#Are you two holding hands under the table?

[luveline]

𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

You begin to have intimate dreams about your roommate, Spencer. [9k]

c: pining roommates, dreams, tipsy non-confessions, spencer being a sweetheart. fem!reader. this fic was requested! 

｡𖦹°‧⭑.

i. a dreamt bruise 

“What are you doing?” 

Your chest lists slightly forward as a body warms your back. Arms wrap around you, solid but gentle, arms you’ve been held by a thousand times. 

You cover them with one of your own. “What does it look like I’m doing?” you feel yourself ask. 

The room is golden, gaussian, better now he’s behind you.

“I don’t know, dove. That’s why I asked.” His voice is soft in your ear. His hair presses to the side of your face as he hugs you —you’ve never felt love like this. It’s palpable. It’s in his hands. 

Nobody’s called you dove before, but he is, he has. It might feel strange if it weren’t for how softly he said it, affection in the very marrow of the word, warmth of it kissing your cheek as he holds you. He says ‘dove’, and it feels like he loves you. Feels like you’ve done something beautiful to earn it, but that’s the beauty of it: you didn’t do anything. 

The room turns narrow, sunlight on the dining room table of your apartment. A table usually crowded thickly with books, or your work. A space has been cleared away and filled with pieces of a jigsaw. 

“I thought you were going to do this with me,” you say, dragging a piece across the table with your fingertip. 

“Maybe later.” 

“You can’t stand there all night.” 

Are you sure? you think he says, but things are hazy, and he’s turning you toward him suddenly, you’re standing, the puzzle forgotten. “How’s your bruise?” 

“What?” you ask, almost sleeping as a big, kind hand drags up the front of your shirt, holding it to the underside of your breast. 

“Does it still hurt?” 

His thumb brushes over your contusion, skin on your side, your back. It’s tender. Any breath is lost, any sense of breathing at all. You’re not a girl so much as something being touched with care, warm joy and love and a contrasting ache wedged under your heart as he draws a circles into your skin. 

He hums sympathetically, the weight of him ebbing as he leans away, letting your shirt fall back into place. 

The dream stretches on for a lifetime, the two of you standing in your living room, dining table behind you, couch and TV opposite. Your life in one room, his life, his books, his furniture, but your home. You know it all well, just, in the light, you can’t see the stitching. 

He takes your face into his hand. Nobody’s ever touched you like, turned your face up like they were moving through honey, staring at you with eyes that shade of brown. Brown, brown… so big. So melting. 

Spencer holds your face gently. 

His nose touches yours. He tips his forehead into yours, his breath skimming lips he’d just warmed as he says, “Don’t worry, alright? You’ll be okay. Just take it easy,” he says, the last of his pleading lost to your mouth. 

You wake up with a caught breath. 

Your eyes are glued together, eyelashes threaded, gummy. You turn into the pillow beside you, slightly deflated and cold where you’d turned away in the night. 

The room is dark when you manage to pry your eyes open. You close them just as quickly, begging your body to sleep, to plunge back into the dream. Just five more minutes of golden colour, hugging your pillow, love in somebody’s hand, in Spencer’s hand… five more minutes…

Your eyes open again. 

Spencer’s hand on your cheek, guiding you carefully upwards for a kiss. 

You raise your hand, feeling along the swell of your bottom lip with your thumb and index finger. They tremble with the weakness of having just woken up. With having something torn away from you. 

What was that? you think, the hook of sleep lodged in your throat as you struggle to sit up. Your face tips forwards heavily, but your back doesn’t hurt like it tends to in the early mornings before work. There’s no ache there —your body slept well. You use your hands as anchors and drag yourself foot first from the bed. Your sheets fall to the floor with a quiet shush. 

It felt so real that for a moment you’re wondering where Spencer went. 

He was touching you, he was caressing your waist. You rush to the door of your room, every night left ajar, pushing it open and beelining for the bathroom. You flick on the light and stop in front of the mirror, staring at yourself, wondering if you’re foolish enough to do this, before peeling your shirt from your stomach to analyse your bruise. 

It’s not there. 

You turn and contort yourself to catch the light. Maybe it was further back? But no… there’s no bruise, nothing for Spencer to check. Your torso is a stretch of unharmed skin to run your hand down without pain. 

Your head whirs. 

From somewhere in the apartment, Spencer puts down a mug. You flush with heat at the realisation that he’s home, and panic flares when his footsteps move in your direction. Your bedrooms are on opposite sides of the apartment, and there are two bathrooms —the bath and toilet near your room, and the en-suite to his room— meaning Spencer’s coming to see you specifically. 

“Hey, Y/N?” he says. 

It’s been a few days since he was home, and you aren’t just roommates, Spencer’s your friend. He sounds happy that you’re awake, pausing at your bedroom door. 

“I’m in the bathroom!” you say, your dry throat turning your voice to fractures. 

“I just wanted you to know I’m home. Are you working?” 

“It’s Saturday.”

He laughs. “Oh. I know, I forgot. Well, can I make you breakfast? I was gonna have oats and sliced bananas and stuff.” 

“Okay.” You clear your throat. “I’ll be right there.” 

“Sorry,” he says, like he’s just remembered where you are. “This is harassment. I’ll be in the kitchen.” 

You wash your face and brush your teeth. You head back into your room to change from your pyjamas into loungewear that’s just as soft. The flavour of your dream follows you around, you’d like to call it sweetness, saccharinity, but it doesn’t fit the bill. The feeling you’d woken with wasn’t a sugar high but contentedness, like a warm evening meal. You’d felt utterly sated, your arms reaching out for a body that wasn’t there. 

A heaviness takes your heart. Suffocating longing, you carry it to the kitchen with you to find Spencer’s already made you a cup of your tea. He’s warming oatmeal on the stove, blueberries and bananas on the countertop. You sit at the island. You should hug him. If you hadn’t dreamt of his hands on your waist what felt like mere moments ago, you would’ve. 

“Did you go shopping?” 

“I did, I went to Leaven last night. You were already sleeping at ten.” He peeks at you from over his shoulder. “Long day yesterday?” 

“I get too tired by Friday,” you say, averting your gaze to stare down into your mug, steam twirling up to kiss your chin. 

“No, I get it. Me too. Are you feeling any better today?” 

You were sick when he left. “I’m fine.” 

“Okay, good. I’m gonna put the blueberries in with the oatmeal, is that okay?” 

“Sure.” 

“Okay.” Spencer’s gaze lingers on you. He turns back to the counter. 

He cuts two bananas. You realise he has strawberries, too, watching as he cuts them, wetness leaking from their punnets where he must’ve rinsed them in the sink. He slices out the stems and cuts the strawberries in clean halves like hearts. 

“I missed you,” he says. 

You can’t read his tone, but you aren’t cruel, even feeling shy as you are. “I missed you too. How was the case? Everyone made it home in one piece, right?” 

“Everyone’s fine. Emily got into a car accident and it was pretty bad, but she’s okay now. Recovering from her concussion at home with Sergei.” 

That’s good. You’ve met Spencer’s boss, Agent Hotchner (very scary), and Emily, JJ, and Penelope (who aren’t scary at all). You’re glad to hear they’re all okay, because they’re good people, and they risk a lot to keep others safe. You forget sometimes how much Spencer puts on the line whenever he leaves. 

You poke at him for details of the case, though legally there are things he has to keep from you, and you don’t mind either way. Nothing personal can crop up while talking of murder, and for now you’d like the conversation to stay far away from you and your bed and your sudden dream. 

You assume you’re safe, but then Spencer mentions the bruise one of the sergeants got from their weapon’s kickback and you’re flushing nervously all over again. 

Spencer grabs two bowls from the cabinet, dark brown ceramics he got from Koreatown, the perfect size for each helping of oatmeal. The purple from the insides of the blueberries bleed into the oats as he pours.

He lays each bowl with a curve of banana slices, strawberries, and covers half with a drizzle of dark fudge sauce. “Salt?” he asks. 

“Yes, please.” 

Spencer grabs two spoons from the cutlery drawer. He grins when he finally turns, bowls held aloft, making his way to the stool beside you. He puts his own down first, then the cutlery, standing ever so slightly behind you as he lays your breakfast down in front of you. “What have you been doing while I was away?” he asks softly. 

You can’t look at him. Can’t think. 

What are you doing? 

What does it look like I’m doing? 

I don’t know, dove. That’s why I asked. 

You lean away from his presence, desperate to have him follow, and ashamed. Spencer’s a friend, a good one, he’s kind and loving and handsome beyond description, but you’ve never thought of him like that. Each time your mind slips wondering what he might be like in love, you’ve let the thought go. But now... 

You shrug, grabbing your spoon. “Not much, Spencer. This looks amazing, it’s really pretty. Thank you for cooking.” 

“No problem. Are you sure you’re feeling better? You don’t look so good.” 

You take a quick bite of oatmeal, the spoon scalding your tongue, “Ah,” you say, breathing harshly around it, “I’m fine. Woke up a little wrong, that’s all.” 

Spencer sits in the seat next to you with a soft smile. “Good. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” 

Oh, no, you think, reading way too much into how he says it. No, no, no.

—

ii facts 

We should explore the city, Spencer declares after breakfast, before we forget what it’s like to be outside!

You were outside yesterday before you got home, and everything sucked as much as it usually did —it’s the weekend, and the point of it is to stay home resting and or lazing, but you wouldn’t usually say no to Spencer so you can’t now. He can’t ever know about your dream, so he can’t know how you’re feeling, so you have to be the friends you’ve always been. 

Spencer analyses people for a reason, but you have practice. You’ve successfully hidden what it was that morning that made you feel cagey and tender. He knows something is wrong regardless. He attempts to fix it the best way he knows how: Spencer talks. 

“Cheese production globally outshadows coffee, tea, tobacco, and chocolate, over twenty two million metric tons of it every year, with almost half of that made in Europe alone, which is only a half million metric ton more than what’s being eaten. The average American eats forty two pounds of cheese a year, but I don’t really like cheese that much? So I’m bringing the average down. Besides, every time I eat cheese I get strange dreams.  There’s actually a chemical in cheese called tyramine which is linked to nightmares. Hey, you okay?” 

“Cheese gives you weird dreams?” 

“Why, have you been eating a lot of it lately?” 

“No,” you say resolutely. “I hate cheese. I’ve never eaten cheese before.” 

“That’s a lie.” 

“Let’s get donuts.”

Spencer is easily swayed. You glance around the square for the McDonald’s and follow that to the street with the bakery, landmark to landmark, until the smell of sugar and oil is strong enough to follow. “Do you wanna know something about donuts?” he asks, crushing in behind you as you pass through the heavy wooden door of the bakery and join the line. 

“Sure.” 

“They were first called oily cakes.” 

“I knew that,” you say, “you’ve told me that, Spencer. That’s the first fact anybody thinks of.” 

“Okay, don’t be rude,” he says, giving you a playful poke in the ribs, right into the bruise that isn’t a bruise. 

You look over your shoulder at him, catching his eye. You share a long look that’s daunted on your part and confused on his, brown eyelashes tangling in the corners the longer he looks at you. “What?” he asks, squinting. 

”Nothing.” 

“Okay,” he says, his voice lowering, quiet to match the hush of the bakery and its humming fridges, “don’t tell me. I’ll work it out eventually.” 

“Dude!” 

“What?” he asks with a laugh. 

“Boundaries!” you laugh back. “Stop trying to figure me out.” 

“But there’s something to figure out?” 

He’s evil when he smiles like that. His pride is adorable, giving his sweet face an even fresher look. You’d pinch his cheeks if they weren’t already pinking in the October cold. His scarf hasn’t saved him, his coat buttoned tightly no match for the winds. Not to say it’s a bad day. The weather is fine if you keep your fingers in your pockets and your nose in the depths of your coat. 

“What do we want?” you ask rather than answer. 

They have white icing, chocolate with sprinkles, jelly middles, smiley faces. They have donut holes by the bag. “Hazelnut spread,” you say, pointing at the side of the case. “That looks good.” 

He enters in conspiratorial whispers with you. “Apple cider doughnuts with cinnamon sugar,” he says, pointing at the row below. “What about a double chocolate chunk cookie? They look good. Hey, there’s cake in the fridge.” 

You let him lean into your side. His hair kisses your cheek.  

“Pick whatever you want, okay?” he asks, offering a smaller smile than before. “I’m buying.”

“You can’t, Spencer Reid, I want so many things.” 

“It’s fine, I missed you, I dragged you out when you wanted to stay in bed.” He stares at you. “Let me,” he mouths. 

You ignore the hot twist of your stomach and nod. Okay. 

Spencer buys the baked goods you’d admitted to wanting and the three others you’d eyed, as well as a cookie and two fat slices of red velvet cake. He asks you to carry the box while he pays. The woman behind the counter gives you a knowing look and a flick of her head, as if to say, Lucky you. You can’t quite smile back, distracted by the insinuation. You haven’t thought of it before, but you and Spencer, naturally, look like a couple. You could easily be one. And the idea that she thinks so fills you with a shocking amount of smugness. 

You and Spencer head home before dinner. On the walk back, he pulls the cookie apart and offers you half. 

—

What if, when you fall asleep tonight, you dream of Spencer again? 

You lay on your back with your hand on your chest, drawing circles. The cold of the evening is explained by the rain lashing your window, distant winds coming forceful now. A thunderstorm. You tap the middle of your chest in an attempt to be idle, rather than restless. 

It isn’t a dream you’d like to have again, you decide. Spencer had been soft. You’d been familiar with each other. 

What would it really feel like to have him touch you like that? Is Spencer confident, when he’s comfortable? Is he imposing? 

My stomach, you think slowly, is never going to stop spinning. 

“Y/N?” Spencer asks. 

You can hear him all the way from the kitchen. 

“Yeah?” you ask, raising your voice so it carries. 

“Can I come and sit with you?”

It’s an odd request. You know Spencer’s like you, no social butterfly, quiet and content to spend time by oneself because being with others hasn’t always been an option. He isn’t timid, however, and his asking shouldn’t shock you, but it does. “Sure,” you say, shifting onto one side of the bed. 

Spencer arrives at the ajar door and lets himself in. He carries two bottles of water and a heat pack, which he likes to use when the weather allows it. A creature comfort, you assume. Something soothing and constant, like the sound of a fan at night, or rain on a window. 

“I can’t sleep,” he says, “which doesn’t make much sense.” Spencer sits on the empty side of the bed, his lips pulled into a grimace. “I like the rain.” 

He’s more handsome when he’s smiling, but there’s a charm to him as he passes you a bottle of water and crosses his legs. The plaid slacks he’s wearing are rough with age, dark blues that seem black in the low lighting. 

“Maybe it’s because of work,” you say. 

“Maybe, but I’m pretty used to getting woken up.” 

“Right. It’s not easy, though, the stuff you do. It would keep me up at night if I did your job.” 

“I think sometimes doing my job is the only reason I can sleep.” 

“It's hard. Sounds hard, Spence.” You relax into your pillow, turning to see him. Spencer’s eyes run along your hip for a millisecond, just long enough to remind you that he’s a boy, that he could see you in a different light. 

“It’s okay,” he says. 

“Was it hard, this time?” you ask. 

“No,” he whispers. “I don’t know, it was bad when Emily got hurt, but she’s so stubborn. If Morgan didn’t strap her down she would’ve kept going like nothing happened.” 

You and Spencer have lived together for so long that you remember a time before he even knew Emily. You answered his ad in the paper —you hadn’t realised people still put ads in the paper— looking for a roommate. His apartment was already furnished and he didn’t want to change much, but the second bedroom was spacious and the bathroom could be monopolised. As a girl, you’d been a little dubious reading about a single male looking for any gender, but his self-description was inviting. Twenty-two, just finished a doctorate, working for the FBI and expected to be away from the state at least once a month. 

You’d met Spencer and felt even less intimidated. He was awkward and dorky but friendly, too, with his glasses he apparently didn’t want to wear, but would eventually give in (before choosing contacts), and his big red sweater fit for a grandpa. “I can make more room for you but I can’t get rid of the books,” he said, “so I don’t expect you to pay a neat half.” 

How could you pass it up? 

“I can’t believe I’ve never met them,” you say. 

“Do you want to?” 

He sounds so surprised. “They’re your friends. I’m your… friend.” 

“You’re my best friend. I’ll arrange something, or try to. It’s hard to get us all in one room when that room isn’t the conference room,” he says. 

“You look nice in a t-shirt,” you say, not thinking as the words come out. 

Spencer leans in to whisper, “Thanks. You like this one?” 

His t-shirt says, I may be NErDy, but only periodically. The NErDy is made up of elements from the periodic table. It’s a bad pun. 

“I love it.” 

He reaches for you. Tentative, he squeezes your elbow. “Is there something wrong? All day it’s like… I don’t know, did something happen when I was gone?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

“But…” 

“Please,” you say, as he catches the last bit of light from the hallway, every eyelash illuminated for the counting. “I don’t wanna talk about it, Spencer. But thank you.” 

He, in a move that’s almost uncharacteristic, pushes your arm into the mattress and leans over you. “I wanna be the first one to know when you do wanna talk,” he says firmly, holding your gaze. 

How’s your bruise? 

You nod mechanically. Spencer recedes. “Okay, good,” he says, grinning. 

“Good,” you echo, thinking of Spencer in the dream, his hand on your hip and climbing up your sore ribs. “Let’s watch TV.” 

—

iii. scared of snow 

“You’re being weird.” 

“I’m not,” you refute. 

“You are.” 

Spencer frowns at you, a show full downturn of the lips. A dusting of snow lands in his hair and you both look up to catch it, a drift of it from the marquee as you pass. You don’t remember when it started snowing, but it feels like it’s been coming down for days. It’s in his eyelashes. Your sleeves are wet with it. 

“The snow’s making you strange.”

You hold out your hand with fingers parted, feeling his laugh travelling down his arm and into yours as he takes it, intertwining your fingers tightly. He doesn’t feel cold. 

“It’s making you strange,” you mumble. 

You and Spencer walk down a cobbled road. Snow crunches under your shoes, turned to slush in the high traffic spots by vendors booths left curiously empty of shopkeepers, though their festive wares still line the insides, carved cuckoo birds and metal ornaments, glass balls made to be personalised for mantles. You can smell orange oil and chocolate fudge, crepe carts and churros and cinnamon, and then suddenly any hint of your olfactory sense is gone. 

“It’s so quiet.” 

“It’s the snow,” he says, pulling your arm against his chest as you walk and walk, your footsteps the only sound. “It acts as a sound absorber when it’s fluffy like this. The sound waves get caught.” 

Caught. You think, or say, not sure if it makes it out of your mouth. 

“Like you,” he says, stopping in the middle of the road. 

“What?” you ask. 

Snow lands in his eyelashes. “You’re caught,” he says. 

You wake up thinking his hand is on your cheek. Like a nightmare, you start, still picturing his lips moving around the words. Caught, you think again, heart a hummingbird in your chest. Your mouth is dry. The heat is up —Spencer must be home again. 

You suck in a deep breath and sit up, curling over yourself protectively. 

You dream about Spencer more often than ever, and half the time they’re normal dreams, which is to say, they follow no rhyme or reason, with no discernible plot. Spencer loses all his teeth, or he takes you to the movies to see one of his long Swedish films, or he’s an afterthought, a bystander. The main plot of your dream doesn’t involve him at all. 

But the other half of the time is ruining your life. You dream of Spencer holding your hand like you had been, or touching your shoulder. Never again do you dream of that tender bruise, but Spencer lifts your shirt in other scenarios. He pulls your pyjamas off, his hand inching between your legs but never touching, or he helps you out of your bra. And every time you think, why is this happening to me? Perhaps a sex dream could be explained away by want and Spencer’s proximity, but all these constant intimacies weigh heavy in your head. 

You head to the shower and picture Spencer helping you out of your bra, and all of you goes hot, so you turn the water to lukewarm and stand until you’re cold to the point of misery. You clamber out and shiver into a towel, then your robe. 

Spencer’s humming in the kitchen. 

You honestly wish that the dreams made you like him less, that the sound of him might send you running back into your room, but you poke your head out of the bathroom and wait until he enters the living room. He sees you waiting, his face splitting into a smile. “Hey, good morning, did you sleep better?” 

You can’t explain the discombobulation of your dreams. Spencer had become convinced you have insomnia. You may have let him assume. 

“Slept fine,” you croak. 

“Okay, well get dressed and I’ll make you some coffee.” 

“‘Kay.” Your stomach pangs with nerves seeing him, reminded of tonight’s big event. “Are we still, uh, on, for tonight?” 

“Nervous?” he asks. 

You feel like you're about to be a fish in a pool of sharks. “Of course not.” 

 “Yeah, still on, even JJ.” 

Awesome. Spencer turns around to make you your cup of coffee and you go to your room, dressing quickly, two pairs of socks. You tone your face and moisturise, fanning yourself slowly. You don’t hurry to the living room, but you aren’t slow, and it’s not Spencer, you tell yourself. Not Spencer. You’re just craving the warmth of a cup of coffee. 

You spend the morning together on the couch. Spencer reads and occasionally chats to you about whatever tome it is that specific half an hour. You make sandwiches at lunch time, he showers in the early evening. You get dressed and primped while he’s gone, and at 6PM, Spencer knocks your bedroom door to ask if you’re ready to go. 

“Could I fake an illness?” you joke nervously. 

Spencer’s hand falls on your handle. The door is ajar as usual, but he doesn’t tread any further inside. 

“Come in,” you say. 

Spencer takes a single step inside before stopping. He looks you up and down without the hunger you crave from him, a more clement, familiar appreciation to him as he says, “You look pretty.” He traces your arm, leaving the skin tingly in his wake. “Really pretty.” 

“Thank you. I didn’t want to overdress.” 

“It’s perfect, don’t worry. And no, you couldn’t fake an illness. They all know when I’m lying, especially Hotch. And Emily, actually.” 

You squeeze your hands together tightly at your stomach. “I don’t know why I’m sooo nervous.” You lick your lips. “I feel like I can’t stop fidgeting.” 

“They’re used to it, I promise. They know that they’re gonna make you nervous, but they’ve sworn to be on their best behaviour, and besides, you’re not the only plus one. JJ’s bringing Will, and Morgan’s bringing his sister, I’ve only met her once. The focus won’t be all on you.” He lowers his voice. “After two drinks they forget they’re supposed to be scary.” 

“What if I say something extremely stupid to your boss and get you in trouble?” 

“What are you going to get me in trouble for?” 

“I don’t know. What if I accidentally tell him that that sick day you took a few weeks ago was to help me make brownies?”

“Everyone lies about sick days.” He deliberates. “Maybe not Hotch. But I’m pretty sure he knew I was lying, and it’s explainable. I felt… irate.” 

You raise your eyebrows. “What?” 

“Staying home with you made me feel better. Which made me a better worker the next day, it’s fine.” His phone rings from somewhere in the apartment. “That’ll be JJ. Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Yeah?” He grins. “Okay. You’re wearing a coat, right? It’s cold. The forecast says snow. It’s thirty degrees out.” 

You layer a coat onto your jacket and a scarf to make him happy. You and Spencer get a taxi, black leather gritless under your hands, though you squeeze the seat like it’s gonna stop the car the whole time. Spencer doesn’t talk much, but he looks at you unapologetically, and he smiles, and the quiet is as severe as it was in your dream that morning. If this were a dream he’d be leaning over to cradle your ear. He’d ask in whispers if you were alright, and he’d let his hand rest kindly on your knee. 

“What?” you whisper. 

His lips part like he might answer. The car comes to a crunching stop outside the bar, and whatever it was he was going to say is kept for later. “I’ll tell you after,” he says. 

He pays for the taxi before you can work it out and you say thank you to the driver. The sidewalk is clean, broad, and glowing with the last bit of light. The sun sets behind you. The bar beckons in front. 

Your fear is daunting. 

You have years of practice fooling Spencer. You know that he knows your tells, so you’ve changed them, and Spencer cares about you enough to ignore obvious truths if he thinks you might not want to share. His colleagues, FBI agents trained to detect deception, are going to take one good look at you and know you’re lying about… this. 

You’re plagued by dreams of Spencer, but nothing can touch the real thing. 

You feel the space between you like it’s aflame. Spencer checks you’re with him and opens the door. 

The bar is busy even for a Saturday. You aren’t expecting the volume, the boisterousness of the patrons already slumped together over tables and waiting at the bar to get their drinks. It’s smaller than you’d pictured too, but its size is made up for with a patio at the back, smokers haunting the door, wary of the cold. 

You know what his friends look like already, yet seeing them in person is odd. Hotch is taller than you’d thought, Emily more startlingly pretty. JJ’s frowning, and her partner Will looks like he’s about to fall asleep despite a lazy grin. 

Hotch notices you first. He taps Emily on the elbow, who pauses in a thought to follow his gaze. Her face breaks into a smile, and if you weren’t in love with Spencer Reid, you might take a tumble for his pale coworker. 

“Hello,” Spencer says, ushering you to the table with an arm behind your back. 

“Hi,” you say. 

“He-llo,” Emily says, leaning into the table, a strand of her hair dangerously close to a short glass of juice. “I can’t believe we’re finally seeing you in person. I’m Emily.” 

“Y/N,” you say. 

“Aaron,” Hotch adds. (Aaron! He’s far more intimidating casually than as a boss, it seems.)

“Derek was just here,” JJ says in way of greeting, while Will drawls from over her shoulder, “I’m Will, it’s nice to meet you.” 

Spencer pulls out a chair for you and promptly sits in the one beside Emily. “Sorry we’re late. I forgot my wallet and we had to go back up to the apartment and the cab I called got so angry about it that he left.” 

You slide between the table and your chair, looking to Spencer for guidance, but he’s distracted taking his coat off and you have to look at Aaron instead. 

His smile is immediately knowing. Read for filth in seconds. “We don't bite.”

“Not so early in the evening,” Emily says. 

You take a shuddering breath, thankful they can’t hear it over the sounds of the bar. 

—

“I’m caught!” you exclaim. 

Spencer hugs you under the arms. “I know,” he says gently. 

“Caught!” 

He holds back a laugh as your arms react, practically flung behind his head in a hug that threatens to cut off the oxygen supply to his brain. “I think you’ve caught me, instead,” he says. 

You laugh in his ear. There’s gin on your breath and the sweeter smell of orange juice. It’s not bad, but weird to know it’s from your mouth. Or not weird. It gives Spencer a feeling like seeing the soft curve of your hip when you’re lying on your side. Like watching you bite your bottom lip when you’re distracted by the TV and worrying to yourself, which you do more often than not lately. They’re private things that Spencer shouldn’t know about. 

“I’m not trying to,” you say, and Spencer can smell the shot of vodka you did too, which is less pleasant. “Not trying to catch you. Not… I’m sorry.” 

“What for?” 

“It’s hard to explain.” 

Over your shoulder, Spencer spots Hotch’s entertained gaze. All the team has done since you sat down together was pick on Spencer and his obviousness. Boyfriend? they’d asked you. Looking? Sights set on someone? All while JJ nudged him under the table. 

Things are falling apart now. JJ’d departed to hold Emily’s hair back, and Will with her. Hotch caught the eye of a woman across the way, and they sit chatting amicably at the bar with more peanuts than drinks. Derek, when he did appear, stayed for an hour with Desiree, recounting to you his most embarrassing stories of which Spencer had taken care to shield you from, and laughed at his subsequent blush. 

He never wanted you to know about his run in with anthrax, and he especially didn’t want you to know he’d been stripped nude afterwards and hosed off like a muddy dog. 

You’d turned to him with wide, worried eyes. “You were poisoned?” you’d asked. 

It’s stuff like that that makes this difficult. 

“I don’t know if you know this,” he says now, rubbing your back, “but I’m good with difficult concepts.”

“I did not mean to be like this.” 

“You didn’t eat much.” Spencer helps you stand on your own two feet. “They kitchen’s still open. I can get you food, how about a burger? Or we can go find you something.“

“What kind of burger?” you ask, poorly concealing your excitement. 

Spencer gets you back to the table. “I’ll be right back.” 

“Wait, don’t go.” 

“I’m gonna get food. Do you want fries?” 

“Spencer, what if I throw up?” 

Spencer shrugs. “I can rub your back?” 

“I don’t want to throw up.” 

“Then drink that,” he says, sliding his glass of coke toward you. “Alcohol irritates the lining of your stomach and increases the production of stomach acid. If you drink,” —he flinches as you knock the cup back— “slowly you can dilute your stomach contents without upsetting it. Slowly,” he says, squeezing your hand, “I’ll order food.”

“No, wait.” You drop the glass and grab him. “Please don’t go. I don’t want to throw up by myself.” 

“You won’t throw up.”

“Please,” you say, holding his wrist in both hands, your eyes shiny. “Spencer, don’t go.” 

“I won’t.” He doesn’t know how true it is and then suddenly he’s sat down. He won’t go. He wouldn’t leave your side ever again if that’s what you asked of him. 

He puts your chairs together, entertaining your tipsy thoughts with light conversation and the occasional slight of hand. You have an aura about you, like Spencer’s doing more than close-up magic, hanging on his every word. Your nervousness had you gasping like a fish, not so subtly downing one drink, then another, but now that you’re feeling the effects of them (and a few extras), the tightness you’d held in your fingers is gone. You’re leaning against the back of the chair with all the ease of you on the couch at home, but the easy fondness you’d usually wear while he speaks is replaced by a bright and shining awe. A sweetness like he’s remarkable. The soft line of your lips and your widened eyes. 

You’re not the sort of drunk that leaves you listless and ready for bed. This is giggly and fun, and so long as you don’t push it you’ll be alright. It wasn’t enough alcohol to leave you inebriated all night, anyhow. In a few hours the giddiness will wear away, leaving you with a headache and a deep longing for your missed dinner. 

“I’m glad you didn’t let me fake food poisoning,” you say. 

“Is that what you were thinking? That’s a terrible excuse. You need something with sudden onset symptoms, like an asthma attack, or pneumonia. An acute illness.” 

You take his hand. “I love that you know that stuff.”

Feeling as in love with you as ever, and sorry for you drunken state —he could’ve stopped you, he just didn’t think— he folds your hands together, both of his, rubbing the hills of your knuckles with his thumb. Your hands look right together. 

That’s what Spencer likes to think, anyway. 

You slow like you’re tired, hand lax in his grips. Your mouth opens but nothing follows, no sigh or gripe or conversation. 

“You okay?” he asks softly. 

“I think I’m having one of those dreams again.” 

“You’re awake,” he says. 

“I don’t know about that. They’re all like this.” 

He hums, smoothing his thumb down the back of your hand. “If this were a dream, you wouldn't have control over what you’re doing. Why don’t you do something you wouldn’t do in a dream?” 

“Like what?” you ask. 

“There’s a ton of stuff you can’t do in dreams. People find they have a poor memory, but I can’t ask you to recall anything. You might not remember regardless. How about temperature?” he suggests. “Most people can’t feel warm or cold in their dreams. Do you want to feel something cold?”

You watch him for a few seconds, your eyebrows pulled together unhappily. “Your hands are warm,” you say. 

“Right.” He suspects they’ll feel warmer in just a few seconds when the hot flush in his face manages to work its way down. “I’m warm. So are you.” 

“Sometimes I feel like you’re warm in the dream, though. You make me feel warm.” 

“It’s remembered, maybe.” 

You don’t look any happier. “Sometimes I wish I could stop having them, but…” You duck your head. “Sorry, Spencer.” 

“What are you sorry for?” 

Your head ducks lower. With a start to his chest, your shoulders shake, like you're inhaling the first half of a sob. 

“Hey, hey,” he says, reaching for your cheek, ducking his own head to see you, “what’s wrong? It’s okay, you don’t have anything to be sorry for!” he whispers emphatically. “You have nothing to be sorry for, why would you think that?” 

“I keep having these dreams, all the time, and– and I– I’ll mess everything up. Everything we have, I’m going to–” You hiccup, eyes turned glassy, imploring him to forgive you for something you haven’t done. “I don’t feel good.” 

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he says, his hand sliding back to your ear, down to your neck, “you’re just drunk. You’re confused.” 

“But the dreams–”

“What dreams?” he asks gently. 

You blow out a daunted breath. “Where you love me.” 

“I do love you.” 

“But more than this. You love me more than this,” you say, shaking your head. “I really don’t feel okay… Do you think we could go home?” 

You’re so sorry and frowny that Spencer would attempt, in all his unfitness, to climb Mount Everest for you should you ask. “Yeah, we can go home,” he says, rubbing your arm up and down and up again, a line of affection from shoulder to wrist. “I’ll take you home. It’s okay, Y/N. You don’t have to be upset, I shouldn’t have asked.” 

He’s not sure what he asked, really, but the answer upset you. His heart’s racing like he just sprinted the length of the bar and you’re close to tears, this strange weepy sullenness about you as you say, “It’s okay. Let’s just go.” 

—

It’s cold to be sitting out by yourself, though the snow stayed its hand another night while the temperature fell again. Your coat poses a weak defence against the chill, nipping at your nose, burning the insides of every breath, and your feet are stiff like ice in your shoes. Yet, the idea of returning to the apartment is a leaden stone in your stomach. 

