#‘All that beauty outside… but inside… nothing!!’

[readwritealldayallnight]

Part 3 of ‘Bird Watching’ aka hot construction worker Simon x single mom reader

He thinks your favourite colour must be yellow

It’s the first thing he notices when he walks into your flat, or rather, the first thing his brain registers as existing around you, because in actuality he’s unable to let his eyes stray from your form for even a second

From the corner of his eye, he spots a yellow rain jacket hung up by the front door as he kicks his boots off, sees yellow mugs drying next to the empty baby bottles by the sink, notices yellow pillows and blankets laid out across the couch next to a laundry basket, tiny onesies and burp cloths left half folded inside, notices an arrangement of drooping yellow tulips in a vase that have seen better days, and in the midst of all the sunshine scattered across a flat evidently well lived in, well loved, is you

You, in a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt that definitely doesn’t have dried spit up on it, bags beneath your eyes betraying the exhaustion that your smile refuses to divulge, and with a tiny baby cradled against your soft chest, you’re nothing short of a vision Simon feels unworthy to be bearing witness to, the epitome of everything he thought he would never have, would never deserve, pure and unabashed domesticity at its finest

He thinks you’re the most beautiful sight he’ll ever see

As privileged as he feels to have been invited inside your flat, inside your home, invited to take a glimpse into the four walls that keep you and your baby bird sheltered from the outside world where things aren’t all sunshine, another part of him wishes you’d never extended the invitation in the first place

When you’d answered the phone last night, he could tell immediately that he had called at an inopportune time

The sound of a baby’s displeased shrieking in the background was impossible to ignore, even over the sound of your sweet ‘Hello?’ coming through the line, but how was he meant to ask if this was a bad time, when you let out the most delighted, tantalizing little gasp when he’d said it was Simon calling

“Oh, Simon! It’s so nice to hear from you! How are you?” You’d asked him, voice sweet as a candy and addictive as a drug. How was he? Well when you said things like that, he felt like he was on the verge of either a heart attack or a relapse into something he was sure would leave him feeling high for the rest of his days, but he managed instead to tell you that he was fine, not that you’d heard his reply

Talking on the phone while holding a newborn who demanded her mum’s undivided attention proved to be a feat easier said than done

“Sorry, could you say that again?”

“Asked how you girls were holdin’ up?” He’d repeated for you, voice a little louder for you to understand over the noise

“We’re alright. Better now that you’ve called, we’ve been lookin’ forward to hearin’ from you. I mean- I don’t mean to get ahead of myself here but, I’m guessing you’ve called with good news? I hope?”

Simon couldn’t help but let the small chuckle that built in his chest and slipped past his lips, knowing that there wasn’t a single alternate reality out there where he’d allow himself to ever give you anything other than good news, give you any reason other than to smile

“It is good news.” He confirmed, smile widening when he could practically hear you grinning on the other end of the phone. “Though there are a few uh- kinks we might have to sort out.”

Whatever reply you might have given, Simon was unable to hear over the sound of tiny cries on the other end growing louder, more insistent

“Sorry, I think she’s ready for another feeding.” You’d explained to him after the interruption, unaware that the mental image you’d just painted in Simon’s mind, of your aching breasts being suckled on while you spoke to him over the line, had his heart skip a beat, shaking his head and willing himself to stay focused. “Feels like the little lady never stops eating.”

“Would it be easier if I met you somewhere? Might be able to give you all the details tha’ way.” He thought about how he’d have to thank your baby bird one day, for giving him an easy excuse to see you in person again

“Think you might be right.” You’d giggled softly through the phone, a deep blush creeping up Simon’s neck up to the tips of his ears at the sound

Now, Simon wasn’t overly thrilled at how easily you offered him your home address, in spite of him offering to meet you at a cafe, or a park, anywhere that’d be convenient for you, you’d explained to him that getting yourself and a newborn out of the house was more time consuming than the actual outing, and that you’d be happy to offer him a cup of tea for his troubles

As infatuated as he’d become with you since your last conversation, and as much as he’d hoped there was a sliver of a chance you’d been thinking of him too, he wasn’t keen on you so willingly giving your address to someone who was still more or a less a stranger, even if the stranger was doing you a monumental favour

But Simon couldn’t fault you for being sweet, for being kind, for being so trusting, for still looking at the world and seeing good where others saw nothing, for finding the sunshine in the darkness

On top of that, he could tell how exhausted you were, despite your cheery disposition over the phone, the sleep deprivation was clear as day, certainly playing a part in your willingness to invite a stranger into your home, no questions asked

And that had Simon’s heart aching the entire drive over to your flat, thinking about how you were taking care of this new little life, so dependent on you for everything, but who was taking care of you? Who was making sure you were looked after? You’d mentioned how it felt like she never stopped eating, but who was there to remind you to eat enough too?

That train of thought led to a small pit stop along the way, sweet and savoury treats sat in the display case of the bakery reminded him of how little he knew about you, how we wasn’t sure which ones you’d prefer, until finally he was walking out with a box tucked under his arm filled with one of everything

As he’d knocked on the door to the flat, part of him had even wondered if he should’ve gotten some groceries for you as well, remembering how you’d said getting out of the house was especially tricky now, but he had to reign himself in, not wanting to overwhelm you too early, to come on too strong. You’d soon enough discover how willing he was to help, it would only be a matter of time until everything settled into place, for now he would have to pace himself

For now, he could allow himself to enjoy the sight of you licking your lips as you pull a chocolate croissant out of the to-go box, let himself appreciate the comfortable silence of a meal shared between two- as you’d insisted he had to have something to eat as well- two mugs of steaming tea sat cooling on the table as the tiny bird snuggled in her wrap sleeps peacefully against your chest

He hadn’t been able to get much of a glimpse at her last time, tucked away under layers of blankets in her pram, and granted her mum had been holding most of his attention. But now he’s able to get a slightly better look at her as she snoozes on you, her body as tiny as he remembers his nephew having been once. She’s got her mouth open in a slight ‘o’, her petite little hand curled up against the top of your cleavage, she slumbers without a care in the world, knowing she’s in the safest spot she could ever be, listening to her mum’s heartbeat beneath her ear

And you, every time your hand rubs gently against her back or softly pats her little bottom, eyes glancing down to check on her and eyes beaming with intangible love and devotion, well, you appear to quite literally glow before him. The two of you look like a perfect puzzle, the pieces fitting together seamlessly to reveal a most beautiful image

Simon only hopes that there’s perhaps room for a third puzzle piece in the mix, a chance to discover an even more complete picture, one that maybe includes him

“Part of me wants to insist again that you didn’t have to do this, but I think I actually really needed it.” You say, wiping crumbs off the corner of your mouth with a finger, Simon’s gaze inevitably locked on the movement, mind wandering towards thoughts of licking chocolate remnants off your lips with his own tongue. “So I’ll say thank you instead. Again.”

“You’re welcome.” He replies with a soft chuckle reverberating through his chest, shoulders unconsciously straightening with the pride he feels swell within him, knowing that such a simple gesture could so easily please you. “Really, no need to thank me.”

“I just um-” you add, shifting slightly in your seat, fidgeting with your fingers as you avoid his gaze and look at the box of sweets instead. “I just would feel bad taking all of these if someone’s waiting on you at home that would like them too. Should we save some for ‘em?”

You’re cute, Simon thinks to himself, trying to get an answer to a question you don’t want to ask directly, tip toeing around it

“There ain’t no one at home, love.” He confirms, the term of endearment slipping out intentionally this time, feeling emboldened by being in your home, in your orbit, in your gaze, and apparently being on your mind too. “They’re all yours.”

The treats are all yours, yes, but what he doesn’t dare say yet is that so is his time, his attention, his focus, they’re all yours now birdie, if you’ll allow him to give them to, that is

The blush that creeps up your cheeks has his own blood rushing south, your shy smile imprinting itself to the front of his brain for safekeeping. You’re as sweet as any of the goods they made in that bakery today, and so he decides he’ll let you in on the other question you’ve been dancing around since you’ve been sitting here chatting

“So is the nursery spot. It’s yours, I mean. Or, rather hers I suppose.” He adds, jutting his chin towards the bundle laid across your bosom, noticing how your face stills at his words for a second, before blooming into the brightest expression he’s seen on you thus far

“Really? Oh my gosh, are you serious? I- okay hold on, let me try and lay her down in her crib. I’m too excited, I’m gonna wake her up.” You say, the pure joy evident in your voice as you slowly rise from your seat, a palm cradled against the back of her head as you excuse yourself down the hall towards what must be your bedroom, Simon’s eyes following your every move until your mismatched socked feet are padding back towards him a few minutes alter

“Simon, you- you really mean it? What did- how did you- what’s- just tell me everything!” You laugh, pulling your kitchen chair closer towards his side of the round table, sliding your mug across the wood towards you as you settle in, beaming eyes locked on his

He has to fight to reign in the grin threatening to stretch across his face as well, your excitement contagious as he angles his body towards you, not missing the way your eyes flit towards the flexing muscle of his arms for a split second, before returning to his face

Now, Simon’s had ample time between meeting the daycare’s director and walking into your flat, and each second has been spent wondering how he would go about this… situation he’s put himself into, considering what he should do about the little white lie he didn’t correct when the owner presumed Simon was inquiring about a spot for his child, a child she presumed he shared with his wife, rather than the woman he’d started falling for only days earlier

And yet with all that time, and as skilled as Simon once was at making life or death decision in the blink of an eye, not having had the luxury to consider actions and consequences when in the heat of the moment in what feels like a lifetime ago, he hasn’t been able to bring himself to a decision, hasn’t been able to convince himself that it’s worth bringing up at all, so long as no one tugs too hard on the loose string and unravels everything he’s working to seam together

After all, if Simon has it his way, the owner’s assumption won’t be wrong for too much longer, and so as he sits across from you, waiting for his answer, he decides that no one is being hurt if he omits the truth just a little while longer

“Easy ‘nough to find the owner, after all.” Not entirely true. “Turns out she’s a friend of a friend, who would’ve known?” Not true at all. “Told her I needed a favour, and she was happy to oblige.” A lie. “They had exactly one infant spot left open, and it’s yours now.”

“Oh, Simon, I- I don’t even know what to say! I was only expecting you to find me a phone number, or a name, or- I can’t believe you would do all of that.” You practically gush, pulling your knees up so you’re facing him entirely now. “I thought I was going to have to beg whoever was in charge for a chance, no one in the city is accepting infants right now. I just- Simon I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful I am, truly. But, why would you even do all of this? Even if you’re down playing it, it sounds like you went through a lot of trouble for us.”

Simon decides he’ll try a little honesty for a change

“The truth?” He asks softly, and you nod up at him, gaze wholly enraptured by whatever reply he’s about to offer you. “Haven’t been able to stop thinkin’ ‘bout you. Either of you. But, you especially.”

“R-really?” You practically whisper, the blush on your cheeks as dark as ever, though your smile is anything but shy this time. He would dare say you look almost relieved at his words, a sentiment that has his heart skipping another beat.

“O’ course.” He answers easily, wondering how he’s gone all his life without this feeling stirring in his chest, the rush of chemicals to his brain addictive to say the least, wondering why he’s denied himself this joy for so long. But then again, it was you he was waiting on all this time, wasn’t it? “The director would like to meet you first though, she said there’s enrolment details to sort through or something, and she wants to meet- erm-” He trails off, motioning in the direction of the hall where you’ve laid the baby bird to rest

“Rosie. Oh my gosh, I can’t believe how rude I am, you’ve done all this for us and I haven’t even introduced you to her properly!” You say, a hand unconsciously smoothing over your stomach where she once grew, as though that would always be the place you considered her first home, as being within you. “Her name’s Rose, but she’s my little Rosie.”

“Tha’s beautiful.” He says, following your gaze as you look lovingly down the hall towards her, as though you could both see her through the walls.

“Thank you. I had no idea what I was going to name her, all throughout my pregnancy. I was literally in the hospital bed pushing her out and still unsure what I’d call her.” You reminisce with a small laugh, Simon hanging onto your every word as you offer him a glimpse into your reality a few months prior, the time before you’d turned his world upside down, a time when the foundation of your own world was being rocked.

“I was uh- I was by myself for it. Didn’t have anyone there, and this one nurse was so kind to me. She made me feel like I wasn’t alone, stayed with me for all of it, even after I’d delivered. Afterwards everyone kept pressuring me to come up with a name for her already, one doctor even told me I should’ve been able to look at her and just know. That mothers are supposed to know these things when they look at their baby. But there was so much happening- I just couldn’t decide, nothing felt right for her. Anyways, a few hours after I’d given birth the nurse came into my room and she’d gotten me flowers, probably from their gift shop. But it was a bouquet of roses, it was- it was the nicest thing anyone had done for me in a long time and I knew right away, that my girl was going to be a Rose.”

Simon can’t help but to sit in comfortably silence for a moment, letting that information sink in. You’d told him in your first meeting that it was just you and the baby, that much he knew. And walking into your flat, it was evident that there wasn’t a trace of a man living here with you. But to hear this, to know that you were alone as you gave birth, the fucker who’d had the downright honour of putting a baby into you nowhere to be found, has Simon’s blood boiling. He’s seeing red, but he steels himself with a deep breath and files that information away for another time.

“Rose is perfect. Just like she is.” He says without hesitation, watching the far off look in your eye as you told your story change instantly into one of pride, your eyes meeting his again with gratitude brewing behind them.

“Thank you.” You whisper, a timid hand slowly reaching to rest on his forearm for a moment, the small gesture having Simon’s heart beat so rapidly he’s worried you’ll be able to hear it. “Anyways uh- you said she wants to meet us?”

