#I haven’t been nearly as active on here since then as I was before

[songbirdsaint]

can’t sleep

[reidmarieprentiss]

Lost & Found

Summary: You suffer memory loss after an accident, only remembering your sister, Emily, and not your boyfriend, Spencer.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: car accident, depressive thoughts, fighting, crying, memory loss, struggling with memory loss, showering together, suggestive content (16+), use of Y/N

Word count: 19.6k

a/n: this reminds me of the vow lol my bad but i already wrote it sooo

main masterlist

The sun had just begun to rise over Washington, D.C., casting long shadows across the bustling streets. You were driving to work, your thoughts on the day ahead, when the unthinkable happened. Out of nowhere, a semi-truck barreled down the road, its brakes screaming in protest, unable to halt its deadly path. There was no time to react. The world slowed as the massive vehicle collided with the driver’s side of your car, the sound of metal crunching filling the air like a thunderclap.

—

Spencer Reid sat in a sterile conference room, surrounded by maps and case files in a small town in Missouri. He was miles away from home, yet his mind kept drifting back to you. It had been a little over two years since you and Spencer began dating, and in that time, he had come to rely on your comforting presence. Even though he was away, the two of you made it a point to call each other whenever possible, exchanging stories about your days and sharing a few jokes. Today, he hadn’t heard from you yet, and a nagging feeling tugged at the back of his mind.  

The shrill ring of his phone jolted Spencer out of his thoughts. Hotch was in mid-sentence when Spencer abruptly stood up, excusing himself from the meeting as he glanced down at the caller ID and recognized your best friend’s name. 

“Hey, Spencer! Sorry for calling so early, I just wanted to ask if you knew what Y/N would like for her birthday dinner!” they chirped, their voice a bit muffled from what sounded like some activity in the background. “She’s so picky, you know! Maybe we could make a surprise for her?”

“I...I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to her yet today,” Spencer admitted, his voice nearly shaking. “But she loves Italian food, maybe pasta?” 

“Oh, of course! I’ll start with that, then. Thanks, Spencer!” they replied before hanging up, oblivious to the gravity of the situation.

The call left Spencer feeling hollow, a growing sense of dread gnawing at him. He sank back into his chair, his mind reeling. Moments later, his phone rang again, and he picked it up without even glancing at the screen. This time, the voice on the other end was urgent and frantic, and Spencer’s heart sank as he listened. 

"Hello?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady, though the room was still buzzing around him.

“Spencer Reid?” a calm, authoritative voice inquired on the other end.

“Yes, this is he,” Spencer replied, straightening up slightly as he recognized the tone of someone delivering important information.

“This is St. Agnes Hospital in Washington, D.C.," the voice continued. "I’m calling about Y/N L/N.”

Spencer's heart skipped a beat. The mention of your name brought everything else to a halt, and he felt a wave of apprehension wash over him.

“She has been in an accident,” the voice said, and Spencer could hear the weight behind those words. “You are listed as her emergency contact, how soon can you get here?”

He froze, unable to process the words as they echoed in his mind. “An accident?” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "What happened?"

“There was a collision with a semi-truck,” the hospital staffer explained, their voice professional yet tinged with compassion. “Y/N was seriously injured. She’s currently in surgery, but it’s critical.”

Spencer's mind raced, each word like a punch to his gut. “Is she—” he started, his voice breaking. “Is she going to be okay?”

“We’re doing everything we can, Dr. Reid,” the worker reassured him gently. “But you should get here as soon as you can.”

He nodded, though the person on the other end couldn't see him, trying to gather his thoughts through the haze of shock. The room around him felt surreal, the voices of his colleagues fading into the background.

“Thank you,” Spencer managed to say, his voice shaky with barely restrained panic. “I’m on my way from Missouri, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

As he ended the call, Spencer abruptly returned, shoes pounding against the floor. His teammates noticed the sudden change in his demeanor, their conversations pausing as they turned to him with concern.

“Spencer?” Emily asked, noticing the ashen look on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Y/N,” Spencer said, his voice tight with urgency. “There’s been an accident. I need to get home.”

Without waiting for a response, he grabbed his things, already planning his route to the nearest airport in his head. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing the urgency to be by your side, to hold your hand, to be there when you needed him most.

“We’ll cover things here,” Hotch assured him, stepping forward. “Go.”

“Thanks,” Spencer replied, his voice holding gratitude and desperation. He turned to leave, his thoughts solely focused on getting back to you, hoping with every fiber of his being that he wouldn’t be too late.

—

Spencer couldn’t remember the flight home. The moments blurred together as his mind replayed the words over and over: life support, coma, severe accident. They echoed in his head, refusing to let him think of anything else. His team had rallied around him, offering words of support and handling the details to get him back as quickly as possible. 

As the plane touched down in Washington, Spencer felt the full weight of the situation crashing down on him. His legs trembled as he stood, a numbness spreading through his body as he made his way through the terminal. 

The hospital was a short drive away, and yet it felt like an eternity. He barely registered the buildings and streets flashing by as he sat in the back seat of a cab, his heart pounding with each passing moment. 

Finally, he arrived at the hospital, a large, imposing building that now seemed more like a fortress. Spencer rushed through the doors, barely acknowledging the bustling activity around him as he focused solely on reaching you. He navigated the maze of hallways with a determination that surprised even him, eventually finding his way to the ICU. 

Your room was sterile and filled with the rhythmic beeping of machines, each sound a stark reminder of your fragile condition. Spencer stopped short at the sight of you lying in the hospital bed, tubes and wires snaking across your body. His heart wrenched at the sight, a profound ache settling in his chest as he slowly approached. 

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. 

He took a shaky breath, feeling the enormity of the situation press down on him. He felt helpless, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest with the assistance of the ventilator, knowing there was nothing he could do to change what had happened. 

Spencer reached out, his hand trembling as he gently took yours. The warmth of your skin was a small comfort, a reminder that you were still there, still fighting. 

“I’m here,” he said softly, his voice breaking as he spoke. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Please, Y/N... please come back to me.” 

The room was silent except for the steady hum of the machines, and Spencer felt a tear slide down his cheek. He brushed it away, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. 

—

The hours that followed were a blur. Spencer sat by your side, his hand never leaving yours as he kept a silent vigil. The nurses and doctors came and went, their words and actions a distant murmur as Spencer focused solely on you. He remembered snippets of conversations, assurances that you were receiving the best care possible, and updates on your condition that offered little comfort. 

In those moments, Spencer clung to hope. He recalled all the times you had smiled at him, the way your eyes lit up when you were excited or passionate about something. He remembered the quiet moments you shared, the laughter and love that had blossomed between you over the past years. 

—

Three Days Later

Spencer hadn’t left the hospital since he arrived. The team had been by his side, offering support and keeping him company, but he barely registered their presence. All that mattered was you, and the hope that you would wake up and return to him. 

On the third day, the doctor came in with a more hopeful expression than before. He checked the monitors, made some notes, and then turned to Spencer with a small smile. 

“There’s been some improvement,” he said gently. “It’s a good sign. We’re going to try reducing the sedation and see how she responds.”

Spencer felt a flicker of hope at the words, his heart clenching with a mix of anticipation and fear. He nodded, unable to trust his voice as he watched the doctor adjust the IV line. They assured him they would keep him informed as soon as your surgery was complete and directed him to the waiting area, where he could collect himself while waiting for more information.

Spencer made his way to the waiting room, his thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. Memories of you together flooded his mind: the quiet evenings spent curled up on the couch, the laughter shared over inside jokes, and the whispered promises of a future together. He sat down, feeling the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him, wondering what the next few hours would bring.

—

The hours stretched on interminably, each tick of the clock echoing loudly in Spencer's ears as he waited in the sterile waiting room. He couldn't bring himself to focus on anything other than the thought of you, lying in surgery, fighting for your life. The antiseptic smell of the hospital, the murmur of other patients and visitors, all faded into the background as he replayed every memory he had of you in his mind, trying to cling to the hope that you would pull through.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a doctor approached Spencer with a solemn expression. "Dr. Reid?" the doctor asked, and Spencer quickly stood, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Yes, that's me," Spencer replied, his voice fullof hope and anxiety.

"The surgery was successful," the doctor said, offering a small, reassuring smile. "We were able to stabilize her, and she's currently in the ICU under observation."

Spencer felt a rush of relief wash over him, though the gravity of the situation was still heavy on his shoulders. "Thank you," he said sincerely, his voice trembling with emotion. "Thank you so much."

The doctor nodded, understanding the depth of Spencer's gratitude. "She's not out of the woods yet," the doctor continued, "but she's made it through the worst part. However, I need to prepare you for the possibility that there may be complications. We won't know the full extent until she regains consciousness."

Spencer nodded, taking in the doctor's words with a mix of relief and apprehension. He felt his breath catch in his throat, knowing that there was still a long road ahead, but grateful for the chance to be by your side as you began to recover.

—

You pulled through, but it wasn't without its challenges. When you finally awoke, the room was filled with the soft beeping of monitors and the faint hum of medical equipment. Everything felt disorienting as you blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights, trying to make sense of where you were and what had happened.

Spencer was at your side, his eyes filled with relief and worry as he watched you stir. He reached out to take your hand, squeezing it gently in reassurance. "Y/N," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "You're awake."

You turned your head slightly, trying to focus on the man before you. He looked somewhat familiar, yet your mind struggled to place him. The last thing you remembered was being 18, living with your sister Emily, and yet here you were, in a hospital bed, with a stranger by your side.

"Who are you?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of uncertainty.

Spencer felt his heart drop at your words, a painful realization settling in. He had hoped that when you woke up, everything would be back to normal, that you would go back to the life you had built together. But the look of confusion and fear in your eyes told him everything he needed to know.

"I'm Spencer," he said gently, trying to keep his voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "I'm your boyfriend. We've been together for over two years. You live with me."

You shook your head slowly, trying to wrap your mind around his words. It felt like a dream, a reality you couldn't quite grasp. "No," you said, your voice breaking with frustration and fear. "I live with my sister, Emily. I don't know you."

Spencer felt a wave of sadness wash over him, but he forced himself to stay strong for you. He knew this was a possibility, that the trauma of the accident could have affected your memory, but hearing it from you was a different reality altogether. He took a deep breath, his heart aching with every word he prepared to say.

“Um, no. I—I don’t know how to tell you this, but, uh…” Spencer tried to speak through the tears coming on, his voice trembling. “You are 25 years old, Emily is 38,  and you work as a liaison for the Sex Crimes Unit in the FBI. Emily and I work together in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. We met through Emily, and now you live with me. You were in a severe car accident three days ago, and you may be suffering from amnesia.”

His words hung in the air like a cloud, heavy and dense, as you struggled to process what he was telling you. The hospital room felt colder, the sterile smell more pronounced, as your mind tried to catch up with the information being presented to you. Everything he said felt distant and unfamiliar, like a story someone else was telling, not your own life.

“Amnesia?” you repeated, the word foreign on your tongue. You could feel panic beginning to rise in your chest, the fear of the unknown pressing down on you. “How is this possible? I—I don’t remember any of this.”

Spencer’s heart broke at the fear in your eyes, and he longed to reach out and comfort you. But he knew that, to you, he was a stranger, someone who claimed to know you but didn’t feel real. He had to tread carefully, to give you space to process the situation at your own pace.

“It’s okay,” Spencer said softly, his eyes filled with compassion. “I know this is a lot to take in. You’ve been through so much, and I’m here for you. We can take this one step at a time. Whatever you need, I’m here to help.”

You looked at him, studying his face for any sign of deception or recognition, but all you saw was sincerity. It was both comforting and unsettling. Here was a man who seemed to care deeply for you, yet you couldn’t find a single memory to support his claims. It was like standing at the edge of a vast, unknown ocean, unsure whether to step forward or retreat.

“I just... I don’t understand how I got here,” you said, your voice small and uncertain, the edges of panic sharpening your words. Your eyes filled with tears as you grappled with the enormity of your situation. “Where’s Emily? I want to see Emily,” you added, the tears now spilling over, and you could feel your chest tighten with fear and helplessness. 

Spencer felt a painful twist in his heart as he watched you cry, the sight of your distress cutting through him like a knife. He knew how much you relied on Emily before, but he had been your rock these past years. To not be able to comfort you in your time of need tore him apart. Despite the situation, he felt a glimmer of relief that you still remembered your sister, a familiar anchor in a sea of unfamiliar faces and places.

“She’s at home sleeping. I’ll give her a call,” Spencer assured you, reaching for his phone with a steady hand, though inside he felt anything but calm. He wanted to be the one to comfort you, to hold you and tell you that everything would be okay, but he understood that right now, Emily was the person you needed most. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. You wiped at your tears, feeling both grateful and overwhelmed by the kindness of this man who seemed so determined to help you, even though you couldn’t remember him.

Spencer stepped out into the hallway to make the call, wanting to give you a moment of privacy. The hospital corridor was quiet, save for the distant murmur of medical staff and the occasional beep of machinery. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before dialing Emily’s number. 

“Spencer?” Emily’s voice was groggy but instantly alert as she answered the call, concern evident in her tone. “Is everything okay? How’s Y/N?”

Spencer swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “Emily, she’s awake,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “But she doesn’t remember anything from the past seven years. She thinks she’s still living with you.”

“Oh my God,” Emily breathed, the shock clear in her voice. “Is she okay? What did the doctors say?”

“They think it’s retrograde amnesia caused by the trauma of the accident,” Spencer explained, running a hand through his hair as he spoke. “She’s asking for you, Emily. She’s really scared.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Emily promised, already moving to get dressed. “Tell her I’m on my way, okay? And Spencer... thank you for being there with her. I know this must be incredibly hard for you.”

Spencer nodded, even though Emily couldn’t see him. “I’ll tell her. Drive safely.”

After ending the call, Spencer returned to your room, his heart heavy with the knowledge of how disorienting this must be for you. He found you sitting up slightly, your eyes still red from crying but showing a flicker of hope at the mention of your sister.

“Emily’s on her way,” Spencer said gently, offering you a small, reassuring smile. “She should be here soon.”

You nodded, the knowledge that Emily was coming bringing you a semblance of comfort. But still, questions swirled in your mind, the uncertainty of your situation looming large.

"Thank you, um, what was your name again?" you asked softly, your voice hesitant and tinged with the confusion that clouded your mind. 

Spencer’s heart ached at the question, a painful reminder of the gap that now existed between you. But he managed a gentle smile, determined to be patient and understanding. 

“Spencer,” he said quietly, meeting your gaze with a steady warmth. “My name is Spencer.”

You nodded slowly, trying to commit his name to memory, even though it felt like grasping at straws. There was something comforting about the way he looked at you, a sense of safety that you couldn’t quite explain.

“Thank you, Spencer,” you repeated, hoping that saying his name would help anchor you in this unfamiliar reality. Despite the overwhelming uncertainty, you felt a small sense of reassurance knowing he was there, a steady presence in the storm of your fractured memories.

—

Emily arrived at the hospital within the hour, her eyes filled with concern and determination as she made her way to your room. When she saw you, relief flooded her features, and she rushed to your side, wrapping her arms around you in a warm, reassuring embrace.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Emily murmured, holding you tightly as she stroked your hair. “I’m here, Y/N. We’ll figure this out together.”

You clung to her, the familiar comfort of her presence grounding you in the midst of the chaos. For the first time since waking up, you felt a sense of safety, a reminder of the life you remembered.

Spencer watched the reunion, his heart aching with a mixture of emotions. He was grateful that Emily was there for you, knowing how much you needed her support right now. But there was also a longing, a deep-seated hope that one day, you would remember the life you had built with him, the love that had grown between you.

As you leaned into Emily's embrace, you whispered, “Can you stay with me, please?” Your voice was soft, almost childlike in its vulnerability, and Spencer’s heart clenched at the sound of it.

Emily smiled gently, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face as she nodded. “Of course, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” she said, guilt tinging her words. “I came as soon as I heard.”

“It’s okay,” you replied, offering her a small, reassuring smile. “Peter is really nice.”

The misstep in Spencer's name hit him like a physical blow, and yet he understood. You were trying your best to piece things together, to make sense of the world around you, and that meant trying to fit him into a picture that didn’t quite match the reality you remembered. 

Emily glanced at Spencer, a flicker of understanding in her eyes as she gave him a supportive nod. She knew how hard this must be for him, watching you struggle to recall the love and life you shared. 

Spencer swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing himself to return Emily’s nod with a small, grateful smile. He knew that rebuilding the bridge to your past wouldn’t be easy, but he was willing to do whatever it took to help you find your way back. 

He remained quiet, a gentle presence in the background as Emily continued to comfort you, knowing that while he might not be the one you remembered now, he would do everything in his power to be the one you’d remember in the future.

—

Spencer eventually went home, the weight of the last few days pressing heavily on his shoulders. The hospital had become a second home in the wake of the accident, but now, as he drove through the familiar streets of Quantico, he felt the exhaustion finally catch up with him. 

The apartment was quiet when he arrived, the silence amplifying the absence of your presence. He dropped his bag by the door and stood in the entryway for a moment, looking around the space that had been your shared sanctuary. Everything about it—the framed photos, the little touches that marked your shared life—felt like an echo of the past he was desperate to help you remember.

He made his way to the bathroom, shedding his clothes and stepping into the shower. The hot water cascaded over him, washing away the grime and fatigue, but doing little to ease the turmoil inside. As the steam filled the room, Spencer closed his eyes, allowing the water to drown out the noise in his head for just a moment. 

He thought about you, lying in that hospital bed, trying to piece together a life you couldn’t remember. The thought of your struggle weighed heavily on him, and he wished more than anything that he could simply take away the burden of your amnesia. But he knew that wasn’t possible, and it frustrated him deeply.

Stepping out of the shower, Spencer wrapped a towel around his waist and caught his reflection in the mirror. The face staring back at him was etched with worry and sleepless nights. He knew he needed to rest, to recharge so he could be strong for you, but his mind was already racing with possibilities, with ways to help you find your way back to the life you had known.

Reluctantly, he made his way to the bedroom and sank into the mattress, pulling the covers over himself. 

—

When Spencer awoke, the morning light was filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. He stretched, feeling the knots in his muscles protest at the movement, but he pushed through, determined to make the most of the day ahead.

His mind immediately returned to you and the questions that had haunted him since the accident. He needed answers, a plan, something tangible he could use to help you. Rising from the bed, he quickly dressed and made his way to the library, his thoughts already churning with possibilities.

The library was quiet, a haven of knowledge waiting to be tapped into. Spencer made his way through the aisles, pulling books from the shelves with practiced ease. He found volumes on neurology, psychology, and memory restoration, stacking them on the table as he prepared to dive deep into his research.

Sitting down, Spencer opened the first book, his fingers flipping through the pages with the kind of fervor only a man on a mission possessed. He absorbed every word, every study and theory on amnesia and retrograde amnesia, searching for anything that might provide a glimmer of hope.

He read about the mechanisms of memory, the ways trauma could affect the brain's ability to store and retrieve information. He learned about the potential for memory recovery, the techniques that could aid in jogging the mind back to the present, and the importance of emotional connections in bridging the gaps.

As the hours passed, Spencer lost himself in the sea of information, each new piece of knowledge building upon the last. He scribbled notes in the margins, cross-referencing studies and compiling a mental list of strategies he could employ to help you.

It was a daunting task, but Spencer felt a sense of purpose in the research, a way to channel his love for you into something tangible. He was determined to do everything he could to help you regain your memory, to guide you back to the life you had shared together. 

For Spencer, this was more than just a quest for answers—it was a testament to the bond that had grown between you, a bond he was unwilling to let go of. He was ready to fight for your future, to be there for you in whatever capacity you needed, until the day your eyes lit up with recognition and the memories flooded back. 

