#Extract from Hope's Promise

[andypantsx3]

IF YOU LET ME : TODOROKI SHOUTO x READER

SUMMARY: Disguised as a eunuch in the imperial palace, a mistake on your part leads to your unmasking before the prince. By rights it should mean your death, but Prince Shouto seems to have another plan in mind... CONTENT: Imperial Prince Shouto, AFAB fem reader, identity reveal, class differences, slight gender fuckery, historical sexism, implications of past sexual threats, vaguely imperial Japanese setting, deep historical inaccuracy, SFW (2.2k) NOTES: This was a barely-edited unplanned little thought demon I had to exorcise lol, thank you for being patient with me. Back to our regularly scheduled programming soon.

Your breast bindings were missing.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

You flipped your sleeping mat again, clawing through your blankets frantically, hoping you’d somehow missed them the first time. But only the tatami floor stared back up at you—strands of woven rice straw pale and bare.

You muttered a curse under your breath—you’d definitely forgotten to extract your bindings from where you’d shucked off yesterday’s robes, forgotten to squirrel them away before sinking into bed. And now they’d been whisked away by a palace maid to be laundered. Or worse, discovered.

Your eyes darted through your small sleeping chamber frantically, seeking a solution. You were already late for Prince Shouto’s first lesson of the day, and you needed all the time you could get with him today. You’d promised the Minister of Rites that you’d have a word with the prince, to try to persuade Shouto to accept the wife he was so persistently putting his advisors off on.

You were, after all, the prince’s closest confidant—his personal secretary and calligraphy tutor, an unthreatening eunuch from the lower classes with whom Shouto was clearly most at ease. And at least most of that was true—you did have Prince Shouto’s trust, friendship, and respect, as much as a member of the imperial family could bestow on a commoner, anyway.

If he was going to listen to anyone on the subject of taking a wife—at the very least one concubine, if not his future empress—it would be his trusted friend the eunuch.

There was just one very important detail that everyone, even His Highness, was mistaken about on that account.

One blasted detail that could get you killed at best were anyone to figure it out.

Your eyes fell back to your blankets, and you immediately grabbed two fistfuls, yanking as hard as you could until you felt the fabric give, the rip and tear echoing in the small space of your sleeping chamber. You kept ripping until a strip came free, a little smaller than what you usually had to work with.

But you were not about to complain, not at a time like this.

You flung the strip down to scrabble with the tie of your underrobe, unknotting it with fumbling fingers. You were just about to fling it off of you when there was a careful knock against the screen of your door.

You didn’t manage to stifle your reflexive scream, stumbling through a half-executed turn towards the door. The screen was suddenly thrown back with alarming force, Prince Shouto’s figure filling the doorway.

You yanked your shirt closed again, panicking, as you caught sight of the concern on his handsome face. You barely registered the other details, mind tripping over excuses, unable to appreciate the way his shoulders looked all the broader in his sokutai the way you normally did.

“Are you well?” Shouto demanded, his normally soft tone a little ragged. You watched his mismatched eyes dart quickly around your chambers, as if seeking a threat, only to drop back to you when there was none.

“Your Highness,” you said, lost for anything else.

“I heard—there was a scream,” he said, his eyebrows scrunching the tiniest bit.

He always looked his most beautiful when he was confused, you thought, focusing hard on a particular problem. Not that a common woman had any business thinking anything about the crown prince, never mind a woman masquerading as a man. But it was hard to ignore a face that beautiful, the way his gaze sharpened with focus, full mouth pursing as he thought through a problem.

He looked like that now as his gaze darted over you. And then suddenly his eyes dipped to your collarbone, and his features went perfectly, horribly still.

An elegant hand reached back, and he immediately drew the screen closed behind him, eyes never leaving you as he took another step into the room.

You stumbled back, almost tripping over your bedding. You did not dare to turn towards him or away, scuttling sideways instead like a nervous crab.

“Your Highness,” you began again, heart shooting into your mouth when Shouto’s long fingers tangled in your undershirt.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his tone softening. You gripped your shirt closed as hard as you could against the tug of his fingers. “Did something happen?”

“N-nothing,” you stammered, not liking the way it made him clearly more suspicious. “I was just changing.”

But Shouto’s beautiful, cursed eyes dipped to your bedding, where the torn strip lay across your blankets in plain sight. You could almost see the calculation as his eyes widened the tiniest fraction, and his grip tightened on your robes. Of course he’d seen it, and of course it looked like a wound dressing you’d just been about to apply.

He took another step closer, too close, until you could feel the heat of him through your sleeve, smell the sweet blend of dried herbs the servants kept his clothing stored with.

You tried to twist out of Shouto’s grip without rucking up your shirt, but his hold was too strong.

“Let me see,” he ordered in his soft, low tone. Your heartbeat kicked up higher, hammering in your chest so hard it could have broken a rib.

It was a death sentence to ignore an order from a member of the imperial family. It was also a death sentence to reveal what you’d been these many years. You hoped Prince Shouto, something of a friend to you, would let you off lightly for ignoring him.

“Please, Your Highness,” you said, clinging even harder to the closure of your shirt. “I will be ready in just a moment, I am simply running late. I beg your forgiveness.”

But if there was one thing about the crown prince, it was that he was stubborn, bullheaded when it came to the ideas and goals he took seriously. And he had always made it clear he took your friendship seriously.

That perfect mouth shifted into a frown. “I order you to let me see,” he said, his tone still soft but firm. “You will let me.”

You froze under his hands, muscles locking up in panic. Shouto was still between you and the door, and your chambers were not wide enough for you to slip around him without him being able to easily catch you. He was also, unfortunately, extremely quick with sharp reflexes honed by years of swordsmanship. There would be no escaping this situation.

Fuck. Fuck, you were out of ideas.

“Hold still,” Shouto commanded gently, long fingers prying your stiff ones away from the shirt ties. You watched his face in mute panic, not wanting to see the flash of betrayal and disgust, but unable to look away as he prised your robes aside. Shame heated your cheeks.

Shouto’s long eyelashes dipped, before his gaze froze on your chest. For a second, he went as stiff as you. Then he was yanking your robes closed again, a watercolor of pink washing across the bridge of his nose and those high cheekbones.

His eyes darted back to yours, his expression perfectly still though his face was flushed. “You never told me,” he said accusingly.

The right thing to do in this situation was to go to your knees in a kowtow and beg for his mercy, but Shouto still had a grip on your robes and did not look like he meant to let go. You ducked your head in as much of a bow as you could manage, your face warm. “Your Highness, I have no excuse. I have betrayed you.”

When you had concocted this scheme, you had wanted to put yourself beyond the reach of a local official back in your home village. His advances were becoming increasingly aggressive, and as a common woman, you had no recourse. You could only escape into a place where his rule was circumvented by a superior one, where no man would think to have an interest in you.

You had not intended to become Prince Shouto’s tutor, had not anticipated the true risk of your gambit until it was already too late. But you would still rather die than be returned into the hands of your village’s preceptor.

If this is how it ended…

“I have compromised you,” Shouto’s voice startled you out of your memories.

You glanced up at him, befuddled.

Shouto’s fingers twisted in your robes. “Just now, and—all the many times we have been alone until now. I did not know.”

Honor and compromise were the least of your concerns right now, and would matter even less in the event of your death. You did not know where the prince meant to go with this.

“Your Highness, you were not expected to know,” you said, shame coiling in your belly. You would make the same choices you had made over again, if given the chance, but you had never meant to betray Shouto. You had genuinely liked him, and you would regret losing the chance to be by his side in the years to come.

Shouto’s eyes flicked over you in some kind of assessment. He lifted one hand from your shirt, gasping your scholar’s cap and tugging it free from your hair. You felt his fingers tangle so very gently in the strands of your hair, seeking out the ties and pins.

Your own eyes traced over him as he did, drinking in the firm planes of his chest in his sokutai, the dark blue a beautiful contrast with his pale skin. You heard pins dropping to the ground beside you, as Shouto rubbed a strand of your hair between his fingers. He seemed to be evaluating you in a new light, relearning your appearance though a clearer lens.

Disgust and betrayal were not evident in how delicately he was handling you. You did not know what this meant.

“They will put you to death if they know,” Shouto said, eyes slowly moving from the hair between his fingers to your face again. “You cannot hide like this forever.”

You did not know what other choice was to be had. If Shouto did not plan to put you to death himself, then what other choice did you have than to go on pretending?

Shouto’s gaze dropped to your mouth and you realized you’d spoken the thought aloud.

“There is one other way to put you beyond the reach of the court,” he said slowly.

You felt your eyebrows raise in question. “I cannot think of it, Your Highness.”

Shouto absently curled the strand of your hair about his fingers, the little crease between his perfect eyebrows appearing again. He looked the way he did when he played games with his strategy tutor, or when he was thinking hard on a new sword form.

“The ministers wish for me to take a wife,” Shouto said softly. “My household is mine to manage alone.”

Outside the laws of the court, he meant. A strange flutter went through you, heat spotting your cheeks again. Shouto’s presence before you was suddenly magnified a hundred fold, and you became singularly aware of the breadth and height of him, the heat of him almost against you.

“You do not want a wife,” you said, well aware of the many years he’d spent bullheadedly resisting the idea.

“I do not want any the ministers have selected for me,” Shouto corrected.

Your whole body felt flushed again. He meant he was amenable to you.

You had never let yourself think it but he was more than amenable to you as well.

“I would keep you safe,” he promised.

You almost slumped to the floor in relief, only Shouto’s grip on you keeping you upright. You would not die. You would not be returned to your village. You would, through all of this, it seemed, keep Shouto’s friendship.

“I know you would,” you said.

Shouto understood your acceptance. Slowly his fingers untwined themselves from your hair, and he drew your robes more firmly around you. Your body burned hot, still, stomach fluttering under his renewed brand of regard.

“I will arrange it quickly,” Shouto said. “You must stay here. I will send someone for you.”

You nodded.

Shouto looked regretful as he stepped back from you. “We will do it properly, later,” he said. “I will pay my respects to your family.”

You waved a hand frantically, shocked by the idea of the future emperor making his bows in your family’s rundown hut. It was not as though you would be his first-ranked wife or empress! He did not need to pay any respects to the family of a concubine out of a common family!

“There is no need,” you insisted, but Shouto was already turning towards the door. You could see by the set of his shoulders this was another thing he meant to be stubborn about.

“I will honor my first and only wife,” he said, turning to pin you with that heterochromatic gaze.

Your mouth dropped open in shock, but you had no time to reply before he was sliding the door closed behind him again, leaving you alone with the sudden weight of the statement. It had all happened so quickly, you had never expected that Shouto meant what he did.

You wondered what it meant that Shouto had made such a promise so readily, when he had known the truth about you for only minutes.

And you wondered if, like your original entry into the palace, you were getting yourself into something far beyond what you initially understood.

[reasonsforhope]

"It is 70 years since AT&T’s Bell Labs unveiled a new technology for turning sunlight into power. The phone company hoped it could replace the batteries that run equipment in out-of-the-way places. It also realised that powering devices with light alone showed how science could make the future seem wonderful; hence a press event at which sunshine kept a toy Ferris wheel spinning round and round.

Today solar power is long past the toy phase. Panels now occupy an area around half that of Wales, and this year they will provide the world with about 6% of its electricity—which is almost three times as much electrical energy as America consumed back in 1954. Yet this historic growth is only the second-most-remarkable thing about the rise of solar power. The most remarkable is that it is nowhere near over.

To call solar power’s rise exponential is not hyperbole, but a statement of fact. Installed solar capacity doubles roughly every three years, and so grows ten-fold each decade. Such sustained growth is seldom seen in anything that matters. That makes it hard for people to get their heads round what is going on. When it was a tenth of its current size ten years ago, solar power was still seen as marginal even by experts who knew how fast it had grown. The next ten-fold increase will be equivalent to multiplying the world’s entire fleet of nuclear reactors by eight in less than the time it typically takes to build just a single one of them.

Solar cells will in all likelihood be the single biggest source of electrical power on the planet by the mid 2030s. By the 2040s they may be the largest source not just of electricity but of all energy. On current trends, the all-in cost of the electricity they produce promises to be less than half as expensive as the cheapest available today. This will not stop climate change, but could slow it a lot faster. Much of the world—including Africa, where 600m people still cannot light their homes—will begin to feel energy-rich. That feeling will be a new and transformational one for humankind.

To grasp that this is not some environmentalist fever dream, consider solar economics. As the cumulative production of a manufactured good increases, costs go down. As costs go down, demand goes up. As demand goes up, production increases—and costs go down further. This cannot go on for ever; production, demand or both always become constrained. In earlier energy transitions—from wood to coal, coal to oil or oil to gas—the efficiency of extraction grew, but it was eventually offset by the cost of finding ever more fuel.

As our essay this week explains, solar power faces no such constraint. The resources needed to produce solar cells and plant them on solar farms are silicon-rich sand, sunny places and human ingenuity, all three of which are abundant. Making cells also takes energy, but solar power is fast making that abundant, too. As for demand, it is both huge and elastic—if you make electricity cheaper, people will find uses for it. The result is that, in contrast to earlier energy sources, solar power has routinely become cheaper and will continue to do so.

Other constraints do exist. Given people’s proclivity for living outside daylight hours, solar power needs to be complemented with storage and supplemented by other technologies. Heavy industry and aviation and freight have been hard to electrify. Fortunately, these problems may be solved as batteries and fuels created by electrolysis gradually become cheaper...

The aim should be for the virtuous circle of solar-power production to turn as fast as possible. That is because it offers the prize of cheaper energy. The benefits start with a boost to productivity. Anything that people use energy for today will cost less—and that includes pretty much everything. Then come the things cheap energy will make possible. People who could never afford to will start lighting their houses or driving a car. Cheap energy can purify water, and even desalinate it. It can drive the hungry machinery of artificial intelligence. It can make billions of homes and offices more bearable in summers that will, for decades to come, be getting hotter.

But it is the things that nobody has yet thought of that will be most consequential. In its radical abundance, cheaper energy will free the imagination, setting tiny Ferris wheels of the mind spinning with excitement and new possibilities.

This week marks the summer solstice in the northern hemisphere. The Sun rising to its highest point in the sky will in decades to come shine down on a world where nobody need go without the blessings of electricity and where the access to energy invigorates all those it touches."

-via The Economist, June 20, 2024

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

devotion. l General Marcus Acacius

Summary:  he returned to Rome in glory, he returned to you

Warnings:  smut, angst, unprotected sex (don't do it!), fingering, mention of pregnancy, a few nasty words

A/N: that was a quick shot. i hope you'll be gentle with me. your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

You saw perfectly how his brown eyes widened when he saw you in the crowd of guests in the Emperor's palace. The golden wreath on his curly dark hair, the sun-kissed body dressed in white and gold - he looked like one of the Gods you could worship in a temple. 

And wasn't he one of them? One of those legendary heroes? The one who brought glory to the Roman Empire. One of your Emperor's favorites.

Wasn't he the man you had loved for so long?

When he crossed the threshold of your home late in the evening, you could finally fall into each other's arms. In that moment, he was your Marcus, the man you loved more than life, to whom you had promised loyalty, to whom you had promised eternal devotion and faithfulness.

His warm, plush lips crushed against yours in a kiss full of longing and love that you had to keep so far from each other. Strong arms wrapped around you like vines, but you clung to him with your whole body, yearning for his closeness so much.

"Almost four years..." he sighed as he rested his forehead against yours "I counted every day, my love. And every day was unimaginable torture."

Your hand stroked his bearded cheek "I knew you would return. The Gods promised to give you back to me, and here you are. Safe and sound." Your fingers tenderly stroked the scar on his cheek, slipping into his hair interwoven with silver threads "I can't believe you're finally here."

Marcus' hands tightened around your waist "Tell me you're not just a beautiful dream..."

"I'm here, my love." You whispered, tenderly touching his lips "All yours." He pressed his lips to yours as if he had to make sure that you weren't a dream, laughing, you pulled away from him slightly "Marcus, we need to talk, so much has happened..."

"We have the whole next day, our whole lives for this. Please... Let's not talk tonight. I want to love you, adore you, caress your body." He sounded like a man possessed, hungry for your body "I need to remind myself of every curve of your body. I want to taste you and immerse myself in your sweetness. I beg you, my beloved..."

You couldn't refuse him, you didn't want to. The dream of the warmth and closeness of his body had haunted you almost since he left for that cursed war. You couldn't wait any longer.

The heavy door of your chamber closed, and after a moment you were both taking off your robes. Hands craving a familiar touch, lips searching for each other. Hot lips wandered around your neck when you felt the cool sheet under your fingers. Marcus raised himself on his shoulders, his dark as night eyes roaming your body.

"Give me a moment..." he said as you tried to pull him closer to you. "You're more beautiful than I remember you."

You laughed quietly, a little embarrassed by his confession. "I'm definitely older."

"As am I. But to me you'll always be equal to the goddesses."

"Don't say that, Marcus. Don't incur the wrath of the Gods, they can be jealous."

A mocking smile appeared on his face. "I'm not afraid! The earth could open up beneath me and swallow me alive, but I won't stop repeating it. You are a goddess, my love. I dedicate my life to serving you. Only you."

"Then do it. Use your body and all your strength to do it."

You didn't have to repeat it twice. Your lips connected again in a strong and deep kiss. His tongue invaded between your lips, extracting from you those sweet moans that returned to him during sleepless nights. 

His hard cock rested on your thigh, and you felt excitement and fear, it had been so long since you felt him inside but  you wanted him so much.

Marcus' lips slid down to your sternum, then your breast. He kissed it and bit it lightly, despite the time he still remembered everything that made your body tremble. When the nipple disappeared in his mouth you felt your walls tighten slightly, giving you a signal that you couldn't wait any longer. But it was Marcus who dominated you, doing whatever he wanted with your body.

When his long fingers moved over your slippery folds you moaned shamelessly.

"So thirsty..." he whispered, his lips brushing your belly "Let me prepare you first, love. Let me..." two fingers slid inside you with incredible ease, all the way to his knuckles "I've got you."

Your body arched like a string, the stretch felt so good. Marcus pulled his fingers out and after a moment he pushed them back in, watching your reaction with great pleasure.

"If you could see it." he kissed the inside of your thigh tenderly "So hungry, so greedy."

"Harder..." you moaned, grabbing his wrist and trying to take control, but he wouldn't let you.

He grabbed yours with his other hand, quickly brushed it with his lips, and then his fingers started moving faster and harder. You heard that lewd sound that showed how wet you were and how your body reacted to his caresses.

"Give me everything. Cum on my fingers, love." Marcus panted, feeling his hard cock throb at the sight of your body. "Don't torture yourself like that, love. Cum."

And you did. Your thighs clenched as a shiver of pleasure ran through your body, and a sweet moan escaped your throat. You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling your head buzzing, but suddenly Marcus took control again. 

His strong arms spread your thighs, and his hard cock slid inside you without warning. You lost your breath. Your eyes rolled back under your eyelids, and when his strong body pinned you to the bed, you knew there was no escape.

"Fuck..." he moaned loudly, dazed by the feeling. "You're so tight, so warm..."

"Marcus... I feel like you're going to tear me apart..." you moaned, taking his face in your hands and kissing him. "Gods!"

"Don't summon them, love." he mumbled quietly, brushing your lips "They'll be jealous of us."

His hand grabbed your leg under the knee and he lifted it slightly, thrusting into you even deeper. You didn't know how on earth it was possible, but his cock seemed to dig into you even more with each thrust. 

His body, his strength intoxicated you. Your beloved transformed under your fingers into a barbarian who came to your bed just to fuck you and use your body as he wished.

You felt another orgasm building inside you and you wanted to tell him that, but in an instant Marcus lifted himself up. Without leaving you he pulled you with him and sat on his heels, you fell onto his thighs, impaling yourself on him even more.

Your arms wrapped around his neck tighter, fingers entangled in his hair as he lifted your body and used it as he wanted to, to get what he came for.

"I'm so close, so close." he breathed into your ear. "I want to feel you again, give it to me. Give it to me!"

As if on command, your body gave in. Your walls trembled and squeezed around his manhood, you clung to him tighter as he now pressed you hard and violently against his cock. But Marcus was close too and soon you felt his body tense up and he poured into you, filling you up with his warm seed.