Spencer could barely look at you that morning. You hadn’t given him much of a chance, slipping out of the apartment with little more than a call to say you’d be back later. Your groceries freeze in a paper bag by your feet. 

You’re not too embarrassed about getting tipsy. It was drinks with Spencer and his friends, not dinner. Emily had been twice as drunk, and Derek had encouraged you to drink with a round on him. You’re mortified, however, by what you’d said. Your memory is clear enough to know you’d told Spencer about your dreams. 

He’d been confused at the time, but he’s a smart boy. He’ll figure it out. 

“This headache,” you mumble, tipping your head into your hand morosely. You rub your brow, fingers against the ache, the cold getting worse. 

Why did it take a dream for you to realise you had feelings for Spencer? And why did you have to realise at all? If you’d never had that dream, never had that phantom bruise, his hands careful and caring and touching up to the band of your bra, you wouldn’t know now what it is to want him. The dream gave you a bruise, and Spencer presses against it real or otherwise every time he looks at you. You were wrong thinking that it never happened; it’s still there, a purple lash against your ribs. 

Every time he makes you breakfast, or he texts you from a different state, or he sits down on the couch just to talk to you. Every time he says something smart, or he tilts his head back as he laughs, or he draws a smiley face on the mirror by the door–

“About those dreams?” 

You rub your eyes hard. Of course he’d come to find you. “Please don’t.” 

“Please,” he says. You see him through your fingers. His thick scarf is unravelled at his neck, his hair ragged around his face like he’s been raking it repeatedly behind his ears. 

You straighten. 

“I don’t get it,” he says, “you’ve been dreaming about me? Why is that such a big deal?” 

“It’s embarrassing.” 

“I dream about you all the time,” he says. “We’re in each other's lives, we live together, it makes sense that your hippocampus would use me. You have a lot of memories with me.” Spencer crosses his arms in front of you. “It’s freezing.” 

“I’ll be home in a bit.”

“I’m not gonna go back without you,” he says, like that’s a given. 

You move across the bench to make room for him. Spencer sits. 

You settle. The occasional bus trundles past, a limited rota for an early Sunday morning. Spencer shoves his hands into his pockets. His lips are already turning blue. 

“I know you know what I mean,” you say. 

Spencer presses his knees together. “Even romantic dreams where I’m… where we’re together, it’s all easily explained away by brain science. You can’t control what you dream, and I’m not going to hold you to it.” 

Silence, silence. You tip your head back to see a horrible grey cloud closing in on you both, the sun a white and gauzy memory behind it. Spencer’s right about control, but he doesn’t get that you like them. It’s not fair to him that you’ve somehow rallied a second life when you’re sleeping, where he’s your mind’s puppet, hugging and holding you, pressing his cheek to the side of your face. Saying things you wish he’d tell you now. 

“Well, I like you.” 

“What?” you ask, coughing. 

“Not to make things awkward or anything, but I like you. Romantically.” Spencer’s voice takes a sharp veer into high-pitched freneticism. “Does that help at all?” 

“What?” 

“It’s far more embarrassing that I like you on purpose than your accidental dreams, right?” He thumbs at the inside of his wrist. “You don’t have to say anything, or think anything, and I’m not going to change, but I have feelings for you.”  

You feel like you’re standing at the top of a very tall building. “Oh?” 

“I kind of thought you knew.” 

“How could I know that?” you ask, cringing as a cold gust of air bites at your face. 

Spencer takes his scarf off and pushes it into your hands. “I don’t know. I guess we know less about each other than we thought.”

The way he says it. 

Spencer wraps his scarf around you when it’s clear you aren’t going to do it yourself, and he touches your cheek briefly, a brush of his fingers like he thinks he’s doing something he shouldn’t be allowed to. 

“I dream about you all the time,” he says quietly. 

A bus passes by and shines headlights at your feet. The wind blows, your ears roar, and just above you, in a cold front to mark the season, snow begins to fall. 

You look up simultaneously. A snowflake gets caught in Spencer’s eyelashes. 

Just one. 

“This is so weird,” you mumble. 

Spencer wipes at his eye. “Could you tell me why?” 

“I had a dream just like this.” 

He laughs warmly. “Of course you did. Forget all reason, then. You’re prophetic.” 

“I don’t think I could’ve predicted this.” 

“Why? It’s only snow. Virginia gets an inch of snow most Decembers.” 

You laugh. In a dream, this is where you and Spencer would kiss or hold hands, or rest your cheek on the other’s shoulder, but neither of you are brave enough. And, as the snow turns to a sleet below freezing, you can’t ignore the cold. 

—

iv. the end 

The longest anyone has ever slept in recorded human history is eleven days. Two hundred and sixty four hours, or nearly sixteen thousand minutes, just shy of one million seconds of sleep. 

The first pillow was invented in Mesopotamia more than nine thousand years ago, in a time where the amount of pillows a person had directly correlated their personal riches. The history of pillows is tumultuous and eclectic. Headrests made of wood, stone, or jade. Curved neck holders worn soft with use. 

And, of all Spencer’s gifted facts, you find yourself circling back to the same one as you wait for him to wake: most dreams are no longer than twenty minutes. However, it’s important to note that the longest dream ever officially observed was in 1994, when a man managed to be in REM for just over three hours. You’ve had dreams that felt like they lasted for hours, but likely took place for just twenty minutes. If you could dream for three hours a night, you could live an entire life of longing in a pocket of time. 

Thankfully, you have no need to hide from reality anymore. Spencer sleeps beside you and you don’t want to sleep, you just want him to wake up. 

“Good morning,” you whisper, drawing your fingertip across his cheek to encourage the hair that’s fallen there back in line. 

He doesn’t stir. It’s alright, you hadn’t meant to wake him. 

“I love you,” you whisper, shuffling across the sheets to feel the heat and weight of his body against your own. He doesn’t move for a while, snoring gently, his breath kissing the top of your head as you burrow into the slip of space under his chin. Then, as if he were awake, he wraps his arm around you and drags you in further. His face angles down and his nose finds your forehead, and a hum of what you’d personally say is content kisses your brow. 

You tuck your hand behind his back and rub a circle. 

Spencer didn’t last long after the initial realisation of requited feelings. In a day he’d asked if you wanted to be his girlfriend (vaguely apologetic, still worried about scaring you, though you’d already come clean about wanting him as you’d warmed your cold hands by the stove). A week later he kissed you on a date outside of the cosiest Indian restaurant in Washington, D.C, and things have been nothing but smooth sailing from there. 

Now, when he’s feeling romantic, he brings home butter chicken and turns your face up for kissing, fork in hand. Every night before bed, he tells you to have good dreams, a self-satisfaction in his eyes that you dearly love. 

You knew he was a dork and you liked him because of it, but the sheer increase in him is amazing. Yesterday he sent you Close to You by Carpenters over text claiming they wrote it about you. When he got home, he tried to make you dance with him in the living room. After two or three kisses, you’d let him pull you to your feet. 

Spencer has turned loving one another into an everyday spectacularity, and not some mystical dream you ached for. 

He squeezes the skin of your shoulder as he wakes. Heavy in the hands of sleep, Spencer rubs the tip of his nose to yours, nudging your face up, and waiting there with your lips a few millimetres apart as he finds his bearings. You don’t open your eyes. There’s no need. 

“Time?” he mumbles.

“I don’t,” —you clear your hoarse voice, his hand flattening protectively behind you— “know, um. Maybe seven. The sun was rising…” 

“You could have woken me up,” he says, and kisses you slowly. It’s almost gluttonous, how he does it. Not chaste at all. His hair falls into your face and tickles your cheeks, his nose smushes your own with his easy depth. 

You hold his face and kiss him twice, following a line under his chin, where you pause, smelling yesterday's cologne on his skin. “I was hoping I’d fall asleep again,” you confess. 

“Oh, no, don’t do that.” He scoops you against him and turns onto his back as you laugh. “Angel. Let’s stay up now. Let’s just… stay here.” 

If you stay here he’s going to waylay you with a smattering of his voracious kisses, and he’s going to turn you on your back and kiss your neck. He’ll touch that place on your ribs where you’d once dreamt a bruise. It’s a secret you couldn’t keep. He likes to kiss you there when he remembers, but most of the time his hands run along it without mention. A slow caressing. 

You push your face against his shoulder and sigh as his arms close in around you. With a little effort, you get your arms around him in turn, and you hug him for as long as you can stand the pins and needles in your fingers. 

“You smell so good,” you mumble.

He pats your back absentmindedly. 

Today, you’re going to make Spencer oatmeal with banana and chocolate. You’re going to shower, maybe together if the small space can handle it, laughing at the soap in his eyebrows and the way he squeals when you touch his hips. You’re going to drape yourself across his lap as he reads, and he’ll lean down to kiss the tip of your nose or some other strange part of you unused to affection. The top of your ear, the palm of your hand, maybe the crook of your elbow. He’ll ramble through dinner or creep up behind you to sniff your shoulder, and it’ll all be choices you’ve made. Nothing left to want or wanting, but being in love while wide awake. 

“Are you tired?” you ask him. 

He takes a deep breath of your hair. “No,” he says, drawing a light line up your side, “I’m okay. There are worse faces to wake up to.”

You try not to fluster noticeably. He’s always been a good roommate. You’re still getting used to the boyfriend part, the intimacy of being complimented, but Spencer seems to have slipped into the part easily.

“Sorry, that was mean. There’s nothing I’d rather wake up to.” 

“Thanks,” you mumble. 

You’re tired, suddenly. The minutes pass in heavy blinks —you don’t want to sleep now that he’s awake, but being here with him is warming you from the inside out.  You doze and wake and Spencer doesn’t say a word. His breaths come evenly against your cheek. 

Eventually, he clears his throat, asksing, “Did you dream at all?” His voice is hewn. He rubs your chest, right over your heart.

”I’m not so sure that this isn’t one,” you say, your heartbeat a crawl under his touch.

“That’s corny.” 

“Mm, the Spencer in my dreams is usually kinder.” 

“Does he ever get to hold you like this?” he asks, letting his hand fall from your chest to wrap it back around you again. 

You take a sleepy breath in. “No,” you say slowly, “he doesn’t.”

｡𖦹°‧⭑.

thank youuuu for reading!! please like comment or reblog if you enjoyed!! thank you❤️

this fic was requested! I usually link to the request I was sent at the top, but I lost the post for this one, but this is what the request said: 

“hi angel! i have a request for roommate!spencer where r has a very romantic dream about him and starts avoiding him because she's really embarrassed but spencer is so confused as to why his roommate suddenly can't even look him in the eye. maybe one of them realizes their feelings aren't entirely platonic in the end? love you!!!”

thank you original requester! 

[xinganhao]

🫂 older brother!mingyu vs. boyfriend!wonwoo.

anon → "could you please maybe do a text au of older brother! Mingyu and brother's best friend - and boyfriend - Wonwoo?"

‧₊˚✩彡 includes: cussing, sibling dynamics, wonwoo and mingyu are best friends! best read in order + headcanons under the cut.

🫂 the three times mingyu almost caught you (and the one time he did) .ᐟ

(1)

wonwoo likes to think he's a pretty rational guy. he follows rules. he does everything by the book. he treats people well, and he's a good friend. mingyu could attest. they've been best friends for years, after all. except— well, there might be one rule that wonwoo has bended just a teensy, tiny bit.

he's breaking it now as the two of you hold hands underneath the café table. you're doing your own thing with your free hand, but the other remains firmly grasped by wonwoo's. he never thought he'd be the clingy type, honestly. it just felt so out of character for somebody like him. and yet here he is, pouting ever so slightly whenever you try to pull away.

"i need to turn the page, baby," you say exasperatedly, gesturing to the book balanced precariously in front of you.

"i'll turn it for you," he says immediately, reaching out to do exactly that. "just let me know when you need me to."

"you're insane."

he pouts harder. you sigh.

minutes later, though, you're wrenching your hand away like wonwoo's touch has burned you. his whine of babyyy is on the tip of his tongue, but he chokes on the word when he sees the reason for your sudden distance: mingyu, bounding in to the café.

"there you are!" he cries to wonwoo. "watchu doin' with this bighead?"

you flip your older brother off. "tutoring," you say without missing a beat. "because unlike you, wonwoo has more than one functioning brain cell."

as the two of you bicker a bit more, wonwoo tries to rearrange his expression into something more neutral. it's all he can do to hide the way he's already missing the feeling of your fingers slotted in the spaces of his.

(2)

if somebody told a younger wonwoo that he would one day be using emoticons and emojis for someone, that younger wonwoo would've laughed his ass off. today's wonwoo can only hang his head in slight shame.

it came easily, but it also came in part because you used to ask 'are you mad at me? 🥺' when he would use his usual textspeak on you. wonwoo was more than happy to start adapting to your typing habits in a bid to ease your mind.

he's on safari, looking up the appropriate emoticon to send as a reaction to your latest selfie— he's torn between (ღ˘⌣˘ღ) and ヽ(♡‿♡)ノ, which may look the same, but he swears there are nuances— when he hears mingyu's amused voice mumble, "what the hell?"

"jesus christ!"

wonwoo's exclamation is paired with the most over-the-top reaction in the world: tossing his phone halfway across the room. mingyu doubles over in laughter as wonwoo glares up at his best friend, who'd been looking over his shoulder.

"yah, don't sneak up on me like that," wonwoo hisses, the tips of his ears going red.

"alright, mr. japanese kaomojis dot com," mingyu teases. he begins laughing harder at his own joke.

wonwoo smacks mingyu upside on the head before going to retrieve his phone. the screen protector has the ghost of a crack on it, but it's a small price to pay.

at least mingyu hadn't peeked the selfie of you making a kissy face for wonwoo.

(3)

"you should probably go soon," you say delicately, nudging wonwoo's head with the heel of your palm.

he lets out a low whine of protest. despite being significantly bigger than you, he's the one draped over you; his face buried in your chest, his arms wrapped around your waist.

the two of you are lounging on your living room couch. your parents— and your pesky older brother— all had plans elsewhere, giving you and wonwoo some freedom.

"you hate me," your boyfriend groans against the front of your shirt.

"they'll be here any minute."

"so i'll stay for thirty seconds more, then."

it's never just seconds more with wonwoo, but you've never been one to deny him. the thirty seconds spin in to three minutes, then seven, then—

the unmistakable sound of a car pulling into the driveway has wonwoo's head snapping up.

"shit," you both say at the same time.

wonwoo scrambles to disentangle from you. "is it—"

"mingyu," you confirm, having grown accustomed to the different sounds that would indicate who was coming home. your eyes are frantic as you wave wonwoo off. "go, go, go!"

he stumbles forward, then backward, like he's not sure where to go.

"my bedroom window!" you hiss, and wonwoo practically bolts up the stairs two steps at a time. just as he gets to the landing of the second floor, mingyu saunters in through the front door.

"were you talking to someone?" your brother asks.

"yeah," you say, schooling your reaction into one of nonchalance. "myself."

"get some help, weirdo."

"how about you—"

your biting retort is cut short by the distant sound of a distant crash. both you and mingyu look towards the general direction of the interruption.

"the hell?" mingyu grouses. you feel like your heart is in your throat as your brother heads for the front door to check.

a frazzled looking wonwoo is out on the porch.

"hey," wonwoo breathes to mingyu. "i, uh, came to see you. knocked over one of your pots while i was walking up, though."

mingyu's eyebrows raise. "why? forgot your glasses or something?"

your eyes catch on wonwoo's spectacles, resting at the foot of the couch. while mingyu's back is still turned, you grab them and shove them into your pocket.

"yeah, forgot 'em at home," wonwoo lies. he's not even looking at you as mingyu lets him in.

"you're in luck," a none the wiser mingyu says. "i literally just got home. otherwise, you would've needed to kill time with the world's biggest loser."

right, you think. like that isn't exactly what wonwoo had just been doing.

(4)

mingyu hadn't meant to find out. really. he was just going to be an annoying older brother— barge into your room, stand there for absolutely no reason, then leave the door open behind him. except when he goes to check, you're already asleep.

he notices that you've crashed atop your covers. that draws a derisive snort of laughter from him. "dumbass," he mumbles to himself. he's known you for all your life, and you're the type to complain about some phantom fever if you didn't have a blanket in your sleep.

he goes to pull your comforter over you, only to freeze midway.

your phone is angled at you, propped up against the wall. it seems like you'd fallen asleep on video call.

and, on the other end of the line is none other than wonwoo.

wonwoo is fast asleep, too. mingyu recognizes the other man's bedroom, sees the way that wonwoo is already dressed for bed. everything just seems to click, then. because everything else is excusable, negligible. but this? the intimacy of this, the sheer familiarity it entails?

mingyu feels like he's intruding. he probably is.

briefly, he considers screaming in your ear until both you and wonwoo are awake. he wants to see what kind of explanation the two of you can come up with on the spot. it'd be pretty funny, he thinks.

instead, he tucks your blanket over your shoulders, taking extra care to not wake you. he'll let you pretend for one more day, he decides with a slight shake of his head.

on his way out of your bedroom, mingyu closes the door for once.

[endursent]

- My Partner Turned Into A Cat And I Don't Know How To Fix It

【 content; established relationship , fluff , humour , angst if you squint(?) , gn!reader 】

【 characters; aventurine , blade , dr. ratio , jiaoqiu , jing yuan , moze , sunday 】

【 premise; " Your partner has been struck with a curse of some sort which has turned him into a cat, you have no idea how to fix it nor how long it might take. Yet you also cannot help but be rather amused by the situation despite the uncertainty…" 】

【 note; might make more parts, who knows. also two one-shots/fics between gss chapters? in this writing economy? 】

【 word count; 3.303 | read on ao3 】

Aventurine;

You thought he’d be more agitated than this—usually Aventurine doesn’t stay still for long periods of time, always out and about, as if resting for too long or standing still raises the hairs on his neck as something rapidly approaches from behind him, unseen to anyone else.

  And yet now… he sleeps curled on the sofa in his apartment, you continue to scratch your head over the situation and how to fix it—you tried to ask Dr. Ratio, who you’ve only met once by chance with Aventurine, but he seemed knowledgeable, and you’ve seen some of his theses cited in arguments online…

  But all he replied with to your very concerned and urgent text message from Aventurine’s phone was; “lol”

  So you’re officially on your own, it’s bad enough that Ratio has rejected your plea for help and now knows about this, if it gets out to Aventurine’s coworkers…

  You sigh and plop yourself down on the sofa next to his curled form, yellow-orange fur swaying at your movements as he doesn’t even look up. For a moment, you’re a bit concerned… hopefully he’s still breathing.

  Reaching a hand out, one finger pointed straighter than others, Aventurine suddenly looks up—and closes his jaw around your finger. It’s a gentle hold, not exactly a bite despite the way it looks and the prick of his teeth. You blink at him, he slow blinks at you. “You’re so sleepy,” you note. Aventurine just licks your finger, letting go of it—though it was barely a hold.

  After having gotten what seemed to be a long-awaited proper rest over the span of two days, Aventurine seems to spring to life, not in the way he’s zooming all over the oversized apartment or knocking things over, he just seems very excited to see you when you come home from work—your partner might have turned into a cat for real, but your superior will NOT believe you—he sits on your thighs whether you’re on the couch, by the dinner table, kneeling to fix something under a shelf, anything. 

  He’s usually quite independent, so this somewhat clingy behaviour is surprising, but you don’t entirely mind, his fur is very soft.

  Aventurine didn’t even make a single sound when you bathed him after accidentally spilling some bolognese sauce on his back—he was wandering around your feet and nearly tripped you when you turned around. 

  Perhaps this temporary (hopefully) form has made him more confident in seeking the closeness to you he craves, the need for connection that he’s too reluctant to engage in most times despite being together for so long. 

Blade;

You squint your eyes open in the darkness of the night, why is it so hard to breathe suddenly? It woke you up, as if there was something hot and heavy on your chest.

  And there is, when your eyes adjust to the darkness, you see large flame-coloured eyes staring at you. Blade’s pitch black fur blends into the darkness of the night, but his eyes do not—if you didn’t know better you’d think there were two eyes floating in front of your face, but the body attached to them is very much standing on your chest.

  “... what?” you mumble sleepily, why is he staring at you like that? He doesn’t do this normally… you think. Maybe… does he?

  No response—you’re not sure what to expect, it’s not like he can talk in this form. 

  He does this every night, to a point you’ve started laying on your side so he at least has to stand on the bed. One night, you even reach out and grab him, pulling him into your arms so he’s unable to stand and stare like that. You come out with scratched arms, but it was worth the somewhat peaceful sleep when he finally settles. 

  It doesn’t matter what you’re doing, he’s always been in the corner of your eyes, sometimes waiting for you to finish what you’re doing, sometimes just standing there—not necessarily even looking at you or engaging with you in any way. He just likes to stand in the same room. 

  Except now he’s perched on shelves, under sofas or chairs, looming behind a corner so you almost step on him.

  Over time, he becomes a bit restless, but other than hiding away in warm, dark spots… but as you settle into bed, he’s always ready and hops onto your stomach as soon as your back hits the mattress. 

  The other Stellaron Hunters’ reactions range from curious concern to finding it hilarious. Firefly mentioned they have two cat members now, Blade wasn’t very happy about it… the day after she offhandedly mentioned that she could barely sleep and felt like someone was watching her the entire time. You decided not to mention his habit. 

  Blade doesn’t quite follow you at your heel the entire time… but he does always seem to be in the same general area, as he always has. It’s a bit of a relief, you thought you might get lonely without his constant presence. 

  He sometimes doesn’t run off when you pet him. Sometimes. 

Dr. Ratio;

Ratio is appalled by this development, he hates it. He doesn’t have opposable thumbs, he can’t communicate properly, and you won’t stop pinching his ears. You’re lucky he doesn’t bite you. 

  He, in his infinite wisdom, developed a way for him to communicate with you. He may be a cat now, but his work doesn’t have space to halt for even a day! And so it’s up to you to continue it under his guidance, because he will not be seen like this by his assistants. 

  His way is quite funny, for complex explanations or lengthy dialogue, he will slap his paws on a holo-keyboard to type it out, but otherwise he presses buttons laid out on one of his workbenches for general commands. “Write”, “Open drawer”, “Fetch tool” (he then vaguely gestures which one), and even “Eat” and “Nap”.

  You asked him if he wanted to add a voice-over to the buttons so you wouldn’t just have to listen to a buzzer made to catch your attention, but he just stared at you blankly.

  You pinch and rub his ears, despite protests.

  To ensure subtlety, he demands you carry him in your bag in and out of the lab and past the reception… and you can’t in good faith deny that it’s adorable to see his head poke out of your bag and squint around to make sure the coast is clear once you’re outside. 

  Ratio had never imagined to hear as absurd of a suggestion as when you asked him if you should ask any of his Intelligentsia Guild colleagues about this, surely they can put their brains together and come up with a solution? 

  Absolutely not, he says, by knocking an empty coffee paper cup over. 

  You caught him staring longingly at his own bathtub and asked if he wanted to take a dip, you can wash him. The idea sounded good… until he stuck his purple paw into the soapy water and felt the spine-shattering feeling of his fur sticking together and immediately wriggled so aggressively out of your grip—startling you of course—that you both went tumbling into the water.

  He sat on his bed, towel under his body and over his back with a traumatised expression on his face for about forty eight minutes straight. Not even an offering of some nice cheese from the fridge brought him out of it. 

Jiaoqiu;

Different from the rest of the cast, Jiaoqiu has found himself in the form of an extremely furry fox, matched exactly to the colour of his hair. He’s so soft that you can’t help but run your fingers through it, messing up the direction of the coat and requiring Jiaoqiu to stand up and shake himself a few times to right it out. It comes to a point he will nip at your fingers if your hand comes too close.

  One afternoon, you’re wondering where he went off to—he has a chronic tendency to wander off, even in regular foxian form—you go into the pantry to see his tail swaying excitedly, half of his body disappearing into a woven bag of peanuts. Startled for a moment that he might not be able to digest that—you’ve never had to take care of an actual fox before—you hurry towards him and pull him out, holding Jiaoqiu up.

  He screams in such a disturbingly human way you almost drop him. Whether the scream was of surprise or protest is hard to tell.

  You stand in front of him, sat on the divan in your home and try to look stern… but the smile and closed eyes he makes even in this form is so eerily similar to how he normally would with his usual expression that it almost freaks you out. You shouldn’t be surprised, he’s basically just a furry version of himself… but it’s too close! 

  And he got away with it too, damn him. 

  Despite the pale pink fur, the tip of his tail and ears, his legs and paws are all dark, and you can’t help but hold them, stroke through the fur through the change of colour and Jiaoqiu—though normally not liking his tail or ears to be touched, in this form he seems to accept it… he can’t lie to you with turning his snout up, you see his tail sway when your hand comes close, despite how he would nip at them before—you’ve cracked the code, smooth the fur back down after ruffling it, and it’s acceptable.

  Don’t think for a second that you’re safe to indulge in any unhealthy habits or dumb decisions even though his “warning smile” is absent, he will bite your pants and pull so hard they might rip. You were about to be roped into some nonsense by Feixiao, seeing the perfect opportunity to borrow you for some “racing”, when Jiaoqiu comes running at breakneck speed, bites your pants, and effectively drags you away.

  Feixiao just watches with a grin. Good luck next time.

  He sulks a bit about not being able to do his job for such an extended period of time, he has a good sense of responsibility and doesn't like to sway from his sworn duties too much.

  Also, he can tell by the smell alone that the food you make for yourself in the absence of his skilled work is severely lacking in critical ingredients, and is also plated wrong. But that’s more of a subjective nitpick—maybe he’s just getting restless.

  He decides to hide one of your shoes and watch in amusement as you search high and low through the house the next morning. Sitting on the carpet with a foxy smile. 

Jing Yuan;

Jing Yuan is delighted. He plops himself down on you no matter what you’re doing, if there is no surface to curl up, he will lie down by your feet, or anywhere he can be touching you with at least a part of his body. 

  Raking your hand through his thick fur, you pull your hand back and it’s covered in white hairs, he sheds more than Mimi.

  You vehemently vetoed his decision to rename Mimi to Wave-Treading Snow Lion when it began growing and showing signs of not being a grimalkin like he suspected it was.

  Speaking of Mimi, you walk into the Seat of Divine Foresight and see the two of them splayed out by the massive windows, artificial sunlight bathing them in warmth as Mimi lies on the floor belly up… and Jing Yuan lies on Mimi’s belly, his own facing up towards the sun. You don’t dare disturb them—mostly because you worry that Mimi will roll over and crush poor Jing Yuan under it. 

  So you set the documents on his desk slowly and sneak back out, the Cloud Knights always present in the room stand still and try not to do more than whisper between themselves.

  If you thought Jing Yuan was sleepy before, you were in for a surprise. As soon as his hands turned to paws, he was lounging around as lazily as he could get away with, which was infinite in this form—perhaps this was the taste of retirement he needed, and it might convince him to go through with it… you hope. For his sake. 

  Unfortunately, your partner is cursed with a perpetual disturbance of his naps, and a problem comes up in regards to an illegal trade of magically-charged artefacts—one of which having the potential to explode if handled wrong, which could hurt innocents during the exchange. He circles the Seat of Divine Foresight like he would normally in thought… except instead of his boots touching the ground in a rhythmic thump, it’s small paws padding on the floor.

  It’s cute—but then again, he’s always cute.

  Thankfully the problem is resolved due to the Cloud Knights having previously acquired knowledge of suspicious movements over the last weeks and are able to intercept the exchange.

  As a reward for his hard work, you make a big bowl of juicy fruits for him to dive into—though Mimi’s snout got in before him, and stole about half of it… you snooze you lose, dozing general. 

  Of course, he didn’t let you off that easy, cuddles were demanded with headbutts and loud meows of protest if you turned to do anything else, so you were stuck with two cats hogging your attention for the rest of the night, good thing you have two hands to scratch behind both of their ears at the same time.

Moze;

You thought for a moment he didn’t actually retain his senses, and had ran off somewhere, you dragged Feixiao with you to search the entirety of the Xianzhou Yaoqing… only to return home several hours later, exhausted and disappointed, to see Moze sitting on the kitchen counter with a fish in his mouth, tail swaying contently as he ate it off the bones.

  He would just randomly wander off and return at odd times, once you saw some blood on his paw and worried he had hurt himself, but no matter how you looked or poked and prodded, there was no wound. It must have been the capture of another fish or another… because, surely, Feixiao doesn’t have him doing work like this?

  You suppose it’s quite a good cover… no one would suspect a cat…?

  After locking him in your room for the workday to ensure he doesn’t go off somewhere, as you had asked an elder of the Alchemy Commission to come over and have a look at him, you came back with the old man to find the room empty.

  Given cat form, Moze has become the perfect escape artist—not that there’s much anyone can do to hold him down in his normal form. 

  Try as you might, it becomes somewhat of a game of you trying to keep him in one single place, and him disappearing like a leaf on the wind, only to show up later with a treat… usually for himself, but once he brought you a pouch of sesame balls. You hope he paid for it somehow, but you don’t hold your breath either.

  He sleeps exclusively by your feet, circles a few times and wriggles into a comfortable position against either leg that’s closer. You tried to get him to sleep closer to your torso or on your inviting arm, but he always stood up and returned to the spot by your legs after a few minutes. 

  One time, you were stroking his tail absentmindedly and accidentally pinched it only slightly—yet he still jumped into the air like you had just stepped on it with a loud yeowl, making you yourself jump as he suddenly sped off across the room and almost slammed himself into the door leading to the study.

  You decided not to play with his tail after that, he even left scratches on the floor with his hurried scuttling across the room. 

  You spotted Jiaoqiu trying to feed him some of the ‘concoction’ he was making, which Moze sniffed curiously at—but you’re fairly certain there are not many things in that broth that will settle well—or at all—in his kitty stomach, and thus you swoop in and feign extreme interest in Jiaoqiu’s dish. Of course, the foxian sees through you easily and smiles widely. “Ah, why don’t you try it then?”

  You got yourself into this position, and so, you resign yourself to burnt taste buds for the next few hours. It’s delicious as always, but your poor mouth… Moze rubs his furry head against your legs in comfort. 

Sunday;

He couldn’t believe it. Sunday stared at himself in the reflecting mirror of the Astral Express’ windows for about ten whole minutes after being brought back to it in the state he was in. His ears flatten to his head and he glares at anyone that tries to approach, he doesn’t want to interact with anyone like this!

  He flees to his room and stays under the bed for several hours before you manage to lure him out with some delicious smelling grilled fish. Sunday reluctantly pokes his head out to grab it—which is when you grab him. 

  He flails and meows, struggling and squirming as you pick him up and stand… only to coo at him and rub his cheeks with your thumbs, musing how cute he is.

  Cute?! This is a horror scenario! 

  Despite his displeased meowing and nibbling on your fingers when you try to pet him, Sunday eventually gives up when he learns that you just find his struggling adorable. Suddenly your staring when he gets annoyed with small things start to make sense. Like when he hit his head on the ridge of a table after bending under it to fetch a pen he dropped, and the brief surge of frustration and annoyance he felt—only for you to swoop in to rub his head and see if it hurt. 

  He sulks the entire time, he doesn’t like it one bit. 

  March asks him if she can put him in outfits like she does with Pom-Pom, and he strategically avoids her for several days. Not a chance. 

  Thankfully, despite you ‘tormenting’ him on the first day, Sunday does seek comfort in you… you’re warm, and somehow you know exactly where to scratch behind his ears and under his chin where he can’t quite reach well enough. 

  You almost pull him in and rub your face into his furry torso when Sunday kneads at your shirt when you lay down to sleep, but decide that watching him is much cuter. You get such cuteness aggression when he does the smallest things. He purrs when you massage his paws or draw your fingers all the way down his back—and get a fistful of hair while you’re at it—and eventually he starts to do it at the smallest gestures… Pom-Pom once brought up concerns to Himeko that they thought that the train might have a problem, some kind of motor malfunction.

  Turns out Sunday was napping in the warm engine room and purring so loudly that when Pom-Pom leaned close to his hiding spot, they thought it was the engine. 

  He doesn’t let anyone pet him properly except you, not because he doesn’t trust the rest of the Express members—trust is a strong word in any case—but because when he closes his eyes in comfort, he wants to open them again and see you stroking through his fur. Nothing personal, though March does take it a bit personally.

[moonstruckme]

Hi, I love the emt!marauders you post, I was wondering if u could write one that the reader has a chronic disease that involves getting sore when it's cold? Idk how to explain, I have lupus, and when it's cold, my joints tend to get sensitive and sore...so something with fluff/comfort, pls?

Thank you for requesting my love <3

cw: reader has unspecified chronic pain that flares up in the cold, I relied on the internet to write this so if anything seems wrong/inaccurate please let me know

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 887 words

Sirius is furious with himself for not checking the weather report. It’s so rare that you all have time off work on the same day, it’s possible you’d gotten ahead of yourselves in the excitement, but the sudden onset of winter wasn’t part of anyone’s plan. Even in Remus’ coat and tucked under James’ arm, you’ve gone quiet and withdrawn. Sirius can practically see you cringing with every step you take down the sidewalk. 

