#He was still using her instead of putting her back to heal

[phoenixcatch7]

WAIT wilds weapons break in botw so quickly for the EXACT SAME REASON they do in totk but malice is more dilute than gloom!!

[selfcarecap]

Cat & Dog [L.H.]

✧ Logan Howlett x kitty hybrid!reader

✧ summary: Logan rescues you, a kitty hybrid, on a mission and you become infatuated with him. (that’s all the plot you get, the rest is porn lol <3)

✧ warnings: smut 18+, unequal power dynamics bc Logan saves reader (and she’s a bit naive and inexperienced), kitty hybrid!reader (human with kitty ears, a tail, claws and kind of fangs and she purrs), reader’s first time, unprotected piv, oral sex, Logan teases reader a lot, slight daddy kink (like two mentions – still figuring out whether i like it for Logan), implied age gap, pet names (baby, bub, kid (not during sex), sweetheart, kitty — at first mockingly but then not), reader making biscuits on Logan w/ her claws lol, slight pain kink, Logan teaches reader about consent, uh i ignored that the reader’s probably gone through some trauma lool, Logan is indifferent to reader’s feelings for him at first but it changes, reader wears Logan’s hoodie; alternative summary that i thought was too cringe to use: Logan’s a nasty dog and you’re his pretty kitty. 

✧ word count: 5.2k

Logan Howlett is your saviour — the most handsome hero to ever exist.

He finds you on a mission, abandoned like the runt of the litter. The only reason he knows you’re still alive as he carefully approaches you, curled into a ball, is because his strengthened senses allow him to hear your dull heartbeat, and the matted tail at your lower back bristles when you hear him come closer.

“I’ll get you out of here, kid. You’re safe now,” he says, telling you his name and that he’s part of the X-Men. You turn slightly at the sound of one of his claws unsheathing, and watch him use it to pick the lock of the cage you’re being held in.

He opens the door and takes more steps backwards than necessary, “There you go.” 

You’d be able to dart straight past him and escape. You trust him. He smells different from the men that locked you in here, too. Sure, he smells a bit doggish, or like a wolf maybe, but he’s sweaty from fighting men to get to you so you’re not going to complain.

You slowly crawl through the cage door on all fours, feeling his eyes rake over your body. You don’t know why he’s staring – apart from your tail, and, sure, your ears, you have the body of a human – but you don’t mind it. You immediately feel warm in his presence. Everything is about to get better, all thanks to him.

He carries you in his arms when you’re too weak to even stand and you’ve never felt as peaceful and protected as when he holds you, and you cling to him with all the energy you have left. You can’t help but hiss when he puts you down in the seat next to him instead of in his lap to get you home.

-

It’s now been two weeks since you last saw Logan. He gave you his zip hoodie to keep you warm as soon as you got to the mansion and he didn’t leave your side until you were safely in the infirmary. You wish he never left.

They’re insisting on keeping you in here to heal, ignoring every time you ask for Logan. You feel healthy – they’ve even made your tail all pretty and fluffy again – so you take it upon yourself to find him.

You sneak out of the infirmary late at night, and all you have to do to find Logan is follow your senses.

Once you’ve located his room, you push the door open without any thought. He’s in bed but he’s still awake. The light on his nightstand casts a glow over the room and you smile when you finally see him again.

“What’re you doing here, kid?” he asks, sitting up slightly. He’s wearing nothing but his boxers, and you eye the muscles from his chest down to his abdomen, noticing the delicious layer of hair he has all over.

“Can’t sleep,” you take a step over the threshold, holding onto the door shyly.

Logan smiles, more to himself, “Was wondering when I’d see you again, bub.”

“Was waiting for you to come visit me,” you pout. You jut out your hip to one side, your tail curling upwards and peeking out behind your legs. You’re showing off. Last time he saw your tail, it was all tattered, but now it’s soft and bouncy again. You see Logan looking at it, smiling slightly, but he doesn’t compliment it like you hoped.

“We barely know each other. It’s nothing personal, kid. It was a standard mission. Anyone from our team could have got you first.” It stings that he doesn’t find your bond as special as you do, but you don’t mind if you have to do some convincing. He’s worth it.

“But we do know each other,” you close the door and make your way to his bed, “You saved me. I wouldn’t be alive without you. I just want to show you my appreciation.” You’re at the foot of his bed, crawling onto it on all fours. You’d never normally be this blunt but you can’t help yourself around him. Your need for him has taken over your entire being in the last two weeks. 

You watch him taking you in. Your movements are sensual and sleek – feline. You know he’s never been with someone like you, and you’re happy for him to take his time if he needs it. Perching on his bed, between his spread legs, you slowly unzip the hoodie of his that you’re still wearing.

His eyes follow the languid movement as you drag the zipper down, revealing your simple black top underneath. It clings to your skin in all the right places in the same way that your soft, tight, black shorts do.

“Looks good on you,” he nods towards the hoodie.

“Do you want me to keep it on?” You ask, but he shakes his head, smiling. 

“It’ll look better off.”

You unzip it fully, throwing it to the side of the bed. 

“Can I stay with you?” you lean over him. He’s about to open his mouth, and you have a feeling he’s going to tell you no.

“Please,” you cut him off.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he huffs, moving to give your ears a light scratch, “you can stay for a bit”. He’s intrigued enough to let you stay – you can hear it in his elevated heartbeat – and you don’t mind if curiosity is the only reason he’s keeping you with him for now. 

He paws at your fluffy ears, almost groping you, unsure how to treat you, but you haven’t been touched there in so long that it feels like heaven anyway.

“Who’s a good kitty?” he mocks as he gets the sweet spot behind your ear, but you don’t realise he’s teasing you, pushing your head further against his hand in bliss as you begin to purr. 

Logan isn’t sure how you’re making the noise, but it turns him on. He wants to hear more of it, “Well, don’t you sound pretty?” 

Your purring intensifies. You move down his body and settle over his legs, your head in his lap as his hand stays on your head. It’s then that Logan realises he’s already half-hard. The only reason he let you in was because he’s sexually intrigued by you, your cute demeanour and that fluffy tail somehow doing it for him. But he wasn’t planning on actually doing anything — not until now.

Your face is mere inches from his cock and he’s starting to ache to do something about it, getting harder. You’re still trying to find the most comfortable position as you rub your cheek across his lap like a little cat. You stop when you feel his erection.

“Are you hard?” you ask bluntly, eyes all wide. 

“I am, bub.”

“For me?” you purr quietly.

“All for you.” Logan tips his head to the side, waiting to see your reaction. He can tell that whatever you’re asking him next is taking you a bit more courage. He watches you gnaw on your lip all cutely.

“I’ve never seen a cock before…” you confess, and Logan stifles a laugh.

“Y’wanna?” He surprises himself when he says it. At first, he thought your affection was simply that of the saved towards her saviour, or familial maybe, but he’s not mad at this. 

Logan gets fully hard as you nod at him in such awe, your tail curling around his bare leg, and it’s even softer than it looks.

He pushes his boxers down just enough to pull out his cock, jerking himself off for just a few seconds to get some friction. You’re staring at it as you move your legs back, instinctively arching your back with your ass up. 

Your tail bobs behind you Logan can’t resist giving it a light tug, curling his finger around it. “Mmh,” you huff, pulling your tail away by instinct.

“Sorry, kitty,” he chuckles, “just wanted to feel it.” Your cheeks warm at his confession and you move your tail back in the direction of his hand so he can reach for it when he wants to. Your tail is your pride and you won’t let just anyone touch it – Logan’s the exception. He can gladly dominate you by tugging at your tail all day if he wants. 

He smiles as he touches your tail again, letting it glide through his fist from the bottom to the tip of your fur. “Such a pretty kitty,” he hums as he bites his lip. 

Hearing that he likes it pleases you more than you would’ve thought and you begin to purr again. You’re not exactly sure how to go down on a man, but you let your intuition guide you as you lower your face to press a wet kiss to the tip of Logan’s cock.

Suddenly, he’s pulling you back up by the scruff of your neck.

“Ah-ah. Manners, bub. You gotta ask first, you don’t know that?” Logan scolds.

His expression goes soft as you shake your head all sadly and apologetically, “‘S okay, kitty. I’ll teach you. Say please.”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

You look at him as you get back up on all fours, leaning close to his face. You want to kiss him so bad but you gather you’re not allowed to do that without asking either. 

“Please can I kiss you, daddy?” you ask.

Logan is surprised, not unpleasantly, at the word, “Where’d you get that from?” 

You shrug, and even that movement is fluid and smooth. “Just wanted to call you that. ‘S that okay?” You slur, head already clouded with pleasure and Logan.

He nods and places his hand back on your neck, pulling you towards him as your face reaches his in a searing kiss. He’s hungry for you, devouring you with his mouth and tongue and teeth immediately. His hand glides down your spine and to the side of your ass, grabbing you there. 

You purr against his lips as his other hand squeezes the flesh at your waist, and the vibration feels so good to him. You lower yourself against him so you’re chest to chest, and your belly rubs against his cock as some of his precum spills between you two, rubbing up against your skin and dripping onto his own abs.

Logan gently pulls you off, “Be a good girl and suck daddy’s dick now, alright?” You nod so adorably it makes his heart clench – you’re so eager to please him, all wide-eyed as you get between his legs, your ass up in the air.

On your way down, you give tiny licks to his skin; your tongue is all over his chest hair and his happy trail. Your tongue glides through his pubic hair, ignoring his throbbing cock, and you make your way to his thighs. He watches you lick through the dark hair there, and he realises what you’re doing. 

You’re acting like a cat, taking care of him. You’re bonding with him, and grooming him. He lets you do it some more, but it becomes increasingly difficult to ignore how hard he is, leaking precum. He slides a hand down to his dick, jerking off right next to your face.

“Mhh,” you pout, pushing his hand away with your head and giving him a cross look.

He smirks, “you gonna start sucking at some point then, baby?” It’s not that he doesn’t like you playing around but he’s getting desperate. He places a hand on your face to make you look at him.

“I don’t know how to.” Your cheeks are hot under his touch. 

Logan smiles, “Start with kisses. Or lick, like you’ve been doing.”

You nod and curl your tail around his knee, your hands to the sides of his hips. You press a wet kiss to the underside of his cock and Logan sighs in pleasure; you immediately want to hear more of it. You press quick kisses all over him, remembering what he said about using your tongue.

You begin to lick all over his dick, his balls too, until you’re drooling over him. But he’s stopped making pretty sounds and you’re not sure what you’re doing wrong. You hear a quiet chuckle from above you.

“Come up here,” Logan says. You sit up and straddle his waist. He takes your hand, bringing it to his mouth.

“Like this,” he tells you, taking one of your fingers between his lips. He wets it with his spit, sucking it into his mouth, tongue moving over your fingertip. You grin – you like the look of it. You like the way his cheeks hollow as he sucks on your finger, wishing your hands were as big as his.

As you move to push another finger past his lips, Logan takes your wrist. “Uh-uh. Your turn, kitty.” 

You pout but then feel his hard cock against your ass, your tail brushing it, and you get excited. 

“And none of those sharp teeth,” Logan tells you as you move down his body again. You bare your smile to him, letting your fangs retract. They’re a special part of you and you’re glad you could finally show them off to someone who deserves to see. Logan awards your little show with a grin. 

“Good girl.” Those words make you put your mouth on him immediately, swallowing him down your throat as deeply as you can. You pull away when you almost gag, heat spreading over your face, but Logan is unbothered.

You settle between his legs as you press a few more open-mouthed kisses to his cock with spit-slicked lips. You take the tip in your mouth, staying for a bit as you suck on it, spit dripping down his length and over your lips.

You start purring when you take him a little deeper, and Logan’s breath catches in his throat when you do, the vibration turning him on even more.

“Keep doing that,” he mumbles absent-mindedly, eyes on you but mind evidently gone. You smile around his cock, moving your mouth up and down as the spit begins to make a crude sound against your lips, but you like it. You’re feeling more and more of an urge to touch yourself between your legs, but you want to make Logan feel good first.

Your purring gets louder as you take him even deeper, and Logan lets out a sharp gasp. You pull your mouth off him, wondering if you’ve hurt him, sliding your tongue over your teeth to make sure the sharp fangs aren’t out.

Following Logan’s eyes, you see what you’ve done. Your claws have come out, and you’ve been scratching his thighs open. You feel tears prick your eyes as you bend down to lick over the wounds apologetically, wondering in awe as they heal up immediately.

“Don’t worry, just surprised me. You won’t hurt me.”

“Sorry, ‘s just how I show that I like you. Don’t wanna let you go”, you hang your head low in shame despite his words.

“It’s okay, kitty,” he lightly scratches at your ear, making you purr and forget all about hurting him, “Do your worst.”

You’re not sure if he’s teasing you. “Know they’re not as big as yours.”

Logan huffs, taking a hand away from you, pressing his elbow into the bed and his claws come shooting out. You only saw one of them briefly, when he saved you. They’re majestic up close and in all their glory, glinting against the low light. 

You reach out, “Pretty.” Logan smiles at your sparkling eyes, but retracts his claws before you can touch them.

“Don’t wanna hurt you, baby.”

You give him the meanest look you can muster for not letting you touch, sinking your own, much tinier, claws into his abs to hurt him. But Logan lets out a soft moan instead, and you marvel at the pleasure he takes in the pain, forgetting all about why you’re mad at him.

Your eyes light up when you realise he likes you scratching him open. It’s a dream come true – someone who likes the way you show affection. You bite your lip as you scratch over his abs, his hips, and his thighs, watching as the wounds close up just before you draw blood. You hook your tiny claws into the flesh of his thighs as you wrap your lips around his cock again.

Logan lets out a string of moans as you have your claws in him and your mouth on him. You begin to purr, and with the way his cock flexes in your mouth you know he’s close.

“Just a little more for me, can you do that, baby?” he gently nudges your head down some more, and with the praise coming from his lips you can definitely take him – you feel like you could do anything.

“Yeah, just like that.” Logan’s voice gets shaky as you take his cock deeper, spit running down to his balls as you take almost all of him in your warm, wet mouth. 

You swallow everything Logan gives you as he cums in your mouth, shooting strings of his warm load down your throat. You don’t stop until he’s gently pulling you off him, and you look up at him.

“Again,” you plead, eyes wide, taking in how his cock is still hard.

Logan chuckles, “Don’t get used to the idea of that. Most men can’t go more than once.” 

You look at him strangely – what do other men matter to you? Before you can ask, Logan manhandles you into a different position, and you don’t notice until then that you’ve been grinding your clothed pussy against his knee, and you whine at the loss of contact.

You’re on your knees as Logan gets up to fully remove his boxers, and you see the skin at his knee glistening from where you’ve soaked it. The sight makes your cheeks heat up but also makes you press your thighs together.

He’s standing in front of you like a god, and you put a hand on his thigh to suck his cock again. Before your mouth can reach him, he puts a gentle hand on your shoulder, “Your turn now, kitty.”

“Oh,” you say as he lies you on your back.

“Gonna play with you now. Can I take this off?” he’s holding the bottom of your top, and you nod as he pulls it off you. Logan gets on the bed again, taking in the sight of you half-naked. You’ve never felt so good about yourself. He looks as if he’s seen God herself.

“Look at you, kitty, so fucking pretty,” he whispers more to himself, touching and kissing you there as his knees sink into the mattress. You arch your back when he wraps his lips around your nipple, and the action makes your pussy rub up against him. He looks down between your thighs, pushing his mouth there.

You’re not wearing any underwear, so his face against your thin shorts makes you squirm. “Smell so good,” he breathes, rubbing his nose up against your clit. It makes you moan.

He begins to pull down your pants, stopping as they catch on your tail. The nurses cut a hole into the back of the material for it, and your cheeks glow when Logan carefully pulls your sensitive tail out of the way before he slides your shorts all the way down your legs, spreading them to get a look of you afterwards.

“Look at you, kitty. Prettiest kitty I’ve ever seen,” you miss his joke, placing your feet on Logan’s broad shoulders, as he says “Can I?”

You’re appalled that he even has to ask, pushing his head down between your legs. 

He begins to eat you like a man starved, moaning against your skin at the taste of your wet pussy. He doesn’t even tease you, licking through all your wetness, licking over your clit in circles.

Logan pushes two fingers in without any preparation, but you still feel too empty, grinding your hips against him. 

“I got you,” he promises, lapping up all of you, “Best thing I’ve ever tasted.” He grabs one of your thighs, holding it so that you don’t squeeze his ears any more. Your knees are still pressing against his temples, but he doesn’t mind them there. He can feel you tremble when he licks and sucks and when he curls his fingers.

Logan has you cumming on his tongue quickly, sucking on your clit until you’re seeing stars, whining for him to stop. He pulls his lips off you, sitting up to push his fingers into your mouth.

“You taste good, huh?” he smirks as you suck your own arousal off him, humming around his fingers in agreement. He slowly fucks his fingers into you again, bringing them up to his own lips. He moves his hand between your legs again, fingers going over the hair above your pussy.

“You’re so soft here, kitty,” he says, leaning down to nuzzle his cheek against your pubic hair, making you giggle.

You’re still wet, and he’s still hard, and you don’t want to be too direct but you want to know when he’s finally going to fuck you. You tell him “I’ve never done this before either,” hoping he’ll catch what you’re getting at.

He places a kiss above your pussy, into the soft hair, smirking up at you and kneeling between your spread thighs, “I know. I’ll go slow.”

“Don’t want you to go slow,” you mumble, watching his eyes darken a bit.

“Don’t say that to me. Y’don’t know what you’re saying.” 

You don’t reply, smiling to yourself. He is big – very big – you remind yourself, but you still want him to be rough with you if that’s what he needs. You want him to use you. But maybe you should wait before you tell him that.

Logan wraps a hand around his cock, fucking his fist for a few moments before he leans down to rub the tip against your clit. You mewl at the sensation, ready for more.

“You sure?” he asks, head already beginning to push in.

“Yeah,” you whimper, wrapping your arms around his neck to hold him close. Logan pushes himself halfway in, both of you moaning with pleasure. The stretch already stings, but you tell him you want more.

“So fucking tight for me, baby,” he grunts as he fucks into you deeper, bottoming out with an almost pathetic groan that makes you smile through the slight pain.

“You’re so big,” you moan, leaning your head back against his pillow.

“I know. Think you can take me?” he kisses up the side of your neck, hand sneaking between your bodies to play with your clit.

“Yes–yeah. I want you.”

“That’s a good kitty,” he whispers from above you, beginning to thrust into you slowly, rocking your whole body with his movement. He feels so big in your pussy, but you like the feeling of being stretched out for him. Even if it hurts, you want him to take what he needs.

It helps when your claws come out, scratching at his back to relieve some of the pain.

“Hurt me, baby. Hurt me as much as you need,” he moans into your ear, fucking into you at a bit of a rougher pace. You sink your claws into him, feeling how you draw tiny drops of blood from his big muscles, dragging your fingertips down his shoulders and over his big arms.

“That’s it, baby,” Logan moans against your mouth, kissing you sloppily, thrusts becoming messy, and you grunt in a mix of pain and pleasure that feels so good. He looks down at you, hips getting slower as he takes your tail in his hand.

“Does your tail hurt like this?” he asks, tugging at it lightly. You’re lying on your tail, technically, but it doesn’t hurt. You shake your head. Still, Logan tips your hips to the side a bit, lifting your thigh to fuck you sideways. But this way you can’t reach his back, and you don’t like not being able to squeeze around him with your thighs.

“Wanna sit on top,” you say, and he pulls away to look at you, unable to stop himself from smiling.

“You can’t take me like that yet, bub. Trust me.”

“M-mh,” you mumble, and with a bite to his lip Logan lifts his hands in defeat, slipping out of you and obeying you. He flips you around so that he’s on his back and you straddle him.

His dick looks bigger when you hold it in your hand, raising yourself to your knees to line him up with your pussy. Logan chuckles and you smile too, but you want to show him that you can take him.

You struggle to even get the angle right because you have to sit up so high, but when you’ve got the tip in your pussy, you just slowly lower yourself, hands leaning on Logan’s chest.

“Go slow, baby,” Logan says, suddenly gentle, seeing the pain on your features as he goes deeper. His fingers draw circles on your hips and on your ass, and he almost cums from the way you moan when he won’t fit in all the way in this position. He reaches out to rub at your fluffy ears, loving the way you lean into his touch, purring again.

“Sounds so pretty when you do that.” He’s less and less sure about the thing he said earlier, telling you not to get used to him, about you fucking other men. He’s not sure it’ll be relevant after all. He’s going to keep you all to himself.

“Hurts so bad,” you moan, pussy straining around him.

“Then stop. Y’don’t have to,” Logan coos, pulling you up by your hips but you take his hands off you.

“Don’t wanna stop. Wanna cum.” You grind your hips against Logan’s, his cock pulsing inside you. It drives him fucking crazy seeing you struggling to take him, fucking yourself stupid in his lap nevertheless.

He rubs his thumb over your clit, in circles to match the movement of your hips on him.

“Lo–Logan,” you moan, hands back on his chest as you start to fuck him again, your claws coming out against his chest to scratch him there, and he revels in it.

“Yeah, that’s it, kitty. Don’t stop,” he keeps playing with your clit, starting to become breathless himself as your pussy squeezes around his cock.

You cum with a whimper so animalistic it sets off his own orgasm, pulsing his cum into your pussy that clenches around him hard. Logan’s hand on your hip helps you grind on him as the pleasure spreads through your body and he’s grabbing at your flesh.

You come down from your highs together, a fucked out smile on your lips as you bend down to kiss Logan. He pulls you off his cock, not wanting you to hurt any more, but from the way you kiss him back lazily, hurt is the last thing you are.

“Did such a good job for me,” Logan tells you, holding onto your face, “Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You shake your head, “Didn’t mind it,” and you kiss him again, liking the way he devours you like a hungry animal every time his lips are on you.

As he’s kissing you fervently, with tongue and spit, you let your fangs come out, nicking his bottom lip carefully. He hisses into your mouth, and you draw two drops of blood – one for each tooth – before the wounds heal shut.

Logan grins, “Feisty kitty,” he squeezes you at the waist, making you giggle.

“See, you like pain and I like it too.”

Logan hums at your words, hand moving up to play with one of your ears. You move to lie down on your side, Logan turning to face you. You watch him.

“Can I stay?” you ask shyly, quietly, and he doesn’t understand the man he was only an hour ago. How could he not want you entirely? He hates that he made you feel unsure for even a second.

“Of course, bub. You’re staying with me from now on.” You purr at his words, cuddling into him. 

He puts his arm around you, holding you close as you begin to lick all over his face. He giggles as you make your way over his beard and his neck too, grooming him like a kitty. Your claws hook into the muscle of his arm and, as much as he enjoyed it during sex, this is definitely something he still has to get used to, gasping at the contact. The way you purr louder makes it more than worth it.

You’re pawing at his hair, smoothing it back into place from where you’ve messed it up. Logan closes his eyes from how good it feels. Suddenly, he hears you giggle.

“Your hair is kind of like kitty ears,” you grin.

He deadpans. “Don’t ever say that again.”

Your fluffy tail bounces up and sways a bit as you giggle mischievously. You pretend to zip your mouth shut but he knows he’s never hearing the end of that. Maybe he doesn’t even mind it coming from you.

“So, did you escape just to come see me or d’you get permission?” He asks, remembering how you’re probably not even supposed to be here. 

You panic for a second, beginning to sit up, but Logan holds you down, “I won’t tell anyone you’re here, kitty. Told you you’re staying with me. Would just be good to know if you’re making me break the rules.”

The way you smile at him sheepishly tells him everything he needs to know. He presses another kiss to your adorable face.