You were both panting, your bodies still sweaty and hot. His heartbeat mixed with yours and no matter how many breaths you took, it still wasn't enough.

"You're definitely not a dream." he murmured, kissing your shoulder gently.

"How can you be so sure?" you giggled, looking fondly at his blissful face.

"The Gods would have to be incredibly cruel if they let me experience immortality with you and then ordered me to return to mortal life." his fingers tenderly stroked your back "You have to be real." 

You kissed him tenderly feeling indescribable love for this man. At the same time, however, a small flame of anxiety rose in your heart thinking about the upcoming day.

He was torn from his sleep by the quiet sound of the door closing, and then your footsteps on the stone floor. He lazily rubbed his eyelids and opened them, noticing you pouring yourself a glass of water.

"Why did you get dressed?" His voice was hoarse, and it gave you shivers "I didn't say I was done with you."

You smiled, walking over to the bed and sitting on its edge "You were done with me at least three times last night, General." you noticed, leaning down and kissing his soft lips "You should rest your loins."

"I'll rest after death. Right now, I just want to keep my cock between your thighs, where it belongs." he replied "I've been thinking about it for almost four years and I have no intention of giving you up now."

Marcus noticed the smile disappearing from your face, and your gaze wandered to the window open to the garden. He knew that look. Something was worrying you and occupying your mind.

He sat down on the bed, his hand tenderly stroking your arm. "What's wrong, my dear? Something's on your mind."

"Marcus... So much has happened since you left." You said quietly. "I don't even know where to start... It all scares me so much."

"What do you mean?" he asked. "Tell me, because I can see how much you're struggling."

He saw you nervously squeezing your fingers, and your eyes avoiding his gaze. Finally, you stood up and took a few steps. Marcus watched you carefully as he put on his robe, a strange fear growing in his heart. 

What if this was all just a dream? What if you tell him to wake up now?

You were already opening your mouth to say something when a commotion in the hallway and quick footsteps tore your attention away. The door opened wide and a small boy rushed into the room.

"Mommy!" he called, running up to you and wrapping his small arms around your legs. 

Right behind him, a woman in a servant's robe ran in, apologizing from the entrance. "My lady, he wanted to see you so much. I told him you had a guest, but he..."

"Nothing happened, Tullia." You replied, smiling faintly, clearly embarrassed. "Please, take him to the garden." You ran your fingers through the boy's dark, curly hair. "I'll see you in a moment, okay, little bug?"

The boy smiled and grabbed the servant's hand, gave Marcus a quick glance with his brown eyes, and left the room, leaving you in complete silence.

You could clearly feel the tension that had grown between you. You wrapped your arms around yourself, as if you wanted to hide, and looked up at Marcus. Surprise was written on his face. His dark eyebrows furrowed, and his jaw clenched. He stared at the door, and only your voice made him look at you.

"I didn't know how to tell you this..." you whispered "I've been planning this in my head for almost four years, and now I'm standing in front of you and I'm speechless."

"You're a mother." His voice was low, you nodded "All this time I thought you were waiting for me, and you..."

"Marcus, let me explain, please." You wanted to approach him, but he just raised his hand, and you froze.

He swallowed, and his dark eyes were fixed on you like daggers ready to attack "Before I left we promised each other... You promised me that you would wait for me. That you would be faithful to me."

"And I was." You groaned.

"Don't lie to me!" he roared, and you stepped back, scared "For four years I lived only thanks to the thought that you were waiting for me, that you loved me despite everything. And now? You promised me!"

"Let me explain, Marcus." Your eyes stung from the tears that were seeping into your eyelids. "You don't understand..."

He was like a beast locked in a cage. His eyes darkened and his hands clenched into fists. It was the first time he looked at you with such contempt and disappointment, and your heart was breaking with every passing second.

"I thought you were devoted to me. That you committed to waiting for me, if I knew you were just a whore..."

These words were the last straw that broke the camel's back. You suddenly straightened up and raised your head, looking at Marcus defiantly.

"Don't talk to me about commitment, devotion and loyalty when that's what I've been doing for four years." you said sharply, you saw that he opened his mouth, but this time you didn't let him get a word in. "I was pregnant when you left Rome with the army. For many months I hid it from my surroundings, but I still heard the whispers and gossip. I carried him under my heart, gave birth to him and I raised him alone, despite everything. Despite the lack of guarantee that you'll come back. So you have no right to talk to me about commitment and loyalty, or judge me without knowing everything! Julius is your son. You can either accept it or leave." 

Marcus looked as if you had stabbed him at that moment. There was silence and only the laughter coming from the garden tore you out of this freeze. The General approached the door leading to the garden. Between the bushes and flowers he saw the silhouettes of a few boys playing, including the one who called you mother.

"I didn't know..." he said quietly, his eyes following the boy carefully.

"How were you supposed to know?"

"Call him."

"Marcus, please..." you whispered, a cold shiver running down your spine.

He looked at you, but you couldn't read anything on his face. "Call him, please. Or I will." He could see, however, that you were unable to utter a word. "Julius! Come here, boy."

The sounds of fun faded away and after a moment you heard the shuffling of sandals as the boy approached you, dragging a wooden sword behind him. He stopped in front of Marcus, but his frightened gaze went straight to you, afraid that he had done something wrong.

Marcus looked at him carefully, towering over the boy. Finally, he spoke.

"Do you know who I am?"

Julius's eyes went to the man's face. He nodded.

"A general. Mom told me." he said quietly. "A soldier. Like my dad."

You saw Marcus give you a quick look, but he couldn't resist asking another question. "Where's your father, boy?"

"At war. Far away." He looked down and shuffled his shoes. "Mom says he's brave."

"And are you brave?"

You covered your mouth with your hand to hold back a sob as Julius shook his head.

"I'm not. Sometimes I'm scared, so then I go to mom."

Marcus crouched down in front of the boy so that their faces were at the same height. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of the resemblance between them.

"Where did you get that sword?" Marcus continued.

Julius visibly perked up. "Mom gave it to me. To make me brave."

"Will you show it to me?"

The boy handed him his wooden sword and Marcus looked at it. "It's a very good sword." Julius' face lit up with a smile.

He accepted the sword back from the General and you had the impression that he stood more straight and proud. Marcus looked at him for a moment longer, then ruffled his hair asking him to go back to playing.

"I didn't know what to tell him when he started asking about his father." You started quietly as Marcus watched the boy who had already run after his friends. "I didn't know if you'd ever come back... I wanted to believe it, but he needed answers. That's all I could give him."

"He is..."

"Perfect." You finished for him. "He's smart, empathetic, sensitive and not at all as cowardly as he says. He's afraid of storms, so he comes to me at night."

Marcus turned around looking at you with tenderness. You noticed tears in his eyes and after a moment they ran down your cheeks.

"I wanted him to be safe." You sobbed. "I thought that when you came back and saw him... Every day I saw you in his eyes."

Warm hands grabbed your face as Marcus put his forehead to yours. You placed your hands on his, trying to calm your breathing.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered "I beg you, forgive me for doubting you. I didn't expect this. The thought that you could marry someone else, give him children..."

"How could I do that? I gave my heart to you, Marcus. For eternity."

Warm lips brushed yours.

"You gave me a son. You're so brave. Too good for me... I don’t deserve you and him." he whispered "I'm sorry I doubted you, my love."

"Please, don't talk about it anymore. Just get to know him, and you'll surely love him too."

"But will he love me?" doubt sounded in his voice "Julius doesn't know his father."

You tenderly stroked his face, wanting to erase all worries from him.

"Julius knows his father is brave, strong, and that he loved me more than anything in his life. He will welcome you with open arms, Marcus. Just give yourself a chance. Give us all a chance." 

He nodded and snuggled up to you with all his might. When he returned to Rome in glory, his greatest dream was to see you again. And you gave him so much more. You gave him more than the Emperor could.

You gave him life.

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[solaireverie]

cl16 | are we out of the woods yet?

summary: [ charles leclerc x f!driver!reader — social media au / fic ] after you get into a rough crash, charles is faced with difficult decisions

request: can i get a female driver reader injury/crash angst with daniel, seb or charles pls love your fics!

warnings: crashes and injuries, general medical stuff, unspecified mentions of death (implied to be jules and hervé), open/unclear ending

author’s note: hihi lovely!! tysm for requesting <3 hope this is enough angst for you ;) also i have no clue how to write injuries soooooo just roll with it

5,891 likes

ynupdates y/n has been taken to the medical center following her crash in the #brazilgp. no further news has been released yet. we're all behind you, y/n! 🤞

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user did anyone see if she was able to get out of the car by herself?

↪ user no, i think she had to be extracted by the medical crew 😬

user i hope she's okay...

Charles' phone is halfway out of his pocket when it starts ringing. Glancing at the screen, he swipes to accept the call when he sees that it's from your mother. He had called her a few minutes ago, when the sight of your crash had first appeared on the screens in the Ferrari paddock, but she hadn’t picked up. Her voice filters through the speakers of his phone, worry tinging her tone. 

“Do you have news yet?” she asks.

“Don’t know,” Charles replies, “I’m on my way to see her now. It… might be good to book a flight — and soon.” He doesn’t want to alarm your mom but it seems inevitable and he knows that you would want her next to you. 

“Okay,” she breathes shakily, “and Charles?”

“Yeah?”

“She better be okay when I get there.”

Charles winces. Of all the people in the world, he knows all too well why you can never make any promises, especially in Formula 1. 

“I’ll do my best,” he says and ends the call.

There’s a marshal waiting for him in the tiny waiting area in the medical center. He’s pacing nervously and immediately strides towards Charles as soon as he sees him. 

“Mr. Leclerc,” he begins, “the doctors wanted to see you before they take any further action. You have medical power of attorney for Ms. L/N in case of emergency, correct?” 

Charles nods numbly. It had been a precaution at the time because you had insisted that out of everyone in the paddock, you trusted him the most. He had accepted it without thinking twice but now the weight of the responsibility settles heavily over his shoulders. He follows the marshal past empty treatment rooms until they reach one with its door thrown open. 

Charles feels his lunch crawling back up his throat as he stares at your figure. You’re laid out on a stretcher and you’d almost look peaceful if not for the numerous medical apparatuses connected to you and the thin trickle of dried blood on your temple. He somehow finds his voice again.

“What happened?” he asks, almost afraid to hear the answer.

A paramedic steps forward. “Ms. L/N took quite a knock in her crash, I’m afraid,” she explains gently. “Something came loose in the cockpit and hit her head. We’re not sure if there’s any further internal injuries, but our professional opinion is that she should be moved as soon as possible to a hospital for further testing.”

Charles swallows around a lump in his throat. “Is there any particular risk with transporting her in this state?” 

The paramedic shakes her head. “No more than the usual, which is relatively low compared to the risk that we run by keeping her here without knowing if there’s anything else wrong.” 

Charles follows your ambulance all the way into the hospital in a haze. He barely registers the press grouped outside the entrance, pushing through them, always keeping you in his sights. He waits outside of the examination room they bring you into and follows as they wheel you around, receiving god knows how many tests. 

After a while members of your team start showing up, although they keep a respectful distance from Charles. He’s glad. He knows, rationally, that you were just unlucky, but the irrational and protective side of him is screaming at him to place the blame at someone’s feet. He knows you wouldn’t appreciate him blowing up at your team, though, so he doesn’t say anything to them and keeps vigil by your side as the doctors poke and prod.

Eventually you’re carefully placed in a hospital bed and Charles is pulled aside by what seems to be the main doctor assigned to you.

“Unfortunately, it seems as if we will have to operate on Ms. L/N,” he says gently. “Someone else will go over the details with you, but long story short she’s bleeding internally and it’s imperative that we get to it as soon as possible. Of course, any operation of this size could potentially be dangerous, but I strongly recommend taking action sooner rather than later.”

Charles shakes his head, the words not yet registering in his scattered mind. “Is she going to be okay?” he mumbles, not meeting the doctor’s eyes.

He can feel the doctor’s pitying gaze on him and Charles doesn’t have it in him to tell him that he’s been here before — not this specific hospital, no, but he’s been on this side of the conversation that they’re having already, and it tears his heart up just as much as the first time. The only difference this time is that he’s the one who has to make the choice, not anyone else.

“We can’t make any guarantees,” the doctor cautions, “but it would significantly raise her chances of survival if we act now.”

Charles winces at the doctor’s words. Survival. Drive to survive, surviving to drive, the irony of the situation isn’t lost on him. He uncurls his fingers gingerly from where he had been unconsciously gripping his pants. 

He wants to avoid the decisions he knows he will have to make in the next twenty-four hours. He wants to pretend that nothing happened, that you’re still on the track, passing everyone in your way. He wants to go back to this morning, when he had kissed you goodbye before jogging off to get ready for the race. He wishes he had taken time to do more than peck you and throw a “love you!” over his shoulder. Charles wants to hide from the cold, stark reality he’s faced with. Your life lies in his hands and Charles is so, so tired of bleak hospital hallways.

He wants to scream at the heavens. He’s suffered and given so much already. Is one shred of happiness too much to ask? Charles had known the risks going in when he started dating you — one Formula 1 driver was usually more than enough jeopardy in a relationship, let alone two — but he’d never really thought that the day would arrive where he would have to make decisions about you, without you. 

Charles stares at your face through the window to your room, tracing the curves and slopes with his eyes. It’s the face he wakes up next to almost every day and he curses himself for not cherishing the time he’s already had with you more. His brain is moving a mile a minute, running through all the possible outcomes. At the end of the day, though, he’s only got one choice.

Charles Leclerc has always been selfish and he’ll be damned if he lets another person he loves slip through his fingers.

“Where do I sign?”

likes and reblogs are appreciated!

masterlist | taglist: @boiohboii @vellicora

[tritoch]

i have seen people be like "if you think what the dawntrail protagonists do in zone six is valid you have to conceded emet's approach/perspective was valid, what you do is basically what he does" and it's like...nah. it's obviously intentionally very similar ("it's like poetry, it rhymes") but there's some key differences:

emet is disgusted by sundered life, which he sees as inhuman, and longs to return to the unrecoverable past. so he does seven(ish) planet-wide genocides. the endless aren't new life, their ability to grow and learn is specifically in question (at the very least they are fundamentally incapable of taking in new sensory experience of certain forms), they're shades from the unrecoverable past, and you are destroying them in favor of those still alive.

also, we aren't disgusted by them nor do we think anything is fundamentally justified if done to them (everyone pretty much no-sells cahciua "we aren't alive so it doesn't matter if you kill us :)," in fact). we don't have like 12,000 years and the most advanced magic known to anyone alive. we are forced by serious exigency to destroy them due to a political impasse with their leadership's policy re: resource extraction. this tonal difference is in fact extremely important.

the endless themselves seem pretty ambivalent about the whole deal. they're bored or they're wary of the way their world keeps shrinking, and it's very explicitly neither a functioning society by any recognizable human terms nor a paradise.

related to the above, basically every named endless turns to the person most relevant to them (cahciua to erenville, krile's parents to her, namikka to wuk lamat, otis to you) and is like, huh, i really appreciate having this moment of grace at the end of my journey to see that it was all worthwhile and to resolve my lasting regrets, but i understand what you're here to do and yeah, it's probably time for us to go. (does the writing put a finger on the scale by doing this? sure, but the writers also designed and built the scales and everything they're weighing on them, so i find it hard to discredit any one aspect for being the writers' invention.)

finally uh no one in the party has kids with the endless or lives a full human lifetime as one of them lol.

it's important to remember that emet was definitely at least somewhat lying about not seeing the sundered as real people. the fact that he has "lived a thousand thousand of your lives . . . broken bread with you, fought with you, grown ill, grown old, sired children and yes, welcomed death’s sweet embrace" makes everything he did soooooo much crazier than what you do. if i managed to convince an endless to fall in love with me and i had a kid with them and i loved that kid so much that their death threw me into a permanent grief spiral then like. yeah i guess i would have to be like "well hats off to emet, folks." but luckily the game doesn't make you do that.

even if you insist everyone in living memory was a full living person that we killed, you're still weighing like a city of people versus 7+ planet-wide mass murders. you do not under any circumstances got to hand it to him.

living memory absolutely is evocative of everything that happens in shadowbringers. but rather than placing us in emet's shoes, it forces us to relive what we already did, to really fully face up to what we have done by promising to remember emet's culture after destroying any chance of its return. after two games going hard on the hope part of the game's central theme of hope arising from grief, now we're doing grief. we are forced to see the past of our memories not as a cold, ghostly art deco cubus-plagued socratic method hellscape but as the most beautiful technicolor theme park where everyone's happy and no one's sad and there's parades every day and your parents are alive and they love you so much. and then the game's conclusion is, yeah, you were still right to let go. in fact, you were and are morally obliged to let go. the living were and are worth more than the dead. our grief in letting go of them may be immense and turns our world to bleak nothingness for a time, and that is important to recognize, but at the end of the day our most pressing duty is to those we can yet save, not those we have lost.

[satoruxx]

SWEET SNACKS.

✧ PAIRING: gojo satoru x reader | 2.3k words

✧ SUMMARY: tooth rotting fluff, meet cute, battles with inanimate objects, reader's got exams bc i have exams, satoru's whipped af (as usual), sorry i love writing him as a simp, reader is also whipped bc this is gojo satoru, bonding over snacks !!

✧ RHEYA'S NOTE: if you saw me tryna post this yesterday no you didn’t. this was supposed to be a quick drabble oops. but it's finals week so i'm offering this piece of fluff to maintain sanity and gush over the meet cute i will never have. if y’all are also dealing with finals, i'm wishing you the best !!

satoru strolls down the bustling streets with a quiet hum, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets to keep them away from the bite of the cold breeze. his boots crunch against the thin layer of melting ice that has formed overnight, now warming under the cold afternoon sun that coyly hides behind gray clouds.

honestly, he wasn't the biggest fan of weather like this, and he wouldn't have stepped out on any other day. but one meeting with the higher ups had his mood souring, and shoko had suggested he take a walk, maybe grab something to eat.

he knew better than to argue with her, especially since she could somehow read him better than most people could—scary.

so here he was, trudging down the streets of tokyo with his hat pulled over his ears, cheeks pink from the frosty air as it dances across his skin. despite the weather, satoru thinks there's something oddly peaceful about the city, the quiet chatter and sounds of boots scuffing against pavement as he turns a corner to head to the nearby vending machines he's frequented so many times.

the peace is broken by an annoyed grunt, and satoru looks up.

"are you serious?" another irritated groan. "of all the days…"

he takes in the scene with interest.

even with all the anger that he's not quite understanding, he thinks you're so undeniably pretty—puffy jacket hugging your body and the warm scarf resting around your neck. your brows are furrowed, exasperation tugging your features into expressions that shouldn't look so endearing.

you groan again, slamming your curled fist against the glass of the vending machine—frustration ticks at your brow.

and why wouldn't it?

nothing was going your way today. it had already started off badly, the atmosphere filled with gloom that made it impossible to want to leave bed. but you had to force yourself to miserably extract your body from the warm cocoon of blankets and pillows that urged you back with a siren's call—a promise of comfort that looked all too enticing.

and then, when you finally did manage to drag yourself to the library to sit down and study, nothing was sticking. you read through paragraphs over and over until your head was spinning, dizzy with information that wouldn't absorb, and that fact is nothing if not disheartening. the impending quickness with which your final exams were approaching made you feel even sicker, so you decided to take a twenty minute break to grab a drink from the nearby vending machines.

but of course, even that couldn't just work out.

satoru watches you stand in front of the machine with a glare, before you're shoving your weight against it, huffing as it remains in place and hoping that at least one of your efforts will prove to be fruitful. he's talking before he can help himself.