The other boys are similarly concerned.

“Let’s pop in here,” James suggests, maneuvering you all towards a bookstore. 

“Jamie,” you say, voice all sweetness even when it’s threaded through with exhaustion, “don’t go in somewhere you don’t want to just for me.” 

“Doll, I know how it might seem that way,” says Sirius, “but despite popular misconception, James actually can read.” 

You crack a smile, though it looks like it costs you. “Right, thanks, but we’re supposed to be out doing things we all like. If we went into a bookstore, you two would just end up sitting somewhere while Remus and I looked around.” 

“I like seeing you comfortable,” James says, somewhat poutily, “and I like buying you things. A bookstore is sounding rather enjoyable right now.” 

“Don’t you want to go inside?” Remus touches his knuckles gently underneath the butterfly-shaped rash on your cheeks that’s worsening due to the sun and cold. It’s not a terribly frigid day but the wind makes it worse, and however you try to act your boyfriends can see the toll it’s taking on you. “Even if it’s just for a while, it’ll be good to give yourself a break.” 

“Rem’s cold too,” Sirius says, noting the tension in the other boy’s posture now that he’s given up his coat, “aren’t you, lovely? C’mon, I know where we can go.” 

You don’t seem to have it in you to protest as Sirius leads you all down the block to the coffee shop around the corner. The heat is blasting inside. He finds you a table away from the door, where the cold breeze coming in can’t reach you and the whirring of the coffee grinders is less deafening. James insists on buying you each a warm beverage and a sweet (only you and Remus protest this; Sirius doesn’t know why you bother). 

“My poor girl,” Sirius murmurs, holding your frozen hands carefully in his. Remus’ coat pockets have done an insufficient job protecting them. Sirius devotes himself to rubbing warmth into each finger. 

“I think my drink would do as good a job of warming them up,” you say amusedly. 

“As good? I’m insulted.” 

“You know she really should be stretching her joints herself, love,” says Remus. 

“I do know,” Sirius replies primly, “thank you very much. It’s only that I’m very selfish.” 

Remus hums into his tea. “Selfish enough to let her drink go cold.” 

Sirius relents and lets you pick up your mug. You squeeze his hands thankfully before letting go. 

The windows at the front of the shop are foggy. It’s not cold enough yet for frost around the edges, but the mist gives the bustling street a blurred, wintry look, like the four of you are encapsulated in a warm snow globe scene, unmoving and separate from the outside world. Sirius finds it rather peaceful. 

“Did anyone bring ibuprofen?” James asks. 

You cringe sheepishly. “No, sorry. I forgot it at home.” 

“Don’t be sorry, lovie.” James palms the back of your neck, thumb rubbing soothingly. “Any of us could’ve thought of it. We’ll stop somewhere and grab a bottle.” 

“It never hurts to have extra,” Remus agrees before you can argue. 

“Okay,” you say, voice gone soft as it often does when you feel your boyfriends are taking too much notice of you. Sirius doesn’t understand your aversion to this in the slightest. “Thanks.” 

“It’s ungodly freezing out,” Sirius complains. “I move that we make a coffee shop stop every two blocks.” 

James’ face lights. “It could be like appetizer hopping—”

“But with pastries,” Sirius finishes. 

You don’t immediately argue, a promising sign. Remus appears to be warming to the idea as well. “We’d have to pace ourselves a bit more,” he points out, looking at your table cramped with plates and saucers. “Maybe at each place we pick one thing to share.” 

Sirius scoffs. “Suit yourself. I’m not splitting a muffin into four pieces and eating only one.” 

James looks as though he agrees, but he only says cheerily, “We’ll figure it out as we go. Does that sound good?” 

He poses the question to everyone, but they all know he’s really only asking you. Remus and Sirius give their assent quickly and you shrink a bit in your seat, embarrassed. 

“If it really doesn’t sound too inconvenient for you guys.” You lift one shoulder in a shrug. Sirius thinks with satisfaction that the motion looks easier than it might have when you first came in from the cold. “Then yeah, I’m alright with it.” 

“Oh, yes,” Sirius teases, “an afternoon spent enjoying coffee and pastries with the three most fetching people on the continent. I should really rethink this, it may be too inconvenient.” 

“Prick.” James elbows him and leans over to wrap an arm around you protectively, but your smile blooms, and that’s all Sirius wanted in the end.

[amiableness]

Dad!James Potter x Bsf!Reader ☼ 1247 words

“Oh,” James pauses, his thumb hovering over his screen as he glances at the phone, his expression shifting to one of mild frustration. “It’s work,” he mutters under his breath, his brow furrowing slightly. “I need to take this.”

“That’s alright,” you smile gently. “I’ll take Henry in, and you can meet us in there when you’re done.”

“Are you sure?” James asks, his gaze flicking between you and Henry, who is gripping both straps of his backpack, his glasses slightly askew as he squints curiously at the classroom ahead.

“Yes,” you encourage, taking a sip of the coffee James made for you this morning savoring the warmth. “If you’re quick enough, I don’t think he’ll even notice.” You nod towards Henry, who is intently watching the family ahead of you greet his teacher, his curiosity piqued.

James presses a quick, hurried kiss to your forehead before stepping out of the line and heading off to take the call. Henry's teacher greets him with warmth, complimenting his glasses and excitedly telling him about the art projects planned for the day. The exchange is brief but effective, and you can see Henry’s nerves begin to ease. He’s been uncertain about school all morning, but you and James have done your best to ease his worries, sharing stories of your own favorite memories from school to get him excited.

You barely finish telling Henry that you’ll meet the other parents before he’s darting forward, his little legs carrying him with surprising speed toward the corner of the room where the toys are. A bittersweet smile tugs at your lips as you watch him seamlessly slip into a group of kids, his small hands eagerly grabbing a toy train. All his earlier fears seem to vanish in an instant, replaced by the gleam of excitement in his eyes. 

At the back of the classroom, a table is set up with an assortment of pastries, a small sign propped up beside them: We know this may be a tough transition, so enjoy a lemon croissant to brighten your day! You smile softly at the gesture, reaching for one of the croissants just as someone else does, your fingers brushing against each other.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” You exclaim, glancing up at a man who looks equally as surprised as you. The pastry is now long forgotten.

“No, no, I’m the one who should be sorry,” the man rushes to say, his cheeks tinged with embarrassment as he offers you a sheepish smile. “I got a bit too excited to finally grab some breakfast and didn’t even notice you there.”

“I get it,” You laugh, holding up your coffee cup. “This is all I had time for this morning.” “The struggles of being a parent,” he jokes, offering you his hand with a wry smile. “Aaron. My kid’s the one who looks like she’s two seconds away from crying. It’s clearly a big day for her.”

You offer your name, smiling sympathetically at the sight of his daughter, who is taking in the classroom with big, wide eyes. “Mine’s the one with glasses, who is very impatiently waiting for a turn at the train table.”

You spend the next few minutes chatting with Aaron, commiserating over the bittersweet challenge of watching your child start school. You both agree that the teacher seems wonderful—kind, approachable, and genuinely invested in the kids. 

“Daddy,” A sweet, soft voice says. “Nobody wants to be my friend.” You watch with a squeeze in your heart how nervous the little girl, Ella, you learned, looks. Aaron sighs, leaning down to talk to his daughter, and your eyes shift to Henry, who is chatting to anyone willing to listen.

You call his name, and when he glances up, you gesture for him to come over.

“Yeah, mumma?” Henry comes to meet you where you're bent down, slotting himself into your side as he watches Ella sniffle into her dad's shoulder.

It doesn’t take long after the introductions for Ella’s tears to dry, replaced by infectious giggles as she and Henry build towering block structures, only to gleefully knock them down again.

“Thank you,” Aaron murmurs, his gaze fixed on Ella, sitting on the floor in front of you both with Henry, before he glances at you. “I wasn’t sure how I’d manage to leave for work knowing she was so upset.”

“It was no problem,” you shrug, your voice soft. “I know today’s been tough.”

You’re so absorbed in watching Henry and Ella that you don’t notice Aaron’s gaze lingering on you, appreciatively taking you in, or how his eyes flick to your left hand, searching for any sign of a ring. But James notices. He’s just barely made it in the door after his call, and the moment his eyes land on you and Aaron, a flicker of something dark passes over his face. His jaw tightens, his posture stiffening as he stands in the doorway, feeling the jealousy pool in his stomach.

Aaron leans in, his proximity crossing into uncomfortable territory—you don’t seem to notice, though—as he points to something across the classroom. James, already tense, steps forward, irritation clear in his movements—he’s had enough of watching someone else make an attempt to flirt with you, and it’s barely been thirty seconds.

“I’m sorry, darling. The call took longer than I expected.” He murmurs, his arm slipping around your waist. The warmth in his voice makes your face brighten, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

“That’s alright.” You murmur, that lovestruck look settling on your face as you gaze at him. For a brief moment, you forget that you were in the middle of a conversation, so distracted by the feeling of James’ touch.

“Oh! This is Aaron—his daughter Ella is playing with Henry.” You gesture toward Ella before flashing Aaron a smile. “And this is James—”

“—Her husband.” James interjects, his tone sharp as he extends his hand. Your jaw drops in surprise as you turn to him, shock written across your face.

Aaron hesitates for a moment, then takes James’ hand, his expression unreadable. “Nice to meet you, mate,” he says, his voice steady, though there’s an uncomfortable edge to it.

A few minutes of brief conversation pass, and it's clear Aaron isn't nearly as warm with James present as he was when it was just you. Sensing the tension, you feel a wave of relief when the teacher announces it's time for parents to say their goodbyes and head out. You and James shower Henry with kisses and smother him in hugs, reluctant to let him go, before finally saying your goodbyes.

James hopes you’ve forgotten his jealous remark, but as soon as you get in the car, you turn to him, shaking your head with an amused smile.

“My husband? How will you explain that when he finds out you lied?” You snort, glancing expectantly at James.

“Listen, love,” he starts, his tone defensive, “you should’ve seen the way he was looking at you. He checked if you were wearing a ring!”

“I don’t care,” you reply, buckling yourself in with a soft, sincere smile. “The only man I care about is you.” You hum playfully, adding, “Even if he did kind of look like you.”

James scoffs, his eyes flicking to you. “He absolutely did not,” he mutters, his tone defensive. “I’m way better looking.” When you don’t respond, he glances at you again, a hint of panic creeping in. “Right?”

please please please consider reblogging and/or commenting. it keeps me motivated to continue writing and reblogging spreads my work 🤍

[ellecdc]

OMGOMGOMGOGM MAY I PLEASE REQUEST THIS WITH LIKE READER AND LILY AND READER CAN BE PAIRED WITH WOLFSTAR MAYBE AND SO LILY AND READER R GOING CRAZY RIGHT BUT THEN ALSO JAMES AND SIRIUS R GOING BALLISTIC AND REMUS IS JS LIKE......yeah im not gna catch a break my entire life

you may request that! but also I threw in an extra character for you <3

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader who tell jegulily they're pregnant {too} [662 words]

CW: pregnancy fic, background jegulily, chaos and friendship, Remus and Regulus only pretend they don't love each other and their partners

Remus released the breath he’d been holding and felt something unclench in his being when he finally heard happy squealing.

You and Sirius both knew Remus would have liked to wait just a little bit longer to start telling people you were pregnant, and for the most part, you were. But the only people the two of you couldn’t stand not sharing the news with was, of course, James (Sirius) & Lily (you). And, well, Remus didn’t mind (his own best friend, mind you) Regulus knowing too if that meant the two of you each got to tell your person. 

It was under the guise of a small housewarming party for James, Regulus, and Lily who moved into a new flat a mere five-to-seven minute walk from the lot of you. It was just the two partnerships in attendance; intimate, Lily had called it. 

It was nearing the holidays, so it wasn’t completely absurd for you to show up with a small gift bag in your hand, Sirius and Remus bringing a bottle of wine that only the three of you knew you wouldn’t be sharing.

You and Lily had stepped out onto the small balcony that overlooked the cobblestone streets below, and Remus fought every urge to bring you a blanket (or three); your little gift bag in hand. 

A few minutes later, there was squealing.

Remus made eye contact with Sirius across the table then who shared a knowing and slightly emotional smile with his boyfriend, but it was James who laughed and spoke up first.

“She must have shared the good news.”

Sirius and Remus chuckled before they really comprehended what James had just said. 

“Wait, what?” Sirius asked, and Regulus snorted at him, though he was sharing an equally knowing yet emotional smile with James. 

The sliding door to the balcony was flung open unceremoniously as the two of you came careening in without bothering to shut it behind you. The boys all stood from the hightop table, ready to partake in the celebration - James even opening up his arms in wait for a hug from either one of you - only for both of you to nearly slip in your socks on the hardwood flooring of their new flat as you veered the corner and took off down the hall. 

The men stared down the hall where the two of you had disappeared; no sooner did they hear a cabinet door shut did more squealing start up again. 

“What-” Regulus started, but Sirius cupped his hands over his mouth.

“No way!” 

You and Lily appeared in the kitchen then; flushed, eyes glassy and excited, and simply beaming at the group. 

“We’re pregnant.” The two of you chorused.

“Well…I hardly think you had anything to do with it, Y/N.” Regulus began skeptically, earning him a swat up the back of the head from Sirius.

“She means we’re pregnant too, numpty.”

“TOO!?” James shrieked, basically shoving Lily (his pregnant partner) out from where he’d yanked her under his arm to bodily throw himself at his best mate. “You’re pregnant too!?”

“Yes! Oh my God! We’re going to have tiny built in best friends!” Sirius cheered as he and James all but jumped up and down in each other’s arms.

Remus looked over to see you and Lily in a similarly aggressive embrace; both with tears down your faces as you laughed and squealed and congratulated each other with sentences that didn’t exactly sound like a comprehensible language to Remus but the two of you seemed to understand just fine.

He looked over at Regulus who was warily taking in the sight before him as well, seeming to come to the same conclusion as Remus.

“Oh dear god, what have we done?” He whispered out in one breath.

Remus took a steadying breath as he looked back to his two partners; both with their person’s, each of their person’a with them. “We might have made a terrible, terrible, lovely, wonderful, adorable mistake.”

[buckyalpine]

SOO much fluff with my random thoughts. We love a meet cute featuring a sweet uncle Bucky. Imagine working at a daycare, surrounded by the cutest little ones everyday. You know you shouldn't have favourites but you can't help but fall especially in love with three year old Jamie and his mop of brown hair, his sweet blue eyes absolutely stealing your heart. He'd recently been babbling and talking your ear off about getting to stay at his Uncle's house since his parents were going away on vacation.

"We have the same name" He stated proudly while mushing up some playdoh between his tiny fingers, "Mama said I gets to stay with him for two whole weeks"

"I hope you have the best time, bub" You smile at his excited ramblings, giving his hair a ruffle before making your way to cut up some fruit for snack time.

-

You arrived at the daycare center just in time for their lunch for the afternoon shift, setting your things down and getting to work grabbing napkins and laying them on the tables. The littles ones all lined up to wash their hands before getting their lunch boxes out, most quite self-sufficient with opening their containers without assistance.

You heard a frustrated grunt, looking over your shoulder to find a very determined Jamie with his brows knitted together attempting to open his lunch to no avail. He finally gave up, toddling over to you, the growl of his belly making a clear statement.

He was hungry.

"Can you open this please?" He holds his thermos with two hands, smiling when you take it from him, patiently waiting for you to open it. You try to unscrew the lid, frowning when it doesn't budge even when you try with all your might. You tie a rubber band around the top to give it some grip but it stays locked in place, unmoving after you ran it under hot water and ridiculing you when you tried to pry it open with a butter knife.

"What is your uncle, a super soldier?" You huffed, trying to open the little lunch thermos one more time but there was no point; it was sealed shut. "I don't think I can open this for you, bub, he closed it extra tight"

"Uncle Jamie made me mac and cheese" his little face melted into a sad pout, his belly rumbling again.

"I'm sorry baby, how about sharing half a grilled cheese with me, hm?" You cooed, toasting your own lunch in the panini press and putting it on a plate for him. "We need the avengers to open this, let's see if uncle Jamie can open this when he picks you up"

He happily nibbled on the sandwich, licking up the crumbs, putting away his thermos and making his way over to play with some blocks. When it was hometime, you got everyone ready, sending them on their way while Jamie remained, waiting patiently for his uncle to arrive while sitting on the playground, hugging onto his stuffy in the meantime.

"Ms. y/n, Uncle Jamie is here!" He jumped up in excitement hearing the rumble of a motorbike pull up outside, running to the fence, waving over to him.

"Let's see this Uncle Jamie of yours" You said with an amused expression, wondering who managed to close a lunch lid so tightly. His uncle certainly wasn't what you imagined, watching a tall, broad man parking his bike. He was dressed in all black, parking the bike and pulling his helmet off, letting it rest on one of the handle, running his hand through his short chestnut locks, a toothy grin spreading on his face.

There was no way.

"Oh my God-

"Uncle Jamie!!" The little one ran off to his uncle, jumping into his arms, hugging him with his entire body. The super soldier grinned, catching him with ease, blowing a raspberry against his cheeks making him squeal and sending him into a fit of giggles.

"Hey little man" He chuckled, cradling his nephew and giving him a few extra cuddles before setting him back down and taking his backpack from him. You'd wondered what the hell was in his little backpack which was strangely heavy, gasping when you saw him pull out a tiny leather jacket.

"Arms up, buddy" Jamie lifted his arms, letting his uncle secure the jacket on him.

"He didn't eat his lunch, we couldn't get the lid open" You handed him the thermos with an apologetic look, "He had a grilled cheese instead, I hope that's okay"

"Sorry, doll" Bucky smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, "Guess I didn't realize how tightly I closed it" He took it from your hand, opening it up with ease, steam still billowing from the contained from when he'd heated it up that morning.

"He didn't tell me his Uncle was the very Sergeant James Barnes" You ignored the heat that crept up on your cheeks, an equal blush spreading across Bucky's. "He's been talking about you all week"

"He's been talking about you too" Bucky said with an edge of a flirty tone to his voice, his nephew had said just about everything there was to know about you but the little runt left out just how pretty you were. How sweet. Super cute.

Actually that was a lie, he definitely went on about how pretty you were.

It would appear he had more in common with the three year old than he thought; they both had an apparent crush on you.

Get it together Barnes, you just met her.

"He's a little rascal" Bucky chuckled, looking over his shoulder to find his nephew impatiently wiggling, waiting for a ride, "We're actually just around the block so not a long ride but he loves it" Bucky chuckled as he strapped Jamie into the sidecar, plopping a tiny helmet onto his head.

"Bye Ms. y/n!! See you tomoowo!!" Jamie waved making you smile at how adorable he was, his voice muffled in the helmet.

"Bye baby, see you tomorrow!" You waved back, your breath hitching in your throat when you met the other set of sparkling blue eyes peering at you.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow, Ms. y/n" Bucky said with a wink making your stomach flip, giving you a cheeky smirk before pulling the visor down.

You couldn't wait for tomorrow to come.

-

Okay imagine after two weeks of little parking lot interactions he obviously has to ask you out on a date. Then another. Another. Soon, little Jamie is excited to see you having sleepovers at Uncle Jamies!! He's bragging to all his friends about how he gets to see Ms. Y/n all the time.

Then you're over for Christmas! And New Years! Now you live with Uncle Jamie and it's the best thing ever! And obviously, little Jamie is the ring bearer at the wedding. A year or two later, he finds out he's going to have a baby cousin to play with.

Just an idea.

[holylulusworld]

No

Summary: You turn down every guy trying to hit on you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warning: many egos get scratched, fluff

“Hi, my name is Sam. I saw you from over there and wanted to invite you to a drink or more,” he says and flashes you a smile. He’s not bad to look at. If only he didn’t eye you like his latest meal.

“No—” you turn another man down. It’s a crux, going to a bar alone. Most of the guys won’t take no for an answer or show enough decency to leave a woman alone. You wanted to have one drink after work, only to get hit on by the next best guy stepping into the bar.

The man’s shoulders sag, and he goes back to his friends’ table. They pat his shoulder, telling him to not take it to heart. You almost feel bad for him. But only until the next guy from their table walks toward you.

Great. They turned this into a challenge. Watching the next guy walk toward you, you sigh deeply. This is going to be a long night.

“Hello, darling. Name’s Tony,” the next guy drawls. He’s older than the first guy. “Why is a pretty lady like you all alone at a bar?”

You roll your eyes. “Not to talk to a guy with a goatee,” you snap at the man to cut him off. “If you would leave me alone now. The answer is no.”

“Ah, you’re the angry kind,” he leans against the bar counter, eyes drinking you in. “Why don’t you join me and my friends at our table?”

“Sorry, I’m not into gangbangs.”

The guest next to you coughs loudly because he choked on his beer thanks to your reply.

You dismissively wave your hand, sending the guy back to the table with his friends. He shakes his head and joins the bunch of guys.

“Nice comeback,” the guest next to you chuckles. “Oh, here we go. You should prepare for the next one.”

“Not again,” you sigh and down your drink in one go. You tap the glass, ordering another one, while a tall blonde guy steps closer. He seems a little shy as his blue eyes search yours.

“Sorry to disturb you, but—” he clears his throat and points at the table with his friends. “My friends and I wondered if you want to come over and join us.”

You look him up and down. He’s very handsome. Tall and well-built, and his eyes are nice too. Still, you won’t give him a chance.

“Sorry, but no,” you say, smiling. “Maybe in another life.”

“Uh—thanks for your time,” he stammers and walks off. You watch him leave, sighing, as two more guys are at their table.

“Do you think the others will hit on me too?” You ask the guy next to you who ordered beer. He shrugs and grabs the beer to walk away. “Crap, no.” You groan as he joins the guys hitting on you. “He's one of them!”

The guys at the table start to talk louder. They wildly gesture toward the guy talking to you and then at you.

“Fuck no,” you groan as the guy from earlier walks back toward you. He left the beer on the table and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Here we go.”

You sip at your drink and watch him step closer. He flashes you a stunning smile, making your heart flutter. “Hello, doll.” He playfully says and winks at you. “It looks like I’m back.”

“Yup.” You pop the p and grin at him. “So, what’s your pickup line? Do you want to buy me a drink or offer a gangbang like your friend?”

“Oh, doll,” he purrs, and steps closer to cage you against the bar counter with his body. “I don’t share well. If I lay claim on you, you’re only mine.”

You shudder under his gaze. “Who says I’ll allow you to lay claim on me? I don’t even know your name.” He laughs at your comeback. “What’s so funny?”

“It’s funny that you don’t even know you’re already mine.” He cups your jaw with his gloved hand and looks you in the eyes. “What do you say? Do you want to get out of here?”

“Yes.”

Steve, Sam, Tony, and the others watch Bucky wrap his arm around your waistline. He winks at them as you pass their table.

“What just happened?” Tony gasps loudly. “This can’t be! Cyborg-brain can’t succeed after all of us fail! How did he do this? How did he turn a no into a yes?"

You giggle and laugh as you run toward Bucky’s bike, holding hands.

“That was fun!”

For how much longer will we pretend that we just met?” He asks while handing you the spare helmet he bought for you. “Doll?”

You place your hand on his chest and say, “I don’t know. Having a secret relationship has its advantages…”

Tags in reblog.

[dontopenfairies]

There’s activity all around them; people are shouting and laughing and buying ice cream. The roller coaster cars tick-tick-tack up the tracks to their right, and the organ music flows out of the open doorway to the carousel house on the left.

But all he can think is, *Oh no*, as he feels something warm and solid stretching his underwear under his shorts. *At least it’s happening now…and not when we’re about to sit down on a ride…*

He should tell her. He opens his mouth but the words won’t come out. This is so embarrassing. He didn’t even notice that he had to go at all.

“Do you want me to get you cotton candy?” She asks, humming and looking up at the ferris wheel. “Oh, that would be so romantic…No, we should do that in the evening when the sun is setting. Do you want to go on the swings? Oh, sweetheart, you have a little stain on your shorts. Did you sit in something?”

She very quickly and briefly rests her hand on the back of his shorts. “Oh. Ohhh.” She squeezes his hand tighter, dragging him to the bathrooms.

“Oh, shoot. There isn’t a gender neutral one,” she says when they arrive. People are everywhere, entering and leaving the bathrooms. It looks like every single stall inside is occupied. Someone is shouting about no toilet paper.

“I don’t want to do this,” he says quietly.

“Yeah, this isn’t good. Let’s keep looking, is that okay?” She rubs his back. The sun is getting hot on his face. “Do you need your sunglasses? You’re squinting.” She starts to rummage in her bag.

“Can we find somewhere, please? I don’t think I’m done.” He fidgets with the bottom of his shirt.

“You can’t tell?” She looks up at him, hand still in her bag. “Okay, I’m sorry, honey. We’ll go find somewhere.”

The only single-stall gender-neutral bathroom is out by the parking lot. And it’s OCCUPIED. He stands next to her right outside the door, looking out at the sea of cars. He starts to feel himself filling his pants again and tears sting his eyes. The pressure is doing so much to his bladder, too. He already leaked a little bit but it isn’t showing yet. He starts to squirm.

“Oh, baby. I’m sorry. I got you.” She wraps her arm around him and the door opens. She catches it as the person leaving holds it open and she pulls him in.

As soon as they’re inside, he starts to really wet himself. It soaks through his shorts quickly and dribbles down his legs to the floor. This is when he starts to cry a little.

“Oh, honey…Shh, shh, it’s going to be okay. I brought you extra pants. I just really wasn’t expecting…this.”

“I wasn’t either!”

“You really didn’t know it was going to happen?” She unlaces his canvas shoes and he kicks them off.

He shakes his head as she undoes his shorts and strips them off. “You’re just getting worse and worse at this,” she tuts. “Oh, honeypie, I don’t think we can save these panties.”

He can’t answer. He doesn’t know what to say. Despite himself, he’s starting to feel really excited and it’s making him even more frustrated.

“Okay, let me give you a wipe-down. Here, can you help me? Hold this for me.” She sets the packet of wipes in his hands. “Oh, you’re so messy,” she sighs.

“I didn’t mean to…”

“I know, baby. You had a messy accident at night two nights ago, and now this. You really didn’t know you had to go at all?”

“No, I didn’t notice. I just felt it coming out when we were walking.”

“How come you didn’t tell me? Aw, honey. It’s okay.” She goes to throw away the wipes and wash her hands. She takes the wipes from him and stows them in her bag again. “Okay, I know you don’t like being changed away from a changing table, but the floor is reallyy dirty in here. I’m going to diaper you standing up, okay?” She takes out his spare diaper, the only one she brought, just in case, and fluffs it up.

As she straightens up, she notices his runny nose. “Blow your nose,” she says, unrolling a wad of toilet paper from the dispenser next to the toilet. “Here. There you go. Okay, diaper’s coming on. Help me out, okay?”

After he’s all taped up, she reaches in the bag one last time and gets his spare shorts out. “I thought you might have a little wet accident today and need these…” she says to herself quietly as he steps into them and she pulls them up. “Okay, you can get your fly yourself,” she says as he stands helplessly, hands twisting his shirt again. He zips it up and then his thumb slips into his mouth.

“Aw…Get that out now while we’re in here, okay? You can’t really get away with that in public. I know you want to, don’t worry. Save it for the ferris wheel, okay, honey?”

He nods and they leave the bathroom.

“Your diaper feels okay, right?” she whispers as they reenter the park.

“Yeah.”

“You were so good during that change, baby. Let’s go find something to eat, okay?”

“Yes, Mommy,” he says very quietly, so that only she can hear.

“Good boy.” She rests her hand on his back and guides him through the crowd.

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Chapter 1: Oh Lights Go Down, In The Moment We're Lost And Found

Summary: After multiple failed attempts at retirement, you keep getting pulled back into action by Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes. Despite the constant bickering and teasing, there’s an undeniable tension between you and Bucky—something everyone else sees except the two of you.

When a new threat involving stolen Inhuman tech emerges, you reluctantly join Bucky and Sam for one more mission. As the stakes rise, your playful banter with Bucky deepens into something more, and the emotional walls you’ve both built finally begin to crumble.

Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Smut.

It was one of those perfect days—the kind where the sun streamed in through the open kitchen window, warm and golden, making everything feel just a little bit softer. The faint hum of the city was distant but present, a reminder of the world outside your quiet little corner. The breeze carried in the scent of blooming jasmine, and you were happily chopping vegetables, pretending—for just a moment—that you were just an ordinary person, living an ordinary life.

But, of course, that illusion was shattered by the two men currently sitting at your kitchen table.

“You’ve been retired what? Three times now? Or is it four?” Sam Wilson asked, his voice full of teasing amusement.

“I think it’s three,” Bucky Barnes replied, deadpan, not even bothering to look up from where he was unceremoniously slouched in his chair, arms crossed over his chest.

You couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips as you turned from the counter. Sam was lounging back in his chair, arms behind his head, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. Bucky—ever the grump—was giving you that familiar raised eyebrow, though there was a glint of something in his blue eyes that suggested he was enjoying this more than he let on.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, you cocked a hip and pointed your knife at them. “I’d still be happily retired after the first time if a certain bird brain and tin man would stop knocking on my door and learn how to handle their issues without me holding their hand every time.”

“Oof.” Sam put a hand to his chest and gave you a mock wounded look. “That’s cold.”

Bucky, unbothered, just smirked. “You’re not wrong.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you turned back to the cutting board, the rhythmic chop, chop, chop of the knife filling the brief silence. “It’s true though, isn’t it?” you called over your shoulder, not letting them off the hook just yet. “Let’s review, shall we?"

You held up a finger, turning slightly to glance at them. “The Flag Smashers. You two could’ve handled that without me. No problem.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh. And who was it who saved your ass when you got blown off that truck?”

“I had it under control!” you shot back, but the grin on your face gave you away.

“Right,” Bucky muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Looked real ‘under control’ when you were flying face-first into traffic.”

You snorted but continued your list, holding up a second finger. “Then there was that terrorism thing in Cairo. Again, easy pickings. You didn’t really need me for that.”

Sam leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I dunno, I seem to remember you saying something about ‘missing the thrill’ when you punched that guy through a brick wall.”

You paused, remembering the satisfying crunch of stone under your knuckles. “Okay, maybe I missed it a little,” you admitted with a shrug, “but that’s not the point.”

Bucky’s lips quirked, but he stayed silent, watching you with that same unreadable expression he always wore when you got into these conversations—half annoyed, half amused, and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“And then,” you continued, holding up a third finger, “there was that mutant with the glowy cards and the cool accent who was doing all those heists in New Orleans.” You paused for dramatic effect, stabbing the knife into the cutting board. “Now, I’ll admit, that one was a bit... sticky.”

Bucky snorted softly. “A bit?”

Sam gave you a pointed look. ”He blew your ass to hell.”

You gave Sam a grin. “And I still managed to get his number afterwards,” you turned to look at both of them “But the point still stands—you two are perfectly capable without me.”

Sam shook his head, laughing under his breath. “Yeah, maybe. But things are more fun with you around.” He winked, leaning back in his chair again.

You rolled your eyes, scoffing as you turned back to the vegetables. “I’m not here for your entertainment, Sam. I’m retired. Retired,” you emphasized, as if you hadn’t had this exact argument before.

Bucky finally chimed in, his voice dry as ever. “You keep saying that, but here you are. Again. Inviting us inside.”

You threw him a look over your shoulder. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t feel obliged to if you two weren’t so damn persistent.”

Sam folded his arms across his chest with a smirk. “Persistent? Is that what we’re calling it now? I thought you liked the action.”

You pointed the knife at him, eyes narrowing. “I like peace and quiet, Wilson. Two things I seem to get a lot less of whenever you two show up at my door.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Sam quipped, grinning. “You light up every time we drag you back in.”

Before you could fire back, Bucky gave a small snort and muttered under his breath, “You love doing this.” Your eyes flicked to Bucky in surprise. There was something in his tone—something so confident, like he knew you better than you knew yourself. The bastard probably wasn’t wrong, but you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of admitting it. Instead, you shot him a mock glare, trying to keep your voice as dry as possible.

“I love retirement, Barnes. You should try it sometime,” you retorted, pointing your knife at him for emphasis. “I even have an actual job now. You know, normal people stuff.”

Bucky’s lips quirked into the faintest hint of a smile—one of those rare, fleeting things you only caught when he wasn’t trying so hard to be the world’s grumpiest super-soldier. “Not my style,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath, “Clearly.”

Sam, who had been watching the two of you with an amused smirk, cleared his throat loudly, cutting through the banter. “Anyway, we didn’t come here to talk about your third failed retirement,” he said, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eye, “Anyway, I’m still waiting for my invitation to come over for dinner one night now that you have all this time on your hands.”

“You’re not getting one,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “And besides since when do you two just casually drop by my house on a perfectly good Saturday?” Sam leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he gave you a pointed look. “Fury called me,” he said, his tone casual but carrying that undercurrent of ‘you know where this is going.’