“You coulda told them you’re leaving. I’m sure they’ll be looking for you, bub,” he tells you. You turn around so that you’re spooning, with him at your back and your tail wrapped around his thigh.

“Hmpfh, don’t care,” you begin to purr, closing your eyes, “Just wanna be with my daddy.”

Logan wants the same. 

You don’t stop purring as you drift off to sleep, held safely in Logan’s arms.

-

P.S. Logan thinks that hot readers leave a reblog and a comment and let the writer know what they enjoyed about the fic <333 🫣🤭

[valentina-writes]

Here's an idea for a Azriel x reader fanfic if you're interested! Azriels mate is pregnant and she is a cauldron made high fae. While he's away on a mission. She is taken by his half brothers and put in the cell he spent the early years of his life. Azriel must go rescue her. We love a protective azriel

no grave (can hold my body down)

Azriel x reader

summary: shortly after you find out you're pregnant with Azriel's baby, two illyrians kidnap you on a mission. But it turns out they're not strangers, after all.

warnings: physical violence, predatory behavior, pregnancy, hurt/comfort

genre: angst, (a bit of fluff) | words: 4.3k | masterlist

A/N: Thanks for the idea, anon! Funny enough, I was thinking about opening requests again when this came in (I'll update you on that soon). I really hope you like it ;)

It was a routine mission, nothing more. A quick trip to the illyrian steppes to gather healing herbs, at your own request. To free your head. You had done this countless times, winnow in, pick herbs, winnow out. But not this time.

You were crouched in a meadow, trying to identify the many plants. Every now and then, you pulled out a little booklet with descriptions of the herbs you were looking for, comparing them. But your mind was elsewhere. This morning, Madja had visited you, after weeks of feeling unwell, vomiting and utter exhaustion. Her beaming smile, the wrinkles forming in the corners of her eye, had been a shock, much like her words. You're pregnant, dear.

Pregnant. And instead of being excited, you had felt sick to your stomach and immediately fled from Velaris before Azriel returned from his own mission. And here you were now. It wasn't that you didn't want this baby, or that you were scared Azriel would be anything but elated. But it would change your lives so drastically, so suddenly.

You quietly hummed a sweet melody to yourself. What would he say? What would you do?

Over your song, you didn't hear the birds stop chirping and the wind stilling. Lost in thought, you kept hacking away at the plants before you.

"Who do we have here?". You stilled and then turned, drawing your knife.

It was Azriel standing before you, your beautiful mate. You let your knife sink. His big wings were folded against his back, his soft dark hair blowing in the breeze. You opened your mouth in surprise. He stepped closer. "If that isn't little Y/N".

Why was he here? Why was he talking like this? He was unlike himself, but you couldn't quite make it out. Something about him was different, you mused. Your gaze wandered over him, trying to understand. The wind stilled, and then you saw it. There were no shadows. And the hand, hovering over the knife, that wasn't truth-teller, was unmarked.

You bolted, dropping the pouch you had gathered the herbs in. That had been the first lection Azriel had ever given you. Run. Bring as much distance between you and the opponent as you can and then winnow.

Five steps. That was how far you got, because right before you, another illyrian dropped from the sky. He looked less like Azriel, but the similarity was still startling. So much that you lost a precious second staring at him. A second he used to grab your arms in place and throw away your knife. And he blew something into your face, a kind of powder that left a heavy metallic tang in your nostrils. Faebane. Strong hands gripped you by your neck from behind.

"My favorite sister in law", Azriel's brother before you crooned, "what a shame the invitations for the mating ceremony got lost. I would've loved to see the bastard-union". The faebane burned in your nose and in your mouth. The grip of the male behind you was so strong around your neck that you were fighting for each intake of breath, trying to cough out as much of the poison as possible.

Don't panic, you thought to yourself, fighting to stay composed. You gathered all of your magic, tried to fold the cosmos and step right into the next world. You imagined the old woods and fields of fire-like flowers and gathered all your energy. But the power escaped your grasp. It wasn't enough to winnow. Not to a different world, not to Velaris, not even to the other side of the meadow. The power inside you had dwindled into a small spark.

And the bond. The mating bond inside your chest numbed down, its glow being cast into darkness. You grasped at it, but it escaped your reach. With your last spark of power, you grapped the bond, refused to let go, even when it ran tight and fickle, and tugged. Hard. Harder than ever and only let go when the bond went fully dark.

"You will die". They didn't expect you to fight. The surprise was on your side when you kneed the one in front of you straight in the groin. His eyes widened and the warrior dropped to his knees, but still wouldn't let go. A second kick made him groan, dropping his arms and cursing under his breath. But there was no way you could shrug off the other one, his hands still tight around your neck. Not without the knife. You clawed at his hands, kicked at him, but he was just too big and you were too exhausted. Your cauldron-given powers were stolen from you. Under normal circumstances they would've been dead the second they laid hands on you. Not today.

He was hard against you now. Bile rose up in your throat at the feeling of him rubbing against you. "What a feisty little bitch you are", he whispered into your ear. And then he squeezed your neck hard and the world turned dark.

It was dark around you. A blackness so infinite you couldn't make out your own hand engulfed you. You had no recollection how you got here. The stone floor you lay on was nastily cold and wet, draining any warmth from your body. Any energy from you and the baby. The baby. Your hand shot to your stomach and chains rattled on the floor at the movement. They had shackled you. The cuffs were ice-cold around your wrists and so tight it hurt. A whimper escaped your lips. With soft strokes, you caressed your stomach. How unfair it was for this little baby. In a few weeks, you would start to show, you realized. You forbid yourself imagining what Azriel's brothers would do to your unborn child if they found out.

You sat upright. The chains that bound you to the wall allowed you to move through the cell. You explored every inch of it. There was nothing but cold stone and a bucket to relieve yourself. No door. Not even a window. This was the place Azriel had spent his childhood in, you were sure of it. He seldom talked about this time period. But from what you knew, from what he screamed during his nightmares and afterwards whispered to you, gasping for breath, this was it. Now, often you woke up screaming, too, haunted by dreams of a little winged boy sharing your cell. But you didn't allow yourself to cry. Not once.

Had he even felt the last tug you had given the bond? Azriel was on the continent, as far as you knew. Maybe your magic had been too weak, the distance too far. There was no way of knowing whether he was aware that you were gone. But then again, you tried to console yourself, Rhys knew exactly where you had last been. They will rescue me, you repeated again and again. They will find me.

You couldn't tell how much time had passed already. In the beginning, you screamed and shouted and tugged on the shackles, so hard the skin rubbed away and left a bloody mess. Every now and then, you tried reaching for the bond, for your mate. But it was gone, just like your powers.

The only thing that disturbed the emptiness of the cell was stale bread and water. Sometimes it seemed like not even an hour had passed between meals, sometimes it felt like days. The food was poisoned, you were sure. But, after a few days, hunger won over all else, and you ate the faebane. Everytime you ate, you prayed to the Mother. Not the baby. Let it survive. Don't let the poison affect it.

There was no way to tell the time, not even a sound from outside the cell reached you, but more than a week must have passed before they came to see you. Light broke the dark void. Violent beams of it hit your eyes, blinding you almost entirely after - what? - days? weeks? in the darkness. You had no clue how long you had been here already.

"How is little Y/N?", a deep voice sounded. His face was unrecognizable, so blinded were you, but it was the one you had kicked in the balls, you were fairly certain. His tone was pure mockery. "Tired of this yet?"

You wouldn't give him the pleasure of seeing your distress. "What do you want?"

"See how my little bastard sister in law is doing, of course".

"If you're so concerned for my wellbeing, maybe you shouldn't have put me in a cell"

"No, I think you're exactly where you belong. Where he also belongs". Your heart twisted. Azriel had spent years in this cell. Images of his child-self forced its way into your mind. His hands, freshly burned and torturingly painful. His wings, useless and limp because they had never taught him to use them. You slowly breathed in. Now you needed to be strong for all three of you. Not despair.

"Let me go. I haven't done anything to you. I don't even know you. Let me out"

"You're right. But word says not only the Archeron sisters came out of the Cauldron and took something from it. That when you were made you bargained with the Mother herself and she loved you so much she gave you a power like no other". Your blood ran cold. Thoughts of the day you came out of the Cauldron swirled through your head. Azriel's face as he watched in horror, half-dead. The bond snapping immediately. The Mother. The gift.

"What do you want?"

"I'm here to offer a bargain myself". You didn't answer. It was clear what he wanted.

He tried once again. "What is it that the cauldron gifted you? That has the high lord make the mountains shake in rage at your disappearance?". Finally, you could make out his face. You studied him quietly. His face was twisted into a sneer, eyes dead. There was no empathy in his gaze, no sign of remorse. And it didn't seem to occur to him that Rhys would always go to the end of the world to rescue his brother's mate, no matter their power.

You stilled, thinking. He didn't even know what powers you possessed exactly. Was it all an act of speculation?

He grabbed you by your hair, forcing you to look him in the eye. His grip was so strong it brought tears to your eyes. "Answer me, bitch"

"Maybe you should've investigated on my powers before throwing me in your little dungeon", you hissed. He dropped your head immediately. His big hand met your face with a thundering bang, so hard the back of your head met the stone wall with a sickening thud. A pained gasp left your lips. Your cheek burned where he had striked and your skull. Your skull was ringing, throbbing so hard you saw stars and a wet patch formed at the back of it. Hot, blazing pain killed every thought in your head but one. Not the baby.

"All talk, no bite", he chuckled and kneeled down before you. "Let me get this straight. You service me and my brother with your power and in exchange you get to leave the cell". It was such a shitty bargain, under normal circumstances you would've laughed. But all you could do was sob at the pain blooming in your skull, the sounds of it ricocheting off the walls.

Another voice, right at the trap door. The other brother. "Try not to kill her"

The male before you retreated.

"Leave her. She will come to her senses soon".

They left you there, bleeding on the floor. No healer came. The wound stopped bleeding after a while, but the throbbing pain remained. You drifted in and out of sleep, only awake long enough to retch up the little food you got. You would never return home. Azriel would never get to meet his child, not even know he was a father.

He came back regularly. Each time, he offered the same bargain. Each time, you refused a little less violently.

"Tell me about your powers", he would demand again and again. And you would shake your head until he hit and kicked you, until you were a sobbing mess on floor of the cell. But you didn't tell him.

Until, one day, the other one came. The one with the predatory glint in his eye, the one who had gotten hard at your tries to get away from him. He was so tall he had to crouch before you. And when he threatened to touch you, when he whispered into the darkness how he would use you, you had broken down. The words had spilled out of you like your tears and for a moment you were scared he would touch you anyways. I can winnow between worlds. But he only grinned and left. He had what he wanted. The next time he'd ask, he knew you'd accept whatever bargain he would offer.

That night, the darkness around you felt different. It wasn't empty. Something was watching you. You tried to ignore it, to simply fall asleep, but its presence made it impossible. So, you searched every inch of the cell. On hands and knees you crept through the small room, trying to find whatever it was. You found nothing but cold hard stone. But it was there. Everywhere. And when you finally closed your eyes again and laid your head against the cold stone, the darkness became a thing. And you could have sworn it sung a lullaby to you, in the language of the wind.

The trap door swung open once again. Blazing Light blinded you and you could barely make out a tall illyrian landing before you. He was too big for this cell. His wings scraped against the walls on both sides, and his head was ducked low as to not bump into the ceiling.

You scurried away from him, using your hands on the wall to guide you into the farthest corner. Inside you, your heart hammered against your ribs. This was it. He'd force you into the bargain.

The male extended a hand to you. You couldn't see more than his outlines, so blinding was the light. "Y/N, it's me".

You bared your teeth at the male and hissed. "I'll do what you want but if you touch me one more time, I'll fucking kill you".

A sharp intake of breath. "I'll get you out of here, Y/N. Please. It's me, Azriel". His tone was pleading, his voice oh so familiar. But it couldn't be him. Just another one of their tricks to get you to comply.

You dropped your head against the cold stone. "At least make it quick this time", you mumbled.

The male crouched down before you. Slowly, your eyes adapted to the light and you could make out his features. He looked like your mate. The golden specks in his hazel eyes, the dark locks of hair. But then again, his brothers looked so similar. It must have been wishful thinking. A trick of the light.

"I'm here to bring you home", he whispered, his voice breaking. Soft tendrils of air swirled over your shackled wrists, tugging at the cuffs. Dark and silky, kissing your raw skin where you had rubbed it open trying to free yourself. The male's hands met your face, stroking your cheeks. Scarred hands, wiping away tears that were running from your eyes.

Your head snapped up. "Azriel". It was more an outcry than anything, strangled and barely understandable. You flung yourself at him, as far as the confines allowed.

"Shhh, I'm here, I'm here. We're going home. Everything will be okay". Another figure appeared behind him and the shackles dissolved into thin air. Azriel was all over you in an instant. His strong hands roamed your body, pressed you tightly against him as if to never let you go again. You sobbed into his shoulder. He had come for you. He had saved you. "It's over. It's over. You have been so strong", Azriel whispered to you. He pressed a kiss to your temple and threaded his hand into your hair, where he met-

"Ow", you sobbed harder as he touched the wound. Azriel's hands immediately let go and curled aaround your shoulders instead.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry they did this to you".

"Get her out, Cass and I will handle the rest", the other person said. You had almost forgotten about him. Rhysand, you registered. Azriel picked you up, your limbs curling around his strong body. Your face buried into the crook of his neck, still whimpering against his shoulder. But it were tears of joy. His wings closed in around you immediately.

"No. I want to see the light leave their eyes for what they have done to my mate". His tone was cold, unyielding. So unlike the soft hand stroking your back, the nose buried in your hair, breathing in your scent deeply.

"Then I will keep them alive. But first, you leave. Now".

He stepped through the wind with you in his arms. You didn't feel it in his tight embrace, but he must have winnowed because moments later he sat down on your bed with you on his lap. His wings folded around you half-way, so that light could still come through. The familiarity of the sight took your breath away. You'd thought you would never be with him like this again.

"You're at home", Azriel whispered to you. "It's okay, we're at home". Strangled sounds filled the room, sobs and whines and only when his rough hands stroked your back and he told you to breathe, you realized you were crying and you were making the sounds.

"My love, I've got you. You're safe here". You forced yourself to breathe and dropped your head to his chest.

"Shh, I'm here. They can't hurt you anymore". Azriel kissed your head. You counted his breaths, trying to mimic them, In – out – in – out, and took in his scent of night-chilled air and cedar.

You didn't know how long you stayed this way until you could breathe again and stopped sobbing. Only then did you realize what had happened.

"I thought I'd never see you again", you forced out. Tears were welling up in your eyes again, but you willed them away.

For a while, you only stared at him, marveling his beauty. The way the sun illuminated the gold and emerald streaks in his eyes. His hair that was already a bit too long for his liking and fell into his forehead. The gloriously full lips you loved so much. How could you have ever mistaken your captors for your mate?

"How did you find me?", you finally asked with a hoarse voice.

"I felt the bond". Azriel nearly choked on his words. "That last tug – and then it went dark and I thought I had lost you". A tear rolled down his cheek and you tightened your grasp around his waist. "We searched the steppes for you, but there was nothing. And then, last night... my shadows called out to me. Across the entire court". The darkness singing a song to you, the thing in the night. You hadn't made it up.

You stared at him in awe. "How?". They never strayed far from him.

"I send them into every corner of Prythian and... it had been so long and I didn't think they'd find you. But then they were called to where they came from". He dropped his face onto the crown of your head and pressed a kiss to it.

"It was so dark in there". Your breath hitched at the thought of the cell. Lightly, you rubbed over the scabs at your wrists behind his back. "And I was so alone. Until I wasn't"

"What do you mean?"

"Something was there - it... it watched me. And then it turned into something else. And sang me to sleep." Realization hit you. "I think that were your shadows".

"Was that... was that what it was like for you as well? When you were in that cell? I thought about you every second, how you spent your childhood in there and..." He frowned.

His gaze was very far away, centuries ago. "It was the same. Only that nobody came for me". HIs eyes met yours and turned soft at the pain that was painted on your face. "I'll tell you all about it. In a while, when you feel better".

You laid your head onto his shoulders again and held onto him. You weren't quite sure who was comforting who now. Maybe you found solace in each other, through the hardhips you had shared.

But there was something else you shared. Someone.

You drew back slightly and locked eyes with him again. "I was so scared, Az. I thought I'd never see you again". You grasped his hand and laid it on your stomach. The anxiety you had felt the morning you had found out about the pregnancy was all gone. "I thought I'd die and you'd never even know that you are a dad".

His eyes widened in surprise. "What?"

"That day, Madja came to see me and told me. That's why I went to the steppes, to free my head and think before telling you". Tears ran down your cheeks again now. "I wish I had just stayed home and wited for you to return", you weeped.

"You're pregnant?" There were tears pooling in his eyes as well. "My Y/N. My mate. Thinking I had lost you was the worst I've ever felt. But to think I could've lost both of you, without even knowing...". Azriel broke off and pulled you into a tight hug, his hands shaking.

He took your face in his hands and kissed away the tears.

"Are you happy, Az?". Your voice was barely a whisper.

"I couldn't be happier now that I have you back. And I couldn't be happier about our baby". Azriel's lips met yours in a soft caress. He tasted like home.

You didn't leave the bed all day. You stayed with him, curled underneath the covers. Azriel kissed away the pain and held your hand when Madja came to check on the baby and your head. You both were healthy, thank the Mother. And when Madja was gone, Azriel wrapped you in his arms and wings and never let go. He didn't urge you to talk any more about what had happened. Maybe the frail wisps of midnight air that circled around you now had told him everything already.

"I will kill them for what they did to you", Azriel whispered after he had made love to you slowly. Your naked limbs were still tangled with his, his entire body splayed over you, as if shielding you from the outside world.

Your breath hitched in your chest and Azriel planted a soft kiss on your jaw.

"No". His entire body turned rigid and he rolled off you without letting go.

"Why no? Y/N, I can't let them live after what they did", he murmured, kissing up your cheek, "I wasn't there to protect you. This is the only way I can make up for what happened".

Your hug around him grew tighter. "It's not your fault. I reacted too late. There is no debt to pay me, Az. And even if there was, you would've paid it back the moment you brought me home". Your hands threaded into his hair.

Azriel buried his face in your neck and his shadows stroked your cheek. "Please. I will never forgive myself for leaving you both unprotected. Please let me make it up to you. To the baby. If you were any other male's mate, if you were Cassian's mate or Rhys's they wouldn't have done this to you. It's because of me".

He meant it. Your heart dropped at the realization. He thought he was responsible.

"It's not your fault, none of this"

He wanted to interrupt you, but you didn't let him. "Not for this and not for what they did to you as a child. I don't want you to kill them for me. At least not only for me. I want you to kill them for what they did to you as well"

He stilled for a moment and then nodded slowly. "I can live with that".

"Good". You closed your eyes and soaked up his warmth. There was no other way you wanted to spend your future with him. You'd die a happy death in a thousand years if all you did until then was lay in bed next to your mate.

A wisp of air circled around your wrist, darted over chest and pooled over your stomach where it stayed, humming.

"It's yours now", Azriel murmured into your hair, "that's the one that found you. It told me it won't leave your side again".

Your fingers threaded through the shadowy tendrils and you could've sworn they purred at your touch.

"And I will also never leave your side", he whispered before his lips met yours.

[atlabeth]

pretty boy

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: spencer walks in one day with a new look. you handle it pretty well.

a/n: im in the opposite of a writing slump right now (will prob fall into a writing slump right after i say this) probably because im procrastinating on essays for school and i can only write when im meant to be doing work. but tiny little fluffy spencer one shots are very good for the soul right now. i think it's my way of healing from my hotch fic

wc: 1.8k

warning(s): one slightly sexual joke from emily. all fluff

You usually don’t get to the office this early, but you don’t exactly have a choice. The BAU’s last couple cases have all run one after another, barely leaving you any time in the office, and now you’re paying for it. 

You’ve got a mountain of paperwork to get through and not nearly enough time to do it all—if you’re lucky, you’ll be writing reports for a few days straight. If you’re not, you’ll be putting in some overtime.  

“This is the most focused I’ve ever seen you this early,” Derek comments. 

You shake your head with a sigh. “These reports are government mandated torture.” 

He chuckles, and he nods at Emily as she walks over to her desk. “Are you this busy?” 

She shakes her head. “I’ve still got a report to get through, but nothing that bad.” 

“I get it,” you say wryly. “You’re all more organized than me. Just don’t come to me asking to go out tonight—you know I can’t say no.” 

“But don’t shots taste better when you’re supposed to be doing work?” Derek asks, and you roll your eyes with a laugh. 

“Not when I’ve got this much work I’m supposed to be doing.” 

You hear the elevator ding and glance up—Spencer’s walking through and fixing his tie. You look back down at your report as you greet him. 

“Hey, Spence,” you call. “Why’re you late?” 

“I’m not late,” he says, and you can see him checking his watch out of your peripherals. “I’m two minutes and thirty-three seconds early.” 

“Really?” you muse. “I guess I’m just so used to you being here before me.” 

“You can’t judge my timeliness on yours when you’ve been here for an hour already,” Spencer says. 

You frown, tapping your pen against the paper. “How do you know?” 

“You’re settled in already. Your coat’s on your chair, your stack of unfinished files is smaller than it was last time we were in the office, your coffee isn’t steaming, and your mug has a chipped handle—when they were put away last night, that one was set in the front, so you’d have to be here early to get it.” 

“Touche,” you murmur. You’re not sure why you ever ask your team of profilers how they know something. 

“You also look like you don’t want to be here,” he comments. “That’s pretty typical of agents who have to be here before their regular hours.” 

You chuckle and tilt your head in admission. You don’t really want to be here, especially running on so few hours of sleep. 

“Why aren’t you as early as usual?” Emily asks. 

“My neighbor knocked on my door this morning to ask me for something,” Spencer says. “It threw off my whole routine. I picked the wrong tie, I couldn’t pack my bag properly, and I had to toast my bagel for two minutes instead of three and a half to make it out in time.” 

“How terrible,” Derek says with mock austerity. 

“It is terrible!” he exclaims. “It’s scientifically proven that a morning routine makes you happier, more energized, and ready to seize the day—carpe diem.” Spencer sets his bag on the floor next to his desk and looks at everyone else with a smile. “Did you know that phrase was actually coined by the Roman poet Horace in his Odes? It comes from the first book out of four in the eleventh poem—the full phrase in Latin is carpe diem, quam mini—”

“How was your bagel?” Emily asks to interrupt him, and he pauses. 

“It was good,” he says. “Could’ve been toastier.” 

You look up, a teasing remark on the edge of your tongue, but the words die in your throat when you actually see him. 

Spencer’s started combing a hand through his hair to fix it—must have been another part of his affected morning routine—his lips set in a pout as he tries to see his reflection in his dark monitor. He always looks good, even without trying, but now—

“You’re wearing glasses,” you say dumbly. 

“My contacts dried out,” he grumbles, still focused on his hair. “We got home so late last night I forgot to put them in their solution, and I had no time to fix them because my neighbor messed up my whole morning.” 

You nod, still unable to tear your eyes away from him. “Are you gonna keep wearing them?” 

“I don’t know. Contacts are better for cases because I’m not worried about them falling off or fogging up, but I usually sleep on the jet on the way back, and sleeping with contacts in isn’t good.” He smiles a bit as he fully turns to you, seemingly satisfied with his hair. “It reduces the amount of oxygen that gets to your cornea, which damages the cornea’s surface and makes it harder to regenerate new cells. Sleeping with contacts actually makes you six to eight times more likely to get an eye infection.”