With renewed resolve, Spencer closed the book he was reading, his mind buzzing with ideas and possibilities. He gathered his notes, feeling a sense of determination settle over him. He would be there for you, no matter how long it took, until you found your way back to him.

—

Spencer called Emily, feeling a slight tremor in his fingers as he punched in her number. He knew how delicate your situation was, and he didn’t want to risk upsetting you with his presence if it would cause more harm than good. As the phone rang, he took a deep breath, hoping that Emily would have some insight into how you were doing and whether it would be okay for him to visit.

“Hello?” Emily’s voice came through the line, sounding calm but tinged with exhaustion.

“Emily, it’s Spencer,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady despite the nervousness fluttering in his chest. “I wanted to check in and see how Y/N is doing... and if it would be alright for me to come back to the hospital. I don’t want to overwhelm her, but I think I might have found some helpful information on memory restoration tactics.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, and Spencer could hear the soft murmur of the hospital in the background, the distant beeps of monitors and the hushed conversations of medical staff. Emily sighed softly, and he could picture her leaning against the wall outside your room, her hand running through her hair as she considered his request.

“Spencer, she’s been asking about you,” Emily finally said, her voice gentle and reassuring. “I think she wants to start trying to piece things together a little, and having you here might actually help.”

The fragments of your past felt like pieces of a puzzle scattered across the table, and you were trying to fit them together. The memory of just having graduated college and moving in with Emily in Europe while she worked for Interpol was clear in your mind, yet the reality you were living in contradicted that memory in every way. You obviously went to college, got an important job, met someone, and fell in love. That would be nice to remember.

The thought of your life now—a life filled with achievements, meaningful relationships, and moments of joy—was enticing. You felt a sense of longing to reconnect with those parts of yourself, to remember the paths that led you to where you were today. The idea of having accomplished so much, of having people in your life who cared deeply for you, filled you with both curiosity and determination.

You sat in the hospital bed, the beeping of the monitors a constant reminder of the present, and tried to reconcile the gap between what you knew and what was real. There was a sense of urgency within you, a desire to reclaim the life that had slipped through your fingers due to the accident.

As you contemplated this, Spencer arrived, a reassuring presence amidst the confusion. He had a folder in hand, filled with information he’d painstakingly gathered to aid in your recovery. His expression was one of quiet resolve, a testament to his commitment to helping you find your way back.

“Hey, Y/N,” Spencer greeted softly, taking a seat beside your bed. His eyes were warm and encouraging, and you couldn’t help but feel comforted by his presence. “I know this is a lot to take in, but I’ve found some information that might help you remember.”

You nodded, eager to hear what he had discovered. The prospect of understanding more about your life, your achievements, and the connection you shared with Spencer filled you with hope.

Spencer opened the folder, revealing a collection of notes, articles, and studies on memory restoration and retrograde amnesia. “I’ve been looking into different techniques and therapies that could aid in restoring your memories,” he explained, his voice steady and full of purpose.

He began to outline the various strategies he had found, discussing everything from cognitive therapy and memory exercises to more experimental approaches. As he spoke, you listened intently, absorbing the possibilities and feeling a flicker of determination ignite within you.

“I believe that with the right approach and support, we can hopefully help you piece together your memories,” Spencer said, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering sincerity. “I’m here to support you in whatever way you need. We can do this together, one step at a time.”

His words resonated with you, and you found yourself nodding along, feeling a renewed sense of hope. The idea of reclaiming your memories, of rediscovering the life you had built, felt like a light at the end of a long tunnel. 

“Thank you, Spencer,” you said softly, your voice filled with gratitude. “I want to remember.”

—

The hospital released you into Emily’s care. While the medical staff had done everything they could, the journey to regaining your memory would continue outside the hospital walls.

The decision to stay with Emily instead of Spencer hurt him, but it felt like the right choice for now. As much as Spencer wanted to be there for you, he understood the need for you to be in an environment that felt familiar and safe. The last thing he wanted was to push you further away by overwhelming you with too much, too soon.

“It’s okay,” Spencer assured you as you prepared to leave the hospital. His voice was steady, but the flicker of pain in his eyes was unmistakable. “I understand. Emily will take good care of you, and I’m just a phone call away if you need anything.”

You nodded, appreciating his understanding. A part of you felt guilty for not choosing to stay with him, especially considering how kind and supportive he had been. But the gaps in your memory left you feeling adrift, and being with Emily was like holding onto a piece of your past that still made sense. Besides, he was still technically a stranger.

—

The drive to yours and Spencer’s apartment was quiet, Emily navigating the streets with the ease of someone who knew them well. You sat in the passenger seat, watching the city pass by, anticipation and apprehension swirling within you. This was a chance to see the life you had built, to find clues that might help bridge the chasm between the past you remembered and the present you couldn’t grasp.

Arriving at the apartment building, you felt a sense of déjà vu, as if you had been here countless times before, but it was all shrouded in fog. Emily led you up to the front door, her presence reassuring and calm as she unlocked it and gestured for you to step inside.

The apartment was warm and inviting, filled with little touches that spoke of a life shared between two people. You took a tentative step inside, your eyes scanning the space as you tried to grasp any spark of recognition. The furniture, the décor, the scent of your favorite candle burning on the coffee table—everything felt just out of reach.

But it was the photographs that caught your attention, lining the walls and filling the shelves with captured moments of happiness and love. You walked over to a series of framed photos, your heart aching at the sight of the images. There you were, smiling and laughing with Spencer, your faces filled with joy.

There was a picture of the two of you on a hiking trip, arms around each other as you gazed at the camera, the sun setting behind you. Another of you dancing together at what appeared to be a wedding, Spencer’s hand on the small of your back, your face lit with laughter.

And then there was the one that brought tears to your eyes—an image of you and Spencer sharing a tender kiss, your arms wrapped around his neck, his hand gently holding your waist while the other stretched out to hold the camera. The love captured in that single moment was undeniable, and yet it was a memory you couldn’t access, a chapter of your life that felt painfully distant.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as the weight of what you had lost settled over you. You turned away from the photos, covering your face with your hands as sobs wracked your body. The sadness was overwhelming, a deep, unbearable grief for the beautiful life you couldn’t remember.

Emily was at your side in an instant, her arm wrapping around you as she whispered soothing words, trying to calm the storm of emotions that had taken hold.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried, your voice breaking with the depth of your sorrow. “I’m so sorry, Spencer. I wish I could remember. I wish I could—”

Spencer’s expression was filled with compassion and understanding, though his heart ached at the sight of your distress. He longed to reach out and hold you, to reassure you that it was okay, that you would find your way back to him in time. But he knew that the memories were something you had to reclaim on your own.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Spencer said gently, his voice soft and comforting. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

Despite his reassuring words, the pain of not being able to remember was too much to bear. You were inconsolable, and Emily could see that you needed space to process everything, away from the emotional overload of the apartment.

“Let’s go home, Y/N,” Emily suggested softly, guiding you toward the door with a gentle touch. “We can come back another time when you’re ready.”

You nodded, allowing her to lead you away, the tears still streaming down your face. Spencer watched as Emily escorted you out, his heart heavy with sadness. 

—

The following Monday, the next step in your recovery journey was to visit your workplace, a place where you had spent countless hours building a career you could no longer remember. The decision to bring you back into the office was made with the hope that it might jog some of your lost memories, and while it felt daunting, you were determined to face it head-on.

Emily drove you to the FBI headquarters, the massive building both imposing and familiar as you approached. You had been nervous about this visit, unsure of how it would make you feel or what it might stir within you. Your unit chief had been extremely understanding about your situation, assuring you that you had all the time you needed to recover and that your job would be waiting for you if and when you were ready to return. The possibility of never coming back loomed large, but today was about exploring what felt right.

As you walked through the corridors, passing colleagues who greeted you with warm smiles and words of encouragement, you felt a mixture of anxiety and curiosity. The familiarity of the surroundings tugged at the edges of your mind, teasing you with whispers of recognition that were just out of reach.

When you finally reached your desk, something shifted within you. A small sense of familiarity washed over you, grounding you in a way that you hadn't expected. The space was uniquely yours, decorated with personal touches that reflected your personality and interests. The colorful keyboard and mouse pad, the photos adorning your workspace, all felt like pieces of yourself that you were slowly rediscovering.

Emily stood beside you, watching as you took it all in. Her presence was reassuring, a steady hand on your shoulder as you navigated the myriad of emotions swirling within you.

"This is your desk," Emily said gently, gesturing to the array of decorations and mementos that made it uniquely yours. 

You ran your fingers over the keyboard, tracing the familiar keys, and then turned your attention to the photos. There were images of you and Emily from your first apartment together in D.C., snapshots of a time when life felt full of possibility and adventure. Your eyes lingered on the photos of you and Spencer, capturing moments of joy and love that you desperately wished to remember.

One photo, in particular, caught your eye. It was of you and another person, both of you with wide smiles, arms wrapped tightly around each other, faces pressed together in a display of friendship and affection. The bond between you was evident, even in a still image, and you felt a pang of longing to recall the memories associated with it.

“Who are all of these people?” you asked, your voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of sadness.

Emily leaned in, pointing to the photo of you and the person who seemed to be a close friend. “That is your best friend, Noah,” she explained. Her smile was warm, the fondness for your friendship evident in her tone. “You two have been inseparable for years. They’ve been by your side through thick and thin.”

You studied the photo, trying to summon any fragment of memory, but the connection eluded you. Still, it was comforting to know that you had someone like Noah in your life, a constant presence of support and friendship.

Emily then pointed to another photo, this one featuring a large group of people gathered in a spacious kitchen that looked to be part of a grand mansion. The scene was lively and filled with laughter, the closeness between everyone palpable even in a photograph.

“And that,” Emily said, gesturing to the group photo, “is my team. The Behavioral Analysis Unit, at David Rossi’s house for pasta and wine. It’s a tradition of ours to get together and unwind after a long week. You’ve become a part of that tradition too.”

The photo brought a sense of warmth and belonging that tugged at your heartstrings. Though you couldn’t remember the specifics of the event, the image conveyed a sense of community and acceptance, a reminder that you were surrounded by people who cared for you deeply.

You nodded, feeling a mix of emotions—gratefulness for the connections you had forged, sadness for the memories that remained out of reach, and determination to piece it all together. As overwhelming as it was, the visit to your workplace had sparked something within you, a desire to reclaim the life you had lost and reconnect with the people who meant so much to you.

“Thank you for bringing me here, Emily,” you said softly, turning to your sister with gratitude in your eyes.

Emily smiled, her hand squeezing your shoulder reassuringly. “You’re doing great, Y/N.”

—

After spending some time familiarizing yourself with your desk and the environment, you felt a little more grounded. Emily suggested taking a break, and the two of you made your way to the break room for some coffee. The small talk and casual atmosphere provided a sense of normalcy, and you found yourself relaxing into the environment, even if it still felt like you were seeing it all for the first time.

As you sipped your coffee, Emily shared stories about the team, painting vivid pictures of the friendships that had developed over the years. Her words were filled with warmth, and you could sense the deep bond that connected everyone in the unit.

“–and then you and Penelope performed as much of the Rent musical as you could while Spencer took you home from girls' night.”

You laughed, a joyous feeling after all the sadness and confusion you’d been wearing like a cloud. It felt good to feel lighthearted again, if only for a moment, and the image of yourself belting out show tunes with Penelope at the top of your lungs was both hilarious and comforting.

“Was he mad?” you asked, picturing the scene in your mind.

“Quite the opposite,” Emily said, her eyes twinkling with amusement at the memory. “He asked you out the next week at work.”

“That’s so sweet,” you said, a warm glow spreading through you at the thought of Spencer’s patience and kindness. 

“He really loves you,” Emily added, her voice gentle and full of sincerity. 

You looked down at your coffee cup, a mix of emotions swirling within you. “I just can’t believe I’m loved so much by someone I don’t remember,” you said softly, your words carrying the weight of your current reality. 

Spencer hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but as he was walking to the break room, your voice reached his ears, and he froze just outside the door. The sound of your laughter was like music to him, a familiar melody he had sorely missed since the accident. It felt normal to hear you in the building, like it had been before, a sense of déjà vu that was both comforting and bittersweet.

But hearing that last snippet of conversation—that you couldn’t believe you were loved by someone you didn’t remember—was like a punch to the gut. It was a reminder of how much had been lost, how fragile the threads of your connection had become in the wake of your amnesia.

Spencer’s heart clenched with longing and sadness. He wanted to be there with you, to share in the laughter and help rebuild the life you had once shared. Yet, he also knew that the path to healing was not a straight line and that you needed time to find your footing.

With a heavy heart, Spencer decided against going into the break room. He felt it would be too much to face you right then, knowing that he was part of the gap in your memory. He turned on his heel, heading back to his desk with a resolve to give you the space you needed while still being there for you in whatever way he could.

Back in his office, Spencer tried to focus on his work, but his mind kept drifting back to you and the conversation he had overheard. He wished he could do more, be more, to help you remember. The thought of the love you had shared, a love you now couldn’t recall, weighed heavily on him.

—

Over the next few weeks, life became a series of ups and downs, filled with moments of both clarity and confusion. Living with Emily had its comforting moments—her presence a soothing balm to the chaos in your mind. You cherished the time you spent with her, grateful for the bond that had been rekindled. You missed Emily deeply during high school, and living with her felt like a second chance to reconnect and make up for lost time. 

But the reason for your reunion weighed heavily on you. You were so happy to be living with Emily again, until you remembered why. Some nights, the memories—or lack thereof—were overwhelming, and you’d find yourself crying silently into your pillow, grieving for the life you learned about but couldn’t recall. You mourned for the person you once were, the experiences you’d lost, and the love you had built with Spencer, a man who was now a stranger in your life.

In those darker moments, a part of you wondered if a second accident could somehow reverse the damage, though you knew deep down that it wouldn’t work. The thought was fleeting, a desperate whisper in your mind, quickly silenced by the knowledge that the path to healing lay elsewhere.

You wanted to love Spencer, you really did. Everything you’d learned about him painted a picture of a man who was kind, intelligent, and deeply devoted to you. But every time you looked at him, all you felt was a sense of apathy and resentment. It was an unfair burden, one you didn’t want to carry but couldn’t seem to shake. He knew you, but you didn’t know him. He had gotten to know the you that you couldn’t remember, had built a life with a version of yourself that no longer existed. 

Safe to say, you hadn’t spoken to anyone but Emily since that day at Spencer’s apartment. Despite Emily’s best efforts to coax you out of your shell, to encourage you to re-engage with the world, you found solace only in her presence. She would suggest small outings, opportunities to reintroduce you to the life you’d lived—a coffee date with Penelope, a lunch with Noah, a casual dinner with the BAU team—but you declined each invitation with a sense of dread.

—

Emily understood your reluctance, though she worried about the isolation you were imposing on yourself. She was patient, never pushing too hard, but she tried her best to gently encourage you to take those first steps toward reconnecting with your life.

"Y/N," she said one afternoon as you both sat in the living room, the afternoon sun streaming through the windows. "I know it’s hard, but you have so many people who care about you. They’re all here, ready to support you whenever you’re ready."

You nodded, your eyes fixed on the floor. “I know,” you replied softly, your voice tinged with frustration and sadness. “I just... I don’t know how to face them, Emily. It’s like they’re expecting me to be someone I’m not.”

Emily reached over, taking your hand in hers, her grip reassuring. “They’re not expecting anything,” she said gently. “They just want to be there for you, to help you find your way back. And you don’t have to do it alone. I’ll be with you.”

Despite her words, the idea of facing Spencer or any of your friends felt daunting. It wasn’t just about remembering; it was about rebuilding a sense of self that had been shattered by the accident. You felt like a puzzle with missing pieces, unsure of how to fit back into the picture of your own life.

—

One night, as you lay in bed, the weight of it all pressed heavily on your chest. You stared at the ceiling, the darkness a mirror to the emptiness you felt inside. The person you were before the accident seemed like a ghost, haunting the edges of your consciousness, taunting you with glimpses of a life you couldn’t quite grasp.

Tears slipped silently down your cheeks as you grieved for the life you’d lost, for the love that was now a distant memory. It felt like an insurmountable chasm between the past and present, a gap you couldn’t bridge no matter how hard you tried.

You curled up under the covers, wishing for relief from the emotional storm, longing for a sense of belonging that remained elusive. But as much as you yearned for the past, you knew the journey to healing had to start from where you were now—from this moment, with its uncertainties and challenges.

Emily found you the next morning, the traces of tears still visible on your face. She didn’t say anything, simply pulled you into a hug, offering her silent support. You leaned into her embrace, grateful for the unconditional love and understanding she provided.

“I’m here, Y/N,” Emily murmured, her voice steady and reassuring. “Whenever you’re ready to take that next step, I’m here.”

—

On a random Tuesday morning, you regained a glimpse of yourself. It was an ordinary day, the sun barely peeking over the horizon as you padded into the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. Emily was already there, pouring herself a cup and offering you a warm smile as you entered.

"Good morning," she said, her voice carrying the comforting tone you had come to rely on over the past few weeks.

“Did I bring any files home?” you asked, the question slipping out naturally as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “I want to review the Cooper case.”

Emily whipped around so fast she thought she might get whiplash, her eyes wide with shock and a glimmer of hope. “What did you just say?” she asked, her voice almost trembling with anticipation.

“The Cooper case?” you repeated, frowning slightly as you tried to grasp the memory that felt just within reach. “Oh, I wanted to review the evidence for the upcoming trial. I want to make sure that son of a bitch gets locked away.”

Emily’s face lit up with astonishment and disbelief, a slow grin spreading across her features. “Y/N… how do you remember that?” she asked, her voice tinged with awe.

“What?” you blinked, the realization dawning on you like a gentle wave, the fog lifting ever so slightly. “Oh…” you murmured, the pieces clicking into place.

“Oh my god! Oh my god! I remember!” you exclaimed, your heart pounding with excitement and relief.

“Do you remember anything else?” Emily asked eagerly, stepping closer as if to catch every word.

“My, um, my unit chief… her name is, uh, Sarah Freeman!” you said, a smile breaking across your face as more fragments of memory bubbled to the surface. It was like pulling on a thread and watching a tapestry unfold before your eyes.

“That’s amazing! You’re amazing!” Emily cheered, her eyes shining with pride and joy. She grabbed your hands, squeezing them tightly as if to anchor this precious moment in reality. “I’m going to call your doctor! Keep thinking!”

You nodded, your mind racing with possibilities. There was a thrill in the air, a sense of rediscovery that felt like sunlight streaming into a darkened room. 

—

As the days and weeks passed, your world gradually came into sharper focus. You began to remember more and more, and your doctors believed that your brain was finally healing from the trauma of the accident, allowing you to access information that had been temporarily locked away. It was as if the fog that had settled over your mind was beginning to lift, and the memories of your life were emerging from the shadows.

With each passing day, you started seeing people more. The familiarity of their faces and the warmth of their presence became less overwhelming and more comforting. You remembered small bits of Noah, moving in with Emily, a few girls’ nights, and coffee dates with Penelope. Each memory was like a small gift, a piece of the puzzle that was slowly coming together.

Whenever you shared a memory with someone, it was met with tears of joy and hugs of relief. They were all so patient and understanding, celebrating every little moment of rediscovery with you. It was a testament to the love and support that surrounded you, a constant reminder that you were not alone on this journey.

—

With your birthday approaching, the excitement in the air was palpable. Everyone was thrilled that they would at least get to celebrate with you, even if the memories of past birthdays were still hazy. The anticipation of the party, the chance to be surrounded by the people who meant so much to you, filled you with a sense of hope and gratitude.

The only person you couldn’t seem to remember, however, was Spencer. Despite the progress you were making with others, there was an inexplicable block when it came to him. It was as if the memories you shared were trapped behind a door that refused to open, no matter how hard you tried. 

