#I have not laughed this hard in a very long time

[seitmai]

Oh man so many thoughts (very late but I'm trying🥲)

"You feeling okay? How's Nugget Part Deux?" "We're exhausted. Rose is the only one with energy right now."

Nugget Part Deux, that's so cute🥹🥰

A sardonic laugh almost burst from his lips. "Baby Girl, I worry about you and Rosie and the new baby constantly. Okay? Nonstop. But we can't go back now. You're already almost in the second trimester. Hey," he said, swallowing hard as you finally turned and looked at him. He held Rose just a little tighter as he whispered, "We're married. We're happy, right? You're not actually thinking about ending your pregnancy, are you?" "No," you replied quickly, shaking your head. Bradley desperately wanted to know if there was some way he could make this easier for you, because he didn't want you to resent what was happening. But you just started crying as you shrugged again. "I just feel like our timing is terrible. And I know I have to start telling people, because I'm already showing a little bit, but I'm just so frustrated, Bradley."

I truly get the frustration...

He never dreamed the two of you would go from trying for months to get pregnant with Rose to being frustrated about a second pregnancy, but here you were. "I realize you've got to do most of the work right now, but when I tell you that I want another baby and that I'm excited about this, I mean it." "I know!" you whispered quickly. "I know." You swiped at your tears before wrapping your arms around him and Rose.

A family group hug is what she needed in that moment 🫶🏻

"Is something else bothering you?" he murmured when your cheek came to rest on his bicep. He couldn't imagine what else could be the matter, but he needed to make sure. 

This is your chance!!

Your parents broke out into twin grins. "I'm assuming this was a surprise to the two of you?" your dad asked. When you nodded silently, he added, "A happy surprise at least! Congratulations. You're about to have your hands very full."

Not them being called out on the surprise lmao

"It's a good thing we're moving!" your mom practically shrieked. "Two under two! Two babies! What if you have twins?" "We're not," Bradley replied. Then he froze. "It's not twins. Right, Sweetheart?" Now he was a little scared as you turned to look at him and laugh. His shoulders sagged in relief. "I mean, the more the merrier, but that would be a lot."

Ahaha the panic

"Lieutenant Commander Mustache is working with some high fucking quality goods, huh?" Cam marveled, shaking his head slowly in reverence. "Congratulations."

This cracked me up haha

Your thumb ran along the top of your leggings as you started to cry. You needed to pull yourself together. Did you cry this much with Rose? Did everything make you feel like you looked disgusting? Eventually you dozed for about an hour before the sound of the front door closing jolted you awake. Rose started screaming, probably hungry after being out for so long. You rolled out of bed, avoiding your reflection in the mirror at all costs, and went to meet them in the kitchen.

🥺🥺🥺

The idea of going out and pretending that you were drinking alcohol was too much to handle. Even if you could find someone to watch Rose, it didn't sound like a fun time. He glanced up and said, "I don't want to go without you."

Right answer on Bradley's part

You rolled your eyes as Rose switched to your other side. It was easy to feel better about things when it was just the three of you at home. You looked at your husband as he ate an apple in four bites and convinced yourself he would never do anything to hurt you. Then he drank half a beer and belched while he adjusted his junk, and you thought perhaps nobody else would want to deal with him anyway. "What do you mean where?" he scoffed, tugging again. "To take a shower with me while Rose naps. Where else?" "Right there," you whispered, and he closed his eyes. Your heart beat in your ears, an undeniably excited rhythm. "I can't wait to feel it, too," he murmured, his cheek coming to rest against his hand. "You couldn't feel Rose this early."

🥰🥰🥰

"Sounds good." He kissed you before unbuckling and leaning into the backseat to kiss his daughter. He was still shocked and in a mild daze over the baby moving during the shower. He wanted to feel those kicks against his palm, and now he'd be all over you in the upcoming weeks, looking for his chance. 

He is obsessed 🥰

"I have to run," Bradley announced, dropping his cue into Jake's hand. "You're so fucking whipped," Jake drawled. "Get out of here and knock your wife up again.... oh, wait."

🤭🤭🤭

"Oh, sorry," he grunted, nearly plowing over someone in his rush to get to the parking lot. Then Nat burst through the door, movements slowing when she met his eyes. "You left your phone on the pool table." She tossed it to him, coordination pretty good for how much she'd had to drink. She started backing up toward the door as she said, "You better go home with your pregnant wife!" Bradley smiled at his friend, but he could feel Indigo's eyes on him as he stepped off the deck toward the parking lot. And there you were, standing in the first aisle with your back against the red Bronco. Your lips were set in a firm line, and Bradley was about to make it his personal mission to kiss away that expression.

Fucking Indigo

"Baby Girl," he moaned next to your ear. "Let's go home. Maybe we can get in bed and snuggle while I try to feel the baby move? Or you could let me finish what we started in the shower? I'm already so wound up."

Jake is not wrong, he is so whipped

Aim for the Sky Part 31 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Everything starts to get very real once you're able to feel the baby move. It's time to share the news of your second pregnancy with family and friends, but it's hard to feel elated when Bradley starts showing attention to one of his pilots after work hours.

Warnings: Angst, adult language, body image, DILF Roo, oral sex, pregnancy topics, mentions abortion, lactation kink, jealousy, drinking

Length: 3600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

If you weren't pregnant and exhausted, Bradley would have been concerned by how quiet you were. You seemed to need a nap as soon as you got home from work, and then you wanted to go to bed right after Rose went down in her crib each evening. When he got home quite late on Friday after working on some transfer paperwork for several hours, he was surprised to find that you seemed a little more upbeat than usual.

"Hey, Roo."

You were wearing a pair of his gym shorts while you made dinner. The house smelled delicious, and his stomach started growling as soon as he walked inside. He picked Rose up from her playmat, taking her into the kitchen as he smothered her in kisses before transferring them to you.

"You feeling okay? How's Nugget Part Deux?"

"We're exhausted. Rose is the only one with energy right now."

He supposed that was better than you telling him you couldn't stop throwing up. So far, baby number two seemed to be giving you less grief when it came to eating. "We can nap all weekend," he promised. "How was your day?"

"Pretty good," you told him with a shrug. "How was your day?"

He glanced out the back door at the enormous jungle gym, eyeing it up as an option for him and Rose to play after dinner. "Just busy. Everyone keeps me on my toes all day long. These pilots are really talented."

You seemed to wrinkle your nose at his words, staring at the food cooking on the stove as you muttered, "I'll bet they are."

Rose seemed keen on the idea of the backyard, so he kissed her soft cheek. "Yeah, I can barely keep up with them in the air, but don't tell them that. I've got my head on a swivel the whole time. Indigo and Rex nearly took me out today, and I had to go into a dive. And starting on Monday, I'm going to give myself some extra office hours to stay on top of my paperwork."

Instead of responding about his day, you started to dish out the food onto two plates with your back turned to him. "After we eat, I need to call my parents before it's too late. They're putting their house on the market next week, and I think I'm just going to tell them I'm pregnant and get it over with. I've put it off long enough."

Bradley's brow creased. "They'll be excited though. Right? I mean, maybe not as excited as me, but still excited."

You shrugged again, and he thought he might lose his mind if you kept doing it. "Aren't you at least a little worried there could be some sort of complications from having them so close together?"

A sardonic laugh almost burst from his lips. "Baby Girl, I worry about you and Rosie and the new baby constantly. Okay? Nonstop. But we can't go back now. You're already almost in the second trimester. Hey," he said, swallowing hard as you finally turned and looked at him. He held Rose just a little tighter as he whispered, "We're married. We're happy, right? You're not actually thinking about ending your pregnancy, are you?"

"No," you replied quickly, shaking your head. Bradley desperately wanted to know if there was some way he could make this easier for you, because he didn't want you to resent what was happening. But you just started crying as you shrugged again. "I just feel like our timing is terrible. And I know I have to start telling people, because I'm already showing a little bit, but I'm just so frustrated, Bradley."

He never dreamed the two of you would go from trying for months to get pregnant with Rose to being frustrated about a second pregnancy, but here you were. "I realize you've got to do most of the work right now, but when I tell you that I want another baby and that I'm excited about this, I mean it."

"I know!" you whispered quickly. "I know." You swiped at your tears before wrapping your arms around him and Rose.

"Is something else bothering you?" he murmured when your cheek came to rest on his bicep. He couldn't imagine what else could be the matter, but he needed to make sure. 

You were silent for a few beats before whispering, "I'm fine. Let's facetime my parents."

For how excited your mom was to move to California, she didn't seem to notice that your eyes looked like you'd been crying. She kept talking about selling their furniture and packing everything up. She mentioned how much she wanted to see Rose in person as she fussed over her on the video call. Just as she was starting to discuss their new house in Coronado that would make them his neighbors, Bradley heard you blurt out, "I'm pregnant."

Your parents both looked stunned on the other end of the call. "You're pregnant," your mom said, eyes drifting back to Rose in Bradley's arms. "Already?"

Now both parents were staring at Bradley as he said, "Yeah... due in April."

"April Fool's Day," you said softly.

Your parents broke out into twin grins. "I'm assuming this was a surprise to the two of you?" your dad asked. When you nodded silently, he added, "A happy surprise at least! Congratulations. You're about to have your hands very full."

"It's a good thing we're moving!" your mom practically shrieked. "Two under two! Two babies! What if you have twins?"

"We're not," Bradley replied. Then he froze. "It's not twins. Right, Sweetheart?" Now he was a little scared as you turned to look at him and laugh.

"There was just one heartbeat, Roo. Just one."

His shoulders sagged in relief. "I mean, the more the merrier, but that would be a lot."

He let Rose nap against his chest while he rubbed circles against your lower back, and soon enough, your parents were ending the call with the promise that they would be in Coronado for Christmas. "We'll either be living there by then or we'll fly out for the holiday if our house here hasn't sold yet."

Everything sounded good to Bradley, and five minutes after the call ended, you fell asleep on him, too.

----------------------------

When you fell asleep on Cam's shoulder at brunch on Sunday, you figured it was time to tell him and Maria what was going on.

"I'm pregnant. Again."

Maria jumped out of her seat to cram into the opposite of the booth, sandwiching you between her and Cam. "Damn, girl! You've wasted no time!"

"Lieutenant Commander Mustache is working with some high fucking quality goods, huh?" Cam marveled, shaking his head slowly in reverence. "Congratulations."

"Thanks," you whispered, voice harsh and near tears. You had no control over your emotions. This was just like when you were pregnant with Rose, but with less vomiting and more fatigue. Everything made you upset enough that you wanted to cry or angry enough that you wanted to kick down a door. Including your husband.

You answered Cam and Maria's questions as you thought about that woman you'd seen around base with Bradley a few times. They were never alone, always part of a larger group, but you didn't like how she looked at him. And you didn't want to mention it to him, because you knew how ridiculous it was going to sound.

"Hey, I'm really tired," you eventually told your friends. "Do this again in two weeks?" You wanted to go home and nap while Bradley still had Rose out for a walk along the beach. You just wanted to be alone.

"Of course," Maria promised. "I'll text Bob to come pick me up, but you two can go on ahead."

"I'll wait with you," Cam told her, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

You made your way out and went home, leaning against the front door in relief when you found the house completely empty. Even Tramp and his yellow leash were gone. You ran to bed, curled up under the covers, and cradled your hand against your belly. It was impossible to tell if you had a baby bump, or if you were still chubby from last time. 

Your thumb ran along the top of your leggings as you started to cry. You needed to pull yourself together. Did you cry this much with Rose? Did everything make you feel like you looked disgusting? Eventually you dozed for about an hour before the sound of the front door closing jolted you awake. Rose started screaming, probably hungry after being out for so long. You rolled out of bed, avoiding your reflection in the mirror at all costs, and went to meet them in the kitchen.

Bradley was trying to bounce Rose to keep her quiet, but you yanked your shirt off and reached for her. "Sorry," he muttered as your daughter latched on to eat as soon as she was touching you. "I tried."

"It's okay." 

You fed one baby while you considered that her younger sibling was growing inside you, and for once, you couldn't figure out if you wanted to laugh or cry. 

While she ate, Bradley looked at his phone and groaned. "Nat wants us to go to the Hard Deck tonight."

The idea of going out and pretending that you were drinking alcohol was too much to handle. Even if you could find someone to watch Rose, it didn't sound like a fun time.

"You go," you told him.

He glanced up and said, "I don't want to go without you."

A smile graced your lips as you told him, "Just go for one drink with your best friend. I'll drop you off and pick you up. You can tell her I'm pregnant if you want to."

"Really?" he asked, perking up like Tramp did when presented with a treat.

"Yeah. I told Maria and Cam earlier. I actually fell asleep on his shoulder in the booth, and when I woke up, they were both gaping at me. I figured I needed to say something."

Bradley snorted. "What did they have to say about Bradshaw Baby number two?"

"Cam is under the impression that you are working with some high quality equipment."

He burst into laughter. "I mean..."

You rolled your eyes as Rose switched to your other side. It was easy to feel better about things when it was just the three of you at home. You looked at your husband as he ate an apple in four bites and convinced yourself he would never do anything to hurt you. Then he drank half a beer and belched while he adjusted his junk, and you thought perhaps nobody else would want to deal with him anyway.

"I'll text Nat back. Then I'll pull the weeds around the playset while I decide what I'm doing about the bar."

You let Rose take a nap, but now that you'd also had one, you felt a little restless. Even after you did a few chores, including looking at items for a second baby nursery online, you wanted to get out of the house again. When Bradley came inside, stripping his sweaty shirt over his head, he said, "One drink. Don't leave me there too long, okay?"

"Is Jake going, too? Maybe I'll see if Cat and Jer are home and want visitors."

"That's a great idea," he replied, taking your hand when he walked past. When he gave you a little tug, you didn't move. "You coming?" he asked, clearly puzzled. 

"Where?"

"What do you mean where?" he scoffed, tugging again. "To take a shower with me while Rose naps. Where else?"

It was hard to think about anything when your husband was on his knees in front of you, steamy water swirling around his tattooed bicep while his hands pinned you to the tile wall. But it was especially hard to focus on anything other than the feel of his mouth on your body. The scrape of his mustache. The pull of his lips. Soft and demanding and needy.

"Roo," you gasped, lungs full of the humid air, sucking in deep breaths as he looked up at you.

"God, Baby Girl," he rasped, thumb teasing your dainty rooster tattoo. "I'm so spoiled. Your tits look so pretty, and your belly will be big again soon."

You let your fingers drag through his wet curls, pushing them back from his forehead while he kissed the spot where you felt so tender as the baby grew.

"Roo!" you gasped, your hands both flying to your belly. "The baby! I can feel the baby moving!"

"Shit, really?"

His eyes were wide, alert with anticipation as you moved his palm to the spot where you could feel squirming. He eased himself closer on his knees, the shower hitting both of you with warm spray while he let you guide him. You felt it again, just another squirm as you pressed his palm harder to your belly.

"Right there," you whispered, and he closed his eyes. Your heart beat in your ears, an undeniably excited rhythm.

"I can't wait to feel it, too," he murmured, his cheek coming to rest against his hand. "You couldn't feel Rose this early."

"No," you agreed, watching your husband fall even more in love with the unborn baby. "Maybe another week or two and they'll be big enough for you to feel it." You played with his hair, letting him stay put until the water started to get cold.

-------------------------------

"I'll pick you up in a little while," you informed Bradley when you pulled into the parking lot at the Hard Deck. "Jake is already here, so I'll take Rose to hang out with Cat and Jer for a bit."

"Sounds good." He kissed you before unbuckling and leaning into the backseat to kiss his daughter. He was still shocked and in a mild daze over the baby moving during the shower. He wanted to feel those kicks against his palm, and now he'd be all over you in the upcoming weeks, looking for his chance. 

"Have fun," you called before pulling away in your Bronco, but going to the bar to hang out without you was not his idea of a great night. He decided he'd just wait and see how the evening progressed before making a decision about telling Nat about the pregnancy. He smiled as he wondered how long it would be until you had to start wearing the maternity tent to work again.

"There you are!" shouted Nat when he walked past the bar, waving to Penny. "We're about to play pairs. You're with Hangman. Rack 'em, Rooster."

Bradley sighed and took the pool cue as she thrust it into his hand. "Can't I get a beer first?"

She turned and shouted, "Hey, Coyote! Get Rooster one!"

Javy saluted him from the bar as Bradley nodded and settled in to start the game. He and Jake wouldn't even have to try too hard to beat Nat and Reuben, but as he got into the groove of things, he realized he was having a pretty good time.

"You want another?" Jake asked him, and soon one beer turned into three. Bradley ended up buying the fourth round for his friends when Mickey arrived. He had enough in his system to not give a shit when Jake started ribbing on him for his new position at work.

"The way your students all jump to attention when they see you has got to be the funniest fucking thing I've ever seen in my life," he drawled, and Bradley nudged his foot, making him miss his shot.

"I'm still in shock that Cat agreed to marry you," Bradley replied before taking a sip of beer.

Jake rolled his eyes. "I'm surprised Angel let you get her pregnant. Shocked the baby didn't come out with a mustache."

Nat was cackling while Bradley snorted. "She's pregnant again." The words slipped out, but they felt too fucking good on his tongue, just like your body had in the shower.

"What?!"

He was instantly surrounded by his friends while Nat wrapped him up in a hug. "Are you serious? Another one so soon?" she asked with a suspicious looking smirk.

"Yeah," he replied, letting her squeeze him until he thought she might displace a rib. "Apparently I'm working with some high quality equipment."

"Ew!" Nat shrieked, letting go of him while Jake shook his hand. 

"Poor Angel," he drawled. "She'll have another little Bradshaw on the loose soon."

"Whiskey shots on me," Reuben said, slapping Bradley hard on the back.

"Thanks, man," he replied while conversation about the baby settled to a normal volume. He drank his shot of whiskey, and that's when he realized he was actually kind of drunk.

The game of pool wore on, but nobody seemed to be keeping track of who won. So he kept going until his phone vibrated in his jeans pocket.

Baby Girl Bradshaw: I'm almost there. Rose fell asleep.

"I have to run," Bradley announced, dropping his cue into Jake's hand. 

"You're so fucking whipped," Jake drawled. "Get out of here and knock your wife up again.... oh, wait."

Bradley gave him and everyone else double middle fingers behind his back as he walked toward the exit. He was tired and warm and buzzed, and he wanted to curl up next to you in bed and kiss the back of your neck. And maybe you'd let him look at your gorgeous tits. Maybe if he was really good, you'd let him taste you. The evening air hit his body, igniting so much need in him.

"Oh, sorry," he grunted, nearly plowing over someone in his rush to get to the parking lot.

"Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw," came a now familiar voice. Blue eyes flashed up at him along with a smile that kept growing.

Indigo was dressed in street clothes, but he tried not to take notice as he nodded. "I knew you'd find The Hard Deck without my help."

She laughed, bright and clear as he tried to step past her. "Don't tell me you're leaving for the night."

A little pout found her lips, and Bradley nodded. "Yeah. It's getting late for a Sunday."

"Come on," she whined, the back of her hand brushing his as he made his way around her. "Let me buy you one drink."

His mind was still gooey with thoughts of taking you to bed as he shook his head. "Thanks, but I really need to go. Enjoy your night."