You nod again, your brain still not quite working at full power. You always love listening to Spencer’s fact dumps—it gives you a lot of material to impress your non-BAU friends with on the side, and you’re eternally thankful for that—but right now, you seriously cannot focus. 

You’d never really thought about him in glasses, but that’s probably a good thing if this is how it makes you feel. 

You were valedictorian as an undergrad, and you received stellar feedback from your professors during your masters program. You’re an excellent profiler, a valued member of the BAU, and you’re a goddamn FBI agent. 

And yet you can’t find a single thought in your head because your coworker showed up to work wearing glasses. 

He’s still rambling about other common causes of eye infection and how nobody seems to take them as seriously as they should, when Derek, not even trying to hide his grin at your turmoil, speaks up.  

“Reid. Wanna cool it a bit?” 

Spencer’s eyes dart over to him for a moment before he stops. “Uh— sorry.” He frowns as he looks back at you. “Why do you ask? Do you not like them?” 

“No,” you blurt out, and you shake your head a multitude of times. “No. They look great. You look great. They’re—” You dig your nails hard into your palm as you try your hardest to smile like normal, and this time you nod. “They’re good, Spence.” 

“Thanks.” Spencer does that little smile-nod combo of his, and he pushes his glasses back into place with his thumb by the bottom of the frames. “That’s nice to know I’ve got another option.” 

You thank whatever god may be out there that Hotch and Penelope are busy in their offices and JJ is busy with some other case, because you think you would die if anyone else saw you like this. 

“Hey, Reid,” Emily says, also not doing a very good job of hiding her amusement. You hate your team sometimes. “They’re almost out of sugar in the breakroom. If you want coffee the way you like it this morning, you should probably get in there.” 

“What?” Spencer shoots up, his brows already furrowing into a frown. “That— that’s ridiculous. I can’t mess up my morning any more.” 

“You’d better get in there, then,” she remarks. 

“We’re an entire office of agents running on coffee,” Spencer complains as he starts walking. “How are we almost out of sugar?” 

“Because half of ‘em drink it black,” Derek says, and Spencer shakes his head with a sigh as he leaves. 

“That’s ridiculous.” 

You bury your head in your hands the moment he’s gone and Derek laughs. “I wish I could’ve gotten that on video.” 

“Don’t talk to me,” you groan. “It is not fair of him to walk in like that.” 

“And that is why I call him pretty boy.”

“He needs them to see,” Emily says with amusement as she leans against the side of your desk. “You just can’t control yourself.” 

“I need to transfer offices,” you say, shaking your head. “I can’t do this.” 

“You should ask him out!” Derek encourages. “He’d probably say yes.” 

“Absolutely not,” you insist. “I doubt he likes me like that. A— and even if he does, that’s the last thing either of us need right now.” 

“I don’t know,” Emily muses. “It looks like you clearly need something.” 

You let out a frustrated noise as you screw your eyes shut. “I’m doomed.” 

You hear Spencer say your name, and when you look over at him, one hand still pressed against your head, you see he’s got two cups of coffee in his hands. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” you say weakly. “I’m great. Why?” 

“I got you one too,” he says, holding one of the mugs out to you. “The one you have is probably cold by now, and it looks like you need an extra kick to get through all those reports.” 

“Thanks, Spence. That’s sweet.” He nods as you take the proffered mug, and you swear your cheeks are as warm as the coffee. He is really testing your strength today. 

“You— you have a lot,” he says, and you huff a dry laugh and nod. “I’m not trying to be sarcastic. I could take half of them if you want?” 

Your grip tightens on the mug and you can feel Derek’s eyes on you. “I couldn’t make you do that, Spence.” 

“You’re not!” Spencer exclaims. “I can get through mine really quickly—we worked together for almost the whole last case so I can do all of that anyways.” 

“...You’re sure it wouldn’t be an imposition?” 

“I’m sure,” he nods. “Besides, I offered. I wouldn’t if I didn’t want to.” 

And god damn him, because he nudges his glasses back into place again, pushes a strand of loose hair back into place. You’re dying over here. 

You set the mug of coffee on your desk and pick up the top half of your pile. “All yours, Spence.” 

He takes the bottom half and smiles at you, and you smile back before he walks back to his desk. You are dying over here. 

“Let me know how I can pay you back,” you say, and he shakes his head. 

“You don’t need to pay me back.” 

“Really?” 

Spencer nods. “I mean, Morgan invited us all out on the jet last night, and I don’t think I can do it alone. If you can get out of the office in time, I don’t have to. I think that's enough of a payback.” 

“Yeah,” you say. “I’ll be there.” 

He smiles again and nods, then he picks up a pen and focuses in. You turn back to your desk, your face burning. 

“What was that about him not liking you like that?” Derek says. 

“Quiet!” you whisper-yell, swatting him with the pile of files in your hand. “He might hear you!” 

“He’s not hearing anything while he’s focused on that,” he says. “That just means you can ogle him more.” 

You groan again, letting your forehead fall into your palm. “I’m pathetic.” 

“I think you’re right.” Emily chuckles as she stands up. “You are doomed.” 

[fireheartpages]

my boy | b.d.

bodhi durran x reader

masterlist

word count: 4.9k

summary: the three times bodhi called you his, and the first time you called him mine.

notes: second person pov with a femreader. canon typical violence. no use of y/n. written in past tense bc by the time i realized it was too late! human beings are flawed by nature. turned out a lil angstier and longer than i intended. onyx storm fucked me up so bad and i missed him. the scene that inspired this whole thing got cut so do with that what you will. set during iron flame. in my head this is bodhi and baby from toml but you don’t have to read that to read this. just a lil drabble. also bringing back headers bc my fics need a little sparkle. proofread after three glasses of wine.

Your face stung.

"I'm sorry," Bodhi said quickly, hand jerking back. "I know, I just—"

"It's fine." You swallowed hard and shut your eyes, like maybe if you didn't see the bloodied cloth with antiseptic on it, it would hurt less.

"That flier did a real number on you," he said quietly, and you felt the warmth of his hand settle on your cheek, before the cool bite against the wound.

"Those challenges are bullshit," you ground out.

There was a heavy sigh, and then the touch lightened. You opened your eyes to see he had moved his hand away, setting the rag down. "I think you need to see a mender."

You shook your head. "It's a scratch. Put an adhesive on it."

"There's a lot of swelling," he said, waves of concern radiating off of him. "What if there's a fracture?"

"I will heal," you snap.

You watch as his eyes flare with surprise, and he quickly masks the hurt. You sigh, shoulders slouching.

"I'm sorry." You wrap your fingers around his wrist, pulling him closer. "I'll be okay, Bo. Seriously."

"Let me go get Brennan," he said gently. "Just to check—"

"I really don't want you to," you said, pleaded, and he seemed to relent. "None of us can have preferential treatment."

"It's not preferential treatment if you need it," he whispered, gingerly placing a bandage across your cheekbone.

"It was an ill-timed punch," you said. "I'll live."

You met his gaze as he pulled back, and he seemed to search you, looking for something you couldn't name. He sighed, looking down.

“Your hands?”

Your head snapped up, and you quickly tucked your hands away, forcing yourself to stop picking at the peeling skin. Wrapping them for sparring always made it a little bit worse.

“It’s fine.”

He only sighed and pulled your wrists gently, tugging them until he could see the splitting on your palms, between your fingers. He reached for the extra salve you kept next to his bedside, and gently began to message it into the skin there, taking extra care where it had split and where it was the thinnest. "Not all fliers are so bad. Syrena is really nice, if you ever get the chance to meet her."

"I like Maren," you supplied, studying the lines of his face. The delicate hook of his nose, the arch of his upper lip, the slope of his cheekbones. "Her best friend is a real piece of work, though."

Bodhi laughed at that, exchanging out your hands. "Yeah, Catriona is... a lot."

"That's one way to say it," you mumbled. You sucked in a deep breath—and wince. A hand went to your ribs.

Bodhi’s head snapped up, a furrow between his strong brows, and he abandoned his task, instead cradling your side with one hand and your face in another. Concern laced in his features. "You didn't say your ribs were hurting."

"I didn't realize they were," you answered. "Got me better than I thought, I guess."

He shook his head. "Let me—"

"No." You cut him a glare, but there wasn’t much menace behind it. "I'll be okay. I just need... sleep, probably."

"Let's get in bed."

You screwed up your nose. "We still have half a day of classes."

"Fuck that," he said sincerely. "My girl is hurt."

You arched a brow. "Your girl?"

He flashed a sheepish smile, ducking his head as his curls fell over his temple. "Sorry, I just... liked the way it sounded."

You sucked in a breath. Suddenly, there was too little space between you. "You still have half a day of classes."

"There is literally nothing I care about less," he said earnestly. "Let me lay down with you. Please."

You glanced at the bed, the black blanket covering it looking like the most inviting thing you'd ever seen. You sighed. "I'm fine. We should go."

"Baby," he said, and you liked the way it sounded. You always liked the way it sounded.

“We probably shouldn’t walk back together,” you said, reaching for your flight jacket. You winced as you tried to pull it over yourself.

A hand on your shoulder stopped you, and Bodhi gently spun you around to face him. “This is about the ‘my girl’ comment,” he said, and pinned you with a look that made all the fight leave your body.

“No,” you said, and it wasn’t a lie. You weren’t sure if it was the truth. You sighed. “I just don’t want people to get any ideas.”

He stepped back. “You don’t wanna be seen with me?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” you said quickly. “You’re talented, and you’re in leadership, and I’m a year below you. With everything between us and the fliers now, someone’s gonna get the wrong idea.”

His shoulders slumped. “You don’t want someone saying you slept your way to safety.”

You nodded, looking down, because it was suddenly impossible to meet his eye. Your cheeks heated. "I can fend for myself."

“Okay,” he said, taking a step closer. He hooked a finger under your chin and lifted your gaze until you were forced to look at him. You expected sadness, hurt, disappointment even, but all you found was mirth. “Sure. I like a good secret anyways. Makes it more fun.”

You couldn’t have even tried to fight the smile as he pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was delicate at first, gently exploring, sensing what you would give him. But you had learned a long time ago that there wasn’t a lot you wouldn’t do for the boy in front of you.

Your hands found the nape of your neck, twisting into the curls there, and he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling your body flush against his.

He broke the kiss only for a moment. “Can it still stay a secret, and we stay in bed for the rest of the day?”

“Someone’s gonna notice we’re both missing,” you say, barely more than a whisper against his cheek.

He brushed his nose against yours. “My cousin owns the place. I think we can get away with it.”

You giggled, nodding as he pulled you back. He sat on the edge of the bed, gingerly framing you between his thighs and looked up at you reverently. His lips were glossy from your kiss, eyes half lidded, and you breath caught in your throat at the sight of him gazing up at you. He smiled lazily.

“You’re so pretty,” he said, and you couldn’t help but think the same about him.

｡･:*˚:✧｡

You had to stop finding yourself in these situations.

The same flier that had challenged you was in front of you and spitting mad. You weren’t even sure what it was about this time, but his shouting had drawn a crowd. Your cheek hadn’t even fully healed yet, and now you had another split lip. Courtesy of this asshole.

You couldn’t even remember his name if you tried. Something with an A? Ash, maybe? It didn’t really matter, once he started swinging. He was a first year, and unused to the fighting style of riders, but by Dunne if he wasn’t giving you a run for your money.

You breathed a sigh of relief when you saw Violet and Sawyer come up behind you, thankful for the back up. Sawyer immediately tried to shove him off you, but was quickly gifted a darkening bruise around his eye.

“What the hell is your problem?” That voice belonged to Ridoc, and you weren’t even sure when he had gotten there. More people pushed around you, until you were surrounded by what looked like your entire section.

Including Bodhi.

“I thought you riders lived and died by your stupid Codex!” the flier spat.

“Our stupid codex says also says I can kill you if I feel like it, so maybe watch where you put your hands,” you snapped, and you feel someone brush at your shoulder.

But not before the flier’s fist landed square in your jaw.

Damn, he must have remembered where he hit you the first time, because the pain is blinding for a moment. The edges of your vision darkened, and you stumbled into a strong, familiar chest. An arm wrapped around you, and you’re shoved to the side. You felt the vibrato of his words in his chest, as if the anger was a palpable thing.

“Touch my girl again and you’ll lose the fucking hand—”

“Bodhi!” you snapped, turning to him with blazing eyes, because now he’d really done it.

Fuck, you practically felt the surprise radiating off of half of the people surrounding you—and there were a lot of people gathered for the show.

The anger in your morphed into something else—something new, something more volatile. Now, you were pissed at this flier, and ready to throttle Bodhi. Gods, you just had this fucking conversation. What did he think he was doing saying shit like that—

“Getting out of a fight because you’re warming leadership’s bed is a lot blow, even for a rider,” the flier said, and you saw red.

More shouting erupted. Bodhi nor anyone remaining soul had even a hope of catching you before you threw the next punch at the flier. It made its mark, landing so hard he stumbled back. Blood immediately sprayed from his nose, and you were too pissed off to care. You shoved the hands grabbing you off, ready to lay into the kid again, but a familiar figure pushed through. Rhiannon got in between the three of you, holding a hand up and sending Bodhi one of the nastiest glares you thought you’d ever seen her produce.

“Am I seriously breaking up fights between other cadets and my Section Leader?” Rhiannon hissed, and Bodhi faltered for a moment, looking to her, then to you, then back to the flier. “This is ridiculous. Go find something else to do with your spare time. Asper, you’re a first year. Pick on someone your own size if you want a chance to win the fight.”

“That’s—”

“I’m not finished.” She turned to you and Bodhi, opening her mouth to say something before shaking her head. “You two… I’m just disappointed. A second year and a Section Leader? Get yourselves under control before you embarrass me any further.” She looked back to Asper, who was still seething at you and Bodhi. “Go find something more productive to do with your time before I find something for you. You won’t like my pick, I promise.”

The flier scoffed. “You’re not even my squad leader.”

Another flier in brown leathers with a mop of brunette hair piled on top of her head appeared behind him. She wore a frown and looked utterly annoyed. “No, but I am.” She grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and shoved him away from your trio, but not before Asper managed to send a parting glare over his shoulder.

Rhiannon shipped to the two of you, eyes blazing. “Seriously?” she asked, and there was no part of you that wanted to respond. “He’s a first year.”

“He started it!” you protested, and immediately shrunk back. Wrong move.

Rhiannon shot Bodhi a glare. “You’re a Section Leader. You should have been the one to finish it.”

She marched away without a second glance, leaving the last part unsaid. That if you were any other second year, in any other situation, it wouldn’t have escalated the way it did.

A snort came from behind you. You turned and shot Ridoc a glare, but it didn’t deter him from opening his mouth.

“Didn’t know you guys were public like that.”

Four pairs of eyes turned on him.

“Was that the wrong thing to say?”

｡･:*˚:✧｡

You were pissed, and everyone around you knew it. Including, no other than the object of your chagrin.

"I just don't understand why you're mad at him," Saywer said for what felt like the millionth time, and you groaned at the history book in front of you.

"I do get it," Ridoc supplied from where he was seated next to Sawyer, the pair of them across from you at the study table you had snagged in the library. You were supposed to be working on assignments. The boys in front of you had, however, taken it upon themselves to lecture you your love life. Ridoc hadn't even opened the book in front of him. "I just think you're over-reacting."

"Bad choice of words," you warn, shooting him a scalding glare. He remained unperturbed.

"Sure," he continued. "But you know what I mean. Things are different now. Aretia isn't Basgiath. The rules are looser—"

"Hold on," Sawyer interjected.

"I mean, just look at Riorson and Vi," Ridoc continued. "Everyone knows they're together. And he's a lieutenant."

"We are not Xaden and Violet," you said, exasperated. "The point is that I didn't want to shout it from the roof tops. Because look what happens when you do!"

"The fliers hate us," Saywer supplied helpfully. "Your relationship status really has nothing to do with that. They would have chosen one thing or another to be picking fights about anyway."

"Besides, with Violet here, you and Durran are the least of their problems," Ridoc finished.

"You're still missing the point," you said, shaking your head.

"Explain it to me like I'm five, then," Ridoc said, attention focused on you. He had his arms crossed over his textbook. This study session was a damn lost cause.

"She's been doing that," Sawyer mumbled. He looked up to you, then behind you, and his eyes went wide. Ridoc glanced behind you as well, and you almost turned to look—you assumed it was Jesinia. Sawyer had been downright smitten lately, but there was the audible smack of Ridoc hitting his friend under the table. He shook his head.

"Ignore him," Ridoc said, attention turned back to you. "Continue."

You sighed, resigning yourself to the torture of having to explain this bullshit out loud. You had to admit, though. Having people to talk about it all with helped, even if it made you feel more and more like an idiot.

"Yeah, there's the fact that anyone who knows about..." You cringed. "…our situation is going to assume I'm sleeping with him for safety. Or power. Or whatever the hell they think. And that's annoying, because it's a mark on my character. But it also degrades what we have. And so we had that conversation, and I set a boundary, and then the second things get hairy, he crosses it. He makes both of us look like an ass. Makes me look like I can't protect myself without him there. If it had gotten out some other way, I couldn't have handled it. I've never been afraid of the gossip mill. But saying we're together and him overstepping and trying to fight my battles or me are two completely different things."

Ridoc nodded sagely. Sawyer just glanced behind you with wide eyes.

"Baby," and, oh, you know that voice.

You spun around, standing quickly as your pulse skyrocketed. Bodhi was behind you, looking for all the world like you had just kicked his puppy. Or maybe he was the kicked puppy. You sucked in a sharp breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You whipped back to Ridoc. The bastard had a shit-easting grin on his face.

"You did that on purpose," you accused.

He just shrugged. "Wanted to make this all easier on you."

Sawyer smacked him upside his head.

You turned back to Bodhi, ready to say something, but all you could was shake your head.

"I didn't know," he said, and he took a step towards you. You took one back.

His face crumbled, and it was the sort of things a playwright put in a tragedy. Your chest nearly caved in at the sight of his fallen expression, and something broke inside you. Cracked right in two, and you knew then and there that the only glue capable of putting it together again was him.

"You just assumed," you said softly.

He sucked in a sharp breath, nodding. He was no longer looking at you. "Can we talk? Please?"

You grabbed your book from the table, sending Ridoc one last parting glare. You shook your head as you stepped towards him. "I'll see you tonight."

You made for the exit of the library, and when you rounded the corner, you had assumed he had let you go. That you'd made it all the way out.

"Wait, please."

You slowly spun around to see him there.

"I don't like watching my girl walk away upset," he said, low, quiet, and intimate. Private, just for you.

You sucked in a shaky breath. You held out a hand to the library door, as if you could motion at all of your thoughts and feelings and emotions like they were tangible things. "You heard what I said, I guess."

Bodhi nodded, and this time, when he stepped towards you, you didn't step away. "I'm sorry. Gods, I am so, so—"

"Can we talk about this later?" you asked, voice thick.

Bodhi's brow had a deep burrow, and it was clear he wanted to object, but he didn't. He instead shut his mouth, and nodded.

"I'll see you tonight," you said.

And like a fool, you walked away from him.

｡･:*˚:✧｡

There’s not much time for relaxing anymore. No more weekends, no more free time, and certainly no more parties. Leaning to fight venin is hard work.

But every once in a while, someone makes it happen. Leave it to a bunch of bored, pent-up twenty-somethings to find a stash and have a party. The alcohol wasn’t good, by any means, but it was making your head foggy, and you had nothing to do until, like, noon the next day. You were practically free.

It was the best you had felt in a long while. Everything was a little hazy around the edges, and you had trouble staying perfectly still now. There was a makeshift bar at the dais of the room where everyone took meals, and you had ventured up to get yourself a drink. And one for… Shit. You were not supposed to return empty handed. You just weren’t sure how many not empty handed you should be returning with.

When you stumble, there are strong hands on your hips, steadying you. Strong hands that settled much too low to be casual, but you are much too far gone to have reprimanded him. Or, noticed, or cared that much.

“Careful,” Bodhi said, and it was low in your ear, a little more sensual than it should have been.

But then he stood a respectable distance away from you. And through your alcohol-induced haze, he looked so good. You knew, distantly, that you were still pretty annoyed with him. But his leathers were casually undone at the top, just enough to be a tease. His hair was mussed, black curls that fell in a way that should be messy but instead just drove you insane. Like, this should be against the codex. Just looking at him made you want to leave. Made you want to be back in his room, showing your appreciation, giving him your own apology with your mouth.

“I think Violet’s drunk,” Bodhi said, and his gaze was somewhere beyond you.

You frowned. “We’re all drunk.”

Bodhi cocked his head. “I think she’s a little more drunk.”

You nodded sagely. Fair enough.

“I’m gonna go make sure she’s okay,” he said. “Or, at least, makes it to Xaden okay.”

You nodded again, and he departed with a smile that made you giggle like a damn school girl. He was so aware of the effect he had on you. He just chose not to care.

Or maybe, he was finally respecting the line in the sand you had drawn.

“All alone in a room full of people who could kill you? Where's your body guard?” a voice asked.

You turn, and it’s Asper. The fuck ass flier that beat you up, like, twice now. What the hell—

“What do you want?” You tried for venom, but it came out a bit more slurred than you would have liked. Too round about the edges, too loose.

“I know we settled our differences,” Asper said, and he held up a hand. “That’s not what I’m here for.”

“Then what do you want?” you repeated, and it was a little whiny this time. Fuck. Great.

“You know you’re gorgeous, right?” It was the last thing you had expected to have come out of his stupid mouth.

No way this fucker was hitting on you.

“What?” you snapped. Wisely.

“You’re smart. Clearly good in combat,” Asper said. Like that was an answer. “And you’re beautiful.” He leaned in, like the two of you were sharing a secret. “You could do so much better than the dragon feed around here.”

You were picked by a dragon through.

“He’s flirting,” said a voice. Your dragon. Thank you. As if that wasn’t painfully obvious enough. You go to say that down the bond, but you can’t find the right channel. Shocair grumbled. “I heard it.”

“Whatever you’re trying to do,” you said, “I’m not interested.”

“I think you are,” Asper said. He stepped closer. He put his hand on yours.

“My boy’s gonna get real angry if you keep fucking trying your luck,” you snapped.

“Your boy?” he asked, and he was laughing. The asshole was laughing.

You yanked your hand back, and reveled at the look on his face. Anything to wipe that smug grin off his face. “Yeah. My boy.”

Asper rolled his eyes, and for a moment, you had a vision of punching him. Of clocking him square in the jaw, sending blood flying. Your words were a lot steadier than you felt. As soon as you stood up, the world spun. But then there was a hand at your waist, and everything straightened out. Gods, you knew him by touch alone, knew him even through the haze of alcohol. You could be deprived of every sense you have, and still know his presence by memory. He was ingrained in you.

“You heard her,” Bodhi said, low and dangerous and angry and—fuck, really really hot. “She’s not interested. And she shouldn’t need to threaten you with senior leadership to get you to fuck off, Asper.”

The flier scoffed. “I don’t think she’s talking about her section leader.”

Bodhi stepped around you, and shoved him. Hard. “It doesn’t matter if I’m a section leader or her fucking husband. When a woman says no, she means it.”

Asper held his hands up in surrender, turning a deep shade of red and finally walking away. But not before throwing glare back to Bodhi.

When he turned around to you, finally, your cheeks were hot, your breathing choppy. You stared at him, unsure of what to say. Fuck, you hadn’t realized he would over hear you. Hadn’t realized what kind of effect his words would have on you.