“Right, just details she needs to iron out, nothin’ for you to worry ‘bout. The spot’s yours love, I made sure of it.” He affirms, knowing that he’ll be replaying this moment in his mind constantly as he shows up early to work in the mornings and leaves entirely too late at night in order to finish the job he’s promised would be completed early, all for you. “I think it’d be best if I went you girls, to the meeting. Don’t think anyone would give you a hard time but, just want to be there to be sure.” He also wants to be there to filter any questions that might arise about your relationship to one another, keep the thread from being pulled

“Oh, of course, okay.” You say, pulling your hand back as you go to reach for you phone, pulling up your calendar. “Do you know when she was hoping to meet? We’ve got an appointment with the paediatrician on Wednesday morning, but if she gives us enough time we could be on the tube and there by-”

“You’ve been takin’ the tube with her?” Simon cuts you off, more abruptly than he meant to, but the image of you and your baby bird stuffed into the tube with all the delinquents and criminals that frequent London’s underground instantly has the hairs on the back of his neck raising

“Well, yeah of course. Used to have a car but, selling it made more sense when- well you know.” You shrug, clearly not wanting to linger on your dwindling financial situation since bringing a baby into this world

“I’ll pick you girls up.” He declares without hesitation

“Oh, Simon you really don’t have to! Seriously, you’ve already done so much for us. I can’t ask that much of you.” You try to reason, though Simon can tell there’s not much fight behind those words, a mothers instinct to protect her baby stronger than your need to insist on independence at this moment, especially if it means not having to navigate a pram through the tube

“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it, love. Like I said last time, I want to, so I will.” He replies simply, because to him it really is that simple. Give him the chance to prove himself, and he’ll give you everything, anything you need

“Well, if you’re sure.” You smile softly at him, placing your phone back on the table, worries dissipating already.

“I’ll reach out to ‘er and confirm a date and time.” He tells you, pulling his own phone out this time, preparing to shoot off a text to the owner right away, though your next words have him stilling, certain that his heart is going to give out soon

“Great. Then it’s a date.”

He’ll be sure to bring you yellow roses next time

But first, he’s got an infant car seat to go buy for his truck

Ladies and gentleman, part 3 of Bird Watching 😇😇😇

I am having entirely too much fun writing this series, and it really does mean the world to me that you all have been so into this story as well!!! Hope part 3 lived up to your expectations! Simon’s lies surely aren’t going to catch up to him, right?

- M 🫶🏻

Tag List:

@puppydollgstar @strawberrygato @heletsmelovehim @404creep @just-lilita @desiretolive @marigold-morelli @robinfeldt98 @gojos4evrluvr @afanofbeans @br3nt-12 @sleep101 @scaleniusrm @bbygirl9 @elysianightsss @spidersuneee @mihoonz @ungodlydilf @nicolebarnes @kentuckyhobbit

[talesofesther]

ten reasons not to kiss her

➥ Ch one: The first reason

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader/fem!OC

Series Summary: Natasha slowly adapts to a life by your side, all the while thinking of all the reasons why she shouldn't kiss you.

A/N: This story is a labour of love. I have loved Natasha for longer than I can remember, and this story is that love written down. If you ever wondered what Natasha would be like as a partner, this story will show you. <3 At first, this was going to be a very long one-shot, but I decided that it looks and works much better divided into chapters. The chapters won't be huge, but the updates will also not take long to come out. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing; let me know your thoughts.

Masterlist

It had been a strange decision from the start.

Natasha did not need an apartment; she could live in a million-dollar tower if she wanted to.

She rented an apartment anyway. It was a small thing, only a couple of blocks away from Stark's tower. Sometimes, free will still felt like a foreign concept. Natasha wanted to break the cycle; she wanted a thing of her own, a home to go back to that was solely hers. And maybe that concept was even more foreign, but she was content.

The time she spent in her apartment didn't have a schedule or pattern. Work kept her away for several days at a time. Good work, clean work—Natasha would tell herself over and over each time she put on her black suit. If she stole files for SHIELD, if she took people's lives, it was for a good cause. She was going clean; she was washing away the red on her ledger.

Natasha told herself over and over. A mantra, muttered under her breath. Maybe if she said it enough times, she'd believe it.

On free days, she went back to her apartment. The decoration was still bare and dull; cream colored walls had no art or portraits on them, there was a single grey couch in front of a flat screen tv, a small kitchen with only the necessary amount of cutlery for one person, and thin curtains that did nothing to keep sunlight away and flowed easily with the wind.

But Natasha liked it. She had bought a small potted plant on a whim; the little thing had its place on her windowsill, and a rush of giddy pride filled Natasha when she noticed a new green leaf had grown after a few days of close care. It was peaceful, it was quiet. Natasha never had anything of her own. This? It belonged to her.

It didn't take too long for Natasha to meet you, then. When she rented the apartment, Natasha forgot to consider that she'd have neighbors.

She was about to step into the only elevator of the building. You, were rushing out of it.

Natasha had quick reflexes; she took hold of both your arms before you could crash into her and undoubtedly spill the coffee inside the to-go cup you were holding.

You gasped in surprise, looking at Natasha with widened eyes. And she frowned, more at herself than at you; because Natasha immediately noticed how beautiful your eyes were, even under the crappy blinking light of the hallway.

"Oh, I'm so sorry." You were quick to say. You had a burgundy scarf around your neck, which matched the pink of your cheeks. Maybe it was colder outside.

One of your hands grasped at the fabric of Natasha's black bomber jacket, around her forearm—out of reflex, no doubt—but Natasha was a little too aware of your touch. She averted her gaze, focusing on the open doors of the elevator behind you.

She shook her head dismissively. "No problem."

"You're my new neighbor."

When Natasha looked at you again, her brow raised with curiosity. She noticed that the smile on your lips was as soft as your voice. Natasha should not be looking at your lips.

"I had noticed the door next to mine was vacant. And then it wasn't." You explained further with a shrug when the redhead, still holding onto your arms, kept silent. Your eyes carefully followed the curls of her red hair. "Welcome."

Natasha held your stare for a second longer. She could only nod. She hurried inside the elevator and away from you faster than she meant to.

There was a kindness to you. Each time you and Natasha happened upon each other again—in the elevator, when you'd be arriving home at night and Natasha was just leaving, sometimes in the street just before going inside the apartment building—you always greeted her with a smile and a small wave, even on the days when she'd give you nothing more than a nod of acknowledgement.

In just a couple of weeks, you became a peculiar variable in Natasha's life, something she wasn't used to. She hadn't accounted on meeting someone like you. Someone as sweet as you.

At first, Natasha avoided you like the plague. At the same time, she secretly always hoped you'd find her, anyway.

And you did, because when Natasha walked into the cozy coffee shop across the street from the building, the face that greeted her at the counter was yours. There was a barely there falter on her steps, a fleeting moment of hesitation where Natasha considered choosing another place to buy coffee. But the poorly contained excitement shining bright in your eyes as soon as you noticed Natasha opening the door kept her hostage.

The place was very inviting, with brick walls, order suggestions written with chalk on blackboards, plush red seats that were too carefully crafted to be from this decade, and a grunge melody coming from a vintage jukebox in the corner.

Natasha reached the counter, gripping the edge with her hands. A beat or two passed, and she pretended to look at the coffee suggestions written to your right.

You waited until she was ready. You were kind like that.

When the redhead chanced a glance at you, that soft smile of yours that Natasha had already memorized the shape of was back; "What can I get you?"

She raised a brow, deciding on a challenge. "Why don't you surprise me?" Natasha's voice was velvety, her smirk tantalizing.

And you did, when you attuned with her quickly. You tapped your pen against your lips once, twice; smile not wavering. You wrote something down in your notepad. "It would be my pleasure."

Natasha chose to sit in a booth by the nearest window, which had a clear view of both the door and the counter.

You brought the coffee to her yourself. A Macchiato, along with a plate holding two chocolate cookies. You placed it in front of her with a quiet "Enjoy" falling past your lips.

Natasha drank the coffee and had to hold back a groan of satisfaction. She took a second sip and glanced up towards the counter in the same heartbeat. You caught her staring, but she caught you staring back. Your eyes had already been on her.

Natasha fought a smile when she watched the way your bashful eyes avoided hers, and a smile of your own framed your pink cheeks and crinkled the sides of your eyes.

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Natasha had trouble looking away from you. She realized, with sudden shortness of breath, that she too became softer in your presence.

This sort of love was not allowed for someone like her. You were both too soft, and the world around you was all knives and chipped teeth. Natasha knew it well. And she should not be looking at your lips. This was the first reason why.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Next chapter will be out soon.

Natasha’s taglist is open, let me know if you’d like to be added. Or you can follow @talesofesther-library and turn notifications on to know when I’ve posted a new story/chapter.

Thank you for reading this chapter. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

[f1girliefics]

What the Cameras Didn’t See

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: When jealousy blinds Lando and headlines twist the truth, your relationship ends in heartbreak.

You always knew the media could be cruel, but you never expected it to destroy your relationship.

It started with a night out.

Music pulsed through the air, drinks flowed, and laughter came easy in the company of friends who knew every piece of you. You'd grown up surrounded by the LGBTQ+ community, your chosen family.

They were your heart, your home, your people.

That night, you'd hugged Matteo, who was covered in glitter and eyeliner, and wrapped your arm around Eli, who never went anywhere without his boyfriend, Andre.

It was harmless, joyful. Beautiful.

Until the flash of a camera caught the wrong angle.

The headline hit the next morning: Lando Norris’s Girlfriend Seen Cuddling Up to Mystery Men During Club Night Out.

You laughed at first, thinking it was ridiculous. Until you saw Lando.

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t even ask.

"So that’s what you do when I’m gone?" Lando's voice was low, tight, coiled with something ugly.

You blinked, caught off guard. "What are you talking about?"

He threw his phone on the counter. The headline stared up at you.

You looked at it, then at him. "Lando… they’re gay. That’s Matteo. He introduced me to his fiancé last week. Eli and Andre have been together for five years."

"Don’t lie to me."

Your stomach dropped.

"I’m not lying," you whispered. "Why would I lie about something so stupid?"

"Because I was stupid to think you were different."

His words were sharp.

Quick. Hurtful.

You stepped back like he had hit you. "If you’d just listened to me-"

"I saw what I saw."

"No," you said coldly, hurt burning into fury. "You saw what they wanted you to see. And you didn’t trust me enough to ask first."

He didn’t speak. Just stood there, jaw clenched.

You turned, swallowing the tears clawing up your throat. "Then maybe it’s for the best."

You hadn’t spoken since.

Not when he left. Not when he flew to Miami.

The pain was still fresh, but it no longer cut deep.

It dulled into a bitter ache. You knew who you were. You knew your friends and their love.

So when a friend texted you a screenshot of the latest headline, you didn’t expect it to break something inside you.

"Lando Norris’s Ex Spotted at LGBTQ+ Fundraiser Outside Miami Gay Bar - Turns Out, She Was Never Cheating After All."

It was all there: Eli and Andre, smiling for the camera, arms around you. A quote from Matteo, calling you "a sister in the fight."

The truth laid bare, too little too late.

You didn’t expect the knock at your hotel door that night.

Lando stood there, hoodie up, cap low, looking like the ghost of the man you once loved.

"Can I talk to you? Please."

You stared at him for a long moment. Then stepped aside.

He didn’t sit. Just paced. Hands through his hair.

"I was wrong. I was so, so wrong."

You said nothing.

"I saw that article today and I wanted to throw up. Not because of what it said… but because I didn’t believe you."

His voice cracked. "You deserved better than that. Better than me."

You swallowed hard, arms crossed tightly.

"I was scared," he continued. "Scared you didn’t need me the way I needed you. And instead of asking, I just… I hurt you. I betrayed the trust you gave me."

You looked at him then, really looked. And saw the regret, the remorse, the boy beneath the fame, standing on shaky legs.

"I loved you," you said softly.

"I still do."

Tears welled in his eyes. "Please. I want to make this right. I don’t care how long it takes. Just tell me there’s still a chance."

You paused.

Then stepped forward.

"This is the last time I let you break my heart, Lando."

He nodded, lips trembling.

"But yes. There’s still a chance."

When he pulled you into his arms, it was with the reverence of someone who'd nearly lost everything and would never take it for granted again.

[athenaluciscaelum]

Her Wedding Ring - PART 2 OF 2 PARTS

Pairing: DMC 4 Dante x Fem!Reader

Rated: General

Words: 2695 words

Warning: Death, Angst

PART-1, in case you stumbled upon this first.

LETS ROCK!!

Dante made his way back to the village where only the child's mother remained in hope of finding her child. She was the one who called Dante, who hired him. Dante silently gave the lifeless wrapped body to the mother; she broke down, her cries the only thing audible as it was raining and storming outside. She knelt, hugged the body and kept crying. Dante just stood there; it was getting dark and cold, and there was no electricity. So he kindled the fire in the fireplace. He made his way towards the exit to leave. The woman spoke in a broken voice, "Wait… your payment..." She could barely stand; she was barely herself; she was barely alive. She made her way to the mantled to pick up the envelope that contained the payment for the cash.

Dante just shook his head and left. It was raining and thundering. The woman tried to make him stay till the weather was clear, but Dante wanted to give her the space she deserves with her dead child.

Dante walked back to the church; the ground was mushy from the rain. The church roof was leaking, but he could nap on the bench; it's not like any train to this remote place would function in this weather. And he had time to kill. It was better than nothing. He remembered the woman; it reminded him of you.

His hand slid into his pocket, and he felt your ring between his fingers; he stroked the red stone. He thought to himself, "Just once...Just this once..." He knew it was wrong; it was an addiction he won't ever recover from.

This was wrong; he needed to let you rest in peace. Not drag you on and on; he needs to move on. He has twins to look forward to. You got him covered.

Dante looked at the lifeless, evaporating body of the demon. He was scared. What if he goes back in the past and never wants to come back again? What will happen to twins? What will happen to you? Will he only hasten your death? It cannot be changed, right? How did the fabric of time and space exactly work?

Dante knew the answer to none; he just knew he needed to see you once again. He needed to hold you back once again. He needs to bury his face in your soft hair once again. He needed you so much; he cannot act anymore that he is okay. He was not okay, and he cannot pretend he is.

Will he betray his kids if he goes back just once to hold their mother again? What time will he choose? A time perhaps when he was gone for a mission, when the twins were not there. He will keep them out from any fallouts from his mistakes. So he thought of the day when you got to know that you were carrying his baby. He remembered the year; it was after he came back from Vie de Marli. You were alone in Devil May Cry, and he was stuck in hell.