Then Nat burst through the door, movements slowing when she met his eyes. "You left your phone on the pool table." She tossed it to him, coordination pretty good for how much she'd had to drink. She started backing up toward the door as she said, "You better go home with your pregnant wife!"

Bradley smiled at his friend, but he could feel Indigo's eyes on him as he stepped off the deck toward the parking lot. And there you were, standing in the first aisle with your back against the red Bronco. Your lips were set in a firm line, and Bradley was about to make it his personal mission to kiss away that expression.

------------------------------

That younger woman was here with him. You'd seen her around base plenty of times lately, but now she was here. At the Hard Deck. At your favorite bar in your neighborhood. She was with your husband at the bar. They were already standing there together when you drove up and parked.

"Who is that woman?" you snapped at Bradley who was clearly drunk. His hands were all over your waist and hips as soon as he reached you.

"Hey, Sweetheart." His voice was deep and sexy, and you wanted nothing more than to melt into him, but she was still staring you down.

"Who. Is. She?" you hissed, your eyes starting to burn with unshed tears as you stared back. Bradley was kissing your neck now as the woman finally turned and went inside the bar. You already knew who she was. You were sure of it. You'd heard him use her call sign countless times, but you wanted him to say it now. "Bradley!"

"Huh?" he grunted, meeting your eyes.

"Who is that woman you were just with?"

"Natasha?" he asked, and you wanted to scream.

"The other woman, Bradley."

"Oh. That's Indigo."

Your heart sank as soon as he confirmed it for you, but he didn't seem to notice or care that you suddenly felt like your skin was on fire. That woman who was still so fresh out of flight school was already a top pilot, and she was beautiful, and she wanted your husband.

"Baby Girl," he moaned next to your ear. "Let's go home. Maybe we can get in bed and snuggle while I try to feel the baby move? Or you could let me finish what we started in the shower? I'm already so wound up."

You opened the passenger side door for him, slamming it shut as soon as he was inside. You glared at the entrance to the Hard Deck before heading around the Bronco to drive him home.

-----------------------------

Either way, it still looks bad, Bradley. We are riding along with all of BG's emotions, and it's a lot to handle. Thanks for reading. More coming soon. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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[the-modern-typewriter]

Hiiii I’ve been interested in your work for so long! Idk if you’re taking requests but if it’s no trouble maybe you could do a situation where a cocky hero is patting down a shy villain and being ✨Spicey✨ about it? Thankyou in advanced 🩶

"For the record," the hero said, as the villain's face went scarlet, "I'd normally ask before putting my hands all over that gorgeous body of yours. Consent is important! But in this case..."

The hero drew out several knives from the set hidden beneath the villain's clothing, tossing them aside.

The villain's hands twitched uselessly in the cuffs, an aborted protest squeaking on their tongue to be careful with those!

"Well," the hero said. "Need must, eh?"

"That's all I've got," the villain said. They felt hyper-aware of the solid heat of the hero's body behind them, pinning them up against the brickwork of the alleyway with one hand, while the other patted them down.

The hero laughed softly.

"What a gorgeous liar you are too. It's as if you think I don't know you." The hero promptly pulled out a second set of knives from the villain's other side, where they lived tucked against against the villain's ribs. The villain shivered at the delicate brush of the hero's fingers - a little cool from the night air. "Turn."

The villain didn't particularly want to turn and let the hero see their face. Disarming compliments aside, nobody needed to know about the way the villain's heartbeat was thumping wildly in their throat. Or about the blush. It was just embarrassing.

"I can make you turn," the hero said. Not particularly unkindly. "How handsy do you want me to get?"

And that question - well. The villain turned so fast it nearly constituted an attack, mostly because their brain still hadn't recovered from the deft way the hero had pressed them up against the wall in the first place. The confidence of it. The fact that no one else had dared lay hands on the villain in a very long time.

The hero raised an eyebrow. Their head tilted. Their gaze roamed, entirely too thoroughly, over the villain's face. As if they could decode every secret there like it was nothing.

The villain cleared their throat and looked down, squeezing their eyes shut.

"Having fun?" the hero asked, like they knew the answer.

"No!" The villain's face burned all the more. They would have covered it with their hands if they could. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

The villain said nothing.

The hero set their hands gently on either side of the villain's ribs, dragging them down. They confiscated the various gizmos and bits of wire from the villain's pockets, before sinking gracefully to their knees.

The villain's breath gave a treacherous hitch.

The hero grinned up at them. A disgusting, cocky, arrogant, beautiful grin. They had the audacity to wink.

The villain bit down hard on their tongue. "Don't mock me," they managed.

"Not mocking you. Spread your legs."

The villain stared at them.

"Gently teasing you, perhaps," the hero allowed. "But not mocking. And certainly not about to underestimate you just because you're feeling shy. As delightful as the reaction is. Would it help if I told you that you have nothing to feel shy about? So."

The villain's stomach flattered molten. They shifted their position, leaning more heavily against the wall.

"Good," the hero all but purred.

"Pretty sure there's, like, a police officer who could do this."

"Yeah, but that would require me to trust that they'd treat a sweet thing like you right."

"...I've never been called sweet before."

"Sweet as cyanide. My favourite kind of sweetness." The hero's clever hands grazed the villain's thighs, easily finding two more sets of weapons and an emergency communication device strapped to their inner thigh. "Like a walking armada, aren't you?"

"I like being prepared."

"And are you?" The hero glanced up again as they smoothed one hand down the villain's leg, then the other.

"What?"

"Are you prepared for me?"

The villain's mouth opened but absolutely nothing came out.

"Guessing not," the hero said. "You've gone all wide eyed."

The villain shut their eyes, but then that was worse, because they could still feel the hero's hands on them. They coughed. They made a valiant attempt at composing themselves.

They failed.

"Shoes off," the hero said. "I'll give you a hand."

The villain's eyes snapped open. "You're not..."

"Strip searching you?" The hero's grin widened, and the villain hadn't known it could do that. "Not in an alleyway. That seems cruel. You'd get chilly."

"R-right."

"But you're right that I probably should be thorough. Doubt I'd manage to catch you again any time soon if you escape."

The villain caught themselves thinking it was a shame, that. Ridiculous. Utter nonsense.

The hero eased off one of their boots, then the other, taking with them the secret compartments in the soles.

It was equally ridiculous to feel somehow vulnerable with only their socks. They had the days of the week on them. Nothing like the sleek black of the rest of the villain's clothes.

The hero's eyes softened a fraction, even as the grin turned to a smirk. They rose to their feet again, the villain just a few inches shorter without the boots.

The hero traced their finger along the villain's jaw, like they might possibly have a secret capsule hidden in their teeth. They did. But that was beside the point. And not findable from simply brushing their cheek, however much it made the villain's breathing go shallow.

"Hotel across the way work for you?" the hero asked.

"W-what?"

"Told you I need to be thorough. Don't think I'd catch you again." The hero nudged their chin up, some of the bravado fading to expose the steely intelligence at the centre of them. Just as dangerous as the villain, in their way. "Not entirely convinced I caught you this time."

"You think I planned this?"

"Wouldn't put it past you, my one person battalion."

The villain's mouth felt very, very dry. Mostly because it was true. They'd planned to get caught. They'd prepared. They just...no they really hadn't prepared for the hero. Had they?

"Not as cocky as you come across, are you?" It came out barely above a breath. They should have been annoyed, furious, but...

The hero simply gave them that grin again. Even brighter and cockier than before. The picture perfect image of a powerful hero who hadn't yet learned what it was like to lose.

The villain swallowed.

"Yeah," they managed. "I suppose the hotel works fine. Do make it a nice room if you're going to get handsy. Some of us have standards."

The hero laughed at that. A full, genuine laugh from the belly. They pressed a kiss to the villain's head and the villain - well. The whole world shifted slightly. Dizzy. Intoxicating. How could the hero do that so easily? Like it was nothing?

"Excellent." The hero spun them, one arm linking them together, to keep the villain gathered close their side. Their lips pressed against the villain's ear, making them shiver anew. "Lead on, gorgeous. For you, I can even get the top security suite."

[cheyisagirlkisser]

need cowgirl vi so bad it’s insane

cowgirl vi headcannons (slightly suggestive!)

-general headcannons

℧ Sports a pair of Lucchese boots and off-brand boot-cut jeans that are snug around her thighs. Of course she wears a belt with an impressive buckle sat snug on the center of her body. MANY worn-looking flannel button-ups, especially when it’s too chilly to just wear a tank top and she needs to layer up.

℧ Her back looks sculpted from hard labor, but her thighs? They're firm with muscle, littered with some stretch marks from growth during her teen years.

℧ Has freckles on her tanned shoulders, which are usually faded during the summer when breaks in horses for extra cash in her white wife-pleaser.

℧ Very extensive vocabulary! Her most used word is "y'all" and "hell", but it's pronounced more like "hail."

℧ Very well-read. Favorite novel that you'd find a typical cowboy reading is Lonesome Dove. She loves The Outsiders, even if it's on the mainstream side of literature. Secretly loves herself some Shakespeare. Much like me, spends hours awake at night trying to find the hidden meanings behind the playwright's words.

"She oinked poison in your ears, and you just ate it!" hamlet reference?

℧ Has a farmdog! A border collie she named Roxie. She spend a few weeks building a nice doghouse beside her own farmhouse for the pup, but is too soft-hearted to make Roxie sleep outside half the time.

℧ More of a southern cowboy than a western. You may wonder the difference, but the accent she has is mostly a cushy drawl than something smooth and slurring.

℧ Has a taste for old black and white shows, like The Twilight Zone and Gunsmoke. You find it boring, but there is a strange comfort in watching your favorite cowgirl doze off in her recliner, boots still adorned with the usual western accent audible in the background, much like white noise in the womb.

℧ Was a horse girl in middle school. Not the type that pretended to be a horse and neigh (though she had a small phase, much to her denial), but rather begged Vander to buy her a horse so she could learn to ride.

"Vi, horses are expensive. Plus, if I let you have a horse, then Powder's gonna want a pony." Vander reminds her for the thousandth time, the conversation a day-to-day routine at this point.

"I know, I know! But I just want one. I don't want a whole ranch, just one." She pleads, already prepared to drop to her knees and beg or do a marathon of chores if Vander so asks.

He sighs, and she holds her breath. Is that a sign of relent...? "Fine. One horse."

And so, Vi was given her very first horse at 11. Vi named her Butterscotch. It took a while to get used to riding, and she even fell off once.

℧ Ended up owning at ranch and her own farmhouse at the age of 23 with the help of funding from her town. Farms do good in southern economies. She was rather well-known around the area for her help with training horses and ponies, as well as being a bullrider at the local rodeos.

℧ Got into plenty of barfights, most she won. Most honorable mention is the time she knocked a 6’5” man out for accusing her of cheating at the bull-riding competitions.

-cowgirl vi x fem! reader headcannons

℧ Really domestic. Loves the idea of having you live with her at her farmhouse, folding laundry together, and stealing kisses from you while you work.

℧ Favorite types of physical touch are having you on her lap and playing with your hair. She'll laugh at the way you call it impractical, but she needs you sitting on her thighs any chance she gets. You can't seriously oppose, though. Not when it feels nice to put on a pair of shorts and feel her bare, warm thighs on the backs of yours. She loves to comb through your hair also, kissing the top of your head as she coos words in that thick accent of hers.

"Had a long day, baby?" She asks, voice thick and dripping like honey. Not seductive or sensual (unless she's in that particular mood), but rather low with the moon in the sky.

You nod, letting out a yawn as you rest your head on her shoulder. The domesticity always feels nice.

℧ Watching her move on a mechanic bull is the worst and best thing that could ever happen to you. You can only watch, very much impressed, as her hips jump to keep up with the movements. Her hair is all messy, stray reddish-pink strands nearly sticking upward. Some of her hair hangs down her tattooed back, and you have to stop yourself from simply screaming at the sight. When she eventually falls off, she comes rushing back to you with a smile that reminds you of a golden retriever's. Like a dog bringing you a bone, it's adorable.

"Did ya see that? A whole two minutes!" She exclaims, laughing nearly hysterically. She abruptly pulls you in for a kiss which you eagerly open up for. This is the best part, when your cowgirl riles herself up on the bull and has what seems to be unlimited energy. And trust me, she gets affectionate with energy.

℧ Taught you how to play pool before you started dating, during that weird limbo of flirting but not official.. Her hand resting on your arm, guiding you. Her voice very audible, as her mouth stays close to your ear.

"Not too fast, just hit it with the stick. Pay attention to where the ball goes." She guides. Your hands are shaking with nerves, and you miss the pocket. She doesn't laugh, though. Instead, she gives your waist a squeeze with her free hand, planting a kiss on your cheek. "That's okay. You still did good for your first time."

℧ Big hickey enthusiast. She loves leaving little love-bites on you, and sucks a few marks on your stomach and thighs.

℧ Uses her winnings from the rodeos to spoil you. She tries to be the gentlemen type, so often she will take you on dates to the diner in town or even drive a few towns over into the city to see a movie in a theater.

℧ Likes when you wear her cowboy hat to go out, it makes her feel oddly possessive. Anytime you need to run an errand, she’ll take off her hat and basically crown you with it. It’s like she’s giving you her hoodie or a t-shirt of hers to wear, except it’s her expensive hat that had a feather on the side of it.

[spiderb00]

- What Is Your Word Of The Day?

Manon Bannerman x 7 member!reader  (request)

"The taste of victory is good, but don't celebrate too loudly” 

Genre – fluff          Warnings – none 

Now playing – Perfect Night, by Le Sserafim 

The night was calm, all the Kats were spread out comfortably in the living room. Sophia, Yoonchae and Megan were watching some movie on television, Lara and Daniela were gossiping about someone you didn't know very well, and Manon, your girlfriend, was listening to all the conversation of yours while stroking your hair. You all didn't have many days off, but when you did, you made it all worth it. The day off was a day with no stress, no complaints and no headache, you unfortunately, were going down a different path.

A few weeks ago, you discovered this word game called Daily Wordle, and you immediately became obsessed with it. You had X number of attempts and if you couldn't get them right, you would lose the game and could only play it again the next day. So, you were very concentrated at that moment, so concentrated, that you didn't even notice the strange looks that your friends and girlfriend were exchanging.

You were quiet for a long time, and that wasn't very normal for you, the girls always said that you and Daniela were the loudest, so when they didn't hear a word if it comes out of your mouth, they were definitely worried.

Exchanging silent glances, the girls debated whether or not to ask if there was something wrong. Your state of stillness was at least a little troubling, and Sophia, as the leader, began to really wonder if anything had upset you.

The girls looked at your girlfriend, silently asking if you were okay. Manon, who just shrugged, tried to look over your shoulder at what you were doing on your phone. When she was close to seeing what you saw so much on that phone, you jumped up off the couch.

"FUCK, YEAH!" You said, jumping up and down, making the girls startle and Sophia glare.

"Yn! Language!" Sophia said as she watched you jump for joy.

"I'm sorry, but I've finally settled the word of the day!" You said, jumping until you got close to Manon and threw yourself into your girlfriend's lap.

"Solved what?" Megan asks, getting confused by what you were saying.

"It's a game, I only have a few tries to figure out the word of the day and I finally got it, at the last minute." You said, laughing and kissing Manon's cheek, showing your happiness. "It was one of the hardest words I've ever caught."

"Why didn't you ask for our help?" Lara asked, reaching out and picking up your phone, to see how the game worked.

"I thought you might think it was silly." You said, slightly embarrassed by your confession.

"Awn, baby. It's not silly." Manon said, putting a strand of your hair behind your ear and giving a little kiss on your lips. "How about I help you next time, huh?" Manon offered, bringing a smile to your face.

"I would love it, love." You respond, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"Hey, we're still here!" Daniela said, throwing a cushion at both of you. "And we can help too." The Latina said, making you a little surprised.

"yes, it sounds fun. We'll help you next time." Lara said, giving you back your phone.

"Thank you girls." You said, making them smile back at you.

"But don't yell like that again." Yoonchae said, looking at you with a warning look, making you swallow hard and agree.

MY CLASSES WILL START IN A WEEK, I'M FREAKING OUT GUYS SORRY

Stay safe and drink water

xoxo, spider.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@luci-in-trenchcoats

Oh I loved this one! It's such a fun take on a reader who has body insecurity.

“Well you said you like-” He’d slam his lips to yours with an almost bruising force, leaving you breathless before jogging away. “What are you doing?” “Saving the pie!” You crossed your arms, laughing as he scrambled to put on an oven mitt and yank it out of the oven. “Crisis averted. You didn’t say it was pie, sweetheart. We never let a pie burn.”

This is so cute! Dean Winchester one million percent would not let pie burn. Death first before a perfectly good pie left in the oven 😂

“I am. In all of you. But I wanted you to get the best version of me. The one that is emotionally available and that’s taken time.” He’d lean down closer, sliding his hand up your leg, grazing your hip, your ribs, all the way up to your cheek. “I’m ready if you want me.”

Oh my sweet goodness, the "I wanted you to get the best version of me..." is KILLING ME. Beau is just so sweet. I've never seen Big Sky, but each time I see another Beau thing I always want to.

“Nothing, dear,” he said, tucking you into his side, forcing a smile. “Just fending off the sharks.” “Sharks?” “You really have no idea how beautiful you are, do you.” He’d watch you do that thing with your nose which meant you were fighting back the heat trying to rise to your cheeks. But he wouldn’t fight his own, smirking as he kissed you deeply. “Thank god you’re all mine.”

Soldier Boy knew his anger was quick and he wasn’t the easiest person in the world to deal with but he didn’t care. Nobody laid a hand on his girl. Not unless they wanted to lose theirs.

Jealousy with Ben shouldn't be as hot as it is... but oh my sweet key lime pie he does it so well 👀😱

“Well, you know you contract guys. Break into enemy territory in the dead of night? No problem. Walk down a hallway? Now that’s dangerous.” Russell would smile hard at your teasing, more than happy to not have incurred any of your wrath in the long term. He had the feeling you were uncomfortable in your messy clothes though, despite the cardigan you were holding closed with one hand over your shirt. 

STOP that's so funny. I cackled at her joke! And I love her and Russell's meet cute so much- it's so cute and so fitting for him and her. AND HE GAVE HER HIS JACKET?! Oh man that's true love right there 🤗

Russell would pause halfway down the steps, feeling your gaze on his back. “Do you want to maybe…get dinner later? I don’t have any jobs lined up for a few weeks and I’m a sucker for pink.”

"I'm a sucker for pink" 😂😂😂 Oh man I was so close to saying he was a gentleman for not saying anything about the bra, but then he couldn't help himself ���, It fits though lol

“I should have asked them before but when you go away…are there others?” He’d hate how small your voice sounded, the way you’d rub your arm absently. “I mean, I know we’re new and didn’t really talk about it and you go to some places with some very beautiful women-” “I got a beautiful woman right at home and she is all I want. Just me and her. Understand?” Russell would kiss away that worry until it was a faded memory, one he would be more than happy to dispel to you over and over again.

I love Russell so much oh my word, and you write him so well. This bit was so cute 😭 Because Russell does seem to be the kind of guy that people think is dating other people, but is really just LIVING for his woman 😭

I loved all of these my friend! You wrote these headcanons so well! I also have never written them before, but you and @zepskies are always out here inspiring me 💗💗💗

Headcanon: How They Meet Their Plus Size Girlfriend

I'm officially trying my hand at headcanons (only a few years behind the ball there)! If these go over well, I might start to incorporate them more around here.