You arched an eyebrow, glancing over your shoulder as you continued slicing vegetables. “Oh yeah?” you said, clearly unimpressed. “And what does  Ex- Director Fury want this time?”

Sam’s smirk widened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Apparently, you’re not picking up the phone. He’s been trying to get ahold of you.”

You scoffed, not even bothering to look at him as you tossed the chopped peppers into a bowl. “Yeah, because, again, I’m retired, Sam. Retired as in ‘not doing whatever he wants me to.’” You punctuated the sentence by slicing into a tomato with a little more force than necessary.

Sam chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “You might wanna reconsider picking up the phone this time.”

You paused, glancing at him with a skeptical look. “Oh? And why’s that?”

Sam exchanged a brief glance with Bucky before turning back to you. “Someone’s been stealing Inhuman tech—experimental stuff.” His usual lighthearted tone was gone, replaced by something serious. “It’s not just some minor operation either. Whoever’s behind this is organized. Big time.”

You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, as if the weight of what Sam was saying wasn’t already sitting heavy in the pit of your stomach. “And what does that have to do with me?” you asked, your voice steady, though your mind was racing.

Bucky, who had been leaning back with his arms crossed, quietly watching the conversation unfold with his usual stoic expression, finally raised an eyebrow. That subtle shift in his demeanor said more than words ever could. He’d always been the silent type, but after everything you’d been through together, you could read his moods with almost unnerving precision. “You’re really gonna make me spell it out, huh?” His voice was low, carrying that familiar gravelly edge, but there was something else there too. A challenge.

You turned to him, already fighting the grin that was pulling at the corners of your mouth. There was always this tension between you two, a strange mix of camaraderie, banter, and something deeper that neither of you ever fully addressed. You leaned casually against the counter, crossing your arms, meeting his gaze with a wide-eyed, innocent look that you knew would get under his skin. “Uh huh,” you nodded slowly, clearly enjoying the moment. “Because you know what I’m going to say.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, and for a fleeting second, you thought he might actually smile—one of those rare, almost disarming smiles that made your stomach clench and your heart stutter. “You’re going to say you’re retired,” Bucky deadpanned, though you could hear the faintest edge of frustration in his voice. He knew you too well by now, knew the games you liked to play when you didn’t want to be dragged into something.

You pointed at him with the knife you’d been using, your grin widening in triumph. “Exactly,” you said, savoring the moment.

Sam rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smirk tugging at his lips. “Alright, we get it. You’re retired. But this isn’t just some random mess we’re asking you to clean up. This is big. And it’s gonna get worse if no one steps in.”

You tilted your head, still playing coy, the edge of mischievousness in your voice. “And you two can’t handle it? I mean, you’re Captain America and the Winter Soldier,” you said, gesturing lazily toward them with the knife, before going back to slicing. “Seems like you’ve got things under control.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly, and you could feel the shift in the air between you. His tone dropped, that low, no-nonsense voice he used when he wasn’t in the mood for games. “It’s not about whether we can handle it. It’s about what’s coming, and the fact that you’re in the crosshairs whether you like it or not.”

You paused, your hand hovering over the apple for a split second, the playful façade slipping just a little. The truth in his words hit harder than you wanted to admit. You’d been out of the game for a while, sure, but that didn’t mean the game was done with you. And if Bucky was worried—really worried—then you knew this was serious. He didn’t show fear, not easily.

Your eyes met his again, and there it was—that unspoken connection. You trusted him with your life, had done so countless times before, from that first chaotic fight in Bucharest to every mission since. He’d saved you more times than you could count, and you’d done the same for him. But it was more than that. After every battle, every moment where it felt like the world might crumble, it was Bucky who sat beside you in the quiet, his presence a steady reminder that you weren’t alone in this “Crosshairs?” you repeated, your voice softening just a fraction, though the tension in the room seemed to coil tighter.

Sam nodded, his tone quieter now, but still sharp with purpose. “If they’re stealing Inhuman tech, it’s only a matter of time before they come for the source. People like you.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in slowly, wrapping around you like an uncomfortable blanket. You wanted to roll your eyes, to laugh it off, to tell them both you weren’t interested. But deep down, you already knew where this was headed. You always did. It was the same old tune, the same pull of inevitability. They came to you when things got bad, and this time, it sounded worse than usual.

Still, old habits died hard, and you weren’t about to make it easy for them. You never did.

“So, let me get this straight,” you said, raising a hand as if to clarify, the sarcasm dripping from your voice. “You two are here because someone’s stealing tech, and now you think I’m some kind of target?”

As you spoke, you caught movement out of the corner of your eye. Bucky leaned forward slightly, the intensity in his gaze pinning you in place before you could look away. His eyes—usually so guarded, so stoic—held a flicker of something different. Something raw. Fear. The sight of it made your chest tighten.

“We don’t think,” Bucky said, his voice low, almost strained. “We know.”

For a second, the air seemed to shift as the room narrowed around just the two of you. That flicker of fear in Bucky’s eyes, so out of place on someone like him—someone who had seen more war, more blood, more death than you could ever imagine—hit you harder than you expected. You could handle your own fear, push it down, bury it deep where it couldn’t reach you. But seeing it in him? That was something else entirely.

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face, trying to shake off the weight of his words. “Of course you do,” you muttered, dropping your hand and crossing your arms again, leaning back against the counter. You could feel the tension rolling off Bucky in waves, but you weren’t ready to let them drag you into this. Not yet. “And let me guess, Fury wants me to do something about it?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his chair, giving you a look that was a mix of apology and expectation. The kind of look that told you everything you needed to know, with just a hint of regret. “It’s not just Fury,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You know we wouldn’t be here if we didn’t need you.”

You couldn’t help the dry laugh that escaped you, shaking your head in disbelief. “You two realize how ridiculous this is, right? I’ve been out of the game for how long now? And suddenly I’m supposed to jump back in because Fury says so?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, his expression hardening as he leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest in that familiar, defensive posture. You knew that look. The one he used when things were getting serious—when he was drawing a line in the sand. “It’s not about Fury,” he said, his voice edged with a quiet intensity. “It’s about protecting people. And you know that.”

His words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, the kitchen felt smaller, quieter. The intensity in his eyes was enough to make your stomach twist, the weight of his gaze settling over you like a storm cloud. Bucky wasn’t one to dance around the truth, and you knew that. He was right, of course. He always was when it came to this kind of thing, and it irritated you to no end. But that didn’t mean you had to like it.

You wanted to argue, to push back, but the words caught in your throat. Because deep down, you knew what he was saying was true. You always did.

Sam stood up from the table, walking over to where you were standing. His expression softened as he spoke, his voice low and sincere. “Look, we’re not asking you to suit up and start playing hero again,” he said, his gaze locking onto yours with that maddening calm that always made him seem so reasonable. “But this is bigger than just a couple of stolen gadgets. If they’re after Inhumans, you’re not gonna be able to sit this one out.”

You held his gaze for a long moment, the familiar pull of responsibility growing heavier with every word, pressing down on your shoulders like it always did. Sam had this infuriating way of making things sound so logical, so reasonable, and yet utterly impossible to refuse. It was like he knew exactly which buttons to push, how to make you see the bigger picture.

Bucky didn’t even need to say a word. The fear you’d seen in his eyes earlier still lingered, a shadow that hadn’t quite gone away. It wasn’t something you were used to seeing from him—Bucky, who had stared down gods and monsters without flinching. But if he was worried, *really* worried, then this was far worse than they were letting on. You could feel it in the air, the way neither he nor Sam had cracked a joke, hadn’t tried to lighten the mood even once. This was serious. And if they were here, asking for your help, it meant they were out of options.

You let out a long, resigned breath, feeling the weight of their silent expectations pressing down on you. “I’m not un-retiring,” you finally said, holding up a hand in warning, preemptively stopping any celebrations before they even started. “This is just a favor.”

Bucky stood, his expression softening just a fraction. You could see it—how hard he was trying to hide the flicker of relief that crossed his face. But you caught it. He was too easy to read, at least for you. “Right,” he said, his voice quieter but steady. “Just a favor.”

You shot him a look, raising an eyebrow. “Exactly. A favor,” you repeated, making sure he knew where you stood on this.

Sam, clearly feeling the shift in the room, clapped you on the shoulder, a wide, triumphant grin spreading across his face. “See? We knew you couldn’t resist,” he said, his tone smug, as if he’d just won a bet.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you turned back to the counter, picking up your knife to finish chopping the vegetables you’d abandoned earlier. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. After this, I’m going back to my actual job. You know, the one that doesn’t involve me getting shot at.”

Sam snorted, leaning casually against the kitchen island, arms crossed, that damn smirk still plastered on his face. “Yeah, sure. You keep telling yourself that. We’ll see how long that lasts.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, one that said, I’m not in the mood for your bullshit, but Sam just grinned wider. It wasn’t the first time you’d tried to retire, and he damn well knew it. He also knew how impossible it was for you to stay away whenever things went south.

Bucky, now standing with his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, leaned back against the wall, giving you a sidelong glance. His voice was low, teasing, though there was an undercurrent of truth in it. “You won’t stay gone for too long. You never do.”

You paused, the knife hovering over the cutting board for a second longer than necessary, letting his words hang in the air. He wasn’t wrong, and you both knew it. It wasn’t the first time you’d tried to step away from the chaos, and it wouldn’t be the first time you got pulled back in. But that didn’t mean you had to admit it aloud.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered under your breath, not looking up as you resumed chopping. “Don’t get ahead of yourselves.”

Sam chuckled, pushing off the counter to grab an apple from the fruit bowl. “Oh, we’re ahead of ourselves? You were ‘retired’ for what, two years before you got involved with S.W.O.R.D.?” He took a bite of the apple, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You shot him a dry look, not stopping your chopping. “Oh, that was a mistake and a half. Ever been mindfucked by a grieving woman who can rewrite reality on a whim? Not exactly on my Top Ten list of fun experiences,” you grumbled, the memory still a sore spot. “Definitely not a fan.”

Sam raised his eyebrows, still chewing, clearly enjoying the banter. “And how long did you swear off helping people after that? Because if I remember right, you said you were done—and then, what happened? I asked you to help with the Flag Smashers, and next thing I know, you’re right back in it. Then someone else came knocking, and BAM, there you go again.”

You glared at him, pointing the knife in his direction, the sharp edge glinting under the kitchen light. “All you’re proving to me,” you said, deadpan, “is that I’m a pushover who can’t set boundaries.”

Sam nearly choked on his apple as he laughed. “Pushover? Nah. You’re just bad at saying no when it counts.” You opened your mouth to argue, but Bucky cut in before you had the chance. His voice was calm, though you could hear the teasing edge in it. “Come on, Sam. Give her some credit. She lasted a whole eight months this time.”

You narrowed your eyes at Bucky, but he wasn’t looking at you. His attention was on Sam, the corner of his mouth twitching in that almost-smile he tried to hide. He was joking—he always did when things got tense—but there was something else in his eyes. That glint of worry he couldn’t quite mask, even behind the banter. It was subtle, but you’d learned how to read him, how to see the way his shoulders tightened when he was anxious, the way his brow furrowed when he was thinking too hard. And despite his attempt to keep things light, you could tell this mission wasn’t sitting right with him. He was worried—about you.

“Eight months is impressive,” Sam chimed in, nodding sagely, as if you weren’t standing right there. “I mean, that’s gotta be some kind of record, right? For someone who’s addicted to saving the world?”

You groaned, setting the knife down with a little more force than necessary. “You two are the worst,” you muttered, but the faint smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. You couldn’t stay mad at them, not really. “I should never have let you in.”

Bucky gave you a knowing look, his voice soft but still teasing. “You didn’t really have a choice. We would’ve just broken in.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was something about the way he said it, the way his voice softened around the edges when he was talking to you. It made your heart skip, just for a moment, a flicker of something more beneath the surface. You’d known Bucky for a long time now—long enough to understand the walls he kept up, the distance he tried to maintain. But lately, there had been cracks in those walls. Little moments where the tension between you wasn’t just about the mission, or the danger, or even the banter. It was something deeper, something you hadn’t quite figured out how to deal with.

“Exactly,” Sam said, grinning as he leaned casually against the counter. “You can’t get rid of us that easily.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to focus on anything but the way Bucky’s presence seemed to fill the room. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”

Bucky’s expression softened, just enough for you to notice. He stepped forward, closing the distance between you both ever so slightly. His voice dropped a little lower, and there was a quiet sincerity in his words that made your heart do that annoying little flip again. “It is a good thing. Because you know we’d do the same for you.”

The way he said it, so matter-of-fact, yet layered with meaning, made warmth spread through your chest. You knew he would. You didn’t doubt it for a second. Bucky wasn’t the type to say things he didn’t mean, and when it came to you, he always seemed to mean more than he actually said. You’d felt it in the way he looked at you after missions, the way his hand lingered on your arm just a little too long when he was checking to see if you were okay. The way his gaze would soften, as if he was seeing something in you that even you hadn’t fully grasped.

“Yeah, well,” you said, tearing your eyes away from his intense gaze and looking back down at the cutting board. You needed a distraction, something to ground you before you lost yourself in whatever was simmering between you and Bucky. “Just don’t expect me to make a habit of this.”

Sam chuckled from his spot by the counter. “Don’t worry. We’ll send you a postcard when we’re out saving the world.”

Bucky’s lips twitched into that almost-smile again, and for a brief second, the tension that had been weighing down the room seemed to lift. His eyes lingered on you, and you could feel the warmth of his gaze even with your back turned. It was like he was saying something without saying anything at all. And it made you wonder, not for the first time, what it would be like if you just stopped pretending there wasn’t something more between you.

“Sure,” you said, the sarcasm thick in your voice. “I’ll frame it.”

Sam grinned, tossing the apple core into the trash with a smirk. “Even better. You can hang it next to your retirement papers.”

You groaned, turning back to the vegetables, the familiar banter easing some of the tension in your chest. “I hate you both.”

But as you went back to chopping, the knife moving rhythmically over the cutting board, you couldn’t stop your mind from drifting back to Bucky. The way he’d looked at you just a moment ago, his expression soft, his voice low and full of unspoken promises. It was ridiculous, really. You were supposed to be retired, supposed to be out of this life. Yet here you were, roped back in by the same people who always pulled you under—and by the man who, despite all your best efforts, had found a way into your heart.

Because the truth was, you didn’t really hate them. Not even close.

And when it came to Bucky, you weren’t sure you could ever stay away. No matter how hard you tried to convince yourself this was just another mission, another favor, something about him always pulled you back in. It was frustrating—but also undeniable.

You cleared your throat, trying to shake off the warm, fuzzy feelings creeping into your chest. The last thing you needed was to get all sentimental in front of them. “Alright, enough with the bromance,” you said, your voice cutting through the air, aiming to bring things back to the task at hand. “What’s the plan?”

Sam straightened up immediately, slipping back into his familiar role with ease. He was all business again, though the grin from your little exchange hadn’t quite left his face. “We’ll brief you on the way. Fury’s got intel, and we’ve already got a lead on where they’re keeping the stolen tech.”

You raised an eyebrow, gesturing between the two of them as if the absurdity of the situation had just dawned on you. “Oh, you’re ready to go right now?” There was a playful incredulity in your voice, as if the sheer audacity of them showing up at your doorstep and expecting you to drop everything hadn’t fully hit you until this moment.

Bucky shrugged, utterly unfazed, his tone casual. “No better time than the present.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, pointing to the food on the counter as you turned back toward the stove. “I’m cooking, Barnes. I’m not wasting this. Saving the world can wait until I’ve finished dinner.” You waved a hand dismissively, like the fate of the world was no bigger than an afternoon errand. “Pull up a chair,” you added, turning back to the chopping board, resuming your task as if you hadn’t just agreed to help them thwart a major global threat.

Behind you, Sam and Bucky exchanged a look. Sam’s eyebrows raised slightly, and he passed Bucky a knowing grin—the kind that said, See? Told you she’d come around. Bucky, for his part, gave Sam a small, soft smile in return, one of those rare, almost imperceptible expressions that only those really close to him would ever notice.

They missed you. And now that they were here, in your kitchen, it was more apparent than ever.

“Well, you heard the lady,” Sam said, pulling out a chair and plopping down at your kitchen table, clearly amused by the sudden shift in pace. “Guess saving the world can wait for dinner.”

Bucky, after a moment’s hesitation, followed suit, settling into the chair beside Sam. His eyes lingered on you for a second longer than usual, something unspoken passing between the three of you as the earlier tension faded into something warmer—something more familiar. “You always did have your priorities straight,” he muttered, his voice teasing, but with a hint of genuine admiration.

“Damn right,” you replied without missing a beat, not looking up from your task as you tossed some vegetables into the pan. The sizzle filled the quiet as you added, “I’m not about to burn a perfectly good meal just because Fury’s got his knickers in a twist.”

You could hear Sam chuckling behind you, and you imagined the way he was probably shaking his head—half-amused, half-impressed by your ability to turn life-threatening situations into something routine.

“So, what are we having?” Sam asked, leaning back in his chair, clearly settling in for the long haul now that dinner was on the agenda.

You shrugged as you stirred the pan. “Stir-fry. Something simple.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, the barest hint of a smile playing on his lips. “You’ve gone soft. I seem to remember you used to cook meals that could feed an army.”

You threw a look over your shoulder at him, your eyes narrowing playfully. “That was back when I was an army. Now I’m just a humble civilian, remember?”

Sam snorted, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, right. ‘Humble civilian’ my ass.”

You smiled, shaking your head as you turned back to the stove. “Believe what you want, Wilson. I’m retired. This is me living the quiet life. I even mowed my lawn the other week.”

Bucky leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms, giving you a long, considering look. His gaze was steady, unblinking, as if he were trying to read between the lines of your words. “You’re really gonna stick with that story, huh?”

You waved the spatula at him, eyes narrowing again, but this time there was a playful edge to it. “I told you already: this is just a favor. One time only.”

Bucky’s lips twitched into that almost-smile again, this one more visible than the last. He leaned forward slightly, casting a quick glance at Sam before turning back to you. “You know we don’t believe that for a second.”

Your eyes flicked up from the pan, meeting Bucky’s for a brief, charged moment. There was something about the way he looked at you—something that made your heart beat just a little faster. You hated how easily he could do that to you, how effortlessly he could make you feel like the world outside didn’t matter as much as the small, quiet moments like this.

But you couldn’t let him know that. Not yet.

“Believe what you want,” you said, turning back to the stove with a shrug that you hoped looked more nonchalant than you felt. “I’m not getting dragged back into this mess for good.”

Sam, ever the opportunist, jumped in with a grin. “Sure, sure. And next week, when one of your buddies call, I’m sure you’ll be… what? Mowing the lawn again?”

You shot him a look. “I’m serious, Sam.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, clearly not convinced. “Just like you were serious when you said you were done after getting shot in Madripoor.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Bucky beat you to it, his voice cutting in with that same calm, steady reassurance. “Just a favor. We get it.” His tone was teasing, but there was something behind it—something softer, like he was trying to meet you halfway.

Your eyes met his again, and for a moment, the room felt smaller, more intimate. There was a warmth in his gaze that made you feel seen in a way you weren’t sure you were ready for. It was the kind of look that made you want to say more than you should, the kind of look that made you wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was something more than friendship between you two. Something you’d both been dancing around for far too long.

But before you could say anything, Sam’s voice broke the moment. “So, what’s for dessert?”

You blinked, the spell broken, and turned back to the stove with a sigh of exaggerated exasperation. “Dessert? I’m already feeding you dinner, Wilson. What more do you want?”

Sam grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Just checking. You know, in case we need to carbo-load for the world-saving we’re doing after this.”

Bucky chuckled, his eyes still lingering on you for just a second longer before he leaned back in his chair as well, arms crossed. “If she’s making dessert, we’ll be here all night.”

You shot them both a look. “You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you both out yet.”

But the truth was, you liked having them here. You liked the way Sam’s laugh filled the room, bringing with it a familiar sense of ease, and the way Bucky’s quiet, steady presence grounded you, even when he wasn’t saying much. It was the kind of silence that wasn’t uncomfortable, but comforting—a reminder that some bonds didn’t need words. You liked the way this felt—like home. And maybe that was the real reason you could never stay away.

Because when it came to Bucky—and Sam, too, if you were being honest—it wasn’t just about the missions, or the thrill of saving the world. They weren’t just your team. They were your family.

Even if you’d never admit that out loud.

The three of you fell into a comfortable silence after that, the only sound the soft sizzle of the food cooking and the rhythmic clinking of utensils against plates. The smell of stir-fry filled the kitchen, warm and inviting, and for a few minutes, it almost felt like the old days—back before everything got so complicated. Before you’d decided to walk away. The banter, the easy camaraderie, the way you fit together like puzzle pieces—it was all still there, just buried under layers of time and distance, waiting for moments like this to resurface.

As you plated the food and set it down in front of them, you couldn’t help but glance between Sam and Bucky, feeling that familiar, strange warmth again. There was something about seeing them here, sitting at your table, that stirred something deep inside you.

And maybe—just maybe—you’d missed the thrill, too. The adrenaline, the missions, the way the world always seemed like it was on the brink of something big, and you were the one who could tip the scales. You had walked away from it all, but now, standing here with them, it didn’t seem quite as distant as it once had. It felt close, tangible, like it was pulling you back in before you even realized it.

Sam took a bite, nodding in approval. “Not bad. Definitely better than MREs.”

Bucky grunted his agreement, though he was already halfway through his plate, eating with the quiet efficiency of a man who’d spent too many years not knowing where his next meal would come from. You watched the two of them for a moment, leaning against the counter with your arms crossed, suddenly feeling like an outsider in your own kitchen. But it wasn’t a bad feeling—it was one of contentment, of seeing the people you care about in a rare moment of peace.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence, “are you two gonna brief me, or are you just here for the free food?”

Sam wiped his mouth, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Oh, we’ll brief you. But first…” He paused, his expression shifting slightly, the teasing glint in his eyes softening into something more genuine. “Thanks for this. For helping. We know it’s not easy being dragged back in.”

Bucky, who had been quiet as usual, nodded, his gaze meeting yours. His expression was softer than it usually was—unguarded, almost vulnerable, in that way he sometimes got when he was trying to say something he wasn’t quite sure how to put into words. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice low but sincere. “We appreciate it.”

You shrugged, trying to play it off like it was no big deal, though the warmth in your chest told a different story. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m not un-retired, remember? This is just a one-time thing.”

Bucky caught your eye, and for a moment, something passed between you—something unspoken, something you weren’t ready to acknowledge just yet. His expression was unreadable, but there was a challenge in his gaze, a quiet understanding that made your heart skip a beat. “Sure,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “Whatever you say.”

There it was again—that invisible pull between the two of you, the one that had been there for as long as you could remember. It was subtle, but undeniable, like the gravity that kept you orbiting around each other, no matter how hard you tried to break free. You could tell yourself this was just a favor, just one mission, but deep down, you knew better. You knew that Bucky’s presence in your life was something you could never fully walk away from.

Sam chuckled, pushing his empty plate aside. “Alright, let’s get to it. Here’s what we know…”

As they began to lay out the details of the mission—Fury’s intel, the stolen tech, the possible locations—you listened intently, your brain shifting into tactical mode almost immediately. It was like slipping into an old, well-worn jacket. You hadn’t realized how much you missed this—the strategizing, the planning, the feeling that you were part of something bigger than yourself.

But even as you focused on the details, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t going to be as ‘one-time only’ as you’d planned.

Because the truth was, you liked this. You liked the way Sam’s voice filled the space, the way Bucky’s quiet presence anchored you. You liked the sense of purpose that came with being part of something this important, and the way you felt like you belonged when you were with them.

Maybe you were exactly where you needed to be.

And as Bucky’s eyes flicked over to you again, his gaze lingering for just a moment longer than necessary, you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same. <><><><><><> The night air was crisp, the kind of cold that settled in your bones, made worse by the biting wind that whispered through the trees. The cabin where Nick Fury was staying loomed ahead, isolated and quiet, nestled deep in the woods. It was larger than you expected—more of a lodge than a cabin really—with dark wooden beams and wide windows that reflected the sliver of moonlight hanging overhead. The gravel driveway crunched beneath your feet as you stepped out of the car, the sound jarring in the otherwise still night.

“Four and a half hours I’ve just spent in that car with the two of you,” Bucky began, pulling your duffle bag out of the trunk with more force than necessary. His breath came out in misty puffs, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched as he spoke. “I keep forgetting how much of a nightmare it is.”

You climbed out of the passenger seat, stretching your legs as the cold air hit your face. “What? You saying my singing’s bad?” There was a feigned offense in your voice, but Bucky’s expression didn’t soften.

“I’m saying in the kindest way possible to not quit your day job,” Bucky replied, slamming the trunk shut with a thud that echoed into the night.

Sam, ever the mediator, moved around to stand beside you, his boots crunching on the gravel as he grinned. “Hey, I think it was great.”

You smiled, grateful for the support. “Thank you.”

“Talent recognizes talent,” Sam continued, with a smugness that made you laugh out loud.

Bucky rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he slung your bag over his shoulder. “If you two are done patting each other on the back, Fury’s waiting.”

The three of you made your way toward the cabin, the soft glow of a light from inside spilling onto the porch. The door was solid, old wood, and the cabin itself had a rugged charm to it, like something out of a survivalist’s dream. It was the kind of place that felt cut off from the rest of the world—a perfect hideaway for someone like Fury. Away from prying eyes, away from the chaos of the world he spent so much time trying to control.

You hadn’t seen Nick Fury since Tony Stark’s funeral. That day had been a blur of pain, loss, and finality—a day that felt like the end of an era. The memory of it was still heavy in your chest, the weight of it never fully lifting. You’d slipped away after the service, disappearing into the background, telling yourself you were done. Done with the missions, the wars, the endless fighting. You deserved peace, you told yourself. You deserved to walk away.

But now, standing outside Fury’s door, that certainty felt like a distant memory.

You paused on the porch, your hand hovering just above the railing as you glanced back at Sam and Bucky. The two of them were already making their way up the steps, their shoulders brushing as they moved in sync, like they had done this a thousand times before. You, on the other hand, felt a strange tightness in your chest. This wasn’t just another mission. This was Fury. The man who always seemed to have a plan, who always saw the world through a lens of strategy and sacrifice. You respected him, sure, but you weren’t blind to the way he moved people like chess pieces, manipulating the board without ever asking for permission.

He hadn’t reached out after the funeral—not really. Maybe he’d respected your decision to step away, or maybe he’d just been biding his time, waiting for the right moment to pull you back in. That was how Fury worked. He didn’t waste time with pleasantries or emotional goodbyes; he played the long game. And now, after all the time you’d spent trying to convince yourself you were done, here you were, standing outside his door. The irony wasn’t lost on you.

As you stood there, the cold night air biting at your skin, you felt an old, familiar mix of emotions bubbling up inside you. Frustration, mostly. Guilt, too. You’d walked away from this life, from the constant chaos and danger, but now you were right back in it, like no time had passed at all. Part of you resented Fury for it—for always knowing exactly when to reel you back in. And maybe, in a way, you resented yourself for being so easy to pull.

“You good?” Sam’s voice broke the silence, pulling you out of your thoughts. He was looking at you with that easy, reassuring smile of his, but there was something softer in his eyes, something that told you he understood exactly what you were feeling.

You nodded, though you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself. “Yeah,” you said, your voice a little quieter than you’d intended. “I’m good.”

Bucky, already at the door, glanced back at you, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there was something in his eyes—a flicker of concern, maybe. He wasn’t one for words, especially when it came to feelings, but you could tell he was watching you closely, waiting to see how you’d handle this. He understood the weight of what you were walking into, even if he wouldn’t say it.

Without hesitation, you followed him inside, choosing not to knock. The cabin’s wooden floors groaned beneath your boots, announcing your arrival in the otherwise still night. The air inside was heavy with the scent of aged wood, leather, and old books. It was familiar—too familiar. The smell brought you back to hours spent in briefing rooms, late-night strategy sessions, and the endless weight of responsibilities you’d once carried on your shoulders. This cabin—it wasn’t just a place; it was a reminder of the past you’d tried to leave behind, a past that seemed to have found you once again.

Fury was in the main room, hunched over a holographic display, the blue light of the projection casting eerie shadows across the room. The information was streaming in front of him, lines of text and maps flickering as he scanned them. You didn’t bother trying to make sense of it just yet. He hadn’t changed much—still the same black trench coat, same eyepatch, same imposing presence that seemed to fill the room without effort. His back was to you, but you knew from experience that he’d already clocked your presence the second you stepped over the threshold.

Without turning, Fury’s voice cut through the silence like a knife. “What? Did you lose your phone? I called.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you pulled up a chair across from him and dropped into it, feigning a casualness you didn’t feel. “Didn’t you get the memo?” you shot back, leaning against the table, arms crossed.

Fury finally straightened, turning just enough to fix you with his one good eye, the intensity of his gaze sharp enough to cut steel. “What—retired, huh?” he scoffed, waving a hand as if to dismiss the very notion. “I threw that memo out. You know why? Because it’s bullshit.”

You couldn’t help the slight roll of your eyes, leaning back in the chair, crossing your arms. The knot in your stomach tightened, but you kept your voice steady, controlled. “You can’t just ignore something because you don’t like it, Fury.”

His eyebrow raised slightly, his expression as unyielding as ever. “Have you met me?”

The corner of your mouth twitched despite yourself. It was such a classic Fury response—blunt, relentless, and entirely too good at getting under your skin. No matter how much time passed, he had a way of cutting through the noise, making everything seem simpler, even when it wasn’t. And despite the frustration bubbling inside you, you couldn’t deny the truth in his words. Fury didn’t care about your so-called ‘retirement.’ He cared about results, and he always got them.

“I told you, Fury,” you said, your voice sharpening like a blade. “I’m done. I’ve been doing this my entire adult life—hell, some of my teenage years, too. I’m tired of being dragged back in every time the world decides it’s falling apart.”

Fury didn’t flinch. He didn’t blink. He just sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, his one good eye never leaving yours. His voice, calm but edged with steel, cut through the room, each word deliberate. “You think you’re the only one who’s tired?” he asked, his tone measured, calculated. “We’ve all been fighting for as long as we can remember. You don’t get to walk away just because you’re tired. The world doesn’t stop spinning because you want a break.”

Your jaw clenched, frustration bubbling up dangerously close to the surface. You glared at him, feeling the weight of every battle you’d fought, every sacrifice you’d made. “I’m not asking for a break, Fury! I’m asking to live my life without having to look over my shoulder every damn second. I’ve given enough—more than enough. I don’t owe this anymore.”

From the corner of your eye, you could see Sam and Bucky hovering by the door. They’d clearly caught the tail end of your argument, their expressions a mix of understanding and resignation. Sam raised an eyebrow at Bucky, who gave a small, resigned shrug, as if to say, Told you this would happen. You felt their eyes on you, but you didn’t turn to face them. This wasn’t their fight. Not this time.

Fury leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his intense gaze never wavering. His voice dropped lower, but it was no less firm. “You think you’re done just because you said so? You’ve been out of the game, sure. But that doesn’t mean the game’s done with you.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “People like us don’t get to retire, and you know it.”

You let out a harsh laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “Is that it then? The rest of my life, I’m just some puppet you get to pull the strings on whenever it suits you?”

Fury’s expression darkened, his voice low but firm. “I never said you were a puppet. But you were a damn good Avenger. And you know better than anyone that once you’re in, you’re never really out.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. You hated that he was right. You hated that deep down, you’d always known this was the truth. But that didn’t make it any easier to accept. You’d spent years trying to convince yourself that you could walk away, that you could live a normal life. And yet, here you were, sitting across from Nick Fury, the man who had always been able to see through your excuses and drag you back into the fight. You felt a flicker of guilt at Fury’s words, but you swallowed it down, refusing to let him sway you. “I didn’t choose this, Nick. None of us did. We were thrown into it, and we did what we had to do. But that doesn’t mean I have to keep doing it forever.”

Fury’s gaze was as sharp as ever, unwavering and unrelenting. “There’s always a choice,” he said quietly. “You just don’t like the options.”

His words hit harder than you wanted to admit. You let out a long, weary breath, your gaze dropping to the floor as you tried to find something steady in this storm of uncertainty. The weight of what he said pressed down on you like a suffocating blanket, thick and heavy, the truth of it undeniable. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, and your mind raced with conflicting thoughts. You were tired. So damn tired. The kind of exhaustion that sleep could never fix. Tired of the never-ending battles, of the responsibility that clung to you like a shadow, never fully letting you out of its grasp. Tired of the world always needing saving, and you being one of the few people left standing to do something about it.

But maybe that was the point, wasn’t it? Maybe there was no running from this life. Not really. No matter how far you tried to go, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself you were done, every time the world started to fall apart, it found you. Dragged you back in. And deep down, you knew Fury was right. There was no staying out of it forever. People like you didn’t get to walk away. You could pretend, sure, but the game never stopped. It was always waiting in the wings, just out of sight, ready to pull you back when it needed you most.