Dante squeezed the ring in his hand hard enough to draw his blood and mix it with the stone; he muttered under his breath as he frowned, "Just need to see you once more."

Dante opened his eyes; it was sunny, and he was outside Devil May Cry. He recognised the old sign with a lady as its logo.

He heard your voice coming from inside; he hid. He saw you alive, opening the door of Devil May Cry to take out the trash. He took in your scent; yes, you were pregnant. He can smell himself on you. His heart fluttered the way you were so perfect, beautiful and alive. You were all this; all he needed to do was climb up to his room and change into his old gear. He will just take in your scent, hold you, press a few kisses, and be back to the twins in the present. This was the plan.

Dante easily climbed into his room. He changed into his old gear; it was tight. He was a lot more muscular and broad now. Shit. He heard your footsteps climbing up the stairs and quickly put on whatever he could and jumped out of the room. You entered the room with a laundry basket in your hand; you looked for any dirty clothes, and you frowned as you couldn't find Dante's undershirt, the one he was wearing before he left for the mission. One you slept curled up to for a few weeks since he was gone, but you didn't mind. You were preoccupied with news and on how to break it to Dante that you were pregnant.

He was not in the best mental space; he was the worst he had ever been. He was cold, rash, more silent, and more rough. He many times questioned why you are even staying. So you took a day off from work; you knew Dante would be here in a day or two. You didn't know he would be stuck in hell and it would take him another month to come back to you.

But future Dante knew. He was going to use this to his advantage. Dante somehow fits himself in his old coat. He decided to visit you at night and leave after a few hugs and kisses. This way you can brush it all off as a very real dream and go back to waiting for your Dante.

Dante was keeping an eye on you all the time from the rooftop of the opposite building. He took in your face as you read, he took in your beautiful body as you showered, and he took in your smile as you were combing your hair and smiling as you realised you two will soon become parents. You knew it might be tough for Dante to accept, but he will come around. He will never abandon you and the baby.

When you were in the bed, tucked in sheets. Dante stepped into the Devil May Cry building, making his way upstairs after a quick shower. He wore a black undershirt and the coat, so you won't raise any suspicion. The lights were off, and he decided to keep it that way; the lack of lights and your weak eyesight will help you not notice all the changes his body and face have gone through over the years. He quickly slipped his wedding ring off his finger. You two were married after finding out you were pregnant. So it hasn't happened yet.

You sat up when Dante entered your room; you were about to turn the side lamp on, but Dante was quick to face you and hold onto your hand. He stopped you; you could see his icy blue eyes glowing in moonlight which was pouring in from the window. You mumbled, cupping his face, "Dante?" You felt scruff...that was new...sweet ...but new. Dante was always clean-shaven; maybe he grew some facial hair over the past few weeks... You never knew he could grow facial hair. You tried to make out his face in the dark, moving your fingers to feel him, and he let you; he was patient with you.

Dante leaned in to your touch, inhaling your scent and purring. His wife, his love, was alive in front of him. He trembles as your hand moves to under his shirt to his bare chest; you frown. He has chest hair now. This was new as well. But you can tell for sure this is your Dante; his scent, his aura, his feel – everything felt right. He pulled back a bit to take off his coat and undershirt.

You gasped as he hugged you tight against his chest and inhaled your scent. Burying his nose in your hair, he mumbled, "Missed you so much! Y/N" You hugged him back tight; you could tell something was off but could not tell what. You mumbled, nuzzling his chest, "I missed you too! I need to talk to you about something important..."

Dante placed his finger on your lips, "Shhh...not now... I'm here only for a few hours... I have to go back..." He already knew what you wanted to tell Dante. You opened your mouth to protest or ask more questions, but he shuts you up with a deep kiss, his hand travelling from your back to your neck to the back of your head, squeezing it lightly to pull your hair back, tilting your head enough to deepen the kiss more. His tongue licked the bottom of your lips to coax you into parting them. Your hands were flat into his chest as you let him. He explores your mouth; he feels you are out of breath. He pulled back, and you gasped. He caressed your beautiful face as he let you breathe. He should go now. He should really go now. But you intertwine your fingers with his, holding his hand up to kiss his knuckles.

Dante gulps; there were only three souls in this world who could bend him. You and those two mini-yous, you have entrusted with him. He pulls you in his arms, holding you tight close to his chest; he was crying and sobbing. It was not something uncommon for you. It didn't happen a lot, but you have witnessed him at his worst.

At times like these, you only knew one thing. Just to hold him tight and let him vent it all out. You do not need to acknowledge his tears in the morning; just give him a safe haven to relax in. You looked up to kiss his scruffy jaw softly and then his cheek, close to his mouth and the tip of his nose, as you held onto both of his big hands.

Dante sighed and purred; his hands trembled. You were in your first trimester, and he would not do anything to endanger you or the kids. He should go, really go, now. A thought crossed his mind: if he could replace Dante, your Dante. He could protect and save you, right? But he stopped this train of thought quickly. Too risky, too dumb, too scary. But man can think, right?

Dante lies down on the bed, and you lie down on top of him, your ear close to his heart. You were listening to his heartbeats; they were so fast and rapid for some reason. You kissed his hairy chest. He was even broader...you loved these changes; should you acknowledge them?

You smiled, "You muscled up; tough mission." Dante's hand was lazily stroking your back and hair; he shrugged, "You like it?" You nodded, kissing his shoulder, "Hmmmm....so manly..." You giggled; he let out a laugh, a real laugh only you can pull out of him. He wanted to squeeze you so tight, but he forgot how fragile and soft you were. He could never understand how something so small, like you, took him and gave him two beautiful children.

Dante, since the day you died, never fell asleep east. But now he did. His hands were on your stomach protectively. You frowned and rose up. You needed to pee so badly. You cautiously extracted yourself from his arms and turned on the lamp to see your way out of the room when you came back. You took his face in. He was your Dante, no doubt. But his face was mature, his body was broad and muscular, and he had a few wrinkles, and gosh, how could he get any more handsome?

He was Dante, no doubt about it, but something was wrong. He knew you were pregnant; you could tell way he was caressing your belly. Yet he was so calm, composed and not at all depressed.

You checked his coat and undershirt he was wearing. You picked it off the floor; it was the same you were sleeping with from the last few weeks. You frowned; you went through his coat to find two sets of silver wedding rings. One was plain like a men's ring; another had a red stone set in it. From your knowledge in occultism and demonology. You knew what this stone was, fortunately. This is what Trish was speaking about a few days back and some demons plan to go back 2000 years.

You were trying to put two and two together. When Dante felt emptiness on his chest, emptiness he came to hate now. He grumbled in sleep, "Y/N". You quickly left the clothing where it was and rubbed your eyes, quickly making your way back to him. "Umm....here, baby, I just wanted to pee....."

Dante smiled sleepily as you made your way back on his chest; his big arms came to surround you, and he purred, nuzzling your neck. He spoke sleepily, "Right, pregnancy tends to do that, right?" You froze...you sat up on his chest, your heart beating quick. Dante understood his error when he saw fear on your face and sat up, holding you close; you were straddling his lap. As he held your head close to his chest, he kept mumbling, "I'm your Dante...babe..."

You nodded, "I know...but not from this time, right?" Dante was quiet; he didn't know what to say or not. He sighed, and you understood. You were quiet; you didn't want to know something that might put your unborn baby or Dante or your relationship at risk. But you wanted to ask, why was he here? You two broke up? Maybe after he found out about the baby? But no, he sounded so cheerful about it. Maybe this is his regret?

You were thinking thousands of miles at a time. He held your face in his big hands. "Baby...everything is good...just...don't ask me anything...forget it ever happened. Please trust me." You nodded; you kept all his secrets, and you will keep this as well. You thought, 'Did I die...?' It's like he read it on your face; he was pale. And you both said nothing but said everything.

You lie down to cuddle with him again... You spoke with certainty as you chose your words wisely, "No matter what... I will stay with you... rather than without you. Also, I love this little life more than myself." This was all the answer Dante needed, he always thought. As you died, did you regret being with him? But now he was little more sure that you would not have it any other way. Dante spoke, thinking, "Two...there are two of them...a boy and a girl." You laughed happily, rubbing your belly, "Really!?" Dante's eyes were wide, the way you smiled and said it. It was the same smile and cheery self that Eva has.

He hugged you so tight. After a while you were asleep. And he left, making sure everything was back in its place. Hopefully you will treat it as a dream. He hoped you would; he made sure to leave no traces.

Dante held onto the ring tight, mixing his blood with stone. When he opened his eyes, he was back on the church bench; sunlight was pouring in from the stained glass. Did he just dream? Not like he can tell. His hands do not bear scars.

But now to think, you were always so adamant about letting him know the ring will be passed down to Eva since the day you got it. How you knew twins would be a boy and a girl. And how many nights you spoke reassuring him that you will choose to be with him, again and again. Not matter what, no matter how little time.

Maybe it was a dream; maybe it was real. But all he needed to remember was you won't have it any other way. And you will always live on through Eva's smile or Vittalis's love for reading.

Dante smiled to himself as he picked up his sword and made his way back to the train station. His kids were waiting for him. He will entrust the ring to Trish for the time being, till the time it has to be passed down to Eva on her 18th birthday.

Tagged: @anime-lover1717 @moon-cakiie @tamashithe2nd @dickktektive @promtune @skullfacedlady @hoslunix @doodleferp

[strang3lov3]

under the cut: cousin!benji, shotgunning, little bit of dry humping, unprotected piv, creampie, incest, stupid and soft and sweet

You’re in that tiny, old bathroom upstairs, and there’s hardly enough space for one person, let alone two. The wallpaper is yellowing and peeling at the corners, and the ceramic tile floor is cracked and chipping. The scent of Yves Saint Laurent’s Opium perfume still lingers, and the same almond-scented soaps sit on the shower shelves, untouched and exactly where they’ve always been.

Benji’s sitting on the lidded toilet, high and giggling at the mauve, plush toilet cover. You’re giggling with him, straddling his thighs, your arms wrapped around his neck as your noses brush. He smells like him, all sweat and musk and woodsy. He’s man through and through, with his veiny forearms and rough, calloused palms as he pushes hair out of your eyes. He feels so broad and so sturdy, so fucking warm as the cold air from outside blows in. 

“I like this sweatshirt on you, Benji,” you smile, pinching the fabric above his shoulders, brushing your thumb along the seam. “It’s nice.” 

“Mm, yeah. Grandma got it for me,” Benji mumbles, looking down at his hoodie. “Bought it with her Kohl’s cash.” 

“Kohl’s cash,” you echo, giggling. You watch Benji puff on the joint, and admire his beautiful profile when he blows the smoke out of the window. His beard has filled in so nicely, and even overgrown and untrimmed it looks nice. Those grays coming in, the lines by his eyes when he smiles, his freckles, god. “Grandma doesn’t buy me shit with her Kohl’s cash, you know.” 

“That’s because–” Benji coughs a bit, then turns back to you and pulls you closer against him. “You are not her favorite,” he whispers, wearing that stupid fucking lopsided smirk.

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh. 

“It’s true,” he shrugs, unbothered. “But you are mine, though. Favorite, that is.” 

Your heart pounds when he says that. You roll your eyes, then flick him on that perfect nose of his. “Hey, ouch, you fuckin’ dick.” Benji scrunches his face and wiggles his nose, then puffs on the joint. He holds his breath when he slides a hand to the back of your neck, then pulls you close and presses his lips against yours, forcing a large lungful of smoke down your throat, his facial hair tickling your skin. It burns you inside in the most pleasant way, and makes you cough and sputter Benji’s name. 

You feel so fuzzy and happy, sharing this quiet moment with Benji. You wiggle closer to him, smirking and gasping when your cunt presses against his bulge. He doesn’t blush or bother hiding it, not embarrassed by his attraction to you at all. No, he’s fucking shameless. And why shouldn’t he be? You’re beautiful, after all. So goddamn beautiful. 

“You’re hard,” you whisper. 

Benji smiles. “Oh, that? That’s nothing,” he says, pulling you in for a kiss. He kisses you softly, tasting of himself and sweet and smokey like the pot. You’d kiss him like this forever, if you could. “Mm. Hold this.” Benji passes you the joint, which you take another quick hit off of before he steals another kiss. 

His long fingers find their way under your sweater, tickling your soft tummy and your sides. Benji’s hands slide up, up your waist and your back, and then he’s palming your tits in his hands. Cupping them, squeezing them, feeling them like they’re just for him. All that soft, generous flesh. He flicks his thumbs over your nipples, smiling against the kiss at the way it takes your breath away. You’re so fucking sensitive. 

He pinches your nipples gently, and you arch your back into it. Benji twists them, circles them with his fingertips, then lets a hand slide back down your body, where he cups your pussy over your leggings. You’re all wet, and oh, how Benji fucking smirks at that. “Mmm, look at that,” he murmurs, “You are wet. You’re like - you’re so fuckin’ wet, dude.”

“I am not,” you lie, rocking your hips into his palm. Benji rubs your clit through your clothes, making you moan and whimper. You press your forehead against his, enjoying the sensation.

“Mhm, yeah. Totally.” You whine at the loss of his hand when Benji pushes up your sweater so he can kiss your tits. He holds you carefully, one hand splayed between your shoulder blades and the other holding the fabric out of the way. You moan his name when he licks your nipples, circling his tongue around those sensitive, beautiful pieces of you. 

You’re so high, feeling so good. You stretch and lean back, offering more of yourself to Benji - too much of yourself. Your stomach drops when you almost fall back, but Benji catches you. Of course he catches you. He’s used to that, you know. He was always spotting you as you made your way across the monkey bars at the playground when you were little, catching you without a moment’s notice when your palms slipped.

“Okay, well don’t fuckin’ fall, numbnuts,” Benji laughs, smiling at your clumsiness and your own giggles. “Gonna crack your fuckin' skull open, c’mere. Riiiiight here, yep. And actually, take these off—” He tugs at the elastic of your leggings. 

You undress quickly, taking every garment off of your body and leaving it crumpled on the floor. Benji does the same, then sits back while he pumps his thick cock, grinning at your naked form. All those curves, all that beauty. You straddle him again, then take his cock in your hand and guide it to your entrance. You sink down on him, letting his length fill you in one swift go. “Oh fuck, Benji,” you sigh. 

