be sitting there, creases under his eyes highlighted in the dim light.

spence, come to bed.

you have a week worth of cuddles to make up for, genius.

in another universe, that's what you would've said.

"don't let the light on if you fall asleep" you said instead.

because in this universe, he messed up.

put the role of agent first without realising it, and before he could get a chance to apologise, he'd traded romantic dinners for briefings, and late night conversations for additional hours.

the stars aligned, the entire universe participated in the series of events that led you to him all those years ago, so much that he'd unintentionally started to take it for granted.

you.

as if a constellation could be any less majestic on this day, for the simple reason its discovery went back thousands of years.

as if you didn't shine as brightly now, hair falling over your nightgown, with a sleepy expression that revealed pent up exhaustion, than you ever did.

"i won't," he croaked out in an embarrassingly weak voice.

he left, he was the one to be blamed.

cowardice, a sin. one he'd taken from his life's blood, dangerously repeating his father's actions unconsciously although he’d never admit the resemblance.

to a woman's love and honesty, a relationship built on trust, he responded with scribbles on a sticky note left on the bedside table before going away.

case out of state. love you.

"okay..."

he'd forgotten you were here, too busy analysing the lack of a crucial vowel he omitted. maybe that's why you were acting so cold. because he didn’t properly say those three words.

"i'm going to bed."

pushing yourself from the doorframe, you informed as you turned back around.

"wait-"

his hand reached out in the air, in a way that would appear romantic if it was just another day. the air in the room shifted, and it wasn’t from the cold breeze of the night that his throat closed.

your head tilted, spencer’s lips parted.

"could you... come here ?"

the space next to him felt like an invitation as he scooted over, a little spot he gestured at with the back of his hand. it was embarrassing enough for him to say the words out, to admit he needed you close.

but all the arguments in the world be damned, the files were the last things he wanted next to him right now.

you saw it.

a subtle shift in his eyes. the way his brows scrunched, searching for your reaction. he looked younger under this light, innocent, even.

"we don't have to solve this today,"

"no, this isn't about... that"

in a couple of long strides, you were at his side. lowering yourself onto the couch close enough that you could touch him if he asked.

"i don't wanna talk." he shook his head and stammered "i mean yes ! i do, i know i messed up... i just... need you to be next to me right now."

there it was.

the hint of the smile he loved so much. it threatened to show in the way your lips almost curved upwards, but you just nodded.

your voice was softer. "okay."

thankfully he didn't have to make the first step. quietly, anticipating his demand, your fingers laced together and interlinked, resting on top of his thigh. he welcomed your touch with a relieved breath.

"not ready to sleep just yet ?"

he shook his head. the nightmares clouded his mind, lingered around him in the posture of his shoulders and the way his clenched jaw stuck out in the darkness.

"no, not now."

you knew, so much that he didn't need to say a single word.

it was more than a simple hand holding situation. reassurance, comfort. the sleepiness you felt earlier dissipated instantly and you melted deeper into the couch, watching the way his curls lazily framed his sleep etched face.

"i'm not angry, yknow," you played absentmindedly with the fabric of a pillow, the cotton offering a distraction from the way his head tilted to find your gaze. "not that angry anyways... i missed you too much to care about fighting."

‘’you won’t look at me since i came back and you almost flinched when i touched you earlier" he recalls matter-of-factly, like his heartstrings didn’t tug when he felt you stiffen in his presence. ‘’i can tell when you’re angry,’’

"and..." he reminds you "i get it. you have every right to be"

across the room, you could swear the framed pictures were staring at you – nagging looks of the gallery of your love, displaying different moments of your shared story that now appeared distant.