Spencer felt the weight of this exclusion acutely. While everyone else reveled in your regained memories, he remained on the outside, watching as you reconnected with the life you’d once shared. At first, he tried to be patient, understanding that recovery was a complex and unpredictable process. But as time went on and the memories continued to elude you, Spencer began to feel a growing frustration, a simmering resentment that he struggled to contain.

—

The night of your birthday party arrived, and Emily had invited everyone important to you: the BAU team, Noah, your unit chief, and colleagues. The apartment was filled with laughter and music, the air buzzing with the joy of celebration. You moved through the crowd, receiving hugs and well-wishes, feeling more like yourself than you had in months.

The party was a joyful affair, filled with the warmth of friends and loved ones, each of them eager to share in the celebration of your continued recovery. You spent time with everyone, enjoying the opportunity to catch up and reconnect. 

You found yourself talking to Derek Morgan, recounting a small memory that had surfaced earlier in the day—a humorous moment from a case your units had worked on together. Derek’s laughter echoed through the room, a rich, joyful sound that drew the attention of others nearby. 

Spencer overheard your conversation with Derek and felt the frustration within him build past his boiling point. It was like a dam breaking, all the emotions he had tried to keep in check spilling over into an overwhelming wave. The exclusion, the constant reminder that you remembered everyone but him, finally pushed him to the edge.

Unable to contain his feelings any longer, Spencer stormed past you, his shoulder bumping into yours as he made his way toward the front door. The suddenness of his actions caught you off guard, the usually sweet and gentle Spencer now a storm of emotions.

“Spencer?” you called after him, confused by the abruptness of his departure. You quickly excused yourself from Derek and followed Spencer, determined to understand what had upset him.

You found Spencer in the hallway of the building, his back turned to you as he tried to compose himself. But when he turned around, you saw the angry tears in his eyes, the hurt etched across his features. It was a side of Spencer you hadn’t seen before, and it unsettled you.

“Spencer, what’s wrong?” you asked, your voice gentle but firm, wanting to understand the source of his pain.

He took a deep breath, his emotions churning within him. The question felt like a catalyst, igniting the frustration and hurt he had been holding onto for so long. And then, finally, he exploded, the words tumbling out in a torrent of anger and anguish.

“Why, Y/N?” Spencer’s voice was raw, filled with desperation and resentment. “Why do you remember everyone but me? Do you secretly remember me but don’t know how to break it off, so you keep pretending you don’t know me?”

His accusation hung in the air, sharp and cutting. It was a blow that took your breath away, the depth of his pain evident in every word. Spencer’s eyes bore into yours, searching for answers, for some explanation that could make sense of the exclusion he felt so deeply.

“I’m not pretending, Spencer,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, the shock of his words settling over you like a heavy fog. “I wish I could remember. I want to remember you more than anything.”

Spencer’s expression shifted, hurt and frustration warring within him. He turned away, running a hand through his hair as he tried to gather his thoughts. “It just feels like... like I’m the only one left out,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I watch you remember all these moments, all these people, and I keep hoping that one day you’ll look at me and just... know.”

His words hung in the air, each syllable a reminder of the distance that had grown between you—a distance neither of you wanted, but couldn’t seem to bridge. It was like standing on opposite sides of a vast chasm, reaching for one another but never quite able to touch.

“You think this is easy for me?” you shot back, your voice rising with each word. “Do you think I wanted to get hit by a semi and lose my memories? No! I want it all back, I want my life back.” You took a step closer, the intensity of your emotions propelling you forward. “Do you know how much it kills me that you know a version of me that I don’t? You want her back, and so do I, but Jesus Christ, Spencer! I’m not her, I can’t just be her, I’m fucking trying, okay?”

The hallway seemed to close in around you as you stood there, the weight of your words hanging heavy between you. Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise at the raw honesty in your voice, the depth of your struggle laid bare before him.

“I know you’re trying,” Spencer said, his voice softening even as his frustration simmered beneath the surface. “But it’s so hard to watch you remember everyone else and not me. It feels like I’m losing you all over again, every single day.”

"I’m losing myself too!” you replied, your voice breaking with emotion. “Every time I remember something, it’s like I’m meeting a stranger who’s supposed to be me. It’s terrifying, and I don’t know how to make it better. And it doesn’t help when I’m constantly reminded that you’re disappointed in me too.”

Spencer ran a hand over his face, his own anger and hurt warring with the compassion he still felt for you. He wanted to say the right thing, but his emotions were tangled, pulling him in different directions. The frustration that had built up over the weeks finally met the compassion he still felt for you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the fight leaving his voice as he took a step back, trying to regain control. His eyes softened as he looked at you, the anger giving way to vulnerability. “I know it’s not fair to put this on you. God, I’m not disappointed in you, I’m just... I’m scared, Y/N. I’m scared that I’ll never get you back.”

The vulnerability in his words pierced through your own defenses, the rawness of his confession echoing the fears that had plagued you both. It was as if the anger that had fueled the argument had stripped away the layers, leaving only the truth of your shared fears and insecurities.

You sighed, your own anger giving way to a wave of exhaustion and sadness. The argument had drained you both, leaving behind a hollow ache that you couldn’t ignore. “I’m scared too,” you admitted, your voice trembling as you spoke. “I’m scared that I’ll never be able to remember the love we had, that I’ll never be able to be the person you fell in love with.”

Spencer's eyes met yours, and you could see the struggle within him—the longing to reach out and bridge the gap between you, the desire to hold onto the love that had once been so strong and certain. “You’re still the person I fell in love with,” he said softly, his voice tinged with desperation. “I know it’s hard to see right now, but you are. And I don’t want to lose you, even if it means starting over.”

His words hung in the air, a lifeline thrown across the chasm that had opened between you. You took a deep breath, the weight of his words. 

“Can I ask you something?” Spencer spoke up, his voice laced with vulnerability. His eyes held yours, searching for an answer he seemed afraid to hear but needed to know nonetheless.

“Of course,” you replied, curious about what was weighing so heavily on him. You wanted to reassure him, to offer some comfort amid the storm of emotions that had engulfed you both.

“Do you find me attractive?” Spencer’s question was simple, yet it held a complexity of emotions—self-doubt, insecurity, a desire for reassurance.

“Spencer… what?” you asked, taken aback by the suddenness of his inquiry. You hadn’t expected that question, and yet, as you looked at him, you realized how important your answer would be.

He shifted his weight, his gaze dropping for a moment before returning to yours, the raw honesty in his expression clear as day. “Do you think that I am attractive? Even now, that you don’t remember me?”

You considered his question carefully. Spencer was undeniably an attractive person—his features were striking, with a gentle kindness in his eyes and a quiet strength in his posture. There was an undeniable allure to him, a magnetic pull that you felt even in your current state of confusion. 

You imagined seeing him in a bar or a crowded room, where his presence would stand out, where you would undoubtedly look twice. His intelligence, the way he carried himself with quiet confidence, and the kindness in his eyes were all qualities that would draw you in.

“Yes,” you replied honestly, your voice steady and sincere. “Yes, Spencer, I find you attractive.”

Spencer let out a small breath he seemed to have been holding, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he absorbed your answer. There was a flicker of relief in his eyes, a subtle shift that spoke volumes about how much your opinion mattered to him.

“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice a blend of gratitude and something deeper, something that felt like hope.

You took a step closer, wanting to close the distance between you. “Spencer, it’s not just about looks,” you added, wanting to make him understand. “I may not remember everything, but I can see the person you are. The way you care, the way you’ve been so patient with me… that’s what makes you truly attractive.”

His lips curved into a tentative smile, the tension in his features easing as your words reached him. It was a smile that held the promise of new beginnings, a shared understanding that even in the absence of memory, there was a foundation upon which you could rebuild.

Spencer nodded, a small chuckle escaping him as he rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture you found endearing. “I guess I just needed to hear it,” he admitted, his vulnerability laid bare in that moment.

You nodded, reaching out to take his hand in yours. “We’ll figure it out,” you said, your voice filled with determination.

Spencer's fingers intertwined with yours, his touch gentle yet reassuring. The simple act of holding hands felt like a small victory, a step toward rebuilding the connection that had been so abruptly severed.

“You couldn’t possibly remember this,” Spencer said with a wry smile, “but I don’t usually touch people’s hands. It’s actually safer to kiss; fewer germs are spread that way.”

You let out a laugh, the tension between you dissolving into a moment of lightness. It was the first genuine laugh you'd shared since the accident, and it felt like a breath of fresh air. 

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” you replied, raising an eyebrow with a teasing grin. “But if that’s a line, it’s not working.”

Spencer chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “It’s not a line, I promise,” he said, a hint of mischief in his tone. “Just one of those strange facts about me you’ll probably hear more about as you get to know me again.”

“Good to know,” you said, your smile softening into something more sincere. “But for now, hand-holding is just fine.”

—

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter and joy, a celebration not just of your birthday but of the progress you had made and the hope that lay ahead. Surrounded by friends and loved ones, you felt a sense of belonging, a reminder that even in the midst of adversity, there was a community that held you close.

As the night drew to a close, you and Spencer stood together on the balcony, the city lights twinkling in the distance like stars. It was a moment of quiet reflection, a chance to breathe and appreciate the small victories that had brought you to this point.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” Spencer said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that resonated deep within you. 

You turned to him, your heart full of gratitude and the promise of what was to come. “Thank you, Spencer,” you replied, your words laced with sincerity.

—

“Y/N! Spencer is here for you!” Emily called out from the living room, her voice carrying through the apartment with an excited lilt that made you smile.

You were in your bedroom, putting the finishing touches on your outfit, excitement and nervousness fluttering in your stomach. Today marked your fifth date with Spencer, a milestone that felt both exhilarating and significant as the two of you continued to rebuild your relationship from the ground up.

The past few weeks had been a journey of rediscovery. You and Spencer had taken it slow, giving each other the space and time needed to navigate the complexities of your situation. Each date had been a new beginning, a chance to learn about each other all over again, and it had been going well—better than you had dared to hope.

You’d spent hours talking about everything and nothing, sharing stories and memories that both filled in the gaps and created new ones. There were still moments of hesitation and uncertainty, but they were gradually being replaced by laughter and warmth, a growing sense of familiarity that felt like home.

Taking one last look in the mirror, you adjusted your necklace and took a deep breath, feeling a thrill of anticipation for the evening ahead. You made your way to the living room, where Emily was chatting with Spencer, her eyes lighting up with the kind of mischief only a big sister could muster.

“Hey, Spencer,” you greeted him with a smile, feeling the familiar flutter in your chest that had become a welcome sensation. “Ready to go?”

Spencer turned toward you, his face breaking into a warm smile that made your heart skip a beat. He looked dapper in a casual blazer and slacks, an outfit that struck the perfect balance between relaxed and stylish.

“Wow, you look amazing,” he said, his eyes filled with admiration as he took in your appearance. "If I had known you were going to look this stunning, I would have worn my best suit."

You laughed, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. "Oh, please, you look great," you replied, meeting his gaze with a teasing grin. “Besides, I think we match perfectly. You know, two fashion icons taking on the city."

Emily watched the exchange with a satisfied smile, clearly pleased to see the chemistry between you and Spencer reigniting. She gave you a playful nudge, her eyes sparkling with encouragement. “Have fun, you two,” she said, ushering you toward the door. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes at Emily’s antics, before turning back to Spencer. “Shall we?” you asked, extending your hand toward him.

Spencer took your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze that sent a reassuring pulse of connection between you. “We shall,” he replied with a grin, leading you out the door and into the evening that awaited.

—

The drive was filled with easy conversation, the kind that flowed naturally and effortlessly between you. You chatted about everything from work to your favorite TV shows, reveling in the comfort of each other’s company.

“So, where are we going tonight?” you asked, curious about the plans Spencer had made for your date.

“It’s a surprise,” he said cryptically, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “But I think you’re going to love it.”

“Really?” you said, raising an eyebrow with a playful smirk. “Are you sure it’s not just another one of your ploys to impress me?”

Spencer chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Would it be working if it was?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” you teased, giving him a flirtatious glance as the car continued through the city.

Eventually, you arrived at a charming little restaurant tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. It was the kind of place that exuded warmth and intimacy, the cozy ambiance inviting you in as soon as you stepped through the door.

“Wow, this place is lovely,” you said, taking in the dim lighting, the soft music playing in the background, and the delicious aroma of Italian cuisine wafting through the air.

Spencer smiled, clearly pleased with your reaction. “I thought it might be a nice spot for us to relax and enjoy some good food,” he said, leading you to a table by the window that offered a view of the city lights twinkling in the distance.

“So, any more memories come back recently?” Spencer asked gently, his tone curious yet considerate, as if he knew the subject was still delicate.

You nodded, feeling a flicker of excitement as you recounted some of the fragments that had returned. “I remembered a trip I took with Emily last year to the beach. We ended up getting caught in a rainstorm and had to take cover in this little café, where we spent the afternoon playing board games. It was such a fun day.”

Spencer listened intently, a smile tugging at his lips as you spoke. “That sounds amazing,” he said, his eyes filled with warmth and understanding. “You know, we had a similar rainy day adventure once. It involved an umbrella, a very wet cat, and an impromptu rendition of Singin’ in the Rain in a park.”

“Did we now?” you replied, a playful twinkle in your eyes. “Are you sure you weren’t just trying to get me to fall for your charming rendition of a classic?”

“Guilty as charged,” Spencer admitted with a laugh, his gaze meeting yours with a sincerity that made your heart flutter.

“Tell me, though, did we kiss in the rain?” you asked, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.

Spencer blushed, a charming pink spreading across his cheeks. “We might have…”

“How scandalous!” you replied, feigning shock, but the playful glint in your eyes gave you away.

“You were the one who initiated it!” Spencer shot back, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Oh yeah, am I just supposed to believe you?” you teased, leaning back in your chair with a smirk. “You could be making it all up just to impress me.”

“Well,” Spencer said, a hint of mischief in his voice, “it is supposed to rain later. We could test out the theory.”

“Spencer Reid, you dog!” you exclaimed, laughing at the thought of dancing in the rain with him.

You shared a laugh, the sound mingling with the gentle hum of the restaurant around you. It felt like the world had faded away, leaving just the two of you in your little bubble of happiness.

—

After dinner, you and Spencer strolled through a scenic path in the park, hand in hand. The night was pleasantly cool, and the stars dotted the sky like scattered jewels. The conversation between you flowed effortlessly, a blend of teasing and genuine connection that made the evening feel special.

“I thought it was supposed to rain?” you mused aloud, glancing up at the sky.

“Are you disappointed it’s not?” Spencer asked, a playful edge in his voice as he followed your gaze.

“Are you going to kiss me anyway?” you replied with a teasing smile, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

Spencer froze up for a moment, caught off guard by the boldness of your question. A myriad of thoughts raced through his mind, each one tangling with the next. 

He had been nervous to make any moves on you ever since you’d started dating again. What if you didn’t like how he kissed anymore? Or his scent, or taste? What if you two didn't have rhythm anymore? The fear of these possibilities had kept him in check, cautious and tentative.

“What’s going on in that big brain?” you asked, your voice gentle and full of curiosity. You squeezed his hand, bringing him back to the present. Your touch was reassuring, a reminder that the connection between you was as strong as ever.

Spencer shook his head slightly, chuckling at himself. “Just... overthinking, as usual,” he admitted, meeting your eyes with a sheepish grin. “I’ve just been worried that maybe things aren’t the same between us.”

You tilted your head, regarding him with a soft smile. “Spencer, nothing about you could ever disappoint me. We might be rebuilding things, but I think that’s what makes it exciting. We get to discover everything all over again.”

He nodded, his apprehension slowly melting away as your words resonated with him. The sincerity in your voice was like a balm, soothing the insecurities that had plagued him.

“And besides,” you added with a playful twinkle in your eye, “I think we both know we’ve still got that spark.”

Spencer laughed, his tension finally breaking as he took a step closer. The warmth of your presence enveloped him, and he realized how much he had missed these moments with you—the teasing, the laughter, and the unspoken bond that seemed to transcend the gap of memory.

“You’re right,” Spencer said, his voice softening as he gazed into your eyes. “I’d be more than happy to kiss you, rain or no rain.”

You smiled up at him, your heart fluttering with anticipation. As he leaned in, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you beneath the starlit sky.

When Spencer’s lips met yours, it was like coming home. The kiss was gentle at first, a tentative exploration of the familiar territory that quickly blossomed into something deeper. His lips were soft and warm, and the familiar scent of his skin surrounded you like a comforting embrace. 

All the previous worries melted away as you found your rhythm together, the familiarity and connection more than you could have hoped for. Spencer’s kiss was tender but charged with an intensity that made your heart race, a reminder of the passion and warmth that had always been at the core of your relationship.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, feeling the subtle tension in his muscles beneath your fingertips. Spencer responded in kind, his hands finding their place on your face, drawing you into him as if he was afraid to let go. 

The kiss deepened, and it was as if time had stopped, the world around you fading away until only the two of you remained. Lips slotted together perfectly, tongues gliding in a slow, sensual dance that sent shivers down your spine. 

You felt Spencer’s teeth gently nipping at your bottom lip, a playful gesture that made you gasp softly against his mouth. The small sound seemed to spur him on, and you could feel the gentle pressure of his hands pulling you even closer, until there was no space left between you. 

In that moment, everything felt right—the way his lips moved against yours, the warmth of his touch, and the gentle thrum of your heartbeat syncing with his. It was a moment of pure connection, a dance of lips and breath and emotion that left you both feeling dizzy and alive. 

You could feel the tension and uncertainty of the past few weeks melting away, replaced by a deep sense of belonging and peace. As you finally pulled back, you looked into Spencer’s eyes, seeing your own emotions reflected back at you—the warmth, the longing, the hope that you both shared.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless but smiling, the shared moment leaving a lingering warmth that seemed to wrap around you both.

“Wow,” you murmured, gazing up at Spencer with a soft, genuine smile. “That was... perfect.”

Spencer chuckled, relief and joy evident in his eyes. “I’d say it was pretty amazing,” he agreed, still holding you close.

You both lingered there for a while, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment, the cool breeze whispering through the trees, the world feeling just a little bit brighter.

—

As you continued your stroll through the park, the clouds did open up, and the rain did come, soaking both you and Spencer. The unexpected shower was a sudden thrill, droplets of water cascading down your hair and cheeks, drenching your clothes in moments. The rain brought a fresh, invigorating scent to the air, wrapping around you like a cool embrace as you and Spencer burst into laughter.

“You said you wanted rain,” Spencer quipped, looking at you with a playful glint in his eye, water droplets clinging to his hair and eyelashes.

“I did, didn’t I?” you giggled, brushing a lock of wet hair out of your face. You both sprinted toward his car, shoes splashing through puddles, the sound of your laughter mingling with the rhythm of the rain.

You reached the car, breathless and exhilarated, climbing inside and closing the door behind you. The heated air enveloped you both in a welcome warmth, and you shivered slightly, feeling the chill of your soaked clothes. 

Spencer turned on the car’s heater, and soon the air filled with warmth, contrasting the rain still pelting the car roof outside. You shared a look of amusement, the shared adventure bringing a delightful sense of connection.

“I don’t want to go home, but I’m uncomfortable,” you admitted, glancing down at your soaked clothes with a bemused smile. 

“We could… go back to our—my apartment and change. Maybe watch a movie?” Spencer suggested, his voice soft and inviting, a hint of hesitation in his words as if worried you might say no.

You met his eyes, the warmth in them offering reassurance. “I’d love that,” you replied, your heart fluttering with the anticipation of spending more time with him.