"hey, you need some help?"

you turn to face the owner of the voice, finding cerulean eyes behind black shades that so directly contrast the white of his snowy hair. he's tall—abnormally so as he peers down at you with curiosity and a bit of mirth.

you think you've never seen a man so handsome in your life.

then you remember he's asked you a question, and you attempt to swallow down the unnecessary nerves that have taken root in the pit of your stomach. "oh, my uh…my drink got stuck," you reply somewhat lamely, cheeks heating up under his gaze as you think about how utterly ridiculous you must've looked to passersby.

satoru's eyes travel from your face to the machine, noticing the way your drink of choice is stuck in a frozen free fall against the glass and the rack. he sighs in exasperation. "tried hitting it?" he asks, walking closer to stand next to you and take a closer look, even though he knows the answer already.

you're not sure what it is, but this man exudes a certain energy—confidence that leaks through his very skin. it makes you feel like you have no right to be standing this close to him, but all he does is smile at you patiently, waiting for an answer.

so you nod, brows ticking again as the dull throbbing in your fist reminds you of how you had lost the battle with the greedy machine. "yeah, i've been hitting it for the last ten minutes. didn't budge," you sigh, checking your phone to see that there are only a little over five minutes remaining for your quick break. "what a waste of time and money."

satoru watches you shrug helplessly, smiling up at him. "oh well—"

he takes two long strides until he stands right in front of the machine, grips the edges, and shakes it hard.

satoru can feel you gape at him, at the unfiltered display of strength, and the unbothered expression on his face that tells you it didn't faze him. you hadn't been able to move the machine even an inch.

his powerful movements earn you a tell tale thunk, and your heart leaps in excitement as he bends down to push his hand through the slot and pull out your drink. he returns to his full height, an easy smile on his face as he turns around and hands it to you.

"thank you." your voice comes out breathless, a weird kind of excitement thrumming through your veins because it feels like you aren't supposed to know this man.

satoru's smile stretches further when your fingers graze his, taking the drink and popping it open eagerly. he watches you take a sip, oddly pleased with himself at the sheer joy on your face. he doesn't quite understand why this drink looks like it's made your day, but he doesn't ask because you look so sweet drinking it.

"how did you do that anyway?" you ask after you drink a little, curiosity so obvious in your tone. "i tried so hard to move it and it didn't budge at all."

satoru smothers a smile, fighting back the urge to say something stupid. instead he grins, cheeks warming a little under your eager stare. "guess i'm just strong."

you make a face, raising a brow with a playfully disbelieving expression as you cross your arms—to which satoru just laughs. "what's your name?" he asks.

you purse your lips, hiding a smile as you tuck your nose behind your scarf. you give him your name, almost shyly, and satoru tests it on his tongue. he decides he likes the flow, cocking his head as he replies with his own.

"satoru."

for once, the pressure of his last name doesn't permeate the air, and he's all too grateful for it. he turns around to approach the machine again, and he can feel your somewhat confused gaze on his back.

you watch as he stands there for a good minute, his back to you as he ponders the choices in the vending machine like they'll lead to life or death. then he shoves in a bill and clicks a few buttons, and within a couple of seconds, you hear the thud of two things falling.

he remains facing away from you for a few more seconds and then turns around, and you see that he's bought a chocolate bar and the same drink that you have in your hands. you raise a brow.

"well you did almost just lose your life trying to fight a vending machine for it," he says, shrugging his shoulder nonchalantly. "figured it'd be good to try."

you sputter over your words, embarrassment crawling up your neck, but satoru laughs good-naturedly. his eyes shine with mirth as his shoulders relax. "i'm kidding." he stresses, smiling into the collar of his jacket. "but it does look good so…"

he opens the drink and takes a sip, eyes squeezing shut dramatically as he hums at the sweet flavors washing over his tongue. you suddenly feel like getting revenge for his unfiltered teasing.

"well?" you hum cheekily, taking a sip of your own and raising a playful brow. "taste good?"

satoru laughs—a full, pristine sound that makes him throw his head back. "yeah," he agrees easily, feeling oddly fond of the way your voice curls around your words. "it's sweet, i like it. you've got great taste."

somehow the words of this man you've met not five minutes ago cause the muscles of your heart to trip over themselves. you watch him peel open the candy bar, a brand that's unfamiliar to you.

"what'd you get?" you ask, unsure of where the confidence to speak up is coming from. a man like satoru—so unflinchingly ethereal—would normally have your lips zipping and throat muted.

he holds up the bar with a grin. "my favorite."

there's a pause, followed by your sheepish smile, and satoru gapes at you, cerulean widening so clearly behind a backdrop of white. he takes in your innocently confused expression and his ribcage shakes with thuds. "what, you've never tried it?!"

before you can even shake your head no, he's breaking off a piece and handing it to you.

"no, oh my goodness, it's yours—"

"take it." he pushes his hand closer to you, eyes staring imploringly, and you sigh, reaching up to take the piece from between his fingers. a graze of skin—he's warm.

"thank you." you slip the piece past your lips, not at all surprised by its sweetness and yet a little taken aback by its underlying comfort—a rush of warmth.

"good." you're nodding, smiling between chews as satoru's stomach flips. "really good."

he chuckles, all too triumphant for something so menial. "told ya."

you laugh, a quiet subdued sound that satoru wishes he could hear more of. "thanks for getting my drink out," you say. "i really needed it today."

"oh yeah?" he finds himself asking. "how come?"

you sigh, smile dropping as a bit of fatigue makes itself comfortable on your face. "ah well, i've got final exams this week. i've been studying like crazy. nothing's really sticking, and the closer i get to the exams, the more annoyed and stressed i get."

satoru hums, not envying you for a minute.

"so it kinda felt like a kick in the butt from the universe when the drink decided to not just…"

he laughs again, taking another piece of chocolate and chewing on it soundlessly. "i gotcha."

you grin, curling your fingers around each other to diffuse some warmth back into them. "yeah."

there's a silence that follows—not uncomfortable, not unwelcome. you take quiet sips of your drink, and satoru breaks off little pieces of the chocolate bar to chew on. his eyes linger on you, watching the way your lips curl around the bottle, the way your fingers rub against each other, the way the cold has settled into your nose and cheeks and made a home amongst your skin.

when you look up at him, he looks away, throat oddly parched. his fingers flex.

"here, the rest is for you," he says, pushing the half finished candy bar into your hands.

you shake your head immediately. "no way! you paid for it! besides isn't this your favorite snack?"

satoru shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets with a grin that looks too happy. "you liked it, didn't you?"

you nod, slowly, like you're confused at what he's getting at. "well then, enjoy the rest of it. i buy them all the time—i don't mind sharing this one."

you can't help the soft smile that graces your lips, looking up at him with an odd sense of gratitude and surprise—touched that someone could be so casually kind.

"then thank you," you laugh quietly, eyes fluttering against the gust of cool wind that tickles your skin. "i'll enjoy it."

satoru grins, uncharacteristically pleased—he won't ever admit it, but he's glad shoko told him to take a walk. he'll have to thank her when he gets back.

he clears his throat, offering you a small wave as he turns on his heel to head back to the school. "well then, see you around. good luck with your studies, yeah?"

you smile with a gentle nod, oddly rejuvenated after seeing bright blue eyes and snowy hair. "thank you."

and then he's disappeared into the crowds. you laugh to yourself quietly, looking down at your drink and the half-eaten candy bar nestled between your fingers. a part of you feels strangely forlorn, wishing that you had the guts or confidence to talk to him a little longer—ask a little more.

but you've never been good at that, so even just this small happiness you'll take in stride. you grin to yourself, shoving the drink into your bag and slinging it over your shoulders.

you begin walking back to the library, fingers breaking off pieces of the chocolate and savoring the sweetness on your tongue. somehow you didn't expect a man with such an imposing presence to enjoy simple sweet things like this, but that just makes you all the more fond of him.

by the time you've reached the entrance of the library, you're shoving the last piece of chocolate into your mouth, sighing as the doors of reality swing open once more. the meager slice of giddiness that enveloped your very being dissolves, and all the reminders of what's left to do come back to suffocate you.

you bite back a groan, about to throw the empty wrapper in the trash when something catches your eye. you double-take, peering down at it with wide eyes and rapidly heating skin. there are a set of numbers scrawled there, along with a haphazardly written message:

in case you need someone to fight another vending machine for you -satoru <3

[sitepathos]

I've been thinking about a what if for gold and mold

It's pretty simple

Let's say one of the Batfam was chasing killer croc and they come across reader and they managed to save his life

So reader begins to get clingy with them, but not in a sweet "were family again" no, reader is very traumatized and uses them to remind himself he is still alive.

So he's not hugging them, he's clasping their forearm with enough strength to leave a mark, because he wants to make sure he can still move his hands.

And he talks to them, but not about their day or something like that

Reader is asking then simple trivia/math equation, to make sure that he can still have a conversation,

So while the rest of the family is jealous of the time they spend with reader, the member in either is horrified or tries to take advantage of the situation (depending on which member the scenario is for, I decided to keep it in n general)

What do you think? Is it interesting?

A very interesting idea! Hope you don’t mind if I add onto it a little! In this scenario, you were still shot, but were rendered in a brain damaged state and the Batfamily picks up the pieces. And because you weren’t thrown into the cavern by the thugs, you don’t meet the Megamycete. (Note: this will provide insight into the Bats for future chapters. Read at your own risk.)

The Bats had been looking for the Joker, but instead found Killer Croc and gave chase, following him to Gotham Woods.

He forced his way into an old cabin and as they approached it, heard a gunshot, forcing them to surround it and enter from all directions.

They didn’t know what they expecting, but seeing you, lying on the floor with blood pooling around you and surrounded by three thugs and Killer Croc.

The sight of you, his baby boy, spread out on the dirty floor of this disgusting cabin, dying, fills him with a rage, one that burns brighter than his rage for Joe Chill.

In a flash, he takes all three thugs down, leaving Croc for the rest of his children while he carries you out of the cabin and rushes you to the Batcave, already telling Leslie Tompkins to be there with her med kit.

When the others return to the Cave, they see him looking over the doctor’ shoulder as works diligently to bring you back from the brink of death.

As she works, Bruce calls Alfred and inform of what happened, causing the butler to tear into him from the other side of the world.

When Alfred yells at him for not being a good father and ignoring you for years, guilt lands on all of them like a sumo wrestler.

When they look at one another, asking when was the last time any of them talked to you, they realize that they knew less than nothing about a brother that’s been living with them for years.

They sit around the cave in silence for hours, drowning in their collective guilt and promising that if you make it through this, things would be different

They’d give all the love and attention you could handle and more, including you in their post-patrol meals, taking you out on the town, and spoiling you rotten.

They’re only brought out of this state when the doctor exits the surgical suite and tells them that she managed to stabilize you and extract the bullet from your brain, which made the relax.

But when she said that you were brain damaged, stuck inside your mind, only able to speak phrases from your memories, they all felt the world around them collapse.

They made plans to make up for their years of neglect and beg for your forgiveness, and now, they can never atone for their sins.

Dr. Tompkins provides a few places they can admit you to, ensuring you’d be given the utmost care, but Bruce declines it immediately.

“He’s a part of our family and we’ll care for him,” he vows.

He has you moved to a bedroom on their side of the manor, an empty one next to his, to be precise, moving all your belongings and buying anything he thinks you’d like in hopes that some part of you would feel at home.

They all move back to the manor to care for you and abide by a schedule that took them hours to decide on.

Alfred is the first one to enter your room everyday, placing your breakfast in your feeding tube and helping you use the bathroom and change your clothes.

He insists on doing this, no matter how much the others beg to take his place, because he feels ashamed that he failed in his responsibility to you.

He knew that the family didn’t pay you the attention you deserved and thanks to his lapse in judgement, you’re reduced to a shell of your former self.

He’s resigned to doing this for the rest of his life, hoping to make amends.

Bruce always comes just after he finishes, sitting next to your bed, talking to you about anything he can think of, hoping that somehow, it would get you out of this state.

It doesn’t, of course, but he always listens when you mutter about whatever your mind allows you to say.

He notices that you tend to talk to him about your Momma more than the others and he feels like even more of a failure.

Truth be told, he didn’t remember your Momma, at least not until he looked her up.

She was an up and coming writer he had met at some fancy party, they both had a little too much to drink and that’s how you came to be.

When he looks back at how he treated you when you first came to live with him, he wants to go back in time and beat the living shit out of himself.

You lost your Momma, were forced to leave your home, and all you wanted was your father to make you feel like you weren’t alone.

He wasn’t man enough to do the bare minimum.

He lets his tears fall while he wipes yours as you say, “Momma’s in heaven?”

“Yeah she is, baby,” he whispers. “But don’t worry, Daddy’s here.”

Dick pulls out all he stops for his big brother act.

He comes in, taking over for Bruce or standing in when he has to leave.

“Hey, baby bird,” he exclaims every time he enters. “How’s my favorite little brother doing today?”

He always uses his time stretching your limbs to prevent atrophy and shows off his acrobatic skills, hoping it would impress you.

By the time he’s done, Alfred delivers your lunch, which he places in your feeding tube.

He wishes you were able to chew solid food because he totally would spoon feed you.

Jason comes in and out of all of them, he feels the most guilt about how he treated you.

He’s harped on Bruce for forgetting all about him for years, not knowing that he’s done the same to you.

And the memory of him giving you that black eye makes him want to tear himself apart as penance.

“You really drew the short straw when they were giving out families, huh, kid,” he jokes.

He spends most of his time reading his favorite books to you and telling you trivia about them and their authors.

He spends the remaining time crying, his head pressed against your body, begging for your forgiveness.

He totally kills those three thugs when Bruce isn’t look, hoping that act of revenge makes up for his behavior is some way.

Tim comes in after him, pretending not to notice the tear stains on Jason’s face or how red his eyes look.

He goes back to how you two first met, thinking about how he could’ve done things differently. How he should’ve said something.

He knows what it’s like to be ignored by your family, god knows he wasn’t his parents’ favorite child and they only had him.

He uses his time to play your video games, either on the giant tv in front of your bed or siting next to you on the bed, the brand new laptop he bought for you between the two of you.

He 100% your games, getting every achievement possible and even buys new games he thinks you’d enjoy.

He listens to everything you say, committing it to memory and answering back no matter what it is.

“Fear the Old Blood.”

“Bloodborne,” he answers. “That’s a tough one. But you seem like a guy that appreciates a challenge.”

When he discovers the beginnings of your game and the book you wrote all your ideas for it, he devotes all his free time to bringing it to reality, personally developing it and following your book to the letter and when it’s released, everyone knows it was made in your honor.

Steph comes in with Cass since neither of them have the courage to come in alone, ashamed of how they treated you.

Steph spends the entire time talking, filling the room with talk to drown out the awkward silence.

She goes on about anything and everything, from her visit to the coffee shop to her nightly escapades.

“I swear, Kite Man is obsessed with me! I think he wants to be my nemesis and I keep telling him it’s not gonna happen!”

Cass just sits there, not even able to look at you due to the weight of her guilt.

Bruce had taught her how to live in a family and she couldn’t show you the love she shows the others.

Damian is after them, followed closely by Titus and Alfred the Cat.

“Good evening, brother,” he says, hoping for a response, but knowing you’ll never be able to answer back again.

During his time with the League of Assassins, he was taught that one can never redeem themselves after failure and so it must be avoided at all costs.

He thought himself above the rest of his siblings, worth of being the heir to both the Demon and Bat. That he was the very definition of perfect

Seeing your frail body, lying there, doomed to live out the rest of your days stuck inside your own mind?

He knows he’s imperfect in every possible way.

When you first met, he was threatened by you as he was led to believe he was Father’s only blood son, the one who would inherit everything both Bruce Wayne and the Batman possessed.

He knew you weren’t a threat, his trained eye telling him you couldn’t defend yourself against Drake, let alone a real threat, but he just had to go and attack you what his sword to assert his dominance and place in the family’s hierarchy.

He could’ve just ignored you like the others, but no, he had to go and actively make your life more difficult, insulting you at every chance and sending his animals to attack you.

And when Pennyworth told him the pen he stole from you was your late Mother’s?

For the first time in years, he actually sheds a tear.

He spends his time either in your room, his loyal pets on either side of you while he draws you in his sketchbook or paints a complete portrait of you to be mounted in the living room.

Sometimes, he paints scenes of you two together, some of them have you standing next to each other while others have you playing some game.

He wishes you two could do this, but for now, these portraits will do.

Other times, he places you in a wheelchair and pushes you through the gardens (he fought tooth and nail for that privilege), telling you tidbits about the birds you see or the flowers you pass by.

Everyday, he wishes that you’d come out of this vegetative state so you two could walk together, but until that day comes, he’ll take up this responsibility without complaint.

By the time his time’s done, Alfred serves you your dinner and that’s when they leave to patrol Gotham, each of them hugging and kissing you.

And when they get back, Bruce carries you down to the dining room so you can be a part of their feast and watch movies with them.

They failed you before, but they won’t do it again. All of them will repeat this, day after day. Year after year.

They just wish you could talk back so they can make their apologies properly.

[somber-sapphic]

Hi! I have a request for a WandaNat x Reader fic. The reader is on a mission with Tony and Steve that quickly goes south. Additionally, the reader comes down with the flu. Steve and Tony have been arguing over how best to care for the reader. Wanda and Nat are sent for extraction to pick up the three of them, but they are unaware that the reader is sick. When they finally arrive, they rush back to the compound to get the reader into the Med Bay and ultimately nurse them back to health.

In Good Hands

〖Summary: Natasha and Wanda comfort you while you're stuck in the MedBay〗

〖Word Count: 900〗

〖Pairing: WandaNat x Sick R〗

〖Notes: This isn't super focused on Tony and Steve (I don't write men) but I hope you like it!〗

☾Masterlists���

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You coughed and turned your head, the crinkling of the MedBay pillow case ringing throughout the all too quiet room. Natasha had gone to change into something more comfortable and Wanda was chewing out Tony and Steve in the hallway. 

You could see her standing there, one hand on her hip and the other waving in the air, tendrils of magic trailing her fingers. The look on their faces was enough for you to know that she was digging into them, you didn’t need to hear her words to assume how angry she was. 

Another cough sprung from your lips, this one harsher than the last. You were pretty out of it from whatever drugs they had given you, something for the pain something else for the fever, and whatever they put in the tea they made you drink. It was presumably some sort of flu medicine, you couldn’t think of what else it might be, but it wasn’t a big deal to you. Not much was a big deal now that you were safe. 

The mission had been rough. It wasn't supposed to be. Part of it was your fault but most of it was the guy's macho attitudes. You’d tried to convince them that confrontation was a stupid idea, you were there to collect intel not to start a fight, but they hadn’t listened. Even worse was while they weren’t listening to you they were also arguing with each other about the best approach. 

A big part of why you didn’t want to engage came from how you were feeling. You’d picked up a bug in New York, something you thought would pass in time, but it didn't. Of course, it didn’t. You had tried to shake it, getting extra sleep, drinking a ton of orange juice, and you’d even broken down and taken cold medicine.

The medicine had worked well enough and since it was supposed to be an easy mission you had decided to go after promising Natasha and Wanda that you would be safe. They still had been reluctant to let you go but they also knew that there was nothing they could do to change your mind. 

“Idiots, both of them,” Wanda growled stomping into the room. Her eyes were flickering red in frustration. Her anger visibly dissipated when she returned to your side and rested a hand on your shoulder, shaking her head slightly. Your wrist was in a plaster cast and you had a bandage on your leg to cover the graze of a bullet. Considering how bad it had gotten you were lucky to have only come out with that much. 

“Mhm. Men are stupid.” You agreed, tilting your head to rest on her hand. She laughed quietly and kissed your forehead, holding you close for a few seconds. Every time you went on a mission you missed your girlfriends so much, it was nice to be near them even if it meant you were stuck in the MedBay. 

“When’s Nat comin’ back?” You asked, pulling back to look into her now brown eyes. The door creaked open and you glanced over, smiling when you saw the other woman walk into the room. 

“Somebody talking about me?” She came to your other side and gave you a big hug, being careful not to jostle you. She’d seen the bruises when you came in and it had broken her heart. There were so many times that she wished you and Wanda weren’t Avengers, she wanted so badly to keep you both safe but it seemed that would never be possible. 

“I talked to Fury, he says you’re off duty until that arm is healed. Probably going to be six weeks. On the bright side though we can take you back to our room as soon as this IV is done.” She had taken the words right out of your mouth, sometimes it was like she was the mind-reading witch and not Wanda. 

The assassin climbed into the small hospital bed, laying on her side so that you had enough room but she could still hold you. It wasn’t abnormal for Natasha to show extra physical affection after the three of you had been apart for a long time, she was better at showing how she felt rather than telling. Emotions were not her strong suit. 

“How are you feeling love?” Wanda asked, taking a seat in the uncomfortable plastic chair that could be found in every hospital room. You reached out for her hand, wanting to be touching both of them. Natasha had her arm wrapped around your waist and nestled her head into your shoulder. 