Possessive Bodhi was one thing. When he would leave bruises all over your chest and neck, knowing when you stripped your leathers for sparring, they would be visible. When he keeps his hand in the small of your back for a little too long in formation. When he cleans your wounds and punches fliers and calls you his girl.

But protective Bodhi? You were fighting to stay upright.

He knew you knew how to fight your own fights. You were a decent fighter and could fly circles around rider and flier alike. If someone had an issue, or someone started something, you were good on the follow through. That first fight, or the second when he interfered weren’t about anything other than making it known to everyone else that you were together.

When the end factor was nothing less than a name in front of yours, of his girl tacked onto everything, you were chagrined. When the end factor was keeping you safe, was making sure you had arms to fall into at night? All bets were off.

“Are you okay?” Bodhi asked, a deep furrow finding home between his brow.

You couldn’t catch your breath. Gods above, the way he was looking at you—

“I didn’t know you were there,” you answered.

"I didn't mean to overstep," he said quickly, averting his gaze.

"You didn't," you replied, and suddenly, your eyes were watering. You swallowed around the knot in your throat. "I'm being an asshole."

His head snapped up, and you weren't sure if it was your words or the emotion in your voice that brought the panicked look to the set of his brow, the line of his lips. "No, baby, no—"

"I got overwhelmed," you barrel on. "I got scared, and worried, and I I feel like I'm punishing you for it."

Bodhi shook his head frantically, carefully stepping towards you like you were a scared animal he was trying to approach. "You set a boundary," he said. "I could never fault you for that."

You tried to nod, but instead the tears started to slip out. God, this had to be the alcohol. You were not a crier.

Gingerly, Bodhi's hands were on the sides of your face, thumbs brushing away the escaped tears. "Is this okay?" he whispered.

"All of it is okay," you said meekly. "I was holding onto an idolized version of what I wanted in my head. But people know now, and the world isn't ending."

He laughed, pulling you into him. Your head rested on his chest, right at the perfect angle for him to tuck you under his chin. You wrapped your arms around his waist, and it felt like coming home.

"I never meant to push your boundaries, and I'm so sorry I ever did," he said into your hair. "I know exactly what you're capable of. I don't want you to ever think I'm going to willfully underestimate you."

"I know," you whisper into the fabric of his shirt, and the it occurred to you just how many people were around you. You had just made about a big fuss about the levels of PDA you were willing to accept. And now, here you were. You pulled back. "Can we go back to your room?"

He nodded firmly, eyes raking down your body. "Yes," he said. But he didn't move. "How much have you had to drink?"

You considered for a moment, tilting your head. "Not too much to have not been able to coherently have this conversation, but enough to want to ask you for a kiss right now."

He smirked. Damn infuriating smirk. Gods above, he was beautiful. "A kiss? What, just to tide you over?

"Yeah," you replied, not even bothering to hide how desperate you well and truly were. Your entire body had started to hum.

He leaned in, his head tilted to fit against you. He stopped, his lips a breath away from yours. "In front of all these people?"

"Everyone knows by now. Gossip mill in this place is honestly rather impressive," you said. "Besides, if anyone says anything, I'll just send you after them." You pouted. "I don't even like sparring. I'm no good at it."

He'd leaned in even closer, practically speaking into your mouth. "I can teach you."

"Every time you try to teach me to spar better, I end up pinned underneath you and we end up rushing back to your room. You have absolutely no pure intentions when it comes to sparring. Will you kiss me now?"

He didn't say anything else. Just pressed a smile against your lips. It sent sparks down your spine, and you couldn't help the way you sucked in a breath. It was entirely involuntary, the way your body bowed into him, like you're magnetized in your very core to his.

The kiss was gentle at first, just the press of his lips against yours, but then you opened your mouth, pushing back into him, and his tongue ran along your bottom lip. Your knees nearly gave out.

"Your room," you said, and it was a plea down to its very roots.

Bodhi practically dragged you out of the hall. The trip back to the residential wing was a blur. He kept stopping to kiss you, to run his hands along your waist, up the nape of your neck just to watch you shiver. Finally, and with great effort, the pair of you made it up the corridor and to his room.

He shoved open the door, and snaked an arm around your waist, pressing you into the wall next to it, just inside his room. His lips trailed up your neck, and you nearly whimpered at the contact.

When he pulled away to look at you, his eyes were heavy and lidded, low and dark. So full of adoration and yearning that your chest felt weird. Like it was rearranging so that if you wanted to slot Bodhi's beating heart in next to your own, you could.

"Your boy, huh?" he asked, voice husky.

You smiled, carding your fingers through his hair. "My boy."

Bodhi kicked the door shut behind him, and ascended on you.

[hellcifrogs]

Students' Students AU

<-Part 5 / What the rest of the kids have been up to while Naruto is away:

Team 7, now with Sai, take the chunin exams again and pass. Kakashi still has priority when taking them on missions. They learn to work together more and more, Sasuke learns how to use chidori and even develops his sharingan more (also imagine him and Anko practicing with their cursed seal forms on). Shizune moves from healing to poisons and herbs, and once satisfied with Sakura's skills on chakra control and manipulations, Tsunade starts giving her taijutsu focused lessons. Sai, as always, was put on the team to watch over Sasuke and try to find out Naruto's whereabouts.

From Team 8, only Shino becomes chunin, Kiba of course is frustrated, but the one in worst position is Hinata - since Neji takes the exam (and passes) with Team 10, in Shikamaru's place - because she failed once again while, not only the other genin her age, but also both Neji and Hanabi continue to improve, Hinata is officially demoted from her position in the main family branch.

Lee and Tenten don't take this exam, they choose to go on missions with Gai and Chouza (more students' students - maybe also Genma and Ebisu) to investigate rumors and sightings of Akatsuki/Orochimaru activity, while also secretly relaying info between Tsunade and Jiraiya/Konoha and Ame.

Neji, Shino and Ino go on to work as chunin along with Shikamaru, however Chouji finally decides that fighting and being a ninja is not the way for him. He then goes back to Iruka, who was always understanding and patient for help.

The Akimichi are one of the main combat clans of the village so having such an important member simply turn away from the shinobi life should cause great surprise and displeasure. Luckly, Chouza, who was already a very understanding father, had the time to hear from the new generation (Lee and Tenten) their thoughts and prespectives, as well as seeing his own student be such a great master himself. And so, when Chouji tells him he wanted to become a teacher instead of a ninja, he could only be proud and encourage him on this path.

Shippuden Konoha 12 (will add link later)

[helenanell]

You’re Good || Dr. Abbott

Dr Jack Abbott x DoctorReader

(In my head, this is an OC, but it’s written first person, with no name or physical description)

Summary: It’s been years since I walked into The Pitt as an Intern and yet amongst the devastation of the shooting, my confidence in myself wavers. Then, Dr Abbott appears by my side.

Notes: Minor Spoilers - Takes place in the aftermath of the shooting. Blood, trauma.

I also have to credit and thank @madsmilfelsen whose posting about Abbott x Mohan got me on that ship and consequently had me thinking about this dynamic.

Part Two

Having just successfully inserted the chest tube into my patient, I step back. It’s only once I’m still that I realise my breathing is shallow. I shut my eyes and work to rectify it. You can’t go to pieces. I tell myself. It’s selfish and you don’t have the luxury. Get a grip.

Besides Covid, I have never worked such a major trauma event, and I know I’m faltering. Faced with such devastation–too much to process let alone confront and help heal–I feel utterly useless. Even as Princess informs me my patient is stabilising, I can’t shake the feeling I’m faltering. Failing.

When I lift my hand to push the protective glasses back up my nose, I pull up short at the sight of my gloves. The blue latex is utterly subsumed by blood. Or maybe it isn’t, and the red is all that I can see.

I let out a ragged breath and take another step back from the patient, as if my internal panic will somehow hurt him, undoing all of our work to save his life.

“Doc?” Princess calls out, but it bounces off me. The concern falls at my feet instead.

I look around, searching for Dana, Langdon, or Robby, anyone that usually makes me feel a little less helpless when the trauma of the day lashes at me a little too hard. But they’re barely keeping their heads above water, awash with blood and doing their best not to swallow down the cries of pain and choke—

There’s a flash of orange in my peripheral vision. The luminous vest that identifies a Primary Emergency MD. For a second, I think I must have made a mistake and Dana isn’t across the department and is instead by my side. But it isn’t her.

“Turn.” Dr Abbot gently, but firmly, knocks his hand into my arm, forcing me to angle myself to face him.

His vest is smeared with blood, but he must have changed his gloves recently because he’s able to reach out and push my glasses back up the bridge of my nose without me catching a glimpse of red.

There’s something grounding about the gesture, and I make myself believe it’s because it’s jarring to receive any kind of aid from a man who seems constantly perturbed. If not by me specifically, then just from having to engage with anyone for an extended period of time.

“Thanks.” There’s a tremor in my voice, but at least it’s not a mortifying shake.

Dr Abbott’s an ass, but having his respect would feel almost like a career milestone. I’m definitely not there yet.

Dr Abbott just nods, casting his eye over the patient I just put the tube in. I wait for disapproval but none comes.

“You just saved that man’s life, Doctor.”

Seeing as I expected him to move away without another word, as is normal for our interactions, all I manage is to blink at him in slight shock.

“I’d hope so.” I say. “It’s sort of a requirement of the job.”

He gives me a suffering look. I’m sure he is going to leave now, both of us standing around for even the minute this conversation has taken feels like a luxury. A luxury we have no right to when we’re standing in a storm.

“Okay.” I nod myself, preparing to move away, but Dr Abbott stops me.

“Wait.”

I look back over to him. He’s focused on my ankle where, just like him, I have a blood bag secured, an IV in my arm feeding into it.

I frown down at it. Surely he can’t have an issue with me doing exactly what he is? It’s not like I’ve copied his homework.

“What’s wrong?—“

I barley have the question out when he’s dropping down into a crouch, his assured hands finding the bandage that’s keeping the blood bag against my ankle. He repositions it and then begins to secure it back into place.

“Sloppy work.” He grumbles, brow drawn tight.

I look up at the ceiling for strength. There’s the jab.

“I’m so glad you’re here to uplift me during this horrifically stressful time, Dr Abbot.”

He lets out an irritated huff and I narrow my eyes down at him when I feel the bandage tighten unnecessarily.

“Sloppy is never good enough, no matter the time.” He says.

“Well, next time I have to cut into someone whilst bleeding myself dry, I’ll emulate your grace.” I say, a smirk grows when he glowers up at me. “You don’t think you’re graceful, Dr Abbott?”

“Sure I do.” He deadpans. “Call me twinkle toes.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Oh, I absolutely will. We’ve just found your new nickname.”

Dr Abbott taps my ankle when he finishes and then straightens up. “See, I am capable of uplifting you.”

I gape at him and find maybe the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips. Maybe.

Is he really trying to stop me from spiralling or is this just him taking an opportunity to goad me? I hate that I can’t tell. He has a frustrating capacity to fry the circuitry of comprehension. I don’t understand anything he does.

He considers my expression and then says, “I’m not fucking with you, Doctor.”

To ignore the warmth that ignites within me, I look down at my ankle.

“So,” I begin carefully, “how does it feel to be a trendsetter? Soon everyone will have blood bags for anklets.”

“Wonderful.” He says flatly, his good humour vanished. Well, that didn’t last long. “Okay, you’re good.”

I look around the Emergency Department, struggling to catch a glimpse of anything close to hope. Hope that things are calming down so we can start giving proper care, not just desperately trying to keep people’s hearts beating.

“Am I?” I ask shakily. “It feels like the bare minimum.”

“You’re saving lives.” Dr Abbott answers sincerely. “That’s not the bare minimum, that’s everything.”

I meet his eyes and attempt a smile. “Yeah, it is.”

He sees I’m struggling to convince myself but he doesn’t push it. “You’re doing great work.”

“I’m just trying to match the example that others have set for me.”

Something flickers in his gaze and I think maybe he’s remembering that first day, years ago now, when I first walked into The Pitt and he’d been my attending. I had been so intimidated by him, yet so in awe. Desperate to impress.

Six years later, not much has changed. No matter how self-assured I am, there’s something about him that makes me feel like that intern all over again.

Dr Abbott takes a step closer and leans in, his voice low, breath ghosting the side of my face. “You are the example, Doctor. Look around and you’ll see the med students trying to follow you.”

“I-“

I don’t get a chance to answer, not that I really know what the hell I’d say to that, because he’s already turning away.

“Keep up the good work.”

Then he’s gone, swept up in the emergency tidal wave. I linger for only a second before forcing myself back into action.

There are lives to save. Always.

Part Two - I'll Be Seeing You

[rmview]

he still loves his ex, ENHYPEN.

featuring — enhypen members x gn!reader ( masterlist )

summary — a reaction of what happens when the enhypen boys realize and confess that they’re still not over their ex!

contents — angst, mentions of past relationships, break ups.

hee ❋ seung

heeseung is known for his emotional depth, but even that doesn’t prepare him for the storm he’s facing now. at first, he’s convinced he’s ready to move on, putting his all into your relationship. he laughs at your jokes, plans sweet dates, and assures himself that the past is behind him. but over time, the cracks begin to show. a fleeting memory, an old photograph, or a song tied to his ex brings a rush of emotions he thought he’d buried. it feels like betrayal — to both himself and you — but he keeps silent, hoping the feelings will fade on their own.

the guilt eats at him, manifesting in sleepless nights and uncharacteristic silences. you notice the shift and confront him one evening, your voice soft yet filled with concern. heeseung tries to brush it off, but the pressure becomes too much. “i didn’t want it to be like this,” he confesses, his voice trembling as he struggles to meet your gaze. “but i think… i think i still have feelings for her.”

your stunned expression breaks something in him, and tears well up in his eyes. “it’s not fair to you. you don’t deserve this,” he says, his voice cracking with emotion. “i wanted to be enough for you, but i’m not. i thought i could move on from karina, but i’ve just been lying to both of us.” heeseung’s vulnerability is raw, but his words carry a finality that leaves no room for hope.

as you step away from him, his hand twitches as if to reach for you, but he doesn’t. he knows he has no right to ask you to stay, no matter how much he wants to. watching you walk out of his life feels like a punishment he deserves. heeseung is left in the silence of his own making, his heart heavy with regret and the realization that he’s lost something irreplaceable.

even as time passes, heeseung struggles to forgive himself. memories of you linger, a painful reminder of what he ruined. he knows he has a long way to go before he can heal, but the thought of you moving on without him is a wound that never quite fades.

jay ❋

jay prides himself on being in control, but this situation shakes him to his core. when he first starts dating you, he’s confident that he’s left his past behind. he showers you with affection, determined to build something real and lasting. but as time goes on, he realizes that the shadow of his ex is still there, lingering in the corners of his mind. he tries to bury it, pouring all his energy into you, but the weight of his unresolved feelings becomes too much to bear.

the breaking point comes when you ask him what’s wrong during a quiet moment. jay hesitates, the words caught in his throat, but your worried eyes compel him to speak. “i didn’t mean for this to happen,” he says, his voice low and laced with guilt. “but i think i’m still not over her.” the confession feels like a betrayal, and he knows it.

jay’s hands tremble as he continues. “you have to believe me — i never wanted to hurt you. i thought i could move on from ningning, but i was wrong.” his voice cracks, and he looks away, unable to face the pain in your expression. “you deserve someone who’s completely there for you, not someone stuck in the past. i’m so sorry.”

you step back, the distance between you both growing, and jay feels a crushing sense of loss. he wants to ask you to stay, to tell you that he can fix this, but he knows it’s a lie. instead, he lets you leave, his chest tight with regret as the door closes behind you.

in the aftermath, jay is consumed by what-ifs. he replays every moment, wondering where he went wrong, but the answers bring no solace. he’s left to face the emptiness of his own mistakes, knowing that he’s lost you for good.

jake ❋

jake has always been a hopeless romantic, someone who loves deeply and wears his heart on his sleeve. when he starts dating you, he’s certain you’re the one who will help him move on. he invests himself fully in the relationship, but the past has a way of creeping back in. memories of his ex resurface at the most inconvenient times, leaving him torn between what he had and what he’s trying to build with you.

the guilt eats away at him until he can’t hide it anymore. one evening, after another failed attempt to mask his inner turmoil, you finally confront him. jake hesitates, his normally bright demeanor replaced with a somber expression. “i wish i could tell you this isn’t happening,” he begins, his voice thick with emotion. “but i think… part of me still has feelings for her.”

the words hang heavy in the air, and jake’s heart breaks as he sees the hurt flash across your face. “it’s not that i don’t care about you,” he continues, his voice cracking. “i do — so much. but i can’t lie to you anymore. you deserve someone who can give you their whole heart, and i don’t know if i can right now.”

you stand there, silent, and jake can feel the distance growing between you. “i’m sorry,” he whispers, tears streaming down his face. “i never wanted to hurt you.” he doesn’t stop you when you turn to leave, though every fiber of his being screams for him to call you back. he knows he’s already done enough damage.

jake spends the days and weeks that follow drowning in regret. he replays your last conversation over and over, haunted by the pain in your eyes. though he knows he did the right thing by being honest, the loss of you is a wound he doesn’t know how to heal.

sung ❋ hoon

sunghoon is the kind of person who internalizes his emotions, often to a fault. when he starts dating you, he truly believes he’s moved on from his ex. but as time passes, memories of the past creep into his thoughts at the most unexpected moments. he tries to brush it off, convincing himself it’s just nostalgia, but the truth becomes harder to ignore. sunghoon grows quieter around you, his normally playful banter replaced with awkward silences.

the turning point comes when you confront him, noticing his increasing detachment. at first, he denies it, shaking his head and insisting everything is fine. but your persistence forces him to face the truth he’s been avoiding. “i don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “i thought i was over her, but i’m not. and that’s not fair to you.”

sunghoon’s words hit like a dagger to the heart, and you can see the guilt etched across his face. he doesn’t try to justify his feelings or ask for forgiveness. instead, he admits that he’s been selfish in trying to build something new with you while still holding onto the past. “you deserve someone who’s all in,” he continues, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “and i don’t think i can be that person right now.”

you try to process his words, but the weight of the revelation is too much. sunghoon respects your silence, knowing he has no right to ask for understanding or a second chance. as you walk away, his heart shatters, realizing he’s lost someone truly special because of his inability to let go of his past.

even as he regrets his actions, sunghoon knows this is the end. he tells himself it’s for the best, but the thought of you moving on with someone else — someone who can love you the way he couldn’t — haunts him long after you’re gone.

su ❋ noo

sunoo is naturally expressive, and his emotions are often written all over his face. when he first starts dating you, he’s overjoyed, putting his heart and soul into making the relationship special. however, the shadows of his past relationship begin to surface in quiet moments — an old photo, a familiar scent, or a song that takes him back to a time he thought he’d left behind. sunoo tries to push these feelings aside, but they refuse to stay buried.

one day, you notice sunoo looking distant, his usual radiant smile replaced with a melancholic gaze. when you ask him what’s wrong, he hesitates, unsure of how to put his feelings into words. “i didn’t mean for this to happen,” he finally says, his voice breaking. “but i think i’m still holding onto feelings for my ex.”

the admission sends a chill through the room, and you can feel your heart sink. sunoo quickly follows up, apologizing profusely and insisting that he never wanted to hurt you. “you’re amazing, and i hate myself for not being able to give you everything you deserve,” he says, tears streaming down his cheeks. “but i can’t keep pretending everything’s okay.”

his words are filled with genuine regret, but they also carry a finality that’s hard to ignore. sunoo doesn’t ask for forgiveness or a second chance. instead, he lets you decide how to proceed, fully prepared for the possibility that you’ll walk away. and when you do, his heart shatters into a million pieces.

even after the breakup, sunoo struggles to move on, plagued by the knowledge that his unresolved feelings cost him something truly beautiful. he vows to work on himself, but the thought of you being hurt by his mistakes is a pain he carries long after you’re gone.

jung ❋ won

jungwon is known for his emotional maturity, but even he isn’t immune to the complexities of lingering feelings. when he starts dating you, he believes he’s ready to move on from his ex. he genuinely cares for you and puts effort into the relationship, but the unresolved emotions begin to creep in when he least expects it. jungwon tries to suppress them, but his internal conflict starts to show in subtle ways — hesitant smiles, distracted conversations, and an uncharacteristic unease in his demeanor.

when you finally confront him, jungwon doesn’t try to deny it. he takes a deep breath, his usually calm expression clouded with guilt. “i didn’t want it to be like this,” he admits, his voice steady but filled with regret. “you mean so much to me, but i think there’s a part of me that hasn’t let go of the past.”

his honesty stings, but you can see how much it pains him to say it. jungwon doesn’t make excuses or try to downplay the situation. instead, he acknowledges his fault and emphasizes that you deserve someone who’s completely present in the relationship. “i can’t keep dragging you into my mess,” he says, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of sadness and sincerity.

jungwon doesn’t ask for forgiveness or a second chance. he knows he’s not in a place to give you the love and stability you deserve, and he’s not willing to hurt you further by clinging to the relationship. as you walk away, jungwon stays behind, his heart heavy with the weight of his mistakes.

though he regrets losing you, jungwon understands that this is the consequence of his actions. he resolves to work through his emotions and become a better version of himself, even if it’s too late to mend what’s been broken.

ni ❋ ki

ni-ki is still young and learning how to navigate complex emotions, which makes this situation particularly difficult for him. when he starts dating you, he’s excited and eager to make things work, but the lingering feelings for his ex catch him off guard. ni-ki tries to convince himself that it’s just a phase, something that will pass with time. however, the more he tries to ignore it, the more it weighs on him, and his behavior begins to shift.

you notice the change almost immediately — he becomes quieter, less playful, and more reserved. when you finally press him about it, ni-ki hesitates, his usual confidence replaced with uncertainty. “i didn’t want to tell you because i didn’t want to hurt you,” he says, his voice barely audible. “but i think i still have feelings for eunchae, and i don’t know how to handle it.”

his confession feels like a punch to the gut, and ni-ki can see the hurt in your eyes. he quickly follows up, apologizing profusely and insisting that he never meant to lead you on. “you’re incredible, and this isn’t your fault,” he says, his voice cracking. “i just… i wasn’t ready, and that’s on me.”

despite his remorse, ni-ki knows there’s no easy fix for the situation. he doesn’t try to ask for a second chance or make promises he can’t keep. instead, he accepts the reality of the situation, even though it’s breaking his heart. as you walk away, he stays rooted in place, unable to do anything but watch you leave.

ni-ki spends a long time reflecting on his actions, realizing that his inability to let go of the past cost him something truly special. though he wishes things could have been different, he knows he has a lot of growing up to do before he can fully commit to anyone.

notes: i think i'm getting a little too trigger happy with writing sad stuff xD someone pls request some cute shit because i might pop a braincell and start writing dark shit

[hedwig221b]

Witch or magical Stiles recs..?

Hi! I did magical!Stiles fic recs here! This time, let's focus on witch!Stiles (my beloved)

A Thousand Fiery Suns of Angst - Just Press Play by apocryphal

All Stiles wants from life is to learn to control his magic, keep his grades up, and not die horribly while saving Beacon Hills from supernatural threats. It's all going pretty well until Derek Hale, werewolf extraordinaire, has to go and ask him on a date. That asshole.

The Wolf in the Tower by exclamation

Too many people are scared of witches so when Stiles accidentally sets a building on fire with magic, he is taken prisoner and dragged before Lord Hale. Rather than leave an untrained magic user free, Peter Hale thinks he might be able to make use of Stiles' skills and hands Stiles over to his sorceror Deaton to be trained. Stiles is still unsure about his future, but he's even more confused when he finds out that one of his new duties involves feeding the black wolf imprisoned at the top of one of the towers. There's something very strange about this wolf and Stiles can't help wondering if magic might be involved.