—

Spencer drove you both back to the apartment, the windshield wipers swishing rhythmically as the rain continued its steady drumming against the car. It was your first time returning to the apartment since the night you’d cried there, overwhelmed by the weight of memories you couldn’t quite grasp. But now, the thought of revisiting felt different, less daunting and more like a step forward.

As you entered the apartment, you paused to take it all in again—the familiar scent, the little touches that made the space feel like home. Spencer watched you with a gentle smile, allowing you to explore at your own pace, offering silent support as you reacquainted yourself with the surroundings.

“Do you want to take a shower?” Spencer asked, breaking the comfortable silence. “All of your stuff is still in there.”

“Um, sure. Thank you,” you replied, grateful for the chance to shake off the chill of the rain.

You made your way to the bathroom, feeling a sense of nostalgia as you stepped inside and closed the door behind you. The shower was just as you remembered it, a familiar haven of warmth and comfort.

The water was soothing as it cascaded over you, washing away the rain and the lingering remnants of the day’s adventure. You felt a sense of relaxation settling in, a quiet moment of peace as you let the warmth envelop you.

But then, as you turned too quickly, your foot slipped, and you fell onto your tailbone with a startled yelp. 

“Ow!” you exclaimed, wincing at the sudden jolt of pain.

“Y/N?? Are you okay?” Spencer’s voice called out from the other side of the door, filled with concern.

“Yeah! I just fell,” you called back, trying to keep your tone light despite the embarrassment.

“I’m coming in,” Spencer announced, the worry evident in his voice.

“Wait, Spencer, no—” you began, but he was already in the bathroom, eyes wide as he took in the scene.

He saw your naked form on the ground of the tub through the clear glass, his expression filled with worry and, perhaps, just a touch of awkwardness.

“Spencer!” you exclaimed, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment and amusement.

“What happened? Are you hurt? Did you hit your head?” he asked, his concern overriding any sense of propriety.

“I’m fine, I’m naked!” you replied, laughing at the absurdity of the situation even as you tried to cover yourself.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Spencer said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I forget. I’ve seen you naked many times.”

“That is so weird,” you teased, rolling your eyes playfully.

Spencer laughed lightly, his eyes twinkling with warmth. “I don’t think so,” he said, his voice softening into something more tender.

“Can I see you then? Even it out?” you asked, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

“What?” Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, his cheeks flushing a delightful shade of pink.

“I’ve seen you naked before, right?” you continued, your playful tone belying the genuine affection in your gaze.

“Well, yes, but it’s different,” Spencer stammered, trying to maintain his composure.

“So it’s okay for you to see me, but not for me to see you?” you challenged, a teasing lilt in your voice. “Come get in the shower and help me up.”

Spencer hesitated for a moment, then his expression softened into a smile, affection and delight playing across his features. “Alright,” he said, his voice filled with laughter. “Just this once.”

He quickly shed his clothes and joined you in the shower, his presence a comforting warmth amid the steam and water. With a gentle touch, he helped you up, his hands steady and reassuring as he held you close.

“Thank you,” you said softly, meeting his eyes with a smile. 

Spencer’s gaze was warm and tender, his hands lingering on your waist as he smiled back at you. “Anytime,” he replied, his voice a gentle promise. 

Your eyes couldn’t help themselves as they wandered downward, taking in the sight of him. The realization that you were both standing there, unashamedly bare, brought a new kind of awareness that was both amusing and endearing.

“Y/N!” Spencer laughed. “Eyes up here.”

“I'm sorry,” you said with a playful smirk, your eyes darting back up to meet his. “It’s human nature, after all.”

“I know,” Spencer replied, shaking his head with a chuckle. “But at least pretend to be subtle.”

“You’re quite large,” you teased, unable to resist the opportunity to keep the mood light. “Are you a grower still? Or always a shower?”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed a deep red, his hands instinctively moving to cover himself as he groaned, “Oh my godddd.”

“Answer the question, and I’ll shut up,” you promised, a sweet smile playing on your lips as you looked at him with mock innocence.

With a sigh of resignation, Spencer removed his hands, his expression a mix of bashfulness and humor. “Still a grower,” he admitted, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

“Lucky me!” you exclaimed, your tone full of playful triumph.

Spencer shook his head, his laughter infectious as he declared, “Not anymore, this was great. Goodbye!” He made a half-hearted attempt to step out of the shower, clearly feigning an exaggerated exit.

“Not so fast!” you interjected, grabbing his arm and pulling him back gently, your own laughter bubbling up as you did so.

His eyes met yours again, and the playful banter settled into something softer, a mutual understanding that transcended words. The silliness of the moment gave way to a quiet intimacy, the kind that came from truly seeing one another and finding joy in simply being together.

As the water continued to rain down, you and Spencer stood there, wrapped in each other’s presence, feeling a sense of comfort and safety that went beyond the physical. 

You both eventually turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, towels wrapped snugly around you. The steam-filled bathroom felt like a private world where the rest of the day’s worries faded away.

—

Once dried and dressed in cozy clothes, you settled into the living room, the aroma of freshly brewed tea wafting through the air as you curled up on the couch together. The rain had stopped outside, leaving a soft patter of droplets against the windows, the perfect backdrop for a cozy movie night.

Spencer draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “So, what’s our viewing pleasure tonight?” he asked, his voice filled with a relaxed contentment.

“I was thinking something classic,” you suggested, snuggling into his side. “Maybe a bit of Casablanca?”

“Casablanca, it is,” Spencer agreed, reaching for the remote with a smile.

As the movie played, you found yourself not only immersed in the storyline but also in the warmth of Spencer’s presence beside you. The shared laughter, the gentle teasing, the comfortable silence—it all felt like home.

—

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when you wake up, you find yourself nestled in the bed, no longer on the couch. The room is softly lit with the early morning sun filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow over everything. Spencer is still sound asleep next to you, his arms wrapped around you in a protective embrace. His breathing is steady and calm, and you watch him for a moment, feeling a rush of affection for this man who has been so patient and kind through everything.

Wanting to do something kind for him, you slowly and carefully extricate yourself from his embrace, trying not to wake him. You slip out of bed, pulling on his robe as you head to the kitchen to make some coffee, a small gesture of appreciation for the many times he’s been there for you.

As you move about the kitchen, the familiar routine of making coffee brings a sense of comfort. You smile to yourself as you measure out the coffee grounds and water, the rich aroma filling the air. It feels good to be doing something for him, even if it’s just a small gesture.

When Spencer finally wakes up, the smell of freshly brewed coffee lures him from the cocoon of blankets. In his sleep-delirious haze, he doesn’t realize anything has changed, and he instinctively walks into the kitchen, still half-asleep, and wraps his arms around you from behind.

“Morning, Spence,” you say softly, feeling the warmth of his embrace as you continue to stir the coffee.

“Mmm, good morning, baby,” he mumbles into your hair, his voice thick with sleep.

“I made your coffee, just how you like it,” you say with a smile, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the little surprise you’ve prepared for him.

“Black, seven teaspoons of sugar?” he asks, his voice carrying a note of playful suspicion.

“Precisely,” you reply, leaning back to kiss his head where it’s nestled against your neck. You love the way his hair feels soft and slightly tousled from sleep, the familiarity of the moment wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

Spencer hums contentedly, the combination of your affection and the promise of coffee stirring him more fully awake. You hand him a steaming mug, and he takes a grateful sip, savoring the sweet warmth.

“Thought we could call Diana today, check in on her progress,” you suggest casually, remembering the conversations you’ve had about keeping in touch with his mom.

Spencer’s mind is still catching up to the morning, the mention of his mother registering slowly. “Okay, that’s a good id–wait… what?” His eyes widen as he pulls back slightly, looking at you with surprise and hope.

“Diana, babe? Your mom? I haven’t talked to her in a while, and I wanted to see how she was doing,” you say, turning to face him, your own excitement bubbling beneath the surface.

“Y/N, are you messing with me?” Spencer asks, his voice a blend of disbelief and anticipation, as if he’s afraid to hope too much.

“No… Are you okay, Spence?” you ask gently, reaching up to touch his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin. 

“Spence? My coffee preference? My mom?” Spencer’s eyes search yours, an array of emotions flickering across his face. “What are you not telling me?”

You smile, unable to contain your excitement any longer. “Oh, I woke up this morning with a few memories of our time together.”

Spencer’s eyes widen, his expression shifting from confusion to pure joy. “You remember?” he asks, voice filled with a hopeful wonder that sends a warm thrill through you.

“Bits and pieces,” you admit, nodding as you set your own coffee down on the counter. “It’s like little snapshots coming back, but they’re there. And you were in them.”

His face lights up with a brilliant smile, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners and sends warmth flooding through you. “That’s amazing, Y/N,” he says, pulling you into a tight embrace, his arms enveloping you completely.

You melt into his hug, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. It’s a moment of connection and triumph, a small victory in the long journey of reclaiming the life you once shared.

“I’m so happy,” Spencer murmurs, his voice muffled by your hair but no less filled with emotion. “I’ve missed you—every version of you.”

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze with a smile that mirrors his own. “I’ve missed you too, Spence. I can’t wait to see what else comes back.”

Spencer leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. His touch was a gentle reassurance that you were exactly where you were meant to be, a soothing balm to the uncertainty that had lingered since the accident. The warmth of his lips against your skin sent a wave of comfort through you, a reminder that love was a constant, waiting patiently to be remembered.

“I love you,” Spencer murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with sincerity and a gentle vulnerability. “Can I say that now? Is that okay?”

His eyes searched yours, seeking not just permission but a confirmation that the love you once shared was finding its way back, stronger and more resilient than before.

“Only if it’s okay for me to say I love you too,” you replied, your voice soft but filled with the depth of emotion that had grown in your heart. 

The words were a quiet declaration, an acknowledgment of the bond that had endured through the haze of forgotten memories and the challenges of the past. It was a promise of the future you were eager to explore together, a future built on the foundation of love and understanding.

Spencer’s smile widened, his eyes sparkling with a joy that mirrored your own. “Then it’s more than okay,” he said, his voice warm and full of affection.

You both stood there for a moment, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of the morning, the aroma of coffee mingling with the soft light filtering through the kitchen. It was a simple moment, yet it held the weight of everything you had been through together, a testament to the resilience of love and the power of memory.

“Come here,” Spencer said, pulling you into another embrace, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that spoke volumes.

You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting reminder of the life you were rediscovering together. In that embrace, you found not just comfort but a sense of belonging that had been waiting for you to come home to.

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

tag list <333 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite

[saquesha13]

May I just say how well fed we are in the Steddie Fandom?

I’m sure someone has said all of this before, so i’ll just say it again.

It’s been over two years since we were introduced to Eddie Munson, only getting a handful of scenes of Eddie and Steve together - let alone interacting together - and it’s all thanks to everyone in this fandom why I am in the biggest steddie rabbit hole not looking for anyway out.

• 28,986 Fanfics to choose from on Ao3 alone. 👀

• thousands of beautiful fanart to browse through from talented artists. 🤌

• so many gorgeous edits of the boys, videos and pictures both. 😻

• cosplayers bringing them to life & letting them hold hands. 🥹

• how active so many ppl are after two whole years still constantly creating food for my pathetic brain to feed off of. 🩷

It’s beautiful how even though these characters didn’t interact nearly enough on screen, we all took one look at Eddie holding the glass to Steve’s throat and all thought the exact.same.thing.

I honestly love it here.

This fandom has me writing fanfiction again, something I haven’t done in YEARS and wasn’t planning on doing ever again really.

The goddamn chokehold steddie has on me is literally insane.

If you’ve contributed your talents into this fandom at all, if you’ve supported artist and writers with comments/likes/kudos, THANK YOU ♥️

[wandaromanoffroses]

"Isn't she gorgeous?"

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Requested

Warnings: 18+ content, breast sucking, fingering (R receiving), orgasm denial, strap-on use (R receiving), cock-sucking, vaginal sex, degrading, praising, profanity

Summary: Your husband, Steve Rogers, has been romantically and sexually starving you ever since he became an Avenger. After borrowing money from notorious crime leader, Natasha Romanoff, she breaks into your house to get what she's owed. However, when she finds you, his gorgeous wife innocently asleep next to him, you catch her interest and her plans change instantly.

Pairings: top dom!Natasha Romanoff x bottom sub!reader, Steve Rogers x Reader (nothing romantic or sexual happens)

Trigger Warnings: blood, gun wound, reference to implied SA (blink and you'll miss it).

“Y/n?” you nearly sent the plate in your hand flying to the floor, dropping it into the washing bowl before spinning around to see your husband in the doorway. You shook your head, sure that your eyes were deceiving you. He was never here even when he promised, never mind three weeks early. 

“Steve,” you said, drying your hands and rushing over to him but before you could pull him into a hug, he caught a hold of your shoulders to stop you. His touch sent a stab of pain into your chest and you were snapped back to reality, falling away from the lingers of a past moment you had momentarily forgotten wasn’t your present. You straightened your figure and took a step back, looking up at the man that had once been the light of your life, a guide in the darkness, someone special to share all the good with but now, he could’ve been a stranger.

You had been married for three years, together for five and the first few years would be the most treasured moments of your life. But ever since he had become an Avenger, it had consumed his sole purpose. 

Steve was always out fighting, carving his mark, making the world proud of his heroism while you stayed at home doing chores and completing mindless activities to pass the time. There was once a time where you could’ve sworn you saw Universes in his eyes. Now, his skin had been drained of colour and his eyes were rimmed with red as if he were a ghost that was forever cursed to haunt his loved ones. “What are you doing here?” you quizzed.

“I’m sorry," he said, bowing his head, “I’ve got into a bit of trouble, I wanted to make sure you were safe.” You frowned. 

“What trouble?” you questioned, “is there a villain after you? Can’t the Avengers help you?” You didn’t even bother hiding the bitterness in my voice. They were clearly everything he ever needed, what use were you to him? He sighed.

“Not exactly,” he said, “we should probably sit down.” You followed him into the dining room with caution in your steps, not taking your eyes off him. The walls were a fading, off-white, elaborate flowers twisted between leaves and detailed patterns, wooden panelling running along across the bottom. The light fixture in the centre was brass with three upturned light bulbs, the dining tables and chairs a polished rosewood. Steve had wanted the room like this because it reminded him of his Grandmother. It was awkward to clean and there was always a build of dust in here. You took a seat opposite him.

“What’s going on?” you said. He scratched the back of his neck.

“I know what you’re going to think but… alright I’ll just tell you. I took out a loan from someone a bit dodgy and I haven’t quite paid them back.” You raised an eyebrow.

“What’s ‘haven’t quite’ supposed to mean?” you said, raising your voice. 

“I haven’t paid them back, okay?” he exclaimed, “look, all I wanted to do was buy you a new house, I wanted to make you happy since you hate this one so much. I don’t see anything wrong with wanting to spoil my girl.” Generosity – the easiest attainable remedy for guilt.

“Well, I see something wrong with borrowing money you can’t pay back, especially from somebody that can put you and other people in danger,” you said, pushing yourself onto your feet, “what were you thinking Steve?” He slammed his fists onto the table and you jumped, your heart thumping against your ribcage.

“Listen, I thought I would have the money by now. It’s not my fault I can’t see into the future, you know I wouldn’t have even thought about it if I knew.” You closed your eyes, exhaling a long breath, trying to keep your composure. There were a hundred things you wanted to say to him right now but it wasn’t worth it. You either lived in peace or chaos; either way, nothing changed. 

“I thought I knew a lot of things about you but they turned out to all be wrong,” you said, “so I don’t know anymore. Nothing you do surprises me.” You stormed back into the kitchen, not wanting him to waste anymore of your time. You had dishes to do and by now, the water would’ve gone cold. 

“Y/n, come on. You haven’t seen me in three months and this is how you’re going to treat me?”

“I have dishes to do,” you said, picking up the plate you had dropped before, polishing it until it shone in the dim light peeking through the curtains, “someone has to keep the house clean.” And clearly, it wasn’t going to him. You felt a firm hand on my shoulder and all the muscles in your body tensed.

“I know you’re mad at me.” You scoffed. Mad wasn’t the right word – it was an array of messy emotions tangled together that had been fraying for years. There was more than just anger here, that was just an old friend that had withered and grown back into something much more cruel now. “Just please… let me make it up to you. I could die on a mission one day you know, you never know when one of these moments could be our last.” He had tried guilt tripping you before – it was a simple yet effective way of shifting blame onto the other person to ease your conscience. These games were getting so predictable. 

“And I’d be the last one to know,” you said, “maybe if I was lucky, I’d see it on the news.” You placed the last plate on the drying rack, emptying the washing-up bowl before walking away to leave him standing in the kitchen, alone. 

..........................................................................

You had avoided Steve as if he were the plague for the rest of the evening, only tolerating him in the same room as you when you went to give him his dinner. If you were nothing but his little housewife, you may as well play the part and poke it in his face. While you were getting ready for bed, you had paused by his chest of drawers, remembering the divorce papers you had hidden beneath the shirts he had outgrown or didn’t like anymore. Most of them had been bought by you and you could recall a memory with your husband in every single one. Maybe another day.

You couldn’t sleep but you kept your eyes tight shut when you heard him enter and move around the bedroom. Why didn’t you just sleep in the living room?, you thought as he slipped under the covers beside you. You figured he’d probably leave before you were awake so in his mind, you wouldn't even know. Dickhead. You didn’t know how much time had passed but you must’ve fallen asleep because the next thing you see is blinding white.

“Steve, turn the lights off…” You let out a scream when a gunshot sounded through the room, colliding with your husband’s cry of pain. Your eyes flew open and immediately fell on the figure standing at the end of your bed, her ravishing, blood-soaked hair curled onto her shoulder, her eyes glittering with shattered pieces of jade. Your heart seemed to freeze in your chest. Natasha Romanoff – the most notorious leader of crime in the world. And she was here, in your bedroom. 

You turned to Steve and let out a strangled sob, the sight of scarlet soaking into the bed sheets making you dizzy. You heard the click of heels behind you and Natasha took a fistful of your nightgown before you could even process what was happening, pulling you away from him as if you were a mere feather. You screamed again and if it wasn’t for her strong grip on you, you would’ve collapsed to the ground.

She waited until you were steady enough to stand on your own two feet, gripping your hips and pulling you flush against her body. She was wearing a dress that emphasised all her curves and showcased most of her skin, your body flooding with dread. This woman was able to shoot Captain America without any protective clothing like it was nothing. There was no way out of this situation. We were doomed. I felt something hard in her crotch area, confused as to why she was carrying such a bulky item in her pockets.

“Leave her alone,” Steve whispered, his voice faint and overshadowed by anguish. 

“Get on the floor and don’t say another word unless I ask you a question or she’ll have to watch you die,” she snapped, “neither of us want that to happen, do we?” With resentment, he hobbled away from the bed, stumbling over to the wall and sliding himself down it, his hand clutched to the gun wound in his stomach. “Good.” She ran a finger down your cheek before beginning to trace your features, her head tilted to the side. “You didn’t tell anyone you had a wife, Rogers. Isn’t she gorgeous?” You shivered in her hold, her voice low and seductive. “What’s your name, pretty?”

“Y-Y/n,” you trembled, wishing you could strangle the butterflies in your stomach that her touch had provoked. This was insanity – she had just shot your husband and she was threatening to murder him yet she was making you nervous, in a romantic way. God, if only Natasha wasn’t so beautiful, this would be a whole lot easier. 

“Y/n Rogers?” she said, giving you a fake pout, “that doesn’t sound very nice, does it? Y/n Romanoff has a much nicer ring to it.” A crease formed between your eyebrows. What the hell was she implying? “Rogers, I’m willing to strike up a deal with you. But first, I’m going to fuck your wife until the only name she’ll remember is mine.” His eyes widened in horror and you let out a cry. 