“M’okay. Sleepy, stuffy.” You sniffled to prove your point further and blinked slowly at Wanda, trying to stay awake. She was pretty. Your girlfriends were so pretty. Natasha was warm, you wished you were in your real bed instead of the hard hospital bed but it was better with them. 

“Yeah, that doesn't surprise me. Close your eyes, we’ll be here when you wake up.” Nat murmured, kissing behind your ear. You nodded and sneezed into your blanket, grumbling slightly. The pain meds were helping but the sudden jerk of the sneeze had hurt. 

“I’m not going on any missions with them ever again.” 

“Agreed.” They said in unison, making you smile. You snuggled into bed, careful not to bump your IV and shut your eyes. You fell asleep to the sound of a heartbeat monitor and your girlfriends talking quietly to each other. You caught a few words before slipping into unconsciousness, most of them about keeping you safe. 

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[pimosworld]

Pairing-Joel Miller x f!reader 

Summary- Joel’s a grump when it’s hot and also when he gets jealous. 

CW- 18+, No outbreak au, established relationship, mostly fluff, grumpy Joel, reader is not described, possessive Joel, family dynamics, illusions to smut, joel is down bad for reader. 

  WC-1.9k

 A/N- I can’t wait for summer so I wrote this little snippet into the life of the Joel I think about often. May do a spicy part two if the mood strikes me. 

[Main Masterlist][Joel Miller Masterlist]

Not beta read

Dog Days

He told you he’d behave. Begrudgingly and with promise that you’d make it up to him. That’s the only thought he clings to as he sits in this lawn chair that’s too small for him. The only seat away from everyone else so he doesn’t have to do the small talk thing. He can still see you though. Sun kissed and smiling at something Maria is saying. 

  He still doesn’t know how you do it, how you make it look so effortless even on the hottest day of the year. His shirt clings to him and he’s sweating in places he wouldn’t speak of out loud and you just stand there all heaven sent like it’s a different temperature in your world. 

  Your world bled into his before he knew what hit him. He started to enjoy sunsets and stopped to smell the flowers, because that’s what you liked to do and he quickly learned that anything that made you happy made him feel like the most fortunate man in the world. He’s fortunate to have you every morning, waking up curled into his side as you steal sleepy kisses along his chest and his arms. He pretends to be asleep for as long as he can until he’s so worked up he has to make you come at least twice before you extract yourselves from the bed. 

  That’s where he wants to be right now as he stares at some prehistoric bug that’s landed in his warm beer, flailing and hoping someone can put him out of his misery much like he hopes after being dragged to this godforsaken barbecue. Despite it being his own brother he would have gladly come up with any excuse not to be here. He loves his family but sometimes he couldn’t stand Tommy. 

  ‘Who has a party on the hottest day of the year?’ You laughed earlier as he grumbled about in the kitchen helping you pack away the things you prepared in the cooler. 

  ‘He can’t control the weather Joel. You know he’s excited about the new house.”You with your rational thought and kind heart. 

  ‘Who’s side are you on Darlin?’ He caged you in against the counter as he ran his hands up your thighs. You shiver under his touch and he knows it wouldn’t take much to convince you to stay home. 

  Your hands meet his as you pull them up higher, bunching your dress a little to reveal those cheeky shorts he couldn’t get enough of. You wrap his hands around your waist as you run yours up his arms and around his neck. His chocolate brown eyes are glazed over as you slowly put him under some trance. Your lips kiss that spot in his beard as your nails scratch at his scalp and he has to brace himself against the counter to keep himself grounded. ‘I’m always on your side Miller.’ 

  “What’s up with you brother?” Tommy slaps his back bringing him back to this fresh hell. A man can’t even day dream in peace. 

  “It’s hot.” He grumbles and goes to take a sip of his beer before he remembers and chucks it out on the grass. 

  Tommy licks his lips as a smirk pulls across his face, no doubt thinking of something to say that will have Joel flying off the handle. His niece is running towards them with the same look on her face to save him from his impending death. Wild black curls bouncing in her face to match her parents. 

  Tommy holds his arms out for his daughter but she crashes her small body into Joel as the weight of her hit causes a small creak in the lawn chair. A muffled hi uncle Joel is said into his shirt as Tommy stands there defeated. “You stayin out of trouble?” 

  She just shrugs her shoulders and offers her hand out to him. An ice cold Diet Coke she’s barely able to get her little hands around. A mystery smudge is on her shirt and her pants have seen better days. Tommy wanted a boy but he was pleasantly surprised when her little personality started to take hold and he quickly realized he had his hands full with this one. Her two front teeth are missing and the smile etched across her face is a mischievous one. “Thanks sweetheart.” Joel takes it from her, it’s still cold despite having traversed the lawn and been subjected to the warmth of her hands. He’ll wait a moment to open it, no doubt jostled as she ran over here. 

  “My mommy said you look hotter than h e double hockey sticks.” 

  “Izzy!” Tommy snaps at her and Joel can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. 

  “What…I spelled it. I didn’t say Hell.” She rolls her neck and he swears he can see Maria in that moment. 

  “Isabella.” Tommy’s voice drops an octave in warning as she backs away slowly with her hands raised. 

  She reminds him so much of Tommy when he was younger. It’s only fair that he gets a taste of his own medicine. When Joel met you the decision had already been made that you didn’t want kids and Sarah was almost in college and Joel didn’t want to start over. It was a relief to find someone that could love his child so fiercely despite it not being their own. Izzy came barreling into their lives shortly after Sarah left and you loved that little bundle of joy like it was the last thing on earth. 

  There’s little hints of you in her sprinkled throughout your time together. Her insistence on correcting people and their grammar, the way she defends others although you told her she should try to use her words more after she punched some kid on the playground for bullying a smaller kid. Joel may have had a hand in that one. 

  Joel cracks the can as Tommy drones on about repairs that need to be done to the house. He already knows what his brothers’ getting at and he doesn’t even need to ask…of course he’s going to help him take on whatever project needs to be done to get the house in order for the new baby. He knew Tommy was nervous before Izzy arrived and this brings on a whole new level of responsibility. They were so grateful they’d found a house down the street from you and Joel with just two months to spare before this new bundle arrived. 

  He takes a sip of the bubbly cold drink, the sweetness is slightly off. You swore he wouldn’t be able to tell but of course he can. His doctor told him to cool it on the sodas and he made the mistake of telling you. You care so much…too much. You called his brother and Maria and now they’re watching him like a hawk so he has to sneak the ones with real sugar like a junky getting his fix. 

  In the brief moments he’d been graced by Tommy’s presence he lost sight of you. His eyes scan the large backyard, the kids playing in some dirt mound, some guys from the job site ribbing each other by the grill. You and Maria are by the cooler with some mystery man while you rub her swollen belly. His eyes roam down your body as you bend over to lay a kiss to it and whisper sweet words to your soon to be niece or nephew. 

  You stand and try to adjust the strap on that dress he loves so much. You’re always complaining about how the straps never stay up and he supposes you keep it just for him. He’ll have to remember to burn it when you get home as he grits his teeth and watches the man get an obvious look down the front of your dress. 

  “Who’s that?” Joel juts his chin toward the end of the yard as Tommy squints his eyes. 

  “Don’t.” 

  “I just asked his goddamn name Tommy.” He huffs at his brother and he just shakes his head. The heat was already getting to him before and now it’s at a fever pitch. 

  “His name is James, we just hired him.” Tommy holds his arms out in a mock satisfaction and Joel’s not in the mood for his theatrics. 

  “We? Hired him.” Joel shifts and he hears the chair creak again. He stands up abruptly not wanting to be flat on his ass because of his brother's crappy lawn furniture. 

  “Yes Joel…remember you put me in charge of staffing the site?” 

  Joel just hums under his breath as he crosses his arms over his chest. He’ll have to remember to start vetting the candidates again if this is the type of people Tommy’s got working for them. 

  The man is crossing the lawn towards them with a presidential smile and Joel’s already pissed. He greets Tommy and offers his hand to Joel as he begins to introduce himself. 

  “James is it?” Joel squeezes the man's hand a little too tight as he winces. Tommy retreats not wanting to be a witness to whatever Joel was going to say or do. At this point he knew there was no stopping him. 

  “Mr. Miller, it’s nice to meet you.” He doubts that and he can tell by the look on his face that he’s already sorely regretting walking over here. 

  “You don’t really have an eye for jewelry do ya?” Joel cocks his head waiting for an answer, an easy trap to set for a simpleton like James. There’s no right answer. Not when he’s got his teeth sunk into him. “See I noticed almost immediately that there’s a ring on your finger.” He gestures to the man’s hand and holds up his own. “You didn’t seem to notice my wife’s hand when you were eye fuckin the shit out of her.” 

  “Hi Honey.” Your sweet voice hits his ears as your hand travels up his arm, working your way behind his neck to rub that spot that seems to always make him deflate. 

  James uses this momentary distraction to run away with his tail tucked. 

  “You behavin?” You purr at him as he drops his head down to let you run your fingers through his hair. 

  “Always sugar.” His words slurred a little as he succumbed to your touch. You’re like a sedative the way you seep into his veins and put him in a trance like state. 

  He can’t see your eyebrows raised at him as you scan the backyard for the offending party. “Come on Miller, let’s get you home and cool you off before someone gets fired.” 

  He starts to speak but you shush him with your finger placed gently on his mouth. A quick glance over your shoulder and you lean up kissing him deep. It almost takes him by surprise how you still have this effect on him. No longer concerned with the heat or the stress at work or his brother’s constant annoyance. You can silence all those thoughts with just a taste of your lips. You break away when you hear the whoops coming from Tommy and Joel grumbles under his breath. 

  The strap on your shoulder slides down and you sigh a little as Joel runs his finger underneath, feeling your smooth skin turn to goosebumps. It’s intoxicating the way he knows he has that same effect on you. He’s smirking to himself as he reaches behind you and adjusts the strap, getting a glimpse down the front and the soft swell of your breast. 

  “Looks like you and James have something in common.” You laugh as he scowls at you, the kind of laugh that has tears at the corner of your eyes. 

  “Don’t push it darlin.” 

Comments and and reblogs are much appreciated

[amethystarachnid]

Can you write for me Amnesia trope from Marvel Bingo with Tony/Fem reader? Tony is a little injured after a mission and he loses his memory, when reader is going to see him (wife or girlfriend) he won't recognize her but he'll immediately fall for her all over again 🥺 she thinks it's absolutely cute that he didn't recognize her but soon he'll recover his memory and blush so hard when reader shows him his videos of him all smitten by her hahahaha ❤️ and Tony saying he'll alwyas fall for her 🥺 (some spicy kisse maybe?)

ALWAYS

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL bingo

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.4k

ᯓ★ Summary: Because of an injury Tony temporarily loses his memories of you, his wife, and you're determined to make him gain them back. Do you really need to do so when he has already fallen back in love with you?

ᯓ★ TW(s): memory loss and clingy Tony

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The beeping. It’s the first thing you notice when you step into the hospital room—the insistent, steady beep of the heart monitor that Tony’s hooked up to. It’s steady, strong, and for that, you exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The smell of antiseptic stings your nose, reminding you that, despite Tony's resilience, he's as vulnerable as any of them in situations like these.

The mission had gone wrong in ways you didn’t see coming. Stark Industries had developed tech that a rival group decided they wanted to “borrow”—forcefully. What was supposed to be a simple extraction turned into a messy firefight. But, like always, Tony had pushed you to evacuate, promising he’d be right behind you. Instead, an explosion threw him from his suit, leaving him vulnerable to the final assault. He had barely gotten out before going down hard.

Now, you’re here, nerves raw and trembling as you hover by the doorway, watching him.

Tony is sitting up, but he seems…distant. Disoriented, maybe. His eyes are half-lidded, his lips pressed into a thin line as if he’s trying to make sense of something in the middle distance. It’s unnerving because you’re used to a Tony whose attention burns, even when he’s exhausted, half-buried in his lab, or just waking up. He sees everything.

But not this time. And for some reason, he doesn’t see you.

“Mrs. Stark?”

You turn as the doctor enters, offering you a sympathetic look. It’s a look that’s meant to ease you into news you know you don’t want to hear.

“Is he…awake?”

The doctor nods, gesturing you toward the chair by Tony’s bed. “He’s stable. His vitals are strong. The issue, Mrs. Stark, is that there appears to be some level of memory loss.”

The words clang in your ears, foreign and cold, completely out of place in the world you’ve built with Tony. “What do you mean by ‘memory loss’?”

She sighs, glancing at Tony before she speaks. “Memory loss is complicated. From what I’ve gathered, Mr. Stark has retained his long-term memories and most of his professional knowledge. But, due to the trauma and subsequent disorientation, there’s a block on more recent events…particularly in his personal life.”

Your stomach drops, and you take a deep breath, fighting to keep your voice steady. “He doesn’t remember me, does he?”

“I’m afraid not,” she says softly. “In many cases, memories return with time and familiar cues. Given Mr. Stark’s particular cognitive resilience, I have high hopes for recovery. But until then, he may…struggle with recognition and personal connections.”

You nod slowly, trying to take it all in. In all the battles, the missions, the threats, this is somehow scarier. Because it’s not just his body that’s wounded; it’s your life together that’s fractured.

When the doctor leaves, you take a step forward, but your feet feel leaden, hesitant. And for once, you don’t know what to say. This isn’t just Tony after a rough mission. This is your husband, and he doesn’t know you.

Finally, you muster the courage and approach the bed, offering him a soft, tentative smile. “Hey there, stranger.”

He looks up, his gaze sharp but confused, and something in his eyes flickers with a shade of recognition—a spark that leaves you hoping. But then he blinks, and it’s gone.

“Do I, uh, know you?” His tone is polite, curious, but there’s a guardedness to it, as if he’s unsure if he’s supposed to recognize you. You don’t miss the way his eyes dart over you, taking you in, and a pang of sadness tugs at your heart as you realize he’s assessing you the way he might a stranger.

You laugh softly, forcing down the lump in your throat. “You could say that. I’m…” You hesitate, wondering if it’s too much to say it outright, but the words slip out before you can stop them. “I’m your wife.”

His eyebrows shoot up, and he stares at you, stunned. “My wife?”

“Yes.” You smile, more gently this time, as though that will ease him into the idea. “For almost three years now.”

Tony blinks, and you can see his mind racing, struggling to process this unexpected piece of information. He gives a weak chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Damn. I…you’re telling me I’m married to you?”

His shock is genuine, and for a moment, a bubble of laughter escapes you. It’s that classic Tony Stark reaction—equal parts disbelief and awe, as if he can’t quite believe his good luck.

“Yes,” you say again, and this time, there’s a hint of amusement in your voice. “You managed to convince me somehow.”

He raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a lopsided grin that’s both endearing and achingly familiar. “Wow. I must be one hell of a salesman.”

“Oh, you are.” The laughter fades from your voice as you take a step closer, unable to resist the need to be nearer to him, even if he doesn’t remember you right now. “You’re the best.”

For a moment, he studies you, his gaze flickering with something like curiosity, maybe even admiration. It’s a glimmer of the old Tony, the man who made you feel like the only person in the room, no matter the crowd or chaos. But here, with him looking at you as a stranger might, there’s something raw and beautiful about it, too. He’s falling in love with you all over again, right in front of your eyes.

“Well, I guess I should feel lucky,” he murmurs, a faint smile playing on his lips. “If you’re half as amazing as you look, then…yeah. Lucky guy.”

The words make your heart flutter, and despite everything, you feel a warmth spread through you, easing the tightness in your chest. He’s still Tony, even if he doesn’t know it yet.

“Want to know a little about us?” you ask, hoping that maybe, somehow, it will trigger something—some hidden memory or spark of recognition.

He nods, settling back against the pillow. “Please. Enlighten me. I’m curious how a guy like me managed to marry someone like you.”

“Well,” you start, a smile tugging at your lips as you pull up a chair beside him. “For starters, we didn’t exactly get along at first.”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Did I say something to offend you?”

“You…may have.” You grin, remembering the banter, the stubborn disagreements, the sparks that seemed to ignite every time you were in a room together. “You were cocky, stubborn, a little arrogant.”

He chuckles. “That sounds about right.”

“But somehow,” you continue, your voice softening, “you managed to break down all my walls. You made me feel like I was the only person who mattered, even if you acted like you were just being yourself.”

His gaze lingers on you, and there’s a warmth there, something cautious but undeniably present. “I’m sorry I don’t remember that.”

“Don’t be.” You place a gentle hand over his, feeling the faint warmth of his skin against yours. It’s a familiar gesture, one you’ve done a thousand times before, but this time, it feels different—new, almost shy. “You’ll remember. And until you do, we’ll make new memories. Starting right now.”

He looks down at your hand on his, and you can see the faintest flush of color in his cheeks. For a man who’s usually so sure of himself, so confident in every move he makes, it’s endearing to see him look almost…nervous.

“So, tell me more about this…our life,” he says, his voice soft, like he’s trying to hold onto the pieces he has left.

“Well,” you say, smiling as you think of the little things that make up your life together. “We spend a lot of time in the lab together, actually. Even if you’re always tinkering, working on some new project, you always have time for me.”

“Do I? Sounds like a good husband.” There’s a touch of pride in his voice, and it makes your heart ache a little—because he doesn’t even know the half of it yet.

“A very good husband,” you murmur, meeting his gaze with all the love you feel for him. “The best.”

And there it is—that flicker in his eyes, like he’s starting to see it, to feel it. It’s as if, for just a moment, he knows you, feels that connection.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, his voice rough. “For being here. For…all of this.”

You squeeze his hand gently, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill over. “You’re my husband, Tony. I’d do anything for you.”

And as you sit there, hands entwined, you realize that even if he has to fall in love with you all over again, you’ll be right here, waiting.

The drive back from the hospital is quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Tony stares out the window, taking in the blur of city lights as you weave through the streets toward your shared home. Occasionally, you catch him glancing at you, his expression somewhere between awe and disbelief, as if he’s still wrapping his head around the idea that you’re his wife, that he’s returning to a life he doesn’t remember but that he somehow…wants.

When you finally pull into the long driveway leading up to your home, his eyebrows shoot up. Stark Tower looms ahead, its sleek, modern design stark against the night sky. The iconic "STARK" sign gleams with familiar grandeur. He lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes, too—something like pride.

“So, this is…our place?” he asks, a note of disbelief in his voice.

You can’t help but laugh. “Yeah. Well, your place, technically. But I’ve definitely made it my own.”

Tony chuckles, the sound low and warm, and you’re reminded of all the times he’s teased you about “taking over” his tower with touches of your personality: the cozy reading nook in his office, the garden on the roof you insisted on installing, even the art pieces scattered throughout the building. And despite his teasing, he’d always seemed proud of how much of yourself you’d poured into his space.

“Well,” he says, stepping out of the car, “if you’re half as great at interior design as you are at, uh, marrying billionaires, I think I’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

“Oh, just you wait,” you say with a playful smirk as you lead him inside.

The entryway is a testament to the sleek, modern style Tony’s known for—polished floors, clean lines, an air of sophistication mixed with warmth. But there are little touches here and there that mark it as your home too: framed photos from the missions you’ve tackled together, a throw blanket draped over the couch, even a small shelf of books beside the entrance to the main living area.

Tony follows you, his gaze flitting over each detail with that trademark Stark intensity, taking it all in as if he’s studying a new project. When his eyes land on a photo of the two of you at a beach, he pauses. You remember that day so vividly: you were laughing, caught in a candid moment as he held you close, your hair whipped by the wind.

“Is that…us?” he asks, a softness in his voice that tugs at your heart.

“Yeah,” you say, stepping closer to him. “A couple of years ago. We were on a vacation you forced me to take.”

“I forced you?” he repeats, quirking an eyebrow. “Was I…was I that difficult?”

“Only a little,” you tease, nudging him gently. “You hated the idea of not working for a few days. But we made the best of it.”

His lips curve into a small smile as he stares at the photo a moment longer before turning his gaze back to you. “I look…happy. Really happy.”

“You were,” you say softly. “We both were.”

He swallows, his gaze lingering on you, and for a moment, you can almost feel the weight of all the memories he’s lost. But there’s a warmth in his eyes, a flicker of something that feels like a connection—even if it’s new to him.

You clear your throat and gesture toward the hallway. “Come on. I’ll show you the rest.”