Special thanks to @zepskies for the idea (okay, it's a little different than we talked about but I think it still fits the bill) and getting me on the headcanon bandwagon! 😘

Warnings: language, implied smutty times, implied body insecurity

Dean Winchester

Dean’s always been the kind of guy to think if a woman’s beautiful to him, she’s beautiful. Case closed. Which was exactly his thought when he caught a glimpse of Y/N at a dive bar outside of Lawrence. He’d do a double take, not being shy about how he took you in or hiding the smile on his face when he saw you watching him. One quick look away before you were looking back and that was more than enough invitation for him.

He’d be on his feet, at your table in under ten seconds, not deterred by the furrow of your brows. In another ten he’d have laid out one of, in his opinion, his best lines. His confidence fell a sliver when all you did was stare back at him but that was alright. He wasn’t going to give up that easily. 

“Why don’t you try that line on the blonde over there that’s mentally undressing you?” you’d say, fighting back the urge to say something snappy at the ridiculously handsome man in front of you. Before he had even come over, you knew he was trouble, knew his type. He surely had made a bet with the longer haired man at his time and had come over to play a game with you. There was no way in hell he was actually interested, not when there were at least five different women at the bar ready to jump at the chance to take him home.

The man would smirk, lifting his head as if he realized something. To your annoyance, he’d slip into the empty chair beside you, taking a short sip of his beer along the way. He’d adorably rest his elbow against the table’s edge, leaning his head against his hand as he slumped down, all the while smiling at you.

“If I wanted to talk to her, I’d have gone over there. Now you can tell me to get lost or you can give me a chance.”

“Chance to what?”

“Take a beautiful woman home,” he’d grin, looking up through his lashes. You’d laugh, gesturing down to yourself, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Hey now. Don’t tell me when I think a woman is hot and I won’t tell you.”

You’d raise your eyebrows, the mysterious stranger inching closer, lifting his head with a certain boyish mischievousness. “C’mon sweetheart. One drink.”

“Fine. One drink.”

One drink turned into five. One night turned into six. Six nights turned into Dean spending the night and making breakfast for three weeks straight. 

Dean smirked when you let him inside the house, his hands immediately shooting to your hips and pulling you crashing into his chest. 

“Down boy,” you’d teased as he tried to kiss under your jaw, his grip keeping you from returning to the kitchen. “Dean. It’ll burn.”

“We can order takeout,” he mumbled, nipping at your neck. You rolled your eyes, smiling when Dean chuckled. “How’s that one drink working out for you, sweetheart?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you said, Dean walking you back against the front door, his hands shooting to your face, capturing it like he had been starved all day. “Someone miss me?”

“My favorite girl? Always,” he hummed, body jerking when a waft of cherries floated through the room. He tilted his head, eyes wide. “You…made pie?”

“Well you said you like-” He’d slam his lips to yours with an almost bruising force, leaving you breathless before jogging away. “What are you doing?”

“Saving the pie!” You crossed your arms, laughing as he scrambled to put on an oven mitt and yank it out of the oven. “Crisis averted. You didn’t say it was pie, sweetheart. We never let a pie burn.”

He walked back over much slower as it cooled on a rack, Dean placing his hands on either side of your head, a dangerous smile on his face. “Now, where were we?”

Beau Arlen

Beau would wait a while before making a move on you. He had to prove it to himself that he was ready for another relationship and that Emily was doing better after everything that happened over the summer. So he quietly waited and settled for your friendship. There was no reason in his head to drag you into his crap or jump the gun when he knew it’d cause problems. But he didn’t miss the way you caught him staring during movie nights, dinners, at park yoga (that truth be told he only did at first because Emily’s therapist thought it was something nice to do together but didn’t want to admit he actually enjoyed). 

Beau knew he would be sending conflicting signals. Eyes that said for the love of god I want this, words that said this is platonic as hell. He had to go so far as to keep his hands off of you completely for fear he would break his resolve and just plant one on you. Naturally when he finally felt like he was in a good place to give things an honest shake, you’d tell him on his lunch break that you had a date that night.

“Cancel it,” Beau blurts out. He’d watch you scrunch up your face but he’s already let the cat out of the bag. Might as well go all in. “Go out with me.”

“Beau, we can hang out tomorrow. I want to go out with this guy, see where it leads. I'm not getting any younger. I need to get serious about finding someone.”

“Yeah and I’m serious about going out with you. Let me take you out on a date.” He’d understand your hesitation. He was the one backing off whenever you’d put out feelers in the past. Beau knew he had to go all in if he wanted to earn that trust with you.

“Beau. Come on. I know I’m not your type.”

Beau rose from the other side of his desk, striding around it and stopping in front of your chair. “You are my type and before you open that mouth of yours to argue, I thought I owed it to you to get my shit together before I did this. I ain’t perfect but I am ready to try.”

He’d rest a hand on your thigh, waiting for your reaction, inching up ever so slightly to make it clear that was more than a friendly gesture.

“Beau, I don’t…you never seemed interested-“

“I am. In all of you. But I wanted you to get the best version of me. The one that is emotionally available and that’s taken time.” He’d lean down closer, sliding his hand up your leg, grazing your hip, your ribs, all the way up to your cheek. “I’m ready if you want me.”

“Of course I want you. But…” He’d hum, leaning in close, pressing his lips to yours. 

“But you don’t think I want you?” He frowned when you looked away, his hand catching your chin. “I’m a big boy and you’re a big girl. I think we’re both old enough to trust that we’re telling each other the truth. So go out with me tonight. I promise it will be a million times better than whatever guy you were going to go with.”

It’d take a moment but he’d grin as you texted your date you had a change of heart, Beau already planning the perfect evening together.

Not long after that first date Beau would be spending most of his nights with you, whether that was at home with Emily, out at your favorite bar, or exploring town. He’d constantly have an arm around you, your waist, your shoulders, your hips. Beau liked to keep his girl close. Maybe he’d worked through a lot but he was still protective through and through and that meant he was always watchful of you. Including the occasional stray eye when you were out. Beau always made sure to give them a look to back off and that you were taken. 

“What are you doing?” You’d ask one night, catching him with narrowed eyes. 

“Nothing, dear,” he said, tucking you into his side, forcing a smile. “Just fending off the sharks.”

“Sharks?”

“You really have no idea how beautiful you are, do you.” He’d watch you do that thing with your nose which meant you were fighting back the heat trying to rise to your cheeks. But he wouldn’t fight his own, smirking as he kissed you deeply. “Thank god you’re all mine.”

Soldier Boy/Ben

Ben would make a move on you the second he saw you. Long strides across the club and an arm draped around your shoulders as he almost ignored your presence in favor of order a round of shots. He’d keep you close even as you attempted to pull away, turning his head with a coy smile. 

“Where you going, gorgeous? Didn’t you come out tonight to have fun?” he grinned darkly, enjoying the mixture of disgust at his arrogance and the intrigue hidden underneath your frown. “Someone in a skirt like that is looking for a good time. Well, here I am. No strings attached”

He’d lick his lips as you’d take your shot without breaking eye contact, Soldier Boy’s eyebrows raising in surprise. He wouldn’t have been sure if it’d be that easy but he’d take it. Until he’d watch you down the other shot and turn around, walking off to the dance floor with a wave over the shoulder.

Challenge accepted.

He’d follow you out, letting you take the lead, growing frustrated every time you’d teasingly pull him in only to push away. His desire would only grow when you gave him the slip at the end of the night, no longer a game in his mind. You weren’t simply a conquest anymore. He was curious about the woman in the leather skirt and how on earth she was resisting everything he was offering.

Finally, finally, he’d find you outside the club, leaning against the cold brick wall, hands clasped behind your back.

“Now don’t you run off on me again,” purred Ben, taking your hand in his, eyes dark and hungry. He’d smirk at your feigned disinterest, putting on his most innocent expression he could muster. “My place. Let me do wonderful things to that body of yours, gorgeous.”

He’d take your nonchalant shrug for a yes and before he knew it, he’d have you in his apartment, down on his knees, making good on his promise. Before he could get his head on right though, he’d hear the click of your heels on the marble floor. With a wobble and fixing the tent in his pants, he’d catch you halfway out the door, his eyes wide in bewilderment. “Where you going, baby?”

“Like you said, I was looking for a good time and I had it. I don’t remember saying you were getting any more than that.” He’d lean against the wall, cocking his head and letting the coil in his gut unravel.

“Baby, stay and I’ll keep on chasing you until you’re sick of me. Scouts’ honor.” He’d smile at your laugh, jutting out his lip. “Aw, don’t make me beg.”

“What a shame. I bet you’d beg real pretty.” Soldier Boy wouldn’t fight the way his breath hitched. He’d been with plenty of teasing women before but they always wanted him in control. Something about that threat, promise, whatever it was would make his skin itchy with need.

“Want to see if you can make me?” He’d know his hook was in the moment the words left his mouth, the way your eyes raked over his body. “No one’s ever been able. Think you’re that good?”

“Oh sweetie, you’ll regret that.”

Two months later, Soldier Boy wouldn’t regret it for one second. Not just for what you’d brought out in him in the bedroom. You challenged him, called him on his shit and damn he liked you putting him in his place. He wouldn’t quite understand it but somewhere he likened it to something akin to deeper feelings. Everything had started out at pure sex but there was something about you that stayed under his skin, something that him taking you out on real dates, to movie premieres and parties. Something that made him want this to last. He’d growl at the man that once tried to lay a hand on your ass, not even pretending to be sorry when you’d chastised him for breaking the guys arm.

Soldier Boy knew his anger was quick and he wasn’t the easiest person in the world to deal with but he didn’t care. Nobody laid a hand on his girl. Not unless they wanted to lose theirs.

Russell Shaw

Russell didn’t love going in the office. He considered the field his true workplace. But every so often he had to go in to deal with contracts, paperwork, or in this case, get reimbursed for a phone that’d been destroyed somewhere along the Amazon river.

So that was how he’d turned the corner too quick and slammed straight into you. He’d fall smack on his ass and look across the way, finding you in a similar position, coffee staining your peach colored blouse and a shattered mug on the ground.

“Oh fuck,” he’d say as he’d notice the red streaks coming from your hand. He’d slide across the floor, pulling the forest green handkerchief he kept on him and quickly covering your bleeding palm. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was an accident,” you’d say, wincing as he tightened it. 

“Let me take you to get that stitched. You shouldn’t drive like that,” he’d say before ducking into a nearby room and alerting an admin to what had happened. Russell would stay in the waiting room the whole time you got checked out and after getting you out of work the rest of the day, he’d take you down the street to his favorite food truck, encouraging you to get your blood sugar back up even if you’d barely lost any in the first place. 

“I’ll happily pay for the dry cleaning or new clothes,” he’d say as you sipped on a glass of sweet tea, finding his nervous energy kind of adorable. “I can’t believe I did that.”

“Well, you know you contract guys. Break into enemy territory in the dead of night? No problem. Walk down a hallway? Now that’s dangerous.” Russell would smile hard at your teasing, more than happy to not have incurred any of your wrath in the long term. He had the feeling you were uncomfortable in your messy clothes though, despite the cardigan you were holding closed with one hand over your shirt. 

A gust of wind would come through and threaten to throw all your food to the ground, both of you reaching and grabbing before it could fall. In that instance, Russell would spot that you weren’t just uncomfortable. Your peach blouse had turned completely see through and was revealing a light pink bra. 

“Here,” Russell said without thinking, shrugging out of his jacket on the cool day and standing, handing it across the table. You’d blink up at him before slowly taking it, holding the much thicker material to your chest. As much he might have liked, he kept his mouth shut about the bra, instead letting you eat your lunch quickly and quietly.

Russell would insist on driving you home with an offer to take you into work to get your car in the morning.

“Sorry about ruining your clothes again,” he’d say on your front porch, holding up a hand when you tried to give his jacket back. “You keep it. Not like we’ll never see each other again, right?”

“Right. I’ll uh, see you tomorrow then.”

Russell would pause halfway down the steps, feeling your gaze on his back. “Do you want to maybe…get dinner later? I don’t have any jobs lined up for a few weeks and I’m a sucker for pink.”

He’d turn around with a hesitant smile, one eyebrow raised as you lifted your chin. “Seven. Don’t be late.”

Russell smirked when he picked you up that night wearing a pink zip up, enjoying the smug look on your face. 

“So where you taking me, Shaw?” you’d ask, Russell opening the passenger door for you. “I normally don’t wear jeans and a hoodie on a first date.”

“Maybe you’ve been dating the wrong men,” he’d wink as he closed the door. “It’ll be fun and no coffee will be thrown or shrapnel will occur, I promise.”

“Oh well, is it even a first date without those?” He’d chuckle, quickly hoping behind the wheel. 

“I guess that makes this our second date then,” he’d shoot back with a smile.

Russell finds out after his first job away that he doesn’t like being away for weeks at a time from you. Phone calls and face time aren’t enough. He puts in a word with his supervisor about taking shorter missions only from then on out. He’s absolutely giddy to pull up to your house when he gets home from the airport, even if you haven’t been answering his texts today.

“Hey,” he says when you answer the door. He doesn’t like the sliver of doubt on your face. “What’s wrong?”

“I should have asked them before but when you go away…are there others?” He’d hate how small your voice sounded, the way you’d rub your arm absently. “I mean, I know we’re new and didn’t really talk about it and you go to some places with some very beautiful women-”

“I got a beautiful woman right at home and she is all I want. Just me and her. Understand?” Russell would kiss away that worry until it was a faded memory, one he would be more than happy to dispel to you over and over again.

___________

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Hi! I was wondering if you could help me rephrase “an amused laugh.” It doesn’t have to be synonymous, just something with the same vibes. Thank you!!!

Word Alternatives: Amused Laugh

Amused - pleasantly entertained or diverted (as by something funny) Laugh - to show emotion with a chuckle or explosive vocal sound

Belly laugh - deep hearty laugh

Burst out laughing - to suddenly start laughing

Bust a/one's gut - to laugh in an uncontrolled way

Cachinnate - to laugh loudly or immoderately

Chortle - to laugh or chuckle especially when amused or pleased

Chuckle - to make a continuous gentle sound resembling suppressed mirth

Crack up - to laugh out loud

Die laughing - to laugh for a long time in an uncontrollable way; to laugh very hard

Giggle - to laugh with repeated short catches of the breath

Guffaw - a loud or boisterous burst of laughter

Horselaugh - a loud boisterous laugh

In hysterics - laughing very hard

In stitches - in a state of uncontrollable laughter

Split one's sides - to laugh heartily

Twitter - a light silly laugh; giggle

Source ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs ⚜ Laughter & Humour

Hope this helps with your writing!

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Can I request Yae, Shinobu and Sara finding out their S/O got arrested while trying to stop Itto from doing something stupid?

(Genshin Impact) Yae, Shinobu, and Sara's S/O getting caught in Itto's shenanigans

Miko's ears perk up when she hears the distinctive click of armor approach her, turning around from the shrine's tree to find an Inazuman soldier.

(Soldier) "Guuji Yae, ma'am!"

(Miko) "Hm? What brings you all the way up here-?"

(Soldier) "It's S/O, Guuji Yae.-"

Her eyes widened ever so slightly. Why in the world did one of the city's soldiers come to tell her about S/O? Did something happen to them?!

The fact that he was refusing to look in her in the eye added to her worries.

(Miko) "Are they alright?"

(Soldier) "S/O has been...arrested for causing a public disturbance."

...What?

For the first time in a very long time, Miko was at a loss for words as she processed what the soldier had said.

(Soldier) "A-Ahem! They were arrested alongside a normal troublemaker by the name of Arataki-"

Miko's face suddenly shifted into a wide smile, scaring the soldier.

(Miko) "...Do tell me how they came to be arrested."

...

(S/O) "And when I tried to stop him from stealing gunpowder for makeshift fireworks, I uh...accidentally landed right above a restricted area next to the armory with him."

Miko's laughter could barely be restrained as one hand flew over her mouth, talking to her S/O from the other side of a prison cell.

(Itto's Voice) "Dude! I could have gotten what I needed and been out if you hadn't stopped me!-"

(S/O) "And been in even more trouble, thank you very much!"

(Miko) "And you couldn't have gone to Miss Naganohara because...?"

(Itto) "It would've ruined the surprise!"

Miko now let her laughter fully out, completely unobstructed much to S/O's unamused expression.

(S/O) "So, are you here to bail me out and say I'm innocent or?-"

(Miko) "I came here to laugh at you."

(S/O) "Glad to know you care..."

(Miko) "Of course! If I lose you dear, then most of my entertainment is gone!"

Despite her teasing, she laid a hand affectionately through the bar before nodding at the soldier to open the door.

With a hand outstretched, she lets S/O hold it for a moment, only letting go to leave with them.

(Itto) "You're...going to get me out too, right?"

(Miko) "No worries, we'll send Miss Shinobu for you."

(Itto) "...Oh crap.-"

Shinobu is SO, SO PISSED.

(Shinobu) "ITTO."

Itto and the other Arataki Members are in the corner, absolutely shivering in terror while S/O was next to the cell's door, sighing with Shinobu on the other side.

(Shinobu) "It's one thing for you all to be behind bars, but how did you rope S/O into this?!"

To prevent Shinobu from killing them with her gaze, S/O shook their head, making her eyes shift over to them.

(S/O) "It's partially my fault. I was trying to stop them from making a ruckus in the restaurant but the guards thought I was inciting it since it only made them louder."

Shinobu sighed, rubbing the side of her head in frustration.

(Shinobu) "That explains how the guards called me faster than usual since you were here..."

(Itto) "L-Listen! That chef was clearly wrong in how he cooked our meals! Plus there were beans nearby us! It's like he intentionally put it next to me-"

(Shinobu) "YOU ALL I WILL DEAL WITH IN A SECOND."

Her tone shift made even S/O flinch slightly, the rest of the Arataki Gang doubly so.

After getting a guard to unlock the door for her, S/O put a hand on her shoulder, giving a sympathetic smile.

(S/O) "Don't go too hard on them, alright?"

(Shinobu) "I wasn't going to until they got you involved."

With an affectionate squeeze of their hand, she let go and turned her attention to the other three idiots.

(Shinobu) "Head outside, I'll be with you in a minute."

Leaving them to their fate, S/O promptly walked out with the guard.

It was business as usual for Sara to arrest Itto.

HOWEVER, it was a very different case for S/O to have been involved in said arrest.

Right as she was about to find the idiot Oni and get the guards to arrest him, S/O was present, directly next to him.

(Itto) "Oh great, there ya are!-"

(S/O) "Sara?!"

(Sara) "S/O, what are you doing with him?!"

(Itto) "Oh, this jerk thinks they can stop me from advertising my Beetle arena! I told them, 'No, you can't stop people from coming so you can rig the results'! But I got this under contr-"

(Sara) "Guards, arrest the Oni, leave the other one to me.'

(Guard) "Yes, ma'am!"

(Itto) "HEY, WHAT THE HECK DID I DO?!-"

As Itto was taken not quietly in the slightest, Sara frustratingly pinched her fingers around the bridge of her nose.

Making sure they were alone, Sara spoke to S/O a little more softly.

(Sara) "Please tell me you weren't trying to get involved with him-"

(S/O) "Of course not! I was just trying to get him to quiet down so that wouldn't happen!"