‘’it’s just easier to be angry than to miss you while you’re away. then i can pretend not to care about whatever dangerous situation you put yourself in again.’’

his eyes trail to were yours are and land on a particular cherished memory.

to anyone else, that picture woud’ve appeared unworthy of being exposed. it’s far for perfect, from the angles that weren’t quite right to the blurry background, revealing how unintentionally perfect it turned out to be. The shot was owed to penelope, probably, hence why nothing other than your smile and spencer’s matching one seem to be taken into account.

it shows you, laughing after one too many drinks in rossi’s garden. same glint in your eyes, but younger features. innocent in the way that shows life hadn’t quite revealed all its tricks on you yet. and by your side, with a hand carefully draped around your hip like the world would fade without your anchor, is him.

soft, adoring.

looking at you like you hung the moon and completely falsified his of gravity, altering the chemistry of his neural pathways in a way that could never be undone. at this very moment, when you laughed at something he said - that must’ve involved statistics and unintentional rambling, like it always did - nothing else mattered.

‘’not for me," he counters in a low breath, like it pains him to admit it. "you might've gotten a couple of days of denial while i was away-"

impossible to tell him that no, you didn't. spending ever waking moment hoping he'll return and yell at you, fight with you again, or critisize your coping techniques with fancy psychological vocabulary that would've been once again way too accurate.

"-but it hurt me to know that we were on bad terms."

"why thank you, genius. that's so kind of you"

genius.

he took it like a punch to the gut. the kind of nickname related to teasing, playful banter about his immense incomparable knowledge you were so fond of. now, it only sounded insulting.

"i left. we fought and i had to leave. and i-" spencer's voice faltered for a second, anxiety creeping in. there was a truth he hated to admit, words we couldn't bear pronouncing out loud in fear they'd come true.

"i couldn't forgive myself if those were the last words i ever said to you."

there it was.

the dagger being held over him, the possible hypothesis that had made him shiver beneath the thin motel sheets. the covers were so harsh he'd closed his eyes and imagined the heat of your soft skin instead of the empty spot next to him.

right now on the couch, your lips parted. spencer was never scared, he'd grown into a confident agent whose weakesses never showed, hidden away in the secret garden of his that ony he had the key to.

you ducked your head shamefully.

he gets up in one swift motion, cearing his throat as to erase his confession. "i’m gonna make some tea"

just like that, the moment dissipated.

he gets to the kitchen before you could react and there's nothing for you to do but look at him from the couch, maneuvring behind the counter with a surgical precision that should make up for his crumbled facade. you see him grab two mugs carefully, the whistle of the kettle drowning out the leftover tension in the open space.

as the water got closer to reach the point of boiling, spencer was too busy replaying the conversation to hear your socked feet against the tiles.

until he felt your touch.

hesitant at first. your arms slide around his middle from behind, and the fact that you can't see his face doesn't keep you from catching his reaction. his body language speaks for itself.

shoulders sag in relief, and you carefully draw yourself closer until your forhead mets the cotton fabric of his shirt, soft and smelling of him from the years of wearing it.

"i'm sorry you felt like i wasn't there for you," your arms tighten their grip on him and you admit.

he shakes his head, hands stilling against the counter. steam lazily curls over the mugs and he adds. "no. i'm sorry i wasn't there for you. physically. emotionally."

he turns around, to wich you can finally tilt your head up and met his eyes. for the first time tonight, and he counted, your enchanting irises turn to him.

"we should talk to eachother more." it's honest. the kettle clicks. "statistically, is a major factor when it comes to reasons for divorce, the numbers sometimes reaching seventy percent-"

"we're not married" you remind him, unable to suppress a twitch of your lips.

spencer only shrugs sheepishly, though heat creeps up his cheeks.

"better be prepared, i guess"

you giggle fully this time. and it reverbates in the tiny space illuminated by nothing but your smile and the faint light over the stove.