You lead him down the hall, pointing out the various rooms, each one filled with a mix of his tech and your touches: the library with shelves overflowing with both your favorite books, the small lounge you use for watching movies together, and finally, your bedroom.

When you open the door, he stands in the doorway, taking it in. The room is a blend of Tony’s sophisticated taste and your own comfortable style, the soft lighting casting a warm glow over the neatly made bed, the nightstand stacked with a few of Tony’s reading materials, and the little tray of lotions and skincare items you keep on your side.

“This…feels nice,” he murmurs, his gaze sweeping over the room. He takes a step inside, running a hand over the bedspread, almost as if testing its texture. “I don’t know why, but I feel…calm here.”

You smile, moving to stand beside him. “It’s our space. Your favorite spot after a long day, whether you’d admit it or not. You always said it’s the one place that lets you truly relax.”

He chuckles, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Yeah, well, if you say so. I…believe you.”

For a moment, there’s silence, and you can feel the weight of the day settling over both of you. He’s exhausted, and so are you.

“Do you…want to rest?” you ask, realizing he might be overwhelmed with all of this new information.

“Actually, I think I’d like to keep looking around,” he says, a little sheepishly. “I just…don’t want to miss anything. It feels like I’ve lost a huge chunk of my life, and I want to piece it together, however I can.”

You nod, understanding. You feel a pang of sadness but try to hide it. “Well, I’ll be here. We can take it slow. One room at a time.”

Together, you move back down the hallway, stopping in the kitchen next. Tony’s gaze catches on the coffee maker, and he raises his eyebrows with a look of genuine excitement. “Please tell me I still drink coffee.”

You laugh, crossing your arms with a smirk. “Oh, you drink enough coffee to fuel a small army. In fact…” You open a cabinet, revealing an impressive array of coffee beans, grounds, and Tony’s prized espresso machine. “You’re particular about it. You like to experiment.”

He nods, visibly impressed. “I see I have good taste. I’d like to think I’m a genius when it comes to coffee.”

“Among other things,” you reply, grinning as you start to brew a fresh pot, the familiar hum of the machine filling the room.

As the coffee brews, Tony leans against the counter, watching you with that spark of interest you remember so well. But now, it feels new, raw, as if he’s falling for you all over again and doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“So,” he says, a playful glint in his eyes, “you said we didn’t get along at first. How did I change your mind?”

You chuckle, handing him a mug and savoring the warmth as you lean back against the counter beside him. “It wasn’t any one thing. You…surprised me. I kept expecting you to be this arrogant genius with no time for anyone, but then you started showing up at my door with random inventions, making coffee runs at three a.m. with me, and bringing me little gifts from your travels.” You smile, remembering each moment as if it’s engraved in your memory. “You just…wore me down, I guess.”

He takes a sip of his coffee, mulling over your words, and you see the warmth in his expression, a flicker of understanding, even if it’s only a shadow of his former self.

“Well, then,” he says, his tone soft, “I’m glad I wore you down.”

His words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, the kitchen feels smaller, more intimate, filled with a sense of closeness that’s been there since the moment you met but now feels refreshingly new.

Tony shifts his weight, looking suddenly unsure. “So…do I get to sleep in our bed tonight?”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling a little as you nod. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As you walk back to the bedroom together, side by side, you feel a quiet sense of peace settle over you. Tony might not remember you—at least not yet—but he’s here, and he’s yours, and somehow, you’ll find a way to rebuild together.

You slip into bed, settling under the covers, and Tony follows suit, lying beside you with a soft sigh. After a moment’s hesitation, he reaches over, his hand brushing against yours beneath the covers. You entwine your fingers with his, and even though he doesn’t remember the countless nights you’ve fallen asleep like this, it feels natural.

“Goodnight,” he whispers, his voice soft.

“Goodnight, Tony,” you murmur back, your heart swelling with hope.

As the city lights outside cast a gentle glow across the room, you lie there, hand in hand, feeling the warmth of him beside you. And for the first time since the accident, you feel a flicker of reassurance.

The days start to blur together in a rhythm that feels both familiar and new. Tony’s memory isn’t coming back all at once, but he’s recovering it in little flashes, bits and pieces of who he used to be, of who you are to each other. And even though some of these memories are fleeting, almost insignificant, they build something solid between you—something that’s real and growing stronger with every passing moment.

It begins with breakfast one morning.

You’re standing at the stove, cooking eggs and listening to Tony talk about his latest gadget idea. He’s been getting back into work, tinkering here and there in the lab, and he always comes out in the morning with some grand plan or concept. It’s one of the things you’ve missed most—his enthusiasm, his endless curiosity, the way he lights up when he talks about creating something new. You smile, flipping the eggs onto plates and setting them on the counter.

“You know, I don’t think I ever realized how much you put up with me,” he says, leaning against the counter with that lopsided grin that makes your heart skip a beat. “All my late nights, random ideas, and, uh, probably a few accidental explosions.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes as you hand him his plate. “Oh, trust me, I’ve put up with plenty. But you make it worth it.”

He takes a bite, nodding as though savoring the taste. “You know…this feels familiar,” he says after a moment, frowning slightly. “Mornings like this. I used to sit here and watch you cook, didn’t I?”

“Every morning you didn’t have your face buried in a new project,” you reply softly, watching him carefully.

He pauses, that spark of recognition in his eyes growing, as if he’s trying to hold onto the memory, to make it solid. And then he’s looking at you, really looking at you, with a tenderness that feels almost shy. It’s a vulnerability you rarely see from Tony, and it makes your heart ache in the best way.

“I think I remember something else,” he murmurs, stepping around the counter to stand in front of you. “I remember sitting here and…thinking about how lucky I was.”

Your breath catches as he reaches out, his fingers grazing your cheek, tracing the curve of your jaw. His touch is tentative, almost reverent, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Tony…” you whisper, feeling your pulse quicken.

He leans in, his lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering kiss that’s both familiar and electrifying, like he’s rediscovering you for the first time. His hand moves to the small of your back, pulling you closer as his mouth moves against yours, slow and intense, like he’s savoring every second. When he pulls back, his eyes are darker, filled with something that looks like a mix of wonder and awe.

“I don’t remember everything,” he says softly, his voice rough, “but I don’t think I need to. This feels right.”

You smile, threading your fingers through his hair. “It is right,” you murmur, leaning up to kiss him again.

The memory flashes continue over the next few days, each one bringing him closer to the person he used to be. They’re small, fleeting things—a song that triggers a faint memory of a dance in the living room, the scent of his cologne reminding him of the night you first told him you loved him. Each one brings with it a sense of déjà vu, a feeling that tugs at his heart and pulls him closer to you.

One evening, you’re both sitting on the couch, your legs draped over his lap as you watch a movie together. It’s an old favorite, something you’ve watched countless times, and Tony seems to relax into the familiarity of it. His hand absentmindedly traces patterns on your thigh, and you can feel his warmth, his closeness, and it makes you feel grounded, steady.

Suddenly, he chuckles, looking down at your legs. “I remember this. You used to do this all the time. You’d kick off your shoes and practically sprawl across the couch.”

You laugh, nudging him playfully. “And you used to pretend to be annoyed, even though you secretly loved it.”

He raises an eyebrow, that playful smirk you know so well tugging at his lips. “Oh, I’m sure I did.”

You shift, leaning closer to him, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you, his eyes filled with both affection and curiosity, that makes you feel bold, like you’re rediscovering each other in a way that’s fresh and exhilarating.

“Can I tell you something?” you murmur, your voice soft.

“Anything,” he says, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“When we first met, I thought you were this…impossible genius with no time for anyone,” you confess, your fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. “But then you’d look at me like this, with this softness, like I was the only person in the world.”

He leans closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Maybe you are.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and before you can respond, his mouth is on yours, capturing you in a kiss that’s anything but shy. It’s slow and deep, his hands sliding up your back as he pulls you into him, your bodies pressed together, fitting perfectly. His kisses are gentle yet intense, each one leaving you breathless, as if he’s trying to make up for all the lost time, all the memories he doesn’t yet have but that you both feel so deeply.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing heavily, hearts racing. He smiles, that teasing glint in his eyes as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Why do I feel like I’ve kissed you a million times?” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. “Like I can’t get enough?”

“Maybe because you have,” you reply, your voice barely a whisper. “And I’ll never get enough of you, either.”

He chuckles, a sound that’s warm and filled with affection as he kisses you again, softer this time, more lingering, like he’s savoring every second. His lips move slowly over yours, his hands gentle as they cradle your face, as if he’s memorizing the feel of you, the way you fit together.

Over the next few days, the memories come more frequently, little fragments of your life that make him pause, that bring a flicker of recognition to his eyes. Sometimes it’s just a look he gives you, a soft smile that feels so familiar it makes your heart ache. Other times, it’s a touch—a hand on your back, a gentle brush of his fingers against yours—that reminds you of all the little ways he’s shown his love over the years.

And every time he remembers something, he falls in love with you a little more.

One night, as you’re both lying in bed, you reach over to turn off the light, but Tony stops you, his hand catching yours. He turns to you, his gaze soft but intense, filled with a depth of emotion that takes your breath away.

“I might not remember everything yet,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing your cheek, “but I know that I love you. I don’t need memories to know that.”

You feel a lump in your throat, a warmth spreading through you that’s both comforting and thrilling. “I love you, too, Tony,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his hand. “No matter what. I always have, and I always will.”

His smile is tender, filled with a gratitude that makes you realize just how lucky you both are, how strong this connection is between you. He leans in, kissing you with a softness that melts away all the uncertainty, all the fear that’s lingered since the accident.

And as you lie there together, wrapped in each other’s arms, you realize that this isn’t just a return to the life you had before. It’s something new, something deeper and more meaningful, a love that’s growing stronger every day. It’s a love that doesn’t need memories to survive because it’s written into every touch, every glance, every kiss you share.

The morning Tony’s memories come flooding back, it feels both surreal and inevitable. He wakes up beside you, his gaze fixed on the ceiling for a long moment before he turns to look at you, his expression a mixture of wonder, relief, and something deeper—something vulnerable. When he speaks, his voice is low, as if he’s afraid of breaking the spell.

“I remember everything,” he murmurs, his hand finding yours beneath the covers. His thumb traces gentle patterns on your knuckles, as though he’s grounding himself in the reality of the present. “Every detail, every moment. I remember…you.”

You blink away the tears that threaten to spill over, smiling as you reach up to cup his face. “You’re really back,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I missed you.”

He gives a soft laugh, his hand covering yours as he presses his forehead to yours. “You never really lost me, you know? And I… I missed you, too. Even when I didn’t remember all of it, I knew. I knew you were everything to me. I'd always fall for you.”

You fall into his arms, both of you holding each other tightly, like you’re afraid to let go. And in that embrace, you feel the weight of all those lost days lift, leaving only a warmth that radiates between you. He’s here, fully, and the two of you are whole again.

Later, you’re curled up on the couch together, a blanket draped over both of you, his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders as you cuddle into his side. You’ve both been talking, recounting memories, laughing at the more amusing fragments that came back to him in flashes. And then, an idea strikes you.

“Tony,” you say, glancing up at him with a mischievous grin, “there’s something you need to see.”

He raises an eyebrow, smirking as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “Oh, really? And what might that be?”

You grab your phone from the coffee table, pulling up a series of videos you took during his days without memories. Each one holds moments that, at the time, you’d been scared would be all you had left—little fragments of his affection, of the new ways he showed his love for you while he was rediscovering himself.

“Brace yourself,” you say, hitting play on the first video.

In it, Tony is sitting across from you at the kitchen table, his eyes sleepy and his hair a mess. He’s holding a mug of coffee, and he looks up at you with the softest, most adoring expression, blinking slowly like he can barely believe you’re real. “You’re so pretty,” he says, his voice a murmur, his gaze fixed on you as if you’re the only thing that matters in the entire world. “How did I get so lucky?”

The Tony beside you lets out a surprised laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever looked that…well, cuddly before.”

“Oh, that’s just the beginning,” you say, grinning as you play the next video.

This one shows him lying on the couch, his head in your lap as you’re reading a book. He’s practically burrowed into you, his arms wrapped around your waist, his face buried against your stomach. Every now and then, he looks up at you with these wide, affectionate eyes, and even without memories, he’s the picture of absolute adoration.

“Is that…me?” Tony asks, a touch of disbelief in his voice as he watches himself look up at you like that. “I’m like a…like a giant puppy.”

“Oh, you were,” you laugh, rubbing his arm affectionately. “I have so many videos like this. You’d barely let me out of your sight. I think losing your memories made you even clingier.”

He snorts, shaking his head as he pulls you closer. “Well, can you blame me? I mean, look at you. Not remembering you was bad enough—I guess I was just making sure I didn’t forget you again.”

The next video is of him in bed, lying half-asleep with his arm stretched out, reaching for you. His voice, groggy and low, calls your name softly, and you hear yourself laugh from behind the camera as you step into view. When you do, he pulls you into the bed, wrapping his arms around you like he never wants to let go. He sighs in contentment, pressing his lips to your forehead and murmuring something unintelligible, and even watching it now, you feel that familiar warmth spread through your chest.

Tony, watching beside you, is silent for a long moment, his gaze softened as he watches himself cling to you like that. When the video ends, he turns to you, a tenderness in his expression that takes your breath away.

“I can’t believe I didn’t remember you,” he whispers, his fingers brushing your cheek. “But even when I couldn’t…I needed you.”

You place a hand over his, smiling softly. “I think a part of you did remember, in a way. You were still you—maybe a little cuddlier than usual,” you tease, “but you were still you.”

His lips curve into a playful grin. “So, I was clingy, huh? Was I any good at it?”

“Oh, you were very good at it,” you say, laughter bubbling up. “I mean, I kind of got used to waking up with you practically draped over me. I’m almost going to miss it.”

His grin widens, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his lap. “Well, if you liked clingy Tony, I think I can accommodate,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear as he tightens his hold on you.

You giggle, curling your arms around his neck as he presses a series of soft, lingering kisses along your jaw. “Mmm, maybe I did like clingy Tony,” you whisper, your fingers threading through his hair.

He chuckles, his lips trailing down to your neck, his hands running up and down your sides as he nuzzles into you, his warmth enveloping you. “Well then, Mrs. Stark, it looks like you’re in luck.”

His mouth finds yours, and he kisses you deeply, his hands gentle but insistent as he pulls you closer. The kiss is soft and tender, but there’s an intensity to it, a passion that feels even stronger now that he has all his memories back. It’s like he’s making up for lost time, savoring every second, every touch, every shared breath.

When he pulls back, he leans his forehead against yours, his voice a low murmur. “I don’t think I could ever let you go again,” he says, his hands sliding to your waist as he holds you close. “Every second without you felt…wrong, somehow. Now that I know everything, it’s like my whole world is back.”

You smile, brushing your fingers along his jaw as you gaze into his eyes. “Then don’t let go,” you whisper, your heart racing as he closes the small distance between you again, his mouth meeting yours in a kiss that’s both familiar and exhilarating.

soft Tony is just a baby <3 if you liked the story leave a like and a reblog and drop a follow if you want to read more!

[crazyunsexycool]

stucky x reader, where reader didn't present at a certain age so she lived most of her adult life with no designation, alpha stucky who could be mated alr, accept her into their small pack regardless and are v protective of her. One day though, during their mission she suddenly gets her heat; and not a bearable one, like heat heat. And she just smells so good and irresistible which drove the alpha's absolutely feral.

ps. i love your writing!!💗😍

Present

Pairing: alpha!stucky x reader

Word count: 3.6k

Warning: smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up!!) p in v, fingering, canon level violence, mentions of blood, a/b/o dynamics

A/N: I had most of this written a while ago and idk why I never posted it but it’s here now. I’m so sorry it took so long but I hope you enjoy it anyways. I love receiving requests for one shots or dribbles so please feel free I promise that I am working on them they help when I get stuck on other things

Never having presented the way all of your classmates, friends and family had made you an outcast. Did it hurt to be rejected by your family for not presenting? Yes but it didn’t stop you from achieving your goals. It’s how you entered Shield and became an agent. Your lack of scent was an advantage over the people you were fighting, with no alpha, beta or omega needs to tend to you easily became one of the best agents. It’s how you ended up working with the Avengers.

It’s also how you met them, Steve and Bucky the mated alphas. At first you had been extremely intimidated by them and anytime you had to interact with them you referred to them by their ranks. Little by little they showed you they were big softies. It’s how courting gifts started, your favorite coffee on your desk in the morning, a book you had mentioned delivered to your room. It was all so sweet but you had to tell them you didn’t have a designation and you didn’t want to lead them on if they wanted an omega.

“What if we just want you? We don’t care about designations.” Bucky asked as he held your hand.

“Me?”

“Mmhmm, we want you sweetheart.” Steve says as he stands behind you, his lips brushing up against the shell of your ear.

“Even though I don’t have a designation?” It was almost too good to be true. The most desirable alphas wanted you, with or without designation. The thought of being theirs and them being yours made you shudder.

“We don’t care about that, we care about you.” Bucky says confidently but hopeful. “What do you say?”

A smile appears on your lips as you nod.

“We need you to use your words Sweetheart.”

“Yes. I-I would like to be with you.” Steve turns you around and immediately connects his lips to yours as a small but deep growl rumbles from deep in his chest. He doesn’t get a chance to deepen it as Bucky pulls you away and begins to kiss you.

You having no designation didn’t stop them from continuing to court you. In the short three months you had been with them they always had small gifts for you when they came back from missions or they took you out on dates. Steve and Bucky never made you feel less than for never having presented. On the contrary they were very protective and anyone who even dared to make a comment about you had to deal with them. The super soldiers were caring, protective and sweet which made you fall fast, this was the first time in a long time in which you wanted to have a designation so that they could claim you properly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You loved going on missions with Steve and Bucky, it was always amazing to see them working. Sure they went toe to toe with other alphas but nothing compared to the Super Soldiers. This mission you were headed to was supposed to be easy. Bucky was supposed to set up with his sniper rifle not too far away, while you and Steve headed inside. Your job was to extract information from the servers after you, but mostly Steve, cleared the building.

Since starting as an agent you were always confident in your abilities but you knew there was something off today. You felt warmer than usual and your body ached, not to mention that whenever Steve or Bucky so much as walked by you wanted to pounce on them. Their scents were driving you crazy and you found yourself squeezing your thighs together to try and get any type of relief. This didn’t go unnoticed by the alphas, they weren’t sure what was going on but they kept a close eye on you during the flight.

The mission was going off without a hitch for the most part. Steve cleared the building while you got to work on the servers. It was easy and if you hadn’t been preoccupied with the shooting pain that spread low in your belly you would have considered that it was way too easy. A whine escapes your lips as you try to focus on the task at hand before a growl gets your attention. It sends shivers up and down your spine and the bitter scent that hits you is just as unpleasant.

“Well what do we have here? I see they left me something to play with.” his lips turned into a wicked grin.

You put your hand up to your earpiece. “Alphas” is all you manage to say before the one before you lunges towards you and pins you down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky had made his way down to the building from his position at Steve’s request. The building had been cleared and he had left you to do your part. They were both well aware that it was too easy to get into the building, it had minimal security considering the information it housed. Steve preferred to have Bucky close in case there were more issues especially if he considered that you were behaving a little out of character. They both had agreed on that and the fact that if they didn’t know you didn’t have a designation it felt like you had a scent. One that was sure to send them into their ruts if it had been stronger. Steve and Bucky were doing one more sweep of a lower level when they heard it. A faint growl but enough to make them turn back around and when they heard your voice through comms calling them alpha they nearly lost it. You had never referred to them by their designation.

By the time they get up two floors to your location the scent in the air hits them. It was intoxicating but laced with fear and both super soldiers knew they had to act fast. When they got to the hallway where the room you were in they felt pure rage. The door had been ripped off its hinges and there was a faint smell of blood in the air. But as they got to the room they only found your ear piece and a dead alpha on the floor. Their enhanced hearing alerted them to movement further down the hall and close to the stairwell.

They split up with Steve following the footsteps and Bucky trying to find you. At any other moment they would be calm and focused but you were in trouble and the men that had promised to keep you safe would stop at nothing to do so.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Y/N.” he says with his voice lowered so as to not scare you. His scent reaches you and you relax slightly. Bucky found you in a room hidden away from the others that Steve was following.