“Natasha, that’s assault. You can’t,” Steve said. She smirked.

“Oh there won’t be any need for that,” she said, “it won’t take much for her to beg me for more.” She pushed you down onto the bed and straddled your lap, a pool of wetness already forming between your legs. This was so fucked up. “Give me consent and I’ll make you feel so good baby, better than you’ve ever felt. All you have to do is say the word.” 

You considered all your options but it didn’t take you long to decide since you only had two. You either let Natasha fuck you or you watched Steve die. You could treat it like a one night stand, you thought. You had never experienced one yourself but you’d read it in books so surely you would be able to do it.

Though you knew deep down, part of you wanted this. You were desperately touch starved and the thought of Natasha fucking you made you groan, heat rushing to your cheeks as the sound escape your mouth. You nodded and she gripped your jaw.

“Words bitch.”

“Yes,” you said, looking away from her in shame but she forced you to look back at her.

“Good girl,” Natasha said, lowering herself onto you and colliding her lips with yours, setting all your nerves alight. Her lips felt like velvet against your own, melting against you and setting a slow pace, letting you get used to the sensation. You couldn’t remember the last time Steve had kissed you, never mind like this. 

When your hand moved to her chest, she knew she’d won and she began kissing you with more passion, her teeth sinking into your bottom lip. You gasped and she took the opportunity to slip her tongue between the gap in your teeth. You didn’t even bother fighting against her, wanting Natasha to take full control and use you however she pleased. 

She separated your lips and began kissing your neck, her teeth ruthless against your skin as she began to mark you, leaving a trail of garnet blotches that would be seen by everyone. “Tell him how much you like this.” As much as you wished it wasn’t true, you were very much enjoying this. It was a terrible thing to admit to your husband but you had to remind yourself that his life was at stake here.

“I love it, I love being marked by you,” you said, “please don’t stop.” She pulled away when she reached your chest, reaching down and taking hold of your nightgown. 

“Can I take this off angel?”

“Please,” you said, ignoring that Steve was in the same room as you. You wanted this, you needed this, you hadn’t had sex in so long. Too long. She lifted herself off your waist for a few moments so she could discard you of your nightgown before continuing her path down your chest, stopping right before she reached your breasts. 

“So beautiful,” Natasha said before taking one of your nipples between her fingers and rolling it, earning her your loudest groan yet. She began to fondle the other roughly and the pain was soon replaced with pleasure that went straight in between your legs. You were a moaning mess beneath her, your forehead glistening with sweat and your breaths loud and sharp. “Listen to that, Rogers. Does she make these sweet, sweet noises for you? Do you Y/n? Tell me.”

“No,” I said, “only for you.” She tutted.

“Oh sweetheart, he doesn’t deserve you,” she said, “it’s okay, I’m going to take care of you now.” She ran her hands down your stomach and attached her mouth to your hardened nipple, your mind unable to decide what to concentrate on. She slipped her fingers beneath your panties and began snapping it against your skin, causing you to start bucking your hips into her. 

“I need you,” you said. You expected her to make you wait but her expression softened as she began sliding your panties down your legs, throwing them in Steve’s direction. “Look how she ruined them for me. If you weren’t so neglectful, this could’ve been you, Rogers. Don’t you ever forget that.” You gasped as the palm of her hand pressed against your cunt, brushing against your swollen clint. “So wet.”

“Natasha, please…”

“Beg,” she said, running her fingers through your folds and collecting your arousal, “let him hear you.”

“Please Natasha,” you said, “I need you to fuck me so bad. I need you inside of me, please make me cum.” Your words made her groan and you whimpered as you felt her push two fingers inside of you, giving you only a few seconds to adjust before she began thrusting in and out of you at a quickened pace. You felt a burning sting, grabbing her wrist to try and slow her down. “Nat, it’s too much, it hurts.” 

“What do you mean sweetie? Does he have a small cock?” There was a cruel glint in her eye when the realisation dawned on her. “He hasn’t fucked you in a longtime has he? How long has it been?” You were struggling to form coherent sentences at this point.

“Six months,” you admitted. He visited so little and he was always exhausted when he did, hardly even giving you any affection, never mind fulfilling your physical needs. You had shamefully been trying to fuck yourself for over a year now but you were either too embarrassed to keep at it for long or you were eventually forced to give up, too inexperienced to make yourself cum. You had never used more than one finger so you weren’t used to the stretch at all.

“You’re telling me your husband had access to this cunt anytime he wanted but he chose not to fuck you for half a year?” What a waste of such a perfect pussy,” she said, “shh, it’s okay, it’ll feel so good in a minute.” As if to prove her point, porn-worthy moans began to spill from your mouth as you were drowned in overwhelming bliss. She knew she had found that one spot inside of you when your noises became more intense and more wetness gushed from your entrance, the squelches of your arousal echoing around the room. You took fistfuls of the duvet beneath you in your hands, your walls began to clench around her fingers. But just before you reached your high, Natasha slipped her fingers out of you.

“No,” you cried, “I was so close.” She placed a kiss on your forehead.

“Not just yet,” she said, “I want you to cum on my cock.” You blinked up at her in confusion, not understanding what she meant. Was she perhaps intersex? “Get on your knees.” You scrambled to obey her command, your thighs glistening with white and she smirked. “Such an obedient thing. Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.” You did so without hesitation and she lifted up her dress and threw it on the floor, leaving her in a lacey bra and boxers. Your eyes fell onto her breasts that were full and sat perfectly, wondering how they’d feel in your hands and in your mouth. You were too distracted to pay attention to Natasha pulling down her boxers until a large, red strapon sprung into your face.

You were sheltered and didn’t have many friends so your knowledge on how two women had sex was low. You had accidentally come across some brief information about strapons while scrolling through social media, closing the app immediately and uninstalling it. You had never told anyone you liked women so any mentions of the topic made you panic and run in the opposite direction. Natasha noticed your hesitation.

“It’s just like sucking a cock,” she said, “you’ve done that, right?” You shook your head. Steve  was a very traditional man so you’d never done anything outside of the very basics. You had always wanted to explore more interesting options but you were too ashamed to ask or discuss any of your preferences with him. “God, so vanilla. Once I show you what you’ve been missing you’ll never want to go back. Do you want to try симпатичный (pretty)?” Her Russian Nickname for you sent a lustful thrum through your body despite the words being foreign and unknown to you. You knew there was only one correct answer to her question but you liked being able to show Natasha how much you desired to follow her orders.

“I’d love to try,” you said, “anything to please you.”

“Good girl,” she husked, nudging your mouth with the strap-on. Her other hand dug into your shoulder as she pushed it inside of your gaping mouth, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

Natasha kept going even when you started choking, tears slipping from your eyes and smearing your makeup. The sight of you, a perfect housewife she had ruined and made a mess of, only made her thrust the toy into your mouth faster, desperately turned on. When she was satisfied that you’d wet it enough, she pulled out, showing enough mercy to let you catch your breath. “You’re already such a good cock-sucker.” She ran her thumb over your plump lips. “Aren’t you glad I put these lips to good use, hmm?”

“Yes,” you gasped, “thank you Natasha.” She placed a kiss on your forehead.

“So polite. Get on all fours and look at your husband.” You hesitated a little this time, suddenly remembering Steve’s presence. You turned around and followed her commands, your gaze meeting with his. Steve’s pupils were drowned in pain and clouded his emotions so you couldn’t identify them, blood still gushing from his gun wound. 

“Natasha, I think he’s going to die,” I said, “his stomach…” She looked over and saw that he was on the verge of passing out, his blood loss now critical. 

“I fear you’re right,” she said, “I thought we’d have more time with him, shame. Don’t worry милый (darling), he’ll be alright soon.” You heard footsteps thundering up the stairs before the door was flung open and several men dressed head to toe in black burst into the bedroom. You wondered how she had summoned them so quickly but you were too horny to dwell on the thought for long. 

You tried to cover your exposed body, feeling vulnerable all of a sudden but Natasha slapped your hands away. “They won’t look my angel, they wouldn’t even dare. Don’t let them distract you.” You felt something prodding your entrance and you whimpered.

“Please,” you breathed as she circled your entrance with the toy, collecting your arousal. 

“You’re somehow even wetter,” she cooed, “did you really love your face being fucked that much?” Before you could answer she began to push the tip inside, your soaked walls showing no resistance. She didn’t give you anytime to get used to the stretch, pulling out before slamming back into you seconds later. The pain only lasted a few moments before it dissolved into pure pleasure as Natasha pounded into you like a wild animal. You arched your bark, the dirtiest sounds you had ever produced spilling from your mouth and echoing through the room. You somehow managed to lift an arm and point it towards Steve’s shirt drawer.  

“There’s divorce paper,” you strung together between gasps, “in that drawer. I already signed them.” The men followed your finger and moved towards them, aimlessly throwing Steve’s shirts onto the floor. You saw a pang of hurt in Steve’s expression but you didn’t care. He should’ve seen this coming and even if he didn’t, it was his fault anyway.

As the divorce papers and Steve were dragged away, you moved your hips in rhythm with Natasha’s to try and get the strap-on deeper into you, every brush against your walls sending electricity through your body. She gripped your hips, encouraging your movements, grunting each time you slammed back against her. Your groans changed when she found your g-spot again and after that, she made sure to keep hitting it, a knot beginning to tighten in your stomach for the second time that night.

“I need to cum,” you said, “can I this time, please?”

“Such a slut,” she said, “soak my dick baby. Go on.” You screamed her name as you released all over her cock, stars blinding your eyes as your body shook with bliss, each new wave stronger than the last. After the longest orgasm of your life, you finally finished cumming, liquid staining your thighs. But Natasha didn’t stop, moving her hands up to your ass and massaging your cheeks. 

“Natasha, I’ve already cummed,” you said, expecting her to finally pull out but instead, she tutted.

“We’re not finished yet,” she said, “If I wanted to, I could have you cumming all over this cock all night. We’re done when I say we are. You are all mine after all, gorgeous.” After the initial discomfort faded away, you were soaring back up to cloud nine, ready to do whatever Natasha wanted.

“Of course,” you said, “I’m all yours now.”

[midnightwriter21]

can we have the first meet soulmate thing for sorcerer! reader please?? w gojo only

jjk hcs: satoru meeting sorcerer!soulmate!reader

characters: satoru gojo x reader, megumi (mentioned), yuji (mentioned), nobara (mentioned)

warnings: u kill a cursed spirit, possible injury but not rly, mature language (reader cusses gojo out lmfao), the kids & reader lowkey bullying gojo lol, gojo is kinda suggestive at the end

AN: soulmate au where the first words your soulmate says to you are tattooed somewhere on your body!! read the non-sorcerer version HERE

SATORU GOJO

being called in as back up for a mission involving a 2nd grade cursed spirit was not on ur to-do list today

but guess where you are!!

an empty mall!!

an empty mall where you’re currently watching 3 teenagers run around like headless chickens

the curse is ugly… as most of them are but..

this one is NASTY looking

several different colored eyeballs sticking out of various places on its body

it’s oozing some sort of greenish brown liquid

and the smell

dear lord it’s bad

the poor pink haired kid is simultaneously holding his nose and trying to fight the curse with one hand

and it’s main attack seems to be the ability to spit that greenish brown liquid at whoever it’s attacking, rendering them immobile

almost like a glue trap for mice

the curse backs the three kids into a corner and prepares to spit that sticky liquid at them

and that’s when you decide to make your entrance

jumping from the second floor of the mall, in front of the kids, and drawing your weapon

you block the attack and jump towards the curse

severing it’s head and therefore exorcising it in one quick movement

you sheathe your weapon and turn to the kids, “why the hell are you three taking on a 2nd grade mission?”

the pink haired boy from earlier explains, “our sensei was supposed to be with us but when we split up he went to the food court… and uhhh… we haven’t seen him since.”

you give the kids a sour look, “your sensei must be a complete moron”

all at once the kids agree

“he is” -the girl with the hammer

“yeah, pretty much” -the boy with the black spikey hair

“i mean.. kinda, sometimes” -the pink haired boy

you sit the kids down on a bench so that you can check over them and access any possible wounds

mama bear mode activated.

you ask the boy, who you now know as megumi, to get in touch with his sensei

when his sensei answers the phone, megumi explains that the curse has been exorcised

but before he can explain about your presence, you snatch the phone from him and let out a string of expletives directed towards the man on the other end

“you must be a fucking idiot huh? your kids could’ve died taking on a 2nd grade alone and you’re off being an irresponsible jackass somewhere-“

before you can continue you hear the dial tone

he hung up on you

without even saying a word

nearly growling in anger you shove the phone back to megumi and move over to yuji

you take his hands in yours and begin to wrap his hands in bandages saying, “you know, if you keep punching through walls you’re going to end up really hurting your knuckles”

as you wrap his hands you’re not really paying attention to your surroundings, so the smug voice coming from behind spooks you a little…

“it’s good that a pretty little thing like you came to the rescue or else my kids could’ve died since i was off being an irresponsible jackass”

he’s throwing your own words back in your face

whipping your head around fast enough to give yourself whiplash, you prepare to launch into another ass chewing

but your words get stuck in your throat when you’re met with a tall, blindfolded, white haired man

a man known to everyone in the jujutsu world

Satoru Gojo

in response to your stunned silence he lets out a chuckle, “what? cat got your tongue, pretty?”

his mocking snaps you back into reality as you fire back, “no, i’m just surprised on how someone like you can be such a complete and utter dumbass!”

“awww cmon is that the way you’re supposed to talk to your soulmate?” he smirks down at you

you give him a confused look before it hits you

his first words to you from earlier…

“it’s good that a pretty little thing like you came to the rescue or else my kids could’ve died since i was off being an irresponsible jackass”

those exact words are printed on your back underneath your shoulder blade in neat handwriting

looking up at him with wide eyes, you watch as he turns his back to you, pulling off his uniform jackets and lifting up his shirt

ignoring the faint gagging sounds from his students

and there it is, printed in the exact same spot as yours, in your handwriting

“you must be a fucking idiot huh? your kids could’ve died taking on a 2nd grade alone and you’re off being an irresponsible jackass somewhere-“

“no. fucking. way.” you say in disbelief as he turns back to face you

“you have a dirty mouth, sweetheart,” he leans in and whispers softly in your ear, “can’t wait to see just how dirty it can get,” he leans back and says in his normal voice, “but we’ll save that for later!”

[lwwife]

Hi!!! Request for Leah (smut), something based on the first time Leah can use the strap properly again after her ACL and she goes to town on reader with it after not being able to do that for so long. They’re still completely switch tho, so some bottom!Leah too.

I've missed having you like this

Smut: Leah and Reader!Switch, strap on, fluff

Word count: 1,870

-

Leah’s pov:

Y/n and I’s sex life since doing my ACL has been uneventful, to say the least. Y/n has been able to go down on me, but I’ve still had to keep cautious of the way I move my legs. I haven’t been able to touch Y/n properly in a long time. We found a compromise for her to sit on my face, but it rarely happens. I’ve finally hit my 9-month mark since surgery and am back playing almost full games. I have an appointment later this afternoon with the surgeon which should be one of my last. Y/n is going to tag along as she has for all of them. She wants to make sure she knows how to look after me perfectly and I recover well.

-

“Okay Leah, your scans show an almost perfect recovery, you’ve done incredibly well in rehab and I’m going to clear you for a full 90 minutes.” I grin excitedly and Y/n squeezes my hand.

“Congratulations baby!” she turns to me, “I’m so proud of you.”, I look at her lovingly.

“Yes, you’ve done very well Leah you should be very proud of yourself.” The doctor smiles and nods.

“Excuse me, I just need to pop to the loo” Y/n stands up and kisses my head on the way out. Once the door closes, I turn back to the doctor nervously.

“Is something wrong Leah?”

“No sir it’s just I um I’m not really sure how to ask this” I look down.

“Leah I’ve heard some wild things in my years, please go ahead” He smiles softly.

“Okay well, I um I was just kind of wondering if um I would be able to you know” I raise my eyebrows and he laughs.

“Have sex?”

“Yeah, yes um that” He laughs again.

“Yes, you can, you’re practically cleared for any form of physical activity, except I wouldn’t recommend getting back to your gym time backflips just yet” he grins, and I have to laugh.

“Thank you, sir,”.

-

Y/n’s pov:

“Darling! Dinner’s nearly ready” I call out to Leah, who’s God knows where doing God knows what. I haven’t seen her since we came home from the doctor, she disappeared upstairs almost immediately. “Leah! babe! Come on I’m serving it up” I shout again.

“Coming bub!” she shouts from the stairs. I turn around to place the food on the table when Leah comes around the corner, hair freshly washed, skin looking clean, and I can smell her perfume from here.

“Nice scrub?” I laugh at her.

“Shush you” She comes over to me and kisses me on the cheek before sitting down. “This looks lovely baby thank you for cooking”.

“You mean like I do every night?” I raise a brow and Leah rolls her eyes and giggles.

“Mmmh” Leah almost moans, “This is delicious y/n” She runs her foot up my bare calf. I raise my eyebrows and almost choke on my wine. She just continues to eat, ignoring my hard stare.

As I’m washing up the dishes Leah comes up behind me wrapping her arms around my waist, slowly leaving kisses along my neck and up to my ear. “What’s gotten into you tonight?” I question her.

“Am I not allowed to touch my beautiful girlfriend?” She takes her hands off me and brings them to her chest, acting offended. I simply roll my eyes and giggle as she walks off to the couch.

I’m lying in Leah’s arms, in between her legs, back against her chest watching our current obsession, Game of Thrones, when Leah begins to run her hand up my thigh. I look up at her, but she continues to look forward, raising her hand higher and higher. “Leah” I whisper.

“What?” she smiles,

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing, what are you doing?”, I cock an eyebrow at her childish response. “Ugh! You can’t take a hint can you?” She whines.

“What are you talking about baby?” I frown.

“I want to fuck you, babe! We haven’t had sex in ages, I’ve been trying to tease you all night! I just had the longest shower of my life, shaving every possible inch of me!”

“Leah, darling, I know I want to too, but you’re still recovering I don’t want to ruin your rehab baby.” I frown at her again, stroking my thumb over her cheek.

“The Doctor said it’s fine” she mumbles.

“What?”

“The Doctor! He said it was fine to have sex” She looks down, “I asked him” She keeps her head low but looks up at me with a pout and a small smile.

“You naughty girl” I whisper.

-

“Oh yes fuck! “, Leah moans and cums loudly as I suck hard on her clit. “Come here” she orders me, and kisses me hard, tongue diving straight into my mouth. “I want to make you feel good” she groans. “Stay here, I’ll be right back”. I smile, excited. Leah returns a minute later with our favourite strap attached to her.

“Oh shit” I mumble as I feel myself instantly drip.

“Turn around” She orders me, and I turn to get an all fours, just how I know she likes it. She moves me so I'm resting on my forearms instead of my hands, and my face is down into the pillow. She smacks my ass hard and I wince but moan at the feeling. “God I can’t wait to fuck you like this” she growls, spreading me open by the cheeks, moving forward a little more. She smacks my ass again and runs the strap over my clit and down, so it’s completely coated in my wetness. “Do you want me to fuck you baby?” she leans down to my ear, her front against my back.

“Yes please, I want you so bad baby please fuck me”, Leah smacks my ass one more time before she slowly thrusts the strap inside me. I moan loudly, instantly feeling the pleasure I’ve so badly craved. “Fuck! Yes, keep going” I pant, my entire body tingling. Leah's thrusts start to speed up and become more forceful.

“Yeah? You like that baby?” She growls into my ear.