Sara smiled at that, shaking her head.

(Sara) "Thank you for trying to be an upstanding citizen but...sometimes you can't help people like that idiot."

(S/O) "That's a bit harsh."

Sara put a hand on their shoulder, rubbing it with a kindness she usually reserved for home.

(Sara) "When you've lost count how many times you've had to arrest him, I'm afraid you run out of pleasantries. With that being said, please don't get near him."

(S/O) "Hah, well it is kind of funny to see you like this-"

Her grip suddenly tightened but her smile remained, S/O knowing she was telling them to cut it out.

(Sara) "Don't try my patience like he does, S/O."

[ihadtohaveone-blog]

Father was silent for long time staring at Cervan. You see slight twitches in his eyes. He was searching for something. Then as if something finally snapped into place, his shoulders fell. He laughed a dry, humorless laugh.

"I had given up. I had given up on my dear Y/N getting married. With most the eligible candidates marrying others and the ones that weren't being rejected left and right..." He clasped his hands together and set them on the table. A move he taught you when you were losing. A move to steady yourself. "Y/N. Do you wish to marry him? Do you wish to marry Cervan Violiére?"

"I..." You stop. Words clogged in your throat. Were you actually doing this? Your heart was hurting, You couldn't breath, and your stomach was in knots so tight your sure it'd burst.

A hand meet yours and clasped it with such gentleness.

"My dove?" Cervan spoke softly. His eyes, oh his eyes, held love so deep. How had you'd not noticed before? He was scared. Just like you.

You took a much needed breath, squared Your shoulders, and looked your father straight in eye. Yes. Yes you were doing this.

"I'll be honest father. Before today I also was under the Impression I would never marry. None of the candidates meet my standard. They were either arrogant, Ill mannered, or narcissistic. I had no qualms with it. But," you looked toward your hand, Cervan gently squeezed. He was with you. "I've always envied you and mother. You lifted each other up. You made a safe place for each other when either of you fell. I..." You tearing up now. "Didn't think I'd find them. The one who'd let me fly free. The one who'd catch me when I fell. Cervan?"

Cervan startled. He seemed to have been caught up in your speech. "Yes my dear?" Your turned your head, your eyes meeting his. Now it was your turn to search him.

"you care for me, don't you?" It was the first time you felt like this. Dating others were always so hard. You twisted and contorted before you finally gave up. But with Cervan it came so easy. His opinion of himself wasn't so great he refused to take criticism. He didn't talk down to you due to your father's origin. He didn't think think his beauty was so great you'd fall at his feet to be with him.

He looked shocked. As if the thought of you doubting his intentions never crossed his mind. "I do. My dove. You lit a fire In me that I thought would never catch. Like you I made peace with never getting married. But when I saw you, a diamond amongst quartz, restraint amongst excess, I had to meet you. I'm so glad I did. Your eye for risk is second to none. Your wit as quick as a whip. Your heart... For better or worse your heart is as deep as the ocean."

"Father?" You were about to break. "I would like to try. I would like to go forward with this. I would like to marry him."

"An engagement then." Father chuckled eyes shining with a bittersweetness. "I'll send my approval to the king and I'll arrange for a meeting with the record keepers. They're no doubt already preparing for my arrival." His eyes grew sharp as dagger as he addressed Cervan. Taking his glass he held it to a toast. "If I find out you've hurt her, I don't care if the minister of defense, I will find a way to hurt you."

It was Cervans time to laugh. Held his glass to meet fathers. "If I end up hurting her I'd welcome it"

That did it. Tears fell from your eyes like rivers. Your hands searching your pockets for your handkerchief. You probably looked ridiculous. Hair not perfectly combed, dress askew, and now your face was a mess. Neither Cervan or father seemed to care.

The food tasted like heaven.

When everything was said and done you said your goodbyes, promised to meet soon. You were kissed on the cheek. Father didn't seem to approve but he kept his thoughts to himself. You and your father left for home. Cervan kept you in his gaze until he couldn't see your carriage anymore before he went inside.

Everyone was exhausted from a very long day. Eager to rest and relax.

Bad End: Kept Safe (1)

[Art by Miu_A]

You ever give someone advice, knowing full well they aren't going to take it? Even AFTER they have begged and pleaded and WHINED at you, for hours, for it? Even after they poured their heart and soul out to you? And you, a good friend, carefully and tactfully, tried your best to help? LIKE THEY ASKED?

Ever find yourself the designated "run too dramatically weep in the arms off" friend?

I have.

It is hell. I am in hell.

This is my punishment for all those hours I spent reading and playing Otome Isekai junk instead of, I don't know, solving world hunger or something. Because it HAS to be. I am clearly being punished. Repeatedly. By some sort of petty, petty, anime God.

Fuck you too, buddy.

A fresh round of highly dramatic Protagonist sobbing peirces the air. Dear lord, she has a set of lungs on her, does she? It's like an air siren. But more... upset toddler. It was bizarre. I'd LIKED her as a character. I HAD. Bright and cheerful, determined with a good heart. She'd been a bit naive, yes, but she'd grown. Love had changed her for the better.

But THIS?

This was some middle school "he threw away my secret note, that I didn't sign, so that means he HATES MEEEEE~" bullshit. It went on and on and ON! God, it'd been MONTHS! Years!

I made friends with the Protagonist when we were in The Royal Academy. The story's setting. It SHOULD have finished by graduation. SHOULD. HAVE. But DID it? No! This nonsense had spilled into the COURT! The general population! Actual political factions were starting to get involved!

All because my "friend" COULDN'T PICK A MAN.

And she didn't listen. I tried. God, how I TRIED! No matter HOW I phrased "just fucking TALK to them" it didn't get through her dense fucking skull. I tried taking a break. To calm down. She HUNTED ME DOWN with her little Harem of political trainwrecks!

That poor port city STILL has yet to recover from the chaos they unleashed.

I don't... God, I don't even LIKE her anymore. I've just been reduced to her HANDLER. Forced into girlish tea parties devoid of any taste, because no one ELSE will come. Followed by winces and pitying looks by every lady in all of polite society. The sacrifice to keep HER distracted, lest her gaurd dogs decide its a good idea to do something unhinged again.

It's exhausting.

I'm not even listening.

She seems to have worked through her usual cycle of "cry, mope, what about meeeee~, then I going to go be Plucky at them! Tee Hee~♡!". Good, good. You go have fun, you little train wreck. I'm going to go find an actual ADULT to hide behind.

I have my maids change me out of an outfit that, frankly? I am too old for. I am not sixteen. We are not GIRLS, for the heaven's sake. We are WOMEN. It was a cute outfit. I enjoyed wearing it, back when I was physically young enough that it was appropriate. But even THEN... that's the down side of the whole "isekai" thing.

You keep your mental age.

Everyone around you? INFANTS. Fresh faced babies. You are being flirted with by fourteen year olds and? It is DISGUSTING. They can never be anything more then "cute kids" to you. The characters you once thirsted over? Reduced to actual, living, breathing, pre-schoolers.

There's no going back after that. I'll NEVER unsee it. Can only continue to age, even as they simply... grow up. And then? When they started behaving like FOUR YEAR OLDS? Forget it! I'm beginning to share my parents fears I may die single.

At least I have a refuge. A place of SANITY and SENSE.

I grab the imported wine I had purchased. I'd noticed him drink it before on special occasions. Found a tea seller that was willing to also bring some back. Mother LOVED the tea and my friend was going to love the wine, I could just tell.

Cautiously poking my head out of the guest apartments i was staying in, I checked the hall. Left. Right. Left. Thank god. No Protagonist in sight, she hasn't come back yet. Better hurry though.

I walk fast and keep close to the wall. Ducking into alcoves at every new female voice. Passing servants, Nobles, and the occasional Knight either murmur what they know of Protagonist's last known location or politely pretend not to see me. For anyone else, this would be scandalous behavior. For ME? Well... everyone knew EXACTLY why I was being driven to such extremes.

I thankfully reached the governance wing unmolested. It was far quite and none of the pack of fools ever really set foot here. Not ever the ones who were SUPPOSED to be busy learning their future roles as leaders of this country. God, I could only hope the third prince somehow quietly pulls a coup.

Not that I'd SAY that.

The gaurds don't even bother to announce me, I'm here so often. Merely opening the door. I maintain my decorum none the less. JUST long enough for the doors to finally close and I am able to drop my social mask like whipping of my bra after a long day. Oh thank fuuuuuuck. FREEDOM!

A familiar chuckle, like incense smoke, wafts from the second floor of the office.

"Oh my~, so tired?" My friend muses, his voice that ever lilting purr. I hear him closing whatever heavy tome he's currently studying. "And so early in the DAY! Was it the little nuisance again? Surely she must have SOMETHING better to do?"

Gently putting the wine I'm gifting him on his desk, I then throw up my arms. You would THINK! Wouldn't you?! It's an old complaint. And frankly? I'm glad he still let's me vent about it. It HAS to get old. Yet? He let's me complain anyway.

I met the, roughly translated, "Keeper Of The Shield" at one of the Crown Prince's many ridiculous parties. I was dragged along as Protagonist's plus one. Because GOD FORBID she bring one of her suitors! That might lean towards CHOICE! Can't have THAT!

It was an overly dramatic, gaudy, slow motion trainwreck from beginning to end. I? Got very, VERY drunk. I knew I shouldn't. It was wildly inappropriate. But I was HORRIFIED. Hid near the balconies and drank to forget. Contemplating jumping.

Was likely the only one there my age NOT in ten layers of bows and fabric flowers. It was probably why Crevan decide to talk to me. That and the look of abject suffering. He informed that, sadly, the balconies were locked. But if I planned to maim my self to escape, he could probably boost me up enough to reach the upper windows.

I choked on my drink and guffawd like an idiot. It was SUPER flattering. Very pretty. And honestly? The best conversation I'd had in YEARS. He was droll. Witty. Snarky. In just as much hell as I was. We gleefully narrated the drama playing out before us in as cutting a manner as possible. Grown adults, government officals! Behaving like fucking CHILDREN.

Only after, did I learn I had been chatting with the equivalent of the minister of the Defense. THE commander of our nation's defensive forces. All of them. Knights, army, spies. All of it. And the poor man had been dragged from his desk to play party prop by a glorified teenager. I was horrified. Appalled. Fucking OUTRAGED to learn that it was just... normal!

This country was a nightmare! Otome games are HELL. Lacey, sparkly HELL!!!

But at least I had Crevan to keep me sane. He was always willing to listen. Advise when he could. We had HOPED that Protagonist would start maturing... I'd even mentioned it, but it just seemed like she back slid again and again! Trapping me. Isolating me! Ruining my chances to move ON and have a LIFE!

I don't know what went wrong! Is it me? Am I too hand holdy? It's starting to destabilize the country! Not that the royal family even seems to notice! God no, if it weren't for Crevan, the whole PLACE would have collapsed!

I flop down on my couch. Technically it's not "mine", but honestly? He's fooling no one. The man barely had ANY guest furniture before we became friends. It's totally my couch. (He even got a tea table for us, the softy.)

"Oh? A gift? How thoughtful, dear~" It's only months of friendship that keep from jumping these days. I should get that man a BELL. "Would you like some?"

I can't help but huff a laugh. He always looks to PLEASED when he gets the jump on someone. Startles them. A mischievous asshole, that one. Touchy, too. Forever cupping my cheek or earnestly taking my hand. Patting my head. Guiding me by the elbow or shoulder. He has so few friends... I am certain he is touch starved.

A thought occurs to him, as he pours two cups. A sly grin stretching across his face as he turns to offer me a cup. The wine's scent mixes, burning and delicate, with the ever present smells of incense and his favorite herbal cigarettes. Blurring the senses and relaxing. It's a pretty strong drink.

"You KNOW... it just occurs to me! Darling, if you want to avoid that pest? Why not spend the day HERE? I'd love to have you. " his voice becomes low and serious for a moment, almost catching me off gaurd, bouncing back before I can really think about it. "You could trash my shelves again! Camp out on my couches! It'll be like a little party~ Just you and me! Not a care in the world. You won't have to worry a single thing~"

He grins, glasses catching the light, toothy like the old scheming fox he is.

"I'll keep you nice and safe~"

[muletia]

𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭 — [𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏] ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

obsessed!b-127 x human!reader

summary: the joy of having a new friend in sub-level 50 quickly transforms into something dangerous and destructive and above all, addictive, as B-127’s life becomes inextricably intertwined with yours. to the point that he can no longer imagine it without you

cw: angst, fluff, slight obsessive behaviour but it will get much, much worse later, isolation, captivity very poor take on sci-fi tech

word count: 2300

future chapters probably won't be this long but we shall see. this is just a introduction to show how I want to torture bee. i plan on writing a few chapters max...

"To hell with this planet," you curse bitterly.

The reconnaissance mission was a failure. Instead of gathering data about the planet where your onboard ship had detected deposits of "living metal," you wandered through the nooks of a city inhabited by steel giants, trying not to be noticed, or trampled.

You crawl through a tight tunnel blindly, with no real idea where it will lead or whether you'll ever manage to return to your crashed ship. Your backpack, stuffed with supplies, scrapes against the low ceiling, making movement harder, but you have to push forward. Find a quiet but not claustrophobic corner to strategize how to escape from here. Return home — the firmly set goal pulls you onward. Eventually, you're forced to descend lower, squeezing between pipes and perpendicular walls of metal until you see a larger tunnel below.

You jump down, looking around for danger, but see none, allowing yourself a moment's respite. You adjust the oxygen hoses connected to the futuristic, tiny machine producing the precious gas tucked in your backpack, but that's all you manage before you hear the sound of metal striking metal. Alarmed, you stand upright, looking toward the source of the noise, which approaches dangerously fast and quickly takes the form of massive pieces of metal barreling straight toward you.

You don’t even have time to dodge as a hard wall slams into you, forcing the air from your lungs, dragging you forward.

And then down, as the floor collapses beneath you, and you grab onto the metal, bracing for a hard landing.

Silence pierces the processor. It seeps into the deepest cracks between cables and takes root, reminding of loneliness. Painfully and mercilessly, it drives home the fact that sub-level fifty is a hell where the concept of time does not exist. In truth, no concept exists here except sorting trash and watching it burn. Day after day, hour by hour, the same routine. Sort, reject, try not to go insane. The bot who designed this prison did an excellent job if his main goal was to drive everyone who had the misfortune to end up here into madness.

B-127 doesn’t remember the last time he spoke to someone real. A month? A year? Time had long since lost its linearity, looping and zigzagging aimlessly. Did Iacon still look the same? Maybe it had changed during his absence. Maybe it was even more beautiful now. Or maybe it no longer existed at all, and he would never find out.

Enough numbing silence. He’s had enough.

"We’ll get out of here someday," he mutters. "Right, Steve?"

The response is... silence.

"It’s just a matter of time," he laughs nervously. "Everything will be fine."

He wraps his arms around himself. Barely two kliks pass before B-127 starts rambling to his imaginary friend about everything and nothing. Dreams he’s talked about dozens of times, the past life that brought him here. Anything to kill the silence, to prevent it from creeping deeper into his processor, because then it would force him to think. It was his enemy, an opponent he tried to knock out as quickly as possible before it landed a blow. One blow was all it took to remind him where he was and how he got here.

What a failure he was.

But fortunately, he doesn’t have to think now. Not when his glossa works tirelessly, holding conversations with three entities at once. It’s a good distraction from the disgusting, depressing reality. It doesn’t solve the problem, but it makes him feel better, more valuable than the trash he sorts. He knows no other way. None existed in these conditions.

A new, unfamiliar sound hidden among the metal hitting the conveyor belt pulls him out of his self-deprecating thoughts. Softer? Less hollow. The curious mech reacts immediately, digging through the junk, quickly searching for the source before the entire batch ends up in the furnace. What he finds surpasses all his expectations.

His servo shoots forward to grab the anomaly. He catches it and pulls it closer to himself, stepping back a few paces from the conveyor, wanting to examine the discovery in peace.

A living thing. A real, moving organism. Tiny — it could fit entirely in his servo — but alive. Soft, strange, but alive. It kicks frantically, clearly displeased with being held, but B-127 can’t let go, utterly fascinated.

“Wow,” he whispers, scanning the unknown.

On the surface, you’re very similar anatomically — two arms, two legs, optics, and an intake in the same place on the faceplate — but everything else is fascinatingly different.

“What are you, little one?” he asks, and the creature in his hand trembles. “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you! Ugh, I’m so, so sorry. Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you, I promise!”

His attempt to soothe the little alien ends in failure when your tiny servo smacks his forearm. Then another hit and another, as if something gently brushed against his mesh. It was... pleasant? He thinks. Your servos, though anatomically identical to his, were much more delicate. Softer. Strange. But pleasant.

On your helm reside odd, firmer yet still springy... cables? "Hehe, how funny. What are these?" He doesn’t even know what to call the strange structure but knows he wants to learn about it. Ignoring your attempts to push him away and disregarding the puzzling language you use, he dips a single digit into your mane, exploring your exoticness. Again, it’s... pleasant. Your entire body is delightful to the touch. As his excitement grows, a smile spreads across his faceplate.

“Wow, you’re so soft. Is your whole body like this? That’s so strange, I’ve never encountered soft before. Can I touch lower? Please? May I? I want to see.” He fires off a series of questions, even though he knows he won’t get answers. He doesn’t mind; he’s long since gotten used to it.

He presses a digit into your cheek, for which you strike him, but he pays no mind to your aggression, nor to the glare you send, brimming with fury. You say something to him, but he can only guess what colorful phrases you’re throwing his way. Besides, his fascination leaves no room for worry or offense.

“What’s this?” he asks, brushing a digit against the tubes coming out of the two holes on your faceplate. You slap his hand away harder this time. The message is clear — he is absolutely not to touch those. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry. You’re feisty for such a tiny thing. I like you already,” he grins.

The digit slides lower, reaching your plush armor. “Heh, you really are soft all over!” He chuckles, hooking a digit on your collar, but you squeak, stopping him from satisfying his curiosity. Immediately, he lets go, infected by your fear.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I must be squeezing too hard,” he loosens his grip, completely misunderstanding the reason for your panic. “Are you okay? I hope you’re okay. I really didn’t mean to hurt you. What’s your name? Who are you? An alien? You must be an alien. Or maybe some strange mini-bot? Oh, this is so exciting; I’m so glad I found you!”

You shake your tiny helm, clearly conveying that you have no idea what he’s saying. And while you don’t give him a verbal, stimulating response, you offer an active reaction. Primitive, but you’ve communicated, filling his spark with unrestrained, pure joy. You gave him a sliver of normalcy, fulfilling the bare minimum that had been taken from him.

Steve had been excellent company, but he couldn’t shake his head. He couldn’t hit his forearm to communicate discomfort. Steve was a figment of his imagination. But you, oh, you. You were real.

B-127 desperately needed realness.

He realizes he’s been staring at your optics this whole time. And you’ve been staring back into his. A strange embarrassment washes over him, though it’s incapable of overshadowing the elation he feels in your presence. Even though you’ve only known each other for a few short kliks.

He averts his optics for a moment, but barely a nanoklik passes before he’s looking at you again, unable to satisfy his curiosity. “Did I mention I’m glad I found you? Because I really am. So very, very glad. I promise I’m good company. You won’t get bored with me; really, I’ll make sure of it. Don’t worry, I’ll talk for both of us, I don’t mind that we can’t understand each other. Hey, do you think we could learn to communicate over time? That would be amazing!”