“Alpha, it hurts.” you whine from your spot in the corner of the room.

“I know, doll but I’m here. I’ll help you.” he coos as he finally gets closer to you. He’s fighting his instincts to claim you right on the spot, the sweet scent made stronger by your heat is driving him crazy. Instead Bucky focuses on using his own scent to soothe you.

As soon as he is crouching in front of you, you launch yourself into his arms. Bucky holds you close as he tries to find any injuries. The only thing he finds is a rip on your uniform and he’s furious, if the alpha wasn’t dead already he would have ripped his head off. But then Bucky feels the tip of your nose brush up against his mating gland and up his neck and he shudders.

“Omega.” When Bucky pulls back his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen and completely full of lust.

“Is everything ok?” Steve’s voice comes through the comms.

“Kind of. She isn’t hurt but she’s starting her heat, we have to get her out of here.”

“Meet me at the entrance. The jet isn’t too far and- fuck. Bucky you have to move her to a safer room. We have more guards coming in.”

“Fuck. Ok, moving now.” Bucky scoops you up and rushes out of the room trying to ignore the way you keep nipping and licking at his neck. He moves quickly until he finds a room he deems safe enough for you. He listens for footsteps on the other side of the door after setting you down on the table, at least he doesn’t have to worry about a sniper since there aren’t any windows.

“Bucky, what’s happening to me?”

“Doll, you’re presenting. You’re an omega.”

“Your omega?” you whisper, afraid that he’ll say no.

Your question makes his breath hitch. He turns towards you, his eyes dark and lust blown.

“Mine.” he says as he walks towards you with purpose. Standing between your legs as he pulls you in for a filthy kiss. He felt you trying to undo his belt and then the button on his pants but he stops you. “We can’t doll, you aren’t safe.”

“Please, need you.”

“You’ve got me.” He says as he moves to undo your belt and pants. With every passing moment your scent got stronger and so did your heat. Bucky knew he had to do something to help.

He pops the button on your suit pant open and then lowers the zipper, slowly his hand makes its way between your thighs. Running his fingers through your fold he groans at how wet you are. “This all for me ‘mega. Is this for your alpha?”

“Yes, alpha please.” you moan as you feel him circle your clit slowly. Your hips move on their own accord to try and get more friction. He captures your lips with his as he starts to pick up the pace, swallowing all your moans. “More, Bucky more.”

“I got you doll.” he says as he moves from your clit down to your dripping entrance and slowly pushes two fingers in until he’s knuckles deep. You whimper at the feeling. “Look at you so greedy, gripping my fingers so tight.” Bucky begins to pick up his pace before adding another finger. He curves his fingers stroking that spot that has your eyes rolling back, your mouth open in a silent scream. Your hands gripping on to his shoulders as the knot in your belly tightens.

“That’s it doll, be a good girl for me and cum.” Bucky starts thrusting his fingers faster until he feels your walls clench and he hears you scream his name as the knot in your belly unravels. “Good girl.” he praises as he slowly removes his fingers from your pussy. You whine at the loss while you rest your forehead against his chest as you try to catch your breath. He puts his fingers in his mouth and groans at the taste of you, Bucky freezes before he can say anything to you. His attention is on the footsteps rushing towards your position.

The door is kicked open and Bucky goes feral as the scent of the other alphas hit him. He hears all of them inhale and their eyes are fixed on you. Bucky moves so that his large frame keeps you hidden from them.

“We just want a little taste of your omega. She smells delicious.” One of the men says as he steps into the room. Bucky orders you into the corner of the room before he starts his assault on the men that dared even look in your direction. He’s fueled by pure rage and his need as an alpha to protect his omega.

As soon as the last of the guards hit the floor Bucky fixes your uniform before grabbing you and carries you out of the room as Steve tells him it’s all clear.

They rush from the building, Steve leading the way in case anyone else tries to stop them and Bucky has you in his arms. During this whole ordeal your head is fuzzy and all you want to do is strip your clothes and be close to them, taking in their scent. Somehow during this mess you ended up on Steve’s lap, while Bucky handled getting the jet off the ground.

“Alpha.” You call out to Steve. He growls when he hears you call him by his designation. Steve would never admit it but he’s wanted to hear you say that word for a while and hearing it along with your sweet scent and the slick that is pooling in between your thighs he’s sure to go into a rut.

“Omega?”

“Please, need to feel you.”

“You want my knot, sweetheart?” he coos. All you can do is nod. “Use your words baby.”

“Yes, I want your knot.” as you shift to straddle him. Steve rips your clothes off, your inner thighs covered in slick. He lifts you slightly so that he can lower his pants and boxers enough to free his already hard cock. In one swift move Steve buries himself in your wet heat, causing both of you to moan. No matter how many times you’ve been with them it always took you a moment before you could start moving. You relish the stretch and feel of him as you begin to move, His hands around your waist to keep you steady as you grab the straps on his shoulders. Rolling your hips a couple of times you moan as he captures your lips with his. Needing more, you begin to bounce on his cock.

“So needy sweetheart.” Steve groans “take what you need omega. Just like that.”

You mewl at his words as you try to move faster. Steve’s hands move to your hips and he begins to take control as he thrusts up into you. You throw your head back unconsciously baring your neck for him. “Fuck, you feel so good. I’m gonna mark you right here.” His teeth grace the junction between your shoulder and neck right where your mating gland is. “Do you want that omega?”

“Y-yes alpha, please.” You say in your lust filled haze, your eyes half lidded and glazed over as you hold onto his shoulders straps tighter. He continues his fast pace as one hand moves from your hip to your swollen bundle of nerves. The added stimulation causes you to clench around Steve’s cock. Pressure begins to build between your legs, you realize it’s his knot.

“I can feel you’re so close sweetheart. Let go baby.”

His words are all you need for your orgasm to wash over you with a moan of his name, his teeth sinking into your neck. You can feel the bond come to life as he laps at the mark he made. Then you feel his knot catch as his hips start to stutter. With one final thrust Steve spills into you as his knot locks you both into place. Exhaustion creeps over you and you lay with your head on Steve’s shoulder, drifting off into sleep as you hear him praise you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your eyes flutter open and taking in your surroundings you realize you’re in bed just not yours. There’s a slight ache on your neck and you feel almost guilty but you’re not sure why. When you sit up your head feels fuzzy and you groan because of your sore muscles. The sheet that had been covering falls and reveals that you're naked and you’re flooded with confusion. As you look around the room you see a water bottle on the nightstand and you grab it, drinking half of it immediately.

The door opens slowly and you cover your chest unsure of who will walk in but you only see Bucky standing at the door. He smiles at you but as his woodsy scent, mixed with Steve’s warm and comforting scent, permeates through the room a small whine bubbles up and escapes you.

“Where are we?”

“We’re in a safehouse, doll. You presented during the mission.” He tells you as he sits at the edge of the bed. Bucky is breathing heavily as he fights against his most basest instinct to mate and claim you.

Steve stands in the doorway with a tray in his hands but he doesn’t walk in. Instead he hovers around the door, guilt floods the bond. It’s a foriegn feeling to you and your hand goes to your neck as you trace the almost healed mark left there by the blonde alpha.

“Steve, are you ok?”

His smile is small, your question enough to get him to move and he places the tray on the bed opposite Bucky.

“How are you feeling sweetheart?”

“Fuzzy and hot… and really sticky.” you say and they chuckle.

“Eat first omega and then we’ll get you cleaned up ok?”

“Will you stay with me?” you mumble as you look at Steve.

“Of course.”

Steve moves to rest against the headboard and you immediately crawl on his lap. Steve and Bucky take care of you, doing exactly as they said they would, you eat a bit of the fruit that was brought in as well as some yogurt. Then Steve takes you into the shower so that you can wash up. With your new bond set in place though you want to cling to your alpha and he won’t say no to you. Even before you dated there was nothing neither him nor Bucky wouldn’t do with or for you. This moment was exactly what you needed, as you washed each other, it was intimate and comforting. You reassured Steve that you did want him to claim you and to hear you say those words lifted a weight off his shoulders and you felt relief wash over the bond. Once you were both done you headed back into the bedroom as you began to feel slick start to coat your inner thighs again.

This time Bucky would help you through it and you assured him that you also wanted him to claim you. It’s how you found yourself presenting for your alpha. A needy whine spills from your lips when you feel Bucky behind you.

“Alpha please.” you say as you look at him over your shoulder.

“It’s ok ‘mega. I’m gonna take care of you.”

Bucky takes his already hard cock and slides it through your folds. The head of his cock hits your clit and the sensation has you mewling. He groans as he lines himself up with your entrance and slowly pushes in. You wiggle your hips once he bottoms out, needing that friction more than anything.

“Please alpha, need you.” you beg over and over until he finally starts to move.

Bucky’s pace is slow at first, he wants to feel all of you. The way you flutter around him when the angle is just right. But the moaning and begging mixed with your sweet scent are all consuming and his pace quickens. Bucky keeps you in place by gripping your hips, the area will be sore tomorrow you’re both too far gone to care.

“Feel so good omega. Like you were made for me.” He growls as he snakes an arm around your body and up to your throat.

The hold isn’t tight but it’s enough for him to pull you against his chest. You take hold of his forearm and your nails dig into his flesh as he begins to tease your clit. The coil starts to tighten again low in your belly as Bucky continues to push you further into unbridled bliss. His breath hits your cheek as he begins to whisper in your ear.

“Such a good girl. Look at you taking me so well. Are you gonna cum for me? Show your alpha how good you feel?”

You nod as a strangled moan escapes you. Your head lolls to the side as pleasure takes over you. The only thing you’re aware of is Bucky claiming you just as Steve had. His hips falter for just a moment and you feel his knot swelling, locking you in place. Bucky sings sweet praises in your ear as he moves both of you into a comfortable position. You try to fight off the sleep, you want to bask in the joy of this new development but you’re too tired and the warmth Bucky provides is your undoing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You walked back into the tower a week later hand in hand with Steve while Bucky offered to carry your bags. Their ruts had started a few hours after your heat began and the week at the safe house was spent being tangled up with each other. At first you had been caught off guard when they said they wanted you to claim them, it was almost unheard of. But you did it and it was one of the most thrilling moments of your life.

Once the elevator opened up to the shared floor the rest of the team slowly filed out to meet you. It was a series of congratulations and hugs for the three of you. Tony had been the most excited about the new development. He was your closest friend and you had confided to him that you wish you could have presented.

Your childhood hadn’t been easy, being rejected by so many people made you doubt what your purpose was. But being in Steve and Bucky’s arms you realized you were meant to be more than just an omega. Never in your life did you imagine that not only would you become a highly important member of a team dedicated to saving people but that you could still be an omega and kickass. You were more than elated that you didn’t present until now because you found alphas that valued you for more than your heat. They gave themselves fully to you so you gave yourself fully to them. And you wouldn’t change a thing about it.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Classified Affection

Pairing: Konig x reader

Warnings: Fluff with angst, rivals to lovers

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy, this is my first time writing for him! Readers Codename is Sprite (To the person who made the Konig ask, I promise I’m working on it, it’s gonna be my longest ff ever I’m trying to do it some justice as my first ever ask I promise😭)

Word Count: 1.3k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

When you first met König, you never expected him to get under your skin. He was the sort of soldier you didn’t forget—a towering, masked figure who dominated the room without saying a word. Even among hardened operators, he stood out, and while others were intimidated by his quiet intensity, you’d seen it as a challenge.

From the first training exercise, your competitiveness drove you to match his every move, and you felt the heat of his attention every time he watched you run drills or execute maneuvers with the kind of agility that earned you the codename “Sprite.” He was precise, silent, and observant, and the rivalry between you quickly became a quiet, unspoken war. The few times he did speak to you, his deep, accented voice held a weight that felt like an accusation—like he was daring you to keep up with him.

Your teams took notice, watching with amusement as you and König constantly outdid each other. Every joint mission turned into a hidden scoreboard: who could cover more ground, make the cleanest kill, hit the mark without hesitation. It was a game, but the stakes felt higher each time. The push and pull between you felt electric, thrilling, and maddening. You wanted to beat him, but you couldn’t ignore the pull in your stomach every time his eyes met yours. His gaze was intense, lingering too long, dark and unreadable.

One night, after a grueling training day, you found him in the gym, lifting weights in silence. You told yourself it was curiosity that made you approach him, not the need to prove yourself yet again. Without a word, you joined him, setting up a bench across from his and lifting the heaviest weights you could manage. König looked at you, his expression unreadable behind the mask, but his eyes narrowed in interest. Neither of you said a word as you worked out side by side, the weight of unsaid things pressing down on you both. His gaze lingered on you, sliding over you like a challenge, and you felt a thrill—part anger, part something far more dangerous—coursing through you.

When you were finally alone, catching your breath, he spoke, his voice low and rough. “Are you always this competitive?”

You wiped the sweat from your brow, meeting his gaze evenly. “Only when there’s someone worth competing against.”

His eyes darkened, a subtle tension passing between you that made you swallow hard. He tilted his head, studying you in a way that felt both infuriating and intimate. “Is that all this is to you, Sprite? Competition?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but the words didn’t come. He stepped closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating from him, and you held your ground, refusing to back down. He didn’t say anything more, but in that heavy silence, it felt as if he were daring you to break first, to react, to do anything to acknowledge the spark neither of you could ignore. But neither of you moved.

The tension only grew, and on missions, it seemed impossible to separate your rivalry from the intense, unspoken chemistry. That all came to a head on a mission where you and König were deep in enemy territory, tasked with a high-stakes extraction. Your squads were positioned to cover each other, yet as usual, you ended up moving together in sync, keeping a close eye on each other’s every move.

As the mission unfolded, gunfire erupted, scattering your squads. You were forced to take cover alone in a half-destroyed building. König’s voice came through your comms, low and steady. “Sprite, do you have cover?”

The question felt loaded, and you could practically see his frown in your mind. You answered, trying to keep the tension out of your voice. “Barely. But don’t worry—I’ll handle it.”

There was a pause before he responded, his voice tinged with impatience. “Stay where you are. I’m coming to you.”

Minutes later, he was at your side, his presence filling the cramped space as you huddled behind cover together. You could hear his heavy breathing as he checked the perimeter, his body close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him, even through your tactical gear. He was a wall of muscle and strength beside you, and it took everything in you not to lean into him, to take the comfort he silently offered.

“You don’t need to babysit me,” you whispered, even as you stayed close to him.

König’s eyes narrowed, his gaze searing as he glanced down at you. “I’m not babysitting, Sprite. I’m watching your back. There’s a difference.”

You bristled at his tone, but there was an unspoken gentleness beneath his words that made your stomach twist. “Don’t flatter yourself, big guy. I can take care of myself.”

For a heartbeat, he didn’t answer, and the tension between you hung in the air, heavy and charged. His gaze drifted to your lips before meeting your eyes again, his face closer than you’d realized. “I don’t doubt it. But that doesn’t mean I’m letting you out of my sight.”

Your heart raced as he held your gaze, the unsaid things between you pressing harder than ever. Then, a voice crackled over your comms, breaking the moment. “König, Sprite, are you two in position? We need you back here.”

You and König exchanged a glance, the usual fire of rivalry dimmed by something softer. With a brief nod, he pulled back, slipping back into the mission. But you couldn’t shake the tension, the feeling that something between you had shifted, your rivalry leaving behind a crack that let something more vulnerable bleed through.

The mission wrapped up successfully, but even after your squads had debriefed, you couldn’t shake the memory of his gaze, the way he’d looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. As the team celebrated, König stood apart, his eyes following you whenever he thought no one was looking. The awareness of him, the pressure of that gaze, was like a live wire humming beneath your skin.

Later that night, you found him in the dimly lit courtyard, away from the others. His posture was tense, as if he’d been waiting. You approached him slowly, words forming in your mind, but they all felt hollow. He looked at you, his eyes softening with a vulnerability you rarely saw. In the quiet, with the stars above and the night around you, the rivalry, the rules, the mission—all of it faded away.

When he held out his hand, you took it, feeling the roughness of his gloves and the strength in his grip as he pulled you close. You could feel his heart beating, his chest rising and falling against you. He was a fortress you’d spent so long trying to breach, and yet here he was, letting you in.

After a long silence, he spoke, his voice barely a whisper. “This… whatever it is… it’s worth the risk, isn’t it?”

You felt the tension loosen, the heat of his words melting any doubts you’d had. You squeezed his hand, your voice breaking through the quiet. “Every bit of it.”

For a moment, he hesitated, and then his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. His mask lifted just enough for his lips to brush against yours, a feather-light, fleeting kiss that held all the weight of what you couldn’t say aloud. And when he pulled away, his hand lingered, as if anchoring you to the promise he’d just made.

“Then we’ll keep it ours,” he murmured, his voice rough but certain, echoing in the stillness.

In that moment, you both knew you’d do whatever it took to protect the secret between you—the rivalry that had somehow turned into something rare and precious, hidden under layers of armor but more real than anything else.

I hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[grapejuicestyless]

Stupid F-ing Tattoo

JJ Maybank x Fem!reader

Summery: Y/n and JJ both had a few things in common. One, love didn’t exist. And two, they both wanted her dead.

She wasn’t dead, but sometimes, he wished she was.

It was honestly fucked up, there was no silver lining. She hadn’t wronged him, or cheated, or lied. She was as guilty as a fish, and he was the shark. But he still wished she was dead.

Sometimes, JJ wondered if she wished the same thing. If some nights, if she ever were to by chance hear his laughter in a passing moment, maybe with his head hung out the back window of the Twinkie like she used to do, or in a lazy jog away from the cops, he wondered if she wished he would also, drop off the face of the earth to give her some peace.

Then he would remember that even though it didn’t feel like it, he had won. Because she had no peace, and he was certain she never would. While he was up all night wishing her to be gone, she was up all night praying for the same thing.

She often told him that the only things keeping her going were him and her dog, but mostly her dog. An old white dog, a stray she’d taken in when she was merely seven. He was as crusty as they get, and while he and his friends often joked about how gross the old thing was, she happily scratched behind his ears and reminded him of how good he was always.

But the dog was getting old, and JJ had long been extracted from her life. Sometimes he wondered if his prayers meant something, and then he would get on his knees and take them all back in a guilty sob. Because JJ didn’t want her to die, he just hated the fact that he had fallen in love with someone who couldn’t fathom love more than he ever doubted it.

JJ felt like an asshole. What kind of person prays for another persons death? Especially someone like her?

He figured he liked her so much because they were so alike. Like the seasons, they were the coolest winters and the sweltering summer all at once. They were so close, yet so far. Like January and December. Born with the same love and loyalty, but destined to fall apart, prophets forced to be divided.

His finger hovered over her contact every night, but every time he thought of how she would answer, and his tongue would go dry. She would probably only say hello, and he would say it back, and the line would go quiet for a few minutes, just breathing in each others inhales, aligning his breath to hers, and then she would ask him why he was calling. He would say he didn’t know, but he hoped she was well, and she would wish the same for him because she always did, and she always meant it more because she never wished that he was dead. Then, she would ask if it was okay to let him go, and he would ramble about something and how it was all dumb to begin with. She would listen and then the line would go dead. Dead like how he sometimes wanted her.

He couldn’t bear the idea of letting her go again, even if he didn’t realize he had the first time.

They had just gotten matching tattoos. “P4L” poked into their ankles until the skin swelled red and even air burned. They were fucked, and it was a dumb idea.

JJ said it was the stupidest fucking tattoo he’d ever gotten. She had laughed, playfully pushing his arm away and setting the needle down.

“You don’t have any other tattoos.” She reminded him softly, eyes shining in the moonlight. The twinkles reminded him of the north star, and he felt that he too found home in the same way.

“Not yet.” He promised her, his fingers slotting between hers. “I’m gonna get your name tattooed right across my palm so I can hold you eternity.” JJ smiled, proud at his use of larger words. He’d felt like a poet then, smiling from ear to ear at himself, a dork by textbook definition.

“Well, then I’m going to get your name tattooed on my lips, so I have every reason to talk about you.” She promised him, and JJ remembered the look in her eyes, he knew it from the way John B looked at Sarah and the way Pope’s dad looked at his mom. He knew it was love.

He should never have confessed it.