“Yes! Yes! Fuck yes! Oh, you fuck me so good” I moan. Leah moves back so she’s no longer against my back and grabs at my hips roughly. She begins to slam into me, harder and harder. I moan so loud I begin to feel sorry for our neighbours. I scream and scream and scream while Leah continues to groan and tell me what a good girl I’m being. After one last hard thrust, I cum all over the strap and begin to drip down my thighs. I wince and groan at the feeling of Leah removing the strap from me.

“Shhhh it’s okay baby, I know” She hushes and turns me over so I’m on my back. She kisses my head softly and lays down next to me. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed that; I’ve been dying to fuck you like that for months.”

“Yeah, well you better not ever stop,” I whisper. “Take it off” I look down at the strap. Leah looks at me confused, as if she was waiting to go another round on me. “I’ll let you go again later you addict, let me have a turn”, I move closer to her and begin to undo the harness. I strip her of the strap and put it on myself. Leah lays, patiently, a small smile visible on her face, waiting for me to climb on top of her. I sit up and rest my back against the headboard. “Come sit” I demand. Leah almost jumps at the chance. Moving over she places herself onto my stomach, subtly grinding, her wetness coating my abdomen. I move my hands to run over her breast, we aren’t quite at eye level so she’s looking down at me, however, we both know I have all the power at this moment. I squeeze her breasts and she throws her head back. I pinch her nipples then move forward to kiss her chest. Her hands immediately find their way to my hair, pushing me in further. I lick and suck all over her chest, biting and pulling softly at her nipples. Leah’s grinding starts to get quicker, so I stop.

“Ride it,” I say simply. Leah doesn’t hesitate to move back, hovering herself over the strap, which is still wet from me. “Now sit,” I tell her. Leah slowly sits onto the strap, her mouth instantly opening, angelic noises escaping. Once she fills herself with the whole thing I grab onto her hips and begin to guide her up and down. As she moves faster her moans get louder, and her breasts jump in front of me. “Fuck you’re so good, taking it all for me” I growl at her.

“God, you feel so good, baby. Fuck!” She screams out and her motions quicken. She grabs onto my shoulder, scratching into my skin, “I’m going to cum, oh fuck!” She continues to scream, louder and louder until she finally collapses. Her body is exhausted and almost limp so I turn us over so she’s lying down, and I can pull out. She whines at the loss of contact and pants heavily. I remove the strap and quickly go to the bathroom, wash it and put it away. I return to Leah awaiting me, smiling. “I forgot how good it is when you fuck me” she grins.

“I won’t ever let you forget again” I whisper as we lean in for a sweet kiss. Hands wondering, eager for another round.

-

A/n: Hope this was okay and everyone enjoyed it! Feedback is welcome in my comments, messages, or asks! 😊

[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER ONE: WE'RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE

← back to chapter list

SUMMARY ↳ A large machine stationed on both sides of the room, pointed ends meeting each other. A particle accelerator. pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne wc: 2.1k

In every universe the Spider is a hero. Some go by different names, some can create their own organic webs, and some have their own cat burglar to wrestle with. One constant, for sure, is that they all are bitten by a spider. You are not the exception.

You were bit when you were 13, and for the last 5 years, you have been the “one and only” Spinnerette! It had been a rocky start, but things are looking okay now. You’ve got a family, a real, strong and fun family.

“You’ve been officially added to my hitlist, Tony, watch you’re motherfucking back.”

“Oh, goody. You might be the only person who hasn’t hired a sniper on me before.”

Loving family, of course.

There was an idea to put together a group of remarkable people to see if they could fight the battles humanity could not. It was called the “Avenger Initiative.” A billionaire, super soldier, scientist, Russian spy, master archer and a God walk into a Shawarma restaurant, wonder what it leads to. The Avengers currently all (mostly) live in the former Stark Tower.

You also currently live in the former Stark Tower. It’s a dream come true. Everyone is happy, everyone is healthy, and your relationships with each Avenger is thriving.

“When’s the last time you ate, kiddo?” asks Tony, stepping inside your personal lab he had gifted you for your 15th birthday. Your hands move deftly, fluid and familiar in fixing your web-shooters.

“A definitely normal time,” is your reply. “Hey, what did you do with the Iron Spider suit? I’ve been looking for it everywhere. I’m thinking about tweaking some of the web combinations.”

“It’s charging, where else would it be? Also, here.” He puts a bag of sandwiches from Delmar’s. You grin and reach out for it. “You know me so well.”

“I know you best,” he clicks, and reaches out to ruffle your hair, only because you let him. “Can you tell Nat I fixed her widow bites? And tell Sam I fixed that dent in his wings, too.” You take a bite of a sandwich. “I’m unna pakrol inna vit.”

He pinches your cheek. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, it’s disgraceful.” Stay safe.

“[Name], it may be more efficient to patrol without music blasting in your ears,” says your ever so faithful AI, Karen.

You huff goodnaturedly. “ Ear , Karen. Singular. It’s never screwed me over before, I promise I am a responsible music listener.” The thwip of your webs shooting out has always been a comforting sound. It’s a reminder, of who you are, of what you stand for. All your accomplishments (failures too, but the pain is grounding.) “Also, please place an order for the new Batman comic, I forgot to do it earlier.”

“I find it contradicting how you say you are a casual enjoyer, yet own nearly every issue of any and all related Batman comics.”

“I don’t believe in consistency… or whatever Hobie would say.”

The discovery and confirmation of the multiverse was not as surprising as it should’ve been, but it was daunting all the same. You’ve never really been alone since your life at the Tower, but it was a whole new type of connection, finding out there were other Spiders, other you’s . Then, of course, there was that whole “Miles, you’re the original anomaly!” fiasco. Luckily, the situation ended up resolved, and there are (mostly) no hard feelings. You haven’t met another [Name] [L.Name] yet, but there are plenty of other Spider’s to learn from.

“Numerous suspicious activity reports have taken place downtown. I suggest checking it out.”

“You’re the boss, Karen.” You twist your body, changing your momentum and direction, heading downtown. You do flips and tricks, with all the grace of a ballerina. The nanotech is perfectly flexible enough for your dramatics. Tony had spontaneously made the suit for you, as the fabric of your old one didn’t provide as much armor as he needed for peace of mind.

“I am detecting a multiversal instability. Tread carefully.”

The eyes of your suit squint. “Get Miguel on this.”

It isn’t often a multiversal problem pops up in your universe. With people like Stephen Strange and Wanda Maximoff holding cosmic power in relation to interdimensional activity, and the Space Stone itself, your universe holds up well in defense to multiverse activity. But even so, space is unpredictable.

Miguel, despite all his grievances with you and the Peter Parker of Earth-199999, equipped you both with a Web-Watch (you and the other Spiderlings agreed Gizmo was lame). You don’t use it much unless it’s to go chill at the Spider HQ or visit the other ‘Lings in their universes. Whatever iota of guilt he felt after the whole Miles thing manifested itself as overprotectiveness, and he insists on dealing with all spatial related problems himself. You’ll indulge him, if only to bother him about the tech in his universe.

You’re met with a warehouse, abandoned, because of course it is. “No heat signature’s,” you mumble, the suit scanning for signs of life. You hop down through a hole in the roof silently, looking around. There’s random tech and machine parts scattered around, which is never a good sign. It’s easy to miss for the untrained eye, but you spot a hidden elevator mechanism and step inside it. If anything goes wrong, you trust your spider-sense to get you the hell out of dodge.

The way down is ominous, if not for the almost complete darkness, then for the red blinking lights. Your sense tingles, not sensing any immediate danger, but very uncomfortable down here.

d on’t feel good not safe for long leave quickly

Going en pointe (because going on your actual tippy toes to increase stealth is just way too good), you sneak carefully. Just because there are no living dangers doesn’t mean there are none at all. The room is as dark as the rest of the place, and while you can turn on night vision, it’s not as efficient in understanding what the hell you might be looking at.

“Karen, is there a light switch in here?” Your voice echoes in the large room.

“To your left, [Name].” Sure enough, there actually is a light switch that you find after groping the wall. “Huh,” you hum, pleasantly surprised. A flick of the switch activates the many overhead lights and reveals a daunting sight.

A large machine stationed on both sides of the room, pointed ends meeting each other.

A particle accelerator.

“Fuck,” you breathe. “Ok- uh. Karen, contact Tony, and Bruce. Can you tell if it’s been active recently?”

“I am picking up a recent signal, yes. I theorize the recent earthquakes are because of test runs.”

Miles once told you his story. Finding the particle accelerator, his Spider-Man’s death. You remember placing a hand on his shoulder, and you remember him grasping it tightly. It was a complicated time in his life.

“How did he destroy it again…?” you murmur, looking around the machine. “A goober.. right. How did Peni make it, though?” Pulling up your wrist, you scan the machine. “Please contact Peni as well, K.”

Stilling your posture, you look up at the accelerator. You have no doubt nothing good will come from whoever is behind this. Those who try to manipulate powers greater than them always receive a rude awakening. Maybe, by the grace of some higher power, you can somehow rope the Space Stone into this. You know better than to think they don’t have some kind of sentience. Maybe you’re just getting ahead of yourself–

watch out! behind you!

When you turn around, there’s nothing behind you. You’re on high alert now. Your sense doesn’t make mistakes, so either a sniper is pointing his gun at you, or someone who can cloak themselves in around you, and neither of those are good. You breathe in, honing your senses, the situation is far too delicate for you to stumble.

“Show yourself,” you demand. “If you’re smart enough to build this then understand when I say I will find you.”

there! right there!

You turn and send a web to where your senses pointed. The person grunts, trapped in your solution. You pull them toward you. “Show yourself,” you repeat.

A sigh leaves the person's mouth. Then, slowly, their form reveals itself. It’s like Miles' ability to go invisible. Before you is someone your age, must be. And yet the way they carry themselves is reminiscent of somebody who has been through far too much for someone their age. So, basically every Spider you know.

Which is on brand apparently, because this person must be like you. There is no other possibility. The web patterns on their suit, the bug eyes of their mask, the invisibility thing.

“You’re…” you mutter.

“Like you,” they finish.

Your eyes narrow. “The hell are you doing, man? Surely a Spider knows this if some fuckshit,” you gesture to the massive machine. “What are you even doing here?”

Their suits eyes squint. “It’s a delicate matter.”

“Yeah. Obviously,” you roll your eyes. “Not like a bridge to different dimensions is any walk in the park.”

“It’s none of your business,” they huff.

“Hell yeah, it is. You’re me, basically. You’re building a particle accelerator in my universe. By the way, let’s talk about that. Why not just carry out your evil plans in your own home? Did Venom get you or something? We can like, do something about that. Probably–”

“Enough nonsense,” they spit.

“Oh, okay.”

The room lights up, and the particle accelerator whirls to life. The room shakes, no doubt another earthquake beginning to affect the city. A whirlwind of colors fill your vision. Your hand curls the cuff of their suit into your fist.

“What did you do.”

“I’m doing what I have to.”

It happens fast, far faster than your senses could have warned you. Your web restricting them snaps and their hands grab you.

“You’ll survive.” Their hands destroy your watch. “I’m not so cruel.”

And you’re thrown into the web of the universe.

Waking up in an unfamiliar environment has happened far more times than it should have. It’s instinct that pulls you up from the ground. Your body is sore, your head hurts, and the eyes of your suit are genuinely tweaking.

“Karen…” you groan.

“I am unable to connect to any Mr. Stark’s satellites. I detect multiple bruises all over your body, no broken bones. The suit is in functioning condition, 92% charge left.”

“Yeah, we are definitely not in New York anymore. My New York, anyway.” You look up. Your environment is gloomy, the skies are gray, and the buildings have seen better days.

“I’ve connected to the satellites I can detect that are currently in orbit.”

“I need out of this suit, K.” The nanites retract into your web-shooters, now disguised as regular bracelets. You pause and think. “Gimme some glasses, actually. I still need you.” A couple of nanites crawl up your body and form frames on your face. “I can always count on you, K.”

“I’ve created a route to a public library with computers for you.”

The walk to the library has you on edge. Your sense isn’t exactly reacting like it would when you’re in immediate danger, but it’s buzzing constantly. You sigh to yourself. There should’ve been a protocol made for this as soon as you found out about the multiverse. It would’ve definitely been called the “We’re Not In Kansas Anymore Protocol.”

“I’ll start making that protocol for you,” Karen says. You hadn’t realized you’d been talking outloud, sighing. “Thanks, K.”

People keep glancing at you when you walk by before ultimately minding their own business. You’re sure that you give them that uncanny valley feeling, even if you look like a regular human. Effects of being from another universe, you guess. 

Walking up the steps to the library, you think about your next move. You should worry about living your situation. You have no clue how long you’ll be here before someone finds you (or, god forbid, you build your own way back home). You know how to be sneaky and steal, hopefully it doesn’t have to come to that though. You look up, thinking, and pause when your eyes spot something.

Gotham City Public Library.

What. The. Fuck.

In hindsight, it shouldn’t be so surprising. Infinite universes, infinite possibilities, so on and so forth. It had never crossed your thoughts that the silly stories you like (read: obsess over) could be a real universe out there. You don’t like to think about it too hard.

“Karen. Where are we.”

“My map tells me we are currently located in Gotham City, New Jersey.” Big yikes.

“Okay. Change of plans. We are going anywhere but here. Let’s just make up a fake identity, first. And get a job. I deserve a couple of days to think.” No way in hell are you going anywhere near that library where goddamn Oracle works.

It’ll be best to avoid everyone all together.

notes: title is a lyric from "Saturn" by SZA.

[sagesolsticewrites]

Take A Break

Rosie runs into a childhood friend at the flak house.

Requested by anon, based on the prompts “I kissed you because I wanted to. Dumbass.” and “You’ve got stars in your eyes.”

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

As you stood on the front steps of Coombe House, you found yourself nervous for the first time since you’d started there.

Lieutenant Robert Rosenthal was the name at the top of the list of the latest group of soldiers assigned to the house, and since you’d been given it, you couldn’t stop thinking about a childhood friend of yours from Brooklyn with the same name.

Don’t be ridiculous, you scold yourself, reminding the sentimental part of you that the odds of it actually being Robbie were astronomical and you shouldn’t get your hopes up.

Pasting on your best smile as the car filled with boisterous soldiers pulls up, you shove those thoughts away.

“Hello gentlemen!” you call, “I’m Y/N. Welcome to Coombe House.”

You lead them around the house, reciting your spiel about the various activities and amenities, and then passing them off to Michael.

A gentleman who had been hanging towards the back of the group during the tour stepped up, calling your name as the rest of the group was led to their rooms.

“Robert Rosenthal,” he said, introducing himself, “I was just wondering--”

“Robbie?” you gasp.

The brightness in them had dimmed the slightest bit, but you'd recognize those kind blue eyes anywhere.

His brow furrows, no doubt baffled at hearing his childhood nickname all the way over in England.

“I’m sorry, how did you— Wait,” he scans your face, recognizing… something, “Y/N… L/N?”

At your answering nod, you’re tackled in a hug, his joyous, disbelieving laugh filling your ears.

“What are you—? How—?”

“I wanted to help out, and I guess the Army figured this is where my skills would be best put to use,” you explain with a laugh, “When I saw your name on the list I wasn’t sure if it was really you, but…”

“Gosh, Y/N, I haven’t seen you in…”

“Nearly 10 years? I know, I tried to keep in touch after we moved…”

You catch up with your friend, responsibilities forgotten — “So… Rosie, huh?” “Hey, you’d be surprised how little control you have over nicknames in the Army!” — until the clock begins to chime and you realize you’ve spent nearly half an hour just standing here talking.

As Robert begins to excuse himself, not wanting to take up any more of your time, you recall the incident that led to this conversation.

“Er, you said you had a question?”

He hums in confusion before remembering “Oh! Yeah, I was just wondering how long I have to be here…?”

“Unfortunately that’s not really up to me,” you reply with an apologetic shrug, “It’s the decision of your CO to send you boys out here, but you’re welcome to chat to Dr. Huston about it.”

“Though while you’re here,” you say as he’s about to walk away, “I’d recommend taking advantage of the baths and hot water. Absolutely life-changing.” You add with a teasing grin.

He lets out a laugh, though not nearly as genuine as you’d hoped. With that, Rosie thanks you and departs with a two-fingered salute

Robert spends the first couple days at the house keeping his distance from his crewmates, his eyes continually on the sky rather than taking part in the sports and activities available to the soldiers. He doesn’t seem like the boy you remember, but… well, there is a war going on. It’s changed everyone it touches.

One night you find yourself wandering the halls, unable to sleep, when you hear music coming from one of the sitting rooms.

“Hello?” You call softly, following the sounds of Duke Ellington to find Robert standing next to the record player, staring out the window at the darkened English countryside, soft curls tinted slightly blue in the moonlight.

He starts, then relaxes once he sees you.

“Hey,” he says, turning down the volume, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you-”

“I was up already,” you assure him, “Couldn’t sleep?”

“I guess I’m having a hard time with,” he gestures to the lavish country house with a shrug, “all this? I mean… all the croquet, badminton, riding with hounds— what even is that, by the way?”

Your lips twitch up into a smile as you move to stand beside him, “Foxhunting.”

“Foxhunting,” he sighs, shaking his head, “That’s exactly what I don’t need right now.”

He turns his gaze to the star-filled night sky, “What I need is to be back in that seat getting this job done.”

He continues, talking to himself almost as much as you, “Sittin’ here doing nothing, when people are bein’ persecuted and— I can’t— I had gotten into a rhythm, you know? Three days, three missions, easy. And now being yanked out of that, it’s like…”

He searches for an analogy, and you can’t help but smile at the one he lands on, recalling his fascination with music back when you were children.

“You don’t yank Gene Krupa out in the middle of a drum solo, and then expect him to pick right back up where he left off two weeks later, you know?”

You nod, understanding where he’s coming from. You recognized that while some jumped at the chance for a distraction, it was a more difficult adjustment for some soldiers to be thrust into this environment after so long in battle.

“Well, Gene Krupa’s not just responsible for his own rhythm, is he?” You say softly, following his analogy, “He’s responsible for the rhythm of the whole band. And if he’s off, then…”

Rosie nods, letting out a soft laugh, “Okay, I see where you’re going with that.”

“Seriously, Robbie,” you say, taking a chance and resting your hand on top of his on the windowsill, his gaze meeting yours at your touch, “If you don’t let yourself take a break, even just for a little while… it’s not gonna be good.”

He’s silent, and for a moment you worry you’ve overstepped.

Until he mumbles, in a voice so soft you’re not even sure you were meant to hear it, “You’ve got stars in your eyes.”

Maybe it’s the soft sounds of Duke Ellington still playing. Maybe it’s the moonlight, the calm silence filling the house.

Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you like you’re the first good thing he’s seen in a long time.

You’re not quite sure what, but something possesses you to surge up onto your toes and press your lips to his.

His hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer, before he abruptly pulls away.

“I, ah…” He says, seemingly trying to gather his thoughts, “You didn’t just do that because you felt… sorry for me or somethin’, did you?”

Relief floods through you— he’s concerned with why you kissed him, not the mere fact that you did.

You cup his cheek, and Rosie’s eyes close, leaning into your touch as you say softly, “I kissed you because I wanted to.”

Then, after a moment’s consideration, you add with a smile, “Dumbass.”

His eyes shoot open as he barks out a laugh.

“Oh, that’s how it is, huh?”

Your giggles are swiftly silenced by his lips landing on yours once more, the tension finally leaving his shoulders for the first time in weeks.

The two of you end up on the couch, talking late into the night about what brought you to England, Rosie mostly telling you in hushed tones about the friends he’d made in the 100th— men that were no longer here, but lived on in his memory, and now yours. You fall asleep leaning against each other, still holding hands.

You shift, eyes fluttering open as the gray dawn light filters into the room. It takes you a moment to get your bearings, but you grin seeing Rosie asleep next to you, looking the most relaxed you’ve seen him since he arrived. With a single kiss to his forehead, you slip away to the women’s wing of the house until it’s an appropriate hour for you to stumble upon him in the sitting room.