Suddenly, he smacks his servo against his forehead. He doesn’t notice how the motion makes you flinch with fear.

“Oh, right, where are my manners? I should introduce you to the others.”

He heads toward the table with his other companions in misery and sets you on the surface, taking a seat himself. He moves as close to you as possible, and you take advantage of the momentary freedom from his massive servo to dart to the opposite side.

“Hey, wait! Don’t run away!”

He catches you again in his servo, receiving a punch to his thumb as thanks. Unfazed by your aggression, he merely smiles, his excitement at having a real companion still vividly dictating his body language. He can barely stop himself from trembling with joy.

“Don’t do that again, alright?” he laughs nervously. “I haven’t even introduced you to everyone yet.”

He gestures toward each of his friends, introducing you to them one by one, all the while wearing a broad, excited grin that doesn’t waver, even when you shoot him a pitying look. He chooses to completely ignore it, preferring to focus on the other components that make up who you are. You may not be a Cybertronian, but it was wonderful to finally meet someone real. Someone alive, who brought light to this dismal, lonely place. Someone who filled him with emotions far more vibrant than sadness and despair.

“I’m going to let you go now, but don’t run away from me, okay? Can I count on you? You won’t leave me, will you? I don’t want you to leave me.”

Slowly, he loosens his digits, keeping a close watch on your body language for any signs that you might flee. His fears of you running away materialize the moment the last finger releases you. Immediately, you turn and dash toward the other end of the table.

“Oh no, no! Please don’t run away! I won’t hurt you, I promise!”

But, just as before, you don’t make it more than a few meters before his servo blocks your path. A second one joins from the opposite side, caging you in.

“Well, now you’ve got nowhere to run.” He grins, attempting to convey friendliness through his body language. “I’m not your enemy. I won’t hurt you,” he tries again, with the same fruitless result.

You observe him closely, searching for any hint of deception, a change of mind, or a sudden crushing motion.

“See? I’m not going to do anything to you.”

Without breaking eye contact, you step backward, increasing the distance between you until you deem it safe. Crossing your arms over your chest, you glare at him, and B-127’s grin widens even further. You’re no longer trying to flee in panic — he considers this a huge breakthrough in your relationship!

“Oh, I’m so happy! I’m finally going to have a real friend. No offense, guys,” he says, glancing at the scraps of junk. The interaction draws a subtle, sympathetic smile from you, though B-127 doesn’t seem to notice as he turns back to you, his dazzling, excited smile still firmly in place. “I’ve waited so long for this, for someone real. I thought I’d never see another living soul again. Oh, Primus must have sent you to me. You’ll see, I’ll take great care of you. We’ll have such a wonderful time together! I have so many amazing stories to share with you!”

Automatically, he scoots closer but freezes when he notices you don’t share his enthusiasm.

“Sorry, I got carried away,” he laughs nervously. “I’m just so happy. I can’t wait to tell you everything about myself.” His pedes tap cheerfully against the ground. “And then you can tell me everything about you, right? You… you? Oh, Primus, I didn’t ask for your name! What should I call you? I’m B-127, but you can call me Bee. And you are?” He points a servo at you, but all he gets in response is a shake of your head. For a single nanoklik, his excitement falters, but it immediately returns. “Oh, right, I forgot. Well then, I’ll just talk for both of us. I’ll call you ‘friend,’ okay? Friend?”

His aft can’t sit still. At last, after such excruciatingly long isolation, he’s found a friend — someone he can speak to and expect a reaction from. Any reaction, no matter how small.

He rests his helm on his outstretched arm, unable to tear his optics away from you. He wants to feel your softness in his servo again. To wrap himself in it, to anchor himself in the incredible sensation of having a companion.

His digit twitches, a prelude to catching you in his servo and pulling you close again, but he doesn’t want to ruin what the two of you have built so far. Especially since your relationship is still in its infancy, a mere beginning of something greater and more beautiful. He feels certain it will become something wonderful.

“I don’t know how you ended up here or why, but thank you for showing up. I promise to be a good friend to you.”

For the first time in so long, he’s looking forward to experiencing what tomorrow will bring.

[willowsnook]

in love?

Could you write a leclerc’s brothers love triangle? charles x y/n x arthur? 🤭 from @dovesboccianoifiori

charles leclerc x reader x arthur leclerc

"Are you ready, mon chéri?" Arthur called out from your living room.

"Just about!" you replied, shoving the final things into your suitcase. The two of you were set to leave for Greece on a family vacation for the next week. Running through your mental checklist, you decided that you probably had everything. Lugging your suitcase out to the living room, Arthur smirked at you.

"Pack your whole closet, hmm?" he teased, and you huffed.

"You never know what we might need!"

He laughed and grabbed your suitcase from you, pressing his lips against yours in a quick kiss.

"I forgot to tell you, but Charles is actually coming now," Arthur said, and you raised your eyebrows in surprise.

"I thought he had to be in London with Sarah?" you asked. Sarah was a well-known model who had been dating Charles for about six months now. You didn’t really care for her, finding her to be a bit of an airhead.

"They broke up," Arthur said, and you snorted.

"What reason this time?" you asked. Charles had a string of exes over the past couple of years, and all the relationships ended because of some weird nitpicking excuse he had come up with. One was because he didn’t like the perfume she wore, another had an old picture up on socials of her in a McLaren fit, and so on.

"She’s allergic to dogs," he mused, and you giggled.

In the two years you had been dating Arthur, you had never seen one of Charles’ relationships last longer than six months. It was like he was cursed. You had grown up with the Leclercs, so you knew him very well and never understood why he had such a hard time in relationships. From your perspective, he was quite the catch, and you always wondered how life could have been different if you were with him, though you’d never admit that to anyone.

Loving Arthur had always been easy. It was steady, warm, comforting—like slipping into a well-worn sweater on a cold day. He made you laugh, made you feel safe, made life simple. There was no second-guessing, no whirlwind of emotions that left you breathless.

But Charles—Charles was something else entirely. He was fire and chaos, tension so thick it stole the air from your lungs. With him, nothing was certain. He made you feel seen in a way that scared you, made you question everything you thought you knew about love. You hated how easily he got under your skin, how one look from him sent your pulse racing. And you despised the part of yourself that wanted to lean into that feeling instead of running from it. But you were with Arthur, so none of that mattered.

A half-day of traveling later, you arrived at the villa that the family had rented for the week, and it really was gorgeous. Arthur took your luggage upstairs while you headed to the patio, where everyone was hanging out.

"Y/N!" they cheered as you walked out, and you were enveloped in hugs. Charles stood off to the side, brooding, and you took the chance to chirp him.

"Hi, Charles, getting a dog soon?" you asked, and he rolled his eyes before pulling you into a hug.

"Ha ha, very funny, Y/N," he grumbled, and you beamed. He couldn’t stay mad at you for long, his frown quickly morphing into a soft smile.

As you pulled away from Charles' embrace, you couldn't help but notice the way his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than usual. There was something different in his gaze, a spark you hadn't seen before. You brushed it off, attributing it to your imagination.

The evening progressed with laughter and chatter as the family caught up. You found yourself stealing glances at Charles throughout dinner, noticing how he seemed more relaxed than you'd seen him in years. Without Sarah or any other girlfriend around, he appeared lighter, more like the Charles you grew up with.

Arthur had his arm laid carelessly behind you, and after two glasses of wine, you found yourself nodding off into his shoulder.

"Ready for bed?" he whispered in your ear, and you nodded absentmindedly. Saying your goodnights, you followed him up the stairs and to the room you were sharing.

"Charles seems happy," you commented, and Arthur hummed in agreement.

"I’m just happy we don’t have to spend this vacation with Sarah," he admitted, and you giggled.

"What, you don’t want to spend your time having to explain every joke you make?" you asked in mock offense.

You squealed as his arms wrapped around you and pulled you into the bed. Straddling him, you rested your hands on his chest, warmth spreading through your body.

As you gazed down at Arthur, his eyes sparkling with adoration, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. Your mind kept drifting back to the way Charles had looked at you earlier. You pushed the thought aside, focusing on the man beneath you.

"I love you," Arthur murmured, pulling you down for a kiss.

—-----------------------------------

The next morning, you woke early, the unfamiliar bed and jet lag disrupting your sleep. Quietly, you slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Arthur. You made your way downstairs, planning to enjoy a quiet moment on the patio with a cup of coffee.

To your surprise, Charles was already there, nursing his own mug as he stared out at the view.

"Couldn't sleep?" you asked softly, joining him at the railing.

He turned to you, a small smile playing on his lips. "Not really, too much on my mind."

"I’m sorry to hear about you and Sarah," you said softly, and he laughed, shaking his head.

"Don’t be," he said. "It was never serious."

"Seems like no one you date is ever serious," you commented.

He sighed, looking over the waves before speaking again.

"I feel like I’m just waiting to feel that fiery passion about someone, but it never happens," he admitted.

"Do you ever think that maybe love isn’t a fiery passion?" you countered, and he raised an eyebrow at you in confusion. "When I think about the love Arthur and I have, it isn’t a fiery passion. It’s stability, it’s a warm embrace, it feels like home."

Charles didn’t say anything at your admission, just gave you a weird look.

"I’m not sure I agree that’s true love," he finally said before heading back inside.

You frowned at his comment. Of course, it was true love. You couldn’t imagine life without Arthur; he was your rock.

—--------------------------------------

Later that morning, Arthur stirred awake, reaching for you, only to find the bed empty. With a groggy sigh, he pulled himself up and ran a hand through his messy hair before heading downstairs, where he found you in the kitchen, pouring a fresh cup of coffee.

"Morning, mon amour," he murmured, wrapping his arms around you from behind and pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder.

"Morning," you replied with a smile, leaning into his embrace. "I was just thinking we should go explore the town today. Just the two of us."

Arthur perked up at that, a boyish grin spreading across his face. "I like the sound of that. Let’s get ready and head out."

After a quick breakfast, the two of you set off, hand in hand, strolling through the charming cobblestone streets of the Greek town. The sun was warm, but the gentle sea breeze made it comfortable as you wandered past whitewashed buildings with bright blue doors, flower-covered balconies, and quaint little shops.

At a small market square, you stopped to admire the vibrant stalls selling fresh fruit, handmade jewelry, and local crafts. Arthur picked up a delicate bracelet, the beads painted in shades of blue and gold.

"This would look beautiful on you," he mused, gently slipping it onto your wrist.

You smiled, admiring the way it sat against your skin. "It’s perfect."

Before you could protest, Arthur handed the vendor a few bills, grinning. "A souvenir for our trip."

"You really didn't have to," you said, but he just shrugged, eyes twinkling with mischief.

"I'm your boyfriend; spoiling you is in my job description."

You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn't fight the warmth spreading in your chest.

Continuing your walk, you came across a cozy little café tucked in a corner of the town square. The scent of freshly baked pastries filled the air, and you tugged Arthur inside, settling at a small table with a view of the bustling street.

As you sipped on a cool iced coffee, Arthur reached across the table, brushing his fingers over yours absentmindedly. "You seemed distracted last night," he said softly, watching you closely.

Your breath hitched slightly, but you forced a smile. "Just tired from the trip."

Arthur studied you for a moment, as if deciding whether to believe you, but eventually, he let it go.

After finishing your drinks, you spent the rest of the afternoon exploring hidden alleyways, stopping to take pictures, and making each other laugh with inside jokes. Arthur never let go of your hand, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin as you wandered.

As the sun began to dip toward the horizon, casting a golden glow over the town, you and Arthur found yourselves sitting on a stone ledge overlooking the sea.

"This has been the perfect day," you admitted, resting your head on his shoulder.

Arthur pressed a kiss to your hair. "Every day with you is perfect."

For a moment, you let yourself believe it. You let yourself drown in Arthur’s warmth, in the steady, familiar love he gave you.

But then your mind wandered back to the morning. To Charles. To the way he looked at you. To the way his words lingered in your mind, unsettling you in a way you couldn't quite explain.

And that’s when you realized—something had shifted.

When you got back to the villa, Arthur headed upstairs, saying that he was exhausted. Charles had seemed to just get back from dinner with some friends he knew in town and ran into you in the kitchen.

“Heading to bed?” he asked.

“I’d rather not, I’m not that tired,” you replied.

“Late-night beach walk then,” he suggested, and you found yourself nodding. He was your friend, and this was normal. You and Charles had done plenty of things alone before, this was no different.

The two of you set out, walking along the water and chatting about the day’s events. Lost in conversation, you missed a small hole a kid had dug into the sand and stumbled forward. Charles' arms shot out to grab you, safely pulling you into his chest.

As you stood there, pressed against Charles' chest, time seemed to slow. His arms were still wrapped around you, strong and secure. You could feel the warmth of his body, smell the faint scent of his cologne. Your heart began to race, and you found yourself unable to look away from his intense gaze.

"Are you alright?" Charles asked softly, his voice low and concerned.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. You should step away, you knew that. But something kept you rooted to the spot, lost in the depths of Charles' eyes.

He made no move to let you go either. His thumb brushed lightly against your waist where he held you, sending a shiver down your spine. The air between you felt charged, electric with unspoken tension.

"Y/N," Charles murmured, his face inching closer to yours.

Your breath caught as you stood frozen, but Charles snapped out of whatever he was thinking, quickly letting go of you. The walk back was silent, but Charles stopped you before you turned toward the house.

“You are going to hurt him,” he said suddenly, and you turned to him, a confused look on your face.

“What are you talking about?”

“Arthur,” he said, clearing his throat. “You don’t love him, not really.”

“Is this because of our conversation earlier?” you asked, irritation filling your voice. “I love your brother, nothing is going to change that.”

“Of course, you love him,” Charles said. “You love him as much as you love Lorenzo and Pascale, but you aren’t in love with him.”

You flinched back like you’d been slapped. “How dare you? You don’t know anything.”

He scoffed, looking up at the house. “I’ve watched you these past couple of months. I notice how you are toward him, and honestly, how he is toward you. You treat each other as if you’re just best friends who stumbled into a relationship.”

“We are best friends,” you seethed. “What the fuck are you talking about, Charles? Watching me? Like you have been this whole trip? You don’t think I noticed? What, so I can be your next six-month conquest? Someone you can collect?”

His jaw clenched at your words as he took another step toward you.

Charles' eyes darkened, his expression shifting into something unreadable. His voice, when he finally spoke, was laced with frustration.

"Is that what you think of me?" he bit out. "That I'm some selfish asshole who just goes through women for fun?"

You let out a bitter laugh. "I don't have to think it, Charles. Your track record speaks for itself."

His nostrils flared, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue—but then, something in him snapped.

"You know what? Maybe I do go through relationships too fast. Maybe I haven't found the right person yet. But at least I’m not lying to myself about being in love when I'm not."

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. "Screw you, Charles."

He leaned in, his voice a low, taunting whisper. "You don't get it, do you? One day, you're going to wake up and realize that Arthur was just the safe choice. The easy choice. And by then, it'll be too late."

Your breath caught in your throat. Heat flared through your body—not from attraction, but from sheer, unbridled rage. Before you even processed what you were doing, your hand flew up and cracked across his cheek.

The sharp sound of the slap echoed between you. Charles’ head snapped to the side, his jaw tightening as his skin flushed red where your palm had connected.

A heavy silence fell. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you stared at him, your hand still tingling.

He turned back to you slowly, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip, his expression unreadable.

"You done?" he murmured, voice rough.

Your fingers trembled at your sides, anger and something dangerously close to regret warring inside you.

"Go to hell, Charles," you spat before storming past him, heading toward the house.

You didn't look back.

But you could feel his eyes on you the whole way.

—---------------------------------------------------------

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Arthur asked you, worried. You had been uncharacteristically quiet the whole morning.

“Yeah, just sad we’re leaving,” you lied, forcing a small smile on your face. Last night felt like an open wound, and the faster you could get out of here, the better. Following Arthur downstairs with your stuff, you joined the family in saying goodbye to one another as everyone departed back home. When Charles didn’t say goodbye to Arthur, just motioned for him to load his bags in, a sense of dread overcame you.

Since you all lived in Monaco, naturally, you’d be taking Charles’ private jet back.

Arthur chatted about the trip the whole way to the airport, getting minimal responses from both you and Charles, but he didn’t seem to notice. As you boarded, Arthur sat across from his brother, and you moved past the two, choosing to sit at the front of the plane.

“Mon chéri?” Arthur called out. “Why are you sitting over there?”

You gave him a fake smile, “I want to read my book, and your talking will distract me.”

You tried to sound teasing but knew you fell flat. Arthur looked at his brother, but Charles refused to meet his eyes, looking out the window instead. True to your word, you spent the rest of the flight reading and were relieved when you landed.

Arthur said goodbye to Charles, and you prepared to play pretend, but Charles looked at you for three seconds before turning and getting into his car without a word. You stared after him, hurt written all over your features, which didn’t go unnoticed by Arthur. He didn’t say anything, but it gave him something to think about.

-----------------------------

The next couple of weeks were weird. You and Arthur fell back into your normal routine and social calendar, but it felt like there was a new distance between you. You noticed yourself pulling away from him a little bit, and his nonchalance about it threatened to confirm what Charles had said.

It was Friday night, and the two of you had just gotten back from dinner with your friends, Arthur following you to your apartment.

“Have a drink with me on the balcony?” he asked, almost nervously.

“Sure,” you replied, going to grab two wine glasses from the cabinets and filling them with a new bottle you had just bought. You met him outside, and he was quiet, contemplative, as he gazed out at the skyline. You handed Arthur his glass and took a sip of your own, leaning against the railing beside him. The night was warm, a soft breeze brushing against your skin, but the weight in your chest made it hard to enjoy. Arthur was never this quiet.

“I’ve been thinking,” he finally said, breaking the silence. His voice was careful, measured, like he was picking his words delicately. “About us.”

Your fingers tightened around the stem of your glass. You knew this was coming. You had felt it in the way his touch had grown less frequent, in the way your conversations had started to feel like those of two friends catching up rather than lovers sharing their lives.

“Yeah?” you prompted, keeping your voice steady.

He turned to look at you, his brown eyes filled with something like fondness—soft, but resolute. “I think we both know this isn’t working the way it should.”

Your heart clenched, but not in the way you expected. There was no sharp pain, no suffocating grief. Just a slow, aching realization that he was right.

You swallowed, setting your glass down on the small table beside you. “Arthur, I—”

“You don’t have to say it,” he interrupted gently. “I’ve known for a while now.” He exhaled, shaking his head with a small, wistful smile. “You know when I knew for sure?”

You stayed silent, waiting.

“That day we got back. When Charles walked away from you without saying goodbye.” His voice was steady, but there was something sad in his expression. “I saw the way you looked at him, like he had just taken the air right out of your lungs.” He gave a small, dry chuckle. “You’ve never looked at me like that.”

Your breath hitched. You wanted to protest, to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come. Because he was right.

“Arthur, I love you,” you said, and you meant it. Just not in the way you were supposed to.

“I know,” he murmured. “And I love you too. But not the way we should.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but they weren’t from heartbreak. They were from the quiet, bittersweet truth settling between you.

He reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. “You’re my best friend. And I don’t want to lose that.”

You nodded, blinking back the tears. “Me neither.”

Arthur smiled then, small but sincere. “Then let’s not.”