He knew better than anyone that her mothers neglect had beaten her heart black and blue, and her cousins hatred towards her and her friends who had bullied her, he knew that much like him, love was a construct of some sort of fantasy, a promise of forever that could never be fulfilled, because eventually, someone has to leave.

She laughed, and then she cried. She promised JJ that she also loved him, loved him like a dog loved its owner, unwavering and loyal. But there was no way in hell she could ever love him the ways he wanted, and that hurt JJ because he had spent weeks working up the courage to even come to terms with his very real feelings.

“I can’t love you, JJ. I do, but I can’t because I can’t even promise myself that forever. I’ll break my own heart and I’ll blame you.” She had explained with tears streaming down her face. He regretted the way he yelled at her.

They never spoke again. His best friend, and the love of his life, her voice became a concept in his mind, and he swore that he had forgotten the sweetness of her smell. He hated that because that meant he was just like everyone else. Just another person who would miss her when she went.

So, he started wishing death on her. More for himself, until it became a prayer for her. She never laughed anymore, never smiled. When he saw her from afar, he’d noticed that she’d gone back to her friends she hated because suffering is better than loneliness when all you can think about is the quickest way to go.

He saw a girl floating in the ocean the a few days into the summer, her hair resembled Y/n’s and her eyes did too. It was only when he saw the way she seemed to fold herself into the water he knew it was her because only she would have the drive to try and let the ocean swallow her whole.

JJ ran as fast as he could out, wading through the crashing waves until he could wrap his arms around her. She was wet, cold, and limp. A hollow version of the woman she once was. It reminded JJ that she was just a girl, the same age as him, and he once again, felt guilty for ever wishing death on her.

When he laid her in the sand, he knew two things.

One, on her skin, she had another small tattoo scribbled down to memorize her love forever. His name, just two little letters, the same one, poked into her shoulder in the same font as their matching tattoo.

“Stupid fucking tattoo.” He cried, gritting his teeth together, his hands searching her body for any warmth he could cling to, a sign that maybe he hadn’t seen her too late.

The second thing he knew, through his salty tears and guilty heart, was something he prayed he would never have to witness, but something he had always wished for.

His prayers had been answered.

[gor3-hound]

ETERNITY — SUGURU GETO

a/n: hiii !! first geto fic on this account maybe?? shocker bcs i love him so bad... commission for @nexysworld !! love her so bad, pls check her out <3

cw: 18+ content, father-daughter incest, possessive behaviour, sheltered reader, mildly dubious consent, yandere-ish themes, very teeny tiny amount of religious themes, too. p in v, creampie, brief choking

Suguru Geto is not a man you would consider to be unkind, but there was very little affection within his actions. Your father was often patient with you - strict, but forgiving. When he touched you, it was always cold and clinical; always born out of necessity. 

Your mother had always been irrelevant to him, nothing more than a means to an end. That just so happened to be you, his daughter, and one and only heir. He had sensed the cursed energy within you the moment you were born, and he took you in to raise you on his own. He had no need for that woman anymore - she had served her purpose and bestowed him with a gift greater than any other.

Your life was free of troubles. Perhaps you did not get to play with the village children, but that was alright. You were allowed to play with the others within the compound. His followers were always kind to you, if not somewhat on edge in your presence. You did not understand it then, but now you realised the apprehension they held did not stem from your actions, but from fear of upsetting your father. You had been sheltered, yes, but you found you did not crave much else. You were well-fed, well looked after… It was hard to feel caged when the compound was all you had known.

Your youthful naivety could not last forever, and Suguru knew this. He dreaded your growth with each passing year, waiting for the questions that would come. He could keep you from the outside world, but he could not keep the outside world from you. He had many visitors, people looking to be cured of their ailments. He could keep you from watching these interactions, but he could see the way your curious eyes shone as you watched them come and go.

You asked him about the outside world only once, shortly after he had ‘cured’ a young child. You had been excited to see someone closer to your age, but his words quickly shut you down.

“The child has been plagued with demons,” He had told you simply, eyes cold as he glanced down at you. “I can keep them at bay, yes. But it would not do you well to socialise with others such as him. They will corrupt you.”

It had not convinced you entirely, and he could see that in your eyes. With a small frown, he kneeled before you, tilting his head to the side. “I extracted one from him. Would you like to see it?”

You nodded, as expected. Hopeful curiosity glimmering in your eyes, the idea of being shown something new and dangerous exciting to you. He sighs, allowing the cursed spirit he had absorbed free. He had no worry - he knew it was safely under his control. But he could see the fear in your eyes as it stalked towards you, the way you instinctively backed up, glancing at your father for protection.

“Daddy-” 

He lets its maw open inches from your body, the acrid stench of its breath filling the room as it goes to attack. He watches, unblinking, as you tremble and beg for his help, tears streaming down your face. Even still, he waits a few more seconds before driving his cursed tool through the spirit, exorcising it with ease.

“Do you see now why I cannot let you outside? It is far too dangerous for you.” You nod, clinging to him as you sob into the fabric of his robes. He lets you, holding you close to him. “I do not wish to see you hurt. Promise me you won’t ask to leave the compound again.”

“I promise.”

The years pass, and you do not dare mention leaving the compound again. Even as you reach adulthood, the memory of the demon you faced as a child keeps you biting back any requests of more freedom.

Something in your father has changed - you’re not sure what it is, but it leaves you with a lingering sense of unease whenever you cross his path. His gaze has become sharper, watching your every movement like he’s waiting for something. What it is, you’re unsure of. Your pulse is constantly racing when you’re forced to be in his proximity for more than a few seconds, but your brain can’t register what it is about him that’s making you so tense.

Your realisation comes to you slowly. You’ve seen that look before in some of them men that have wandered around the compound. Not directed at you, but you’re able to identify it all the same. 

Hunger.

Your realisation doesn’t come with any changes in his actions, but you can see in the subtle curve of his lips that he knows. He can sense that you act differently around him. Geto is an intelligent man, and it’s clear he planned for you to find out from the start. Months pass by without any changes in routine. You rarely see your father unless he deems it necessary to address you, his followers often being the ones responsible for ensuring you attend meals and stay within the compound.

Then, suddenly, he comes to you.

It’s the middle of the night when he wakes you with a gentle caress on your cheek. It’s one of the most affectionate touches he’s given you since you were a little girl, fingertips gently brushing over your cheekbones. When you meet his eyes, your heart stops beating for a moment.

His gaze is anything but kind. His jaw is set tight, and in that moment you realised how naive you were to think ignoring his glances would be enough to keep him at bay. Seeing your eyes widen with fear is enough for a sharp grin to spread across his face, his hand shifting to grasp at your hair, tilting your head back harshly.

“You're looking so beautiful these days, sweetheart.” Suguru murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, free hand grasping at your hip. “I thought about resisting my impulses, but it’s as if you were made to tempt me. Pure, kind, beautiful. Forbidden fruit is always said to be the sweetest, but I had never thought temptation would come to me in the form of my very own daughter.”

You stiffen under him, hands pushing at his chest. He tuts disapprovingly, his fingers slackening as he pulls his hand from your hair. Suguru slides his fingers down the side of your neck, delicately wrapping around your throat before he squeezes.

“Shh, calm down. It’s only me, bunny.” He purrs the nickname, one he has not used in years in an attempt to soften you, It works, momentarily, but your muscles still feel fraught with tension. He leans down, fingers tightening around your neck in a warning as he presses his lips to yours.

His mouth is hot against yours as he kisses you. He keeps the pace leisurely, almost teasing as he presses his chapped lips against yours, tongue coaxing your lips open. The hand on your hip slides under your shirt in a way that makes you jolt, immediately breaking the kiss.

“Daddy, wait-”

Suguru scoffs, raising a brow at you. “That makes you sound so childish. You're a big girl now, aren't you?”

“D-Dad?” You correct, feeling yourself squirm under his harsh gaze.

“Better.” He breathes out, lowering his head once more to lathe his tongue along the flesh of your throat, licking hotly at your quickening pulse beneath the skin. The hand on your bare slides higher, dragging the fabric of your shirt up until he’s cupping your breast, thumb brushing gently over your nipple. You gasp softly at the pleasure it brings, something that brings an unfamiliar heat searing through your veins as wetness pools in the gusset of your panties.

He grins at the gasp he draws from your lips, teeth gently nipping at your skin as he releases your throat. His thumb flicks over your nipple once more as he drags his other hand down, moving to feel the wetness seeping through your underwear.

“I promised I’d protect you, bunny, and I meant it.” He murmurs, tracing a finger down the middle of the dampened fabric. He feels you tremble as he brushes over your clit, so he presses down gently to hear you whimper.

“I meant it,” he repeats, “I won’t hurt you, I just want you to feel good. You trust me, don’t you?

It’s a question, but it sounds more like a threat. You felt that familiar sense of unease in the back of your mind. You hadn’t experienced these things before, but you weren’t clueless.  You knew this was wrong, that he shouldn’t be touching you like this, but as his thumb replaces his finger so he could gently rub circles into your clit, your apprehension melts.

“Good girl.” He praises, words smooth and sweet. His fingers hook in the waistband of your panties, and he slowly slides them down your legs. His eyes hone in on your cunt, slick with arousal that he caused. “Look at you.”

Shame burns your face as you close your thighs, attempting to hide yourself from his view. Suguru grabs your knees, prying your thighs away before sliding his body between them to keep them from closing again.

“What’s wrong? You said you trusted me, bunny. Why are you trying to hide from me?”

“I wasn’t, I… I’m sorry.” You reply, gaze dropping nervously. Your heart pounds almost painfully in your chest, feeling more ashamed for disappointing your father.

“I don’t want to punish you, darling. Don’t you want to be good for me?” He says quietly, his tone almost condescending. He doesn’t wait for a reply before he sinks a finger into your tight cunt, a groan rumbling his chest as he feels you squeezing the digit. “Such an innocent little thing. So tight and wet.”

Suguru pulls back briefly only to remove his clothing, settling between your legs once more. His thumb presses down the base of his cock, allowing himself to align the tip with your dripping hole. “This may hurt at first, but you need to relax for me. Can you be a good girl?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, voice soft and nervous. Suguru presses forward, sliding himself inch by inch inside of your tight heat until his cock is pressed to your cervix. Tears prick at your eyes from the sudden burn, your chest heaving with heavy breaths as he pauses to allow you to adjust to his size.

“Shh, shh. You’ll be alright, bunny. Your body was made for me, after all. It will feel good soon.” He promises, gently rocking his hips. “My sweet girl. I’d never have another have you like this. No, it has to be me. I won’t ever let anyone hurt you.”

He tries to be gentle with you - he has no intention to hurt his sweet little girl - but the way you squeeze around him feels divine. He’s sure he’s never felt anything so perfect before, feeling as though he’s being driven mad as your slick walls cling to his cock, sucking him greedily every time he starts to pull out. Suguru is not one to lose control, but he can’t find it within himself to hold back as he starts to fuck into you with earnest, pounding you into the mattress until you’re crying out with every thrust.

His hand falls to rest on your pelvis, thumb brushing your clit in a way that makes you mewl, arching into his touch. He grunts as you squeeze tighter around his cock, his hips stuttering as he rubs circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hips buck, and he slams into you harder, bruising your cervix each time his hips snap forward. You’re so tight and warm and perfect around him, and he’s not sure how much longer he’s going to last inside of you.

He watches through hooded, lust-glazed eyes as your body coils up tight, the prettiest moans and whimpers spilling from your hips as you come undone around his length. His teeth clench at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him, the grip on your hip turning bruising as he fucks into you erratically, chasing his own release. His hips stutter before he stills, spilling deep inside of you with a low groan. His eyes squeeze shut, hand falling away from your clit to grip the sheets as he floods you with his cum.

“There we go, bunny.” He murmurs softly as he returns to himself, slowly pulling out of you. He sighs shakily, brushing some hair from your face. “You’re mine forever, darling. I’m never letting you stray from my side.” 

His tone alone assures you his words are a promise.

[luveline]

𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

when internet trolls poke fun at your appearance while working on a case, hotch is there to make you feel better. fem!reader, 3k

tw cyberbullying, poor eating habits, criminal minds typical violence

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You're not a media liaison or anything close, but with JJ off for maternity leave and Penelope in Quantico, there's a face needed for the press announcement on TV, and you offer to step in. 

You aren't particularly eager to do it, but Hotch doesn't have the time or wherewithal and such a high intensity case, not while Spencer is at half-mast, migraines rendering him ineffective and stubborn. You're trying to keep the ship sailing smoothly, doing your part of the profiling while juggling media and supporting the police sergeant that's heading the tip line.

You're not expecting to become a joke. After a red-eye, three sleepless nights trying to find a missing woman in Oklahoma —the domestic violence capital— and a full day without something to eat, you're aware you don't look your best, but you aren't sure what that has to do with your missing person. 

The FBI — fugly bitches International. #FindDanaLangley

Damn, are they not letting those agents sleep or what? She looks terrible ! 

she should be less worried about Dana Langley and more concerned with the dead woman in the mirror, ew 

hope theu find her just so they stop putting this creature on TV #FindDanaLangley

"Well," you murmur, wondering if it would be inappropriate to burst into tears, "these aren't especially helpful." 

Derek looks at you, his gaze measured, and you know he's not sure how to react to you or what's happening. He settles on his usual loving encouragement, because he's a very good friend. 

"Don't listen to all that," he says, throwing his arm around your shoulder, "those trolls wouldn't know beautiful if it hit them in the face. But we could always try it?" 

You sink into his hold, needing the reassurance even if you wish you didn't. "No hitting," you say, covering your mouth to hide a large and possibly fugly yawn. Your head is racing with regurgitated insults. "It doesn't matter, Derek. Promise. We have bigger stuff to deal with." 

The door opens and Hotch and Emily step inside, Rossi just behind them. You're thinking Hotch is going to agree with your sentiment, no time for comfort when a woman's life is at stake, so you move away from Morgan to sit in front of your laptop again. 

"Is something wrong?" Hotch asks. 

You meet his eyes just long enough to smile at him. "Nothing. What did Amandla have to say?" 

Emily retells the alibi of Dana's ex-girlfriend and is clearly suspicious but without proof, you're forced as a team to move on to the next lead. Spencer returns shortly afterward and you try to brainstorm your next step. 

It's Penelope that pulls through. "You asked me to cross reference the neighbours at Dana's previous address with people crossing state lines, right, after that one guy ended up being kinda icky? Well I did that, and nothing came up, which was–" 

"Garcia," Hotch interrupts. 

"Right. Long story short, one of the neighbours recently had an extreme falling out with Icky Guy after a years long friendship, his name is Justin Mantova, he has extreme PTSD with documented episodes of confused aggression, and he's been seen coming in and out of a storage unit in Paseo Storage Solutions for the past four days." 

"Address?" Hotch asks. 

"Already sent to your phones." 

"Thank you, Pen," you say. 

"Just go catch the bad guy, pretty girl," she says. 

Ah, so she's seen the tweets too. You frown rather than smile, reminded again of what's been said and wishing you could be anywhere else. 

You get your wish and forget all about personal grievances for a while, concerned with the safe location and extraction of Dana Langley. The operation is clean, and she's hurt but has a great chance at a full recovery. It's quick, it's professional. 

You're falling asleep in the SUV on the way back. Hotch at the wheel, Spencer in the backseat, you rub your eyes from the passenger side and try not to look suspiciously morose, but it's impossible. Hotch is too good at his job. 

"Are you sure everything's okay?" he asks. With Spencer's window open and the wind whipping, it's hard to hear him. 

"Hm?" 

"Is everything okay?" 

"I'm just tired." You don't look at him. It's rude of you, but if what they've said is true —you'd seen the photographs, and you looked tired, sure, but you still looked like you. "Just tired," you say again. You snap your mouth closed when your voice wobbles. 

Hotch is regularly too sweet on you. Most of the team say it's a crush. Emily calls it 'character development. Whatever it is, he's nice to you. He warmed up to you near immediately when you first joined the team, and he's been as welcoming months later as he was in your first week. 

Maybe he feels sorry for me, you think, submerging yourself inch by inch into self pity. 

The three of you regroup with the others at the police station to pen immediate recounts of what happened before you can forget, tying up loose ends. 

Finally you're able to go back to the hotel. Another half an hour and you're in the lobby.

"We'll go home in the morning. Nine AM flight, meet in the lobby at eight thirty," Hotch says. "Get some rest." 

You disband. They've squeezed you in all over the place, and you're lucky enough to be next to the elevator on the second floor. Hotch is the third floor, and everyone else the sixth, so you say goodbye to your colleagues and exit the elevator, stepping onto the second floor with a parting smile.

You can't know it, but Hotch notices the way your smile falls before the doors have well and truly closed. Your shoulders slump in defeat. 

You trudge into your room and don't bother turning on the lights. The door closes behind you and the mask you'd been holding up starts to crack. You put your laptop in the closet despite temptation to boot it up, knowing no good can come of looking at the tip hashtag again. 

You head into the bathroom to pee, and you're confronted with your appearance as you wash your hands. 

You stare at yourself. 

You look tired. 

Tears well as you look at yourself. You're not those things those people said. You're pretty, and when you smile everyone knows it. There's nothing so beautiful as a smile. You can't summon one, but you know it's the truth. 

Or, it should be. 

A single tear falls down your cheek, quickly followed by a second, and a third from the other eye. You ignore them, tracing the line of your bottom lip, the texture of your skin on your cheeks, the slight sunken effect of your under eyes. 

A knock makes you flinch. "Fuck," you say, wiping your cheek with the back of a hand, twisting on the spot like looking into your room might reveal whoever it is at the door. Probably one of your team. "Hello?" you call. 

"It's me. It's Hotch. I know it's after hours, but I wanted to speak with you."

Whatever reassurance he has to give might actually make this all much worse. You don't want any pity from anybody, you just want today to be over. Still, you wiggle your toes into the plush hotel carpeting, debating only for a moment about the pros and cons of pretending to be asleep. 

"Hey," you say, opening the door. You wipe your eyes and hope he takes it for a tired gesture rather than a method of hiding the glassy sheen at your waterline. "Hi, Hotch, how are you feeling?" 

"Fine. Tired. Thank you for asking." 

"Do you want to come in?" you ask. 

"Please." 

Hotch follows you into your room. There's an armchair across from the bed next to a desk and an old TV sitting atop it. Your suitcase is still open on your bed, your pyjamas crumpled in the shell. You close it before Hotch can see. That's another thing to add to your list: being a slob. 

"It's very clean in here," he says. 

You startle. "What?" 

"It's clean, considering how long we've been here. Have you ever seen Spencer's room at the end of a case?" he asks. 

"No, is it bad?" 

"It's like a paper hurricane."

You look down at your knees, hyper aware of his gaze on your face, tired of feeling uneasy in your skin. 

"I wanted to say thank you for doing the press release yesterday. You did an amazing job. It's something to be proud of." 

Of course he's talking about the press release, the one thing you need to not think about. 

"Did Derek tell you?" you ask. 

"Tell me what?" he asks, voice sharpening.

You look up. Hotch is a picture of concern, professionalism slightly off centre. 

"Nothing." 

"Something's been bothering you. Something Derek should've told me, I'm guessing." 

You chew over your words. "Uh. Hotch, it's really nothing, it's a hiccup. The press release, I…" You really don't want to have to say it. The words get stuck at the back of your throat.

He leans forward. "What?" 

"I looked sick. On TV. I looked really unwell, and it– it actually–" Why are you stammering? What's wrong with you? You laugh and it's not your laugh but it's better than your nonsense stuttering. "Sorry. On the press release, I didn't look my best, and it was a hot topic. That's what I thought Derek told you about. But I don't need anyone feeling sorry for me, Hotch." 

"I don't feel sorry for you." 

You wince, "No, of course not." 

"Two seconds," he says, putting his hand forward in the air between you. "A hot topic? I don't understand." He looks genuinely apologetic. 

"The tip line got clogged up with comments about my appearance," you say. You phrase it as a professional error rather than the embarrassing event it represents in your personal life.

His lips curl downward. "Saying you looked tired." 

"Saying I looked unagreeable." 

"As a friend," he says, tone softening, "could you tell me what they said?" 

Heat blooms in your cheeks and behind your eyes, your throat aching as you scratch at a nonexistent itch in the crook of your elbow. "Um. Well, there was a lot of them, and they weren't all about me, but the ones I saw, they seemed to think I needed more sleep. That I–" 

Hitch rarely interrupts, but something in your voice must impel him. "What did they say?" he asks again. 