The silence stretched between you all like an unspoken truth, thick with the weight of everything you weren’t saying. You could feel the eyes of Sam and Bucky on you, waiting for your response, for some kind of decision. But still, you stayed quiet, your mind spinning as you tried to piece together the right words—if there even were any. The air seemed to hum with tension, the quiet creak of the old cabin settling the only sound.

Fury’s one good eye locked onto yours, his expression hardening just slightly as he raised an eyebrow. He was waiting for something—a word, a nod, a sign that you were still in this, even though you didn’t want to admit it yet. The silence stretched uncomfortably, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. When you stayed quiet, lost in your thoughts, he let out a quiet, almost imperceptible huff of impatience. His patience, never his strongest quality, was wearing thin.

"Alright then," Fury said, his voice cutting through the tension like a scalpel. "If you're done with the brooding, can I get on with the reason I dragged your dumb ass out here?"

The bluntness of his words snapped you out of your internal spiral, and you couldn’t help the way your lips twisted into a mock frown. You leaned back in your chair, the wood creaking under your weight. “You know, I miss when Hill was around. You have zero tact.”

Fury’s expression didn’t shift much, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth—the closest thing to a smile you ever got from him. If anyone else had said that, they’d probably be on the receiving end of a death glare, but you? You could get away with it. You always had.

"Hill had tact," Fury replied dryly, "and you still didn’t listen to her either."

From his spot by the door, Sam let out a quiet, amused chuckle. He was clearly enjoying the exchange, his arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe. Bucky, on the other hand, shook his head, his arms folded tightly across his chest. He was watching the back-and-forth like it was a well-worn routine, a script he’d seen played out a hundred times before. He had, in a way.

You shrugged, trying to suppress the small, satisfied smirk tugging at your lips. “Yeah, but she didn’t drag me into things by insulting me first. She’d at least give me a coffee or something before dropping the bomb.”

Fury shot you a sharp look, the kind that would make most people shrink back, but you just smiled wider. It was a familiar dance by now—a rhythm you and Fury had fallen into over the years. You pushed. He pushed back. But there was always an understanding beneath the surface. You respected him, even when he drove you insane, and he… well, he tolerated you. Maybe even liked you, though he'd never admit it.

"Coffee?" Fury deadpanned. "Really? I didn’t know you needed a latte with your world-saving."

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table, locking eyes with him. “Just saying, if you want me to save the planet again, maybe don’t start with ‘dumb ass.’ It’s bad for morale.”

Fury’s lips pressed into a thin line, but you could see that glint in his eye—the one that meant he was enjoying this more than he’d ever let on. “You need morale? You’re worse than I thought. Maybe I should’ve called Parker instead. At least he didn’t need a pep talk before doing his damn job.”

That earned him a real eye roll from you. “Oh, don’t play that card. You know damn well you’d miss me.” You leaned back again, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Who else is gonna keep you from going completely gray?”

Fury’s eyebrow lifted ever so slightly. “You think you’re doing me a favor by sticking around? You’ve been a pain in my ass since day one.”

“Yeah, but I’m your pain in the ass,” you shot back, a grin breaking through your faux-serious expression. “Admit it, you’d be bored without me.”

There was a pause. For a second, you thought maybe you’d gone too far, but then Fury let out a short, almost reluctant exhale that was dangerously close to a laugh. “Bored?” He shook his head slowly, his voice dropping into that familiar gravelly tone. “With you around? I’d have better luck finding peace in a war zone.”

Sam was clearly holding back laughter now, his hand covering his mouth, while Bucky just sighed, looking away like he’d seen enough of this pissing contest for one lifetime.

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Fury didn’t reply, but the look he shot you said enough. He didn’t need to admit anything out loud. The truth was, beneath the gruff exterior and the constant scowling, there was a mutual respect that had been forged from years of fighting side by side, from making impossible choices and surviving the consequences. He knew you’d always show up, no matter how much you complained, and you knew he’d always have your back, even if he was a hard-ass about it.

But as quickly as the moment of banter had come, Fury’s expression shifted again, the brief levity evaporating as he turned his attention back to the matter at hand. His voice grew serious, more measured now. “Look, I didn’t drag you out here for a trip down memory lane,” he said, gesturing toward the holographic display in front of him. The soft blue light illuminated his face, casting shadows across his features. “There’s something you need to see.”

Fury’s hand cut through the soft blue light of the holographic display, casting eerie shadows across his face as he adjusted the projection. "Something big’s brewing," he said, his voice low and sharp. "And it’s not gonna wait for you to decide whether you’re ‘in’ or not."

You exhaled slowly, your eyes flicking toward the hologram, but resisting the urge to really see it. You already knew what was coming. You’d been down this road too many times before. Another crisis, another fire to put out, another reason you couldn’t just walk away. But you weren’t ready to admit it—not to him, not to yourself. Still, deep down, you knew there was no avoiding it. You couldn’t pretend this wasn’t your problem. Because, like it or not, it always ended up being your problem.

Letting out a final breath, you turned back to Fury, your shoulders tense, but your mind a little clearer. You could already feel the pull—the same pull that had dragged you into this life years ago, the same one that never really let you go, no matter how much you tried to ignore it.

"Alright," you muttered, your voice steadier than before. "Let’s hear it. What’s so important that you couldn’t just leave me in peace?"

Fury didn’t hesitate. He turned fully toward the holographic display, swiping his hand through the air. The image shifted, revealing a global map with dozens of red markers scattered across it—clusters in major cities, others in more remote locations. It was a spread that sent a chill crawling up your spine before you even knew what it meant.

"This," Fury said, his voice like steel, "is what’s coming. And it’s not just some small-scale operation. We’re talking global destabilization. Coordinated attacks, high-level targets, and resources being pulled in ways we haven’t seen before. This isn’t a one-off threat—it’s the start of something bigger. Something we’ve been tracking for months. But it’s moving faster than we can keep up with."

You stared at the map, the red markers like pinpricks of danger scattered across the globe. Your stomach twisted, that familiar pit of dread settling in your chest. You didn’t need Fury to spell it out. You’d been here before. You knew how this worked. One crisis would bleed into another, spiraling until the whole world was on fire.

Fury’s eye gleamed with that familiar mix of determination and something harder to place—maybe it was relief, maybe calculation. Either way, he knew he was getting through to you. His fingers danced across the holographic display, and the image shifted once more, zooming in on clusters of red dots. They were centered around key locations—research labs, containment facilities, even old SHIELD outposts.

“These,” Fury began, his tone deliberate, “are the sites of a string of coordinated attacks. Small for now, but escalating. And trust me, they’re not random. Someone’s pulling the strings, and they’ve got their sights set on something big.”

You leaned forward, frowning as you studied the map more closely. The red dots were spread too far apart to be coincidence, but there was a pattern here. The more you stared, the more it started to emerge, like muscle memory kicking back in. You hated how quickly you could fall into this mindset—the one that was already calculating moves, analyzing angles. The part of you that had sworn you’d leave all this behind was screaming to turn away. But the other part—the part that had been doing this for so long—refused to let go.

Fury, ever the observer, watched you closely, his eye flickering with something like satisfaction. He could see the shift in your expression. He knew you too well. “I’m not asking you to pick up right where you left off,” he said, his voice softer now, almost like he was offering you an out. “But we need you on this. Hell, we all do.”

You bit your lip, still staring at the map. “The boys said Inhuman technology is getting stolen?”

Fury nodded, tapping the display again. The map zoomed in on specific locations—research labs, containment sites, all with ties to Inhuman tech. “It’s not just the tech,” he said, his voice growing more grim. “Weapons, artifacts, data—anything connected to Inhumans or their enhancements. And whatever they’re taking, they’re not leaving a trace behind. Whoever’s doing this knows exactly what they’re after.”

You exhaled slowly, your mind spinning through the endless possibilities. “So what? They’re building something? Or selling it off to the highest bidder?”

Fury’s gaze never wavered. “Maybe both,” he replied. “But we’re not gonna wait around to find out.”

You shook your head, still staring at the map. “Any idea who’s behind this?” You weren’t sure if you really wanted an answer. Part of you hoped this was small-time, something that could be handled by other agents. But the other part—the part that could already see the storm brewing—knew better.

Fury’s lips pressed into a thin line, and you could already tell he was about to drop the other shoe. "It’s not just tech and data that’s going missing," he said, his voice lower now, more serious. "Inhumans are disappearing too."

That got your attention. Your head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean, ‘disappearing’? How many?"

Sam, who had been standing by the door, stepped forward, his brow furrowed. “Why the hell wasn’t this mentioned earlier?”

Fury turned to face you all, his expression grim, his voice steady. “At first, it wasn’t noticeable. A few here, a few there. We chalked it up to people going off the grid, fleeing persecution, whatever. But now..." He swiped his hand across the display, and the map zoomed out, revealing a shocking number of red dots scattered around the globe. “On a global scale, almost two thousand Inhumans have gone missing in the last four months."

Your stomach dropped. Two thousand? You pulled a face, confusion and disbelief crossing it. “How did no one pick up on that?”

Fury’s eye locked onto yours, and for a moment, you saw the strain there—this wasn’t something he wanted to admit. “On a global scale, it’s a blip,” he said. “Individual cases get lost in the noise. But I’ve got someone helping me now. Someone off the radar. They noticed the pattern.”

Sam crossed his arms, his expression darkening. “So, what? Someone’s hunting Inhumans?”

Fury didn’t answer immediately, his silence more telling than any word he could’ve spoken. “We don’t have all the pieces yet,” he said finally, his voice thick with tension. “But whoever’s behind this, they’re not just hunting. They’re stockpiling. And we need to find out why.”

You stared at the map, the weight of what Fury was saying settling over you like a lead blanket. Two thousand Inhumans. Missing. Taken. And whoever was behind it wasn’t stopping anytime soon.

The room went quiet, the tension thick enough to choke on. You felt the familiar stirrings of dread in your chest, the kind you’d spent years trying to suppress. This wasn’t just another mission. This was something bigger, something darker. And as much as you wanted to walk away, you knew there was no turning back now. “Who are we thinking?” you asked, still staring hard at the map. Almost two thousand Inhumans. Almost two thousand people whose only crime was having abilities. You swallowed, the weight of that number settling in your chest. Almost two thousand people like you.

It was a bitter pill to swallow. The world had always been on edge about people like you—people with powers. Some feared you, some wanted to control you, and others… well, they just wanted you gone. But the idea that nearly two thousand people had been taken, snatched from their lives, their families, because of something they couldn’t help—it hit too close to home. You could feel the anger bubbling beneath your skin, an old, familiar fire that you thought you’d managed to smother.

People like you had always been treated like a problem to be solved. The world never took kindly to those who didn’t fit neatly into the box of ‘normal.’ You’d learned that the hard way, time and time again. And now, those people were vanishing. No explanation. No trace. Just gone.

You shook your head, trying to focus, but the thought gnawed at you. How many of them fought back? How many didn’t even get the chance?

Fury’s voice cut through your thoughts, pulling you back. He gave you a long, hard look before speaking. “We’ve got a couple of suspects. Old enemies crawling out of the woodwork. But nothing solid yet.”

Sam stepped forward, folding his arms across his chest as he studied the display. “Hydra’s always a safe bet,” he suggested, his tone almost casual, though his eyes were sharp. “They seem to have a habit of not staying dead.”

Bucky let out a bitter laugh from across the room, shaking his head. “Yeah, they never really get the memo, do they?”

You leaned back in your chair, rubbing your temples. “Hydra’s a possibility. But this feels too… surgical for them. They’re more of a ‘sledgehammer’ type of operation. They’d march in loud, make a mess, and leave their logo plastered all over the place for good measure. Whoever’s doing this? They’re moving in silence.”

Fury nodded, his mouth pulling into a thin line. “Exactly. Whoever it is, they’ve got resources and intel we haven’t seen in a long time. And they’re staying ahead of us at every turn.”

You looked up at him, eyes narrowing. “So, what? You’re telling me we’ve got nothing? No leads?”

Fury’s jaw clenched, and for a brief moment, you could see the frustration flicker across his face. It wasn’t often you saw cracks in his armor, but when you did, it usually meant the situation was worse than he was letting on. “We’ve got whispers. Names bouncing around the black market. But nothing concrete. Yet.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair again. “Whispers? You dragged me out here for whispers?”

Sam chimed in, his tone light, but pointed. “You know Fury doesn’t call unless it’s serious. He’s all about the mystery and the drama. Gotta keep us on our toes.”

Fury shot Sam a look, the kind that could make most people rethink their life choices, but Sam just shrugged it off with a grin, clearly unfazed. “Hey, I’m just saying. A little more info up front would be helpful.”

Bucky, still leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, smirked. “Yeah, maybe next time you send out an actual briefing, Fury. You know, like the good old days.”

Fury didn’t miss a beat. “If you two clowns would spend less time cracking wise and more time reading the briefings I do send, maybe we’d be a little further ahead.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, shaking your head. “I missed this. Really, I did.” Your voice was dripping with sarcasm, but your smirk betrayed just a hint of genuine amusement. “It’s like a dysfunctional family reunion.”

Fury’s face remained unreadable, but you could tell he was holding back a comment. Instead, he pulled the conversation back to the matter at hand. “Look, this isn’t just about the Inhuman tech. It’s about what they plan to do with it. And I don’t know about you, but I’m not interested in waiting to find out.”

You leaned forward again, resting your elbows on your knees, eyes tracing the red dots on the map. Each one a potential target. Each one a potential victim. The weight of the situation was settling over you, heavier with every breath. “So, what’s the play?”

Fury’s eye glinted, and you could almost see the gears turning behind that steely gaze. The familiar spark of strategy came alive as he laid out the plan. “You, Wilson, and Barnes will hit one of the key locations we’ve flagged. Covert op. No noise, no trace. We need eyes on the ground to figure out who’s pulling the strings.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he glanced between you and Fury. “And you’re just sending the three of us? No backup?”

Fury didn’t miss a beat. “You’re the backup.”

Bucky let out a low chuckle, shaking his head, his tone dry. “Of course we are.”

You exhaled sharply, feeling that all-too-familiar sense of dread creeping in. “What happened to the people you originally sent if we’re the backup?” you asked, not sure you really wanted to hear the answer.

Fury’s gaze didn’t falter, his voice steady but grim. “We lost communication.”

That was Fury’s way of saying, They’re probably dead. No need for sugarcoating, no false hope. It was a reality you’d gotten used to hearing over the years, but it never really got easier.

You popped your lips a few times, letting the weight of it settle over you, before muttering under your breath, “Well, this is gonna be a fucking blast, isn’t it?”

Sam snorted, shaking his head with a wry grin. “Always the optimist.”

Fury ignored the commentary, his expression tightening as he leaned in a bit closer, his tone more intense now. “Listen, I know you’re all used to dealing with heavy stuff, but this isn’t just another smash-and-grab. Whoever’s behind this has been stealing weapons designed specifically to take down Inhumans. If they’re stockpiling that kind of tech, it means they’re expecting to fight people like you—and they’re ready.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you kept your face neutral. “Weapons designed to take down Inhumans?” you echoed, your voice carefully calm. That wasn’t news you wanted to hear. You’d faced enough threats over the years, but the idea of someone deliberately targeting your kind, with tools made to dismantle everything that made you who you were? That hit too close to home.

Fury nodded. “Yeah. So you especially need to be careful out there. This isn’t just some random group of thugs. These guys know what they’re doing, and they’ve got the means to take you down if you’re not careful.”

You couldn’t help but grin, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms, adopting your most nonchalant look. “I’m always careful.”

The room went silent for just a beat—long enough for you to register the exaggerated snorts coming from Sam and Bucky behind you. You barely had time to process it before you heard the unmistakable sound of Sam trying—and failing—to stifle a laugh. You glanced over your shoulder and caught him biting his lip, his shoulders shaking with amusement. Bucky, on the other hand, was giving you that look—the one he reserved for moments when he was about to roast you alive and savor every second of it.

You groaned, rolling your eyes in exaggerated frustration. “Oh, come on.”

Sam was already chuckling, holding up his hands in mock surrender, his grin wide and unapologetic. “Hey, sorry, sorry. It’s just—you? Careful? You’ve got a reputation, you know.”

Bucky smirked, shaking his head slowly, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Yeah, careful… What about that little dance you had with Walker?”

You turned toward him, pointing a finger in his direction, your face scrunched up in mock indignation, but there wasn’t any real heat behind it. “Okay, fine, I’ll own that one. But, to be fair, Walker was mouthy. And he pissed me off.”

Sam snorted, clearly enjoying himself now. He leaned against the table, arms crossed, shaking his head as the memory came flooding back. “Pissed you off? You threw him through a damn window.”

You threw your hands up defensively, leaning back in your chair once more, though the smile tugging at your lips was impossible to hide. “He was lucky I didn’t go outside and throw him back through the window with that attitude.”

Bucky let out a low, amused chuckle, his smirk widening. “That would’ve been a sight.”

Sam, still grinning, chimed in, “Man, if you’re ‘careful,’ I don’t even want to know what reckless looks like.”

You shot Sam a playful glare, though you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. “That was me being careful. If I’d really gone off, there wouldn’t have been a window left for anyone to throw anyone through.”

Bucky shook his head, his voice filled with mock disbelief. “I mean I guess he wasn’t hurt too badly.”

You leaned back further in your chair, arms still crossed, your grin widening. “Look, Walker was asking for it. And let’s be honest—after everything he pulled, I was doing the world a favor.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, his expression amused, clearly enjoying the banter far too much to let it go. “You know, you’ve got a real funny definition of ‘doing the world a favor.’”

You shrugged, putting on your best innocent face. “Honestly, he should be thanking me. I could’ve done worse, and I didn’t. I restrained myself.”

Bucky let out a low chuckle, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the wall. “Yeah, ‘restraint,’ sure. You call throwing a grown man through a window ‘restrained’? I’d hate to see what happens when you don’t hold back.”

Before you could fire back with a witty retort, Fury cleared his throat, cutting through the banter like a knife. The room fell silent almost instantly, the lingering laughter evaporating as all eyes turned toward him. He stood at the head of the table, arms folded, his expression unreadable but carrying that familiar weight of authority that demanded attention.

Fury stepped forward, his voice cutting through the moment like a blade—sharp, no-nonsense, and to the point. “Alright,” he said, deadpan, “as much as I enjoy watching you three play ‘who’s the biggest pain in my ass,’ we’ve got work to do.”

The playful atmosphere between you, Sam, and Bucky deflated as quickly as it had started. You straightened your posture almost instinctively, the weight of Fury’s words settling in. He wasn’t one for idle chit-chat, and when he said it was time to focus, you knew things were about to get serious.

Fury took a few steps closer to the table, his lone eye sweeping over the three of you, assessing, calculating. That look he gave when he was lining up all the pieces on the chessboard. “You’re heading to Eastern Europe—remote location, off the grid. It’s a small facility buried in the mountains, not on any map you’ll find.”

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “What kind of facility?”

Fury’s gaze remained steady. “One that’s been under the radar for too long. Intel says it’s being used to build weapons—specifically designed to neutralize Inhumans. Think of it as an experimental lab with a military-grade twist.”

Sam’s brow furrowed as he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Neutralize how? Are we talking suppression, or...?”

“Termination,” Fury finished, not missing a beat. “These weapons are built to stop them dead in their tracks—literally. We’re talking tech that can disable powers and take down the ones who wield them. And it’s not just the weapons we’re worried about. The people behind this? They’re not amateurs. They’re smart, well-funded, and ruthless.”

Bucky glanced at you, then back to Fury. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. “So, what’s the plan?”

Fury’s lips tightened. “You go in, retrieve the data on these weapons, and destroy anything that can’t be moved. We don’t leave any trace of this operation behind.”

You crossed your arms, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “And we’re doing this alone?”

Fury shook his head, a shadow of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “No. You’ll have help. Someone’s already on the ground, gathering intel.”

You raised an eyebrow, the curiosity deepening. “Who’s the help?”

Fury’s smirk widened just a fraction, his eye gleaming with an almost amused glint. “I’ve got a feeling you and her will get along pretty well.”

That caught your attention. “Her?”

Fury just stared at you, the smirk never quite leaving his face. He didn’t answer directly, letting the mystery hang in the air like a challenge. “Let’s just say she’s more than capable of holding her own. You’ll meet her when you land.”

Sam leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he shot you a look. “You know, I’m starting to think he enjoys keeping us in the dark.”

You couldn’t help but smirk at that. “Oh, he definitely does.”

Fury ignored the side comments, his tone shifting back to business. “She’s been embedded in that facility for weeks. Knows the layout, the personnel, and the security protocols. She’s the reason you’re going to walk in and out without setting off a single alarm.”

Bucky’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes narrowed slightly as he asked, “And we can trust her?”

Fury’s smirk faded, his expression becoming stone-cold serious. “If I didn’t trust her, she wouldn’t be on this op. That’s all you need to know.”

You exchanged a glance with Sam and Bucky, the tension between the three of you palpable. Whoever this mystery woman was, Fury had a lot of confidence in her. And if Fury trusted her, that meant she was no ordinary asset. But still, something about walking into an unknown situation with a stranger didn’t sit right.

You leaned forward, crossing your arms on the table. “Alright, Fury. We’ll play along. But if this goes sideways—”

Fury cut you off, his voice firm. “It won’t. She’s good at what she does. All you need to worry about is getting in, getting the data, and getting out.”

Sam gave you a sidelong glance, grinning slightly. “You hear that? Worry about getting in and out. No ‘improvising.’”

You snorted, shooting him a smirk. “I don’t improvise without good reason.”

Bucky’s eyebrows lifted, clearly not buying it. “Sure you don’t.”

Fury sighed, shaking his head. “I swear, if you three don’t get this done clean, I’m leaving you in Eastern Europe.”

You grinned wider, leaning back in your chair. “Relax, Fury. We’ll be in and out before they even know we’re there.”

Fury’s eye flicked between the three of you, clearly unconvinced but resigned to the fact that this was his team. “I know you have contacts. Make some calls." His gaze landed on you, his tone growing more pointed. "Get some rest. You leave in the morning.”

You nodded, standing up from your seat. As you gathered your things, Sam shot you a look, still grinning. “I’m curious who this mystery woman is. Fury’s got that look like he knows something we don’t.”

You shrugged, slinging your jacket over your shoulder. “Whoever she is, she’s gotta be something if Fury’s that confident. Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

Bucky stood as well, adjusting his jacket. “Let’s just hope she’s not another wildcard.”

You smirked, throwing Bucky a glance over your shoulder as you strode toward the door. “One wildcard’s enough for this team, don’t you think?”

Bucky snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, and that wildcard is you.”

Sam chuckled in agreement, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. “No argument here.”

You mock-pouted, shifting your gaze between Sam and Bucky, your tone exaggerated for effect. “Yeah, I feel like I’m being bullied here. You two beg me to come back, and all you do is roast me the whole time.”

Sam broke into a wide grin, clearly unbothered by the accusation. “Hey, we roast because we care.”

Bucky gave a half-shrug, his smirk barely hidden. “It’s a sign of affection. You should be flattered.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Sure, that’s what it is.”

Flashing them both a quick grin, you turned and stepped out of the room. The door clicked shut behind you, sealing off the playful banter like a curtain falling between acts. The cheerful, easy atmosphere evaporated as you found yourself alone in the dimly lit hallway, the quiet settling in around you.

Her.

Fury’s cryptic comment about the mystery woman still echoed in your mind. Whoever she was, he seemed confident you two would hit it off. But that could mean anything coming from Fury. He wasn’t exactly known for his straightforwardness, and when he said you’d get along, it could be his way of saying you’d end up liking her—or that you’d butt heads until sparks flew. Either way, if she was half as good as Fury hinted, maybe this mission would go smoother than usual.

Maybe.

You pushed open the door leading outside, stepping into the cool evening air. The sky was a deep shade of blue, the stars just beginning to peek through the fading light. You reached into your back pocket, pulling out your phone as you leaned against the porch railing. You knew exactly who you could call—someone with the kind of connections that could keep an ear out for intel.

But did you want to call him? Absolutely not.

The last time you saw him… well, you’d made it perfectly clear that it was a one-time thing. No strings, no complications. Once you walked out of his hotel room, that was it. The only thing you’d heard about him since was the message telling you he made it to Charles Xavier’s school, which had been a relief. You never wanted him to think you cared too much, but a part of you was glad he had found his place—somewhere far away from you.

You scrolled through your contacts, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten as your finger hovered over his name: Remy LeBeau. You stared at the screen for a long moment, debating whether or not this was a good idea.

It’s just a phone call…

You muttered under your breath, “Alright then,” as you pressed the call button and switched the phone to speaker mode, setting it on your knee while you sat on the porch steps. The cool evening air brushed against your skin, a small reprieve from the pressure building in your chest. The phone rang once. Twice.

Then his voice—smooth, honeyed, and unmistakably Cajun—came through the line.

“Well, well, well… look who’s callin’ ol’ Remy. Thought you’d forgotten ‘bout me, chère.”

You rolled your eyes, despite the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Trust me, it’s not for lack of trying. I was just scrolling through my contacts and thought, ‘Hmm, who annoys me the most?’ And wouldn’t you know it? Your name popped up.”

There was a pause on the other end, but you could practically hear the grin spreading across his face. “Ahhh, so dat’s how it is, huh? Not even a ‘How you doin’, Remy? Missed ya, Remy?’”

Before you could answer, the door behind you creaked open, and you glanced back to see Bucky stepping out. He gave you a curious look before plopping down on the porch beside you. You cleared your throat, giving him a playful wag of your eyebrows.

“Alright, fine,” you said into the phone, your tone dry. “How are you, Remy? Last time we met, you blasted me to the other side of the state with a fucking Uno card.”

A rich chuckle echoed through the speaker, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Chère, you punched me through a brick wall first. I’d say dat makes us even.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah, well, I’d say you deserved it.” You shot a glance at Bucky, who was shaking his head, smiling at your banter. It was clear he was enjoying the show.

Remy’s voice dropped a little, teasing, “Depends on what you think I deserved, ma belle. ‘Cause I remember a night where you thought I deserved a whole lot more.” The night with Remy had been a collision of chaos and inevitability—two forces that had been circling each other for far too long, finally crashing together in a moment of reckless abandon.

You hadn’t planned it. Hell, you hadn’t even wanted it, at least not consciously. Everything leading up to that moment was supposed to be purely professional—a job, a mission, a means to an end. But somewhere between chasing him through the narrow, twisting streets of New Orleans and that final standoff in the abandoned warehouse, something shifted. Something in the way he looked at you, the way he moved, the way he knew exactly how to push your buttons and get under your skin.

You were angry. Furious, actually. He’d always had this ability to infuriate you more than anyone else, to make your blood boil with a single smirk or a well-placed quip. He knew exactly how to play the game, and worse, he knew how to play you.

When you punched him through that wall, it was supposed to be the end of it. It was supposed to be over. But instead, when he came back at you, pinning you against the crumbling brick, there was something different in his eyes—something dangerous, yes, but also something raw and unspoken.

You could still feel the heat of his breath on your skin as he leaned in close, his voice low and teasing. “You sure you want me to stop, chère?”

You should have said yes. You should have shoved him off, thrown another punch, done anything but what you’d actually done.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you’d felt that pull—the same pull that had been simmering beneath the surface for years. That electric tension, that unspoken something that you’d both been ignoring, pretending didn’t exist. And in that moment, you’d let it take over. You’d let it win.

When his lips finally met yours, it was fire. It was reckless and impulsive and everything you knew you shouldn’t be doing, but you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. Your hands were in his hair, his hands were on your waist, and it wasn’t long before the fight between you turned into something else entirely—something far more dangerous.

The room blurred after that. The world outside ceased to matter. It was just the two of you—two people who had been dancing around each other for too long, finally giving in.

You didn’t think. You couldn’t think. There was only the heat, the way his body pressed against yours, the way he somehow knew exactly where to touch, how to make you gasp, how to make you want more. It was messy and unrestrained, a rush of adrenaline and pent-up frustration that spilled out in ways neither of you had planned.

You groaned, running a hand over your face. “Oh, for the love of—Remy, can we not do this right now?”

“You brought it up, chère. Just followin’ your lead.”

Clearing your throat, you turned your attention back to the phone. “Anyway, as much as I love walking down memory lane with you, I actually need something.”

“Ahh, business, den?” Remy’s tone shifted slightly, though the playful undercurrent remained. “Alright, chérie, what you need?”

You sat up a little straighter, glancing at Bucky before speaking. “I need you to keep an ear out. You and the rest of your team. Inhumans are going missing.”

There was a long pause on the other end, and then you heard some muffled voices, like Remy was talking to someone else. You raised your eyebrows at Bucky, who gave you a nonchalant shrug, clearly waiting for the conversation to unfold.

Remy came back on the line. “Hold up. Got de team here. Can you explain it to dem?”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Sure, why the hell not?” You shifted the phone slightly, making sure it was positioned right on your knee. “Here’s the situation: Inhumans are disappearing, and someone’s stealing weapons specifically designed to terminate them. These aren’t just suppression devices. We’re talking about tech built to kill.”

There was a low whistle from Remy on the other end of the line. “Damn, sounds like you got yourself a real mess, ma belle, You wouldn’t happen to be plannin’ somethin’, would ya?”

You exchanged a glance with Bucky, who raised his eyebrows in silent amusement. “What makes you think that?” you asked, your tone innocent but laced with sarcasm.

“Chère, I know you. You don’t get involved unless you got a plan to blow somethin’ up.”

Bucky snorted next to you, leaning back on his elbows. “She’s not blowing anything up,” he interjected, his voice dry.

You gave him a playful shrug. “You never know.” Then, turning your attention back to the phone, you added, “We’re going on an adventure. Heading to Europe tomorrow to… well, shake things up.”

Remy chuckled softly. “Ahhh, Europe, huh? Sounds like a real vacation. Y’ got your SPF packed?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not that kind of trip, Remy.”

“I figured. But don’t pretend you ain’t plannin’ on stirrin’ up some trouble. You always do.”

“Look,” you said, “just keep your ears open. Let me know if you hear anything about these weapons or the people behind them.”

There was a pause, and you heard Remy step away from what sounded like a crowd, his voice growing quieter, more serious. “These weapons… they can really kill Inhumans?”

You exhaled, the weight of his question pressing down on you. “Yeah, they can.”

The line was silent for a moment, the tension hanging in the air. When Remy spoke again, his voice was low, but the sincerity in it was unmistakable. “You be careful out there, chère. You hear me? Don’t go gettin’ yourself hurt, ‘specially not for somethin’ like dis. Call me if you need backup.”

You laughed softly, though there was a tightness in your chest. “I’m the backup, apparently.”

Remy chuckled darkly. “Yeah, well, even de backup can need help sometimes.”

You glanced at Bucky, who was watching you closely, his arms crossed over his chest. You gave him a small smile, but your mind was still on the mission ahead.

“Thanks, Remy,” you said, your voice softening just a touch. “I mean it.”

“Anytime, ma belle. You know where to find me.”

With that, the line went dead, leaving you staring at your phone for a moment longer. The echo of Remy’s voice lingered in your head, the way his concern had slipped through, buried beneath all his usual teasing. Part of you hated that he still cared, that he could still get to you after all this time. But if you were being honest—really honest with yourself—another part of you was relieved. Relieved that, despite all the chaos, someone out there still had your back.

Bucky shifted beside you, drawing your attention. He had that look on his face—the one where he was trying to pretend he wasn’t curious but failed miserably at hiding it.

“So... who’s this Remy?” he asked, his tone casual but laced with interest.

You pocketed your phone, not quite meeting his eyes. “Remember that mission in New Orleans a few years ago?”

Bucky’s brow furrowed for a second before recognition dawned. “Mmhmm. The, uh, heists? Stolen artifacts?”

“Yeah, that guy,” you said, your voice deliberately casual as you scrolled through your phone, doing your best to ignore the way Bucky was now openly staring at you, his curiosity ramping up with each passing second.

Bucky nodded slowly, his expression shifting as he pieced it together. “Wait… you’re telling me you slept with the guy we were supposed to apprehend?”

You paused, your thumb hovering over the screen of your phone. There was no point in denying it. You knew Bucky well enough to know when he had you pegged. So, with a small shrug, you replied, “To be fair, if you ever met Remy, you’d probably also sleep with him. He’s just that type of guy.”

Bucky blinked, then shook his head, letting out a surprised laugh. “That type of guy, huh?”

“Yeah,” you said with a smirk, “the type that can charm the pants off anyone.” You tilted your head, shooting him a playful look. “Literally.”

Bucky held his hands up in mock surrender. “No offense taken. Just... didn’t peg you as the ‘sleep with the target’ type back then.”

You chuckled, leaning back against the porch railing. “Trust me, neither did I. But Remy... he’s complicated. Always was.”

Bucky let out another laugh, but there was something softer in his expression now, something more understanding. “I get it. Sometimes things happen in the field that you can’t plan for.” He paused, then raised an eyebrow. “Just didn’t expect you to be so... enthusiastic about it.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. “It was a long time ago, Buck.”