The two of you sat in silence for a little while longer, sipping your wine, watching the city lights flicker in the distance. And for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could finally breathe.

The transition from dating back to friends was so simple that it was confirmation that it was the right thing. You still hung out with Arthur and your other friends weekly, but it felt easier, like you weren’t pretending any longer. You knew Arthur had told Charles, and he had tried to call you, but you didn’t answer. Your fight in Greece was still fresh on your mind. With the F1 season in full swing, you never saw him at family dinners either, which was okay with you.

You took the month after the breakup to fall back in love with yourself, picking up new hobbies and going on weekend trips alone or with other friends. That one month turned to a few, and it wasn’t until after the season was over that you saw Charles again.

The Leclercs had invited your family to their annual holiday party, and this time for sure you knew he was going to be there.

“Are you nervous?” Arthur asked, scrolling through his phone, lounging on your bed while you got ready.

“Why would I be nervous?” you asked, not even bothering to look away from the mirror. You could feel his eyes roll.

“First time seeing Charles since Greece,” he commented.

“Shouldn’t this be weird for you?” you questioned. “We dated for two years, or have you already forgotten?”

“I try to forget,” he shot back with a cheeky smile. You huffed, but a smile broke through on your face as you laid against him on your bed.

“I want you to be happy,” he said softly.

“I am happy,” you insisted. “Your brother is a pain in my ass.”

“He has a right to be. I kept him away from you for two years.”

“You were exactly who I needed to be with during that time,” you said honestly. He pressed his lips against your forehead in response before pulling you off the bed.

“Time to see if you were worth the wait,” he smirked, and you shoved him into the wall, ignoring his complaints.

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived, and Arthur immediately peeled off, looking for Lorenzo. You greeted your family, chatting with your parents for a bit before you saw him.

Charles stood across the room, laughing with a group of friends. He looked devastatingly handsome in a dark suit, his hair perfectly styled. Your heart skipped a beat as his eyes met yours over the crowd. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you held each other's gaze.

Then he was moving toward you, excusing himself from his group. You felt rooted to the spot, unable to look away as he approached.

"Y/N," he said softly when he reached you. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you," you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. "You clean up pretty well yourself."

A small smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Can we talk? Somewhere private?"

You nodded, following him as he led you out to a secluded patio. The cool night air was a welcome relief from the warmth of the party inside.

“You came with Arthur?” he said, almost like a question, and you nodded.

“He’s still my best friend, Charles,” you said, amused.

Charles nodded, a hint of relief visible in his eyes. "I'm glad. I was worried things might be awkward between you two."

"It was at first," you admitted. "But we realized our friendship was too important to lose."

He took a step closer to you, his voice softening. "And what about us? Is our friendship too important to lose?"

You felt your heart rate quicken at his proximity. "I don't know, Charles. You said some pretty hurtful things in Greece."

"I know," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "And I'm sorry. I was frustrated and jealous, and I lashed out. But I meant what I said about you and Arthur not being right for each other."

"You were right," you conceded quietly. "But that doesn't mean there's anything between us."

Charles' eyes locked onto yours, intense and unwavering. He reached his hand up to your face, brushing his fingers along your cheek as he cupped your jaw. Your breath hitched at his touch, and you felt yourself subconsciously melt into him.

“Now tell me, mi amor,” he whispered. “That there isn’t anything between us.”

“Th-there isn’t anything between us,” you stuttered out, and he grinned, knowing he had you. His hand moved to the back of your head with a tighter grip, and he brought his face down, his nose almost touching yours.

“Oh yeah,” he murmured, lips lightly brushing against yours.

You stood frozen, your heart pounding in your chest as Charles' lips hovered just millimeters from yours. The tension between you was electric, crackling in the air like static. You knew you should pull away, but every fiber of your being was screaming for you to close that final gap.

"Charles," you breathed, your voice barely audible.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes were dark with desire, but there was a vulnerability there too—a question.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured. "Tell me you don't feel this too, and I'll walk away right now."

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. How could you deny what was so glaringly obvious? The electricity between you, the way your body responded to his touch, the longing that had been building for years—it was all laid bare in this moment.

Instead of speaking, you found yourself leaning in, closing that last sliver of space between you. Your lips met his in a kiss that was both soft and urgent. Charles responded immediately, one hand cupping your face while the other wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

The kiss deepened, years of pent-up passion pouring out. Your fingers tangled in his hair as his tongue swept into your mouth, igniting a fire that spread through your entire body. You gasped against his lips, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing heavily. Charles rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as if savoring the moment.

“This doesn’t mean anything is changing right now,” you said once you caught your breath. “I’ve just learned how to be independent again. I don’t want to lose it.”

“That’s fine, mon chéri,” he said genuinely. “I’ve waited a long time for you. What’s a little longer?”

He led you back inside, his hand glued to the small of your back as you rejoined Arthur, who was talking to Lorenzo. Arthur gave you an “I told you so” smirk while Lorenzo’s eyes widened at Charles' hand.

“Damn, when do I get my turn with you?” he joked, and Charles glared at him while you and Arthur laughed.

“Never,” Charles said.

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° please don’t ruin this for me

♡ a/n — for my childhood friends to lovers series!

♡ word count — 2.3k

♡ content — eita otoya x fem! reader, fem! reader, childhood friends to lovers, SPOILERS FOR the NEL arc, goes from childhood to NEL, mentions of cheating ( both otoya and reader ) , slight nsfw ( mentioned but not explicit ) , slight playboy otoya, miscommunication, longest thing i've ever written, lmk if i missed anything!

♡ synopsis — Whether you were together or not, you'd always been eita otoya's. And he had always been yours, no matter what.

The first time Otoya told someone you were dating, you were seven years old, sitting on the swings during recess, kicking your legs back and forth as he proudly made his announcement.

“We’re in love, duh,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. His hand, warm and slightly sticky from the juice box he just finished, was firmly holding yours.

You didn’t question it. Instead, you nodded along enthusiastically. “Yeah! We’re gonna get married and have a big house and eat candy for dinner every night.”

Your teacher, overhearing the conversation, sighed as she handed back your coloring pages. “That’s… nice. But please sit down now.”

It was silly. Just one of those things kids did after watching too many fairy tales and dramas.

But a week later, Otoya made a big show of breaking up with you during lunch.

“I don’t wanna marry you anymore,” he declared, arms crossed like he had thought long and hard about this decision.

You gasped, clutching your chest dramatically. “Fine, because I don’t wanna marry you either!”

The kids sitting around you both let out a collective, scandalized gasp, as if they were witnessing a tragic romance unfold before their very eyes.

You didn’t speak for the rest of lunch. Both of you sat in exaggerated silence, chewing your sandwiches in a way that made it very clear you were upset.

For about five minutes.

Then Otoya nudged your arm. “Wanna play tag?”

“…Yeah.”

And that was that.

You were still best friends, still inseparable, still attached at the hip.

That was how it always was. No matter what happened, Otoya always found his way back to you.

Until one day, he didn’t.

By the time you both entered junior high, the jokes about dating slowly faded away, replaced by real relationships.

Just never with each other.

Otoya had girlfriends now. A lot of them.

It wasn’t surprising—he was easygoing, charismatic, and could make anyone laugh. Girls naturally gravitated towards him.

What was surprising, though, was how effortlessly he let them go.

None of his relationships lasted long, but he never seemed heartbroken. If anything, his exes didn’t even seem bothered by their breakups. He’d flash them a lazy grin the next day in class, crack a joke, and just like that, everything was fine.

You never once saw him cry over a girl.

And for the first time since you’d met him, you were just his friend.

There were no more playful declarations of love, no more jokes about getting married.

Maybe you’d outgrown all of that.

Or maybe, just maybe, it had stopped feeling like a joke.

The first time you kissed Otoya, you told yourself it didn’t mean anything.

It was an accident.

Or at least, that’s what you wanted to believe.

It was late. His soccer practice had run long, and he had shown up at your house afterward, climbing through your window like he always did, flopping onto your bed like he owned the place.

You had been talking about everything and nothing at all, laughing over some dumb inside joke, when suddenly, he leaned in.

His gaze flickered to your lips for just a second before he closed the space between you, pressing his mouth to yours in a way that was soft, slow, and entirely too familiar—like he had been waiting for this moment forever.

When he pulled away, he grinned lazily, his voice just above a whisper.

“That was your first kiss, huh?”

You swallowed, trying to steady your breathing. “…Yeah.”

His expression softened. “Guess we just made a good memory together.”

That was how it started.

A kiss turned into two.

Two turned into nights spent tangled in sheets, your hands in his hair, his mouth tracing patterns against your skin.

When you finally gave yourself to him completely, he had laughed against your collarbone and murmured, “I’ll keep it safe for you.”

Good friends did this, apparently.

Good friends walked home together after his soccer practices, hands lazily intertwined.

Good friends fell asleep in the same bed, limbs tangled like it was natural.

Good friends still slept together—even when Otoya had a girlfriend.

And everyone thought you were dating.

But you weren’t.

At least, not officially.

Then one day, one of Otoya’s nameless girlfriends pulled you aside after school.

“You need to stop hanging around him so much,” she snapped, her arms crossed tightly. “It’s pathetic how you just follow him around like a lost puppy.”

You blinked, startled. “I—”

She scoffed. “You really think I don’t notice? Every girl who dates Otoya knows about you. We all know we’re just fillers until you decide you actually want him.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but nothing came out.

Because deep down, you weren’t sure she was wrong.

That night, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the weight of everything pressing down on you.

Maybe this wasn’t normal. Maybe, in trying to feel something, you had hurt people in the process.

So you stopped.

No more late-night visits. No more whispered secrets.

And strangely, Otoya didn’t stop you.

You thought maybe he’d notice. That maybe he’d say something.

But if he did, he never said a word.

And the girls beside him kept changing.

The first few days without Otoya were… strange.

You told yourself it was normal—people drifted apart all the time. This was just a natural part of growing up, right?

But the silence was loud.

There was no more tapping at your window late at night, no lazy texts asking what you were doing, no sudden arms slung over your shoulders as he teased you about some random thing.

It was quieter.

At first, you thought you were the one keeping the distance, that it was your choice. That if you ever wanted to hear from him, all you had to do was reach out.

But weeks passed, and you didn’t hear a word.

No texts. No calls.

Nothing.

Then, one afternoon, the realization came crashing down in the most mundane of ways.

You were in the school bathroom, washing your hands, when a girl burst into the stall next to you, her voice thick with frustration.

“He just left for some soccer training camp—‘Blue Lock’ or something! Didn’t even warn me,” she cried, sniffling.

Your stomach dropped.

“What?!” one of her friends gasped. “Wait—like Otoya? He’s gone?!”

The girl let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Yeah. Just poof. Didn’t even bother saying goodbye.”

Your breath caught.

The cold water from the sink ran over your fingers, but you barely felt it.

He left?

He left?

Your mind raced. There was no way that was true. Otoya wouldn’t just go without saying anything. Right?

You fumbled for your phone, hands shaking as you scrolled through your messages.

His name sat there, undisturbed, with your last conversation from months ago.

And suddenly, it hit you—

You hadn’t noticed.

He had vanished from your life, and you had been so convinced you were choosing the distance that you didn’t even realize he was already gone.

You gripped the edge of the sink, feeling sick.

This was Otoya. The boy who had been with you since childhood, the boy who was always by your side. How had you not seen it?

Had he even wanted you to notice?

The thought made your chest ache.

Because if he had, he would have said something, wouldn’t he?

And yet—he hadn’t.

He had left without a word.

Without a goodbye.

Like you didn’t matter at all.

Blue Lock was exhausting.

Physically, mentally, emotionally—it took everything out of him. But Otoya thrived in chaos, so he never let it get to him.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

But sometimes, in the rare quiet moments between matches, when the adrenaline faded and there was nothing left to distract him, he’d find himself scrolling through his phone, staring at your contact.

The urge to text you was unbearable.

Should he?

Would you even care?

He thought about the last time he saw you—the way you had started pulling away, the way you had stopped looking for him.

Had you already decided he wasn’t worth keeping around?

That thought made something bitter settle in his throat.

Maybe this was for the best.

Maybe, if you had wanted him in your life, you would have noticed he was gone.

So he locked his phone, tossed it onto his bed, and pretended it didn’t bother him.

That you didn’t bother him.

That the ache in his chest wasn’t loneliness, but just another part of the game.

And in the end, he never pressed send.

You didn’t even know why you were here.

Well. That was a lie.

You knew exactly why you were here.

It wasn’t for the game, and it sure as hell wasn’t for Japan’s future in soccer.

You just wanted to see him.

Even after everything, after months of silence, after the way he had left you behind without a second thought—

You still wanted to see him.

The moment the match started, your eyes found him instantly.

Otoya was different.

Stronger, faster, sharper.

But more than that—he belonged here.

And for the first time, you wondered if maybe this was why he never looked back.

Because he didn’t need to.

The game was intense. You barely processed the score, the plays, or the tension in the stadium. All you could do was watch him.

And then, it was over.

Your breath was unsteady as you weaved through the crowd, pushing past people, trying to make your way down to the field before you lost sight of him.

And then—

You saw him.

Standing there, laughing, his expression relaxed and carefree as he spoke to a red-haired girl.

She was smiling, leaning close.

And just like that, something inside you snapped.

You stopped in your tracks.

You shouldn’t have been surprised. Otoya had always been like this, right? Easy. Charming. He moved on from people without a second thought.

And yet, it still hurt.

Because while you had spent the last few months feeling his absence like an open wound, he didn’t even look like he missed you at all.

Your hands curled into fists.

You weren’t going to do this to yourself.

You turned on your heel and walked away, not looking back.

And this time, you swore—

You were really going to leave him behind.

Time did what it always did—it moved forward, dragging you along with it whether you wanted it to or not.

You went to university. You got good grades. You found new friends, new routines, new ways to keep yourself busy.

And somewhere along the way, you convinced yourself that you had moved on.

You weren’t the same girl who spent sleepless nights staring at her phone, hoping for a text that never came. You weren’t the same girl who walked away from that stadium feeling like she had lost something she didn’t even realize she still wanted.

You were fine.

And you had a boyfriend now.

He wasn’t Otoya—he wasn’t playful or reckless, didn’t make your heart race with a single look—but he was steady. Reliable. Safe.

And for a while, you told yourself that was enough.

But then came the nights when you found yourself alone, flipping through channels until you landed on an FC Barcha match.

And every single time—without fail—your eyes found him.

Eita Otoya.

Older now, sharper, wearing that signature smirk like it had never left his face.

He moved across the field like he owned it, like he was made for this. And watching him, you felt the same ache in your chest that you had buried for years.

You were fine.

That’s what you kept telling yourself.

But if that was true, then why did it feel like your heart stopped every time you saw him on the screen?

The night Otoya came back, it was supposed to be simple.

You had movie plans with your boyfriend. He was supposed to come over, bring takeout, sit next to you on the couch, and pretend not to notice when you inevitably got distracted by your phone halfway through.

But when the knock came, and you opened the door—

It wasn’t him.

It was Otoya.

And he didn’t say a word.

He just stepped inside, grabbed your face, and kissed you.

Your heart stopped.

Your mind screamed at you to push him away, to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing—

But your body betrayed you.

Your fingers curled into his jacket, pulling him closer as his hands found your waist. He kissed you like he had been starving for it, like he was trying to make up for every lost second, every wasted moment spent apart.

And you let him.

You kissed him back like he was oxygen, like you had spent years trying to convince yourself you didn’t need him—only to realize, in this moment, that you still did.

That you always did.

“I missed you,” he murmured against your lips, his forehead resting against yours. His voice was lower now, rougher, like he had spent years trying not to say those words. “You don’t even know how much.”

You felt dizzy.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

But before you could say anything, before you could even think—

“What the fuck is this?”

You froze.

Otoya’s lips left yours, his gaze flicking over your shoulder.

And there, standing in the open doorway, was your boyfriend.

The takeout bag in his hand was slipping, forgotten, as his face twisted into something between disbelief and rage.

“What the fuck, Y/N?”

Your stomach dropped.

You hadn’t even heard him come in.

Otoya didn’t move.

Didn’t look guilty.

Didn’t even seem bothered.

He just blinked lazily, like he was barely interested in the whole situation, and then—

With absolutely no hesitation—

He walked to the door and shut it.

Right in your boyfriend’s face.

Then, just as easily, he turned back to you, smirking.

“You don’t need him,” he murmured, brushing his fingers over your jaw. “You have me now.”

And when he kissed you again, you let him.

Because the truth was—

You had always been his.

slight comeback but really just bc i had to get this out of my brain

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[pinkolve]

A Spencer Reid Fanfiction

-An Unexpected Reunion-

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Summary: You haven't seen your ex-boyfriend Spencer in three years, after splitting up because of his job. What happens when you finally see the same ex-boyfriend in the bullpen of your own new job?

Genre: Fluff, angst if you squint

CW: Implied plus size!reader, fem!reader, small self-deprecating comment from reader about her body, use of y/n, first person point of view....I think that's it!

Word Count: Like 750, it's very short

A/N: Hello again! I tried my best with this one but it was a little rushed, so some things may not add up completely. But, I hope you enjoy it anyways!

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

“Hey…” I whispered, my breath still uneven. 

“Hi.” Spencer replied, his breath also heavy. We stared at each other for a few moments, I don’t know how much time actually passed by. His eyes were enchanting, I hadn’t seen them in so long. Before I had time to even take a breath, he lunged towards me and connected our lips. I forgot just how soft his lips were, and how perfectly they fit against my own…

***

“So this ex-boyfriend of yours…” Penny started, swallowing a large bite of her sandwich. “You haven’t talked to him in three years?” 

“Yup.” I respond, taking a bite from my own sandwich. We had been on a lunch break for fifteen minutes now, mainly gossiping instead of eating. Unfortunately, we had gotten to my side of the gossip. 

“Why? Why would you two even break up? You obviously still love each other!” Penny almost spit bread from her mouth as she yelled. 

“Well, I still love him. For all we know, he has a much hotter and skinnier girlfriend now.” I chuckle self-deprecatingly. I sit up from my own desk chair and walk over to throw my wrapper in the garbage. 

“Don’t you dare say that!” Penny chokes a little. She coughs and finally swallows. “You are so sexy! I can’t believe you don’t see it!” 

“Sorry, Pen.” I smile. She shakes her head at me before turning around to her desk. She looks down and gasps loudly. 

“Oh my god!” 

“What?” I asked nervously. I immediately ran to her side to see what she was looking at. 

“This case file! I was supposed to get it to Hotch like…” She checked the time on one of her monitors. “Twenty minutes ago?!” She grabbed the paper with one hand, shoving it into mine. “Please run this up to him! I have mayo all over my hands!” I shake my head in overstimulation. 

“Okay, okay! I’m going!” I dash out the door without even bothering to close it behind me. I run as fast as I can in four inch wedges, to the elevator. 

“Hotch!” I yell as I finally enter the bullpen. He looks up from his watch and spots me. I climb up the stairs to his office and hand him the file, heaving as I do so. “Sorry.” I take a deep breath. “Penny was…Eating and forgot so…Brought it here for ya.” 

“Thank you, y/n.” He smiles and pats me on the back gently. “You alright?” 

“Yes, yeah. It was just…Extremely hard to run here in heels.” I chuckle and he lets out a breathy laugh. 