Dead Things by standinginanicedress

Derek blows some more smoke out. He chooses to look at Stiles’ mouth instead of in his eyes, again. “I need you to bring someone back.” “Back.” “From the dead.” “Absolutely not,” Stiles scoffs, shaking his head. “Not for you, not for all the money in the world.” Derek looks at him, just looks. He is not going to accept no for an answer, and Stiles knows it, but it doesn’t matter, because Stiles will not do that. He cannot do that, not again. “Why not for me in specific?”

For My Flesh Had Turned to Fur, and My Thoughts Had Turned to You by literaryoblivion

They’ve known about the other pack for quite some time now. They know the pack is young and small, formed together more by accident and necessity than anything else. But, they haven’t done anything about them because they’ve been fairly quiet, kept to themselves, and haven’t caused any trouble. That is until the Hales start hearing rumors about the McCall pack acquiring a very young and inexperienced but powerful witch. So Alpha Hale sends her eldest son, Derek, for all intents and purposes, to spy on the McCall pack and their so-called witch, to see what the truth of the situation is.

The Ink Under My Skin by rainsoakedshoes

Derek is looking for an Emissary. What he finds is Stiles Stilinski; resident witch. Stiles would do whatever it takes to protect the Hale pack and his Alpha. “I want to protect my pack as well as I can,” Derek continued. “Emissaries traditionally keep balance, having someone who wants to tip the odds in our favour may come in handy.”

Destiny is the Rising Sun by asswords

Stiles and Derek are best at keeping secrets – the biggest one being the fact that they knew each other long before Scott had to go and become a werewolf. (The second biggest secret belongs to Stiles, something about how he’s not allowed to tell Derek he’s the trusted advisor and kind of a witch.)

your fangs against my skin (the sound of your bones)

This was it, then, huh? It was that easy for Derek to invite someone to his den. Someone other than Stiles. He healed the wolf. Stiles killed his tormentor, mended his blood and bones, and let him sleep beside him. But none of it was enough. He wasn’t a spark, after all, but a witch — evil and alone, locked up in his tower. Witches didn’t get happy endings.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation by grimm

There's something weird about Beacon Hills that Stiles can't quite put his finger on. The way everyone in town knows his name the day he arrives. The way they insist the melancholic howling that echoes through the forest every night is just a dog. The way his dad denies getting a dog, even though Stiles comes home to find one sprawled across his bed, some big black thing whose eyes gleam red in the right light. The way that massive oak tree out in the woods vibrates under his touch, pulsing with sickly life. There's something weird going on in this town, and Stiles is determined to get to the bottom of it.

These Scars Tell A Story (But It’s Not Mine) by HappyJuicyfruit

Derek’s eyes widened in confusion as Stiles babbled at him. “I know it’s not up to you, but you’re like, my guard, right? You’ve been keeping an eye on me? Tell your mom I wouldn’t lie about this, my dad deserves to stay here. He’s happy here, please let him stay!” Guard? Keeping an eye on him? “Stiles, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Stiles face crumpled, his hands clung to Derek’s shirt tighter as tears and snot dripped off his chin. Derek frantically tries to think of the right thing to say. “You think- you think I’m your guard? That I’ve been watching you to, what, make sure you don’t do any magic? Stiles, that’s ridiculous. Beacon Hills is a sanctuary for supernaturals. We allow people to use their magic. I was just trying to be your friend.” Stiles breath hitched. “My friend?”

Other fic recs: angsty fics + pt2 + pt3 | possessive Derek | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | smut | mafia | hurt/comfort | magical!Stiles | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | BAMF!Stiles + pt2 | omegaverse | witch!Stiles | creature!Stiles + pt2 | oblivious Stiles | oblivious sterek | bad friend Scott | pack mom!Stiles | unrequited love | werewolf!Stiles | dark sterek | single parent!Stiles | feral Derek | feral Stiles | arranged marriage | Stiles is underestimated | mpreg w/o abo | accidental knotting | jock!Derek | jock!Stiles | alive Hales | spanking | royal abo au | longfic | void!Stiles | sheriff dissaproves | Stiles doesn't know about werewolves | soft fics | hales love stiles

[inkdrinkerworld]

One thing i would think would make spencer and sunshine reader fight is if reader puts herself in danger on the field either for him or a team member

cw: canon level violence, mention of readeer getter attacked [slashed by the unsub], mention of being shot, guns, concussion mention, reader gets stitched up

“Spencer, you can’t be this upset.” You mumble as he flares at you the entire time the EMTs check you out. 

His glare only intensifies. You’d been chasing the killer on foot, Spencer behind you as you followed the unsub. “I am this upset. It was silly, you could’ve died. The unsub could’ve had a gun instead of a knife and while you put yours away you could’ve been shot.” 

Sure, in hindsight you probably should’ve waited for more backup, now that you’ve got a slashed shoulder and probably a concussion, but at least the victim and Spencer weren’t hurt. 

Spencer doesn’t see it that way. All he saw and still sees in his mind’s eye is you putting your gun back in your holster while he was too far to get a clear shot and the unsub slashing at you as you got the woman from his grip. 

“It’s just four inches deep, it’s going to leave a tiny scar after everything is all healed.” 

You nibble on your lip when he doesn’t say anything for a little bit. Then ire flares in your chest, “I’m not going to apologise for doing my job. Yes it could’ve gone better, but it’s over and everyone is relatively unscathed.”

Spencer sighs, long and hard. You flinch as the EMT pushes the needle through the torn skin of your shoulder. 

“I’m not worried about the scar it’s going to leave. What you did was stupid and reckless, he could’ve easily slashed your throat.” He still sounds annoyed, but he’s not looking at you with rage in his eyes. Though, you’re certain the rage was directed more at your wound than anything else. You know Spencer is just worried, maybe even a little terrified still from the adrenaline of having to shoot the unsub while watching you clutch your shoulder and trying to help the girl from being crushed under the falling body. 

“But he didn’t. Instead I’m a little concussed and banged up but my boyfriend wants to fight with me too.” He sighs harshly again, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes. 

Spencer’s heart had threatened to pop out his chest the moment he saw the knife. He hadn’t shot off his gun fast enough. He can’t stop seeing the unsub’s hand arching down and cutting you and he can’t stop seeing you flinching and falling to your knees. 

“I don’t want to fight. You can’t do that again.” He says quietly, reaching for your hand to trace over all the lines in your palm. “I don’t think you understand what it’s like seeing you get cut like that, seeing you here being stitched up.” 

You sigh too, “I really am sorry we couldn’t take him down without someone getting hurt, but this is the job Spence.” You see your roles reversed and Spencer being stitched up instead of you playing in your mind and you throw him a bone. “I’ll try not to do stupid, reckless things again. But this one, I’d do it ten times over to save that little girl.” 

Spencer nods, knowing this is the best that’s going to come of the ‘argument,’ plus he can’t say that he hasn’t put himself in precarious positions on a case- he’ll try to never let the anthrax case come up around you. 

“I know,” he presses his lips to your temple. “No more reckless things tonight though. I don’t think my heart is equipped.” 

You gasp, “And here I thought I’d do somersaults all the way back to the jet. You’re no fun, Dr. Reid.” 

Spencer laughs, the EMT shakes her head finishing the last knot on the suture. “Neither are you, your somersaults would’ve landed us in the hospital instead of on the back of an ambulance.”

[pupkashi]

satoru loves yapping [to you]

satoru was always chatty, shoko could definitely attest to that statement, subjected to too many conversations she definitely did not care about.

“isn’t it hotter than usual? i swear last year it was colder around this time of year-” he began, continuing to talk as shoko tried to focus instead on healing an injured itadori in front of her.

it seemed that his chatty characteristic only amplified when you were around, his eyes would visibly brighten, practically gleaming when you appeared in his eyesight.

“sweetheart! how are you? staying cold in this heat?” you can help but smile at him, walking straight into his already outstretched arms and squeezing his waist a bit, pressing a soft peck to his cheek before pulling away.

“heat? it feels so good out today!” you sigh happily, waving yellow to shoko and itadori, “it is hotter than last year though I’ll tell you that,” satoru grins at your words, turning to shoko with a flint in his eyes before turning back to you.

“that’s what I said! global warming is getting too severe-” the two of you walking out hand in hand, the taller man still talking as you listened intently.

satoru never felt the need to be quiet around you, always finding things to talk about no matter the task or the hour.

“and so you would think that since they were doing so bad they would think of making changes right?” you nod along, humming so he knows you’re listening, “but no! they keep going with same stupid strategy and it’s so frustrating as a fan to see, i just want him to achieve his dreams,” he sighs sadly.

“can you pass the salt?” you ask, taking it from his much larger hand, thanking him before speaking up again, “why does he keep resigning if they always treat him so poorly?” you ask, satoru smiles, heart warming at the fact that you really do pay attention to him.

“he’s always wanted to win with Ferrari- let me take you back to the beginning” he begins, giving you a summary of charles leclerc’s life as you finish cooking dinner.

you could always tell when he got a bit insecure of how talkative he was, but you’d always smile at him, urging him to go on. “and then what? why’d you stop talking?” you’d say, making him smile widely before quietly starting again.

“I’m listening, angel boy,” you mumble in between dreams, listening to him talk about how orange juice isn’t the same as it was when he was growing up and how the new game he downloaded was more complicated than it seems.

it could be nearing 2 in the morning but you wouldn’t mind, satoru would be discussing how and why wombats have cube shaped poops and how koalas eat eucalyptus and pandas have half a brain cell they don’t bother to use.

“it has no real nutritional value and that’s why they have to eat so much of it,” he mumbles, eyes drooping as he cuddles closer to you.

“aren’t they made to digest meat?” you whisper, head tucked into the crook of his neck, your breath running a chill down his spine.

“think so, dunno” he mumbles back, breathing evening out before he’s fully asleep.

your eyes open slowly as you crane your neck, his pink lips slightly parted as he takes soft breaths, snowy hair pointing every which way.

you can’t help but smile at your lover.

“goodnight pretty boy” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, “my little yapper,” you chuckle to yourself, already looking forward to what he’d talk about tomorrow.

masterlist

a/n: hi friends ! just a quick little something i put together bc i miss satoru so bad lately </3 he’s def a yapper and i want to hear him talk all day and night

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @sat6ru @beautiful-is-boring @sweetheart-satoru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi

[charlietheepicwriter7]

R̸̜̈́u̵̟͘t̶̺̓ḧ̵͇l̷̟̋ē̶̘s̵̨̎s̵̩͒ṋ̵̋e̵͙̐s̵̡̈́ś̸͙

Get in the Water prompt Storm alternate version Animatic Fanart

There was a spell, Constantine had explained after his own trip to the afterlife. Something to contain Danyal's soul long enough to resolve his unfinished business, to keep him still and away from the influences of his fellow dead. And if that didn't work, Constantine continued, then there were ways to force a spirit to rest. It was better for a ghost to move on by themselves, but if there was no other choice...

Damian hoped Danyal would choose to rest on his own. That he'd let him explain, finally.

Danyal had been weak. Strong in a fight, but too weak to kill, and that infuriated Damian. But he was scared more than he was angry. Because that weakness would get Danyal killed, could get Damian killed, could get the League killed. Even the newest recruits had a stronger desire to kill than Danyal.

He was the weakest link in the chain. And while their mother had taught them to be ruthless, Danyal had remained limp with mercy.

They needed Danyal's body. It would be Danyal's tie to the earth, Constantine explained as he joined them on the Batplane. The souls of the dead don't often linger on the mortal plain. The magician had speculated that the only reason Danyal had managed to manifest in the waters below Gotham was because of Damian's presence, but his remains would keep him stable this side of life for however long it took to heal his soul.

But was that even possible?

"I don't know, kid," Constantine admitted during the plane ride. "Wish I had a better answer for you, but... Your brother is a siren now. And from the sound of it? He really wants you dead."

"Then why didn't he kill me?" Damian argued. "He had hours to do it... or minutes..." The time he spent in that green world felt longer than the ten minutes Father couldn't find him, but... "He had me in his grasp and let me go. Doesn't that mean he didn't want to-"

"Have you ever heard the phrase 'Playing with your food?'" Constantine asked instead. "Sirens aren't known for letting their prey go. If we're out here, its because he wants us here."

They--Damian, Father, Constantine, Grayson, and Todd--landed in Nanda Parbat after a few hours. There was a crypt inside for members of the Al Ghul family who didn't use the Lazarus Pits. It was there Danyal's body was entombed. They would have to steal it.

And it was unfortunate that Constantine got them caught within five minutes of entry.

Damian glared daggers at the man as they were led towards the Lazarus Pit. Constantine shrugged. "What? I don't want assassins chasing after me because of some light grave robbing! Besides, we need to explain the situation anyway-"

"And what, precisely, needs to be explained?" asked a woman from inside the chamber. The heroes were pushed inside, only to see Talia Al Ghul standing where her father should have been. The Lazarus Pit hissed and boiled behind her, casing the cave in a ghoulish light.

Damian could hear laughing.

Father stepped forward. "Talia. Where's Ra's?" Grandfather was the biggest threat to their plan succeeding.

Mother... looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "I do not know. At the present moment... the Demon Head is missing."

You could hear a pin drop. "What do you mean?" Father demanded.

"It's as I said; he is missing. Yesterday, he was alone in the Pit, and hours later, no one could find him." She glanced behind her, at the waters, before looking back at them. "I had assumed he'd left to care for the League's interests. Now-" She tilted her chin up, looking down at them. "What exactly do you need to explain? What is so important that you break into my home to tell me?"

Stepping forward, Constantine explained. Mother looked grim as he spoke of Danyal, but did not interrupt. "We want to put his soul to rest. But for that, we need access to his body-"

"You dare ask for such a thing?" Mother snarled. "As if I even believe you. My son would never-"

"Your son?" Grayson snapped. "From the looks of it, you didn't care for either of your children!"

As the group descended into an argument, Damian heard laughter again, Danyal's high pitched giggle harmonizing with something deep and bone shaking. The Lazarus Pits loomed over him, beckoning him, whispering. Damian took a step towards it as his mother said, "I don't even have his body!"

"What?" Damian snapped at his mother, focusing back on the conversation. "But the crypts-"

"After your brother's murder, the Demon Head ordered for the culprit to be found. But they were never discovered." Because the culprit was Damian, he knew, and no one else ever learned about it. "I wanted to place him in the Pits immediately, but I was ordered to stay my hand until the murderer was caught. But..."

"He never was," Damian finished for her. "And then you put Danyal into the waters?"

"Yes." She closed her eyes. "And he never came back out. Even if it was too late, he'd still come back as the undead, but he never rose from the waters."

"Then this is entirely my fault."

"Finally," Danyal whispered in his ear, breath chilling his skin.

Damian did his best to ignore it. Danyal was haunting him. Danyal needed to be put to rest. If they couldn't do it Constantine's way, then they had to put him to rest another way.

Grayson looked troubled. "Robin, it's not your fault-"

"I'm the one who killed him," Damian confessed. Everyone stared at him. Grayson, horrified; Mother, blank; Father, betrayed. Damian continued, "I overheard you and Grandfather arranging a fight to the death, and I knew who would win. I couldn't... I couldn't allow Danyal to die without the Al Ghul name, in disgrace as the one who wasn't good enough. So I killed him, assassinated him, and now he's haunting me for revenge." Damian looked at the Pit. "So go ahead, Danyal."

"Damian, what are you saying?"

"Danyal wants revenge on the person who killed him; I'm giving it to him." Todd was staring at him. Damian might not be able to see past his helmet, but he could feel the respect coming off the man. "Danyal, I know you're here. Please come out." If he focused long enough, he could just making out wheezing breaths. "I can hear you, please-"

Father grabbed Damian by the shoulders. "Damian, listen to what you're saying! You're offering your life up for nothing!"

"B's right." Grayson placed a hand on his shoulder. "There's got to be another way. You don't have to do this!"

"Yes I do!" Damian ripped himself out of Nightwing's grip. "I'm the one who killed him! I'm the one at fault! My brother is suffering because of me, I have to save him-"

Stepping between them all, Mother slapped him across the face.

And the Pit's whispers fell silent.

Damian stared up at his mother, cheek throbbing with pain. She glared back. "Cease this behavior at once," she snapped. "There's no need to get so worked up over a ghost, of all thing-"

"T̴̯̃al̵̬͂ị̴̿a̵̮̕ ̵̼͐A̴̗̕l̷͈̆ ̴͚̓G̵͎̀h̷̻͒u̶̜͋l̴͍̀."

This time, everyone could hear Danyal's voice, filled with static and corrupted. Damian swallowed as his dead brother continued,

"D̸͕͠o̶̪̅ ̸͍̆ỹ̵̗ö̸̲ũ̸̧ ̶͖̚k̶̻͊ņ̸͐o̸̹̚ẘ̸̙w̷̛̹ḧ̸͚́o̷͉̅ ̵͈̑I̶̪̽ á̵̞m̶͙̂?̸̻͂"

The cavern shook as the Lazarus Pit bucked, a wave forming in the absolute center of the water. The wave rose, pillaring up above their head and brushing the ceiling. A cold wind rushed through the room and blew out the torches on the walls, leaving only embers and the occasional florescent behind. Damian braced himself for the waters to rush out and flood.

Instead, the water fell back into the pit, like it had never risen in the first place, leaving behind a lone figure in its wake.

"Danyal," Mother whispered.

And the dead boy glared back at her with pure contempt.

[imyourbratzdoll]

I crave a good fluffy fic with wolverine, his wife is a badass and when someone threatens him she loses her shit and kicks their ass🫡 with so much disrespect.

hey baby, I'm so sorry for taking so long! I hope you enjoy what I did, it's a bit more violent than you probably wanted.

summary - a dumb 'bad guy' lures you and your husband out, things take an escalated turn when he threatens your husband.

warning - SUPER violent, like extreme level probably, swearing, mentions of sex, dude talks of touching what's his but nothing triggering, dick and balls suffer rip.

18+ only please, the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips

You couldn’t believe this guy, he was really threatening your husband right in front of you. Thinking he was all tough because he could throw fire or some shit? You didn’t know what he could do, except talk a lot of shit. That was probably his power. What was his name again? Captain Talks Shit? Shits A lot? Little Fucker? Who cares, all you care about right now is that he’s threatening your man. 

You walk out of the shadows, having heard enough because honestly. Why do the bad guys always talk for so long? Have none of them realised or picked up from past bad guys mistakes? It was tiring and a waste of your time because you and Logan could’ve been gone by now, screwing each other silly, probably somewhere extremely risky. But, noooo. You had to listen to this jackass.

“Listen, dick licker. If you don’t stop threatening my fucking husband. I’m going to rip your arm off and beat you with it.” You growl, moving to stand in front of Logan. (Sure, he would have protected himself and it may look weak to the other guy that a woman is standing in front of an extremely large man, in more ways than one, wink wink. But you happen to know that this turns your husband on and who are you to deny him his fantasies?)

“Is that a threat?” Captain Dipshit sneers.

“Did it sound like a fucking compliment, Princess?” You watch as he eyes you, sizing you up and in his mind he’s probably thinking ‘yeah, I can take this chick.’ You hope his ego deflates before you kill him.

“Listen, Babe. This is between us men, now why don’t you run along and go make us a sandwich or something. Maybe put on some cute lingerie and wait for me in the bedroom ‘cause once I’m done with your husband here. You’ll be creamin’ around me.”

Logan shakes his head, stepping way back. He remembered when he accidentally said something similar and he was in a coma for a whole month, not even his fast healing could help him. 

It was like a switch turning on, the beast that lived within you had been released from its cage and not even God could save this man now. You stalked towards him, he still smirked thinking he was safe. You jump, wrapping your legs around his neck and twisting, bringing him down using a move your good friend Natasha had taught you. You move swiftly while he is down, sending a harsh kick to his face, hearing the satisfying crack of his nose and possibly jaw breaking. You grab him by his hair and lift him, a large grin covering your face as you bring him eye level with you. 

“You wanna repeat that, Princess?” You bring him closer, whispering in his ear. “How bout you go make me a sandwich, put on a cute set and I’ll bash your dick in with a baseball bat. How do ya like the sound of that? Cause I love it.” 

He struggles within your grip, trying to swing at you but with your other hand that isn’t gripping his hair. You snap his arms, relishing in the sound of bones breaking. His screams echo the warehouse, dumbarse had lured us in here without a backup plan or backup. 

You let go of your grip on his hair, immediately switching to gripping his throat instead. “You don’t like my plan, Princess? Rethinking the whole thing? Cause ya already pissed me off by threatening the man I love, but then you had the balls to say THAT? Tell me, Princess. Just between us girls. Did mummy not give you any hugs as a kid? Cause how did you think this was gonna go? You could’ve ‘killed’ the Wolverine, but he wouldn’t have stayed dead. No. But if he heard you touching me, touching what’s HIS. He would’ve torn you to shreds, but slowly. Very slowly. It’s what makes me love him.” You pat the man’s cheek, grinning as he winces. 

“How bout an apology and I won’t kill you.”

“F–fuck you.” He spits at you, SPITS. Not even clear fucking spit, this shit has blood in it. You lift your hand, wiping the spit with the back of it and then onto his clothes. 

Your face screwed up. “Well, that was stupid.” With quick movements, you throw him, watching him crash into a wall so hard that it leaves a dent. Your hand reaches out and a bat flies into it. “You’re not wearing that cute set and I don’t have a sandwich, but this will do.” He tries to shuffle away, his eyes wide. You stalk toward him and swing, smashing his dick and balls with one hit. Think Superman merged with Hulk strength, how do you think his twig and berries did?

A scream rips out of his mouth before his eyes roll back and he falls backwards. You frown and poke him with your bat. “Hey mista, you dead?” You look at Logan, “Bitch passed out.” He shakes his head at the pout on your lips. 

He walks over and places a kiss on your head, “C’mon, let’s go home now or better yet. You ready to do something real risky, Sweets.” Your eyes light up.

“Do you mean…?!”

Logan nods, smirking. “I’ll finally let you fuck me while I drive.” Your squeals escape as you jump into his arms, smothering his face with kisses.

“OH THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! You’re the best husband a woman could ask for!” And with that, Logan carries you out as you stare at him dreamily.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[it-was-summer]

... And Fall In Love Whenever You Can.

A/N: This fic genuinely had me tearing up as I wrote it. Therefore, it shall hold a sweet place in my heart. As a kid, I used to say, "If something makes you feel, then it is good." I still believe that today. If it makes you happy, sad, flustered, ANYTHING! To feel something while reading is such a beautiful reaction to media. I often cry at movies, I cry when I read romance novels, I cry when I read poetry, and I laugh when I do, too. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you feel something, Em <3 (I also apologize for vanishing; I got sick, and it made me feel brain fog)

Link to the Ao3: ... And Fall In Love Whenever You Can Link to the: Yee olde masterlist Tags: Grief support group, mention of death(s), loss of romantic partners, struggling with mental health, tears, the rise and fall that is nonlinear healing, fear of forgetting a loved one, falling in love after tragedy, Spencer sounds like he had therapy, Maeve mentioned, guns mentioned, she/her pronouns for reader used at like one point, Reader's POV for the most part, Reader is in extreme denial and feels guilty, a secret other thing??, lightly proofread tehe!

Genre: Light Angst, Some? Hurt/Comfort, Fluff! Pairing: Season10! Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Plot: Meeting Spencer at a grief support meeting might be the best and the worst thing to ever happen to you- but it's all relative in the eyes of love.