"i need to find a better balance between you and the job. to be... okay with not always being dr reid all the time."

even in those moments, the quiet conversations between two individuals too trusting to hide parts of themselves from one another, he was honest with you. the struggle between this shift of identity wasn't new, no, it was what he got for putting others before himself and dedicating his life to helping the world with the use of his intellect.

but you never saw him as dr reid.

the diplomas and PhDs and FBI rewards he'd accumulated were nothing but mundanities that came with your boyfriend. spencer. the one whose casual and relaxed side only you got to see once he came bck from work, or during his rare days off.

"i just need you," you explain, your hands flat on his chest. "to be yourself. to be a boyfriend. a best friend."

to be there. alive. happy.

that's what he knew you were thinking. "i will"

the promise feels real this time, sworn with not only words but sealed by a kiss. he leans into you hesitantly, only to grace your lips when he feels you melting into him.

"you're-" you breathe out, smiling and kissing the corner of his mouth again, because how could you resist after going so long without his touch. "crazy- to think i know how to keep my mind of you"

spence meets you halfway, aiming for another kiss. a smaller peck this time. the grip of his hands tighten around your waist and he gives you a heartwarming dopey smile brighter than anything.

"i'd apologise for that, but it wouldn't be very honest.... i like to know you think about me..." he explains, brows scrunching telling you he's searching for the right words. "it makes me feel nice to know there's someone waiting for me when i come back."

after all, coming back to an empty apartment was all he'd known for years. dust collected on the shelves for however long the case had lasted, and the feeling of sudden emptiness in his heart matching with... well, the one in his fridge.

here, he was wanted, expected, needed. and most of all, loved.

"smooth," your nose bumps against his playfully. "but i won't settle for just words, baby. i need actions."

he nodded solemnly. baby again, not just first name basis.

you pinch his side, aiming for the skin beneath his prominent ribs. the efect is immediate, followed by a sharp gasp.

"-hey !"

"i'm serious," you warn, pupils getting visibly smaller like a cat about to hiss. he can't take you seriously like this, the flames of your pretend anger are nothing more than a modest spark. you're not even mad at him anymore, you just want him to smile again.

"you need to find a way to distance yourself from the BAU sometimes. it would be healthier for you to leave cases and bad guys away from, well," you vaguely gesture to the kitchen space with the two long forgotten mugs behing him.

"i perfectly know how to do that-" he retorts in a high pitched voice that betrayed his words.

"my files and all other aspects of my work life," he says, pointing to the coffee table in the living room space. "are over there. and you, my personal life, are right here."

your brows raise in amusement, shifting the attention away from the smile that threatens your lips. "seriously ?"

spencer shrugs. "i have established a boundary between work and life - that boundary being defined by the kitchen island."

"oh, dear" you sigh, shaking your head. the tea has gone cold when you grab your mug and his eyes don't leave your figure moving gracefully under the dim light. "you've got a long way to go."

"but i'll help you"

his head tilts up, hopeful. he's not alone anymore, really, he never was. not when he has a home - not just a flat, a real home - warm and full of love he shares with a woman who can read him like the back of her hand.

"you will ?" spencer's words linger in the air, promises untold he yearns for you to confirm. you nod, handing him his own mug to match yours.

"yeah, because i love you. and also, i can't sleep without you next to me" you add honestly. being home lone had never felt so boring than when it involved spencer leaving. apparently, you didn't need social battery to spend time with him.

he plants a soft kiss on your temple, a brush of his lips that leave you grinning.

and the next morning, you wake up by his side with limbs completely tangled and trapped in a form hold, that same smile is on your lips. the shine filters through the curtains, casting hues of gold over the angelic figure of a deeply asleep spencer. the pent up exhaustion from the past weeks events finally released, he looks the most relaxed you've seen in a while - and you let him rest.

because even without words, without meaningful eye contacts or grand gestures, you know he loves you too.

and the sticky note on the bedframe proves your point.

the sentence is carefully etched on the paper this time, elegant letters written in the peculiar handwriting you've learned to recognize after seeing it in letters and work files you sometimes got to see. three words, he got it right this time.

i love you, with an i. always have and always will.

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