Armed with a thick blanket and a coffee service, you creep in to see Rosie still sound asleep. Smiling, you gently lay the blanket over him, trying not to wake him. Unfortunately, he stirs the moment the blanket touches him.

He looks around, attempting to orient himself, and relaxes when he sees you.

“Good morning,” you grin, taking in his sleep-mussed curls shining golden in the morning light, “Coffee?”

“Please,” he replies in a voice rough with sleep, mustache twitching up into a smile as he sits up.

“Just don’t tell anyone, alright?” You say coyly as you prepare a cup, “I can’t be bringing all you boys breakfast in bed, now can I?”

“Well, I must be special,” he grins, taking the cup gratefully and adding with a wink, “I’ll take it to the grave.”

You’re glad to see him relax a tiny bit more over the group’s last few days at the house, and the two of you are able to find plenty of stolen moments together once everyone’s gone to bed.

When it’s time for them to return to base, he leaves you with a promise to write and a kiss. He captures your lips tenderly on the front steps, disregarding the whoops and cheers from his crew mates waiting in the Jeep, and you can’t help smiling despite yourself as they drive away, keeping your eyes on him for as long as you can.

[illshakeyouallnightlong-dean]

Take Me To The Sun (Pt. 2)

Part 2 is here! :) Here you can read part 1.

Just a little angst before we get to the good stuff.

It’s been 10 days. 10 days of agony, of turmoil and regret and anger - so much anger. I’m the only third year left. I’m expected to carry on my co-section leader responsibilities as if the absence of Garrick is a minor inconvenience. The early sun rises with a flourish of pinks, reds and oranges and all I can do is relish in this fleeting moment of peace. 

No one seems to care or notice that they aren’t back yet. I can’t help but seek comfort from Rathnait, my only anchor since the moment we left Basgiath. A warmth of what I could only describe as security floods down the bond. 

We can’t worry about things that haven’t been confirmed yet, flare. She knows my true questions, the things that I can’t bring myself to ask or think about. You must think about today, where we will go. Graduation day. I would be assigned to my outpost today, and by this evening I would be gone, my journey at Bagaith over. Turning away from the river, I make my way towards the flight field. The few third years left of this school congregate, awaiting as Colonel Aetos and Commandant Pancheck begin the assignments. 

“Congrats on graduating, Section Leader. It is a shame that Wingleader Riorson and Section Leader Tavis aren’t here to accompany you.” Colonel Aetos nearly sneers at the mention of Xaden. The obvious disdain is unsettling as he rifles through different papers. “Ah yes, your assignment. Due to your signet and the savagery of your red swordtail - you’re being assigned to the eastern wing…specifically, Samara.” He grins at me, almost maniacally as if the post is a joke. Rathanit snarls in my mind, rage igniting the very blood in my veins but all I can do is take the papers from his hand, saluting in acknowledgement. 

Where are you, Ray? My hands tremble, crushing the papers beneath my hold as I make my way quickly towards my room. 

I’ll be there soon, flare. Unless you need me now? 

I halt in the middle of the empty hall, knowing in a matter of moments the rest of the cadets will be awake to get into formation. Pressing the heels of my hand into my eyes, I can’t help but rest my back against the cool stone. 

Samara is the front line. Trying to get the ever rising beat of my heart under control, I must not panic. I am a rider. 

Are you afraid, flare? I shudder at her question, not wanting to admit the fear, the panic. But I know that she can feel everything, hear all that I think. 

They aren’t here. He isn’t here. A whimper escapes my lips, the reality of it all just crashing down like rubble. I will be going to Samara, there is no avoiding it, there is no changing it. While I had spent years trying to survive Basgaith, I would be sent to one of the most active posts in the region. I wouldn’t see Garrick. 

“Section Leader? Ar-are you ok?” Dain Aetos stands before me, hands out as if approaching a scared animal. “We need to get to formation,” I don't hate the kid, knowing that following the straight and narrow path is the life that is meant for some people over others. However, that doesn’t mean I want him to see me having a mental breakdown. Giving him a small nod, I manage to get myself to stand before fully looking at the Squad Leader. Something’s wrong. My own senses are beginning to go haywire. My signet. Only Xaden and Garrick knew. Command and Bagaith are under a different impression as to what it is. The manipulation and detection of emotions however was a daily venture, there was no turning it off, there was only controlling it and questing it and right now Dain Aetos was a mess. 

“I would ask you the same thing, what’s wrong?” I question him, dusting off my flight leathers. I don’t miss the way he flinches at my question, his hesitancy. “Do I have to give an order to know?” 

Taking a deep breath, he stands tall despite the sorrow in his eyes, “Xaden and the rest of the squad he took with him are being declared dead at formation.” I startle myself at the immediate sob that escapes my lips. “Leadership has been looking and there is no sign of them.” Feeling the agony of his own loss, it feels as if a tidal wave has pulled me under. The roaring from Rathnait in my brain feels as if it will explode any second. Dain’s grief, his regret all barrel into me with no filter, no shield. Rathanit’s confusion and rage down the bond. My own sorrow, my own heartbreak. There is no stopping it. There just is feeling it. Unaware of the stream of tears that roll down my face, the taste of salt jolts me out of the shock, the horror. 

“Round up everyone, squad leader. I’ll be at formation in a moment,” I murmur, the assignment papers feeling like large weights in my hand. He turns away to head towards the Quadrant, “Dain,” I call out, sounding like a garbled mess. “Thank you for telling me.” His own eyes glisten with unshed tears as he nods. 

My flare. I hear her call out, though to reach out seems like so much energy, all I can do is let her in with no barriers, allowing her to be there in the comfort of my mind. I’m coming, flare. 

Standing at the bottom of the stone dias. Everyone in formation, I don’t bother to look around. There is no one here to look for anymore. There is no Wingleader, there is no co-section leader - there is just me alone at the front. I didn’t bother to look at my squad, not being able to look at their questioning looks. I was known for being put together, not a hair out of place, no rumpled leathers, no dirt unless necessary. I’m sure the current state of me was a shock. Strands of hair fell in front of my face, eyes dry and cheeks raw from the tears. 

Captain Fitzgibbons overlooks formation, reading off the death roll. “Violet Sorrengail.” A moment of silence as all eyes look to the stoic face of General Sorrengail. “Garrick Tavis.” My heart feels as if it bleeds on the very floor I'm standing on, flinching harshly at the reading of his name. “And Xaden Riorson.” Captain Fitzgibbon’s voice rings out echoing around the quadrant. “Well this is awkward,” a voice calls out. Gasps are heard around the quadrant, even command seems unsettled by what’s happening. My knees seem to be locked in place, unable to turn around and see what is going on. My breaths turn into small gasps of air - no no no it can’t be, I’m dreaming. Dain said. I need to wake up. Heavy footsteps approach behind me, and two individuals take up position on either side of me. A calloused hand brushes against my own.

[tgmsunmontue]

Online & Anonymous 14/16

Hangster. Explicit. Years before they meet in person Bradley and Jake strike up a friends-with-benefits relationship online. And then something more like an actual relationship.

>>Bradley chatting (bold and italics)

>>Jake chatting (italics)

2005/2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018

2019 – Bradley

                Reconnecting with Jas after nearly a year and a half of no contact feels like a fragile glass butterfly in his hands, one he’s scared to hold too firmly in his hands, terrified it will shatter if he moves wrong. He continues sending pictures of his morning cup of coffee, although it’s just with a heart emoji now; no daily apology. Simply an acknowledgement that he thinks of him pretty much as soon as he wakes up. He doesn’t always get one back immediately, but their time zones are very different right now. Jas has admitted that sometimes he takes the photo and saves it to send, so he can pretend they’re sharing, existing at the same time. Bradley admits to wanting to be able to make him coffee every morning. Knows exactly how he takes it.

                His leave has been approved for December, and he’s put in a cushion of an additional week either side to allow for missed flights and natural disasters and he’ll fucking go AWOL if he has to. He hasn’t shared his little contingency plan with Jas, but he will if worst comes to worst. He doesn’t let himself think about it too much, or look forward to it. Doesn’t want to build it all up for it to crumble down around him again. And he’s working very hard to ensure he doesn’t sabotage himself. Not this time. His therapist has given him a lot to think about and sometimes he really hates how right they are.

                Right now though he’s in Ramstein working with the Airforce, some cooperative training gig and he’s trying to use it as a cultural thing, but he feels like he could just be on a base somewhere, anywhere, back home. For some reason it makes him feel homesick for what he thinks must be the first time in his life. Last Christmas he’d spent it with Ice and his family for the first time since he was a teenager. Their relationship healed enough now for him to realize and regret how many years he’s lost. He guesses the maturity and therapy have probably helped, although he sometimes feels like a little kid again, seeking out attention and approval. One of Ice’s kids has kids themselves, and that is wild to him. Ice can’t talk very well, but considering how expressive his face can be when he chooses it to be he’d had entire silent conversation with Bradley while he’d been staying.

…            …            …

>>I’m in Germany.

>>Huh. I’m in Japan.

>>Oh. I like Japan.

>>We’ll have to go together sometime.

>>Wait.

>>What are you doing in Germany?

>>What do you mean?

>>I’m deployed here?

>>Uh. I know you’re Navy. I mean. Yeah.

>>You let it slip years ago.

>>Oh. Shit. Did I?

>>I didn’t realize.

>>Yeah.

>>So. Only seems fair to tell you I’m Navy too.

>>Shit. Really? God. What are the chances?

>>Well, I crunched the numbers few years ago, and they’re not that farfetched.

>>Of course you did.

>>And I’m in Germany helping out with a cooperative training exercise. Just a short four month stint and then back home in June.

>>You sure you don’t want more details?

>>Positive. I like the idea of us having some topics of conversation we haven’t covered.

                He desperately just wants to blurt it out, has in fact tapped out his name and exactly what he does, only to delete it all. He’ll respect Jas’s wishes, even if he doesn’t like them. Even now, knowing they’re both in the Navy and Bradley could, if he wasn’t respecting Jas’s personal boundaries, call Ice and ask him to pull every active-duty man with the initials JAS and born in 1986. Surely there aren’t that many.

>>Talking has never been something we’ve struggled with.

>>Have you seen the new How to Train your Dragon movie?

>>Weirdly, I have. Why?

>>Well, I’ve only been able to watch it in German. I think I understand what is happening, but can you run me through what exactly they were looking for? I didn’t get why it was so important.

                He wants to ask why Jas has seen a movie for kids, but he doesn’t, instead waits for Jas to fill in all the bits of plot Bradley missed due to watching the film in the nearby town with a German dub rather than watching it on base.

…            …            …

                “Bradshaw. The CO would like to see you.”

                He nods his head to acknowledge the words and heads off immediately. He doesn’t know why he’s being summoned but he’s not going to start disobeying orders or summons. He knocks on the door and waits to be called in.

                “Lieutenant. You’ve been called in for a special detachment. You leave for North Island at seventeen-hundred.”

                “Today sir?”

                “Yes. A matter of urgency it seems. A shame, you’re a damned good instructor and flier. I’ll be sure to have you back.”

                “Thank you sir.”

                He’s handed the papers, a mere formality now, he’ll have electronic ones sitting in his HR account. He’s got a few hours to pack, say some goodbyes. North Island. Of all places. Okay. He’s heading back stateside.

…            …            …

                He manages to get some sleep on the flight, then rest and report in. North Island is home and it also isn’t. He always feels mixed up emotionally when he’s here, too close to his parents and all his memories with Maverick growing up. He goes and collects the Bronco from storage, unsurprised to find a note telling him it’s been serviced and run, and he swings by to visit Ice, who doesn’t seem surprised to see him at all. He looks tired though, wearing a thick jacket and scarf despite the warm spring day. Bradley knows better to mention anything, Sarah having warned him. He stays for lunch, plays with the grandkids and then, because Ice is an angel amongst men, heads to the Hard Deck where he’s just been told his best friend probably is. The fact that she’s also been called to whatever this mission is fills him with pride, she’s a damned fine aviator, definitely better than him in some respects; and definitely able to make the most of having a back seater.

                Of course she’s pissed off with him for not telling him that he was going to be here, and he can’t exactly tell her he only knows because the COMPACFLT dropped him a message. He does mutter about being in a different country less than twenty-four hours ago but she just pulls a face at him and he knows she doesn’t accept it as a reason or an excuse. It hurts a little to see Seresin again. To think about the potential they had. He looks good though. Happy and confident, the little smirk always there just on the corner of his lips. He always wants to kiss it off, but it's not his place. Has never been his place. He plays it off, tries to anyway, and his mouth still takes off without him, brain distracted by looking and he really has to practice better self-control.

                “Hangman. You look… good.”

                There’s a flash of annoyance and Bradley winces. He’s glad he went with something as mundane as good, except him saying that has always been a lead into hooking up. He’d told himself he wasn’t going to do this. Not with anyone, but especially not with Seresin. They aren’t anything to each other, never were, never will be. He’ll apologize as soon as he can for the slip up.

                “I am good Rooster. I’m very good. In fact, I am too good to be true.”

                He rolls his eyes, but he deserves the sharp look, the slight meaness, although he also can’t ignore it, because Seresin is still an arrogant shit, for all his beautiful flying. Natasha is muttering under her breath, talking about not caring about dick sizes, and he has to stop himself from laughing as she blatantly and obviously changes the subject, the others grabbing the lifeline like drowning men. He focuses back in on the conversation just in time to hear Seresin again.

                “And which one of y’all has what it takes to follow me?”

                He snorts.

                “Hangman, the only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.”

                Fuck. He hadn’t meant that. Not like that. God. Another thing to apologize for. He’s opening a fucking tab.

                “Well, anyone who follows you is just gonna run out of fuel. But that’s just you, ain’t it, Rooster? You’re snug on that perch, waiting for just the right moment… That never comes.”

                He knows it’s a jibe about his fucking inability to commit to his relationship, and he’d like to prove him wrong by telling him that he’s very firmly back with his guy, but it feels empty when he flirted with him not even five minutes ago. What the hell is it with Seresin that always brings out the worst in him. He’s going to have to apologize but he’s going to hate every fucking second of it.

                “I love this song!”

                Right.

                He’ll apologize as soon as he no longer wants to punch him.

…            …            …

                Fortunately Natasha’s presence, the piano playing and singing force him to unwind and it shifts his mood considerably, exactly what his therapist has told him to do. Not that a piano is frequently available, but he’s working on it. He sees Seresin head out and he follows him quickly, ignores Natasha’s hissed warning to not get into a fight.

 ��              “Hey! Seresin! Wait up!”

                “What do you want Rooster?”

                He sucks in a big breath. He can do this.

                “I just wanted to apologize. For flirting. I shouldn’t have done that. For several reasons, but it was shitty of me and I’ll work on it not happening again.”

                Seresin looks at him, expression tense and he’s worrying a toothpick which Bradley does his best to ignore.

                “Anything else you want to apologize for Bradshaw?”

                Bradley pauses, thinks back to what he said and pulls a face.

                “Fuck. Yeah. You won’t lead anyone into an early grave either. I didn’t mean that. It was a shitty thing to say. I’m sorry.”

                “Anything else?”

                Bradley blinks.

                “Uh. No… not that I can think of? Why?”

                The look Seresin is giving him is calculating, like he’s trying to figure something out; then Seresin is reaching out and tugging on his shirt.

                “Thought you might like to apologize for crimes against fashion. This is one godawful shirt you’re wearing…”

                “I like this shirt.”

                “Of course you do. Hmm.”

                “Are you going to apologize to me?”

                “For what?”

                “For calling me slow?”

                “Nothing wrong with slow Rooster…”

                The look on his face, the way he juts out his hip and licks his lips around the fucking toothpick… Bradley feels the flush hit his cheeks, can tell his neck and chest are also going warm and he steps back. He can’t and won’t engage with this. With him.

                “Was good seeing you Seresin. Have a good night.”

…            …            …

                He gets back inside the Hard Deck and he spies Natasha talking with Bob, knows she’s starting the process of getting to know her new back seater, which is usually to beat them soundly in whatever macho game they think they’re better at, and then to show them that she can and will fly, and fly well. Then she usually forces them into a self-care night of face masks and nails, for which Bradley is usually invited along to if he’s around, although he knows Coyote has been seconded into the roll a couple of times.

                “You look… whole,” Natasha says, and she reaches for his hand, inspects his knuckles and Bradley huffs in annoyance, pulling his hand back when he realizes what she’s doing.

                “I didn’t punch him.”

                “No. You just stalked out of here looking like you wanted to.”

                “I actually went and apologized to him.”

                Both her and Bob blink.

                “Seriously?”

                “What can I say, I’m the bigger man, admitting when I’m wrong and apologizing.”

                “I still feel like I should go outside and check for a body…”

                “It’s fine. I’m going to try and be nice.”

                “Yeah. Okay. Good luck with that.”

                “What she said,” Bob says.

…            …            …

                The thing is he does try, but he’s also completely thrown by the fact that Maverick is there and is apparently the one teaching them. His anger is bubbling fresh, like he never took it off the boil and he’s angry again with Ice for not fucking warning him. Maverick doesn’t look at all surprised to see him and that makes him feel even angrier. He desperately needs to either run, punch some pillows or angrily play out his feelings on a piano until he calms down. None of which he can do while he watches his godfather stand at the front of a makeshift classroom and tell them all that the mission success will come down to the pilot in the box.

…            …            …

                “So, Rooster, mind if I ask you a personal question?”

                Jesus Christ, one apology and the man is going to ask about his whole life history. Now is not the fucking time, not to mention the line is open and everyone can hear them. He scans the skies and screens for any sign of Maverick.

                “Would it matter if I did?”

                “What’s the story with you and Maverick?” Speak of the fucking devil… “It seems like he’s got you rattled.”

                “That’s none of your business. Now where the hell is he?”

                “Been here the whole time.”

                “Holy shit,” Seresin breathes and Bradley pulls a face, because that tone is also far too similar to what he sounds like in bed and he can not be thinking about that right now.

                He get’s shot down for a second time, knows he’s toeing the line of being an idiot, doesn’t need Natasha railing at him, or the four-hundred push-ups he insists on doing which leave his arms feeling like jelly and Hondo looking at him like he pities him. He goes back to his accommodation on base and stares at the key to his family home, wonders if he should do anything about it, ignores Natasha’s messages and falls into a fitful sleep without even changing out of his clothes.

…            …            …

                He wakes later, and his first instinct is to make coffee, except it’s late and he needs to get used to the time difference. So he makes himself a hot cocoa from the supplies, although the fat he has to chip away at the solid mass tells him it likely won’t be worth the effort. Still, it gives him something to do. He snaps a picture and sends it, just adds a jet lag is real over it and sends it. Jas has been unnaturally quiet the last couple of days and Bradley desperately wants to just pick up his phone and call him. Except he doesn’t have his number and he won’t ask for it.

                Calling was never an option in the beginning, not with the lack of service out on carriers, and the fact that exchanging numbers also meant exchanging names. Bradley has never not answered the phone with his whole name, so he’d never offered. He’s got so many regrets on so many fronts he feels like a twenty-sided dice.

>>Everything okay?

>>You’ve been kind of quiet these last couple of days.

>>You ever bump into someone and think that it was maybe me you were talking to?

>>Um. Actually yeah.

>>Once. Years ago.

>>But there just ended up being all these little facts that didn’t line up so I figured it wasn’t you.

>>Was he hot?

>>He was alright. Easy enough on the eyes.

>>Nothing happened. I was his instructor at the time.

>>You and your moral compass.

>>I’m rolling my eyes at you.

>>I’m not a saint.

>>Never accused you of that. Not sleeping with someone because you’re in a position of power. That’s pretty decent of you.