"That I looked like a creature. That they hoped Miss Langley would be found, so that they didn't have to see my face on TV again. Hotch," you say, your throat sounding as tight as it feels, "it was pretty bad, but it really doesn't matter." 

"I think it matters if it's upset you," he says. 

He has the warmest voice when he wants it to be, so dulcet, almost melodic. You'd think it was a practised phrase, but he speaks freely. 

"It didn't," you lie. 

Pointless in your line of work and automatic anyways. Hotch doesn't deny you the safety of your untruth, but he doesn't entertain it, either. 

"You're beautiful when you're tired," he says. 

You don't mean to, but you hold your breath. The silence that follows his remark is deafening. 

"You're beautiful," he says, again, as though you could've missed it the first time. "Regrettably, you're very tired, but you don't look any less pretty. Don't think what was sent in to the tip line has any merit." 

"Are you saying that as my friend or my boss?" you ask. It's meant to be a joke that lightens the mood. 

"Neither," Hotch says.

You gawp, and then falter. "Why…" 

Hotch is close enough to offer a hand, and you're feeling stupid enough to take it. He squeezes tenderly, looking you straight in the eye. "I'm sorry about what's being said. I had no idea. We can pull the video, and the tipline should stop now Dana's been found, but it doesn't erase what's already happened. I'm so sorry. It's not right, and it's not fair." 

"It's a hard job, right?" you ask.

His hand is so so big, and not as soft as you'd pictured. It doesn't make a difference, not when he's touching you like you might shatter. 

"That's not the job," he says.

"It's silly to care, though. About what other people think." 

"I hope you care about what I think. The merit of an opinion comes from the person, and the relationship you have with them. Anyone who knew you would know that you're beautiful." 

"Inside that counts," you say, not fully comforted, but trying to give him an out. 

"You're beautiful on the outside," he says, giving your hand a small shake. "You're an amazing woman, of course. But I, for one, enjoyed seeing your face on TV."

You try not to smile too hard, directing your gaze at your joined hands lest he get a read on you.

Hotch must know how you feel about him. He'd be an awful profiler if he didn't. You fawn when you're around him even now, months down the line from your very first meeting when you were sure your heart would ricochet from your chest, the intensity of your instant crush like nothing you'd felt, not even as a schoolgirl. He'd been tall, striking, classically handsome and completely unaware of the fact. Now he's sitting across from you and he doesn't seem so tall, nor so striking. His caring side shines like a gem. It's blinding, and it really does make you feel better. 

"I cried in the bathroom," you confess, rubbing your thumb against his in minute, near imperceptible circles. "I wish it didn't matter to me, how I looked. I know I was doing something important, and there wasn't time to freshen up. Maybe I should've just asked somebody else." 

"You did it perfectly. You were perfect. No one else could have delivered the profile to the public that professionally, and that astutely." 

Hotch stands up, and you don't know what to do. You decide to look up at him just as he takes your face into his hands. 

"No crying in bathrooms, okay? It would… it breaks my heart thinking about it. You come to me."  

Such a dramatic statement, yet Hoch lays it out like it's an unquestionable truth. No bravado, only a sincerity that makes your throat hurt. His frown slides back into place as his palms warm your cheeks. 

"You're so busy, I could never," you say, shaking your head. 

"Time and place, sure, but. I will always try to make time for you. I hope you know that by now." 

You nod dazedly. Hotch's hands drag with a pressure down to your neck, your shoulders, leaving tingling skin in their wake. He looks at you and time stretches, a few seconds pulled out of order. It's his closeness, and his affectionate, empathetic smile. 

You nod again. 

He relaxes. 

"Try and get some rest, okay? You need to take care of yourself. I know it's hard to ignore how you feel, I know today was hard, but you're one of the strongest people I've ever met. I have faith in you." He gives your shoulder a final squeeze. "Are you alright?" 

"Yeah," you say. It comes out much more quietly than intended.

"Rest, honey. Call me if you're upset again. I mean it." 

He smooths your cheek with the back of his forefinger and you wonder if this is some weird fantasy. Hotch makes for the door, and you know for sure it's real when he says, "And no more caffeine tonight." 

"No more caffeine," you agree. 

He doesn't realise he's twice as bad as a coffee. Your heart races all by itself, his phantom touch on your cheek. 

—

"Hi, beautiful," Derek says. 

"There's the girl of the hour," Rossi says. 

You roll your arm in a bow, eyes stinging from the bright lobby lights but otherwise quite happy. Hotch called you beautiful last night. Hotch called you honey. People on the Internet who have nothing better to do thought you looked gross, but Hotch thinks you're pretty. It's hard to focus on the negative with a positive that good. 

"Good morning, my favourite boys," you say sweetly. 

Spencer looks up from his book. "Hey." 

"You didn't say hello," you say, "you excluded yourself." 

Spencer frowns and goes back to his book. You offer him a mini cookie from your pocket and he perks up, better when you whisper, "You know you're my favourite, Reid." 

"We all know that's a lie," Emily says, rolling her small suitcase to your left and nearly trampling your foot. 

"Unfortunately so," Rossi agrees. 

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." 

"Hotch looks chipper this morning, doesn't he?" Derek asks, nodding. You follow his nod too quickly and give yourself away, earning a scattered round of laughter from your tired team. "Got you."

"Laugh it up," you say. You're on a high that can't be killed, even with their collective teasing. 

"Why are we laughing?" Hotch asks from behind you. 

You jump half out of your skin. 

"We were laughing at Y/N's swift observational skills, but we spoke too soon," Emily says.

Hotch takes a moment to smile at you. "Hey, you look a little more rested. Feeling better?" 

A flush rises to your cheeks. "Much," you say, sounding foreign to your own ears. 

Hotch gives a pleased nod and clasps your shoulder gently before manoeuvring around you. "Let me go see where JJ is." 

He walks around the lobby corner and into the hotel restaurant. You have your face in your hands before he's gone, harassed by quiet whistles and giggling. 

"She's so embarrassed!" Rossi cheers, like a proud dad. "How hopeless, young love." 

"Someone please shut him up," you beg, rubbing your aching eyes. It's an excuse to hide your smile a moment longer. 

"Are you still tired?" Spencer asks. "You look tired."

"She does not," Derek says severely. 

You raise your head with a smile. Tired or not, Hotch thinks you're beautiful. He liked seeing you on TV. You lavish the memory.

"I'm genuinely exhausted," you say eventually, a smile stretching from cheek to cheek as you stand tall again.

"I want whatever kind of tired you're feeling," JJ says as she arrives, Hotch a step behind her. 

You meet his eyes. You think he might not acknowledge what's been said between you —it wasn't strictly professional to have held your face in his hands like that, after all— and the beginnings of disappointment creep in, until he stands at your side, his fingertips brushing yours. It cannot be accidental. 

"She wears it well, doesn't she?" he asks the group. He gives no time for an answer. "Everyone ready?" 

You practically vibrate your way to the SUV. Not a bad case, as they go. 

 ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading, so much! I hope you enjoyed! if you did and you have the time, please consider reblogging cos it makes me happy <3

[lxndonorris]

racing surprise for Lando - Lando Norris (SFS24)

fem!reader x Lando Norris Theme: Smut (you've been warned) in the midst of pre-season testing, Mclaren invited you to surprise Lando x word count: 2710+ taglist: @game-set-canet another edition to the suit fitting saga 2024 (SFS24). Quite similar but I hope you like the added twist. Oh and I needed that picture so dont blame me. Next one will hopefully be este, and if you have any request, for SFS24, testing or simply something else, dont be shy and hit me up!

The air crackles with anticipation as the new season of Formula 1 looms on the horizon, heralding a fresh chapter in Lando Norris's illustrious career as a professional racing driver. With the promise of new gear, a state-of-the-art racing suit, a meticulously crafted helmet, and a gleaming Mclaren race car awaiting him, excitement pulses through his veins like the roar of an engine.

Amidst the flurry of activity in the Mclaren garage, you stand, a silent observer disguised as one of the team members. Dressed in the team's iconic orange shirt, dark pants, a cap, and sporting a headset, you blend seamlessly into the backdrop, your heart aflutter with anticipation as you await Lando's arrival.

He initially invited you himself to join him here, but you had to decline. Unbeknownst to him, his team has already reached out to you, preparing a surprise for your boyfriend. 

And then, like a whirlwind of energy and charisma, he enters the scene. Clad in his new racing suit, adorned with sponsor logos, he cuts a stroking figure. The fabric hugs his form in all the right places, accentuating his athletic build with precision and care. His curly locks framed his face, adding a touch of boyish charm to his rugged allure.

As Lando moves through the garage, his presence commands attention. There is confidence in his stride, a swagger in his step that speaks volumes about his self-assurance. He greets everyone with a warm smile and a handshake; his enthusiasm infectious. There is a genuine camaraderie between them, a sense of unity forged by their shared passion for racing.

With the assistance of two friendly mechanics who shield you from view, you watch as Lando prepares for his testing session. The air is thick with excitement and tension, a tangible buzz of anticipation that electrifies the atmosphere. The scent of his cologne lingers in the air, a subtle reminder of his proximity that sends shivers down your spine.

Each step Lando takes seems to echo purpose, his eyes alight with a belnd of determination and curiosity.

You watch from your vantage point, hidden in plain sight among the team members. As a conversation turns to the upcoming training session, Lando's demeanor shifts slightly. A curious, shy smile played on his lips as he listens closely. With a hand on his hip, he leans in slightly, his posture relaxed yet attentive.

There is a quiet determination in his gaze, a hunger to extract every ounce of potential from the testing session. He understands the importance of these moments, recognizing them as opportunities to fine-tune his skills and familiarize himself with the nuances of the new car.

You can't help but admire the way the fabric hugs his body tightly, emphasizing the curves of his backside and the strength of his arms. His movements are fluid and purposeful, each gesture imbued with quiet confidence.

With each glance, your eyes trace the lines of his suit, lingering on the subtle details that hint at the layers beneath. You know that beneath the sleek exterior lies a network of tight undergarments—fireproofs designed to protect him.

This knowledge adds an extra layer of allure to his already magnetic presence, heightening the intensity of your admiration.

As the conversation draws to a close, Lando offers a grateful nod to his mechanics. With a sense of purpose, he turns his attention toward the track, eager to put their plans into action and unleash the full extent of his talents.

With practiced ease, Lando slips into the remaining racing gear—his gloves and a tight balaclava—each movement deliberate and precise. The helmet, adorned with beautiful colors and logos, completes his ensemble, its glossy surface reflecting the glow of excitement in his eyes.

With a playful twirl, he settles into the driver's seat, his grin widening as he prepares to start testing. With a loud roar, the engine comes to life, and slowly but steadily, he makes his way out of the garage. Your stomach tightens in a mixture of anticipation and pride.

Through the crackle of the radio, his voice rings out, a symphony of exhilaration as he tackles each corner with precision and finesse. You listen intently, your heart swelling with joy as he pushes the limits of his Mclaren. You know he is so happy to be back, and you can actually see him smiling when you close your eyes. His voice is a little rougher, yet it carries his joy and passion through the radio.

Once his session is over, he returns to the garage. As Lando emerges from the cockpit of his Mclaren, he lets out a jubilant cheer with a triumphant flex of his arms. Shaking your head, you can't believe him actually doing that. Licking your lips, you still can't tear your eyes away from his arse, filling his suit fully.

The testing had been a success, and he surpassed all expectations. Running a hand across his chest, he can't help but revel in the rush of adrenaline that still courses through his veins. The fabric of his racing suit clings to him, damp with sweat from the intensity of the session—a sensational sight that you missed during the winter break.

In one swift movement, he reaches up to remove his helmet and balaclava, revealing a mop of tousled curls and a flushed complexion beneath. His lips part slightly with a satsified smirk, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes as he licks his lips, sending shivers down your spine. He looks so happy and excited, and you smile seeing him like that.

As he moves through the garage, shaking hands with his team members, he can't contain his joy. His tongue darts out playfully, a gesture of exuberance that shows his satisfaction with the achievements so far.

Lando chats with a few mechanics for a while, and you can tell the residual excitement from the testing session continues to surge through his veins, pulsating with every beat of his heart. He keeps stroking his chest, touching his arms, and subconsciously, he touches himself through his suit—just barely, yet it catches your attention. 

It is as if the adrenaline of the track has infused his very being, filling him with an exhilarating energy that seems to amplify with each passing moment.

Entranced by his every move, the sound of his voice, and his cologne's scent still hovering all around you, you miss the opportunity to reveal yourself—Lando has already left for his private quarters.

Leaving your headset and cap behind, you rush after him and spot him strolling through the paddock. Unable to tear your eyes away from him, captivated by the effortless grace with which he moved, you follow him. Every step seems to exude confidence, joy, and self-confidence.

As he runs a hand through his messy curls, you can't help but notice the way his hair fell in disarray, framing his face in a way that is both endearing and alluring. There is a rawness to his appearance—a sense of vulnerability—that makes your heart flutter in your chest.

And then, as if sensing your gaze, he runs a hand across his chest, a subtle gesture that speaks volumes about the excitement still running through his body. You can almost feel the electric energy radiating off him, a tangible reminder of the thrill of driving an F1 car.

In this moment, you are struck by the sheer magnetism of his presence, even though you're just looking at his beautiful back. And as he disappears into his quarters, leaving you to ponder the whirlwind of emitions he had stirred within you, you can't help but feel a sense of awe and admiration.

As you knock on his door, a nervous anticipation grips you, your heart pounding with uncertainty—how is he going to react?

"Coming." Lando's voice echoes through the door before it swings open, revealing your boyfriend standing right in front of you. With an almost shocked expression, your breath catches in your throat.

"Y/N?" He asks, and in an instant, his entire face lit up with a radiant smile that reaches his eyes, filling you with warmth and joy. 

"Hi." You smile shyly, your face flushing with heat. 

Without hesitation, he pulls you into a tight embrace, his arms enveloping you closely. You melt into him, running your hands across his firm back.

"What are you doing here?" Lando smiles, separating himself just enough for his face to be mere inches away from yours. He places a hand on your cheek, tracing your skin with his fingertips.

"Surprising you." You motion for a few Mclaren team members to film the two of you from afar. 

Both of you turn your heads and wave toward the camera. 

"They offered to get me here; we just needed a few clips for their channel." You shrug, and he nods in agreement and curiousity.

"This is great," he leans into you, kissing you gently. You lock eyes with him for what feels like an eternity.

The film crew gives you a thumbs up, telling you that it's now time for some alone time. 

As Lando welcomes you into his private quarters, a rush of excitement surges through you, mingling with the lingering traces of adrenaline from his testing session. Your gaze is drawn irresistibly to the contours of his chest, the fabric of his racing suit accentuating every curve and sinew.

He meets your gaze with a knowing smile, a spark of amusement dancing in his eyes as he senses the admiration and desire in your gaze. There is confidence in his demeanor, a quiet assurance that speaks of his comfort in his own skin.

"So, how was I?" With a playful grin, he steps closer, closing the distance between you until the warmth of his presence envelops you.

"Amazing." You lift your chin slightly, meeting his confidence with your own. "And you look the part too." Smirking, you lick your lips.

Without a word, he takes your hand and guides it to the fabric of his suit, allowing you to feel the sleek material beneath your fingertips.

"I know how much you like this on me," Lando breathes, locking his eyes with your own. However, you're unable to withstand his burning gaze and lower your eyes, following the movements of your hands instead.

As your hand traces the lines of his chest and arms, you can't help but marvel at the strength and resilience that lie beneath the surface. The fabric is cool to the touch, yet it seems to hum with the energy of the track, a tangible reminder of the passion and dedication that fuel his every movement.

"This feels so good." You breathe deeply while you keep stroking his chest, feeling his biceps, and watch his chest move with every breath he takes, eliciting a low rumble of pleasure deep down his throat.

"Fuck," Lando can't hold back a low moan, his hand now following yours closely, his body yearning for so much more. He leans his head back, embracing both of your hands now on his chest.

You know how much he loves to be teased, touched, and stroked. Effortlessly, you push all of his buttons and his most sensitive spots—his nipples, pecs, arms, and most importantly, his member filling his suit.

"Good." You whisper, leaning in to him, tracing the outlines of his stubble just above his lips. A shiver races down your spine, the rough texture of his beard contrasting with the softness of your touch. There is something undeniably alluring about the way his beard frames his lips, adding a touch of raw sensuality to his appearance. 

With each passing moment, the desire to feel the roughness of his stubble against your skin grows stronger—a primal urge that threatens to consume you completely. You lean in, brushing your lips against his in a tender caress. The sensation of his beard against your skin sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

With your hand on his crotch, he moans softly against your lips. Lost in the heat of the moment, you surrender yourself to the heady rush of emotions. Your lips meet in a fervent kiss, craving his delicious taste.

"Y/N." Lando murmurs, his hands now steady on your waist, holding you close.

"Care to give me a show?" You bite his lower lip teasingly, causing him to chuckle. "I want to see all of you in that." Tugging at the zipper of his racing suit, you stroke him firmer, encouraging him to show off.

"Of course." He giggles, and you settle onto the sofa, anticipation tingling in the air, thick with the electricity of the moment. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Lando takes center stage, spreading your legs to make some space. His movements are fluid and confident as he begins his private show.

With each flex of his muscles, his form seems to come alive, the contours of his body highlighted by the sleek fabric of his racing suit. He lets you feel his muscles tense, letting out more guttural growls.

"Very good." You smile, and with a playful smirk dancing on his lips, he turns around, giving you a tantalizing glimpse of his firm back and arse. He bends to show off his butt even more, much to your amusement. 

And then, with a sudden burst of energy, he begins to dance, his movements a mesmerizing combination of grace and athleticism. His hips sway to an invisible rhythm, and his body moves with a natural ease that shows off his innate charisma and confidence.

As he twirls and turns, the fabric of his suit seems to come alive as well, clinging to his form as he moves with effortless grace. With a slow and deliberate motion, he reaches for the zipper, his fingers tracing the line with teasing slowness.

As Lando slowly unzips his suit, his eyes never leave yours; their intensity like a flame igniting the air between you. His gaze is electric, a silnt invitation that sends shivers down your entire back. Hidden beneath his beautiful eyes lies hunger—a raw desire that mirrors the heat pulsating through your veins.

With each inch of fabric that melts away, inch by inch, he reveals the tight garments—a glimpse of the tight fireproofs. Easily, he slips out of the upper half of his suit, giving you a good look at his chest. His defined muscles barely conceiled, he flexes again, straining the fabric even more. 

Lando closes the distance between you until you feel the warmth of his body radiating against your skin. His gaze is never wavering, pulling you so much closer.

"Fuck." You reach for his chest, tracing the tangible outlines of his abs, as he licks his lips. With the sleeves of his suit dangling down his waist, he stands before you, his form outlined against the soft glow of the room, a vision of strength and sensuality that takes your breath away.

In that moment, as you drink in the sight of him, you know you want him. 

You motion for him to sit down right next to you, and right away, you lean in, kissing him passionately.

Lando embraces your body against his, and at the same time, your hand slips underneath his suit. His skin is warm and tight; all of the tension is showing its effect on his body.

"Mhmmm." He purrs into your mouth, one of his hands firmly on his length, bulging against his clothes.

In one swift motion, you manage to get into his pants and pull his member out of his clothes, causing him to moan in agreement.

"That would be so good, Y/N." Fully aware of what you're about to do, you keep kissing him while simultaneously running your hand up and down his length.

With every breath he takes, Lando lets out guttural groans before leaning his head back against the sofa cushions.

Looking into his eyes, you bend down and take him into your mouth. 

"That's what I meant." He swallows hard, running a hand through your hair.

Together, you easily catch up to each other's rhythm, moving as one. His husky, rough voice echoes through your mind as more and more drops of his taste cover your tongue. 

Then, his body gets stiff and rigid, and he holds his breath before letting go of all this tension, pressure, and desire. It feels so good. Letting out a long, breathless moan, he relaxes quickly, leaning back even more. You let go of him, licking your lips to savor the taste.

Lando fondles with himself for a while while you catch your breath.

"This was so good." You sigh deeply before a chuckle leaves your wet lips. He smirks, leans in, and kisses you.

"Thank you for being here." Lando rubs his nose against yours gently.