Benji thrusts up, bottoming out. He gives you a second to get used to him, whispering nothing of importance. His hazel eyes, that much more beautiful rimmed in red. "Hi," he smiles.

You smile too. "Hi."

You both laugh when the position turns out to be awkward and…not good at all. You can’t properly ride him, he can’t properly fuck you. But that’s one of the best parts about fucking Benji, honestly. All those silly, stupid, awkward moments and the soft giggles that come with them. He’s serious when he needs to be, sure. Like when he fucked you for the very first time, took your virginity all those years ago. He was so soft and gentle and tender. But he likes to laugh and likes to smile when he’s fucking you. He makes stupid jokes on occasion, jokes that earn him an eye roll or a scoff-turned-moan when he hits that spot inside you juuuust right. 

“Hold tight,” Benji grunts, sitting up straighter. You hold him tightly and squeal quietly when he lifts you up and rests you on the sink, then continues thrusting into you. Your body is so beautiful as he fucks you, that writhing, arching body. Your tits bounce, nipples hardened by the cold breeze that blows into the bathroom. 

You love this angle. His cock hits you just right, rubbing repeatedly against your g-spot. Lost in it all, you can’t control your moans. Quietness is long forgotten when Benji fucks you like this. 

“Shh—shut the fuck up,” Benji hushes you, laughing as he turns on the bathroom fan to muffle your noises. “Oh my god, I love you and I’m sorry, but you have to be quiet, man.” 

“Benj—“ 

“Shhh.” Benji kisses you to keep you quiet, and brings your hand to your center. “You’re gonna make yourself cum for me, alright?” 

You nod quickly. “I love you, too,” you whisper, rubbing your clit as you move your hips to match the way Benji rolls his. He kisses you as he fucks you, swallowing your moans, tickling your tongue with his own. 

Circling your wet, swollen clit inches you closer and closer to the edge, and in seconds you’re cumming on Benji’s thick cock, walls squeezing and pulsing around his length. “Oh fuck, dude. Fuck,” Benji half-moans under his breath, grunting as your orgasm brings on his own. He spills into you, fucking both himself and you through to the end of your climaxes. He really needs to stop doing that, but fuck - you’re so warm and so wet, and you’re fucking his. His fucking girl. 

Benji helps you down when it’s all said and done, and puts his pants on when you pee. He grabs his hoodie, then pauses. “You think anyone would notice if we like, switched?”

You shrug. “Probably not,” you answer, chuckling at his odd idea. You love all of Benji's odd ideas.

Benji tosses you his hoodie, then wears your sweater. It doesn’t fit him right at all, but he doesn’t give a shit. He likes how you look in his hoodie anyway. And he knows you do too. You’re probably gonna sleep in it tonight, he thinks. He imagines the picture, you all snuggled up in bed while you text him late at night. 

You go downstairs with him, and nobody notices the switched shirts. Nobody noticed you were gone, either. Benji winks at you. 

[supernatural-sable]

motel birthday cake (sam winchester x fem reader)

summary: it's sam's birthday, and you make him a cake! 1616 words

tags: established sam x reader, fluffy birthday shenanigans, hunter!reader (though that doesn't really come into play), reader is referred to with fem pronouns/terms

admin note: this is my first time ever posting my writings on tumblr!! i'm so excited, and i really hope you enjoy if you decide to read <3

—

An apron, the fabric of which is thoroughly covered in flour, hangs around your neck, its straps tied comfortably around your waist. Today is special— the most special day of the year, if you have anything to say about it.

It's Sam's birthday. Your beautiful, tall, handsome, sweet, darling boyfriend. Some time ago he had offhandedly mentioned to you that he hadn't had a proper birthday celebration since his college days. Dean always went out of his way to buy him a coffee or something sweet, but no real parties. They had demons and all sorts of supernatural entities to hunt, after all— that took precedent over a holiday.

For you, however, nothing in the world is more important than making Sam feel special on his day.

It has been hours since you begun. You woke up first thing this morning to fetch the ingredients— Sam was already out of the motel with his brother, of course, a note on your bedside table about being back for dinner— and now, at about 3:00 p.m., you are just about finished decorating his cake. It's been an arduous process, but it only makes you all the more proud of yourself for what you have accomplished. Motel kitchenettes aren't the easiest place to do any sort of baking, but you figured it out.

You are usually one to accompany them on their hunts, but you made up some excuse about having a sprained ankle to be let off the hook for today. Honestly, you expected Sam to catch on, but he just seemed genuinely concerned about your feigned injury. Only one thought has occurred to you since.

He must have forgotten his own birthday.

It made your heart ache to think about it. Dean has surely reminded him by making a comment about him being the "birthday boy" on their hunt by now. You hope they come back soon.

A vibrant mix of greens decorate the cake in front of you, as well as the underneaths of your fingernails (that's not going away for a couple days, at least). In piped edible-glitter frosting, it reads, "Happy Birthday Sam!" with a little heart next to his name. It isn't your best work, that's for certain, but you really hope that he'll like it. The last thing you have to add to the cake are the candles you snuck away to buy along with the ingredients. They didn't have any number shaped ones, and a collection of over 20 candles would certainly be a fire hazard. You opted for four; one belonging to each corner. You carefully put them in place before taking a step back to admire your handiwork.

Perfection. Well, not really, but as close as you're getting to it.

As you stand to admire your work, you hear the familiar sound of Baby's purring engine outside the motel room's thin walls. Panic strikes you for a moment before you start to move, opening the small refrigerator's door and carefully lowering the cake, resting on a cutting board, onto one of the racks. You manage to tear the apron off in record time, shoving it into some cabinet underneath the sink neither Winchester will touch. You kick the refrigerator door shut just in time, a key shuffling inside the door knob for just a moment before the front door swings open.

Sam's eyes immediately catch yours, his stoic features melting away into a sweet smile. He exhales like he had been holding in a breath for the entirety of the time you were apart. Forgetting about the duffle bag slung over his shoulder, he walks straight to where you're standing and pulls you into a hug. You can't help but smile in his embrace, arms wrapping around his waist.

"I missed you," you confess, and Sam smiles into your hair. He nods, his silent way of saying 'me too,' one of his hands rubbing circles into your lower back.

You remain like this for a moment before an amused chuckle sounds from behind you. "Now what's all this?" Dean's voice is dripping with scandal, and when you turn your head to see what he could possibly be talking about, you sigh deeply.

You forgot about the dishes.

Plastic bowls litter the tiny sink, along with the spoon and whisk you used for mixing. Cakes batter clings to them, along with speckles of sugar and flour. If your hands weren't on your boyfriend, you'd facepalm.

Your shame is interrupted by a chuckle from Sam, and the smile on his face is so strikingly beautiful that you almost forget what you were upset about. "Miss 'injured ankle' did all this, huh? What mischief have you gotten yourself into today, pretty girl?" He asks, endearment in his tone. You trace your fingers along his lower back while avoiding eye contact with him, purposefully acting coy.

"Oh, I don't know... I guess you'll have to go put your stuff away before I show you." You nod toward the bag on his shoulder, eyes following your gesture before his brows raise in realization.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, then untangling himself from your shared embrace. "That is a brilliant idea. I'll be right back," he promises, accentuating his words with a point of his finger, then making his way into your shared bedroom no more than 20 feet away. While it took some getting accustomed to, you find that it is honestly quite nice having Sam and Dean so close all the time. It gives you a sense of security you haven't ever felt before. Less privacy, certainly, but oh well.

Dean raises a brow at you, capturing your attention. Leaning casually against the counter, he poses a silent question— one that you understand immediately. You nod with a smirk, then beckon him over to the refrigerator to show him your work. He quietly slips over to where you are, just barely prying open the door. He peers inside with furrowed brows as if he plans to thoroughly study your artistry. After a beat, he closes it, giving you one of his upside-down smiles and a thumbs up in approval. He genuinely looks a little impressed. You dramatically wipe imaginary sweat off of your forehead, but you internally feel some real relief. If Dean approves, there's a much higher chance that Sam will too.

Your game of charades comes to an end at the sound of Sam's footsteps returning from the bedroom. You both look over at him with a knowing smile.

"What's that look for?" He chuckles as he walks over to the kitchenette, crossing his arms on his chest. You and Dean share a glance before he steps to the side and out of the way of the fridge to let you do the honors.

"Okay, well— first, you have to close your eyes. Just for a few seconds, I promise." You place one hand on the fridge door, the other on your hip. He shrugs before doing as he's told, holding up his palms in front of his shut eyes just in case. With careful movements, you open the door and remove the cake from its chilly confines, balancing it meticulously in your grasp. Dean closes the door for you, and you mutter a thank you to him for it. You're about to tell Sam to open his eyes when you remember something.

"Dean, do you have a light?"

His eyebrows raise in understanding, and he quickly rifles through his pockets for a lighter. Even through his hand-shield, you can sense Sam's confusion about your question, but he doesn't voice it. It isn't long before Dean's flicking it on, lighting the 4 candles with oddly practiced ease. You can imagine he's probably done this for Sam a few times— you'll have to talk about that sometime. Maybe you'll work together next year.

"Open your eyes!" Your voice is giddy, just chock-full of anticipation. Sam complies, unblinding himself to take in the sight of what is being held in front of him. He can't help the grin that forms on his face.

"You made this?"

He looks back and forth between you and the cake, and you nod enthusiastically. His gaze fixes on you, then, his heart swelling with love. "You really didn't have to do this, you know," he says softly, almost like he's trying to keep his words from reaching Dean's ears.

"I know. But you deserve to feel special on your birthday," you reply. "Even if it means just eating a wonky motel cake." That gets a chuckle out of him, and he precariously leans over the cake platter to kiss your forehead.

"Thank you, baby." You can tell from the glint in his eyes that there's more he wants to say, but you two have put Dean through enough. He bends himself down so he's roughly at eye-level with the treat, seemingly taking a moment to make a wish before blowing out all the candles in one go. You'll have to ask him about that wish later.

He straightens back up after the deed is done. "So!" He exclaims, clasping his hands together. "Shall we eat?"

"I second that notion," Dean chimes in, slipping past the two of you to find some plastic utensils the three of you can use to eat. You and Sam share a tender look for a moment— his greenish-bluish-brownish irises shining in the kitchen light. Then, the two of you go to join his brother at this motel's poor excuse for a dining table to grab a bite of your masterpiece.

It's simple, it's peaceful. Two things that don't come by the three of you very often.

Happy birthday, Sam.

taglist: (feel free to comment if you want to be added!)

@ambiguous-avery @sammybirthdaybonanza

[wlw-imagines]

Bleeding Heart - Penelope Garcia x Reader (Criminal Minds)

a/n: we survive another day of may prompts!!! (touch wood for the rest) - inspired by the shooting episode but not that one !

summary: Penelope Garcia was always sunshine in a dark world, always deflecting with sparkle, always dancing around her own feelings. Especially the ones she had for you.

Until the day she thought she was being a hero. Until the day she was shot.

And you were the one who found her.

Part of Mayloncholy 2025: Day Four, bleeding out of @may-lancholy

Penelope Garcia has always been a kaleidoscope of contradictions, bright colors and rapid-fire jokes, glitter eyeliner and code-cracking brilliance. And somehow, from the moment you stepped into the BAU, she decided you were worthy of being a part of her vibrant world.

Your friendship bloomed fast. She’d call you by ridiculous nicknames over the intercom, sugarplum, hotshot, divine creature of the fiber optic realm. You’d fire back with emails filled with GIFs and sarcasm, until Hotch threatened to monitor your office communications. You shared lunches, sneaking into each other’s offices with takeout and your latest string of inside jokes. No matter how heavy the cases got, Garcia was your safe place.

You fell in love with her somewhere between a poorly made sandwich and a string of midnight tech support sessions. Not all at once. More like a soft, persistent tide wearing away your defenses. But she sparkled too much, she hid too well behind her wit and whimsy, for you to ever really say it. She made you feel special, yes. But you knew that she made everyone feel that way. Every call with the team only proved your point.

Still, lately… something’s changed.

She’s been distant in ways only you would notice. Laughing too loud. Smiling too wide. Her jokes come faster now, like she’s trying to drown something out. Her eyes dart around the bullpen more. She checks her phone too often. Her coffee goes cold beside her without a single sip.

“Hey,” you ask one day, gently, catching her outside the conference room. “You okay?”

She gives you the usual grin, but it falters at the corners. “Of course, sugarplum. I’m unbreakable. Practically glitter-coated Kevlar.”

But you’re not buying it. You tilt your head. “Penelope.”

Her eyes flick away. “Don’t worry. I’ve just been chasing a weird lead. Nothing big. It’ll shake out.”

You want to push. But her walls are wrapped in pink tulle and charm, and she’s built them high. So you just let her brush past you.

That night, you stare at your inbox a little too long, rereading one of her old messages.

From: Garcia, Penelope Subject: World’s Most Beautiful Human (Spoiler: It’s You)

Hey you. Just wanted to remind you that you’re doing an amazing job and I love sharing air with you. Now go crack that case like the radiant badass you are.

You smile, even as your chest aches.

She’s always known how to say the things you need to hear. But lately, she’s forgotten how to let you say them back.

And deep down, you can feel it coming, that moment when her shine won’t be enough to hide whatever’s going on. You just don’t know that it’s racing toward you faster than either of you can see.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The call came just after dusk. You knew something was wrong the moment you saw her name on your phone. Not the usual flurry of emojis. No playful subject line.

Just: Need a favor. Meet me in the back lot behind that old bakery on 7th. Come alone.

You didn’t hesitate.

By the time you pulled into the near-empty lot, the sun was fading behind the rooftops. You spotted her car immediately—parked off to the side, tucked beneath the shadows of a flickering streetlamp. Garcia stood beside it, jacket drawn tight against the wind, her blonde hair glowing faintly in the dim light. She looked smaller than usual. Folded in on herself. Nervous.

You were already halfway to her when it happened.

One crack. Sharp and cruel.

The gunshot tore through the quiet like a scream.

She dropped.