Word Count: 9,791

You were pacing a dimly lit parking lot outside of the funeral home. It had been eleven months, two weeks, and three days since Alexander’s death. The grief meetings occurred every third Wednesday, and everyone was lovely enough. You just couldn’t find it in yourself to go inside this particular Wednesday. Because it was on this date, two years ago, Alexander had gotten on one knee at the aquarium and asked you to marry him. It was two years ago that you had said yes, not knowing that a little over a year from then, he’d be dead. 

Your feet kept making strides to the double door entryway, only to slow to a stop when your hands reached the door’s push handle. Then, you’d shake your head and turn around to circle the parking lot once more. With your luck, the meeting would be over before you even got the courage to go inside. 

A groan escapes your throat as you firmly put your hands on your hips, tilting your head to the Summer sky. “I’m sorry,” Your voice is raw, barely a whisper as you struggle to keep yourself from crying. You knew everyone said not to keep it in, to express your grief freely. It minimized stress. At least, that’s what the grief counselors say. 

The worst part was no longer knowing who you were apologizing to— yourself or Alexander. 

You were walking around one of the parking lot’s street lamps when you saw someone standing at the doors, frozen in place. It was like watching a mirror of yourself—rigid shoulders, twitching hands, shaking head. 

You approach the man slowly, your image warped in the reflection of the glass doors. He turns to face you before you can speak, and he looks like you did eleven months ago. His eyes have dark circles around them, tinted with a red water-line and dull cheeks. That doesn’t stop you from gracing him with a gentle smile, “Are you going inside?” 

His eyes meet yours for a second, looking away to glance back at the doors. “I’m not sure.” His voice is quiet, scared. He sounds like he is still on the fence. You nod, drawing your lips into a tiny line as you drop your hands to your sides. “Are you?” He asks, stepping out of the way for you. 

You feel your mouth open to say you are going inside, but the words never come. Instead, you shake your head side-to-side timidly. “I’m not sure either,” You laugh out feebly. He nods, a dull smile gracing his delicate features for a millisecond before looking off with a forlorn expression. 

“I was thinking about walking around the parking lot again… to try to gain the confidence to go inside. You’re,” you pause, wondering if it's a good idea to offer the man an invitation, “You’re welcome to join me if you’d like.” 

The man looks at you again, his eyes widening for a second. You’re sure he’s about to decline, return to his car, and drive away, but he nods. You feel yourself smiling. It’s a little subdued, but it’s real. You mouth a silent ‘okay’ as you move your hands to your pant pockets, stepping away from the doors with this mourning stranger. You figured you didn’t have to talk if he didn’t want to, so everything was quiet as the two of you slowly walked around the large parking lot. 

Eventually, your quiet stranger speaks, “Thank you,” 

You shrug a little, sniffling, “It’s daunting, especially the first meeting.” 

He frowns a little, watching your eyes flit over to him and then back to the night sky. “That obvious?” 

“Only a little, but that’s not a bad thing.” Your voice is gentle as your feet slow to a stop, a light smile appearing on your face as you stare into the night. Spencer tilts his head to look at the stars, silently hoping that what makes you smile will make him smile, too. “Do you see her yet?” You ask, voice like honey. 

He feels like crying as he says, “No,” He doesn’t even know who you’re looking at. 

Your right hand is coming out of your coat pocket as you point to Cassiopeia slowly, tracing the stars with your index finger. “Cassiopeia, she’s a little low right now, but in a few months, she’ll get higher. You see her?”

And Spencer does. He feels his body relax, just for a moment. “I do.” He feels himself smiling a little at the sky, and the feeling feels almost foreign. His gaze falls back to you as you stuff your right-hand pack into your pocket, “I’m– I didn’t introduce myself earlier. I’m Spencer.” 

“That’s alright; I didn’t introduce myself either,” you sigh before you tell him your name. He nods at your response and follows you once your feet start moving again. 

“Have you—” He motions to the funeral home in the distance, “ever been inside?” 

“Oh, yeah. I’m a funeral home grief support group regular.” You joke lightly, though the soft chuckle you let out sounds like a sad one. 

He nods, nervously adjusting the beige cardigan on his chest. “Is everyone—I mean—” He draws his lips closed as he tries to gather his thoughts. “Do you like it?” 

Your feet slow for a second as you think about it. Sure, everyone was friendly, and the support was more helpful than harmful. But did you like it? You give him a little nod when you answer, “Yeah, it’s been nice. Less,” You tilt your head slowly like you’re choosing your words carefully. “Less Lonely.” 

Spencer lets out a relieved-sounding sigh as he mutters a gentle “Right.” 

“I just,” You swallow carefully, “I’m having a hard time going in today. My fiancé proposed two years ago today. I just— I mean everyone inside knows, I just,” You trail off for a second, sniffling lightly as a cool breeze brushes against your watering eyes. “It doesn’t matter.” 

Spencer didn’t know what to say to that. With Maeve, he had barely met her in person before she was murdered in front of him— the future pulled out from under him. Nowadays, he spends his time rereading books, remembering conversations on the phone, and mourning her silently in his apartment. Sometimes, he didn’t know which would be worse: losing her when he did or ten years down the line. Nonetheless, there is no Maeve to help him answer that question. 

He struggles to find the words for a second before he nods, slow and unsure of himself, “It matters.” 

You grin at how scared he sounds, the sound of a man holding on to the memory of a face that keeps fading away in his mind. “I know,” you can feel the ghost of the engagement ring on your left hand, a ring that now lies in a coffin. 

As the two of you get close to the building once more, you ask, “Are you going to go in?” 

Spencer swallows hard, the knot in his throat making it difficult for him to breathe. “Maybe next meeting,” 

You nod, “Me too.” You stare at your car in the distance before you feel yourself standing in the parking lot with Spencer— unmoving. “I know it’s not a lot, and I know that I can’t help that much, but,” You pull your phone out of your pocket, opening the keypad cautiously before holding it out to him. “If you ever want to talk about it, or anything really, I’d be happy to talk with you.” 

Normally, Spencer would decline such a kind gesture. He would thank you, drive home, and find solace in something familiar. His fingers twitch lightly as he reaches out for your phone, staring down at the keypad for a second before he puts in his number. He doesn’t know why he wants to talk with you. He thinks it’s because talking with a stranger about Maeve seemed less daunting than talking about it with his coworkers— his friends. You barely know him, and that makes your offer seem safe. No preconceived notions, pity, or gentle promises of being there for him, just a stranger talking to another stranger. 

Two weeks go by like usual— no text from your stranger named Spencer, coffee for one at the café that was Alexander’s favorite, taking his mom to dinner on Thursdays, and so on. Sometimes, the days blur into a muddled painting filled with muted tones, and you try your hardest to remember when everything had a vibrant hue.

Most days are easy, easier than most, at least. It’s not that you forget about him. You remember him when you see a couple holding hands or golden retrievers going for walks, you think about him with everything you see, and it feels good to remember him. You’re happy to have known him so well, loved him so deeply. But all the love inside you has nowhere to go, so you go to his grave on Saturdays, hoping you can pour all the love in your heart onto a tombstone with his name on it. It never works, of course, but it helps. 

You're running late this particular Saturday morning. You have two coffees in hand—one of which always goes untouched—and you’re stuck on the metro. That’s when you see him again, your stranger sitting in the fluorescents of the railcar. 

Pushing through a small crowd, you approach him, slowly taking the empty seat next to him. Spencer doesn’t look up at first, his eyes glued to the book in his hands. That is until you’re leaning over to him to say a small “Hello,” 

He jumps at the sound, head snapping to look at you with wide eyes. He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised you remember him, but he is. “Hello,” 

Your eyes meet his, “Do you remember me? I-I’m sorry I shouldn’t have invaded–”

“No! I mean, yes, I remember you. You’re not invading my space. You’re fine.” 

You let out a relieved sigh, looking away from him for a second to look down at the cups in your hands. His eyes follow your gaze, and he offers you a shy smile, “Are you meeting someone?” Small talk was never his strong suit. 

You look at him, eyes lingering on his polite smile. “Oh,” you laugh like it's funny. “No, it's just me.” Spencer gives you a confused look, and you quickly answer his silent question. “I visit Alex’s grave. He loved black coffee. It was the most unsettling thing about him.” 

Spencer doesn’t know how you’re smiling so wide as you say it. How could you talk about someone you lost and smile so wide talking about them? Would he smile like that one day? Would he even have things to smile about, or would what-ifs haunt him until the day he dies?

You find that you hate the silence that follows, the lack of sound creeping over your skin, making you itch to say something more. “I’ve always liked cemeteries too, so bonus, I guess.” 

That gets you a sharp laugh, “You’ve always liked cemeteries?” Spencer’s eyes seem slightly brighter now, less red than two weeks ago, and they’re laser-focused on you. 

You happily nod, “Always thought they were beautiful. It’s a creation of love, a way for your love for someone to live on.”

“Not sure everyone thinks about them that way,” 

“Well, I guess they wouldn’t, and that’s alright with me.” You hum softly as the intercom announces in a static-filled voice that the railcar will be moving soon. “It’s quieter that way.”

Spencer glances towards the intercom for a second before turning back to you, “I suppose you’re right— about the quiet thing, not sure I agree with always liking them.” And he’s smiling at you, a real smile. 

You feel yourself smiling back, wide as ever, “What’s your opinion on cemeteries then?” 

“I’d like to say I don’t have an opinion on them, but if I had to form one, I would say they’re…” He trails off for a second, thinking about it more now. He laughs for a second, “Well, I suppose I find them rather serene.” 

Your eyebrows raise for a second as you study him. How he seems to be relaxing in the conversation, and you can’t help but consider extending him an invitation to your weekly visit with Alexander. The longer you stare at him, the more you think the worst he can say is no, so you ask. “Would you like to join me?” 

Spencer reels back slightly at the invitation; it feels intimate, yet he doesn’t want to say no. He wants to see what you see, to understand your mind, “I–” He looks away for a second, staring at the still-opened book in his lap. “If you’ll have me.” 

Once you are on the street, you hum lightly while walking beside him. Spencer doesn’t seem to mind very much, his fingers fiddling with the edges of his book that now resides closed in his hand at his side. He’s nervous for some reason. He doesn’t understand why you invited him, nor why he said yes. He thinks maybe he should announce that he has other plans, turn on his heel, and book it in the other direction. 

But when the two of you tread closer to the cemetery gates, you start talking again. “I hope you don’t find it strange that I invited you. It’s been a little under a year– well, a year next week– and I know it might seem weird, but I’d like to think he’s happy about me having a new friend.” 

He knows it is a coping mechanism, and he knows Alexander cannot feel anything anymore. Spencer’s a man of science, but hearing you say that makes him feel at ease. His shoulders unwind slowly, “He sounded like a nice person,” 

You let out a playful hum, “Sometimes. If he didn’t like you, he made it pretty obvious.” You pause for a second, glancing over at Spencer. “He was tall, kind of like you, and nerdy. But he was so funny; no one knew how funny he could be. They never listened hard enough, you know? I hated that people would talk over him in a crowd. To me, he was the only person worth listening to.” 

Spencer finds him smiling at that, following you as you take a left. He sees that you're smiling, too, and when the two of you get to his grave, you’re still smiling. You let out a happy sigh as you talk, introducing Spencer as “Your new friend.”

For a while, you tell him stories—memories from when Alexander was still alive—and he finds he doesn’t mind listening to them. He sees them as a great distraction from his lack of happy stories with Maeve. You’re laughing a little as you tell him of the time that Alexander’s mother wouldn’t stop sending him a massive, bulk-sized trail mix every time she sent him a care package in college. He had so many bags that they lived under his bed for the better part of four years. 

“Did he even like trail mix?” 

“Honestly? Yes, but he only liked the chocolate and peanuts. It would just be massive bags with an abundance of raisins inside.” You shake your head a little as you stand next to Spencer. 

Spencer lets out a slightly amused hum. His mind keeps going over how good you are with everything. You talk about Alexander openly. You don’t hold your feelings back. You smile so wide, even when you look at his headstone. He wants to know your secret— some secret to grief that he has yet to uncover.

His mouth opens briefly, closing quickly as he shifts his weight awkwardly beside you. He sucks in a nervous breath as he tries to muster up the courage to speak. “How do–” He sighs heavily, “I mean, I’m sure you struggle–” He licks his lips nervously, your eyes meeting his slowly. “When does it stop hurting?” 

You’re silent for a second, your soft smile fading as you stare at him. He’s scared that maybe that’s the wrong question to ask as he watches you turn your head to look down at Alexander’s grave. He is about to apologize when you whisper, “It feels different now.” 

Spencer’s mouth snaps shut as he waits for more, his eyes scanning your side profile slowly for some sort of sign that you’re uncomfortable. “Last year, it just felt like–” A pause, your free hand rising to your chest slowly. “It felt like someone had plunged a dull knife into my chest and left me for dead.” 

Spencer’s chest tightened for a second, his own heart feeling painfully dull as he listened to you. 

“But, I’m not the one who died. Alex did. I was so angry— disappointed that he had the nerve to leave me when we were about to start the next chapter of our lives together. I had–have– all this love inside my heart for him, and he’s gone. It took me a long time to understand that, to be okay with it.”

Your words catch in your throat, and you clear your throat quickly. The familiar burn of tears threatens to build in your eyes as you force yourself to look at Alexander’s grave. “He was so kind, and once I got past that feeling,” your voice sounded thick. “Life kept going, and so did I. He wouldn’t have wanted me to stop living my life. When you love someone, you only want them to be happy– with or without you.” 

You sniffle lightly, relaxing your shoulders slightly, “It never stops hurting, I guess, but days get better. I’m happy that I got to be a part of his life. I find some comfort in that. Somewhere, in the story of him, I’m there.” Eventually, you find the courage to look over at Spencer. When your eyes meet his, you find that he’s staring at you with a compassionate expression. You can see the understanding in his eyes. You swallow hard, pushing the emotional lump down your throat. 

“It does get better.” You whisper, your voice warm. 

Spencer nods quickly, mouthing a little ‘I know’ before his eyes trail away from you for a second. A cool breeze passes between the two of you when he says, “Just needed the reminder,” 

The next time you see him, it’s the third Wednesday of the month, and he sits right next to you. You find yourself smiling a little when he does, nudging his shoulder playfully as more people fill the space. He scoffs playfully, the silent gesture letting you know he’s happy you’re here. 

The meeting passes like usual: New members share their stories, grief counselors hand out business cards with their phone numbers, recurring members offer kind sentiments, and then, just near the end, your seat partner stands up. 

Your eyes widen for a second as you watch Spencer stand, his eyes laser-focused ahead as people turn to look at him. You watch how his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. A shaky breath leaves him as he tries his hardest to start talking. His hands flex for a second, pressing against his pants to wipe off what you can only assume is sweat. 

He stutters for a second, his confidence creeping away from him. You’re surprised when he turns his head to look at you. His breathing steadies as he watches you. “I’ve been having difficulties sleeping again. After,” His hands move a little as he speaks, his eyes periodically looking towards the rest of the group before trailing back over to you, “I just– I used to have a hard time sleeping, and lately, it’s been happening again. Every time I sleep, I see her, and I feel so–” He used to dream of her after her death, dreamt of touching her, but these were different. Dreams that constantly left him waking up feeling devastatingly alone. 

He shakes his head a little, “It’s been seven months, and I keep dreaming of everything that could have been.”  

The confession is met with comfortable silence and sympathetic looks, but not from you. You’re nodding, an encouraging smile spreading across your face. For some reason, he likes that better. “I don’t like leaving her when I wake up.” The admission feels like a weight lifting off his chest when he says it. 

There’s a pause of silence before he sits down, unsure of what else to say besides his admission. As one of the counselors begins to talk to Spencer, he finds himself listening intensely. Seven months, and he’s finally willing to take some much-needed advice. 

After that month’s meeting, Spencer has back-to-back cases. He’s keen on keeping in contact with you, which you’ve said he doesn’t have to do if he doesn’t want to, but he insists. He likes having someone to update, a friend waiting to see him when he’s free. 

The next time he’s free, it’s a rare Saturday. He’s been awake since five and can’t seem to go back to sleep. He does keep dreaming of Maeve, but they’re a little different now. This time, he was in a cemetery with you. It was freezing, the kind of cold where you could see your breath, and you were laughing about something when the two of you bumped into her. Maeve’s not angry. She just laughs and glances at Spencer before hugging you. You hug her right back and say something– and that’s when he wakes up. 

Spencer doesn’t like the feelings that stir inside him with that dream: confusion, curiosity, sadness, something else. The feeling is warm, tinged with an overcoat of sorrow, and he finds himself needing a good distraction. 

However, reading isn’t helping, nor is the crossword. So eventually, he finds himself getting ready to go out for the day in the search of a good distraction that will get his mind off his dream.

He doesn’t know why he thinks about the cemetery where Alex’s grave is on his way to get coffee that day, but he does. A part of him feels that a nice walk will do him good, so, coffee in hand, he finds himself walking… then taking the subway… then ending up in front of Alex’s grave… alone. 

Spencer’s lips slightly pout when he sees no coffee cup on the headstone. He knows that you have yet to visit your late fiancé today. He doesn’t exactly know why he’s visiting your late fiancé today; without you, it feels… strange. 

The longer Spencer stares at the letters etched in stone, the more he feels a realization dawn on him. He feels guilty… guilty for dreaming of you, guilty for craving your warmth right now, and guilty for a million different little reasons. 

Spencer feels his lips part for a second, a sigh escaping his lungs, before he whispers, “I’m a mess. " He knows he’s talking to thin air, but he feels lighter, admitting it to himself. 

“I don’t know what I’m feeling. All I know is that I shouldn’t be, and it won’t do anyone any good, and secretly I think–” He sucks in a cold breath of air, “Secretly, I think I don’t deserve it.” The grave is silent, of course, but Spencer smiles anyway. 

For a while, he thought his future had passed him by. A brief image graced his vision before leaving him blind. He can see now. He sees that he still has things to do, goals to accomplish, people to meet. Then he’s walking away. 

Two meetings and four coffee ‘dates’ later, you’re rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet as you watch Spencer laugh over something with one of the grief counselors. It’s a strange feeling to see him laugh so openly. It's heartwarming if you’re being honest. It’s hard to explain it, and the feeling is too intense– too raw. It’s a feeling you dimly remember, and suddenly, you’re nauseous. 

You have a crush, which is incredibly laughable because you’re an adult. The last time you had a crush on someone was three years ago, Alexander. This almost feels cruel. The longer you stare at him, the more real it becomes. 

Spencer catches your eye for a second and excuses himself from the conversation in his polite Spencer way. When he reaches you, he smiles warmly: “Somebody’s all smiles.” You hum with a playful roll of your eyes. 

Spencer pouts for a second, good-natured and playful, as he mutters a little, “When did smiling become a crime?” 

“It isn’t. I’m just being observant, and you have a nice smile.” You try to keep your voice calm and level, but he seems to catch on anyway. Spencer’s eyes seem laser-focused on you, studying you carefully. Internally, you’re beginning to pray that his profiling skills fail to notice the classic signs: your sweaty palms, wandering gaze, and too-tense shoulders. 

And if he does notice… you hope he doesn’t say anything. That’s not Spencer’s way, and you know it. “Everything okay?”  

You nod quickly, “I’m good, sorry, I was just thinking about… bills.” You know he catches the lie the second you say it; you can see it in his amused smile. 

“Bills?” 

“Bills.” 

“I’m not sure I like this story you’re going with, but if you’re sticking to it, I won’t pry.” 

You nod, letting your shoulders relax as you sling your bag over your shoulder. “Thank you,” 

“I was thinking,” Spencer starts as he grabs his messenger bag, following you out. “We could get dinner together Friday night.” 

“Why?” Your tone is a little flatter than you’d like it to be as Spencer walks you to your car. You'll admit the idea of being alone with him is nice, but the admission feels strange— still too raw, surreal. 

“Because…” He trails off slowly, hoping to find a better reason than it being because he wants to have dinner with you, but the longer he sits with the ideas, the more he feels like you’ll turn down his idea. He feels self-preservation take over, and for the first time (and what he hopes is the only time), he lies to you. “My teammates are having a get-together.” 

“Oh!” You say as the two of you reach your car. “And you want me to meet them or?” The idea seems less daunting. Yes, Spencer and you had been to get coffee together, but that was just coffee. Dinner seemed too intimate, but dinner with friends? Now, that was less scary. 

“Yeah! Yes, I think it’d be nice!’ Spencer’s voice cracks slightly before nervously clearing his throat in a weak attempt to control the anxiety that creeps into his tone. “Would you… like to meet them?” 

You’re leaning against your car door, and the air smells sharp with the promise of snow, and Spencer’s sure you’ll decline. You grin, nodding slightly, “Sure, I mean, it’s just dinner with friends. What time Friday?” Your arms fold over your chest, pulling your coat closer to your body.

“Six.” He doesn’t know how his fake dinner has a time, but he’s surprised at how easy it is to come up with one. “Nothing fancy. I’ll, um, text you the address.” 

You watch him for a second, trying to read him the way he reads you. His voice seems higher in pitch, and his eyes keep glancing at yours. You chalk it up to him being nervous. The combination of two groups already frying his nerves before it even happens. “Can’t wait. See you Friday.” 

Spencer stuffs his freezing hands in his pockets as he watches you enter your car and drive off. Then, the panic sets in. 

He’s tailing Derek desperately, “Listen, I know it’s rushed, but–” 

“I don’t see why you can’t just text her the address and ask her out. Straightforward.” Derek says as he takes the left towards Penelope’s office. “Or you could say we canceled and make it just the two of you.” 

“Considering I already lied to her once, I’d rather not lie twice. And–” He fumbles with his words for a short second. “It’s not a date. I just thought she thought it was one, and I panicked.” 

“What’s wrong with it being a date?” Derek asks, knocking on the door gently before entering Penelope’s office. 

“Date?” Penelope echoes back as she turns in her chair. 

Spencer holds out a hand defensively, “It wouldn’t— it’s complicated! Please say yes. You’re the first person I’ve asked.” 

“Asked what? Am I going to be asked?” Penelope chirps as Derek hands her a coffee. 

“Pretty boy here,” Derek motioned to Spencer with a light wave, “Lied to one of his ladies. Invited her to a team dinner that doesn’t exist.”

“A team dinner would be fun! With a new addition, too!” Penelope said with a sip of her coffee. “When?” 

“Friday,” Spencer mumbles, avoiding her gaze. 

“Friday, as in, tomorrow Friday?” She sucks in a breath of air, “Spencer…” 

He frowns and mouths a little, ‘I know’. He looks at them, pleading, “Please, even if it’s just the two of you…” He trails off slowly, watching Penelope and Derek share a look. 

“I’ll text the rest of the group.” 

“Not the whole story,” Spencer adds as Penelope pulls out her phone. “Please.”

“I’m already doing you one favor, boy genius.” 

Spencer is surprised at how many of his team members agree to dinner. JJ, Penelope, and Derek all promise to bring their respective partners. Rossi and Hotch politely decline, but given his sudden plans, he doesn’t blame them. 

However, by the time five-thirty rolls around, he can see that he’s been played. The first text comes from JJ, claiming that Henry is sick and that she can’t make it. Derek follows, saying that he accidentally double-booked and cannot cancel his reservation with Savannah. He can feel himself sending a silent prayer to Penelope before she, too, is texting him to cancel. 

So now, he stands outside the restaurant in a long brown trench coat and purple scarf tied tight around his neck. When you arrive, adorned with a cream sweater and rosy cheeks, you ask him the inevitable: “Where’s the team?” 

Spencer's throat tightens as he answers, “They’ve canceled, so it’ll be just us if that’s alright with you?” 