“Well, thank you again.” He turns to the bullpen and calls his team into the conference room. I notice a few people stand and as I finally turn around I lock eyes with a man. One who looks…Oddly familiar. His eyes are the same puppy dog brown that I remember, and they practically sparkle. I can’t tear myself away, I haven’t been able to see these gorgeous eyes in years.

“Y/n?” I turn at the sound of my name, looking back at Hotch. “Are you okay?” I shake my head. 

“Yes! Yeah, I’m sorry!” I look back at those enchanting puppy dog eyes one more time before speeding out the door. I run right past the elevator, going down the stairs as fast as I physically can. If he was going to go after me, I wanted to get away as fast as possible. I didn’t know what the fuck I was going to say to him, especially if he did in fact have a new girlfriend. 

I swerved around a corner and ran into Penny and mine’s office, slamming the door shut behind me. 

“What the-!” Penny spins in her chair. The minute she sees the horrified look on my face she runs to my side. “What the hell happened?!” 

“I just saw…” I heave out a wheezy breath. “My ex-boyfriend.” Penny’s face lights up. 

“Your ex-boyfriend works here?!” 

“Apparently!” 

“Who the hell is he?!” 

“His name’s Spencer.” I take another long breath. “Spencer Reid.” Penny’s face goes white. 

“Your ex-boyfriend is Spencer Reid?!” She looks like she’s ready to pass out. Not even a second later, an eager knock lands on the door I’m leaning against. I jump away from it, my eyes wide. Penny looks at me for a moment before reaching for the door handle. 

“No, Pen! It might be him!” 

“Exactly!” She pulls the door open quickly, revealing his face to me once again. 

“Hey…” I whispered, my breath still uneven.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

[mintyys-blog]

avengers x nurse! reader: Nurse Knows Best

WARNINGS: none

The Avengers were like a group of overgrown kids who happened to have superpowers, and as their designated nurse, it was your job to keep them in one piece—not that they ever made it easy for you.

You’d worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. long enough to know that most agents had a tendency to push themselves too hard, but the Avengers? They were on a whole other level. It didn’t matter if they had a broken rib, a twisted ankle, or a mild concussion; they’d brush it off like it was nothing. And every time, you were there to scold them.

The med bay was bustling after a mission gone sideways. You stood with your hands on your hips, surveying the chaos as various members of the team wandered in, clearly worse for wear.

“Okay,” you said loudly, clapping your hands to get their attention. “Everyone who’s injured, sit down and let me take a look at you. No exceptions.”

Tony Stark was the first to protest, of course. “I’m fine, Nurse Killjoy. It’s just a scratch.”

“A scratch?” You raised an eyebrow, pointing at the deep gash on his arm that was still bleeding. “Sit. Now.”

Tony rolled his eyes but obeyed, muttering under his breath about bossy nurses.

Next up was Clint, who was cradling his wrist. “I don’t need—”

“Don’t even start, Barton. Sit.”

He sighed dramatically but plopped down in the nearest chair.

Steve Rogers walked in next, limping slightly but trying to hide it. You immediately spotted the blood seeping through his suit at his side.

“Captain Rogers,” you said, narrowing your eyes.

“I’m fine,” he said automatically, his voice calm and reassuring.

“Uh-huh. And that’s why you’re leaking blood all over my floor.”

Steve looked down, as if noticing the injury for the first time. “It’s not that bad.”

“Sit down before I make you,” you said firmly, pointing to an empty bed.

His lips twitched like he wanted to argue, but he gave in, sitting with a sheepish smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

Natasha was the only one who didn’t fight you. She sat quietly on the edge of a cot, holding a cold pack to her shoulder.

“Thank you for not arguing,” you said as you passed by.

She smirked. “Why would I? You’re the only one here who scares Steve.”

“Nat!” Steve protested from his bed.

Natasha just laughed, winking at you.

Bruce Banner was next, looking drained but otherwise uninjured. You handed him a bottle of water and told him to sit and rest, which he did without complaint.

“Where’s Thor?” you asked.

Bruce sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Last I saw, he was outside arguing with some agents about carrying Mjölnir into the med bay.”

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Of course he is.”

As if on cue, Thor burst through the doors, looking as proud as ever despite the torn sleeve of his armor revealing a nasty gash on his bicep. Mjölnir dangled from his hand as if it were a paperweight.

“Lady Y/N!” Thor greeted you with his usual booming enthusiasm. “Fear not, for I am unscathed!”

You raised an eyebrow, gesturing to his arm. “And what’s that?”

Thor glanced at the wound as if noticing it for the first time. “A mere trifle! This is nothing for the God of Thunder.”

“Thor, sit down before you bleed all over my med bay,” you said, pointing to an open chair.

“But—”

“Now.”

Thor blinked, clearly unused to being bossed around, but when Natasha smirked at him from her cot, he sighed dramatically and sat down. “Very well, Lady Y/N. I shall allow you to tend to this insignificant injury.”

By the time everyone was settled and you’d cleaned, stitched, or bandaged them up, you were exhausted. But that didn’t stop you from giving them your usual lecture.

“You all need to start taking better care of yourselves,” you said, crossing your arms as you stood in the middle of the room. “You’re not invincible, no matter how much you act like it.”

“Technically, I kind of am,” Tony said, waving his hand. “You know, with the suit and all.”

You shot him a glare. “Even you, Stark. You have to rest and recover like everyone else.”

“I do rest,” Tony said defensively.

“Falling asleep at your desk doesn’t count.”

Natasha chuckled quietly while Steve looked at you with an apologetic smile. “You’re right,” he said, surprising everyone by agreeing. “We’ll do better.”

“Speak for yourself,” Clint muttered, earning a sharp look from you.

“You will do better,” you said, your tone leaving no room for argument.

Once the med bay had cleared out and everyone was patched up, Steve lingered behind, watching as you cleaned up your supplies.

“You’re good at what you do,” he said, his voice warm.

You glanced at him, softening slightly. “Thanks. Someone has to keep you all alive.”

He chuckled, leaning against the counter. “We don’t make it easy, do we?”

“No, you don’t,” you said with a smile. “But I guess I can’t blame you. You’re trying to save the world, after all.”

Steve tilted his head, studying you. “Still, we owe you a lot. I don’t think we say that enough.”

Your cheeks warmed at his sincerity. “You just did, so… thank you.”

He gave you a small nod before turning to leave, but not before adding, “Don’t work too hard, Nurse Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile. “Right back at you, Captain.”

A few days later, they were off on another mission. When they returned, battered but victorious, you were there, hands on your hips and ready to scold them all over again.

But this time, as they filed into the med bay, Steve caught your eye and gave you a sheepish smile.

“We tried to take it easy,” he said.

You sighed, shaking your head with a small laugh. “Sure you did.”

And despite their stubbornness, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride for being the one to keep this chaotic, mismatched family in one piece.

The Avengers were many things—heroes, legends, earth’s mightiest—but they were also, without a doubt, the biggest pains in your life. While you loved them (in a professional sense, you often reminded yourself), there were days when they seemed hell-bent on driving you to the brink of insanity.

It started innocently enough. You’d handed Clint an ice pack for his sprained wrist, warning him to use it and not to get into any trouble while waiting for you to finish with Tony.

Apparently, “trouble” was Clint’s middle name.

By the time you turned around, he was using the ice pack as a projectile, aiming it at Thor’s head.

“Barton!” you shouted, but it was too late.

Thor caught the ice pack midair and grinned like a child who’d just been handed a toy. “A fine game, indeed!”

Before you knew it, Thor had launched it back at Clint, narrowly missing your head in the process.

“Guys, stop—”

Steve walked in at the worst possible moment, only to get hit square in the chest by the ice pack. He froze, blinking in confusion, before turning his disapproving gaze on Clint.

“It wasn’t me!” Clint said, pointing at Thor.

“I’m ending this now!” you barked, snatching the ice pack off the floor and holding it like a grenade.

Everyone froze, the room dead silent.

“Good,” you said, your tone clipped. “Now, sit down, or I swear I’ll superglue all of you to the med bay chairs.”

Tony Stark’s caffeine addiction was well-documented. He was rarely seen without a coffee cup in hand, and he had a bad habit of wandering into your office to steal your coffee whenever his ran out.

You’d warned him repeatedly. But today was the day you finally snapped.

“Tony, I swear to everything holy, if you take my coffee one more time—”

“I’m not taking it,” Tony interrupted, already mid-sip.

You glared at him, debating whether it was worth the potential HR complaint to tackle him. “That’s literally my mug, Stark.”

“Is it, though?” he quipped, holding it up to inspect the “World’s Okayest Nurse” lettering you’d bought as a joke.

“Yes, it is!”

Natasha strolled in, took one look at your murderous expression, and immediately turned on her heel. “Nope. Not my problem.”

Later that day, you found a brand-new espresso machine in your office with a note that read, “Bribes work, right? - T”

You should’ve known better than to challenge Thor, but you were running on two hours of sleep, and logic had abandoned you.

“Thor, please stop leaving Mjölnir on the exam tables,” you said for the third time that day. “I can’t move it, and I’m not calling you every five minutes to come and get it.”

“It is perfectly safe where it lies,” Thor said proudly, arms crossed.

“It’s not safe for me,” you shot back. “I’m not worthy, remember?”

Thor grinned. “Perhaps you underestimate yourself, Lady Y/N. You should try lifting it.”

Your eye twitched. “Thor, I don’t have time for this.”

He ignored you, stepping back and gesturing dramatically. “Go on. Prove yourself worthy.”

With a deep sigh, you grabbed the handle and pulled with all your might. Nothing happened, of course.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, grabbing a clipboard and swatting his arm with it.

Thor just laughed, retrieving Mjölnir like it weighed nothing and promising, “I shall endeavor to do better.”

He didn’t.

Bucky had a habit of sneaking up on people, but today, he outdid himself.

You were focused on updating patient files when a voice spoke from directly behind you:

“Whatcha doing?”

You screamed loud enough to send papers flying everywhere.

“BUCKY!”

“Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t sound remotely sorry. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Like hell you didn’t!” you snapped, clutching your chest. “Do you even know how jumpy I am?”

“Natasha bet me ten bucks I couldn’t make you scream,” he admitted with a shrug.

From the hallway, Natasha’s voice called out, “Worth every penny!”

The final straw came when you found Steve Rogers—America’s golden boy—eating chocolate pudding out of a biohazard container in the lab.

“Steve. What are you doing?” you asked, your voice unnervingly calm.

He froze, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Uh… eating pudding?”

“In a biohazard container?”

Steve frowned, staring at the container like it had betrayed him. “It was in the fridge. I thought it was clean.”

You closed your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Steve, that’s for medical samples. It literally says ‘Biohazard’ on the side.”

He looked so horrified and embarrassed that you almost felt bad for yelling at him. Almost.

“I… should probably stop eating this,” he said quietly, setting the container down.

“Ya think?” you muttered.

By the end of the week, you were exhausted. You collapsed into your chair in the break room, head in your hands, wondering how you were still sane.

Natasha walked in, holding a cup of coffee. She placed it in front of you without a word.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, sipping it gratefully.

“Don’t let them get to you,” she said with a smirk. “They’re idiots, but they’re our idiots.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “That’s the only reason I haven’t quit yet.”

From the hallway, you heard Tony shout, “Who used my arc reactor as a paperweight?”

You groaned, already bracing yourself for the next round of chaos.

[garciasgirl]

Secret Sunshine: Part 2 | Spencer Reid x Reader ⋆˚࿔

genre: yeah..fluff again!!!

summary: spencer and reader leave the bar together. originally the plan was just to drive reader home…but, that doesn’t end up happening !!

content: sunshine!reader, protective!spencer, very minimal swearing..like one swear word, reader lives in less than desirable conditions, spencer does not like that, reader is a people pleaser if you squint hard enough, super cute, use of nicknames, kissing, part 2!!

notes: part 2!!! thank you all so much for the love on secret sunshine :(( this is my first time writing a fic and im so happy yall enjoyed it!! I hope you cuties love part 2 just as much as I do <33

word count: 1.6k

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ────

spencer’s hand in yours felt like heaven. truly. and now, you were in his car and he was driving you to your apartment. your hands still interlocked, his resting on top yours. The intertwined hands resting on your thigh. for a moment, you questioned if you were moving too fast. Sure, it’s been ten years. but also, spencer was always apart of your life, whether he was physically there or not. your eyes were glued to him, deep with admiration, as your glance slowly moved over the sharp curve of his face.

a ghost of a smile rested on spencer’s lips, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he glanced over at you, your eyes locking. he turned his focus back to the road, one hand on the steering wheel while the other lazily rested on your outer thigh, with your much smaller hand curled into his. you noticed a familiar street, “oh, turn here please..” you said softly, in which spencer did. you were thankful that he was driving you home, he insisted. you weren’t drunk, maybe a bit tipsy. It was a sweet gesture, but you were afraid. afraid of him seeing your apartment. it wasn’t the most glamorous. you had your dream job, and you loved it, but it didn’t make nearly enough money. you lived in a small room that you rented out from some guy. he’s an ass, but at least you have a room. you couldn’t pay for a good room, so, yours was quite dingy. the windows had small cracks throughout, the walls were not stable, and worst of all, absolutely no heat. you suffered each night, especially all cold winter nights like tonight. the only solution was bundling up and having massive amounts of blankets.

after being stuck in your thoughts for a while, you drift back to reality. where you notice that you have arrived at your apartment. “thank you, spencer, for driving me home.” you say kindly, turning to him. “im so glad I finally saw you again, you were gone for too long..” a smile slowly creeps up on his face, “it has, sunshine. I missed you.” His voice is so low, it’s like you can feel it radiating inside your chest. you laughed softly, looking down, “I missed you so much more, you have no idea..” you smile, looking back at him. You meet his gaze, his eyes trained on you. He doesn’t say anything, just simply looks at you. you bite your lip nervously, your arm resting on armrest, your body leaned in slightly, closer to him. he reaches up, brushing your bottom lip, making your teeth release it. he shakes his head slightly, his hand lingering under your lip. “don’t do that..” he mumbles, his voice all gravely and low.

your eyes widen slightly at the sudden and intimate touch, which amuses spencer, delight swirling in his eyes. he points his head towards your room, “let me walk you to your room?” he asks, unbuckling his seatbelt, then leaning over to unubuckle yours. Internally, you sigh. You knew he was going to ask, but you really didn’t want him to see your apartment, it was humiliating. Regardless of your feelings and anxiety, you hum softly in agreement. It takes about seven seconds to get to the door, you pull out your keys, unlocking the door. A rush of cold comes out of your room, you shiver at the feeling. Spencer notices the cold, he also notices your rundown room. his hand finds its way on the side of the doorway, his head peaks in.

“y/n, why is your room like this?” He looks down at you. he wasn’t judging, he was worried. his tone and his eyes showed that. His eyes squinted together, and left hand pushed through his hair, in a stressed manner. you shrug, pathetically. “all I can afford, you know?” he sputters, “no, y/n, I don’t know.. why? why would you stay here..” you go to answer but he continues, “I understand not having money for a luxurious apartment, but god, sunshine, it’s freezing in here, and, what about electricity?” you shake your head, you also didn’t have any of that. he sighs, rubbing his jaw a bit harshly. you curl into yourself slightly, “are you..mad? Im sorry..” his eyes widen slightly and he shakes his head, a gentle hand coming to caress the side of your face. “Mad? Sunshine, no, or course not. You didn’t do anything wrong..you just deserve so much better.”

Spencer is still looking at the room, noticing everything wrong with it. this is what worried you, you didn’t like being judged and you were afraid he was. when you looked at Spencer’s face is seemed like there was a hint of sadness in his eyes, he scanned the room, his heart breaking more and more each second. “im sorry you have to see this..” you mutter, looking down at your feet. He shakes his head, his fingers coming underneath your chin, so that you were looking in his eyes. however your glance drifted away every now and then. He turned your face more so that you were looking at him. “hey..sweet girl, look at me.” you do, not because you want to, but his voice was firm enough to make you. his eyes soften, he looks almost desperate. “you have nothing to apologize for, okay? I just want you to be safe, happy, and comfortable. you deserve that.” his words melt you into a puddle, you swear you feel the tears gather in your eyes but you blink them away. the saddened look on your face drives Spencer crazy. he would do anything and everything to make sure you never felt sad or alone ever again. and he will do everything in his power to make it happen.

At that, he grabs your hand, bringing you back to his car, you don’t even register anything until a few seconds later. “huh, spencer? where are we going..” he open the passenger door, and you reluctantly sit inside, he buckles the seat for you. “My apartment.” He responds, in the most casual tone you have ever heard from him. After he gets in the car after you, you furrow your eyebrows “your apartment?” He nods, “you’re insane if you think im letting you freeze in that room.” He says, his voice completely serious. A tone that leaves no room for argument. A couple minutes later, the two of you arrive at Spencer’s apartment. Spencer has lived what? No more than seven minutes from you all this time, and you never knew. Spencer grabs your hand lightly when you both get out of the car, and he doesn’t let go until the both of you are in his apartment. He kicks off his shoes, you mirror him.

you look around his apartment, it’s very cozy, the curtains are shut, and there are some lamps on for light. It’s warm, and it smells nice, like Spencer. A combination of fresh laundry, old books, and a light touch of bergamot and lavender. It was intoxicating. Spencer looked down at you, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. He bends down, meeting your height. “Go take a shower, love, you’re freezing.” Love, well that was a new one..and it made your brain spin. “Um…I don’t have any clothes?” You responded, it was true, you had nothing to change into. “You can pick out something from my closet, don’t worry.” So you did, a t-shirt that was way too big on you and sweatpants that were even bigger. After fifteen minutes you came out of the shower, dressed in Spencer’s clothes and drying you wet hair. He looked up from his bed, a grin settling on his lips. “you look beautiful.” blush creeped up from your neck to your face. you laughed “thank you, spence, but I don’t look my best right now..” he shrugs “it doesn’t matter, you’re always beautiful.”

it was just a small compliment, and yet, you found your breath getting stuck in your chest. your heart started to race and your breathing changed, it was quicker. a light smirk twisted its way on to Spencer’s lips. He stood, walking towards you, towering over you. He leaned down, his mouth meeting the side of your ear “I love making you blush..” you gasp softly. Spencer pulls his face back, so that his face is right in front of yours, he stares at you, he looks like he’s debating something. And then, his lips catch yours in a gentle kiss. His lips pressed softly against yours, as he holds your face in his hands. You melt into him, your arms wrapping loosely around his neck. you pull away from the kiss, your faces still close together. Spencer’s hands trail down to your waist and they rest there. smiles and light kisses happen over and over.

your hands intertwined in Spencer’s hair make him even more desperate to kiss you. He ducks back down, catching your lips in another kiss. This time; he’s more firm, his lips moving more passionately. He’s desperate for your touch. His warm hands roamed up and down your sides, sending shivers down your spine. his kiss was breathtaking. In that moment, Spencer decided he didn’t need anything else. Everything could be taken away from his but as long as he had you, he was set. In that moment, you decided you were now a lover of the mint flavor. Considering Spencer’s mint toothpaste was all you could, and it flooded your mind and made your knees weaken.

for the rest of the night, you spend it in spencer’s bed, his arms wrapped around you and your head tucked into his chest. as the night goes on, you fall asleep, spencer tracing feather light patterns on your arm, his other hand in your hair, playing with it softly. his touch and presence alone relaxes you, so much that it puts you to sleep. you don’t understand how the universe led him back to you, all you know is that you are so very grateful it did.