Your legs moved before your brain caught up. You sprinted, slipping on gravel, knees slamming hard against the ground as you slid beside her. Blood bloomed across her blouse, vivid and terrible. Her hands clutched at her stomach, shaking. Her lips parted in pain and then softened when she saw you.

“Oh,” she breathed, voice feather-light. “Hi.”

“Penelope.” You were already tearing off your jacket, pressing it to her wound, your hands slick with her blood. “Hey. Hey. Stay with me. Okay? I’ve got you.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t think he’d actually…” Her lashes fluttered. “I thought I was being smart.”

“You are smart. You’re brilliant. And brave. And- Jesus, just... don’t talk, okay? Help’s coming. Just hold on.” Your voice cracked around the edges. You pressed harder against the wound, willing the bleeding to stop, to slow, anything.

She grimaced. “I messed it up, didn’t I?”

“Don’t say that.”

“I meant to do it properly. To do a good job, worthy of the team.” Her fingers curled weakly around your wrist.

You shook your head, heart pounding against your ribs like it was trying to punch its way out. “You did, you did. But, Pen, none of that matters. Just stay with me.”

Behind you, tires screeched. Doors slammed. Morgan’s voice, sharp, panicked, echoed from somewhere far away. But your world had narrowed to her pale face, her shallow breaths, the way she looked at you like you were the only thing keeping her tethered.

“You’re okay,” you whispered, over and over. “You’re okay. Just keep looking at me.”

Her eyes fluttered. She tried to smile. “I was going to make a joke about dying dramatically in your arms, but it’s less funny now.”

“You’re not dying.”

“You’re very convincing.” Her breath hitched.

“Good. Then believe me.” You leaned closer, voice trembling. “Please. Stay.”

And as the sirens wailed down the street, she blinked up at you, eyes full of fear and something else.

Something she’d been hiding behind all the sparkle.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The sirens are close now. Red and blue lights begin to flash against the buildings. You can hear shouting, voices you know, footsteps pounding on pavement, but all of it is background noise.

You only see her.

Penelope's skin is too pale, her breath too shallow. You keep pressure on the wound with one hand, and with the other, you brush her damp hair back from her face. She's still conscious, but just barely. Her lips tremble when she tries to speak.

“Hey,” you say softly. “Eyes on me, okay? Just keep looking at me.”

"That's easy to do," She nods faintly. Then winces. Her eyes flutter. “I didn’t want this.”

“You didn’t want what?”

Her hand lifts, slow, shaking, and curls loosely in your shirt. It’s barely a grip, more a touch, but it’s enough to make your heart break.

“It to end like this,” she whispers.

“Penelope…” You lean in closer. Her breath brushes your cheek.

“I always thought... if I kept it light, if I was the fun one… the safe one… maybe I wouldn’t ruin anything.”

“Ruin what?”

She gives a faint, broken laugh. “Us. You. I love you, okay? I love you so much it hurts. And now I’m bleeding all over your shoes and this is- this is the worst first confession in the history of confessions.”

Your chest tightens so hard it steals your breath. For a moment, all you can do is look at her, at the way her mascara has smudged just under one eye, at the desperate hope barely hanging on in her expression.

She loves you.

And she’s saying it now, like it’s her last chance. Like she thinks you might not want it. Like she doesn’t know you’ve been in love with her for years.

You swallow hard. “Penelope-”

“I didn’t mean for it to come out like this.” Her voice cracks. “But I didn’t want to die without telling you. Even if it makes things worse. Even if you don’t feel the same. I just- I needed you to know.”

“Stop,” you say, voice shaking. “Don’t talk like that. You’re going to be okay.”

She tries to smile again, but it slips. Her eyes well up, one tear spilling down her temple.

“I’m scared,” she admits.

“I know,” you whisper, forehead pressing gently against hers. “I’ve got you. You’re not alone.”

Her fingers twitch, curling tighter into your shirt.

“I love you,” she murmurs again, barely audible.

And then her eyes slide closed.

“Penelope-!”

But the EMTs are there now, pulling you back, lifting her onto a stretcher with fast, practiced hands. You scramble after them, heart in your throat.

You can still feel her confession echoing through you.

It came like a storm, like a last breath, terrifying and true.

You just hope she’s still awake to hear yours.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The ambulance is a blur of red lights and urgency. The siren wails, but you barely register it over the roar in your own head.

You’re holding her hand.

You won’t let go.

She’s not unconscious, not really, just somewhere between here and there. Her lashes flutter now and then. Her chest rises and falls, shaky but present. The paramedics work around you, calling out numbers, inserting IVs, trying to stabilise the bleeding. One of them tries to move you back.

“She stays calm when I’m here,” you protest, and something in your voice must land, because they let you be. They let you be to murmur your versions of 'I love you' over and over again, just hoping they get through to her. She has to hear your words.

The hospital doors fly open. She disappears behind them, swallowed by white walls and urgency. You stand there, frozen, hands sticky with her blood, your jacket abandoned in the ER bay, soaked through and useless.

And it hits you.

She said she loved you.

She said it like it was goodbye.

You don’t remember sitting down. You don’t remember your knees giving out, but suddenly Morgan’s there, crouched in front of you, and Hotch is saying something low to a nurse, and JJ presses a coffee into your hand even though it’s the last thing you want.

None of it matters.

Not until someone steps out, hours later, in scrubs with tired eyes and says, “She made it through surgery. She’s stable now.”

You’re up before they finish the sentence.

The room is too white, too quiet. Machines beep softly. There’s a bandage under her gown. A line of monitors tracing her heartbeat. She’s pale, but she’s here. Her eyes open when she hears the door.

And her first words are: “Were those ‘I love you’s real, or just CPR-induced delirium?”

Your laugh catches in your throat. You cross to her in three strides and sit at the edge of the bed, careful of wires and bandages.

“So real,” you say, and your voice breaks. “Inconveniently real.”

She smiles. It’s small, but it’s her.

You reach for her hand again. This time, it’s warm. Weak, but warm.

“I meant it,” you whisper. “All of it. And not just because I thought I might lose you. I’ve loved you for a long time, Penelope. I just didn’t know how to say it. And now I don’t care how late it is. I just care that you’re here to hear it.”

Her eyes shine, and for once, she doesn’t deflect - doesn't crack a joke. She just lets the truth settle between you, soft and certain.

“That’s a good line,” she murmurs. “You should write it down.”

You chuckle, brushing a thumb over the back of her hand. “I will. I’ll write it all down, if you want me to.”

“I do,” she says.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The first night after surgery is the longest of your life.

You refuse to leave the hospital.

The staff gives up trying to shoo you off after the fourth time. You curl up in a plastic chair beside her bed, clutching her hand like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered. Maybe it is.

She drifts in and out of sleep. Each time her eyelids flutter, you sit up straighter. When she winces, you squeeze her hand and murmur, “I’m here.”

You are.

You’re not going anywhere.

The team comes in shifts. Morgan brings takeout you barely touch. JJ kisses Penelope’s forehead while she’s sleeping and whispers, “Don’t you dare pull a stunt like that again.” Hotch doesn’t say much, but he stays longer than anyone, leaves a cup of strong coffee on the windowsill with a nod in your direction. Spencer shows up with a blanket and a book of crossword puzzles. “For when she’s awake enough to cheat,” he says.

But through it all, the quiet, the buzzing machines, the sterile hum of the hospital, it’s you she stirs for.

You, she looks for when she blinks groggily awake.

“You stayed,” she rasps.

“Obviously.”

She gives a weak smile. “Knew I picked the right person to confess to.”

You laugh softly. “You did. And you’re not getting rid of me now. I’m afraid it’s a whole new level of inconvenient love.”

Her chuckle turns into a wince. “Don’t make me laugh, I might rupture something.”

“Okay, okay, no jokes. Just… healing. And me. And rom-coms. And sneaking you things the nurses would kill me for.”

She perks up a little. “Coffee?”

“Eventually,” you grin. “We’ll negotiate.”

The days blur but this time, in the soft way.

You learn her schedule of meds better than the nurses. You fluff her pillows without asking. You argue about which movies to rewatch (she wins, obviously). She grumbles about the flavorless hospital food until you smuggle in soup from her favorite deli. She lets you help her brush her hair when she’s too tired to lift her arm, leans into your touch like she’s surprised it feels so good.

One afternoon, she catches you staring at her.

“What?” she asks, suspicious.

You shrug, eyes warm. “Just… still can’t believe I get to keep you.”

Her expression softens, all defenses forgotten. “You didn’t have to stay.”

“I know. But I wanted to. I always wanted to.”

She takes your hand, this time without hesitation, and brushes her lips against your knuckles. “No more deflecting?”

“Only into your arms, babycakes,” she murmurs.

And just like that, in a room that once held pain and fear, you feel something new take root.

Something stronger than a bullet.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Recovery doesn’t happen all at once.

Some days are easy. She teases the nurses, flirts shamelessly with you when they’re not looking, and insists her hospital gown is a 'bold fashion statement.' Other days, she’s too tired to joke. Her body aches. Her hands shake. Sometimes she stares off into the distance, somewhere far away from you, her thoughts darker than she wants to admit.

You stay for all of it.

You learn what she needs before she asks. A blanket when the AC kicks on. A new playlist when she’s sick of reruns. The perfect amount of sugar in her coffee (which you continue sneaking in, despite the nurse’s death glare). You bring her things to do: crosswords, books, a glittery notebook labelled 'Revenge Plots & Recovery Plans.'

She loves that notebook more than she admits.

“Did you write this one?” she asks one afternoon, holding up a handmade card tucked into her lunch tray.

“I plead the fifth.”

“It’s got glitter and a pun.”

“I know what you like.”

She beams. “You’re disgustingly adorable.”

“I learned from the best.”

Her smile fades a little then, goes soft around the edges. She reaches for your hand.

“You know… it doesn’t scare me. That you saw me like that. Bleeding. Broken.”

You squeeze her fingers. “I was scared enough for the both of us.”

“I know.” Her thumb brushes over your knuckles. “But it means something, doesn’t it? That I didn’t have to be sunshine for you to stay. Right?”

You lean closer. “I stayed because I love you. Even when you’re scared. Even when you’re quiet. Even when you’re throwing Jell-O at the wall because they forgot the whipped cream.”

“That was one time.”

You smile. “So far.”

She laughs and this time, it doesn’t hurt.

Later, when they finally clear her for a short walk, you help her down the hallway. She leans into your side, grumbling about ugly slippers, IV poles, and the indignity of hospital socks. But when you pause at the window and the light hits her just right, golden and soft and alive, she goes quiet.

“You okay?” you ask.

She nods. Then, “I almost died. I almost didn’t get this part.”

You don’t look away. “But you did.”

She turns to you slowly. “Can I kiss you now? Or do I need a doctor’s note?”

You grin. “I can always forge one.”

And when she leans in, careful, tentative, warm, it’s everything. All the flirting, the jokes, the near-misses, the missed chances… it all melts into this one, quiet kiss.

Soft. Sure. Real.

She sighs against your lips. “Definitely not delirium.”

You laugh. “Welcome back, Penelope.”

She grins. “You’re never getting rid of me now.”

You press your forehead to hers. “Good. Because I wasn’t done loving you yet.”

[thatrandyalexfroma03]

Zach and Buck

The start of @fiyaerrigan prompt of poor Tommy sitting through Zach and Buck sharing tales. Written on Tumblr in thirty minutes with no spell checks, etc. It's been a long day of traveling for Tommy, his bones are sore, he is beyond tired and the drive from LAX to his house was, well it was typical L.A. American's didn't mass public transport, no American's loved the freedom of sitting in traffic for two hours to move ten miles. God Bless the U.S.A

But at least when his weary body gets home, Evan will be waiting for him. His beautiful, sweet, thoughtful Evan.

Tommy can't wait to collapse on the couch, put on Pride & Prejudice (The proper one, the 1995 BBC miniseries featuring Elizabeth Bennet and Colin Firth, thank you very much)

So he curses the wind when he pulls into his street and sees Zach's dark blue Subaru WRX outside his house.

That damn cat.

With all the patience that he can muster, he takes a deep breath and climbs out of his truck.

Evan is already outside, and hugs him tightly with a welcome home and to be honest, it is incredibly healing. Meanwhile, Zach has grabbed his bags off the back seat, which is admittedly helpful even if the comment about how old and worn out he is, is not.

"Why is Zach here?" Tommy asks as they slowly make their way in, Zach already inside in a vain attempt to prove how much quicker he is (because he's so much younger) even with Tommy's luggage.

Buck just laughs lightly, "The cat, apparently, I think he was lonely, which suited me because I was a little alone."

"Aww, Evan."

"It's fine, you had to go, I understand, and I could of called Maddie and Chim but to be honest, it's kinda nice. Plus, I've noticed you don't really need to pay attention to Zach, he kinda just chats away about nothing."

Tommy chuckles because both Lucy and him know all about Zach's tangents at work. Zach starts with point A, then diverts to point C, then waffles over to point E, remembers that point A exists before crashing into point B.

It's fine.

Until later, with one too many beers and Evan is...

"Please, Evan, don't encourage him." Tommy says, regretting everything as Evan tells Zach in great detail how he stole a firetruck not once, but twice, to have sex.

"Tommy stole a helicopter to have sex." Zach replies with a shit eating grin, drinking Tommy's beer.

"I did not, I borrowed a helicopter to help save the life of a friend." Tommy corrects as Zach gives him an unconvinced look, and the little fucker turns to Evan.

"Please, your dick is so amazing Tommy broke the law to ride it."

"ZACH!"

Evan goes bright red and sputters while Zach acts innocent, "I mean, it must be some amazing dick, has it got a curve or..."

"ZACH!" Tommy warns again, "I will kick you out of my house."

Zach pouts, before a smile breaks out over his face, "When I was at College, before I was kicked out, I had sex in the back of the Dean's car..."

Evan shakes his head, "Why?"

"Why not? He wasn't impressed, not sure if it was because it was his car or his daughter."

Tommy is going to need a stronger drink.

"Oh, you should hear the stories from Peru." Evan states and Tommy definitely is going to need a much stronger drink.

[katuschka]

Blue – Three

Jake Kiszka x reader/f!OC 4.100 words

lovers to enemies to lovers; part three of miniseries

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere.