He can see your smile falter momentarily before you nod, “That’s fine, another time.” You shiver a little, glancing towards the restaurant. “Should we…?” Spencer, silently elated that you aren’t leaving, nods and hurriedly rushes over to open the door for you. 

Once seated, you are greeted by a slightly uncomfortable awkward silence. You’re sure that it will soon resolve itself, but Spencer seems too lost in his thoughts, and it becomes clear that if you want this long silence to end, you’ll have to speak first.

“I’m sorry every–”

“Do you–” 

The two of you stare at each other briefly before laughing softly. Spencer’s eyes crinkle a little when he’s laughing, a feature you seem to be adoring silently before he says, “I’m sorry that everyone canceled.”

You push out a little breath, your gaze falling to the menu on the table. “That’s okay, I’m sure everyone has busy lives.” You shrug a bit before glancing up at him, “I do have a question for you, though,” You watch as Spencer’s back straightens, and he gives you a small smile as the ‘go ahead.’ 

You flatten out the front of your sweater nervously, “Do you think it’s weird that I was supposed to meet your friends— the team?” 

Spencer gives you a slightly confused look before you quickly add, “I don’t think it is, but I was talking to my coworker about tonight, and she said it seemed like an excuse for a date. Then I explained it, and she called it weird, and I don’t know—Do you think it’s weird?” 

Spencer can feel his cheeks heating up against his will, and his head shakes from side to side, “No! No, it’s not weird.” he pauses, thinking about it for a second. “Well, maybe a little. But not for you, for me. You’ve never expressed an intense interest in meeting them, but they mentioned bringing someone, and I thought—” He motions to you with a shaky hand, “Thought you’d be a good person to bring to dinner. You’re lovely, and my friend, and I—”  he feels the rest of his words die in his throat. He wants to tell you that he wants the team to meet you. He wants everyone to see how wonderful and kind you are. 

He feels his mouth dry, realizing he wants you to meet the team now. He wants a third party to witness your calming effect on him, and, most importantly, he wants them to like you because he likes you. 

A slow ringing grows in his ears at the full realization of his feelings for you. Your smile, usually calming, has his heart leaping in his chest. He finds himself leaning closer when you say, “I didn’t think it was weird either,” 

Spencer lets out a little huff of relief, “Good, that’s good.” His heart was beating fast in his chest. He knew he had feelings for you but was unaware of how deep they ran. 

“Though I will say, it is strange that they all canceled.” 

He feels awful lying to you. He can count two lies now and doesn’t want to tell a third. “Yeah, I can’t explain that one. They all did it at the last minute. I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t mind, though I was scared this was all a set-up for a date.” You laugh as if it’s the silliest idea you’ve heard. 

Spencer can feel his heart in his throat, his breathing quickening slightly. “Would it be bad if it was?” he can’t stop the words from spilling out, his eyes widening at his sentence.

Your surprised face stares back at his, breathless as you look at him. You’re about to say something when the waitress comes by to take your order. You manage a slight, polite smile as you order before you’re staring off at Spencer. His nervous eyes flicker between the waitress and you as he orders quickly. 

When she’s gone, you stare at each other with bated breath. You draw in a slow, calming breath when you say, “I don’t know,” 

“You don’t… know?” 

“I just, I haven’t thought about—” You pause, knowing it’s a lie. “I have—” You correct gently before you let out a frustrated sigh. “I thought we were friends.” Your voice cracks slightly. 

Spencer draws his head back at that, “We are friends. We are. I didn't know if you ever thought about—” He doesn’t know what he’s saying. What is he aiming for here?  

“Anyone dating you would be lucky, Spencer.” You say, sweet and gentle. You don’t know how to save this situation. Your love for Alexander will always be in your heart, strong and genuine, but… looking at the man across from you. 

You watch his fingers nervously trace patterns on the glass of water in front of him, how he’s looking at you with such a sweet expression. You just didn’t think this would happen to you. You were sure that Alex was it. He was all you would ever know— you had resigned yourself to it. 

Would you be a bad person if you fell in love again? After everything, it feels… selfish, dirty, wrong, terrifying. “I’m not sure I’m your best option.”  Is what you settle on. 

Your heart silently breaks as you watch Spencer’s face fall. His nervous fingers slow their movements until he whispers a sad, “Right.” There’s a pause, like he’s deciding what to do next. He then nods, like he’s coming to terms with something. 

“Right, I’m not saying I’m looking–” His brown eyes scan your face, “I’m not even sure I want something like that. I don’t know why it sounded like I was. I just want you to know that I—” He swallows thickly, “I like being your friend.” 

“Me too! I like being your friend, too.” 

“Good!”

“Great!”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “So we’re on the same page?”

“Same chapter and everything.” 

Spencer lets out a huff of a laugh at that, nodding slowly. 

The rest of the dinner seems normal; the interaction from earlier seems to be brushed under the rug, and you’re grateful it is. However, the topic kept worming its way into your train of thought. The nagging thought of ‘What if…’. 

It's not a terribly horrible idea to date Spencer. If you were honest with yourself, you had thought about it before—not obsessively, just in passing. A little whisper of an idea, lovely and new. It was nice to fantasize about love, but it was just a fantasy. You had a great love, and you were grateful. 

Wanting more than that was greedy. 

After dinner, Spencer insisted on walking you home. He wouldn’t listen to a single one of your protests and simply convinced you with a firm, “I’ve seen what happens to people when they go off alone late at night,” 

The reminder made you readily accept his company on the cold December night. Walking by his side, watching how your feet started to sync in step, your mind began to wander. What did a date even feel like? It had been so long since you’ve had a date… you weren’t even sure you would know if you were on one unless it was explicitly said. 

The thought makes you chuckle, earning the interest of one Doctor Spencer Reid. “What’s on your giggling mind?” 

“Nothing,” You sigh, glancing over at him. “I was just thinking about how long it's been since I’ve been on a date. I don’t even think I would know if I was on a date if I was on one. Someone would have to sit me down and explain it to me,” 

Spencer’s lips quirk upwards at the idea, listening to you. The sweet look he’s giving you is not lost on you as you continue to ramble, “I mean, I’m not even sure I remember the last time I tried to look for a date.” 

“Care to take a guess?” 

“Uhm,” You draw out the sound as you think, your tongue wetting your lips. “Six months ago, maybe, kind of, sort of?” 

Spencer’s clever mind quickly realizes that this failed dating experience happened a month before he met you, and then he notes that it also happened ten months after Alexander’s death. “And.. What do you mean by that? How does someone, kind of, sort of, maybe look for a date?” 

You roll your eyes, “It wasn’t really my idea. My friends convinced me to go on some dating apps, and I tried!” You laugh lightly, “Well. I pretended to try. I just didn’t like it. It wasn’t what I expected.” 

“What were you expecting?” 

Your feet falter momentarily before finding their pace next to Spencer again, “Something from a Nora Ephron movie, maybe? Something like You’ve got Mail.” As you say it, you see the strange look on Spencer’s face, and it makes you grin. “It’s a romantic comedy.” 

He mouths a soft ‘oh’ and feels awkward because he still doesn’t know what you mean. You’re quick to explain, “It just means I had high expectations. Alexander and I were friends for a while before we,” You trail off before you wave the sentence off with your hand. “I just didn’t like it. Felt too forced.” 

Spencer understands that part, slowly taking a left with you. “Haven’t tried that yet.” 

“I wouldn’t recommend it.” 

He grins and nods, “What do you recommend?” His curious mind was getting the better of him. His left hand slipped out of his coat as he waited for your answer, his knuckles dangerously close to yours. 

“In a world seemingly becoming increasingly dependent on technology for everything? I’d recommend shooting your shot with every pretty stranger you see.” It's a joke, but the idea of Spencer asking for the numbers of every pretty person in DC made your chest feel strangely tight— a light reminder that your crush was still going strong. And you’ve already turned him down.

“I’m not sure you’ve been paying close attention to me these past four months,” He jokes lightly. 

“Oh, trust me, I have been.” The words tumble out before you can stop yourself, and you can feel your cheeks growing impossibly hot. 

Spencer’s quick to tease, “You have been?” 

You nod, trying to act like it's nothing but friendly, but your nervous breathing might give you away. You take a steady breath, happy to think that if he sees red on your cheeks, you can blame it on the cold weather. 

Instead, he slows to a stop just steps away from your apartment complex. You stop, turning to look at him, and when you see him, all composure leaves you with one little glance. Spencer’s ears are red, his hazel eyes glued to yours, and his hands nervously fidget with his long purple scarf. 

He draws in his lower lip nervously, his brow furrowing in the way that lets you know he’s meditating on something in that beautiful brain of his. His hands move as he begins to talk, “I have been too,” 

With that, you feel all the air knocked out of you, and your trembling fingers hide in your pockets. You’re not sure what he wants you to say or do. It feels like a confession, making your heart pound in your chest. His sweet eyes study you, “I’m not sure what I—” He steps closer. 

“Not sure what I want. All I know is that I feel something—” He makes a weird motion with his hands like he’s trying to shape his feelings with his hands. “Hopeful? I don’t know! I just,” 

“I know.” You rasp out, nodding quickly. “I know.” You repeat it because you do know. You know what he’s feeling, that dangerous feeling of tentative hope, the sense that something is beginning again. The world shifting into focus and becoming colorful again. 

Spencer’s gaze softens as that, and then the two of you just stare at each other for a moment. Guilt seemed to creep into your chest, invading your heart the longer you stared into those pleading brown eyes. Some part of you wanted to give it a shot, take him in your arms, and just let go. The stubborn part of you couldn’t let go of what you once knew. 

What would you say to your friends— or worse, Alexander’s family? Thinking about being happy with someone else again felt like a betrayal. 

Spencer could see the shift in your demeanor, the way your eyes glossed over with emotion, your back rigid, and he knew you weren’t ready. The feelings you were feeling were ones he wrestled with weeks ago after visiting Alexander’s grave. “I visited his grave without you a few times.”

 Your brows knit together at that, stuttering gently as you manage a soft “Why?” 

“I felt guilty about how I feel about you. I thought visiting his grave would make me back down, but it didn’t. I visited Maeve’s grave and thought about my feelings there too. She would have liked you.” 

“Spencer, don’t–”

“You told me once that he would’ve wanted you to be happy with or without him. Why can’t you let yourself be happy? I know it’s uncharted territory; it is for me, too, and he knows you don’t love him any less–” 

“You didn’t even know him!” 

Spencer's lips draw into a tight line at that. You can’t stop yourself before saying, “You don’t understand the love I had for him. It was different from how you felt about Maeve. It was special.” 

Your breathing is heavy, and you're trying to stop yourself from crying. The second you say it, you regret it. Your rigid posture slacks, and you step towards him quickly, but he steps back once you get closer. 

“You don’t get to say that,” his voice is colder, his eyes cast down to his hands. Then he takes a sharp breath and looks up at you; his warm hazel gaze turns cold. “My love for her was just as special as yours was for Alexander. I can see that, even if you can’t. But at least I can see when something exceptional is right in front of me. Unlike you, I didn’t want it to slip through my fingers again.” 

Your mouth feels dry as you try to respond, anger and guilt fighting an internal war inside you before Spencer turns on his heel and says, “Goodnight,” 

The snow starts again as you watch him walk away, blinking flakes out of your lashes, cheeks red from the tears falling as you watch him disappear around the corner. 

The conversation is still fresh in your mind at dinner with Alexander’s mom Tuesday night. She lives just outside the city in Maryland, so whenever she made her way into the city, you made it a point to meet up. 

She watches the way you’re staring at your sandwich. The intense look you’re giving the meal almost makes her laugh. “Don’t be upset with the club. We can always get you another sandwich, dear.” 

You raise your head slightly at that and let out a nervous laugh, “No, the sandwich is fine. I’m just thinking. I’m sorry, Shannon.”

Shannon lets out an understanding hum, waving you off with a simple flick of her wrist as you apologize. “Is it work?” 

You give her an easy smile, “Ah, no. It’s… confusing and probably boring; don’t worry about it.” She gives you a little look that says, ‘Come on, really?’ and it makes your smile widen. 

“When you retire, everything is confusing and boring, so lay it on me.” 

“Shannon, please, I promise you don—” 

“I will make you pay for this meal; do not force my hand.” 

“I am paying?” 

“Exactly. Now tell me what’s on your mind.” 

You slump in your seat and nod in defeat. “Alright, well,” you wet your lips nervously, trying to figure out the best way to tell her. “You remember last time I mentioned that I had that friend from the group? The genius—Spencer.” 

Shannon nods, motioning for you to keep going slowly, “Well, lately, he and I have become aware of some feelings for each other, and I–” You can feel your legs trembling, “He just doesn’t get it. I can’t do that to Alex or you. He just doesn’t understand—” 

“Sweetheart, slow down.” She held up a hand, an amused look on her face as you rambled at the speed of light. “Start over.” 

You let out a little huff, trying to calm your growing nerves. You roll your shoulders back, gaining some composure, “I have feelings for him, and I thought it was just a passing crush, but now it’s getting so messy. And he told me that he has feelings for me too, but I told him off, and we haven’t talked in four days– which would be fine if we didn’t fight, but we did— and I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” 

“He’s really sweet and great, but I just… I keep thinking about my love for Alex and don’t want to let go of him.” Your voice gets quiet with the admission. “I’m happy loving just him, only him.” Your voice shakes lightly, forcing your gaze down, your eyes filling with tears. 

You hated telling her this— hated telling her that your stupid heart found itself attached to someone other than her son. You mentally prepare yourself for something, anything, yet you still cringe when you feel her hand rest on yours. 

“He’s dead–”

“I know–”

“No, listen,” Shannon says sternly, watching as you lift your gaze to meet hers. “He’s dead. Every day, I have to remind myself he’s dead. I know you do, too.” She frowns for a second before she gives you a weak smile. “But, you? You’re alive. You’ve experienced a loss no one should have to experience at your age, and yet here you are. Would he be ecstatic over you falling in love with someone else? Not quite, but I know my son. He wouldn’t want you to be alone. Or worse, unhappy.” 

You blink away tears, your bottom lip trembling, “I don’t want to forget him,” 

“Who said you’re going to?” Shannon jokes lightly, giving your hand a light squeeze. After a moment, she whispers, “Knowing Alex, he probably sent Spencer your way.” 

You laugh at the idea, but the sound dissolves into a little sob, “He would.” 

Shannon brightens momentarily, “He was always jealous of how good you were at trivia night. Maybe he wanted someone to beat you for once?” 

“Spencer can!” You laugh harder than you should, but you can’t help it. You picture Alex’s face, joking about how you have too much useless knowledge in your brain. 

As your laughter dies away, a wave of anxiety rolls over you. “I was awful to him last Friday.” 

“Then make it up to him,” 

After much deliberation, you knew you would, or at least, you would die trying. The next meeting was in two weeks, which seemed too far out. After three texts, two calls, and one voicemail, you decided to go to him. 

You had been to Spencer’s apartment once before and were sure it was on this block… maybe. It was early Saturday morning, and you could only hope he would look out his window and see you pacing the sidewalk. 

But an hour passed, and the cold wind forced you into a coffee shop down the block. Shivering as you waited for your coffee, you glanced at the unread texts you sent him one last time before stuffing your phone back into your pocket. 

Clearly, he didn’t want to see you, much less talk to you. You chewed on your bottom lip, lost in thought until you resolved that seeing him at the next meeting would have to do if he didn’t text you back before then. 

And so, two weeks and no texts back later, you sat in your usual foldable seat and waited. But he never showed. Your eyes watched the doors patiently, and you counted every last participant, thinking that the next one had to be Spencer. 

But they weren’t. He was nowhere to be found. You had sat on your feelings for him for weeks, sat on with nasty comments and behavior for two weeks, and found yourself still waiting. He didn’t have to attend every meeting, but you felt even more desperate than before. Hating the feeling, you left halfway through.

It wasn’t like you could force him to talk to or forgive you. But it hurt knowing just how much you had hurt him. Were you being selfish for wanting a chance to confess to him again? Was it selfish how you looked for him in every crowd? 

The unfortunate reality of your pain was that you were so scared of falling in love again that you pushed love away before it could even touch you. You found yourself driving to Alex’s grave that night. It was out of your way, but you didn’t want to go home just to wait by the phone again. 

After parking in a nearby parking lot, you found yourself standing in the middle of a very dark, isolated cemetery. If Spencer were here, he would say how dangerous this was, maybe even throw in a statistic just to solidify his point. 

You smile, eyes adjusting in the moonlight as you look down at your dead lover’s grave. You crouch, touching a bouquet of almost-dead flowers at the foot of his grave. “Was I bad at this with you, too?” Your fingers trace the brittle petals of a dying rose. 

You can hear the crunching of gravel and slush approaching you, and a part of you freezes. As the sound gets closer, you can hear panting, your head turning cautiously to look for your rapidly approaching company. 

When you see the silhouette of a man not too far down the trail, you tense. How stupid were you to be in a secluded area in the middle of the night? You curse under your breath and stay crouched, hoping it’s just a late-night jogger passing through and that he won’t see you if you stay low. 

Your eyes stay on the figure, and you mentally go over possible escape plans when you see it— a messenger bag. What kind of serial killer or jogger wears a messenger bag? Your tense shoulders briefly relax for a second at the thought. 

Then, a hint of moonlight illuminates your huffing stranger— messy brown hair and a crooked tie. You stand, “Spencer?” You say his name when he approaches you, the moonlight letting you get a glimpse of his soft eyes for a moment. “What are you… How’d you know I’d be here? What are you doing here?” 

“You weren’t at the meeting,” He huffs, leaning over to rest his palms on his knees. 

“I–” You scoff, slightly amused. “I left early. Did you show up?” 

“No,” he admits, his tone becoming sharper as he catches his breath. “No, I–” he hesitates for a moment, “I saw your car on my way home, and I got worried, and I–” He roughly drags a hand through his curls, “You shouldn’t be in isolated places like this late at night.” 

Your shocked expression melts, and your lips quirk into a slight smile. Spencer sees this and responds sharply, “I’m being serious!”

You hold up both hands, “I know, I—” You sigh, a slight chuckle following the sound before you say, “I knew you were going to say that. I could hear your voice when I parked across the street.” 

“Maybe you should listen to it sometime,” 

You nod, and then a moment of cold silence follows. The two of you stare at each other for a long moment before you feel your lips moving against your will, “You never called,” 

Spencer can feel his heartbeat quicken, “Wasn’t aware I had to.” 

“You didn’t have to. I just would have–” You cut yourself off, nervously licking your lips. “I wanted you to.” 

Spencer stays quiet before he replies with a soft “I’m sorry,” 

You find your smile returning as you shake your head, “That’s my line,” 

He lets a little chuckle at that, ready to tell you it’s okay, when you quickly add, “I’m sorry for how I acted three weeks ago. I shouldn’t have been so cruel or close-minded, and I should have been honest with you about my feelings. I’m sorry I pushed you away. I’m sorry for implying your love for Maeve wasn’t special. Oh, Spencer,” You let out a heartbroken sigh, “I feel terrible. I was such a bad friend, and these past few weeks, all I’ve wanted to do is make it up to you.” 

You can feel the tears threatening to fill your vision, your cheeks burning in the cold as you let out a meek, “Tell me there’s something I can do to make it up to you,” 

Spencer can see your pleading eyes in the moonlight, and his chest tightens at the sight. Ignoring your calls and texts wasn’t easy, but he was convinced that it was the right thing to do. You weren’t ready to move on, and neither was he— not completely, but he didn’t want to try with anyone else. He only wanted to try with you. 

He swallows thickly when he says a sweet “You’ve already done it,” Then you’re beaming at him, and he’s right back where he was three weeks ago. As you dry your misting eyes, he softly confesses, “I watched You’ve Got Mail.” He pauses, smiling lightly when you give him a surprised look through your tears. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, so I–” He nervously moved his hands as he talked, “I watched any Romcom that I could get my hands on because I—” 

You smile as he trails off, his hands twisting together in that nervous way that tells you he’s scared to say the rest of his sentence— he’s too afraid to say he missed you. “Me too,” You confess, “I missed you, too.”

He nods, a grin on his face as he looks at you. He can feel his confession rising in his throat, his lips moving awkwardly as he tries to gain the confidence to confess to you again. 

But, before he can say anything, you’re speaking, “I don’t know if you still feel the same as you did three weeks ago, but I–” You swallow hard, clearing your throat softly. Your hands move with you as you speak, the cold making them feel slightly stiff. “For the longest time, I couldn’t imagine myself happy with anyone other than Alex.” You blow out a sigh, glancing back at his tombstone. “I thought one great love was enough— I only deserved one. I was happy with that, and I felt lucky for it.” 

You can feel yourself trembling, and you don’t know if it’s the cold or your nerves getting the better of you; nonetheless, you keep going, “But lately, I’ve been thinking— hoping really— that you’re the expectation.” You squeeze your eyes tight at that last bit, trying to calm your breathing as you wait for his response. 

“If anyone deserves more than one great love, it’s you.” Spencer’s voice sounds closer, soft. 

When you open your eyes, you realize he is closer, inches from you. You gaze up at him, giving him a light smile when he whispers, “We can take it slower,” 

“I like slower.” 

He laughs and nods, “Me too,” he holds out a cold hand for you to take, “Let me walk you to your car?” 

You stare at his palm, watching your cold fingers intertwine with his. The sensation makes the tips of your fingers buzz with anticipation. You feel his hand gives yours a slight squeeze before guiding you to the parking lot across the street. 

It’s not the last time you walk side-by-side, holding hands in the middle of the cold East Coast winter, and he’s determined to make sure it’s not your last. 

And whenever anyone asks how the two of you met, Spencer lets you tell the story, his hand slipping into yours as you say, “Well, it’s a bit of a long story.”

[lvve-talks]

ghost of an angel 🐚 𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪

tw: mentions of blood and death

The Art that came back from the Hunger Games was not your Art.

Sure, he looked just as beautiful despite a mottling of new scars across his skin that lacked some of its sunkissed glow. His eyes were still ocean blue save for that one curious speck of warm brown. But they were haunted.

He stared through people nowadays instead of at them. You rarely saw that glimmering smile and the last time you remember hearing his true laugh instead of a strained sort of performance of his laugh was the day of the reaping, before he was stolen from you.

Of course, he was prepared. He was trained for this all his life, just like so many others from District Four. He was labelled a career, teamed up with the ruthless kids of One and Two. But he was never like them, not really, and stabbing and hacking at dummies is not the same as watching the light leave a person’s eyes, their blood spattering your face.

You saw the difference in him after that first kill, unable to tear your eyes from the screen every time his mop of blond curls appeared. He was quick. Ruthless, but merciful. He knew what he had to do and did nothing else. He refused to perform.

You remembered the way he speared through the throat of the wailing girl from Six as the dark haired boy from One tried to draw out her death for the cameras. He showed her mercy, put her out of her misery.

Nowadays, he almost seemed like a ghost. The ghost of your angel, haunting the Victor’s Village, the marina, the wetlands, all the old places you used to frequent together.

The first few times you went to find him in his new home in the Village and he wasn’t there, you panicked. But then you’d find him standing knee deep in the marsh, unmoving, or staring out into the ocean like he was ready to walk right in and let the waves swallow him up.

The first time he came to you after a nightmare, it was the middle of the night. You awoke to a frantic tapping on your window, nearly drowned out by the downpour of rain and the rumble of thunder. He was soaked to the bone as you let him climb inside, his teeth chattering as he explained that he couldn’t sleep without seeing all of those horrible things that happened in the arena, all of the eyes of the kids he killed staring right back at him.