“Doesn’t seem like that  long ago,” he said, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. You sighed, already knowing where this conversation was headed. Bucky always had a way of cutting through the banter when it mattered, of seeing past your sharp words and deflection, straight to the heart of things. He could sense the weight you were carrying, the edge in your voice you didn’t want to acknowledge. And sure enough, his next words weren’t teasing. They were deadly serious.

“Look,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. “Remy’s right. You need to be careful.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. You weren’t used to seeing Bucky like this—so openly worried, so raw. “I’m always careful,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended, a reflexive defense.

But Bucky wasn’t buying it. He gave you that look—the one that could cut through any bullshit you threw his way. His brow furrowed, his jaw tightening just slightly, the tension radiating off him in waves. His eyes, usually calm and steady, were now shadowed with something deeper, something that tugged at the pit of your stomach.

“Really?” he asked, raising one eyebrow in that way that made you feel like you were missing something obvious. “Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like you’re about to throw yourself into the middle of something dangerous. And I know you—when you get deep into this stuff, especially when it’s something like this, you don’t always think about yourself.”

You opened your mouth, ready to protest, to brush off his concern with the usual quip, but Bucky cut you off before you could say a word.

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice dropping low enough that it sent a shiver up your spine. He leaned in closer, his hand resting on his knee, fingers clenching into a tight fist. “These weapons you’re talking about? They’re not just a threat to the mission—they’re a threat to you.”

There was something in the way he said it, the way his voice faltered slightly at the end, that made you stop. Made you really look at him. His eyes were filled with a worry you hadn’t seen in a long time—not just the kind of concern you’d expect from a teammate headed into a dangerous mission, but something more. Something almost vulnerable. He wasn’t just worried about the mission going sideways. He was worried about you—about losing you.

You swallowed hard, feeling the tension between you both thickening, the air growing heavy with what was left unsaid. Bucky wasn’t someone who wore his emotions on his sleeve, not like this. He kept things close to the chest, locked up tight behind walls he’d built over decades of pain and loss. But right now, sitting next to you, his gaze fixed on yours with an intensity that made your heart twist, he wasn’t hiding anything.

He was scared.

“Bucky,” you started, trying to find the right words, the right way to ease the worry in his eyes. “It’s just like any other mission. I’m not invincible. I know that. Anything can kill me.”

He let out a long, frustrated sigh, his head tipping back slightly as if trying to gather his thoughts. When he looked at you again, there was a flicker of something else in his gaze—something sharper, more personal.

“But it’s not like every other mission, is it?” he asked, his tone softer now, but no less urgent. “This isn’t just some random op. This is personal for you.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him that it wasn’t—that you were fine, that you had it under control—but the words wouldn’t come. Because deep down, you knew he was right.

This mission was different.

You had been on dangerous assignments before, faced down threats that would have sent anyone else running in the opposite direction. You had dealt with mercenaries, terrorists, assassins, and gods. You’d been shot, stabbed, thrown through walls, and walked away each time with little more than bruises and scars, each one a testament to your survival. You had faced down death more times than you cared to count, and somehow, you’d always pulled through.

But this? This was something else entirely.

It wasn’t just the danger of the mission. It wasn’t just the weapons designed to kill people like you, to strip away every advantage you’d ever had in a fight. It was the weight of it—the personal stakes, the way the faces of the missing haunted you, how it felt like the world was closing in, and the people you cared about were at the center of it. And now, as you stood on the edge of another mission, the fear wasn’t just about whether or not you’d make it out alive. It was about whether you’d come back the same.

Bucky shifted beside you, the two of you sitting in the quiet aftermath of his words. The worry in his eyes was still there, but now it was mixed with something heavier, something deeper that you hadn’t fully comprehended until now. He let out a small sigh, his gaze drifting away from you for a moment, his fingers drumming lightly on his knee like he was working through what he wanted to say next. His jaw clenched and unclenched, his brow furrowing just slightly as if trying to find the right words.

For a long moment, he said nothing. The silence between you stretched, thick and palpable, the weight of the conversation hanging in the air like a storm cloud about to break. You watched him, the way his eyes flickered with unspoken thoughts, the tension in his shoulders, the way his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. You could sense it before he even said anything—this wasn’t just another conversation about the mission. This was something deeper, something raw.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, rough around the edges, as if the words were scraping against his throat. He still wasn’t looking at you, his eyes focused on something far off in the distance, something only he could see.

“I’ve been to war,” he began, his tone calm but tinged with an exhaustion that ran deeper than just physical tiredness. It was the kind of exhaustion that came from carrying too many burdens for too long. “I’ve seen things... done things... that I don’t talk about. Things I’m not proud of.”

His hand tightened into a fist, his knuckles going white as he clenched it against his thigh, like he was trying to hold something back. “I’ve been brainwashed, manipulated, used as a weapon. I’ve had my mind taken from me, my choices ripped away. I’ve been forced to do things—terrible things. And I’ve lost... God, I’ve lost more than you can even think about.”

His voice cracked slightly on the word *lost*, and for the first time, you saw a vulnerability in him that he rarely ever let anyone see. His gaze shifted downward, like he couldn’t bear to look at you in that moment, like the weight of everything he’d been through was too much to hold your gaze.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but he wasn’t finished. Not yet.

“I got through it,” he continued, his voice quieter now, almost as if he was talking more to himself than to you. His eyes finally met yours, and they were filled with a kind of haunted resignation. “I survived. I kept going because... well, because I had to. I didn’t have a choice. I had to keep moving forward, even when I didn’t want to.”

He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening again as he fought to keep his emotions in check. But the cracks were showing now, the carefully constructed walls he’d built around himself starting to crumble in front of you.

“But,” he said, and the word hung in the air, heavy and final. He hesitated, his throat working as he swallowed again, this time more slowly, like he was trying to gather the strength to say what came next. His eyes softened, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the stillness like a knife.

“I think if I lost you...”

He trailed off, and for a moment, you thought he wasn’t going to finish the sentence. His hand, the one that wasn’t made of vibranium, unclenched and hovered in the air for a second before he let it drop back to his side. His eyes searched yours, raw and open in a way you’d never seen before. A way that made your heart ache.

“I don’t think I could cope,” he finally admitted, his voice cracking again, this time with an emotion so deep it made your chest tighten. “I’ve lost so much already. More than anyone should. But you...”

He paused, his eyes flickering with something that looked like fear—real, unguarded fear. “You’re different. You’re...”

He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t need to. You could see it in his eyes, feel it in the way his words hung between you, unfinished but heavy with meaning. You were more than just a teammate to him, more than just someone he fought beside. You were a lifeline. A connection to the world, to something real and grounding. And the thought of losing you—of you not coming back from this mission—was a weight he didn’t know how to bear.

You felt your breath catch in your throat, your heart pounding in your chest as the full weight of what he was saying settled over you. Bucky Barnes, the man who had faced down gods and monsters, who had lived through a century of war and torment, was afraid of losing you. And not just afraid—terrified.

Suddenly, everything about this mission felt different. The stakes weren’t just about the people you were trying to save, or the weapons you were trying to stop. They were about the people you’d leave behind if you didn’t come back. The people who cared about you, who needed you just as much as you needed them.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight as a thousand possible responses raced through your mind. You wanted to reassure him, to tell him that you’d be fine, that you’d come back just like you always did. But the words felt hollow, empty, as if they would shatter the moment they left your mouth. Because deep down, you knew the truth—you couldn’t make that promise. Not this time. Not with what you were walking into. Not with these weapons.

“I...” You hesitated, the weight of his confession pressing down on you like a physical thing, heavy and suffocating. You could feel the raw emotion in the air between you, the unspoken fear and frustration. “Bucky, I—”

But before you could finish, Bucky ran a hand through his hair, his fingers digging in as if he could pull the frustration out of his scalp. He let out a sharp breath, a mix of a sigh and a growl, his eyes flashing with an intensity you didn’t see often. “I’m angry,” he said, his voice rough, “I’m angry at Fury, at Sam—hell, at everyone—for wanting to drag you into this. They’re putting you at risk,” he spat, his voice low but fierce, as if the mere thought of it set his blood boiling. “And for what? Because they think you’re the best shot at stopping this? Because they think you can handle it? They’re willing to gamble with your life, and I’m supposed to just sit here and be okay with it?”

You clenched your jaw, feeling your own frustration start to build in response to his. “I can handle it, Bucky,” you shot back, your voice sharper than you intended. “It’s why Fury asked you to bring me in. I’ve done this before. I’ve faced worse.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened, his expression hardening , his presence looming larger now, as if the raw emotion he was feeling was physically radiating off him. “Worse? Worse than weapons designed to kill people like you? To neutralize everything that makes you who you are?”

His words cut through you, sharp and unrelenting. And the way he said it—like the very idea of you being vulnerable, of you losing—was something he couldn’t even bear to think about.

“This isn’t just another mission, and you know that,” Bucky continued, his voice rising as the anger he’d been holding onto finally broke free. “This isn’t some mercenary with a gun, or a terrorist group with a bomb. These are weapons designed to end people like you. They’re not going to miss. They’re not going to give you a second chance. One wrong move, and you’re—”

“Dead?” you interrupted, your voice hardening as your own anger flared to life. “Yeah, I know that, Bucky. I’m not stupid. But you think I don’t know the risks? You think I haven’t considered what could happen?”

Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides, his expression twisting with frustration. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? You know the risks, but you’re still willing to throw yourself into it. You always do this—you always think you have to be the one to save everyone, to take the hit so no one else has to. But this time, it’s different. This time, it’s...”

His voice broke off, and for a moment, the anger in his eyes softened, replaced by something rawer, more vulnerable. “This time, it’s you. This time you’re the one that needs saving.”

You felt your chest tighten, the weight of Bucky’s words settling deep in your gut. He wasn’t just angry about the mission, not really. He was angry because it was you—because this time, the risk was almost too real, too close to home. This time, it wasn’t some faceless threat or a distant danger. It was something that could take you away from him, and that terrified him.

You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips despite the tightness in your throat. “You think I want to be in this position? You think I don’t know how dangerous this is?” Your voice cracked, your words sharper than you intended, but you didn’t pull back. You couldn’t. Not now. “Bucky, I was done with all this. I had walked away. Hell, I wasn’t exactly happy, but I was... I was content. I was safe.”

You saw a flicker in his eyes—was it pain? Understanding? Maybe both. But it didn’t matter. The words were spilling out of you before you could stop them. “But then you knocked on my door. And you know damn well I’d never say no. Not to you.”

The truth hung between you like a blade suspended in the air, sharp and unspoken, its weight pressing down, impossible to ignore. You felt it in your chest, heavy as a boulder neither of you knew how to move. You had been out. You had built something resembling a life, a fragile, quiet existence that wasn’t perfect but was safe. And yet, all it had taken was him—just Bucky—to pull you back into the chaos. And he knew that. He had to know that.

For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other, standing on the edge of something, but it was the silence between you that roared the loudest. It felt like standing at the precipice of something dark and uncertain, something you both knew was there but hadn’t allowed yourselves to fully face.

His eyes softened, just for a second, like he’d let his guard slip. You could feel the unspoken feelings swirling in the air between you, thick and tangible. This wasn’t just about the mission. It wasn’t even just about the danger. It was about you. About him. About the way your lives had become so entangled that even the thought of losing each other was too much to bear.

Bucky’s gaze held yours, and you could see it—feel it—just under the surface. The way his eyes lingered a beat too long, the way his breath hitched ever so slightly when you said his name. He looked at you like you were the only thing tethering him to the world, like losing you would destroy the last piece of himself he had left. And God, you felt the same way. You had for a long time.

This wasn’t just about the fights you’d been through together or the missions you’d survived. It was about the way he looked at you when he thought you didn’t notice. The way his voice softened when he spoke to you, like he was afraid of breaking something fragile between you. It was the way your heart raced whenever he was too close, how you knew with absolute certainty that you’d follow him anywhere, no matter the cost.

You weren’t sure when it had happened—when that line had blurred. Maybe it had always been like this, simmering under the surface, waiting for the right moment to break free. But standing here now, with the ocean roaring beneath you and the future uncertain, you couldn’t deny it any longer.

Neither of you could.

The space between you felt like it was shrinking, the weight of all the things you hadn’t said pressing down on your chest like a physical weight. It was suffocating, the silence heavier than the wind whipping around you. You could see it in his eyes—the way they flickered with something raw and unguarded, something vulnerable that Bucky never let anyone see. But you saw it. You always saw it.

And for the first time, you realized just how much this wasn’t about the mission, or the danger, or the weapons. This wasn’t just about the threats you faced together every time you were called in to save the world. This was about you. Because you were more than just a partner to him. You were more than just someone who fought by his side.

“But why does it always have to be you?” Bucky’s voice was rough, barely above a whisper, like he was holding back something much bigger than words. “Why do you always have to be the one to throw yourself into the fire? Why the hell does everyone always go to you when they need something? When it’s dangerous, when it’s impossible, when it’s a goddamn suicide mission—why is it always you?”

You flinched at the rawness in his voice, at the way his words cut through the thin layer of composure you’d been clinging to. His eyes were locked on yours, and in them, you saw everything he wasn’t saying. He wasn’t just asking why the world seemed to throw its worst at you. He was asking why you always took it on. Why you couldn’t just stop. Why, even when you had the chance to walk away, to live a normal life, you let yourself be pulled back into the storm.

And deep down, you knew the answer. You knew why you kept doing this. But the answer wasn’t something you could explain—not to him. Not when you could barely explain it to yourself.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but the words stuck in your throat. You weren’t sure you had the strength to tell him the truth. That it wasn’t just about the mission. That it wasn’t just about saving the world or doing the right thing. It was about him. About being there for him, because the thought of him facing this without you, the thought of him being out there alone, was unbearable.

Before you could find your voice, the cabin door creaked open, and Sam stepped out onto the porch, his presence breaking the tension like a sudden gust of cold air.

“Everything okay out here?” Sam asked, his eyes flicking between you and Bucky, clearly sensing the heavy silence that had settled between you.

For a moment, you and Bucky just stared at each other, the unspoken words still hanging in the space between you, thick and suffocating. His gaze didn’t leave yours, and for a split second, you thought he might say something. Something real. Something that would shatter whatever fragile barrier had been holding the two of you apart. But then, just as quickly as it had appeared, that raw vulnerability in his eyes was gone, replaced by the familiar mask he wore so well.

Bucky’s gaze lazily shifted to Sam, his voice flat as he replied, “Everything’s fine.”

But it wasn’t fine. You could feel it in the pit of your stomach—the unfinished conversation, the things neither of you had said. The truth that lingered just beneath the surface, too dangerous to confront but impossible to ignore.

Bucky stood up from the porch, the movement slow and deliberate, like he was putting distance between you and whatever it was that had almost been said. His eyes lingered on you for just a moment longer, and you could see it—the fear, the anger, the love—all of it, buried beneath layers of walls he’d spent years building. But he didn’t say a word.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said simply, his voice devoid of the emotion that had been there just moments before. And then, without another glance, he moved past Sam and walked back into the cabin, the door closing behind him with a soft thud that felt far too final.

You sat there, staring after him, your heart pounding in your chest, everything you hadn’t said still lodged in your throat. You wanted to call after him, to stop him, to tell him the truth. That it wasn’t just about the mission. That it wasn’t just about saving the world. That you were doing this because you loved him. But the words wouldn’t come.

Sam stood there for a moment, his brow furrowed as he looked between you and the now-closed door. He didn’t say anything at first, just let the silence stretch on, as if he knew that whatever had just happened between you and Bucky was something too fragile, too complicated to pry into.

“You sure everything’s okay?” Sam asked again, his voice softer this time, like he already knew the answer.

You forced a smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper. “Everything’s fine.”

But as you sat there, staring at the empty space where Bucky had been, you knew that everything was far from fine. You had stood on the edge of something with him—something real, something terrifying—and you had both stepped back. For now.

But you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep stepping back. Because the truth was, you were already in too deep. And so was he.

[peppermintquartz]

hii could you write something about when tommy and buck meet at madney's wedding, but this time tommy comes as chim's friend instead of buck's date. maybe it’s a year after the breakup since maddie wanted to wait to have the wedding until after she gave birth. maybe in this scenario buck and tommy are on good terms (or not? for more angst? it's up to you) and one of them asks the other to dance? honestly, I just want to see them dance😭 thank you! 💖

I tweaked the prompt slightly because there's a special party for the first birthdays of a Korean baby, and I thought it'd be sweet to celebrate that culture

---

Doljanchi

---

The music is cheerful and everyone is in high spirits. Buck is moving around the party, taking the opportunity to top up the trays of pastries and snacks while baby Joon-ki is propped on his little 'throne', dressed in an adorable green hanbok, after he finally woke up from his afternoon nap.

Everyone is waiting to take photos with him, and so no one is really looking at the door. Buck is counting the number of eclairs and thinking if he will need to run out for something when he hears someone clearing their throat softly.

"Buck."

Buck stands and turns around, heart involuntarily skipping a beat. He knows Tommy has been invited - Chimney told him - but seeing his ex in the flesh is still startling. Tommy's in a navy blue sports jacket and a pale gray polo over those jeans that hug his thighs.

"Tommy," Buck says, smiling politely. They've bumped into each other a handful of times since the breakup, and each time it was awkward, but they have not really had the opportunity to talk to each other, except for brief hellos and goodbyes.

Buck has found time to 'explore his options' since then. Men and women. Dated two other guys, never for more than four months. And he took the time to really think about which part of the rainbow he belonged to - he hadn't done that while he was with Tommy, because he thought it didn't matter, he had his boyfriend and that was enough for him - but then he went on a learning binge after.

He still thinks Tommy's statement about protecting his own heart is bullshit.

Tommy hands him a wrapped box. "For, uh, for the baby."

Buck takes it and tucks it under his arm. "Thanks. Help yourself to the food. I'll, uh, I'll get you a drink."

"Okay. Thanks."

It's so stilted and tense between them. Buck hates it. Fleeing to the kitchen, he digs out a bottle of the beer Tommy prefers. (He knows Tommy is going to be here. He's helping Maddie and Chim be good hosts. That's all.)

When he gets back to the living room where Joon-ki is holding court, surrounded by two sets of doting grandparents, he can't find Tommy. Part of him thinks that Tommy's gone again, too much of a coward to stay and pretend they can be friends.

And the other part of him wishes he can let it go already.

Then he spies Tommy kneeling on the floor in the corner where Jee Yun is, her little face pink and her lips pouting. Tommy has another wrapped box and he's giving it to her with a flourish, and she beams at him and hugs him around the neck.

She liked him, Buck remembers.

After the girl runs back to the table where her little brother is perched, Buck goes to Tommy and offers him a hand to stand up. Tommy glances at him, startled, and takes the assistance.

"Here," Buck passes him the beer. He checks his watch. "They're gonna do the doljabi in about five minutes."

"The what-bee?"

"Doljabi. It's some fortune-telling game. Supposed to tell what the baby's gonna be when he grows up."

Tommy stays for the game, stays to shake Maddie's hand and to give Chimney a hug, to take photos with Jee-yun and Joon-ki.

He stays late enough for dinner - the Lees supplied them with a dazzling assortment of Korean dishes - and it almost feels friendly, a few jokes traded around the adults while the kids have their own fun.

Baby Joon-ki is already in his cot, and Buck takes a moment to watch over his sleeping nephew. Then a shadow blocks the light from the hall.

"Hey," says Tommy softly.

"Hey." Buck smiles at him, genuine now. Tommy comes into the room when Buck inclines his head in invitation. "Kid's wiped out."

"It's been pretty momentous." Tommy slips his hands into his pockets. "Adorable kid though."

They stand side by side, watching the baby, and music filters into the room. For a moment, Buck could almost believe this is my child, this is my husband.

"How have you been?" Buck asks. "Anyone new in your life?"

Tommy shakes his head. "Haven't had time." He takes a deep breath. "I heard from Eddie that you, uh, you broke up with that lifeguard. Jay?"

"Ray," says Buck. Then he licks his lips. "We never did dance at Maddie's wedding. Can I ask you for one?"

"Now?"

Buck holds up a hand and tilts his head, a small flutter of a smile on his lips. "Now."

For a heartbeat, Tommy looks like he wants to refuse. Then he exhales and takes Buck's hand, accepts the other hand at his waist.

As they sway to the music, Buck looks directly at Tommy. It helps that they are of the same height. "I miss you. It's been over a year, and I still miss you."

Tommy blinks at him, perhaps surprised at the confession. His answering smile is small and tentative. "Yeah, me too."

"Can we try again?" Buck asks, still swaying slowly, guiding them in a small circle around the baby's room. "You can't say that I don't know what I want now. I've done my exploring. I've done my learning. And I am more than ever certain that you are who I want to be my last."

"I want to try again," Tommy replies, equally quietly, reverently. "I went to therapy again, unpacked... unpacked a lot of the shit I said that night. It was unfair to you."

"Not entirely untrue though."

"I wouldn't know." Tommy pauses, and then adds, "I'd like to find out."

Buck smiles. He feels lighter, clearer than he has for a long time. "So... you'll call me Evan again?"

Tommy sighs, smiles back. "I never stopped thinking of you as Evan. I'm sorry I ran."

"Good. Be sorry." Buck cradles Tommy's cheek and draws him in. "We'll try again. No more running, okay? Rough times, or if either of us do something stupid, we talk it out. Promise me that."

"Of course."

[stardustvanfleet]

Desire — Jake Kiszka x F!Reader

SMUT. 18+ ONLY! MDNI!!!!!

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x F!Reader

Word Count: 6.2k

Summary: When your boyfriend Jake takes you out on a romantic dinner date, you can’t help but tease him… but two can play at that game.

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT. Soft dom!Jake. Relentless teasing while at dinner, absurd amounts of sexual tension. Rushing home from the restaurant to fuck. Fingering, unprotected penetrative sex, finishing inside, dirty talk with both praise and degradation.

Author’s Note: It’s been almost exactly a year to the day since I posted my last full-length Jake fic, and I am so beyond excited to be finally sharing this one with you all! I wrote this over the last few months with a WHOLE lot of love behind it. Huge thanks to everyone for being so understanding about the gap in my writing— I went through a lot of really exciting changes in my life this year that put writing on hold for a little while, but it feels SO fantastic to be writing for gvf again!! HUGE HUGE HUGE thanks to my LOVE my LIFE my darling poppy aka my beloved aka smooching you @gold-mines-melting I LOVE YOUUU thank you for being my beta reader and my brainstorming partner in crime and also being my Best Friend and i cannot WAIT to hug you again literally NEXT WEEK!!!!!!!!! other special thanks go to @losfacedevil @texas-bbq-pringles and @joshsindigostreak for just being some incredibly lovely humans that i am SO lucky to know 🥰

FIC BEGINS UNDER THE CUT!

//

It had started innocently enough.

At least, that’s what you were telling yourself.

Truly, when Jake had come to you earlier in the day with that coy smile you loved so much, asking if you’d let him take you out tonight, you had no premeditated plans of intentionally working him up. Of course, having been together for quite some time now, you did happen to know exactly how to turn him on. Even in the most subtle of ways. The slightest touches, the smallest movements. And it wasn’t your fault if he just happened to have an effect on you that you couldn’t even begin to comprehend, without even trying.

Okay… well, given the facts, perhaps the turn of events had been somewhat inevitable.

//

All you could focus on was Jake’s hand on your waist. It wasn’t that you weren’t admiring the decor of this upscale, intimate Italian restaurant he had brought you to, or that you weren’t able to smell the intoxicating aromas of different meals being brought to the tables you passed as you two were led to your own. It really was just that simple— one touch. That’s all it took. One touch, focused and deliberate, steady yet electric. One touch from Jake and your body was alight.

Your attention was fixated on the sensation. The heat of his large hand through the thin fabric of your dress, his fingers firmly resting against you, gripping just barely, just enough for you to feel it. How could you be getting this intoxicated on him already, before you’d even reached the dinner table? It was practically absurd. Still, the burning between your thighs was impossible to deny. Your breath caught in your throat, and out of the corner of your eye, you caught a smirk tugging at the corner of Jake’s lips.

Oh, yeah? Two can play at that game. The thought materialized in your mind just as you two arrived at the table Jake had reserved in advance. It was small, romantic, somewhat secluded, but still undoubtedly within view of other tables in the restaurant. No, you couldn’t be too daring. But what would be the harm in seeing what you could get away with?

The dress you were wearing was one of Jake’s favorites. It was a shade of blue that especially complemented your skin tone, and you knew the way it fit you and accentuated your curves drove him wild. You couldn’t help but think to use that to your advantage. As Jake sat down, his eyes remaining on you, it was impossible to resist the urge to seize the moment. Before taking your seat, you let your hands rest on the very top of the chair’s back, meeting your boyfriend’s lingering gaze. When he arched an eyebrow at you inquisitively, a knowing, appreciative smile on his face, you sighed, “I needed a night out with you, baby… to just relax with you… god, I’m so stiff…” 

You trailed off, arching your back as though to stretch it, while paying quiet attention to the way Jake’s eyes trailed across your body, the slight hitch in his breathing as you let your mouth fall open in the apparent bliss of the stretch you were feeling. Pushing your chest forward and arching further, a sigh slipped from your lips as Jake— ever so slightly, but just enough for you to take notice— shifted in his seat. A sense of smug pride began to swell deep within you, alongside a stirring of something… else even further down.

Finally, you slipped into your seat, your gaze resting on Jake— an involuntary shiver running down your spine at the way his eyes had seemed to darken substantially within just the past few moments. Coyly, you picked up your menu, far more focused on Jake’s lingering gaze than the entrées on the page. You made a big show of scanning through, chewing on your lower lip… but truthfully you were barely glancing at it, your attention focused on the man across from you, the thoughts in your mind traveling down a path that had nothing to do with dinner.  After a heart-pounding minute or two of stealing amorous glances over your menus, you couldn’t hold back anymore. Lowering your menu to the table and making sure Jake had a full view of your cleavage, you leaned forward, cocking your head wickedly and asking pointedly, “See anything you want tonight…?”

His gaze instantly intensified at your double entendre, those dark eyes of his flashing down to your cleavage just long enough for you to notice. The tension was already growing palpable as Jake locked eyes with you once more, his expression calm and collected but his cheeks already beginning to flush— a telltale sign of Jake’s arousal building under the surface. Still, he wasn’t going to give in that easy. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady and measured. “Be careful, pretty girl… play with fire… and you’re gonna get burned.”

“Maybe I like the heat,” you replied quickly, definitively, letting your fingers absentmindedly trace the lines in the wooden grain of the table, making sure Jake took notice of your languid movements. His gaze was electric, and you watched as he shifted in his seat once more, his jaw clenching and unclenching involuntarily as he clearly tried to maintain his composure. 

“Oh, I don’t doubt that you love it… but can you handle it? Can you take it all?” Jake’s words instantaneously sucked all air from your lungs, dissipated all coherent thoughts from your mind. You blinked at him, lost for words for a moment— and the smirk he gave you in return made it clear that he knew all too well the effect that his words were having on you.

“Seems like you’re interested in finding out just how much I can take,” you replied seductively, prompting Jake to arch an eyebrow at the bold nature of your comment. Before he was able to open his mouth to escalate the teasing even further, however, a waiter approached your table— putting an immediate pause on the conversation that was slipping deeper into innuendo by the moment. And though the waiter took great care to describe the details of each of that evening’s specials, you truthfully weren’t able to register a word of what they were saying. Not with Jake’s eyes on you, watching. Studying. His gaze traveled across your every centimeter, as though he was drinking you in with his eyes alone— and simultaneously undressing you in the same manner. The undeniable ache between your thighs was becoming more and more difficult to ignore in the presence of Jake’s unyielding eye contact.

Jake’s ability to appear calm and collected in moments like these was always something that impressed you. Even when you could tell that he was positively burning for you, using every ounce of his energy to keep his composure… to the untrained eye, the intensifying rosy flush in his cheeks would be the only hint towards his interior demeanor. Knowing that you were the only one that could read him so well, the only one in the restaurant aware of the desire building within him, was only serving to muddle your thoughts further. Dazedly, you became aware of how hot the room was beginning to feel.

Jake ordered for both of you, as though he was aware that you were having trouble finding the words through your cloud of arousal— and the smirk he directed towards you all but confirmed that suspicion. Always thoughtful, knowing you so well, he had chosen a drink and a dish for you that perfectly encapsulated your favorite flavors.

How ironic that the craving you were experiencing had nothing to do with the meal.

The dinner passed in a fashion that seemed somehow a blur and yet excruciatingly slow all at once— the service was impeccable, the food delicious, but every moment spent sitting across from Jake was only serving to heighten the tension that was becoming more and more unbearable. Every movement, every word from Jake, caused arousal to flood your veins. The way the muscles in the back of his hand flexed when he picked up his glass, the way his long fingers curled around it. His soft, raspy laugh, paired with that magnetic gaze that left you breathless. You were transfixed, spellbound. You could never begin to understand the effect he was able to have on you so effortlessly, but it was undeniable. Heat was radiating through every inch of your body. He had you aching, and he knew it. Still, you had your suspicions that you weren’t the only one whose thoughts had grown increasingly indecent as the night drew on. You knew that look in Jake’s eyes.

And at the end of the meal, when Jake finally stood, you were given all the information that you needed to know. Your gaze immediately flashed downwards— to an unmistakable silhouette, thick and hard, straining through the front of Jake’s pants. Your entire face suddenly grew incredibly hot, a soft gasp escaping your lips as your thighs squeezed together subconsciously. Fuck. As you were left blinking up at him, mind blank beyond the desire radiating through you, the wicked look in Jake’s eyes had you trembling. He chuckled as he took your hand, helping you to your feet and smirking. “Why so flustered, baby?” When you still couldn’t find the words, he leaned in, letting you hear his last question right in your ear, raspy and low. “Do you see something you want tonight…?”

Your own line. Fuck.

So that’s how he was going to play it. 

//

If dinner was difficult to get through, the ride home from the restaurant was damn near tortuous. The drive couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes, but the effort was Herculean. The tension was burning, intoxicating, dizzying, with Jake gripping the steering wheel practically white-knuckled in his determination to get the two of you home as efficiently as possible. You could hardly breathe, squeezing your thighs together, heart hammering within your chest, knowing you must be positively soaked. Even Jake’s heavy breaths were making your head spin. You were aching for his touch. Desperate for it. 

When finally, finally, Jake pulled into the driveway of the home you shared, you felt practically lightheaded. Pulling his key from the ignition, he turned to you. Once your eyes met, your breath caught all over again, and Jake arched his eyebrow, as though to challenge you. His voice was low and seductive when he spoke. “You’re looking all worked up, baby… is there something my pretty girl needs?”

Your breaths were coming shakily, your legs somehow already beginning to tremble, but you managed one more teasing smirk. “Why don’t you get me inside and see?”

At that, Jake’s teeth grazed his lower lip, the sight sending a shiver down your spine. “That’s my pretty little tease…” He trailed off at the involuntary whimper that slipped from your lips at his words, giving a raspy hum of approval in the presence of your blatant desire.

Flustered, desperate, dripping with need, the last few steps towards your front door would’ve taken quite literally every last bit of effort you had left within you to remain outwardly composed… even if Jake’s hand wasn’t resting on your lower back in that same way that always left you reeling.

The door hadn’t even closed behind you before you had practically thrown yourself at Jake, his satisfied groan of relief against your lips making you dizzier still as you kissed him feverishly, desperately, pressing yourself up against his solid, sturdy form with everything you had. The contact, the friction, even through the layers of fabric between you, was electrifying. Every cell in your body was crying out for more, desperate to feel Jake’s hot, flushed skin against your own. Your hands were instantly all over him, grabbing at him, pulling him closer, closer, and Jake was doing the same, his large hands searching to feel and grab at every inch of you as he kissed you back with a sense of urgency that left you whimpering into his mouth.

Your hands were sliding up his chest, finding where his button-down shirt was opened to and hooking your fingers into the fabric, desperately fumbling the last few buttons open and pushing it off of his shoulders. Another rush of need hit you in sync with his shirt dropping to the floor, drunk on the feeling of Jake’s flushed skin, hot with desire, as he growled his approval against your lips.

Somehow, while still entirely entangled in one another, hands everywhere, Jake was able to maneuver the two of you towards the bedroom between messy, heated kisses that left the two of you gasping for air. Backing you up towards the bed, Jake was groaning, “God, you’re such a tease, baby… getting me rock fucking hard for you with this beautiful fucking body…” while letting his hands slide up and down your curves, grabbing handfuls wherever he knew it would make you whimper. “You’re a fucking vision in this dress…” he breathed out, voice trailing off as he reached around and let one finger begin to trace up the zipper of the dress, the sudden soft and deliberate touch causing goosebumps to erupt across your skin. Stepping behind you, Jake took the toggle between two fingers and began to pull the zipper down, continuing, “…and you’re such a fucking vision when I take it off of you…”

You bit your lip, moaning softly at Jake’s words as he helped you out of your outfit. The dress fell to the floor, pooling around your ankles, leaving you completely naked in front of Jake. You hadn’t worn any panties, knowing exactly how that little surprise would affect your boyfriend— and Jake’s sudden utterance of a soft, nearly breathless “Fuck. Goddamn,” from behind you made it clear that you’d achieved the exact result you were hoping for.