[saveyourblood]

Pretty Boy - Ch 16 (Buddie x Reader)

Summary: Buck’s hands trail down to your hands. He takes his in yours. “Do you love him?” “Buck.” “I know you love me,” Buck continues, playing with your fingers. “You know I love you. But I’m asking if you love him.” The one where you’re an advanced paramedic, Buck and Eddie are firefighters, and you think you might be in love with both of them.

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10 | Ch 11 | Ch 12 | Ch 13 | Ch 14 | Ch 15

Word Count: 3.3k Warnings: *Are spoilers, listed at the bottom*

Finding a last-minute flight to Seattle was hard — finding four tickets on said flight was even harder. When you explained the circumstances to the boys, they insisted on joining you. Once Chris heard about it, he wasn’t about to take no for an answer either. He’s never seen snow, and when Eddie mentioned that Seattle probably has snow on the ground right now, his eyes lit up. You couldn’t take that joy away from him.

So, the four of you are on a plane. Chris is asleep in his window seat, his head on Buck’s shoulder. Buck is resting his head on top of Chris’s. His eyes are closed, but you don’t think he’s fully asleep yet since he isn't snoring.

You and Eddie took the aisle seats. He’s in the middle while you’re seated on the end. The flight won’t be long, so you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep even if you wanted to.

You bob your knee up and down anxiously as you gnaw on your index finger’s nail. Eddie sets a hand on your knee, making it still.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks softly.

You move your hand from your mouth as you look over, forcing a small smile. “Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.”

“When’s the last time you talked to him?”

You consider this. “Eight years? No, nine. It was a few weeks after I turned eighteen.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That I was moving to LA for paramedic school,” you say. “He hasn’t reached out since before yesterday. Well, technically he didn’t even reach out then; it was a doctor who called me. Whatever.”

Eddie squeezes your knee. “What are you gonna say when you see him?”

You thought about that question for the rest of the flight. You thought about it as you walked through the airport, Buck holding your hand and Eddie keeping his arm around your shoulders. You thought about it for the entire car ride, up until Eddie turned onto South King Street.

As Eddie parks the car, your mind goes quiet — so quiet that you can hear a ringing sound. You wonder where the sound is coming from and if everyone else can hear it, too. You wonder if silence doesn’t actually exist; maybe this is what your head sounds like when it’s empty.

The sound of your door opening replaces the ringing.

Buck leans his head down, resting one hand on the car door and the other on the frame. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

You step into the night air, and the sudden chill makes you breathe a little deeper. It’s been almost a decade since you spent the winter in Seattle, and it’s as cold as you remember. It’s nice to know that some things never change.

As you walk up the stairs to your childhood home, you think maybe nothing has changed since you were last here. The handrails are still rotting, and the third step still creaks when anyone uses it. When you look to your left, you still see the Vietnamese Buddhist temple painted such bright yellow that it glows, even at night. You put the key in the lock, and you still have to jiggle it back and forth before the door opens.

Of course your father hasn’t changed the locks.

You open the door, flip on the light, and are almost overwhelmed by the sameness. You step onto familiar white kitchen tiles that have been stained creme by dirt and time. You drop your bag onto the foldable table in the center — it isn’t the one you grew up sitting at, but it’s close enough. There are still only two chairs surrounding it; you never needed any more.

“It’s… nice,” Buck eventually says. “Very homey,” Eddie agrees.

You snort out a laugh. “Yeah, something like that.”

The nice thing about South King Street is that it’s a stone-throw away from the Chinatown-International District, which is home to some of the best Chinese restaurants you’ve ever been to. You send the boys to get some takeout, and you tell them it doesn’t matter which one they pick because any restaurant open this late is bound to be good. They come back half an hour later with enough dim sum to feed a small army.

The three of you eat at the table wordlessly. You and Eddie occupy the two chairs while Buck stands, rocking back and forth a little as he eats.

Someone knocks at the door. The boys’ eyes go from the door, then to you. You shrug.

Buck frowns as he sets his plate down, cautiously approaching the door. He opens the sliding peephole, then the door. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, you aren’t… sorry, I thought I saw someone who… Who are you? You don’t live here, do you?”

You’d know that voice anywhere. Your heart starts to dance at the sound. Still, your brain is hesitant to believe it’s really her.

You push away from the table, approaching Buck. Your heart stops dancing and instead marches in painful succession.

She doesn’t look much older. Her hair is longer but still black in color. Her hips jut out a little more, but her frame is still small. Most of her, like all of your surroundings, stayed the same. Her face is still perfectly smooth, and her monolid eyes are as big and full of life as ever.

“Linh?” you breathe out.

“Oh my god, it is you!”

You pull her into one of the tightest hugs of your life.

“I wasn’t sure it was you,” She laughs wetly into your shoulder. “God, you look so different.”

You squeeze her a little tighter. “Yeah, you too.”

The four of you move to the living room, mostly because it has a more appropriate seating arrangement. You and Linh are on the couch while Eddie sits in the armchair. Buck took one of the chairs from the kitchen and placed it next to Eddie’s.

“You know, Buck, when you opened the door, I really thought you might be the owner,” Linh explains with a chuckle. “I thought we might finally be getting new neighbors.”

“So you never moved out?” you ask.

The Lais were your next-door neighbors growing up. Tho and Chi Lai had two children, Nhat and Linh. Nhat is a few years older than you, and Linh is the same age. You attended Leschi Elementary School, then Washington Middle School, and eventually Garfield High School together, often in the same classes. It’s like everywhere you went, Linh followed, and vice versa.

Looking back, it’s kind of incredible the two of you were friends. On the surface, the two of you have nothing in common. You’re an only child, and she isn’t. She has a pair of loving parents, and you have a singular absent one. Her family always ate dinner together, and you were lucky if your dad remembered to cook.

Tho and Chi picked up on your living situation quickly. When you were five, you once braved the cold in two sweatshirts since you no longer had a winter jacket that fit. They talked to Linh about it in Vietnamese, so you had no idea what they were asking; all you knew was that you started spending a lot more time at the Lai house after that.

The Lais weren’t rich by any means: Tho worked whatever blue-collar job he could find, and Chi was a teacher at the elementary school. They also took care of Tho’s father, who was a refugee from the Vietnam War. He lived with them in Seattle from 1975 until he died in the early 2010s when you and Linh were in high school. Still, they made you feel welcomed and loved. Eventually, they became your family.

“No, I never moved out,” Linh confirms. “I got my bachelor’s in Early Childhood Education from the UW. I work at Leschi, actually.”

You smile. “You became a teacher. Just like your mom.”

Linh smiles back as she nods.

“How is she doing, by the way? How are both your parents?”

Linh’s smile falters. “My, uh… my dad died two years ago. He had a stroke.”

“Oh, Linh,” you say sadly, taking her hand, “I’m so sorry.”

You almost say something about wishing she had called. You stop yourself when you remember that you could have called, too.

“You said you thought you were getting new neighbors,” Buck interjects softly.

“Yeah,” Linh nods, wiping her eyes. “I haven’t seen Roy in a few months; I thought he was finally selling the house.”

You swallow, pursing your lips together. Linh squeezes your hand, which makes you look at her.

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Linh asks. “You’re here for him.”

You sigh, pinching the skin between your eyebrows. “He’s been inpatient at Stillwater for the past seven weeks. Last night, they transferred him to the ICU. Liver Failure. I’m visiting tomorrow.”

Linh moves her hand to your back. “I’m sorry.”

You laugh a little. “He’s encephalopathic, but he keeps saying my name, apparently. He asks anyone who enters the room where his daughter is. I’m not even sure how, but they finally got my phone number. He doesn’t have advanced directives, and Washington is a next of kin state, so… here I am.”

“How long?”

Linh doesn’t have to be specific: you know exactly what she’s asking.

“I haven’t talked to the doctors yet, but… months, if that.”

The room goes quiet. You start to hear that ringing sound again. It stops when Linh slaps her hands on her thighs.

“Well, you know what this means,” She says.

You watch Linh walk through the kitchen and out the front door. Buck and Eddie look to you, dumbfounded.

“Will she be back?” Eddie asks, pointing towards the door.

You chuckle. “Oh, she’ll be back.”

Linh returns with four bottles of Sake. They’re the 2 gō size, meaning each one is two servings. She lines up the bottles on the kitchen table.

“I had just enough for everyone to get their own bottle,” Linh says, cracking open the first bottle. “We’re keeping the tradition alive.”

Buck raises his eyebrows. “Tradition?”

You smile, standing up and approaching the island. “When a major life event is about to happen, Linh and I get drunk on Sake. It started when we were 16, and her grandfather took a turn for the worse; we guilted her brother into buying us Sake at the Chinese supermarket. Because we were kids and alcohol naive, we didn’t realize we each drank a two-serving bottle until we were already drunk.”

“We did it again when you were rejected by Tacoma’s paramedic academy,” Linh points out, “and when I got into UW.”

“The last time we did it was before I left for LA,” you tell the boys. You look back at your friend. “I can’t get drunk off Sake tonight.”

“Oh, of course you can,” Linh counters. “Who cares if you show up to the hospital hungover? I mean, it would be a little ironic, considering your father’s condition and all, but…”

“No, I mean I can’t drink anything right now,” you continue.

Linh’s eyes widen. “You’re not…”

“I am.”

“Shut up!”

You laugh.

“Well… Fuck!” She laughs, scooting two bottles towards Eddie and Buck. “I guess we’ll have to pick up the slack tonight, boys.”

It’s weird being the only sober person in this situation.

Everyone is at least a drink and a half in, and it’s definitely showing. The boys can handle their alcohol, so the signs of their intoxication are subtle. Buck always gets super chatty when he’s drunk; he’ll talk about whatever topic springs to his mind. Meanwhile, Eddie gets handsy, so some part of him is touching Buck at all times,.

Buck is sitting on the floor in front of Eddie, who’s still in the chair. He and Linh are in the middle of a lively discussion about Buddhism. Meanwhile, Eddie’s hands aimlessly trace Buck's shoulders up and down.

“So you two are a thing, right?” Linh asks out of nowhere.

That’s how you know Linh is drunk: she has no filter.

Eddie’s hands stop moving, but they don’t retreat. Meanwhile, Buck stares at you.

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie eventually answers after clearing his throat. “We’re together.”

The three of you came up with a deal awhile back — in social settings, if someone asked if any two of you were a couple, the answer would always be ‘yes.’ It didn’t matter if the configuration was you and Buck or you and Eddie or Eddie and Buck. Overall, it’s a good plan. You just never anticipated using it in a setting like this.

“Sweet,” Linh says with a nod. She cocks her head towards you. “Then who’s your baby daddy?”

You choke on your glass of water.

“What?! It’s a fair question!”

Your cough turns into a laugh as you set down your glass of water. “Yeah, it’s fair.”

You look at Buck, then Eddie, then at Linh. It’s not a big deal. It’s not like you’re even friends anymore, not really: she’s a part of your past that’s come to life. The second you leave, she’ll go back to being nothing more than a picture in a frame. It’s sad, but it’s just the way it is. She’s one of the two things keeping you connected to Seattle. The other thing is dying in a hospital bed. You’ve enjoyed seeing her again, but you’ve gone almost a decade without her. When she becomes your only tie to this city, it won’t be enough to pull you back.

So, you should probably just tell her the truth.

“Actually, um, I don’t know,” you say. “It’s one of two people.”

She raises her eyebrows. “How’d you narrow it down?”

You jerk your chin towards the other two people in the room. “It’s one of them.”

Linh looks at them, then at you, her mouth agape. “No shit! LA must’ve rubbed off on you.” She takes another sip of Sake, her face wincing before softening. “Are you happy?”

An involuntary smile crosses your face. “For probably the first time in my life.”

Linh went home around midnight, and the boys passed out somewhere around 2:30 in the morning. The three of you are crammed onto the pull-out sofa; you refused to sleep in your father’s bed, as did both Eddie and Buck. You tried to get some sleep, but between the uncomfortable mattress and your racing thoughts, it was impossible.

You left before everyone woke up. Buck and Eddie were going to come with you, but you thought it would be easier to do this on your own. Well, it won’t be easier , but you thought it would be for the best.

You’re standing outside of the room. The sliding glass door is slightly open, so you can hear some random beeping from inside. You can see your father’s feet at the edge of the bed, covered by a sheet.

You take a deep breath and step inside.

The first thing you notice is the smell. It’s sour and acidic and completely overwhelming. You’re used to offensive smells as a paramedic, but between the change of setting and your pregnancy hormones, it takes everything in you not to gag. Your eyes meet the offender — a fecal containment device hanging on the end of the bed. A literal bag of shit.

How fitting.

Your eyes trail up. He’s tucked under the sheet up until his abdomen, which is so rounded that it almost looks fake. His arms are out, propped up under pillows. You notice how yellow they are; his skin looks like a fucking highlighter.

You finally look at his face. He looks… old. Older than he’s supposed to. His face is the same hue of jaundice as his arms and probably the rest of his body. There’s a massive tube taped into one of his nostrils while a massive nasal cannula sits in both. His eyes are closed, but his chest heaves like he’s struggling to breathe.

“Hey dad,” you say quietly.

He doesn’t respond. He probably doesn’t even realize you’re in the room. Still, you pull up a chair.

“I became a paramedic,” you continue. “I’ve been one for… shit, 5 years now? Oh, and I’m in nursing school. I can take the boards in a year. I’m still not sure what I want to do with it. I always wanted to be a flight nurse, but… my friend was in the ICU last year, and I thought maybe I could do it. Now that I’m back in one, though… I don’t know.”

Your father still doesn’t say anything. He keeps breathing heavily, his head occasionally shaking from side to side. You notice that his hands occasionally flap up and down — asterixis, or ‘liver flap.’ You remember hearing about it in a lecture recently. It’s a sign of liver failure. And, based on his neurological status, you’re guessing it’s pretty advanced.

“You ruined me,” you whisper. “For a long time, you ruined me. I felt like I didn’t know how to be a person. I’m one now, though. I became a person. I became something . I’m someone’s girlfriend, and I’m… going to be someone’s mother. And being a parent scares the shit out of me because I never had a good one. All I know is how to be a daughter. A daughter without parents. I don’t know if I was always a good daughter, but… I’m gonna be one now.”

You hear a knock on the door. A woman in scrubs smiles. “Hi, I’m Amanda, his nurse for the day. I’m guessing you're the daughter?”

You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt a teardrop land on your hand. You reach up, wiping the tracks away. “Yeah, I am.”

Amanda turns around, gesturing for someone. A group of three doctors enters the room. Amanda stands by the glass door.

“Hello, my name is Dr. Baltek,” the oldest of the three extends his hand. I’m the Intensive Care Physician covering your father’s care. These are my residents, Dr. Khan and Dr. Dawson.”

You nod, shaking Dr. Baltek’s hand. You offer a small wave to his residents.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, your father’s condition is worsening,” Dr. Baltek explains. “His medical history makes him ineligible for a liver transplant, and despite the high doses of lactulose he’s receiving daily, his ammonia levels are climbing. Our next option is Liver Dialysis, which involves-”

“We’re not doing that,” you interrupt.

Dr. Baltek blinks. “Ma’am, you understand that if we don’t proceed with this-”

“He’ll die,” you say you bluntly. “Yeah, I know. My father’s been dying ever since my mom did. He just found a slower, more painful way to do it, I guess.”

“...So you are no longer interested in restorative care?”

You can’t help but snort. “There’s no recovering from this. He’s gonna die, and he might as well do it as comfortably as he can. So… no chest compressions, no intubation, no tube feeds… I don’t want any of it, because he wouldn’t want any of it.”

You sign the DNR/DNI paperwork. In a way, it feels like you’re signing your father’s death warrant. That should probably unsettle you more than it does.

The social worker gives you a sad look before leaving the room. You look back at your father, who has yet to acknowledge your presence. Mentally, he’s so far gone he probably doesn’t even know who he is.

You take his hand. Until now, you can’t remember the last time you touched him. You didn’t hug him goodbye when you left for LA; you just packed your bags and disappeared.

“Goodbye, dad.”

You get back to the house a little after 10 AM. Eddie and Buck are in the kitchen. Eddie’s leaning against the counter, and Buck, pacing, stalls the second he lays eyes on you.

You smile softly as your eyes water. “Let’s go home.”

~~~

Trigger warnings: implied alcoholism, semi-graphic description of liver failure, talks of death/withdrawing care

[emsprovisions]

Happy Wednesday everyone! Today's a bit of a crazy day but I'll try and make a post about fandom memories soon! It is the cutest idea and I love it. This is a bit from the Carlos fic I've been working on, that was originally supposed to be about Carlos confronting his religious trauma, but this fic is taking me on a ride in multiple directions and I am really loving playing with it so far! So please enjoy this lengthy snippet! 💕

“Hey, babe,” TK smiles, looking at Carlos like he hung the sun, the moon, and the stars. “Hungry?”

“Yeah,” Carlos smiles. “It’s a nice day. Do y’all want to eat outside?”

“Yes!” Jonah practically vibrates in his shoes where he stands at TK’s side. “Please, Carlos!”

Carlos laughs, “alright, buddy, hang on, I just need to go grab a few things from my desk.”

A moment later, Carlos returns, placing the standard issue, white Stetson onto Jonah’s head instead of his own. The too-big hat falls over Jonah’s eyes, making him break out into a fit of giggles as he pushes it up his head. Carlos and TK smile at his immeasurable joy and lead him back the way they came, to the elevator. 

“What’s on tap for lunch today?” Carlos asks, leaning against a wall in the elevator as he and TK watch Jonah crouch low to the floor on the ride down before he jumps as high as he can as it lurches to a stop. 

“I took the leftover brisket from the other night and made sandwiches,” TK says. “There’s steak fries too.”

“Well that sounds amazing, babe,” Carlos smiles at his husband as the elevator dings and the doors seamlessly slide open, a blast of cool air from the foyer chasing them inside. 

He almost misses it as they step out into the high-eighty degree weather that can only be described as a Texas spring day in early March.

They haven’t had Jonah in their custody for too long yet. Carlos’s sick leave after he was shot taking down his father’s killer ended over a month ago. He still has a hard time chewing the unsavory former Chief Bridges’s name in his mouth. 

He’d been his father’s friend. A coworker for the better part of thirty-something years. A confidant most likely. The same man to take Carlos under his wing and march him in his father’s footsteps. 

But Carlos is doing better now. 

He has a therapist. He’s more open with his mom these days. He has TK to lean on. And he has Sam too, when he needs someone who gets it on the very same level as him. He has a fantastic support group, and with it, TK’s mentioned he’s noticed a bit of the Carlos he’d fallen in love with creeping back in. 

“You’re smiling again, baby,” TK says softly, just for Carlos to hear as they claim a picnic table under some shady trees to eat their lunch. 

“I’m happy to see you,” Carlos shrugs with a smile. 

“I’m happy to see you too,” TK’s own smile grows, love twinkling in his eyes. 

Carlos wonders sometimes if he’s dreaming up this perfect life, but he’d once told TK in front of all the people they both know and love that TK is the dream he’s never allowed himself to have. He’s allowing himself to have it now, he thinks, this life full of love for his husband and for Jonah.

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