You could understand, to an extent. You were plagued with visions of him dying terrible, gruesome deaths each night when he was gone, but truly experiencing it, you could never imagine. So you brought him some of your father’s old clothes to change into and you let him slip under your covers and you held him tightly to you all night long. Although he woke you several times whimpering or mumbling something along the lines of “No! Run!” he said it was the best night of sleep he’d ever had.

You spent more nights than not with him now, his bed at the Village much bigger for the both of you than your rickety little one in your parents’ house. You spent weekends strolling along the beaches, letting him weave grasses into your hair. You let him remain mostly silent for as long as he needed, just happy that you had him back at all. Most people who knew tributes weren’t so lucky.

You saw more of his mentor, Tashi, nowadays. She said he was healing, but it would take time. Even she, who was known for her ruthlessness in the arena at 15 before getting maimed in the final battle, said she’s still healing. “That arena.. it rewires your mind. No one ever comes back the same. But he’ll live, he’ll grow, he’ll heal. We all do,” she said in that familiar tone somehow soft and gruff together. She wasn’t much older than either of us were, but she still seemed so much wiser.

You finally got up the courage to ask him one day, when he had begun talking more, what he saw when he looked so wistfully out into the horizon. “What do you see out there?” you asked so softly, watching his eyes stare right at that line where sea met sky.

“I wonder if there’s more out there than… this,” he sighed in return, never looking away from the building and crashing waves. “I wonder if I could swim long enough or sail far enough if there’d be a world that’s kinder. That doesn’t force its people to play deadly games for a time long past.”

It wasn’t an unheard of sentiment, but it was a dangerous one. Before Four became a Career district, before we had the favor of the Capitol, people tried escaping that way. Boats were stolen, stacked with supplies collected over months and months. Those who made it past the horizon never came back. Those who were caught were hanged.

You rest your head on his shoulder, heart beating a little quicker as you tried to gauge how serious he was. “There could be,” you sighed, just as wistfully. “Somewhere on this planet there could be people who live their lives unafraid and carefree.”

You look up to see his eyes closed now, almost like he’s dreaming of it. “Where they don’t have to fear their children will be ripped away from them and sent away to die,” he said in return and you didn’t miss the bitterness of it. How dangerous it sounded coming out of his mouth.

You didn’t ask again, but you did keep a more careful eye on him. Even in Career districts, those ideas were not taken kindly to.

Sometimes at night he’d still wake with a start, thrashing and screaming from some arena horror that still haunted him. You always asked if he wanted to talk about it. Usually he’d say no, he’d get up and open the window and let the briney breeze wash through the room. He said it helped to remind him where he was.

But one night when you asked, before he even had the chance to rise, he broke down into sobs. He told you about the mutts that chased him through his dreams and the way he’d envision killing a tribute just to roll them over and find your face staring blankly back at him. He told you about the dreams where he’d be swimming through the sea when the salt suddenly turned metallic and he realized he was swimming through an ocean of blood. He told you about the rare times he’d find himself back on the reaping stage just to hear his own name be called again and watch a little version of the both of you walk up the steps with nothing he could do. He clung to you tighter after that, and you never never let go.

You found yourself wondering if he’d ever be like he was Before again. The easy way his smile spread his lips, how his laugh slipped out without a care. If his eyes would ever sparkle like the sun on the waves instead of all of the light being sucked into that chasm in his spirit. You still loved him of course, you’d never be able to stop doing that. But sometimes you missed him. Your Art. The one the Capitol stole and cut down into little pieces of what he once was.

Other times, you did see moments of him peeking through the cracks. When you’re laying out on the beach, Art holding you close to him as the sun warmed your skin. You peppered his face with kisses, just because you were lucky enough to still be able to do that. And he smiled. That dazzling smile that you hadn’t seen in so long.

On good days, you dreamt of him chasing you down the sand and laughing that unforgettably free laugh, the sun making his hair look like a golden halo. You’d wake to that very sun rising in the window, your angel tucked up against you. Still. Quiet. Peaceful. He looked less like the ghost then; alive and kissed by the sun once more and here with you.

[jimblejamblewritings]

Pet Soldier | 1

Summary: Bucky's past catches up to him, unlocking painful memories of his time as the winter soldier. The only thing that could make it worse was having to be on a team with a captured HYDRA soldier he wants to see dead. But her healing power is simply too invaluable to let go.

THIS IS A DARK FIC!

Warnings for the Series: 18+ only. Heavy Angst (eventual hurt comfort). Violence. Mentions and depictions of Non-Con and Dub-Con. Psychological Trauma. Not Canon Compliant. Manipulation. Hydra.

Important Warnings for this Part: Non-Con.

Pairing: eventual Stucky x reader, Stucky x hydra!reader

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: the title is pending. I had a strong desire to write for Marvel and specifically Bucky again. Idek dude. But enjoy!

A/N 2: I don't really know if anything about reader's race will be brought up but I like to always note that at the beginning because black readers deserve stories too so if hair or culture does start to get brought up, it doesn't just come out of nowhere.

(Series Masterlist coming soon)

Despite all the fronts he put up, deep down Bucky is grateful. Grateful that Steve doesn’t ever give up on him, that Sam took a leap of faith to help save him, that Tony had a change of heart, that the UN agreed to work with SHIELD instead of forcing SHIELD under them, and for a host of other things that would take him too long to name. He is grateful for his freedom back, a chance at normalcy. 

Of course, it isn’t without conditions. He has to be an Avenger. He had to go through deprogramming in Wakanda to at least eliminate his triggers — the Winter Soldier still makes spontaneous appearances albeit less deadly and usually from nightmares. And he has to help them with cases on HYDRA to the best of his abilities. Bucky considers those conditions to be easy. At least until the morning the team find themselves on the quinjet and heading back to Siberia. 

Zemo’s Sokovian cover story had been almost airtight but he slipped up eventually. He knew too much about HYDRA operations. It became hard for anyone to believe he acquired all the knowledge through research alone. Not that it mattered, whether he was HYDRA or not he had to be found. Only, now Bucky was added to the team in charge of finding their man just in case he was a part of that damned organization. 

“You good?” A voice shakes Bucky from his thoughts. 

Sam sits down next to him, having finally been released from pilot duty while Clint takes over. The man next to him nods stiffly. It had been a long time since Bucky was in Siberia. The last of his Winter Soldier years had found him at the base in D.C. while he was used to take out SHIELD. He had occasionally flown back to Siberia every now and then. It was technically his home while at HYDRA. But still, it had been months. 

“The last time I was here… They said they were bringing something to D.C. for me.” 

“You’re worried it’s still at this facility?” 

“I’m worried whatever it is might kill us or what use Zemo might have made of it.” 

The entire quinjet falls silent at his confession. It had already been decided that with the information he gave them about other winter soldiers, Bucky would be leading the mission. He knows the base, tries to prepare them all.

But steeling their nerves to fight unstable super soldiers is one thing. Trying to anticipate all the random death traps in a hopefully relatively abandoned facility — including something specifically for Bucky — is another thing entirely. 

With precision, the team seamlessly moves through the base. Steve is the first to pause when he sees it. The chambers holding the other winter soldiers are full like Bucky said. But each and every one of them simply stays in place despite the open doors of their cryo units. They watch the Avengers’ every movement. Only their eyes ever move. On the back wall of the room sits Zemo in a safe bunker. 

“If it’s any consolation, they will die quickly after this. A single bullet each. Self-inflicted. They’ve already been commanded to do so,” Zemo mutters. 

“Why are you doing this?” Steve’s questioning is firm. 

Part of him wants to know, the other part is just buying time for the others to assess how to get Zemo out of the containment unit. SHIELD wants the man alive. The Avengers feel obligated to try and deliver. 

“Because I never cared for the enhanced. Reckless, unstable, none of them righteous. No one should have ever continued after Captain Rogers. I thought the lot of them were corrupt. Although, I have found one who I may have a different opinion of yet. Soldiers, attack.”  

Despite the fact that he was no longer triggered by the words, a darkness flashed over Bucky as he watched the chamber closest to Zemo finally open. It had been the first thing he noticed when they originally entered the room. How the chamber door was closed despite all the other ones being open. He braced himself for whatever beast was going to come through. 

The team hadn’t seen Barnes in a rampage like this since his deprogramming. Even a nightmare fueled Winter Soldier was not as bad as what they witnessed right now. He didn’t hold back any punches, only using his metal arm. Despite the plethora of weapons on his body, Bucky didn’t use a single one. It was like he wanted the soldier underneath him to feel every ounce of anger in his fight. Like he wanted her to suffer. 

Bucky didn’t register the shouts of his name. The only sound to reach his ears was the sick crunch of your nose under his fist. It took Steve, Tony, and Thor to pull him off of you. Bucky only relented after realizing all the other winter soldiers were dead. You were the only one that could be convinced to surrender and there was a use to you being alive. They could finally have another source on HYDRA besides just him.

✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭

There were no bars around your cell. That was the first thing you noticed about your new prison. Avengers Tower, you were sure one of the people said as they threw you into this so called interrogation room. You had immediately noted that there were no bars anywhere around your cell. Simply glass that you suspected was a two-way mirror around the whole perimeter of the room. 

On the other side of the glass, Bucky just glared at your seated form. They were interrogating Zemo in the other room and he didn’t care one bit. You were here. Reluctantly, Bucky pulled himself away from watching your figure when Everett Ross called his name.

The last thing he wanted to do was sit through a meeting where he had to explain that he was fully in control of his actions as James Barnes and not the winter soldier in Siberia. Unfortunately, Bucky didn’t get his way. He was given all of one minute to settle himself before they started demanding answers. 

“Y/N L/N. She’s not a winter soldier,” Bucky stated numbly. 

Nick pinched the bridge of his nose. “Barnes, are you telling me that you as you and not that freaky soldier thing harmed a civilian? 

“She was my primary handler.” 

Everyone’s mouths dropped open in shock. The only thing Bucky could muster was a dry laugh. 

“You picked the right one to save. She was there for all of it. Almost every torturous minute I spent in their clutches was thanks to her. If anyone knows anything about all of HYDRA’s sick plans then it would be her. Karpov’s right hand. Pierce’s left. The worst handler I’ve ever had.” 

“Was she there since you were taken?” 

For once, Natasha was hesitant to ask about his past. Bucky had gotten used to the jokes. He actually sort of liked them. It made him feel like a normal member of the team. But from the way he almost killed you earlier and this sudden confession, it left Nat concerned for her friend. 

Bucky shook his head. “Around the seventies, I think. Maybe a bit earlier or later. I don’t quite remember but she wasn’t there in the beginning.” 

“She looks a bit young then.” 

“She insisted on going into cryo every time I was put back under.” 

Ross’ eyes nearly bulged out his head. “I’m sorry, she willingly went into cryo? Barnes, if you don’t want to be here anymore then you don’t have to. But L/N might be the most valuable prisoner we’ve gotten from these missions. We can’t let you kill her yet and we can’t risk her escape without us at least having a chance to get her back. She’s staying at the tower for now. Just until her and Zemo are of no use anymore.” 

“As long as I’m not one of her guard dogs.” 

“Never,” Steve answered without hesitation. 

As if it pained him, Bucky stood from the table and walked back to the residents’ area of the tower. He’d watch your interrogation another day. But right now, he needed a lot of space. He didn’t want to even hear about what you discussed, telling the team such when he only asked about Zemo. It was a boundary they tried to respect. Unfortunately, the line had to be crossed a few weeks later. Fury stood in front of the Avengers trying to enjoy their breakfast.

“She refuses to talk. Zemo is willing to provide the location of HYDRA documents stored at the Siberian base and we have agents going there now. But he will only let them know if Bucky agrees to view the evidence with everyone else. It’s a fairly obvious ploy to ruin your recovery process but, for once, we don’t have the upper hand. He knows that and he knows he doesn’t have to be subtle.” 

“Fine,” Bucky said with a sharp voice.  

“I have to say, he already gave us one very important document as a sign of trust so to speak.” 

“And?” Steve asked. 

“The room she stayed in was a nice one for the higher ups. Dr. Myers believes it would be best to either gain her trust or make her think she has the upper hand.” 

Everyone noticed how Bucky tensed up at the mention of his therapist’s name. You couldn’t give him anything sacred to just himself. You had to take everything from him. Dr. Myers had been the best therapist he’s gotten so far. The first to truly help Bucky find coping methods that were healthy but also effective for him. He tried to take deep, slow breaths. 

“What does that entail?” 

“That she be allowed in the residence area. I’ve already agreed.” 

“Nick!” the entire team screamed at once. 

“We need whatever information she can give. We’re talking a potential end to HYDRA. I’ll put her far away from Barnes if needed. Almost everything can be restricted from her at first. She’ll have an ankle monitor or whatever tracking device you want on her. Hell, you can even give her a schedule so she never crosses Bucky’s path. But we need this inform—” 

“I want her room between Sam and ours.” Bucky looked over at his boyfriend, watching for a change in Steve’s face. “If that’s okay with you?” 

“Forget what I want. Are you okay to have her that close, Buck?” 

He nodded. “I’d feel better if I’m aware of her at every moment if she’s going to be up here.” 

“Thank you, Barnes,” Nick said with a nod. “Seriously.” 

“Just get what you need from her and then get her as far from my home as possible.” 

“It won’t be a few simple days.” 

“I’ve spent decades with that monster. As long as this takes less than that, I don’t care. Get what you need and then I want her to pay for what she’s done to me.” 

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You stared down as Tony fitted an ankle monitor on you. Everyone decided that now was the best time to let you move into the resident area. They’d be reviewing the Zemo documents retrieved by intel while you had a chance to get used to your new space. While the team understood it needed to be done, they weren’t happy about the changes to their space.

Anything dangerous had locks that could only be opened through fingerprints or FRIDAY’s voice commands so you couldn’t have access. They now had to wait for the elevator’s facial recognition to light up all the buttons for them because you only had access to about four floors in total at the moment. And cameras were everywhere that you were allowed to be. Small inconveniences for the information they were about to uncover but annoyances nonetheless. 

You listened intently as Tony explained the new rules to you. He expected a sneer or rude response but you still said nothing. You simply left your cell and finally tested the elevator. The first button you pressed took you straight to the living room. The place was nice. Although, with a billionaire footing the bill, you expected such. The kitchen was nice and big. Better than any of your previous apartments at HYDRA.

You’d enjoy cooking there, already making plans for a nice dinner. You didn’t even care that you could only open about half the drawers. You were basically told that you could get food whenever you wanted, sleep for as long or as little as you wanted, and take all the hot showers in the world. The least amount of work you’ve ever had to do in your life and the only caveats were strangers for roommates and eventually having to drip feed information. A trade you could reason with for now.  

In one of the meeting rooms downstairs, the Avengers and important players in SHIELD passed out cups of coffee while FRIDAY sorted through the videos they recovered thanks to Zemo. The AI was attempting to put them in chronological order and focus on just you and Bucky’s moments. They expected it to be a long day and a meeting that might have to take place over several. 

Zemo, handcuffed to the table, thanked Sharon for the cup of tea. Her face of disgust didn’t deter him one bit. Not when he was about to revel in the potential destruction of the winter soldier. He had seen every soldier’s tapes. He knew all of their handlers, their weaknesses, their documented missions. And Zemo knew that your interactions were some of the worst in his opinion. HYDRA had a talent for cruelty, he’d give them that. 

Steve looked over at his boyfriend, grabbing Bucky’s metal hand after he clenched and unclenched it for the fifth time in a row. Everyone knew that the nightmares were only a fragment of his memory and for the most part he had blocked everything else out. It wasn’t exactly as comforting as Bucky thought to get those bits of him back. 

“Whenever you’re ready, Buck.” 

“Just play the damn tapes. You’ll probably need subtitles. There was always a lot of Russian, French, and German.” 

“I will provide whatever subtitles may be needed, Sergeant,” FRIDAY responded before starting the first bit of footage: 

Bucky was pushed back into the mind wiping machine. You sat in a very nice chair, just off to the side so the scientists could do their work. It was frightening how unmoved you were by his screams. You simply continued to read out loud, asking every now and then if Bucky knew who he was. 

“Bucky Barnes,” he gritted out. 

Your eyes casted downward as you flipped the page. You began reading again while the machine went for a fifth time. Sweat clung to Bucky’s skin as the machine slowly quieted down. You grabbed the bookmark from your lap and tucked it into the book, closing it before looking the man across from you in the eye. 

“Who are you?” 

“Sergeant Barnes.” 

Karpov’s hand appeared on your shoulder. “That’s good enough for now. You may take him.”  

Various bits of cctv footage popped up on the screen, showing you leading Bucky through all the hallways of the facility. He stiffly walked behind you. You walked with determination to the garage. Without a second thought, you slipped into the passenger seat of a car that looked like it came from the 40s. Bucky closed your door before getting into the driver’s seat. It wasn’t a long drive. And the cctv never stopped, not even when they reached your apartment. 

“When you comply, you can stay with me, Sergeant.” You unlocked the door to a very nice apartment. “This is much nicer than your cell, isn’t it?” 

Wanda swallowed uncomfortably as you took off the soldier’s boots and directed him to the dining room. “Was she always this nice?” 

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “It was the game she liked to play. If I complied then she was kind. Even a simple mistake would earn her other side.” 

“For once, I’ll make dinner,” you told him. “But you know I hate cooking, Sergeant. You’re lucky the day has been hard on you. Otherwise, we’d both be eating sandwiches.” 

Dinner was a quiet affair. Without needing to be told, Bucky did the dishes while you enjoyed your evening in front of the television. It was a practiced routine, something expected of him. 

✭✭

You scowled as you leaned against the guard rails of your apartment balcony. It was a different apartment than the last videos, on a lower floor but with a bigger porch. The heavy rain soaked through the dress you wore. 

“It’s getting rusty.” 

Bucky looked down at his metal arm.

“If I have to replace it, you will get another punishment.” 

Bucky ran a finger over the plates and you just sighed. 

“Let’s go inside and I’ll work on you instead of Karpov.” 

That seemed to wake the soldier up. Like the guard dog he was trained to be, he opened the door for you and waited patiently for you to come inside. You weren’t the one to work on him despite your promise. The moment you reached the HYDRA base, Bucky was taken by guards and beaten before being returned to his cryo chamber. You continued past his cell until you reached Karpov’s office. 

“May I have a few days off?” 

Karpov chuckled. “The Asset is giving you trouble? I heard you put him back in cryo.” 

“I’m tired from all the healing. I cannot wield my powers effectively with constant use. If he is truly hurt and I am weak then I cannot heal him. He can’t keep coming to me for every cut or scrape without some time off.” 

“You’re right. We’ll grant you use of the chamber. You get a week. He is needed in Budapest in ten days.” 

You nodded before returning to Bucky’s cell. A second cryo chamber sat next to his. The scientists gave you all the necessary pills and prep work needed before guiding you into the cryo chamber. 

Fury sat up straighter. “She’s a mutant?” 

“Best healer in HYDRA. I think that’s why she was assigned to me. If the serum took two days to patch me up, she could get it done in ten hours. I was more effective because of her, had more work and missions that I could go on.” 

✭✭

Karpov stood in front of a board room, other HYDRA officials waiting eagerly for him to start. 

“L/N is perfect for the Asset in all forms. He is more efficient. The rampages have severely diminished. He’s scared when he can’t see her or doesn’t know of her whereabouts. The constant waiting for the worst case scenario only to be brought to her with a book in hand resets his mind better than a mind wipe and a week in cryo. I believe under L/N’s hold, he will only need to be on ice as a matter of life extension.” 

Smiles spread amongst the crowd. 

✭✭

Bucky was allowed a hot shower. Although, with the vastness of the shower rooms, an occasional chill still swiped at his skin. But still, the shower was hot and he had the room to himself. His eyes fluttered open at the sound of heels clicking against the tile. 

“If I want to admire you, soldier, I can,” you said as you leaned against one of the shower dividers. 

The cctv cut back to the one focused intently on Bucky’s shower. He said nothing, going back to washing the shampoo out of his hair. He looked down when two hands wrapped around him, tracing up and down his abs. 

“You’ve been holding out on me, Sarge.” 

Your right hand drifted lower and lower with a gentle touch. Bucky stiffened up slightly when you wrapped your hand around his cock. He paid you no mind, continuing to stare at the shower wall. You began moving your hand up and down his length, face and body mostly concealed by his broad shoulders and back. Little grunts came from Bucky as you pumped him faster.

“Maybe they should send you on more of these hard missions so I can come see you. I didn’t know you were so well endowed. I shall make myself more acquainted with this endowment tonight. I think I’ll enjoy it.”    

Bucky stood up abruptly, needing fresh air. Zemo be damned, he couldn’t relive it. Not memories like those. No one tried to stop him or Steve who followed him out. 

“Are you alright?” Steve tentatively asked his boyfriend. 

A soft grunt escaped his lips when Bucky didn’t say anything but merely crashed into his arms and silently begged for a hug. He and Steve stayed out in the hall until the first meeting ended. Pity wasn’t something Bucky handled well. Yet, every single person gave him a pitiful glance as they exited. Even Zemo couldn’t help but give him a look as he was escorted back to his cell. 

You sat on the kitchen counter, legs crossed and sipping someone’s premade smoothie that you weren’t sure what the flavor was. But you were hungry and the potato soup you were making needed time on the stove to cook some more.

It was demeaning that you only had access to baby knives and your potatoes took way longer to cut than necessary but you were going to get that soup you wanted. In the meantime, the smoothie that read property of Bucky on the side of the cup would satisfy you. 

The elevator dinged, alerting you of a new presence. One by one, the Avengers filed out, staring at the ankle monitor dangling on your ankle as you bobbed one leg up and down before meeting your eyes with a glare. All Natasha could see was red when you brought the straw back to your lips. They all could see the writing on the side of it. Yet, you still obnoxiously slurped up the drink that you’re sure had some raspberry in it. 

Before she could be stopped, Natasha’s hand struck you clear across the face. The little bit of smoothie left hit the floor before you could grab it.  

“Stay the fuck away from Barnes. Don’t you ever touch him again.” 

You stopped focusing on her to stare at the one person you knew in the tower. Bucky’s glare was worse than whatever Nat or the rest of the team could muster up. The timer ringing shook you from your impromptu staring contest. Without a second thought, you pushed past Nat to fix the bowl of potato soup you were craving. The Avengers watched you prepare your food without a care in the world. Your back wasn’t even tense. It’s like they didn’t exist. You set the bowl on the kitchen island. 

“If you’re going to hit me, please do it when I don’t have food in my hand. Those little baby knives add a lot of minutes to my prep time and I wouldn’t appreciate the effort being wasted. Otherwise, I will continue to steal what you’ve made like that smoothie.”  

You nodded when Natasha actually did take you up on the offer, grimacing a bit as you felt some blood trickle down your face. Your nose wasn’t broken despite the sound it made when Bucky had hit it, but it was still fairly bruised and a single slap had it hurting again. Carefully, you wiped away the blood with the back of your hand before grabbing your soup. 

“Sergeant Barnes, you have a new arm. The other one suited you better,” you said after lots of consideration. “They said I was on your floor. Lead the way.” 

Steve pushed the other man behind him, getting dangerously close to your face as he did. “He isn’t your guard dog. You don’t make demands of him. I will be escorting you.” 

“Carry on then.” 

The rest of the team watched as you followed Steve. It was almost like you were unaware that you were a prisoner. You followed behind him in the same manner that they watched you lead Bucky through the halls of the HYDRA facility.  

✭

part 2

[because of the nature of this being a dark fic and the fact that I haven't written for this fandom in so long, I won't automatically put my usual taglist. Let me know if you would like to be tagged in the future]