Turning back to face him, your body was struck with a staggering wave of arousal when you laid eyes on his expression.

Desire. Unadulterated, overwhelming desire.

It was in the hunger in his eyes, the determination in his gaze. It was in the way his chest was heaving with anticipation, the way he licked his lips as he took you in. It was in the way his hands immediately fell to tug his uncomfortably tight pants all the way down. And, God, most dizzying of all, it was more than evident in the large bulge that now openly strained through the front of Jake’s black boxer briefs. 

You were standing at the edge of the bed as Jake approached you, his gaze intense, heat and arousal radiating from his body, intoxicating every one of your senses. The anticipation was agonizing. You could hardly take it any longer.

“Jake, please,” you found yourself begging, the words coming out even more desperate than you had intended. “Take me…. I need it. Please.”

Jake cocked an eyebrow, smirking deviously. His voice was rough and low when he spoke again. “Oh, you need it? Is that why my baby was being such a dirty little tease tonight? Because you just need it so bad?”

A soft whine escaped your lips, your whole body trembling in anticipation of pleasure. “I need it so bad, Jakey… I’m soaked for you. Please…”

At the sound of your admission, Jake’s teeth sunk into his lower lip and he let out a soft, low sound that made you shudder with arousal. “Yeah? That little pussy’s all soaked for me already?” Jake asked almost patronizingly, and your head spun with need, letting yourself nod desperately and begin to whimper out another plea— but Jake cut you off, smirking, as he breathed out, “I’ll just have to see for myself.”

And all of a sudden, Jake was kissing you as though his life depended on it.

Your boyfriend was suddenly over you, his firm, strong body pushing you onto the bed underneath him, his hands grabbing and caressing at every inch of your exposed skin as they traveled downwards, getting closer and closer to your aching pussy.

“Please, please…” you were whining into his kiss, bucking your hips to encourage him to continue on as he forced himself to pull back from your lips, tugging at your lower lip with his teeth as he did so.

“Let’s see just how needy this little cunt is…” Jake began, pulling your thighs open with large hands, your mouth dropping open wide with lust as he moved you around so effortlessly. Spread wide to him, exposed, there was nothing you could do to hide the fact that you were already dripping down your thighs. At the sight of you, Jake’s mouth dropped open to mirror your own.

“Oh, fuck. Goddamn, baby. You weren’t kidding… this pussy really is crying for me…” Jake began to drag his fingers up your inner thigh, setting you even further alight everywhere he touched. “Oh, and she’s been so patient… waiting like such a good girl… Let me give her what she needs.”

All of a sudden, expert fingers were slipping right between your legs, gathering your arousal before moving straight to your clit, stroking it at a steady, fast rhythm that made you cry out instantaneously.

Jake’s fingers were so persistent, so relentless. Your breath caught in your throat, your mouth falling open involuntarily, words attempting to form but fading fast, dying on your lips as his fingertips traced devastatingly quick circles over your already aching clit.

“Ohh… What's wrong, baby? Nothing left to say now?” Jake’s voice was low, his tone like velvet, his eyes never once leaving your body writhing underneath him, the way your expression shifted in response to his touch. “A little less mouthy when you’ve got my hand between your legs…”

A sound resembling a whine escaped your lips, and Jake chuckled, a sound so low and raspy that sent shivers all the way up and down your spine. “God, baby, you sound so pretty when you’re falling apart…” With his thumb still tracing and playing with your clit, Jake let one long finger start to tease at your entrance, his lips parting with satisfaction when you let out another breathy moan.

“Fuck, please,” you managed, the words coming out shaky, needy; and Jake let out a soft groan at the sound of your obvious desparation, gritting his teeth together for a moment in a way that betrayed the depth of his own desire.

“Please what, pretty girl? Come on, baby… use your filthy little words, let me hear it…”

Your back arched, his calloused thumb rolling across your most sensitive spot again and again, all in conjunction with the way he was encouraging your neediness— it was sending jolts of electricity straight to your core, your brain growing lightheaded. Thoughts whirling, pleasure building, you were finally able to find your words, though you hardly recognized your own voice through the heavy fog of desire that had fully overtaken your every inch.

“Fuck… give it to me, Jake… need those fingers deep inside me, fucking me hard, just how I like it… please, baby… I need it so bad…”

Jake’s resulting groan at your words left your eyes damn near rolling back into your head— and while you managed to hold your composure for a moment, once Jake’s heavy-lidded eyes darkened, holding your gaze with lust-blown pupils and groaning out, “God, you beg so sweet, baby,” and sliding not one but two fingers deep into your cunt— all hope was lost. You were long gone.

He didn’t hesitate; maybe he’d lost his patience for teasing. The speed and intensity with which his fingers immediately began to hammer into you, paired with the continuous motion of his thumb strumming your clit, was earth-shattering. Your back arched further off the bed as you cried out a trembling, “Oh, fuck, Jake…” which drew a sharp inhale and a husky chuckle from the man hovering over you.

“Goddamn… yeah, moan for me, sweet girl, lemme hear it…” Jake’s voice was raspy, urging you on, every word sending sparks straight to your core as he worked your pussy just right, his agile fingers seemingly hitting every sweet spot at once while curling and stroking deep within you. You were seeing stars. He’d only just started finger-fucking you, and already, already he was taking you on a fast track straight to the edge of oblivion— all with just one hand. Your moans had grown desperate, needy, increasing in pitch and volume as you felt yourself beginning to lose control. 

“Oh my god… oh my god… Jake… fuck, right there…”

His face hovered over yours, his cheeks flushed and eyes dark as he smirked in that way that always left you feeling a little lightheaded. You were struggling to keep your eyes open through the haze of your impending orgasm as Jake said, voice soft and thick with desire, “I know, baby… this was what you fucking wanted… I know exactly how to fuck this pretty pussy, huh?” At his words, you instantly and involuntarily clenched around his thrusting fingers, and Jake let out a husky laugh that turned into a groan, cursing a soft “Shit…” under his breath. Unable to respond out loud, you were nodding in response to his question immediately, your mouth falling open into a silent scream as the heat began to build in your lower stomach. His mouth fell open, mirroring your own expression, with his gaze directly on you. “Goddamn, pretty girl, you gonna cum for me already? Does this sweet pussy need to cum that bad?” His fingers were unyielding, slamming into you again and again, his thumb sweeping over your clit at a speed perfectly in rhythm with his thrusts. You were so close, so close… 

All of a sudden, Jake’s free hand wrapped around the base of your throat, holding it firm. His voice was somehow both commanding and almost needy when he growled out, “Then cum now. Right fucking now. Soak these fucking fingers.”

The overwhelming, head-spinning tidal wave of pleasure crashed over you instantaneously. Shudders wracked your body as you cried out a weak, trembling, “Fuck, Jake…!” clenching down around him and soaking his fingers exactly the way he had told you to. Jake’s soft, amorous groans and breathy curses served as a spine-tingling backdrop to the way he kept his pace straight through your orgasm, prolonging and heightening every feeling, every sensation. You were left whimpering, moaning, entirely losing yourself in the overwhelming bliss, and Jake’s heavy-lidded, hungry eyes remained on you. Drinking you in. Savoring your pleasure as though it was his own.

After an inestimable amount of time, you finally found yourself beginning to come to your senses as the last few intense shivers coursed through you. Jake released his grip on your neck and slowed the pace of his fingers to a halt as you caught your breath, opening your eyes to gaze at him with dazed astonishment and unbridled desire— and the look in his eyes alone was enough to already send yet another shock of arousal straight down your spine, even as your heart still pounded in your chest and your hands still trembled with the aftershocks of your first orgasm. It was practically indefinable, the effect that he had on you.

“Fuck, baby… you did so good for me, sweet girl…” Jake was sighing, pulling his fingers from your cunt and bringing them to his lips. Your mouth dropped open instinctively, watching him through a haze of arousal as he sucked his fingers into his mouth, his eyes rolling back at the taste of you as he groaned around his own digits, dragging his fingers along his tongue as he pulled them from his mouth, licking his lips. “This pussy is fucking breathtaking…” the words fell from his lips thick with desire, and another shudder coursed through your body, causing Jake to raise his eyebrows at you and cock his head, chuckling darkly. “Oh… my pretty girl likes when I talk about her little cunt, doesn’t she…?”

You were nodding without thinking, your head already swimming at the thought of what was still to come. Jake’s dark eyes were still on you, his gaze intense and his pupils blown wide with lust, as he continued, “That’s what I thought… and it seems to me… that this desperate, needy little pussy still isn’t satisfied…” A soft whimper escaped from the back of your throat, and Jake let out another soft, husky laugh. “I know, my sweet girl… that felt so good… but it wasn’t enough, was it…?” You were shaking your head, heat already beginning to build between your thighs once again as you bit down on your lower lip. 

Jake was smirking, before letting his expression grow serious as he leaned in. “You need my cock, don’t you, pretty girl?” You moaned out loud without even thinking, and the hunger in Jake’s eyes intensified even further, making your mind reel and your body shiver. “That’s a really pretty moan, baby…” Jake went on, “...but I need my pretty little slut to use her words if she wants me to fill her up…” Your eyes rolled back a bit, so overcome with arousal that it took a moment for you to rediscover your own capacity for speech.

“God, fucking please, Jake,” you gasped, your tone shaky and needy, and Jake groaned a bit under his breath, his cheeks flushed and his forehead damp with sweat as he hovered over you. “I’m so fucking desperate. Need you to fuck me. Please. God, please.” Your pussy was practically throbbing with need all over again, and the smirk on Jake’s face made it clear that he could tell— his own desire made abundantly clear in far more than just his gaze as he raised himself up onto his knees from where he was hovering over you, bringing your attention directly to the large bulge straining through the front of his black boxer briefs.

Your jaw dropped, dumbstruck, as his own hand slid down his body, from his tanned, firm chest to his soft tummy and further down, before wrapping around his clothed cock and giving it a squeeze, as a soft, low sound somewhere between a hum and a growl escaped from the back of his throat. “Oh… does my baby need my cock?” Jake asked in a tone that was almost patronizing, sending jolts of arousal directly between your legs as you nodded breathlessly. “Yeah? You need me to fuck you hard with this thick cock?”

You were trembling all over again, practically at a loss for words as you nodded up at him, whimpering a final, desperate “Please.” Jake bit his lip, your eyes locking as he nodded at you in a manner that looked like a promise. His hands found the waistband of his boxer briefs, keeping his gaze directly on you, watching your expression hungrily as he pulled them down with one sharp tug. The sound that escaped your lips was downright obscene as your gaze fell to take him in. No matter how many times you laid eyes on Jake’s cock, he still left you goddamn speechless. Thick, hard, and slick with precum, the sight alone was enough to render you essentially wordless with sheer need. Your gaze traveled over him. The coins dangling from his necklace hung enticingly over his heaving chest, his hair falling angelically over his shoulders as he gave his cock another squeeze, this time without even a thin barrier of fabric in the way— and his eyes fluttered a bit as he took in a sharp inhale, your mind reeling at the way the involuntary response betrayed his obvious desire. And after a moment of heart-stopping, delicious anticipation, the tension burst.

All of a sudden, Jake was over you again, taking your thigh in his left hand, grabbing at it with his large fingers and spreading your legs open even wider, an involuntary moan falling from your lips at the way he was manhandling you. His face hovered above yours as his right hand worked his cock, lining it up in front of your entrance, his mouth falling open to mirror the way your jaw had dropped with overwhelming need. When he spoke, his voice was husky and low. “Don’t worry, sweet girl… I’m going to fuck you exactly how you need it.”

You barely had time to process his filthy words before he was rubbing the head of his cock up and down your pussy, not only teasing you but also himself, causing the both of you to let out overlapping moans as you grabbed at him. The need, the ache, the throbbing desire was so intense it was practically painful— you could hardly take it anymore. Voice breaking with desperation, you whimpered out, “Fuck, Jake… fill me up, baby, please… stretch me out, I need your cock, baby… please… please…”

Jake groaned, letting out a raspy, “My beautiful little slut… god, you beg so pretty… gonna give it to you… gonna give my baby what she needs.” And before you had another moment to beg, Jake was pushing all the way in, his fat cock stretching out every inch of your dripping pussy, causing you to let out a cry of utter ecstasy as your back arched up off the bed. The long, breathy groan that he let out simultaneously had you practically lightheaded, his lips parting with bliss at the feeling of burying himself within you.

He didn’t tease, didn’t hold back. Perhaps it was because he shared in the desperation you were feeling; the burning desire, the ineffable force pulling the two of you closer together. Jake pulled his hips back, before slamming back into you in one solid thrust, using the entire force of his body weight. The pleasure was so immediate and so overwhelming that you saw stars, unable to hold back a moan that could only be described as pornographic, as Jake’s grip on your thigh tightened. His free hand found your shoulder, pressing down and pinning you to the mattress as he began to hammer into you at a pace that left your eyes rolling back, getting leverage from the tightness of his grip and the steadiness of his rhythm.

“Fucking goddamn, my baby takes it so well… every fucking inch I’ve got for you…” Jake was groaning, gritting his teeth as beads of sweat dripped from his forehead onto yours. You were whimpering at his pace, begging him not to stop, curses falling from your lips again and again. Layered underneath your overlapping voices, the room echoed with the sound of skin against skin, Jake’s firm pelvis and soft tummy smacking up against you with every thrust of his hips.

“Fuck, Jakey, feels so good,” you were gasping, wrapping your legs around him to allow him to hit even deeper— and when he hit the perfect angle, hammering up against your sweet spot with every thrust at an expertly kept rhythm, you cried out again, even louder this time, clenching involuntarily around Jake’s cock and making him groan. You hardly recognized your own shaky, desperate voice as you whimpered a broken, “Oh, God, just like that…” 

“Yeah? Just like that?” Jake encouraged darkly, his own building pleasure evident in the heaviness of his breaths, the redness of his cheeks, the way his beautiful hair grew damp with sweat. “My good girl loves getting fucked like a slut…” his words causing another strangled moan to escape you as he continued, “Fuck, you’re squeezing my fucking dick, baby… You’re getting close, aren’t you? Is my pretty, dirty girl gonna cum again…?”

You were nodding as hard as you could, barely able to speak through the overwhelming pleasure. Heat was building in your core, fueled not only by Jake’s hard thrusts but also his penetrating gaze and breathy, raspy moans. “Don’t stop,” you found yourself whining, your grip on Jake tightening as you threw your head back, so overcome that you squeezed your eyes shut, struggling to find the words. “So close, fuck, feels so good…”

“Shit, this fucking pussy…” Jake was moaning, growing more breathless by the moment. You knew the indicative signs; the furrowing of his brows, the shift in his rhythm, the way his raspy tone transformed into something almost desperate. You weren’t the only one getting close, and when your gaze met his again, you saw the need and recognition in his eyes— he knew that you could tell his own proximity to the edge.

“Inside me,” you whimpered, answering a question he hadn’t yet verbalized, and Jake groaned, nodding hard as you continued, “Want you to fill me up, Jakey, please…”

“Gonna make you mine… gonna fill this sweet fucking cunt,” Jake’s voice was practically trembling through its huskiness, his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead and flushed cheeks as he thrusted into you again and again. “Gonna fuck my baby full as she’s cummin’ on my cock—”

“Fuck, please,” you were moaning, practically sobbing, feeling yourself grow closer and closer, the pleasure growing more intense by the moment— and as if reading your mind, Jake’s hand slipped between your legs, his expert fingers circling your clit at a truly devastating speed. Within seconds of having both his fingers and cock spoiling your pussy all at once, you lost all control. You were suddenly overtaken by a level of bliss that was damn near incomprehensible, practically screaming Jake’s name as you gushed onto his cock, clenching uncontrollably around him. At this, Jake’s eyes rolled back and he groaned out the most beautiful string of expletives as he gave you exactly what you wanted, filling your cunt with his cum and maintaining his pace to ensure that your mutual orgasms lasted as long as possible.

You clung to Jake as you rode out your high, struck by wave after wave of full-body pleasure that was only amplified by the symphony of moans and breathy curses falling from Jake’s lips, the way he was gasping and sighing as the two of you, slowly but surely, began to come down from the peak of bliss. Finally, Jake collapsed onto you, sighing with satisfaction and burying his face in your neck. After only a  moment, he was peppering soft, chaste kisses across your skin, in every spot he could reach. Giggling, you reached up to run your fingers through his hair, which had grown damp in his exertion. It must have been at least a minute or two before you were able to find your words, and even then, all you were able to manage at first was, “Holy shit, Jake.”

Jake let out a giggle of his own against your neck, and your heart swelled as he lifted his head to look at you. Those warm brown eyes, melting you all over again, held your gaze with so much affection as he grinned, shaking his head incredulously. “Wow. God, baby… you’re unbelievable.”

“Guess I should tease you more often, then,” you giggled, reaching up to catch Jake’s chin between your fingers as he smiled playfully at you. 

“Well, after that, I’m definitely not saying no…” Jake teased back, making you grin cheekily in response.That was when he leaned in, closing the distance between the two of you and kissing you tenderly, softly. Lovingly. 

You were overcome by how much you cared about him. How safe he made you feel. Throughout the kiss, you couldn’t help but focus on the feeling of Jake’s heartbeat, pressed up against yours. Beating in time.

When he finally pulled back, it took a moment for you to be able to come back to yourself, to open your eyes again. Jake was gazing at you with such reverence, such awe.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said softly, reaching out to trace a finger along your cheekbone, making you giggle shyly, heat rising in your cheeks all over again.

“Oh, Jake…” you sighed breathlessly, placing your hand over his where it rested cupping your cheek. “I love you. So much more than I could ever put into words.”

His smile was radiant. “I love you, baby… and I find new reasons to fall for you every day.” He leaned in to kiss you once more, and this one was even slower, sleepier. It was a kiss that felt like home.

After a long while of losing yourself in Jake’s lips, you felt yourself starting to grow drowsy, sleepiness beginning to beckon to you. Jake’s touches were soft, gentle. You couldn’t help it; he was just such a calming presence.

“I want to stay just like this,” you murmured, yawning a bit after your words before adding, “Someone made sure I was all tired out…” making Jake giggle affectionately as he pressed more gentle kisses to your cheeks.

Jake’s voice was soft when he replied, smiling between his tender kisses, “I think that can be arranged, baby.”

Feeling so held, so warm in his embrace, you closed your eyes, cuddling into Jake, breathing him in. Between soft kisses and whispered nothings, it wasn’t long before the two of you fell asleep, fully intertwined. Ready for whatever adventure tomorrow had in store.

//

TAGLIST: @jakesguitarsolo @losfacedevil @kenobicoffee @sparrowofthedawnsworld @gold-mines-melting @texas-bbq-pringles @mountain-in-springtime @alwaysonthemend @tripthelightfatality @runwayblues @shutupdevvie @godly-sinsx @sacredjake @ignite-my-fire @kiska-enthusiast @songbirds-sweet @via-fm @wetkleenex-gvf @jaketsparrow @rhythm-of-space @the-starcatcher @fuckyoutommie @earthlysorrows @ascendingtostardust @joshsindigostreak @jenniferkiszka @hollyco @starcatcher-jake @lipstickitty @iamawhoreandnotproud @kissthesun-gvf @vanfleeter @mybussyinchrist @itsafullmoon @spark-my-nature @psychedelicstardust-gvf @readyforthegarden

Author's Note: If you want to be added to my taglist, you can do that right here! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it 🥰 All my love, Li xoxo

[liswee]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY — ft. nanami ♡

𝜗𝜚 sum. after your birthday celebration, you share a quiet moment with nanami kento, your best friend.

note. pure fluff, gn ! reader, both in their 20’s, kinda (best) friends to lovers; english isn’t my first language, sorry for any possible mistakes.

The house is quiet as the door clicks shut behind you both, the remnants of the lively celebration—filled with laughter and friends—fading into the background. Outside, the night stretches velvet-dark, cold and endless, while inside, light comes from the soft glow of the candles flickering on the cake you’ve shared for as long as you can remember. Their flames cast soft, uneven shadows, painting the room with a golden color that feels like it belongs to another time.

What began as little cupcakes in your childhood, messy and imperfect with uneven sprinkles, turned into full cakes that only grew bigger over the years, just like the two of you. The tradition is sacred now, one of those things that seems both comforting and oddly surreal, like time itself pauses for just a moment when it’s only you and Nanami.

You sink into your seat, a tired but contented expression spreading across your face. Your fingers brush lightly against the cool frosting—chocolate, because it’s always been your favorite. The way it melts on your tongue feels like the taste of nostalgia, sweet and soothing, familiar in the way it connects the past with the present. It reminds you how you’d race to grab the biggest slice of cake when you were younger—even though Kento would always, somehow, let you win, no matter how convincing his protests seemed—, the shared look of knowing when life got too loud, and the small, subtle ways he made you feel seen.

“You know the drill,” you say with a small smile, though your heart is a little fuller this year. You can’t seem to explain exactly why. Nanami doesn’t speak, not needing to. After all these years, the understanding between you both is effortless, as if you had always been a part of the same story, written in the margins of each other’s lives. Still, you notice the way his gaze softens, the ever-so-slight shift in his demeanor as he stands beside you.

With a breath, you lean forward, hands flat on the table. Your lips part just enough, and the small puff of air makes your cheeks round out, a moment of childish innocence that Nanami had witnessed countless times before over the last fifteen years, but one that he traditionally watches as though it’s the first time. Without a word, your best friend moves closer, and you almost don't notice the movement. He follows you with the same quiet attention he always had, his brow furrowing in amusement, a crease that doesn’t quite give way to a smile.

As you prepare to blow out the candles, your cheeks still puffed out, you feel Kento’s hand gently settle beneath your chin and under your jawline, guiding you to look up at him, just enough for his face to come into view from above. His eyes, always so calm, are filled with a look that speaks volumes in the silence between you—something comforting, something safe, like a promise made long ago and never broken, as if he’s memorizing the way the golden light catches on your face.

You pause, blinking up at him, unsure whether you’re imagining the quiet affection in his gaze or if it’s always been there, waiting for you to notice. But you don’t speak. You can’t. And before you react any further, Nanami leans in—naturally, like the air between you drew him closer—, his lips brushing against the crown of your head, the touch as light as the whisper of a breeze. It’s such a small thing, the press of his mouth, and yet it carries so much. The gesture is so quiet, so sincere, you feel a warmth bloom in your chest that’s different from any other year before, unraveling something you hadn’t even realized you were holding onto.

“Happy Birthday,” he murmurs, voice low, his hand lingering under your chin, grounding you in the moment, and you let yourself lean into it, just for a moment. You feel the weight of it, the significance that hangs between you, as his touch retreats slowly, allowing you to close your eyes once more and finally blow out the candles.

For a fleeting second, the world holds its breath and everything feels right. The room seems fuller somehow, though neither of you speak, thoughts clouded with things neither of you are ready to say—but maybe someday soon, you think, glancing up to meet his eyes again.

In this quiet, timeless space, it’s just the two of you—and it all feels like it’s meant to be this way.

divider by @adornedwithlight

this is a super simple little thing that i wrote in one night, and it’s the first cutesy and shortest thing i’ve posted here, so i hope you liked it <3 it was based in a lovely tiktok video ): click here to watch it. (i love Nanami so much, aaaaa)

[shuacore]

kissing a bruise — vn

2.1k tags: xreader (gn), swearing, fluff, a little bit of smut (18+ MDNI!!),

you’re awoken by a loud crash and the sound of books (and maybe a body) falling to the floor.

“ow! shit!”

groggy, you shuffle into the living room to see vernon clutching his elbow, face twisted in pain. you frown, blinking sleep out of your eyes and step closer.

vernon groans, holding his head. “sorry… didn’t mean to wake you.”

“it’s two in the morning,” you stifle a yawn and crouch down next to him. “what could you possibly be doing?”

vernon pinches his face as he peers at his arm, eyes watering. “i just wanted to grab a book from the shelf but my foot slipped and i fell into the corner of the table.”

“from the top shelf? that you can’t reach?”

“aish… stop, i feel stupid enough already,” vernon pouts, hand pressed to his wounded arm. gently you peel his fingers away to see a new gash above his elbow, red and raw.

“i think it’s broken,” vernon whines, and you shake your head.

“vernon, it’s not even bleeding,” you snort. vernon is a total puss when it comes to pain. you sigh, dropping his arm and look around. “ok, fine, hang on.”

the wound isn’t serious enough to warrant true first aid, but you grab the kit anyway to assuage vernon’s ego. he hisses as you press a clean cloth to the cut.

“hey! ow–be careful, man!”

“you’re such a baby,” you tease without venom. vernon sighs and says nothing. (he’s pouting.) after wrapping his arm with gauze, you give vernon’s dressing a once over and nod in satisfaction.

“alright, come here. let’s get a look at you,” you say, tucking your feet under you.

you take vernon’s face in your hands, eyes skipping over the familiar scars and freckles for anything astray, gently brushing his fringe away from his forehead. lo and behold, you find a small cut just near his temple.

“oh dear. nurse, i think we’ve found the root of the problem,” you chide and vernon tries to kick your hip with one of his feet.

first is cleaning, then dressing. while your hands are busy, you peer up at vernon from under your lashes and smile gently. his side profile is pulled into a pout, his brow pinched. you’ve always been so jealous of his eyelashes, how they soften his eyes and the sharp planes of his face. his lips are parted, chapped as always. the mole under his lip stares back at you.

vernon coughs. you realize you’ve been staring and clear your throat, readjusting your hold on the cotton ball.

“stop moving,” you scold, as vernon fidgets. he tries in vain to suppress a smile on his lips.

down in the depths of the kit, you manage to find a tiny bandaid and take great care in placing it on vernon’s temple, cupping his other cheek in order to press it lightly around the edges. your fingers linger in the dark strands around his ears as your thumb skirts over the bandage. you feel his breath on your forearm. he smells like laundry detergent. and vanilla.

and maybe it’s because nothing smart ever happens at two in the morning, but just for good measure you lean in and press your lips to the bandaid, right over his new injury.

vernon freezes.

oh.

your heart stutters in your chest and you jump away like you’ve been burned. heat rushes to your face.

“i–i don’t–“ you stutter, scooting backwards. “sorry. that was weird.”

“what was that for?” vernon’s asks, voice hushed. his eyes are blown wide, an unfamiliar look flickering at the edges. your stomach flops over itself and you jump to your feet, almost knocking over a cup on the coffee table.

“sorry, i didn’t–”

“hey,” vernon blurts out, clumsily getting to his feet, too. his cheeks are dusted pink. “it’s fine. we’re good.”

you hide your face behind your hands and turn away, heat traveling up the back of your neck to your ears. fuuuuuuuuck.

“sorry that was so stupid, um–“

“hey,” vernon urges, hand reaching out to snag your arm. your heart seizes in your chest. his eyes search your face, imploring. “what’s happening? what’s going on?”

you raise an eyebrow. “sorry–“

vernon frowns. “stop saying sorry.”

“s–“ you swallow your words. and then take a breath. vernon’s eyes are burning a hole through the side of your face but you can’t look at him. you’re afraid of what you’ll see.

“will you just look at me?”

ha! fuck.

you take another breath and force your neck to turn, suddenly engulfed by an ocean of deep brown, wise beyond their years, deeply familiar. vernon smiles–the same boyish grin he always gives when you’re spiraling out of control.

“hi,” vernon murmurs and takes a step forward.

“hi,” you whisper. your exhale ruffles the hair on his forehead. you’re practically nose to nose with him. “sorry.”

vernon rolls his eyes. “dude, it’s not a big deal. i’m just surprised.”

somehow you find your voice among the trepidation. “you just looked so…”

“yeah?” he says. his fingers slide from your elbow to your wrist. his thumb presses against the pulse point. all you can do is stare in disbelief. this was not how you expected him to respond. “so…what?”

“vern…”

“don’t do that,” vernon whispers, close enough to see the flecks of gold around his pupils, flashing in the lamplight. he leans forward. his nose bumps against your cheek. your heart stutters in your chest. the lamplight throws his face into stark relief: high cheekbones, angled jawline, a gently sloped nose.

he pauses when you don’t back away. vernon’s eyes are wide, uncertain; you see your own nerves reflected in them. you cup his cheek with your free hand, thumb skirting over the same acne scars you noticed earlier and his eyelashes flutter with every touch.

vernon’s eyes flick down to your lips, breath shallow. you wish you could swallow but your throat has gone completely dry. he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear and wavers, eyes flicking back to yours before his thumb swipes at the corner of your mouth. it’s a little bit mean of him considering he still has his other thumb pressed against your pulse and can feel every jump of your heart rate. he must be thinking the same thing because he grins. you’ve never breathed so little in your life.

vernon leans in—just another breath away from closing the chasm between you—when he hesitates. your heart sinks to your stomach as he begins to pull back. just as you feel like you’re about to short-circuit, vernon surges forward, cupping your face in both hands, and brings your mouths together.

you gasp, lips falling open as he tilts your head back, leaning into you so deeply you think you’ll fall apart right here. his lips are so dry—he’s never been one to use chapstick even though you keep nagging him to—and a little clumsy, but you can’t even get yourself to care. you would let vernon consume you whole if it meant he would keep holding you like this. one of his hands creeps through your tangled hair to grip the back of your head. every inch of your skin feels like it’s alive with electric current.

vernon pulls away much too early for your liking, a small whine escaping from your throat. his brow is furrowed.

“are you sure?” vernon whispers, voice cracking. you hold back a groan. now is not the fucking time.

“god, shut up,” you say, pulling him closer by the front of his shirt, swallowing his trepidation and your last shred of self-control all in one. all of the times you’ve fantasized about kissing your best friend hardly compare to the real thing, feeling vernon give and take under you as you knot your fingers in his hair, slipping your tongue into his mouth. he moans, hands finding their way to your ass, pulling you into his lap. there’s so much spit it might be gross, but everyone knows nothing good ever happens at two in the morning, and all you know is the burn where your heart sits in your chest. you scrape your nails against his scalp and sigh into his mouth, feeling his fingers dig into your thighs.

“you taste so good,” vernon moans. you tug on his hair, just enough to look at him; at his pupils all blown-out and dark, at the spit smeared across his bottom lip, at his brow still furrowed. you tug on his bottom lip, your thumb just barely catching on his teeth and kiss him again, your hand circling his throat. his palms slide up and down your hips and thighs. but it isn’t until you feel him hard against your thigh that you freeze.

you pull back again, eyebrows raised. vernon’s face is flushed, red all the way down his neck. he averts his eyes. his hands are searing hot against your bare skin.

“excited to see me?” you ask, biting back a grin. it’s an innocent enough question. just for good measure you shift in his lap, grinding down ever so slightly. vernon swallows a groan as his jaw clenches. nervously, he flicks his eyes back to you and jerks his head—yes.

where this bravado came from, you’ll never know. but you don’t question it as you spit in your hand and slip under the waistband of vernon’s sweatpants and his calvins, feeling the weight of his cock against your palm.

your eyes never leave his face as your wrap your fingers around his shaft, practically moaning with him as he drops his head back. with your free hand you bring your mouths back together, teeth sinking into vernon’s bottom lip as you twist your palm around his cock, drinking in the strangled sounds coming from his mouth. his nails bite into your thighs as you drag your thumb over the head of his cock, teasing. he swallows another moan.

“i wanna hear you,” you whisper against his cheek, pressing a kiss there as you speed up the strokes of your other hand. vernon’s breaths come in short pants, his stomach tightening the closer he gets to release. “for me,” you add on, biting at a spot right under his jaw.

“oh, god, baby” vernon curses, and the pet name runs straight through you, “don’t stop.” his voice has gone weak, hips jerking as he throws his head back in pleasure. your hand is slick with pre cum and spit, and you smile against his cheek again as he lets out one last desperate groan and comes loudly, hot and wet all over your hand.

your chest heaves as vernon buries his face in your neck, eyes squeezed shut as he comes back down to earth.

“good boy,” you murmur, pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth before slipping your hands from his pants. vernon just sighs, bone deep.

“what just happened?” he rasps.

“i believe,” you tease, “we just made out and i gave you a handjob.”

vernon scrunches his nose. “wow…. romantic.”

you laugh and slide off of his lap, about to get to your feet when vernon pulls you back. he loops an arm around your waist and presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“vern, i have to wash my hand,” you whine. “but i will be right back, okay? promise.” he lets you go only after pinky promising and you shuffle down the hall to the bathroom.

as you wash your hands you stare at your reflection in the mirror. who are you? what the fuck just happened??? your knees feel weak as you stumble back to the living room. vernon is right where you left him on the floor, looking distinctly hazy and a little fucked out. you smile to yourself, kneeling to straddle him again. his hands find their way to your waist like it was second nature.