Warnings (are spoilers): Yearning, heartbreak, unrequitted (?) love, alcohol consumption, language, sadness, vague allusions to old trauma, jealousy, plotting, a lot of angst, vengeful and toxic behaviour, mild violence, intense kissing

Blue Masterlist

“What do you wanna do, Blue?”

That was all Lucy managed to say – her words laced with genuine concern – before her brother shushed us. I squeezed her hand in a weak reassurance and she continued to hold it during the whole ceremony that started just seconds later. Sometimes she acted more like a mother than a friend, except my mother would never do that. 

It was no doubt beautiful – the ceremony, I mean – but I hardly paid any attention. I tried with all my might not to look over my shoulder, but my willpower had suffered too, under his influence. I had to know what she looked like, even though it was not important and I had no right to be so curious, much less jealous. 

Jake didn’t replace me; I walked away. 

And yet I was also the one that couldn’t move on, no matter how hard I tried… while he didn’t even have to try. I walked in chains, and he was free. 

After all those weeks, the idea that I had been nothing more that just one of many was still ripping at my insides and Jake acted as if he knew about my struggles, using it to torture me for refusing to play that role. 

She was pretty. Younger than me, with kind, clever eyes, rosy lips and shiny hair. I expected nothing less. She whispered something in his ear and he smiled kindly back. That’s when our eyes met. It wiped that smile off of his face abruptly and I turned back just as quickly and with a beating heart, feeling like a thief that just got caught. 

“What do you wanna do?” Lucy repeated once again when it was over and the newlyweds excused themselves briefly to take a few sappy photos with bridesmaids and groomsmen. She grabbed me by my elbow and ushered us both back inside the kitchen where we resumed our tireless efforts to reduce Lucy’s secret wine stock. Neither of us was that much into champagne that now dominated the main catering table outside. 

“I don’t know…” Which was true. I had no plan, only that growing feeling inside my chest that threatened to poison my insides if I didn’t let it out one way or another. “I just can’t let him do that to me. I was the one who ended it, and he keeps treating me like some stalking bimbo that’s just obsessed with him. They all do,” I added bitterly, referring to my previous brief encounter with Josh. 

Lucy took a sip and huffed into her glass, obviously thinking. “Blue…,” she sighed at last. “I know this will sound harsh, but… if you don’t want him to treat you like that, stop acting like you are. And, no, stop looking at me like that. If you don’t wanna be here, then leave. That would be more than understandable. But if you stay, please don’t do anything stupid. Ignoring him is the best you can do in any case. Know your worth. You are not your mom, Blue.” 

The last sentence felt like a direct blow to the chest. We hardly ever talked about that, and for a reason. “I don’t need reminding.”

“There are still times when I really think you do,” she countered swiftly, ignoring my aggressively defensive tone. “So? Should I call you that Uber?”

I knew Lucy was right – about all of it – but the idea that I had more than one option to choose from was foolish. Leaving would give him the pleasure of knowing that he still could get under my skin, and I couldn’t stomach that. “No, Lucienne, I’ll stay. And I promise I’ll behave. But speaking about promises, you said I’d have a good time, so I’m still counting on you to keep your word.”

“Good!” she grinned. “Have you seen Thomas’ friends? A handsome lot, all of them. And some of them are here alone, just as I had expected. So, let’s go meet those, shall we?” 

With a sigh, I followed her to where Dave or Jim or Marcus were already waiting, and as much as I previously hadn’t cared, the idea of flirting with someone new right in front of Jake suddenly seemed quite appealing. 

It worked for a while. Lazy, warm evenings are perfect for mindless chit-chat and I was tipsy enough to be able to pretend I somehow even enjoyed it. Melodious laughter, soft touches, rustling leaves and singing birds under the setting sun... True rom-com shit. Sadly, Lucy lied about the interesting people and neither of them could distract me enough to stop me from searching for Jake in the crowd. 

And I swear almost everytime I did, my eyes met with his sulky stare. He could not ignore me. The nasty creature residing deep inside my chest roared with vengeful satisfaction, only to poison my mood with my own venomous intentions as the evening progressed.  

Tired of that farce at last, I excused myself and found my way back to our empty table where I sat down to observe the merrimaking from a safe distance, willingly dissociating. Even a wine stain on the white tablecloth right in front of me suddenly seemed more exciting. 

“Fancy a dance?” I looked up to see Josh smiling softly at me with an offered hand. “I’m sorry about earlier, so… I don’t know, consider this to be an apology or something.”

I raised my eyebrow at him and he immediately mirrored the gesture. “Come on.”

“Don’t you have anyone else to dance with?” 

He sighed but remained hovering above me patiently, immune to my standoffishness… or at least willingly choosing to ignore it. “He doesn’t dance, but you look like you’d love to.” 

I’d rather walk on broken glass than be dragged back into the bustle, but this was Josh – a human anchor – so I reluctantly took the offered hand and let him lead me to the makeshift dance floor. I guess he sensed my unease, so we stayed by the edge, just swaying lazily into the music. 

“I didn’t let you finish the sentence earlier,” I broke the awkward silence after a while. 

“Uh?”

“You wanted me to listen, but I did not.”

“Ah, yes. I think I wouldn’t be able to formulate the words properly, anyway. I like you, Blue…,” he frowned, looking over my shoulder restlessly. 

“And what’s that supposed to mean, Josh?” I stopped and pulled away from him, but he refused to let go of my hand. 

“I… it means… I just think you should stay away from Jake. For everyone’s sake.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I hissed, trying to keep my voice down, because his clenched jaw told me that me making a scene was exactly what he feared. “Did you see what he did?”

“Yeah... Yes, I did, but…” 

“Then I’m afraid this dance is over. Please, let go of me.” Josh took a deep breath and finally let my hand slip through his fingers. I simply turned around and walked away slowly, drowning in the familiar feeling of my chest tightening as a sudden wave of sadness hit it. I no longer felt anger, only dejection… and that was dangerous. I had to find Lucy. 

With my mouth so dry it was suddenly hard to swallow, I stopped by the main table briefly to grab a glass of champagne which I emptied with two gulps. Still in haste, I turned abruptly towards the way that led to the kitchen and collided with her. She yelped in surprise and spilled her drink all over my cleavage. “Fucking hell!”

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry! I just wanted to say hi, but now I completely ruined it. And your dress! Please, oh my god, let me.” She grabbed a handful of napkins and started patting my chest clumsily, rendering me speechless. But, honestly, the high cadence with which she spoke would stun even a caffeinated meerkat.

“You… what?” was all I managed to stutter in response. I wanted to hate her. I needed her to be a bitch, which would justify the cold rage that kept creeping back, but I couldn’t see any ingenuity in her wide eyes. 

“I just don’t really know anyone here, so I felt a bit left out among the guys the whole evening, but I saw you talking to Josh and I saw Jake looking your way, so I just wanted to say hi. I will pay for that dress. Sooo beautiful, by the way. Once again, I’m so sorry… uh…?” 

Something snapped inside me. I knew I had promised Lucy, but it was the opportunity I had been hoping for and the girl basically presented it to me on a silver platter.

“Y/N… but everyone calls me Blue.”

“Oh, that’s nice… I’m…”

“Just another cunt.”

“Excuse me?!?!” I watched with secret pleasure how her face transformed from an awkward smile to the mask of utter, undiluted outrage. 

Ready to twist that knife, I continued, my voice cold and calculated. “Jake’s words… from about two hours ago. That’s what he whispered in my ear when he was squeezing my tit and kissing my neck… You’re just “another cunt to entertain”. 

She blinked and opened her mouth, but no sound came out of it. 

“Yeah, I’m not happy about that either, so don’t be mad at me. I didn’t ask for this. I already dodged the bullet. You should probably do the same.” 

She dropped the napkins and took a step back, then looked around  and hesitated, obviously unsure what to do. “You should probably go,” I continued calmly. “See, we can’t be friends.”

Poor girl. But the truth is that I did her a favor. And better sooner than later, because while being humiliated by Jake really sucks, loving him is much worse. 

Lost in my own thoughts for a fleeting moment, I watched her stomp angrily towards their group before I recovered enough to realize that I should make myself scarce. It was time to find Lucy. 

“I’m afraid I’ll need you to call me that Uber after all,” I blurted out, already breathless.

“What did you do?”

Before I could say anything, the girl’s high-pitched screaming coming from outside answered at least some of her questions. We both hurried towards the door to see what exactly happened. “Oh for fuck’s sake Blue,” she whispered at first… and squealed in surprise just a split second later when the girl grabbed a bowl of punch from a smaller catering table and emptied the contents on top of Jake’s head. 

“You know what? Forget it. I’m already almost sober,” I said as I started rummaging for car keys inside my purse. “Tell your brother that I’m sorry for… whatever this turns into.” I kissed her cheek hastily before I turned on my heel and I ran through the entrance hall and towards the now empty front door – the quickest way to my car.

It would be foolish to think that Lucy would let me go so easily and without protest, and surely, I soon heard the clacking of her heels right behind me, following my own footsteps on a stony path. 

“You can’t just make a mess like that and disappear,” she hissed when she grabbed my elbow and tried to turn me to face her. 

“It’s gonna get much worse if I stay, Lucienne. Besides, I didn’t do anything! It was him groping me out in the open where literally anyone could see us. So I’d appreciate it if you'd all stop acting like this is all my fault!” By the time I finished, I was already almost shouting, but that was still nothing compared to Jake’s voice when he emerged from behind the corner, drenched in orange, and started running towards us. “BLUE!”

“For fuck’s sake! OK, go, get lost!” Lucy snapped and pushed me towards my car. I jumped in and managed to slam the door shut just a millisecond before he reached me, slamming the window like a madman, seething with rage. I flipped him off before I drove off. 

The first half of the ride home was exhilarating, but my revenge-induced high proved to be short-lived. As I should have expected. 

I had never done anything like that before. And Jake had known that; he had been counting on it, no doubt. 

And while I managed to take him by surprise, to enrage him even, he was still the winner. Surely, he’d just find someone new before the end of the weekend, leaving the poor girl humiliated… and me? Still the same miserable fool, trying to get over him, but only getting worse.  

Still chasing that feeling of retaliation, I drove with my windows rolled down, feeling like Nina Persson singing My Favourite Game, only to realize I was indeed still losing. Deep down, I had desperately wished for him to see my hurt, to realize what he was doing to me, but our silly games only resulted in anger on his side and resentment on mine. Resentment that was slowly transforming to self-hatred, because I simply couldn’t let go. The evening wind did not dry my tears, it just made my eyes sting more. 

I was turning to a person I never wanted to be. I could no longer recognize myself. All because of him. 

Jake was an asshole with a capital A. I had let him prove that way too many times before, so why did I keep loving him? 

I hated him for that. I hated him in the silence of my bedroom until at least 3 in the morning when my traitorous brain finally gave in and stopped torturing me by replaying the scenes from the previous day again, and again, and again. 

But even then, my brain and heart showed me no mercy. In the dreams that followed, he kissed me in a way that had made me endure his assholery for months. Just like the first night, tender and healing, before his growing aloofness and open infidelity ruined me. 

I spent the whole Sunday in my sleeping shorts and tank top, surviving through the day on microwaved popcorn and strawberry ice cream, too distracted to read a book and stupid enough to keep wasting my time on reddit. ‘What are your methods of getting over someone?’ I don’t know why I thought I would find any answers or advice there, especially when everyone kept saying that it ‘takes time.’ The only problem was, time seemed to slow down without Jake. Minutes kept dragging on with no relief. 

Lucy called in the early afternoon to assure me that I hadn’t ruined the party. Good to know the only ruined thing was my soul. In retrospect, I admire her patience with me when I said those words aloud with venom in my voice. I had no right to blame anyone but me for what had happened. 

I just desperately needed someone to understand. Just for once. 

To be fair, she did ask me how I was or whether I needed anything, but those words could not really penetrate the wall of my self-hatred. Yes, I was completely ok (even though she could hear me crying). No, I didn’t need anything. 

Apart from wishing to be left alone, that is. But I didn’t tell her that. 

“I’m sorry, Lucienne,” I finally sobbed. “You were right and I didn’t listen, and I broke the promise and you should hate me.”

“Oh please, not this again. I’m mad at you, I’m not gonna deny that. But I don’t hate you. I love you, Blue. For fuck’s sake, just learn to accept that.”

Overcome by exhaustion after a nearly sleepless night, I think I dozed off on the couch before the sun came down, only to be woken by someone pounding frantically on my front door. 

The house was already shrouded in darkness and at first I just lay paralyzed by confusion and fear for several seconds, until I heard his voice. Slowly, I switched on the lights and pussyfooted towards the door. 

“Go away.”

“No. Open the fucking door, Blue! I’m sick of you running away from me, and I’m not going anywhere.” 

This time he opted for the doorbell, holding it until I couldn’t take it anymore. With a pounding heart, I opened it just a crack. “What do you want, Jake?”

“I need you.”

I expected him to say all kinds of hurtful things, especially after what I had done, but definitely not this. However, knowing him, this hurt too. “No, you don’t. Go away.” I tried to close the door, but he outstretched his arm to stop me, and staggered slightly while doing so. 

“Are you drunk, Jake?” I sighed. 

“I had just a few drinks.”

“A few too many. Just… go home.” It came out almost as a whisper. I was no longer angry at him. To be honest, I’m not really sure how I felt. Exhausted, probably. Emotionally drained. His presence still made my heart go crazy though, making me feel slightly nauseous. I tried to close the door again, pushing back against the leverage of his own palm pressed to the other side of the solid wood. I was sure that if I just let go, he’d fall forward right inside my hallway. “What you need is some sleep, not me.”

“I need YOU,” he repeated with a painful look plastered on his face, completely disregarding my concerns that only kept growing. “And I know you need me too! Come on, Blue, this is just stupid… this… this fighting… this pretense.”

“Jake, no…,” I whined, unsure what I was pleading for. For him to leave me alone? Consciously, yes. That’s what I chose to want. But deep down, I had been yearning for him to come and tell me exactly this. 

I knew how foolish it was. I had grown immune to his false words, but not to the unspoken litanies behind his eyes that were now looking directly into mine, as if searching for something. They fooled me again. I took a small step back and opened the door slowly before it even became a conscious thought. 

Jake lowered his gaze, looking at the tips of his boots still safely behind the threshold, as if he didn’t really believe that I really budged, before he finally took a step in and clumsily pinned me against the wall, while switching off the light above us accidentally.

And I let him do that, relapsing again. 

It wasn’t rough, not even overly lustful. He just cupped my cheeks with his warm hands and looked into my eyes once more. “See? You don’t want me to go. Just say it!” 

Sadly, that was true. I didn’t want him to stay either. I felt like drowning, but at the same time it felt… nice. A gust of evening breeze reminded me that this was all happening with my front door still open, leaving my exposed vulnerability in the open and for everyone to see. Even though the street was completely empty, I felt naked. Jake traced the tip of his thumb across my lips and I let them part involuntarily, making him smile and whisper: “You need this, Blue. Just like I need it.”

His own breath grew heavy and I scrunched my nose as the distinct smell of tequila and rum flavored tobacco hit my nostrils. I should have felt appalled by that, should have pushed away that heathen. Instead I felt hopeful. In vino veritas, right? “No, you don’t,” I whispered, opting to continue to fight back. Valiantly, but feebly. He already knew I was giving up, and pressed himself even closer to me, making me feel that he indeed did. 

I whimpered and at the same time, a dog barked, making me jump and turn my head in search of the source of the sound. My neighbor Molly was just passing by my house while walking her yorkie Ben. Our eyes met and I noticed sudden deep concern in hers. 

“Everything ok, Blue?” she asked loudly, alerting not only Jake, but anyone else behind other closed doors who could possibly hear us. 

I panicked. “More than ok, Mol,” I shouted back and finally closed the door with my left foot, sealing my fate with a loud bang. 

Jake chuckled triumphantly, making me raise my chin in defiance. This battle wasn’t over yet. “You heard her. You’re one high-pitched scream away from her calling the police. Don’t do anything we’d both regret.”

Those dark eyes were still boring into mine, full of danger and outrage and also something else that quenched my worries, but not my agitation. Without the porch light, we were suddenly shrouded in semi-darkness, the only remaining source of light now being a reading lamp in the adjacent living room. It made his features look almost sinister. Almost. “I’ve never done anything you wouldn’t want… or anything you’d regret afterwards.”

“That’s a lie!” I spat back fiercely and loudly. “You humiliated me. Many times. I never wanted that. It’s not all just sex and pleasure, Jake! You HURT me. I regret ever letting you do that.” 

It felt as if something inside me snapped and I was fuming by the time I finished speaking. My hands, pressed submissively against the wall behind me up until that moment, were now squeezing his shoulders with the same urgency as those words I finally forced through my mouth. With his palms still cupping my cheeks, I could feel the words reverberate through him. 

Even though I had never wanted him to know any of that, even though I had dreaded him knowing that, saying it all aloud at last was such a relief! I wanted to add that I also regretted knowing him, but that would be a lie.

Maybe we really needed that conversation, even if it was meant to be one sided, even if he would never say sorry. Which he didn’t do. However, I still felt victorious as I watched his eyes widen. His jaw dropped and I waited for him to say something. Anything. 

When he didn’t, I added, averting my eyes: “I wanted to believe you just couldn’t see that, but now I know you never cared.” 

He finally let go of my flushed cheeks and ran his fingers through his hair instead, sighing in frustration. “Unbelievable,” he whispered at last, shaking his head. 

“What?” 

“You’re the distant one!” he spat and he smacked the wall next to my head, forcing me to look into his eyes again. I gasped. The ferocity I found in that otherwise familiar darkness was brand new. “Ever wondered why everyone calls you Blue? It’s not just your eyes, babe!” He grabbed me by my forearms and pressed me against the wall again. I thought he would continue, but he just pressed his lips together, fuming.

“Are you done?” I hissed back defiantly. 

“No… You want people to crawl back to you, want them to beg you for mercy. Feeding on it. Bitch!”

If one swift motion, I pushed him away with all the force I could muster. Surprised, he let go of me and staggered backwards, and without really thinking, I slapped him across that bewildered face. I regretted it immediately and my hand remained hovering in mid air, frozen in time and waiting for retribution. 

After a few excruciatingly long seconds, filled only with the sound of our synchronized breathing, he finally moved and grabbed my wrist without breaking eye contact. He looked completely sober now. And strangely calm. “She cried, you know? I guess I deserve your anger. And hers, too. But she didn’t deserve to cry. Do you even care?”

“Do you? Do you care I did, too? Where I come from, ex-lovers don’t casually grope each other when they accidentally meet. Why did you even do that? What do you want from me?” I tried to wrench free from his grip, but there was no need. He just let go. 

“I shouldn’t have come here.”

“And yet, here you are. Why?” 

It happened so fast I gasped for air. His fingers, entangled in my hair, pulling. His lips, pressed against mine. His tongue, forcing its way into my mouth. I whimpered and melted into the touch. My visceral response to it was so overwhelmingly intense I wanted to cry. Moaning loudly, I grabbed him by the nape of his neck to keep him close, scared he’d pull away again. All reasoning be damned. All I could feel and focus on was that insatiable and unsatiated hunger.

@thewritingbeforesunrise @fleet-of-fiction @writingcold @lvnterninthenight @its-interesting-van-kleep  @takenbythemadness  @edgingthedarkness @myownparadise96 @gvfstuddedmajesty @jazzyfigz @sanguinebats @josh-iamyour-mama @lyndz2names @wetkleenex-gvf @peaceloveunitygvf @cheersdannyx2 @fleetingjake @lizzys-sunflower @emojakekiszka @gvfmarge @Dayumclarizzel @lipstickitty @clownstarr @gretasfallingsky @musicislove3389 @i-love-gvf @psychedelectable @allof--mylove @sacredsparrow @scarabsinthestardust @Ironlotus90 @stardustsam @hollyco

[aghagaara]

Tenderness. Absurd amounts of tenderness.

***

As Harvey walks into the kitchen, he halts mid-step.

Because Mike is there, curled up on the windowsill, staring out at the rain that’s been pouring nonstop all day.

Heavy slate clouds hang low over Manhattan, casting the apartment in a muted gray light. It’s the middle of the day, but it might as well be evening. Outside, rain hammers the sidewalks, the edge of the fire escape, the flat rooftop of the building across the street. The sound of honking horns rises from the jammed-up avenue below, layered with the steady hiss of rainfall.

And yet, against all that dreariness — against the gloom and noise and New York drizzle — Mike, sitting there framed by the window, somehow looks like sunlight.

His damp blond curls are tousled from a recent shower. One knee is bent, elbow resting casually on top, while the other leg dangles off the ledge, swinging slightly. His gaze is fixed somewhere beyond the rain-slick cityscape, lost either in the dense overcast sky or the endless stream of red brake lights crawling down Lexington. Absentmindedly, his index finger traces a slow line from his chin to his lips, over and over, not even realizing he’s doing it.

He’s wearing nothing but soft grey sweatpants. Barefoot. And home.

So deeply home that Harvey feels something inside him clench—painfully sweet.

Harvey studies him carefully, not hiding the genuine awe and admiration in his eyes. From the top of Mike’s head, where the blond hair is messily sticking out, his eyes slowly drift downward. The profile of his face, the sharp collarbones, still showing faint marks from bites and hickeys. Harvey lets out a quiet, barely audible chuckle as his gaze lingers on them a little longer, but then moves on, outlining the strong arms. His eyes glide over the firm chest and lower still, tracing the contours of his beautiful torso. Half of Mike’s body is lit by the window light, making it look even more defined, even more stunning.

He’s staring — hard. So much so that his breath deepens without him noticing, and heat begins to unfurl through him. His throat dries. His lips part.

Mike is beautiful. Too beautiful. And too damn sweet.

And Harvey wants to remember this exact moment.

He pulls his phone from the pocket of his pajama pants, thumb swiping quickly to the camera. A couple of quiet clicks; the lens focuses instantly.

Then, without breaking eye contact with the image on screen, he zooms in slightly. Just enough to frame Mike from the waist up.

And Mike turns.

Harvey snaps another photo.

Then Mike’s actual eyes — blue and startled — lock onto his. Not through a screen this time.

“What are you doing?” Mike asks, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

The surprise gives way to a flush, then to a crooked smile.

And Harvey suddenly needs to hold him. Kiss him. Or just be closer, breathe him in and let himself be swallowed whole by the feeling burning under his ribs.

He exhales hard, like trying to contain something about to burst, and places the phone down on the counter. Mike twists around fully now, facing him, head tilted, smiling wider.

Harvey steps between his legs, one hand sliding into those still-damp curls, the other braced against the windowsill. Mike’s grin deepens, and Harvey’s lips twitch in response.

They’re grinning like idiots, because being near each other feels good— safe, and stupidly warm. Because Mike loves the way Harvey touches him, and Harvey can’t get enough of that smile.

The affection — raw and dizzying — courses through Harvey’s veins, plain in his eyes. His ridiculously in-love eyes that pin Mike in place. Mike can’t look away. Doesn’t want to.

Harvey strokes the edge of his cheek with the pads of his fingers, then lowers his hand to the sill. And looking into those wide, storm-colored eyes, Harvey feels his heart threaten to leap out of his chest.

He doesn’t care why. All he knows is: it’s Mike. His Mike.

He leans in, pressing their temples together, closing his eyes. And he shivers when Mike’s warm fingers graze his shoulder.

Then Mike tilts forward to kiss him on the cheek. Then the temple. Then once, twice more along the side of his face, gentle and slow, arms wrapping lightly around Harvey’s bare chest.

It’s like each kiss leaves a bloom in its wake — soft and glowing.

Harvey lives for that kind of touch. And he lives for returning it.

He draws his hands down to Mike’s hips, pulling him closer, leaving a quiet kiss just behind his ear. Then his nose follows a slow trail down to the base of Mike’s neck, where he buries his face and breathes him in, like that scent is oxygen.

And Mike doesn’t stop — his mouth explores Harvey’s shoulder now, lips dragging in damp, tender lines. His legs wrap behind Harvey, arms stroking his side, fingers curling into his hair.

Harvey lets out a soft, inexplicable laugh — part affection, part awe.

It just feels good. Right.

He wraps his arms around Mike’s warm back and holds him close, kissing the base of his neck. Mike goes quiet, melts into him, resting his head on Harvey’s shoulder with a soft exhale.

And Harvey smiles again. So does Mike.

“I feel so warm with you, Mike,” Harvey murmurs.

[isles-of-man]

Erik checked his phone one last time before exiting his home. Emily's messages made his blood rush south immediately.

"Fuck," he muttered, adjusting himself in his freshly pressed suit pants. The knowledge that she'd gotten an IUD sent his mind spiraling with possibilities. No barriers between them. Just her tight, wet heat wrapped around him.

He typed quickly: That's the best news I've heard all day. Can't wait to feel every inch of you again tonight. I'm on my way.

The cab ride to Marcello's felt excruciatingly long. Erik kept picturing Emily waiting for him, wondering what she'd chosen to wear. When the driver finally pulled up to the curb, Erik spotted her immediately—a vision in that little black dress beneath her long coat.

He rounded the corner and spotted her immediately—the elegant silhouette waiting outside Marcello's. Her long coat hugged her curves, and Erik felt his heart race as he approached. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders, the soft curls framing her face perfectly.

"Hey, beautiful," he said, leaning in to kiss her. His hand slid around her waist, pulling her close. He could feel the thin fabric of her dress beneath the coat—and nothing else.

"No bra?" he whispered against her ear, his hand trailing up her side, brushing teasingly against the side of her breast.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes darkening with desire. "I've been thinking about your texts all day." His fingers traced the outline of her breast through the dress. The other drifted to her hip; feeling no outline of the barest hint she wore panties either. A smile formed, leaning in to kiss her slowly. 

"You're playing a dangerous game tonight," he whispered in her ear, his hand boldly sliding down to cup her ass through the dress. "No panties either? You're making it very hard for me to behave in public."

“Come on, inside - before i forget myself and the promise of having our first date,” he mumbled with one last kiss before pulling her inside the restaurant with him and helping her to her seat after they had taken their coats off. 

emily walked back in her small apartment. she couldn't tell if it was because this whole day had gone completely differently than her routine, but she paused to look at the tiny place. it had a very small kitchen, her room and a small bathroom. it was enough for a person living alone, but emily find it incredibly narrow now.

looking at her corner where she store the few clothes she had, emily sighed. she dreamed of having a beautiful dressing room, one where she would have a closet for every single outfit, one for her shoes, her jewels, her accessories. alas, everything was stored in the corner of her room, looking quite messy.

slowly walking to the pile of clothes, emily tried to find the dress she had in mind. marcello's was a fancy restaurant, she would surely dress properly for the occasion. she picked her lovely black dress and put it on the bed before then finding her black stilettos. pondering whether she should wear lingerie or not, emily decided not to. she would just play a bit with the fire tonight.

as she heard her phone, emily picked it up and saw the video attachment that erik sent her. as she opened it, her whole body now shivered at the sight of his perfect cock. she barely had time to see it this morning, only to feel it. and there it was, standing proudly in front of the camera.

emily now knew why she had so much pleasure this morning. his cock was thick, beautiful. seeing the pre-cum made her almost moan as she wished she could have her tongue licking it, cleaning it for him. looking at her man stroking his cock for her was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen. "come on baby, cum for me..." she whispered at the phone, as if he would hear her. she saw the thick loads of cum coming out and breathed hardly. "that's it... that's my man." she chuckled, loving how he came on his desk. anyone could've opened that door and found him this way. she licked her lip before then seeing his message. she instantly typed the reply.

emily: damn this was hot, babe... emily: i can't wait to see you tonight <3

putting the phone away, emily walked into her shower to wash herself and get ready. she cleaned herself, put some perfume and nice make up before making a super brushing on her long brown hair. slowly pulling the dress on her naked body, emily adjusted it and slid her feet into her black stilettos. she was ready for erik, ready for this dinner date and the next steps of it.

as she grabbed her phone, emily thought that she should also be transparent with her boyfriend. she wanted him to know everything, and would explain to him the appointment of this afternoon.

emily: by the way. this afternoon i was at my doctor's. emily: i got myself an iud. so we can enjoy ourselves without an unexpected surprise.

she chuckled as she looked at the hour. it was time to go to the restaurant. she grabbed her long coat and walked out of her apartment, locked the door behind her. as she walked to the subway station, emily saw a few men looking at her. she ignored them and got into the subway immediately, counting the stations until she would be in erik's arms.

once out of the subway, emily sighed of relief as she was now in a nice district of their town. the men who were looking at her were gone and she was now standing in front of the restaurant, waiting for her boyfriend to come. she was wearing no bras nor panties and she hoped that he would see that.