“thank you, nurse,” vernon teases against your throat, pressing one last kiss to your pulse point, and you groan, tipping your head against his shoulder. “i feel so much better now.”

“you’re lucky if this happens again,” you say, ignoring the way his fingers play with the hem of your shirt. “this can’t be a thing.”

vernon grins as one of his hands slips under your shirt. you feel a new rush of heat to your stomach.

“who says?”

—

a/n: i swear this started off as a little thought abt kissing a bruise and then it turned into….this… IDK !!! SUE ME !!!! i want him……..

more stuff! :3

[formylovetodaryldixon]

“In your eyes.” Daryl Dixon Imagine.

The truth can easily be seen in the eyes of the person you love. That night, Daryl saw in your eyes how much you love him. But the next day after Aiden tried to attack you, Daryl knew who was responsible for the cut on your lip without you saying his name.

A/N: Hi! My name is Vi, and I made a page for Daryl a while ago, but for personal reasons I couldn't continue, but I'm back and I'd like to keep writing about him, so I hope you like what I'm going to post everytime i have the time (: Thanks in advance. Requests are open just in case hehe

With just a candle on the night table, fighting the darkness of the room, Daryl was lying down on the bed of blue blankets in the middle of white walls, and you sitting there, admiring the still new place. It was small but cozy, with a grey carpet that covered the entire place, a desk in front of you and a window behind it that let you watch the night landscape of trees, houses, and fake realities. The apocalypse took your family, your friends, your normal life, and the simplest fears that people used to have in the old world; but in that new one, Alexandria took your guns, and you feared that they might take your courage too.

“Hey…” Daryl said softly, his hand caressing your back. “Come ‘ere.”

But you were just tired, hoping that it was only physically, and you lay down on the bed next to him, with his arm as a pillow and his blue eyes as a reminder that no matter what happened, everything would be fine as long as you were together. He looked at you in a calm and deep way, with eyes that could tell everything because he wasn’t good at talking.

“I’m okay. I’m just tired.”

You closed your eyes, feeling that his blue eyes were still on you, looking at you with adoration, just the same way he always did. He pushed your hair behind your ear, admiring your strength, your beauty and the way only you could make him feel like a real person. He was shy beyond his hard personality, clumsy to express his feeling beyond his easy way to respond to whoever offended him and you. He exposed himself to you as a true person, good and bad, but you loved him sincerely. Daryl leaned forward and kissed your lips softly, and then he pulled away a little, watching you open your eyes as you held a soft smile.

“What was that for?”

Daryl looked at you.

“Cause I wanted to.”

He kissed you again, softly. You took his face in your hand, pulling him closer, and he kissed your parted lips to then slide his tongue inside your mouth. You two had hot, deep kisses before, but the candle on the table wrapped you both in a private, warm place. The union, the friendship, and the trust you had in each other since the beginning what was led you to get marry, to seal the commitment that existed between you two from the moment you met, but you hadn’t made love yet. Not in the middle of a cold world that never gave you the chance to do it. He wanted to be special for you. His hand slid under your t-shirt, stroking your soft skin with cold finger that made you shiver.

And he pulled away.

“Is that okay?” He whispered.

“It’s okay, it’s just…” You bit your lips. “Tara and Carol are in the other rooms.”

He frowned in confusion.

“So?”

“I don’t want them to hear us.”

For your surprise, Daryl chuckled. He wasn’t used to doing that, but when he did, his eyes became soft, and he started kissing you behind your ear.

“What if they hear ya moanin’ ma name? What if they hear ya beggin’ for more?”

Daryl removed his arm under you and moved to be on top of you, but without touching your body.

“What?” You chuckled, just to pretend his eyes didn’t have an effect on you.

“I love ya.” He said, and his words took you off guard while leaned down to kiss your neck with his warm mouth. “And I’m gonna make love to ya, sunshine.”

You could feel the knot in your stomach and the tingle in between your legs when he lowered to the level of your belly. His hot breath made you hold your breath as his beard tickled your skin when he started kissing you. His hands slid over your back, pushing you up slightly. His timid personality disappeared like a shadow at night, leaving only the strong hunter that touched you gently. And that night, you gave him everything without any regrets.

You walked down the street, watching again the still unreal picture in front of you. That place was like a bubble in which all those people lived in: but separated from the truth, absent from danger, from the cruel reality on the other side of their walls. They had warm beds and water, houses, electricity: but it was too perfect. It was like nothing happened to the world, and you didn’t know if pretending until to get used to that life was a good idea… although it was the only one you had now. Maybe you were just too used to danger and there, it was none. Just one of the two doors in the Monroe family garage was open, and you took a step inside where the son, Aiden, was leaning over a car with the hood open. You cleared your throat to attract his attention and he tilted his head to the side to look at you standing there, with your hands in the pockets of your jeans and a gentle smile on your face.

“Hi.” You said while he straightened. “I’m (y/n). Your mom sent me to talk to you about the runs. She says you’re in charge.”

“I’m the man.” He smiled walking to you as he extended his hand. “Aiden Monroe.”

You smiled with courtesy taking it.

“(Y/n) Dixon.”

His eyes widened a little, with surprise.

“You are Dixon’s wife?”

You tilted your head to the side, looking at him with a mocking expression after having heard that before, several times.

“Everyone has the same expression you just did.”

He smiled, hiding beneath his attractive features the face of a demon.

“I’m sorry, but… are not you afraid of him? It’s just… he’s so… he looks so rude… and you so-” But he chuckled, like a good kid. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to offend your husband.”

“You didn’t.” You shook your hand to push that thought aside. The boy in front of you ignored as the strangers who Daryl really was, and you didn’t want to waste your time trying to explain something he wouldn’t understand. “So… Are we gonna talk about what is my role in this?”

“A beauty like you should stay at home, but…” He smiled walking again to his car. “Basically I just have to teach you and your friends to evade walkers, find the necessary supplements and go home.”

That sounded as easy as breathing… in theory, but you didn’t want to argue about his lack of awareness out there.

“Okay.” You said turning around to leave but his hand closed around your wrist. You looked back, frowning in confusion. “What are you doing?”

“I’m really sorry for calling you a beauty… I mean… you are really beautiful but that sounded like if I was calling you weak.”

His grip on your wrist was far from gentle, like the claw of a beast. You looked him in the eye like someone who doesn’t fear a dangerous animal, and you kept calm when you spoke.

“Yeah. No problem. I’m sure you didn’t mean to say that.”

“Of course I didn’t.” He smiled stepping a little closer to you. “You are a beauty, however. That Dixon is very lucky. Would you tell me how he got a girl like you? You’re so hot… and those eyes–”

“Hey.” You separated even though he didn’t let you go. “I really recommend you to think about what you’re doing right now.”

Your calm but defiant voice lit him like fire. The strength and bravery behind your eyes fixed on him was a danger he seemed to enjoy.

“Relax, honey, I’m not doing anything to you... yet.”

You felt the beating of your heart in your throat.

“Can you let me go? I need to go home.”

“With your husband?” He smirked. “With that man who seems to have come out from a cave? Are you sure he doesn’t hit you or something? Maybe I should check your body just in case.”

His other hand tried to hold the edge of your black t-shirt, but you pushed his hand away from your body with a sharp push. Your rejection made his eyes darken, even darker than the rotten blood of a walker, and he pushed you against the garage door. The hard wood hit your back and your head, sending a pointed pain through your body.

“Why don’t you try to scream for help, honey?” His body pressed against yours. “I’m sure your prince will come instantly to save you.”

You looked into his eyes; his true self emerged behind that flirtatious smile, more dangerous than a walker.

“I don’t need no one to save me from a beast like you.”

You tensed your free arm and hit him hard in the stomach. Aiden pulled away from you, expelling all the air in his body, but even in pain, he raised his arm and slapped you with the back of his hand. Your face flew to the side, squeezing your eyes as you felt a metallic taste in your mouth. Blood.

“Stupid bitch…” He pushed you roughly to the ground, your hands scraping against the cement to protect you from hitting the floor too hard. “Welcome to Alexandria, baby.” Aiden knelt in front of you, where you looked into his eyes through your inner rage. “Be careful with what you tell the others, because you, your husband and your whole pack could leave today.”

Aiden walked out of the garage into the sun as if he was the king of the world. You licked your lip and you knew there was a cut there, and you contemplated your whole life from the floor: Loneliness when your parents died to save you, fear, anger, the times you thought you would die, and your big desire to live. But this guy with an angel smile, a dictator complex and an ego about to explode thought foolishly that he could ruin you as if you were nothing. You chuckled feeling free in that world that caught you under its shadow and you got up to walk out of that place. You saw Aiden walking down the street, walking with the freedom of someone who lived safely in a small bubble of protection and lies. You didn’t stop waking, you didn’t see Daryl and Rick walking a distance behind you, neither his mom talking to a couple, or your family in the porch of the house you all shared, nor some neighbors on their own porches enjoying the day while your heart was beating fast in your chest. Your true courage rose as you approached him from behind, and the strength within you gathered in your clenched fist.

“Hey, asshole!”

Aiden turned unsuspecting, and with a force more than just physical, you punched him in the face so hard that he fell to the ground, scratching his hands against the cement just like you did before, the blood coming out of his nose and lip.

“You bitch!” He yelled getting up, ready to hit you again, but just then, Daryl passed you by and he tackled Aiden to the ground.

Everything else went quickly and was blurry. Aiden’s mother shouted to leave his son, your friends and neighbors approached while Rick grabbed Daryl to stop hitting Aiden, but Daryl pushed Rick with a jolt.

“Daryl, stop!” Rick held Daryl from the shoulders and he used all his strength to pull him back and out of Aiden.

Rick stood in front of him, following his movements as Daryl moved from side to side like a lion in a cage watching his prey through the bars.

“(Y/n)?” Maggie asked in surprise. “What happened to your face?”

That was the moment when Daryl noticed the cut on your lip, red and bright under the sun, which only made him got furious even more. He tried to jump over Aiden again, who was already standing next to his mother, but Rick held Daryl back.

He knew it. Daryl just knew who did that to you.

“I will fuckin’ kill ya, bastard!” He yelled in anger, trying to push Rick out of his way. “I will break yer fuckin’ hands for touchin’ ma wife!”

For a moment, you thought that your group really would have to leave.

The same night, the wind blew gently like a good omen, but Daryl was still out of control, walking from here to there in the porch, cursing under his breath. You saw the wounds in your hand, red and bruised by the fall, your body felt heavy from the blow against the door, but your spirit could not feel lighter than a feather.

“It was a good punch, right?” You chuckled and that made him stop. That was the only way he was separated for a second from his thoughts. “My grandfather taught me to strike a punch without hurting my knuckles. My parents never liked it.”

Daryl watched you with his confused blue eyes that still wanted to see Aiden walk down the street just to have the opportunity to kill him. You were strong before his eyes, but seeing you hurt made him feel hurt, and so furious too. Daryl couldn’t believe you were so calm about that, but he could see in your eyes that that meeting with Aiden wouldn’t let you sleep that night, neither to him. You were so innocent to believe that there was no danger there.

“Come here.” You said, opening your arms to him. “You need a hug.”

He was surprised to hear you say he needed a hug, but Daryl walked towards you, wrapping you in a warm embrace.

“Yer such a badass.” He tried to chuckled, but he hid his face in your neck. “M'sorry I wasn’t there.”

“Don’t say you’re sorry.” You whispered stroking his hair. “It’s not your fault.”

A couple of minutes later you pulled away and you two just stayed there, face to face. Daryl held your left hand, softly. Despite the anger he felt, he was kind to you, and he kissed your knuckles where your wedding ring was. But Daryl saw in your eyes that you were going to be okay, and that was the only truth he needed for him to be okay, too.

[anguishedlurker]

Chapter two coming UP, on Ao3 HERE as well.

~

So at first she'd lost her new notebook, which was all sorts of awful. She just got that, dammit! And had wrapped something up in record time, too!

She knew she'd left it on her nightstand, she couldn't be convinced otherwise either, but where did it go!? She was gone five fucking minutes!

All that wasted time and effort, with the haunting sense she wasn't alone. And in Amity, that meant so much more than it should!

But whatever. She could deal. Or at least pretend to until she could harass her brother, the most likely culprit for this. She hoped it was burning his eyes, sticky fingered little....

So she'd crawled back into bed and curled up, and set aside the steaming rage to be hashed out at the dinner table over cereal. Mom usually wasn't well humored to her making things public, but dad was still mad enough about the riding lawnmower that he'd be ready to take reasons to pile-drive the no electronics mandate for even longer. Wrong move, turd.

And curled on her side, she fell asleep after some not that set aside rage. The reckoning would be afoot come six am.

But she'd woken up suddenly, or at least... she thought she did. Maybe. Unlikely, now that she thinks about it.

All she'd heard as the folds of her comforter revealed nothing was chuckling, before a voice she felt like she should know spoke.

"Pardon the interruption, but I think this story needs its star actor, yes?"

Suddenly, she was thrown in someone's arms.

Under different circumstances she'd aim towards making fun of their clothes, but, well...

It was undeniably a well put together fantasy costume. The sort of thing she'd pick out for one of the guys, if they'd have the intelligence to get her help for any costume parties.

Though, it was definitely sparking a familiar mental image right now...

Arms were wrapped around her, hoisting her back upwards enough to get her feet under her and peel back from them a little bit.

Which is about where it all made some sense.

His hair was messily styled; the right balance of non effort while still being meticulous to the trained eye. His fur pauldrons framed his startled look as the cape swished back with all the sudden movement.

And above all else, he was holding her...

Officially, pinch her. This was too much to wake up to.

Or not, given the scene... 

It was straight out of her notebook. She was the only being in existence that knew what was in there, and this wasn't something her brother could rig up. He'd be a freak to try doing something like this, besides.

It's not like you can slap a white wig on Mikey or Dash and call it good, this was clearly Phantom in front of her, and this simply had to be The Evergreen Field!

Phantom- the prince- shifted from her, looking  over her form extremely carefully.

Right, right, it's weird and strange for some random girl to appear and be enthused at him.

Hell, what were his lines? It can't be that hard.

"Ma'dam, I do believe that's a new one." Phantom tittered, just so slightly breathless.

"An entrance for the age. Although... perhaps..." He trailed, shifting his arms up to her hands.

"Lady Manson may well keep the top spot." He clicked, seemingly extremely put off.

That... wasn't it, but it was close enough!

"Oh sir, how curious that makes me of this wild lady Manson!" She quipped, giggling.

Hey, no, wait. She knows that last name. Why's that name in her book?

Maybe... She's read before that the brain will pull from people and things it knows in sleep, so that's gotta be it.

Because if this is real... 

Frightening thought..

~

("I know you can hear me. You wouldn't dare not be listening in to my thoughts if  only to make fun of me more. We can discuss this, and come to some sort of peace.")

("Don't you like it, child?  She seems so fond  of you, it'd be a shame denying her her fantasies!")

("I know you know I know, you're making fun of me and that is bait. Ha ha, make me flip over being the valiant white knight prince in one of your stories, get her outta here you damn creep!)

("Oh child, this one isn't mine. I took the liberty of polishing it up some , but this story is all hers... Won't you make her dreams, her fantasies, come to... such life?"

Smug bastard speaking in riddles, struggling to finish his own goddamn sentences.

Or... No. Wait. This cannot possibly be this straight forward. Oh, what a mess this is!

His tongue was only slightly unstuck though, meaning he was still going to have a very bad time with speaking normally.

But god, her surprised enthusiasm was clearly waning to concern and fear.

""Ma'dam, I do believe that's a new one. An entrance for the age. Although... perhaps... Lady Manson may well keep the top spot."

No, no, no! That should've been ,,I haven't seen an entrance like that since a friend of mine crashed the chandelier into a ball"!!

Not that that was an entrance, but still!

("Unhand my tongue, wretched puppet master.") He spat, cringing as Ghost Writer cackled. Not even his projected thoughts were safe?

"Oh sir, how curious that makes me of this wild lady Manson!" She laughed, bouncing back to enthused and looking at him like there was no danger going on right now. For a split second her smile tightened, but it was gone as fast as it appeared.

"A fair lady friend of mine, who's of no relevance presently. Did the fall hurt?" He pressed, trying to ignore how the words tripped over his lips ever so lamely.

He was super gonna kill Ghost Writer a second time for this one, mark his words!

"Nope! I'm a-okay here, mister Phantom." She grinned, pleased with his attention. Fucks sake…

"Such a fall could certainly harm any-"

"Sheesh, lay off! It was just onto you, sir." She laughed, shoving him lightly and peeling off of him to look at the sunlit field.

She swayed slightly, her own eagerness to stand up properly and keep on staring, thankfully dragging her eyes off of him and looking excited at the damn horse.

This was going to be a big migraine, and it hadn't even really started! The anglerfish would be better right now, at least innocents wouldn't be with him!

("I'm completely innocent of all crimes, and you need to let her go no matter what you think you're going to accomplish.") Danny shot at Ghost Writer, gritting his teeth into the absurd grin Ghost Writer was clearly typing onto him for this.

The clicking of the typewriter halted, Danny's hopes indulging a doomed little dream before whatever overwrought wit Ghost Writer had could be dropped onto him.

("Nah.")

Nah? Just nah? Uncreative much!

The keys resumed, and the smile on his face didn't get to drop as Paulina went and stumbled over her own feet, stand- ("You did NOT give her kitten pumps in a fucking grass field! You did NOT in fact do-")

("What of it, child? Besides, this is her choice! It's what she imagined herself dressed in!") Ghost Writer snapped back instantly at him, the type-writer pausing seconds after as Paulina seemed to freeze on the spot with Danny's hands moving to steady her.

("Why do you know women's heel types, devil child?") Ghost Writer asked.

While he sounded sincere in asking this, Danny didn't trust that information to stay as idle curiosity. His own words could and would be used against them both to who knows what sorts of effects.

"Madam, are you certain you feel alright?" Danny tried pressing, ignoring Ghost Writer with a pointed mental shove between them.

("Suit yourself child. It won't get you out of this to be oh so petulant to me.") Ghost Writer huffed, continuing to write.

"Yup!" She chirped back, smiling like there wasn't a manic reality altering ghost puppeting this whole strange situation.

The horse very conveniently made noise, and Danny faintly wished Sam was here to be a better social example than his pathetic attempts could ever be.

But then there'd be more swearing and violence if she had actually been with him, so maybe it was better in the short term that she wasn't to cause them hell.

"Well my lady, if you insist on your good health then we should be quick to exit this place, before something else happens here." He said, sharply gesturing to the horse. 

("I can fly and carry her ya loser.")

("Bold of you to try and debate the horse.")

"Ahh, but we haven't really done... Yeah, sure." Paulina said, cautiously agreeing. 

Feet! Lift! From ground! Fly! Fly, goddamnit, fly fly!

“Do what? I find there little to have done.” Danny asked blankly, watching her wobble.

Too many lectures from Sam about the variety of girly shit her mom had tried to put her in left him with far too much knowledge about death traps, formally known as the dreaded high heels, to let him be comfortable with her wobbling around in a grass field. His limbs refused to obey his attempts to reach out to Paulina to help though.

“I find it’s not really important now.” She snipped, approaching the horse to mount it.

To Paulina’s credit she had clearly ridden horses before this weirdo kidnapping, not struggling as Danny looked away.

“You seem embarrassed, my good sir. Why’s that?” She asked, clearly only half serious.

Time ticked slowly as Ghost Writer rewrote his totally witty comeback to her.

“While a pretty dress, I find that they’re bad for hiding a woman's undergarments.” He grit out past Ghost Writers influence.

Paulina slowly turned red and nodded.

(“Is it too crass to say I don’t want to see her underwear in full brazen sight? This horse is absurdly tall compared to us and it’s pretty logical to say.”) Danny pressed Ghost Writer, greatly annoyed.

(“Prince charming cannot say the word panties.”) Ghost Writer staunchly informed him, rude too.

(“Okay. But I wasn’t-”) +

(“Don't lie to me.”)

Danny did not grace that with an answer, watching as Paulina shifted around.

(“Okay, genius, now get me on the horse.”)

(“Can you not ride? I thought that you’ve been on-”)

Danny gave the mental equivalent of a hard stare, not one for this nonsense.

His limbs moving on their own never got any easier than the first instance, the anglerfish a distant memory of a better run in with Ghost Writer.

“Now my lady, might I now ask your name?” Danny asked, letting Ghost Writer take charge.

(“Two ‘now’s? Run out of words?”)

(“Shove it, you brat.”)

Paulina was busy wrapping her arms around his waist as they mocked each other, not yet giving an answer for her name.

“It’s just Paulina, my good sir Phantom.” She muttered through his over fancy clothes, sounding family embarrassed to say it.

“Pretty enough. Prettier most names.” He reassured, making the horse start forth.

“Thank you for your kind words, but I don’t think-” She attempted, squirming as she spoke up.

”Pretty enough to announce to the ball.” He continued, cringing as he realized.

Today was gonna be so, so painful.

I've been Isekaied into Paulina's Novel?!

Welcome to the fic for the EctoImposion 2024 event! I was paired with @thebooo-merang for this wonderful fic, and you should go check them out! And check out the ao3 posting HERE

After an incident with Box Ghost solicits a fight with Ghost Writer, Ghost Writers out for revenge. And Paulina has a convenient little fanfiction that Ghost writer could use. Now Danny just has to survive it, with a starstruck Paulina in tow.

The first chapter doesn't especially need warnings, as everything remains cannon typical. It's under the cut!

~

"Get back here!" Danny shouted, ready to be done with wit for today.

"I, THE BOOOX GHOOOST, WILL-"

"Piss off Ghost Writer!" Do you just break into random lairs in search of weird boxes!?" Danny screeched, trying to dive after a flying notebook.

"I, THE BOX GHOST, WILL-" Box shouted over Danny, waving wildly as he went and sending even more boxes and books flying back and forth.

"RUIN WHAT LITTLE TRUCE I'VE GOT GOING WITH HIM!" Danny cut back, struggling to grab books mid-air with one arm and blast Boxy into submission with the other.

"THE BOX GHOST HAS NO NEED FOR LECTURES ON YOUR INTERPERSONAL RELATIONSHIPS! PREPARE TO BE DESTROYED!"

Danny was gonna kill him this time!

~

Boxes and books rained over the town, causing havoc and mild property damage to the unprepared. Paulina could only huff and puff as she bolted across the open street from shop to shop, trying to find somewhere to camp out while Phantom dealt with the box menace, trying to keep an eye out for whatever storefront Star had managed to find for herself.

Another keeper kept their shoulder into the door as she pushed, and bitterly she cursed them out. She probably didn't get any sympathetic glances through the wood door, but whatever! Rude ass motherfuckers locking out innocents while there was an attack!

It was tempting to keep under the eave, but beyond being mere cloth too much was getting tossed around- plenty enough room for something to slam in sideways and get her then!

God! One good day is all she wanted right now.

Though a few more after wouldn't go amiss...

There! The geek shit shop was probably going to let her in! Maybe!

She didn't care, actually, she'd punch through the glass if she had to! Take that, losers!

First, she needed the mental psyche up to dart across the road again. Three, two, one, go!

The owner, or possible customer, waved behind the glass as she ran.The door opened and closed near instantaneously on her entry.

The sound of Phantom yelling at The Box Ghost dampened as the bell rang, and the store owner gave her an uneasy smile and gestured towards the windowless back. 

“Everyone’s in the back. Might be cramped by now, but there’s a lot of shelves to sit behind.” He nervously informed, eyeing the glass windows.

The casual thumbs up sent him away as she bent slightly to wheeze out the adrenaline.

Yeah, cheer takes some stamina, but adrenaline really messes up her rhythm!

Breath caught, it was time to pack in with the other unlucky idiots back here. With care and precision she marched over behind the popular shelf, examined the bodies packed like sardines, and picked a new shelf to hide behind.

This one was packed with books instead of weird anime figures and dungeons and dragons minis, the spines a cold comfort as she sat down and started staring.

The titles on this sort of crap were so weird… 

But she supposed Star seemed to enjoy them, Star's rants echoing clearly in her head. 

She wouldn’t admit it with a gun to her head, but after enough of those rants… she may or may not be able to pick out a few of the series on display.

Sue her, she's a sucker for some of the romances even if they were trashy a lot of the time. And Star's collection at this rate was pretty impressive, to the point Paulina was convinced she was the only reason a store like this could keep afloat in a town like Amity.

The other nerd shit probably helped it keep alive, though. More screaming outside, this time sounding like it was from The Box Ghost in rage. Good. Phantom could pummel that no good fool to goo for what it mattered.

... Ugh. The fight could easily take a long time; Box Ghost might be weak, but he clearly had a lot of material to use this time. But whatever. Here she is in a castle of weeb books. Maybe some could be a good distraction.

~

"No! Not you!"

"Yes, me! Did you think you could trash my library and get away with it!?" Ghost Writer roared, trying to come up from behind.

"It wasn't me, it was-"

But Box Ghost was already gone, the leftover boxes of books now floating to the ground in a suspiciously gentle manner.

Coward. The thought wouldn't leave as Danny shifted the books he'd been trying to save around, awkwardly offering the armful to Ghost Writer. 

Ghost Writer loomed ominously.

~

All at once the outside world went quiet, some shouting occasionally coming close enough to hear, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief loud enough to drag Paulina from her pile of books.

Five more minutes would've been great to finish the book she'd had in hand, not that it mattered...

Now she needed to find where Star ran off to without her, the books carefully left behind in a pile.

Phantom and a ghost she couldn’t recognize quipped back and forth, the day still significantly quieter than it had been fifteen minutes before. The area remained strewn with books, the ghost gesturing to some on a roof.

Now, she could walk around the district lost and confused looking for Star... Or just sit back down on a nice ledge and wait for Star to come to her while watching Phantom.

Phantom made an odd twist in the air as he shouted, still a little too distant to make out properly.

Yeah, watching sounded so much safer and calmer. One hop later and she was perched on top of one of the lower walls purporting to be defensive.

Fat lot of good they did...

Phantom and his assailant came closer, lending her a nice view of what was going on.

Maybe she shouldn't be here, but it seemed to be more arguing than fighting, so whatever.

"While I'm sorry my NOT PARTNER didn't have a spine, you can have yours back!" Phantom shouted as they passed overhead, throwing a book at the weird ghost.

She had to huff out a clipped laugh as the ghost was whacked, even as the ghost elected to bolt as it realized its inferiority.

She could just hear the stunned silence from Phantom, right before he cried out "Get back here!" 

Truly, a foolish thing to think it could stand up to the town hero.

With a certain lack of ceremony, the book the from the fight fell onto her 

"Ouch!" She yelped, one hand raising to rub her scalp as the other fumbled for the offending book.

The whole thing might be a sign it's time to get up and go. Still...

"Raining books is a new one." She muttered, far too late for the comment to be witty but all the same a perfectly serious remark on the latest weird shit Amity came up with.

She cautiously eyed the book in her hands, looking for any oddities. You could never quite trust some of this stuff...

It was just a notebook. Nothing special about it, besides being a trophy for today. The decoration and signature on front was incomprehensible to her, an initial she didn't recognize against the slightly plain front.

Caving to curiosity, the book opened easily. Not that she’d expected anything else. 

It revealed... nothing. Nothing at all. None of the pages had any sort of writing in them.

Well she can't be begrudged for snooping- it's her prize right now. An apology for getting assaulted in broad daylight. This G-W could just deal with it, and the spat was already away from her, so it's not like she was going to be in more danger sitting here.

The blank notebook continued to be uninteresting, and she couldn’t help her annoyance as she shut it. There wasn’t a damn thing to pay her back for getting hit.

Or... well...

She could feel her lip work up into a slight smirk.

I have been wanting to write a new Phantom fic...

The thought was clear as day to her, even as she couldn't wait for the night. What better way to celebrate this particular trophy?

~

Ghost Writer was forced to watch on in abject misery as he realized his collection had been tossed around like a toddler’s toys. No respect whatsoever from the box obsessed lunatic for the actual contents of the boxes.

The nerve! The audacity! To treat his writing like this! The ghost may well need a lesson in manners.

But first, Phantom.

Sure, the boy wasn't the sole force at work- but undeniably the lunatic never would've gotten close to his manuscripts if Phantom hadn't been snooping around in his library.

But don't think he's lost the plot of getting his own books tossed at him! The tactical retreat was nothing more than an admission of lack of home turf!

Nothing to do with not having his typewriter or any notebooks activated!

Ahem... So the child would need an appropriate punishment as well.

Sometime after he collected his books

The whole lot of them, all across town! Lunatics.

It was easy enough to threaten people away from his scripts, but nonetheless annoying and time consuming. Go here, show up there, yell to get their grubby mitts off his stuff. 

Ugh.

The annoyance was the cost of getting everything back. though. He pointedly ignored Phantom’s continued patrolling, likely looking for whatever trap Ghost Writer would end up creating.

Easy enough to stay low and out of sight in the meantime. Whatever he was about to do, it wasn't a ‘now’ plan. Such things take planning, and unfortunately it's not the season to stick the boy back into Christmas stories.

So he was collecting his books, and chasing fools away from them. The cost of love, he supposed.

Still, he was being forced to waste hours upon hours taking his books out of the hands of fools. Having such a collection was not currently a point of pride; He’d have to figure out what went where later.

Slowly but surely his boxes filled back up as he found his manuscripts. There was his old horror story from the eighties, there was his attempt at something akin to a superhero comic, there was his dabbling in... well he couldn't remember either, but if he sat to read it right now it'd take hours for him to finish the book. No reading for him.

Finally, it was time to find his blank notebooks again. He'd be forced to admit that he simply cared less if these ones vanished mysteriously, for a blank notebook was nothing more or less than a possibility.

Most were alright, scattered down the streets carelessly. Some had been picked up and put back down to be examined by wretched hands at a later date.

There was an exception though, something swaying as if held at the edge of where he could feel things. Curious, for how late at night it was getting, but that'd just mean he needed to scare another pathetic mortal off his books.

The pull and search brought him to a cracked window in the suburbs. Nothing meaningful crossed his path, though it was good to be wary; The boy was likely still patrolling, and no doubt Ghost Writer's appearance had put him on edge. As it should.

Slowly rising up to look through, invisible to the mortal eye, he could hear a girl rambling slightly. 

His look through the window was enlightening, the girl curled onto her bed as she wrote with ink that even from this distance sparkled with glitter.

"And then Princess Paulina lived happily ever after with Prince Phantom, aaannd the end." She whispered, pleased with herself.

Barely pausing, she snapped the book shut and laid it on her nightstand, moving to stand and stretch.

Shouting called her away, which was plenty convenient for him even as she huffed and puffed out of the room.

It was child's play to take the notebook back, even with it defiled by mortal hands. It wasn't a toy to be left with creatures that didn't understand what could be done with such tools.

The cover had already been decorated with a couple of stickers and a flowing cursive he couldn't bother deciphering at this second.

Phasing back out of the room and coming to rest back outside of the window, he flipped the cover open.  The inside was decorated similarly.

Oh, yes. That was glitter pen. The pages were coming away bedazzled with runaway glitter.

This book was most certainly going to have to be put in its own container, but for right this second the name on the inside was of modest curiosity.

Paulina Sanchez in bold strokes, fancy flourishes forgone in favor of legibility. If found, return to owner, do not read.

Well now he just had to, didn't he? It wasn't like the rest of the books were going anywhere, the grand total of three he still had to find now could rest safely.

Or well... No, he could spare the time now> What would the boy do, if it blows up on them both? The books shouldn't even be in the town anyways, and it was most certainly his fault thank you very much!

He quickly leafed through the beginning burning through thanks to his superior-ness and a speed reading class he'd attended before.

... hmm.

Hmmmmm.

He'd recently been complaining about what to do with the boy, no?

"This could work." He spoke to no-one, clapping the book shut. For now.

~

Barely past sunrise, Danny squinted at the sky and grumbled. Damn malicious blob ghosts, eating billboards.

Not that he cares about the billboards, but first it's a billboard and then it's drywall.

"Catch!" Got shouted, an object (presumably) sailing from behind him.

Snapping too and turning, he could see Ghost Writer grin manically in glee as a book opened wide.

All he could do was choke out an "eh?" as he reflexively reached, the book splayed open and glowing. Illustory pages floated up and off, and he had a really bad feeling about what was coming next as the world around him went white.

~

Coming to under Ghost Writers writing was not a fun thing to experience, see. One did not simply fade into one of his chaotic and weirdly random worlds. You blink and then suddenly you're just there!

Danny was there, wherever there was. Somewhere was currently a bright grass field, with a decorated horse beside him.

Which he would grant was a better entrance than the last time he'd been flung into one of Ghost Writer's many insane stories.

He would never forget that anglerfish...

But almost just as fast as he got here there was another stupidly bright light, and someone was falling into his arms, briefly bundled into his chest before quickly popping back up to look at him.His tongue was stuck in a way that implied Ghost Writer had ideas about what he should or shouldn't be saying at this time, but that didn't stop the extremely strained noise he gave when he realized the person was Paulina, looking VERY enthused.