[daydreamerdrew]

Tales of Suspense (1959) #52-53 and #60 and The Avengers (1963) #29 and Black Widow: Deadly Origin (2010) #2

[echoes-lighthouse]

A personal (beige???) flag:

I will stop on walks to rizz up birds regularly. I simply have a psychological need to stop and say 'ooooo you're so pretty! hello beautiful!!!' when I see a bird that is looking pretty in the sunshine

Today I was narrating this pretty little black and white bird being like 'hey gorgeous look at you walking over there!! oh you look so nice! look at those legs for days!!!!'

and I didn't realize there was someone behind me and I probably would have toned it down a little if I'd known it was a middle-aged man, because he looked very confused.

[steelycunt]

blushing over the compliments my dentist gave me on my brushwork...words like fantastic were thrown around..i love 2 get a good grade in dentist <3

[rescuefield-a]

this is totally unrelated but i was thinking about the fact that claire's growth into a relatively masculine environment and how her style was pretty much tomboyish since forever, how generally you'll never see her be extremely feminine clothing wise and how she hangs on that red leather jacket for dear life every season of the year since it's basically like her armour. i was also thinking about piers' email ( as one does ) and how she's depicted as this gorgeous gorgeous woman who makes everybody's head turn unexpectedly ( the fact that they thought she looked like chris in a skirt sends me because i think in DI you can finally see it very clearly that they do share similar features lol ) which probably surprises claire a lot since the reason she's mostly known for attracting all the attention in every room is actually her temperament

[kaiist]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

You sit beside Xavier on the bench in the park, watching people pass by as golden afternoon light filters through the leaves. The air smells of fresh-cut grass and distant food carts. A stylish couple walks past, the woman’s laughter musical, her confidence evident in every step.

“I wish I was pretty like her,” you mumble, more to yourself than to him, your fingers absently tracing patterns on the wooden bench.

Xavier turns to you, his expression shifting to one of genuine confusion. His brows furrow deeply, eyes widening just a fraction.

“What... did you say?” he asks, his tone remaining even despite the clear puzzlement in his eyes. He shifts his body toward you, giving you his full attention.

“Nothing, just...” you gesture vaguely toward the retreating couple. “Sometimes I don’t feel very attractive. Especially around people like that.”

Xavier stares at you for a long moment, looking genuinely bewildered. The silence stretches between you, broken only by distant children’s laughter and birdsong.

“I don’t understand,” he finally says.

You start to explain, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his unwavering gaze, but he gently places his hand over yours, the warmth of his palm surprising against your skin.

“No,” he interrupts, shaking his head slightly. “I mean I don’t understand why you would think that. It doesn’t make sense.” His thumb traces a small circle on the back of your hand. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he states matter-of-factly. “I’ve always thought so.”

Coming from Xavier, the sincerity in his voice makes your heart skip.

“You don’t have to say that,” you protest weakly, looking down at where his hand covers yours.

Xavier shakes his head, leaning closer. “I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true. I don’t...” he pauses, carefully selecting his words, “understand how you can’t see what I see.”

His fingers tighten around yours, the pressure gentle but grounding. “Every time I look at you, I...” He struggles with the words, clearly moving outside his comfort zone. A faint color touches his usually pale cheeks. “From a purely objective standpoint, the way you look—” He stops, frustrated with himself, and takes a deep breath.

“That’s not what I meant to say.” He closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, there’s a rare vulnerability there. “What I mean is that you’re beautiful. In every way that matters. Your smile when you’re excited about something. The way your eyes light up when you talk about things you care about. How your whole face changes when you’re lost in thought.”

He reaches up with his free hand, hesitating just shy of touching your face. “I’ve remembered every expression you make. I’ve studied them all.” He looks away, embarrassed by his own earnestness. “You’re beautiful. Please, don’t think otherwise.”

The tension in his shoulders eases slightly, as if relieved to have expressed something he’s held inside for too long. He doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the afternoon.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

You’re helping Zayne organize his medical journals in his office as late afternoon shadows stretch across the polished floors. The pristine space feels both clinical and comforting—much like the man himself.

As you reach up to place a heavy volume on the top shelf, you catch your reflection in the large window overlooking the city. The bright lighting does you no favors.

“Ugh,” you mutter, tugging self-consciously at your clothes. “I look awful today.”

Zayne glances up from his desk where he’s been meticulously updating patient files. He sets down his pen, the soft click audible in the sudden silence. His eyes, usually so focused on his work, now study you with that penetrating gaze that seems to see beneath surfaces.

“What brought this on?” he asks, his voice filling the room.

“Nothing specific,” you say, turning away from your reflection. “Just... some days I don’t feel pretty, that’s all.”

Zayne stands. He gestures to the leather chair beside his own. “Sit.”

You comply, watching as he leans against his desk, arms folded across his chest. The setting sun through the windows casts half his face in shadow, highlighting the sharp angles of his features.

“Are you overthinking again?” he asks directly, but there’s no judgment in his tone. “Or did someone say something to you today?”

“Just overthinking, I guess,” you admit, fidgeting under his steady gaze.

He nods once, as if confirming a diagnosis. “I see.” He’s silent for a moment.

“Beauty is subjective,” he begins. “But if you’re asking for my opinion...” The corner of his mouth twitches in what might be the ghost of a smile. “You’re more than perfect. Inside and out.”

When you start to protest, he raises a hand to stop you.

“I don’t make observations lightly. You know that.” His eyes hold yours. “I’ve studied human anatomy for years. I’ve seen thousands of faces.” He leans forward slightly. “None of them affect me the way yours does.”

The admission seems to surprise even him, a rare moment of vulnerability from someone so carefully composed.

Suddenly, he reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a small chocolate wrapped in gold foil. It’s from the exclusive chocolatier across town—the one he pretends not to favor.

He places it in your palm, his fingers lingering against yours longer than necessary. “Here,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “Sweet for the sweet.”

Before you can respond, he leans forward and places a kiss on your forehead. The momentary closeness allows you to catch the subtle scent of his aftershave mingled with antiseptic.

“Now,” he says, straightening himself, “wait for me to finish organizing these journals so we can go home. I’m thinking of dinner at that place you like on Fifth Street.” He turns back to his desk, but not before adding, “And no more nonsense about not being pretty. I won’t have the person I care for most questioning their worth.”

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

You’re sitting on the private beach adjoining Rafayel’s seaside studio, watching him add final touches to a vibrant seascape painting. The ocean stretches endlessly before you, waves crashing rhythmically against the shore. The air tastes of salt and fresh breeze. Seagulls circle overhead, their calls mingling with the gentle lapping of water against sand.

Rafayel stands before his painting, completely absorbed in his work. Paint splatters decorate his rolled-up sleeves and there’s a smudge of blue across his cheekbone. The wind tousles his already disheveled hair as he captures the dance of light on water.

A group of beautiful people laugh further down the beach, their perfect silhouettes outlined against the setting sun. You glance down at yourself, then back at them, feeling suddenly out of place in this picturesque setting.

“I don’t think I’m pretty enough for this place,” you whisper, the breeze carrying your words away—or so you think.

Rafayel’s hand freezes. He turns to you slowly, paint-speckled fingers stilling on the canvas, his expression transforming from focus to complete disbelief.

“What did you just say?” His usually playful voice has an edge to it now, sharp as broken glass.

“Nothing, just thinking out loud,” you reply, regretting having spoken at all.

“No, no, no,” he sets his palette down with a clatter on the small table beside him. “You don’t get to say things like that and dismiss them as ’nothing.’” In an instant, he takes a seat on your side. “Did someone say something to you?” he demands, looking around the empty beach as if searching for culprits. “Which human do I need to have a word with?”

“No one said anything, Rafayel. It’s just how I feel sometimes,” you admit.

“That’s even worse! Your own mind betraying you like this?” He runs his fingers through his hair. “This is an emergency. A catastrophe of the highest order!”

He grabs your shoulders. “You are an absolute masterpiece. Do you understand? A masterpiece. I know art. I create art. I live and breathe beauty in all its forms. And you—” he pokes your cheek lightly, leaving a tiny dot of turquoise paint, “—are the finest creation I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

When you try to look away, embarrassed by his intensity, he gently tilts your chin back. The setting sun reflects in his eyes, turning them to liquid gold. “The ocean is jealous of your depths. The stars envy your brilliance.” His voice softens, becoming almost reverent. “And I would swim across every sea before I let you believe you’re anything less than stunning.”

He wraps his arms around you suddenly, clinging like a child. “Now don’t say such ridiculous things again. It offends my artistic sensibilities.”

He then stands, pulling you up with him. “Come on. We’re going to watch the sunset together. I’ll show you how I see you.” He places a brush in your hand, his fingers lingering. “And maybe then you’ll understand why I can’t look away.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

You stand before the massive floor-to-ceiling windows in Sylus’s penthouse suite, overlooking the sprawling N109 Zone from stories up. The city stretches below like a circuit board of neon and shadow, vehicles and people reduced to tiny moving points of light. The luxurious room behind you is bathed in the soft glow of artfully placed lamps illuminating his collection of rarities—collections plucked from across time and space.

Catching your reflection in the darkened glass, superimposed over the glittering cityscape, you murmur without thinking, “I don’t know why you keep me around. I’m not even pretty.”

The room falls silent. You hear Sylus set down whatever gem he was examining, the soft clink of crystal against metal followed by his steady steps as he approaches.

“What an odd thing to say,” he remarks, his voice silky yet sharp as a blade, “because you’re entirely incorrect.”

You turn to find him watching you, head slightly tilted.

“Did I hear you questioning your beauty?” A smirk plays on his lips, but his eyes remain serious, almost stern. “After all this time with me, you should know very well that I have exceptional taste.”

He closes the distance between you. He places his hands on your waist, positioning you both so your reflections are visible in the window. His gaze in the reflection holds nothing but admiration.

“Do you think I surround myself with anything less than perfection?” He gestures to the rare treasures adorning his collection shelf—items worth more than most people earn in a lifetime. “Do you imagine I would waste my time on someone who didn’t captivate me entirely?”

His fingers trace your jawline, feather-light. “Hundreds of rare gems, ancient artifacts, priceless paintings—I collect only the extraordinary, the unique.” His voice drops lower, more intimate. “And yet, not one of these treasures compares to your presence and beauty.”

When you start to protest, he places a finger gently against your lips. “I don’t tolerate self-deprecation from the one person in this universe I genuinely cherish.”

He turns you to face him fully now, both hands cupping your face with surprising tenderness from someone so powerful, so used to taking what he wants. Your disbelief must show on your face because he chuckles softly.

“Your beauty is not up for debate, not even by you. Challenge me on anything else if you wish, demand whatever your heart desires—but on this matter, I will not yield.”

He steps back after brushing a kiss against your forehead, apparently considering the matter settled. “Now come here and tell me what you want instead of what you think you lack. That’s much more productive, don’t you agree?”

He gestures to the plush sofa. “Sit down and tell me about your day today. I haven’t heard you talking about it.” His expression softens further. “Let’s talk about that instead.”

As you join him, he casually drapes an arm around you, pulling you closer. “And tomorrow,” he murmurs against your hair, “I’ll show you exactly how beautiful you are to me. I have something special planned—something worthy of you.”

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

You’re absently scrolling through your phone as you accompany Caleb while he sorts through Fleet reports in his home office. The space reflects his dual nature—military precision in the organized shelves and structured workspace, but touches of warmth in the photographs and mementos from his DAA days. The soft glow of multiple screens illuminates the room as rain patters against the windows, creating a cozy atmosphere.

Caleb sits at his desk, brow furrowed in concentration as he reviews security protocols. His uniform jacket hangs on the back of his chair, sleeves of his standard-issue shirt rolled up to reveal his forearms. Despite the late hour, his posture remains perfect—the Colonel, always on duty.

Glancing up, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflective surface of a dormant monitor. The unflattering blue light highlights every perceived imperfection.

“Ugh,” you mutter under your breath, running a self-conscious hand through your hair. “I look terrible today.”

Caleb’s head snaps up from his work. “What did you just say?” There’s a sudden alertness in his posture, as if responding to a threat.

“Just that I’m not looking my best,” you shrug, trying to downplay it, surprised by his intense reaction. 

Caleb stands, his chair rolling backward. His eyes narrow as he scans the room like he’s searching for enemies in a combat zone. “Who put that idea in your head?”

The protective edge in his voice takes you by surprise.

“No one, Caleb. It’s just how I feel sometimes.” You set down your phone, touched by his concern even as you try to ease it.

His expression darkens for a moment before he walks towards you. “Hey,” he says, crouching beside where you’re seated and taking your hands in his. “Look at me.”

When you meet his eyes, they’re filled with the same warmth they held when you were both kids, before the Fleet, before the incident—before everything changed.

“I’ve watched you grow more beautiful every single day since we were kids,” he says, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The calluses on his palms catch slightly against your skin. “Sometimes I still can’t believe I get to be with you.”

He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. Rain continues to drum against the windows, creating a private world just for the two of you.

“You’ve always been the prettiest person in any room to me. Always will be. Nothing compares to coming home to you.”

His smile returns. “And trust me, I’ve had plenty of people try to catch my eye over the years. None of them even came close. It’s just not possible when my mind can only think of you.”

He presses a soft kiss onto your forehead, his lips warm against your skin. “So no more of this ‘not pretty’ talk, okay? Or I’ll have to issue an official declaration about how gorgeous you are, and that would be really embarrassing for everyone involved.”

Based on this request.