>>Got to try being a decent human right?

>>I guess.

>>Sometimes I fuck up but got to keep on trying.

>>Yeah. I guess you do.

…            …            …

                Internally he’s a mess. The fact that the mission seems impossible, has been called a suicide mission, he’s having to see Maverick everyday, and Seresin keeps looking at him like he’s trying to puzzle something out. Like how big the body bag needs to be maybe. Now he’s being told he isn’t flying fast enough, he’s going to get shot down and he’s going to be responsible for the death of his friends. Like any of them won’t suffer the exact same fate.

                “It’s not the plane, sir, it’s the pilot.”

                “Exactly!”

                “There’s more than one way to fly this mission.”

                “You really don’t get it. On this mission, a man flies like Maverick here, or a man does not come back. No offense intended.”

                “Yet somehow you always manage,” Bob murmurs and normally Bradley would smile at the comeback, but he can’t right now. His frustration and anger are carefully balanced and he doesn’t want either of them to tip over.

                “Look, I don’t mean to criticize. You’re conservative, that’s all.”

                “Lieutenant.”

                “We’re going into combat, son, on a level no living pilot’s ever seen. Not even him. That’s no time to be thinking about the past.”

                “What’s that supposed to mean?”

                “Rooster.”

                “I can’t be the only one that knows that Maverick flew with his old man.”

                “That’s enough.”

                “Or that Maverick was flying when his old man…”

                “Lieutenant, that’s enough!”

                “That’s enough.“

                “You son of a bitch!”

                “Hey, come on!”

                “I’m cool, I’m cool. Hey, hey.”

                “That’s enough.”

…            …            …

>>I have had an awful fucking day.

>>Tell me something to cheer me up?

                He doesn’t get an answer.

…            …            …

                He still doesn’t have an answer the next morning and he sends off his usual morning picture of his coffee, feels his entre body unclench when he gets a picture in response. There still isn’t any messages but it’s not complete radio silence. There is a message from his Captain, telling him to report to the Hard Deck in civvies appropriate for the beach and he lets out a long sigh. Sends a screen shot to Ice with a what the fuck is he thinking now? To which he gets back a line of laughing-crying emojis and your guess is as good as mine.

                Well. He has no idea where the hell Maverick dreamed up dog-fight football, but at least they’re not all getting drunk together. That would have been a recipe for several disasters. It’s not that warm, but once they’re all running around it heats them up enough and it feels good to simply run around and play, forget, even for a little while, that one or more of them might be dead in a couple of weeks.

…            …            …

                As if they needed reminders about just how dangerous their jobs are without the added aspects of the mission in front of them they have the day from hell and Bradley feels responsible. Thinking his verbal sparring with Hangman somehow made it a bad day he somehow jinxed them all. Having Coyote come so close to burning in because of g-Loc, and then Natasha… his best friend. Listening to Maverick yell eject at them over and over is going to be added nightmare fodder he’s sure will enter rotation, something he can look forward to. He sits in the quiet of the room, turning when he hears footsteps.

                Maverick.

    ��           And no-one else around to act as a buffer.

                Well shit.

                He’s tired and already emotionally raw, doesn’t want to talk to him right now.

                “They’ll keep Phoenix and Bob in the hospital overnight for observation. They’re gonna be okay.”

                “That’s good. I’ve never lost a wing man.”

                “You’re lucky. Fly long enough, it’ll happen. There will be others.”

                “Easy for you to say,” Bradley bites out. “No wife. No kids. Nobody to mourn you when you burn in.”

                He feels detached from what he’s saying, but the anger is all still there, and he feels justified in that at least, although he’s also lying. As much as he might be angry, he’d still grieve Maverick if he died. Of course Maverick tries to be calm and rational and instead of calming him down it has the opposite effect, and he’s snapping out words again, and Maverick is snapping back and god, it’s a wonder Ice didn’t bang their heads together earlier.

                “Maverick,” Warlock says, stopping them from screaming more hurtful things in each other’s faces.

                Then he learns that Ice has died and of course bad things come in threes.

                He leaves Maverick with Warlock and heads off into the dark for his base housing.

…            …            …

>>You know how I told you about my uncle?

>>The one with cancer?

>>Yeah?

>>He died. His funeral will be in a couple of days and I’m going to have to somehow not cry in front of everyone.

>>Would you give me your mobile number?

>>Why?

>>Because I’d really like to hear your voice. Talk to you properly.

>>I wouldn’t call until you gave me the go ahead.

>>I just… I don’t want to be alone right now.

>>I feel very alone.

>>I thought the other day was bad, but today has been so much worse.

                He wanders around aimlessly, wonders if maybe he should bite the bullet and either go to the rec room and play the piano there, or see if the piano at his closed-up parent’s house is even playable. He’s half-dressed for bed, mind so far away he doesn’t register the knocking until it’s louder and more insistent and he heads to the door, opening it and half-expecting to find Maverick there.

                “Hangman?”

                “Rooster.”

                “Uh. What are doing here?”

                The look on Seresin’s face tells him he’s not exactly sure either, and the fact that he’s not certain is something he’s even more annoyed about.

                “I just… I know your dad flew with Admiral Kazansky. I... I thought that maybe you might know him more than just as the COMPACFLT and be... I thought you might want company.”

                “I...” Bradley starts, because he really does want the company right now, Natasha is in hospital, Coyote is with her because sometimes things like near-misses force you to reevaluate. Not that she can come, but he wouldn’t call her anyway, doesn’t want to rain on her happiness. Not when there is no guarantee of any future right now, the bird strike and g-Loc incidents both really driving home how dangerous their jobs are.

                “Not anything else, by the way… just company.”

                “No. I... Yeah. Company would be good. Thanks.”

                “Also I figured I should take a leaf out of your book and apologize. I’m sorry. About bringing up your dad. That was a dick move.”

                Bradley blinks.

                “Um. Okay.”

                “Right. Sleeping right? You want me to cuddle you?”

                “Actually yeah, since you offered,” Bradley replies, giving Seresin a disparaging look but then takes in the fact that he’s dressed in sweats and a worn t-shirt, like he maybe come over after he’d already gotten ready for bed.

                “Come on then, finish getting ready. Always waiting for you to catch up Bradshaw…”

                “Yeah yeah, give me a minute.”

                He shuffles around, puts on a t-shirt in deference to the fact that Seresin seems seriously intent on hopping into bed with him, and not for sex. He brushes his teeth and washes his face, unable to bring himself to do any more. His mind is thinking about Sarah and the kids and grandkids. Funerals, oh which he feels like he’s been to too many. He folds himself into the bed, his head and body already feel heavy and weighed down and he cannot believe he’s watching Seresin of all people turn off the lights and then slide into bed beside him, his arm settling over his waist like a drag sail.

                “Go to sleep Bradshaw, I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

…            …            …

                Despite everything he has one of the best nights’ sleep he’s had in a long time, and he can’t put it down to the sheer emotional exhaustion of the last couple of days. He woke up several times during the night, not used to having someone else in the bed, but each time Seresin had been there, arm settled around Bradley like he was holding him together. He’s not there now though, but Bradley can hear someone in the kitchen and it can’t be anyone else but Seresin. He stands and stretches, feels his back and neck click and reaches for his phone, feels a little swoop of happiness when he sees he has a message.

>>I don’t want you to be alone right now either.

                He grins and quickly types out a response as he heads to the kitchen.

                “Hey, morning.”

                “Morning. How are you feeling?”

                “Uh. Better. Thanks,” Bradley offers, because he’s a little unsettled by this softer and more accommodating version of Seresin.

                “Here,” Seresin says, and he slides a mug of coffee across to him. It’s not his usual mug, but that’s okay. The mug isn’t the important part, and he snaps a quick picture.

                “What are you doing?”

                “Um. Just taking a photo of my coffee,” Bradley states, looking up as Seresin makes a slight choking sound. “Thanks by the way, for the coffee and for staying last night. I really needed the company.”

                “Yeah. Uh. Anytime. I’ve got to go. Glad you’re feeling better Bradshaw.”

                “Uh, yeah. Thanks… see you later…” Bradley says, voice trailing off as Hangman flees like he’s on fire.

                Weird.

                He takes a sip of his coffee and blinks in surprise.

                It’s perfect.

…            …            …

                He drags himself through his morning routine and heads to Ice’s house, needs to see Sarah and the others, the only family he has. Or at least that he’s currently talking to in civil tones. He lets himself get hugged as he hugs them all in return, they’re all talking in soft mumbles with empty platitudes he knows don’t ease the grief. But being with others who are also grieving helps. He’s allowed to feel sad and miss him when he’s surrounded by people who feel exactly the same way.

                Sarah is poised and calm, her red eyes the only thing belying the fact that she’s been crying plenty. He’s sitting down talking to Samantha, Ice’s eldest daughter, when Sarah finds him and presses an envelope into his hands.

                “He wanted me to give this to you as quickly as possible after his passing. I think he was adding it to it just yesterday…”

                His throat goes tight and he runs his fingers along the crisp edge of the envelope, swallows and then gives up, lets the tears fall and hugs her back tightly as she presses a kiss to the top of his head, feels Samantha hug him from the side. He guesses he has some reading to do.

…            …            …

Dear Bradley,

If you are reading this it’s because I’m dead. Now, as outcomes go, this isn’t what either of us wanted, I’m sure. I’m glad I only had one rule with you as a teenager, and that you listened to me. This is the natural progression of things, children having to bury their parents. I am sorry that you have had to do this so often though, your life has not often been fair to you. There is one silver lining of being a dead man, and that’s getting a dying wish. Your mother had a dying wish you see, and I didn’t agree with what she wanted, but I had to respect it. It was her dying wish after all. And now this is mine, so if I meet her in the afterlife, then I know she’s not going to be able to hold it over me.

I want you to know that she never wanted you to fly.

She asked Maverick to pull your papers.

I tried to convince both of them that it was a terrible idea. But your mother became very difficult to argue with, being dead and all, and well, Maverick is one of the most stubborn and pig-headed men I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. I’m glad I’ve been able to count him as being a friend, because having him as an enemy would be ten times worse (and it was already pretty trying some days, as you can imagine). Anyway, I could already envision what would happen, you get your own stubborn and pig-headedness honestly at least, and it was then polished by being raised by Maverick after your mom passed.

Now, I am not asking you to forgive Maverick. However I am asking you to try. He loves you and cares for you, but what he is most terrified about is failing both of your parents. He thinks they’d be perfect parents, so holds himself up to that ideal. He thinks he needs to be perfect. Being a parent myself I know that’s impossible, I’ve just tried my best to make decisions based from a place of love and support. Maverick has always tried to make his decisions based on what he thinks your parents would want for you. Your mom didn’t want you to fly and yet here you are. And Maverick has to see that and know he failed her. And he failed you. And he will always believe he failed your father.

I never had to second guess my parenting decisions, even if I would later make a different decision with hindsight. I knew I made the best decision I could at the time with the information I had, making it from a place of love, then I couldn’t really regret it. Maverick second guesses everything when it comes to you. For all his don’t think, just do bullshit, he overthinks everything when it comes to you.

One of your parents gave you anything and everything you wanted, because he only saw you for a few months of your entire life. In between all the training and deployments, it just wasn’t enough. He loved you, do not ever doubt that, and he’d be so proud of the man you are today. I believe he would have supported you going to USNA with his whole heart. He’d be proud of you being a naval aviator. He would love that you were a pilot.

Your mother had to become both parents and then manage your early teen years and at the same time she wanted to protect you from everything bad in the world. She couldn’t protect you from losing your father, or then losing her, and I am sure she thought she was protecting you by asking Maverick to pull your USNA papers. However neither of your parents knew you as well as Maverick knew you, and yet he tasked himself with an impossible task.

So you have had a parent who only knew you really as a baby, another as a child, then another as a young man and now you’re an adult with a life and career of his own. You might have a better chance of getting Maverick into therapy than I ever did, simply by asking him. I am proud that you go. That you listened and took my advice. It’s always nice to be right. It’s been a pleasure watching you grow into the man you are today, and I know you will continue to grow.

Having you back in my life has been one of my joys. Getting to know you again, share stories with you. I’ve written a lot more down for you, and there’s a box with your name on it. Lots of photos because I’m old and we had film cameras. Make all the old jokes you want, I’m dead and I don’t care. Growing old is a luxury for some, and I am glad I got as far as I did. Anyway, I think Samantha might be digitizing the photos. Ask her. Please stay in touch with them all. You are a part of our family, even if it didn’t feel that way for you for some years. You are always welcome, never forget that. I want you to be in each other’s lives again. Maverick’s as well. You need him even if you think you don’t. And he needs you too. You’re both going to get invitations to Kazansky family gatherings, and it’s going to be awkward if you’re not talking to each other. At least give it a try. That’s all I’m asking.

Never forget how loved you are Bradley.

By all of your parents.

Ice

Saw you flying today. Made me so proud. Also made me wish I could have flown with you. Watching you fly is like watching the best of myself and Maverick. He is very unhappy with me about the mission. Doesn’t want to have to make the choice. He views it as lose-lose all round, which might be true. I hope it isn’t, for both your sakes. If I have any say in it you’ll all return safely home. I’m tired, so I’m going to go to bed now. Love you kid.

…            …            …

                They’ve been given the day off, which seems a little ridiculous considering how close the mission is. He’s immeasurably glad though, he feels shaky and emotionally raw, and he still has to get through the funeral and somehow process the whole shifting worldview that his mom made Maverick promise. That Maverick wouldn’t just tell him that confuses him, what would he do? Hate his mom for wanting to keep him safe? He just doesn’t get it. He opens his phone, not really having had a chance to look at it since the morning after he’d sent his coffee picture. Jas hadn’t replied by the time he left to go to Ice’s house, but when he opens his phone now he can see he has a couple of new notifications. The coffee cup in reply looks familiar and he realizes it’s his coffee cup. The one he usually uses except this morning… What the hell?

                He opens up Grindr and clicks on the new message, is pretty sure he knows what to expect when it displays and there it is.

>>I’m in the Dagger Squad.

                Just like that his world tilts on its axis again and he stares at the five words. Closes it and then reopens the app. Reads the words again. Actually turns off his phone and forces it to re-start. The words stay the same.

                JAS.

                Born in 1986.

                Texan.

                God he’s an idiot.

                Not just in the navy, he’s a Naval aviator.

                A photo of his own coffee cup sent back to him from this morning.

                He’s laughing at his own stupidity and he’s already cried so much today but he feels like he might just burst into tears again, his emotions all too exposed and he needs to find out where Jas-Jake-Seresin, (what the hell does he call him now?), lives. He rings Natasha, knows she’s still with Coyote. Coyote will know where Jake, (Jake feels right? Maybe?), lives. Because it’s not on base. Of course Coyote won’t give him the address and Bradley feels like screaming. Tells him to ask Jake, then to text it through to him when he gives it to him. He’s that certain Jake will give it to him. He could just ask himself, but he also doesn’t want to give Jake an opportunity to ignore him. Not that he thinks he will.

                Last night suddenly makes a lot more sense, now that he thinks about it. No one else would have known about Ice passing, and yet Jake turned up, because he’d figured it out. God. When did he figure it out? He’s trying to reconcile Jas and Jake Seresin in his head. The brash confident and arrogant naval aviator he knows and has had plenty of sex with, and Jas, the open, vulnerable and sweetly-sassy man that he’s… also had plenty of sex with. Well. At least he knows they can handle the long-distance aspect of any relationship. God he really wants to see him now.

                The address comes through and he taps it into his phone, following the directions as he drives, wishes it was closer. He doesn’t bother telling Jake he’s on his way, he already knows because Coyote has given Bradley his address. With permission. He pulls up and it’s a newly built block of condos, and he has to look for a carpark for too long before he finds one. He lets himself feel annoyed at the poor planning, grateful that it pushes the grief and shocked-joy just to the side for a moment, no matter how brief. It allows him to gather his bearings as he walks up the pavement and knocks on the door. While he waits for an answer, he wonders if he should send a message. Why the hell not.

>>Answer the door Jas.

>>Give me one good reason.

>>I love you.

>>Now please answer the door.

                “Hi.”

                “Hi.”

                He stands there and just… looks. Jake’s wearing exactly the same clothes as when he left Bradley’s place earlier today, and he looks soft. A little scared and Bradley realizes that he’s maybe worried that Bradley might be disappointed somehow. He reaches out, slow enough that Jake can stop him, or step away; cups his cheek in his hand, runs a thumb over the apple of his cheek. Wants to enfold him in a hug and be hugged in return.

                “Thank you.”

                “Uh. You’re welcome?”

                “You want to know what I’m thanking you for?”

                “Sure.”

                “My second chance. Always planned on thanking you in person.”

                “Um. Yeah.”

                Bradley bites his lip, won’t mention aloud the groveling and body worship that Jas had mentioned, is sure that Jake might not yet be in a place to hear him say words out loud. Written word is something completely different. He wants to kiss him, definitely wants to carry out the body worship, but he feels like they’re all the way at the beginning, needing to feel each other out a little bit, emotionally that is.

                “Can I hug you?”

                “Yeah, of course. Come in and close the door.”

                Of all the hugs he’s had today this one feels the best, firm, grounding and warm. Both of Jake’s arms around him, head resting against Bradley’s shoulder while his nose and mouth press against the side of his head. He presses a kiss to the top of his head.

                “When did you figure it out?” Bradley asks.

                “When did I suspect, or when did I know? Because there’s kind of different stages I went through…”

                “Yeah? Want to share? Because I… needed you to point it out apparently.”

                “Always a little slow Bradshaw…”

                “Oh my god I’m never going to live this down am I?”

                “Nope. Probably not.”

                “Okay. I’m okay with that. Come on. Blow me away with your superior intellect…”

                “You want to have this conversation while we hug in my entryway?”

                “I don’t want to let you go.”

                “Oh. I have a sofa? Or a, uh, bed?”

                “How about we start on the sofa. Can we both fit?”

                “Worth a try…”

                He makes himself comfortable in the corner and then holds out his arms, silently inviting Jake to curl up in them, to settle himself in the v of his legs. He desperately wants to be holding him again and hopes he equally wants to be held. Fortunately Jake seems to, relaxes against him and Bradley feels a sense of contentedness well up inside him. They’re both facing the same direction and part of him is glad; feels like it might be a little too overwhelming to have this coming conversation face-to-face. It’s like a compromise between being online versus facing each other.

                “So… what was your first clue?”

                “Uh, your shirt at the Hard Deck. Payback made a comment about how it wouldn’t be possible to miss seeing you arrive and it pinged something in my mind, about when we were meant to met up. You said I wouldn’t miss you…”

                “Ugh. You mean the time I stood you up to sleep with… you. I’m still very sorry about that by the way.”

                “Well, I’ve sort of made my peace with it. I mean, I can stop being jealous about the other guy at least…”

                Bradley huffs in amusement, tightens his arms around him a little.

                “Oh… When you asked whether I was going to apologize about fashion crimes. That was you sounding me out.”

                “Trying at least. You blanked me so I figured it was just a coincidence.”

                “Okay… then what?”

                “Um. I saw a photo of your dad. Nicholas Bradshaw.”

                “Nick.”

                “And Bradley Bradshaw. NickNick. Stupid double-barreled names. Then I remembered your first username, and you hating the name Pete… And how you really don’t like Maverick. Lots of coincidences that just suddenly were too many to just ignore and they made sense.”

                “Yeah…” Bradley breathes, smiling against Jake’s hair. He likes that Jake has been paying such close attention, would never have thought it of Seresin or Hangman, but it’s definitely Jake through and through.

                “So… Uh. I suspected and then seeing that photo kind of confirmed it. Your moustache and how you said you look like him. Your dad I mean. You do look a lot like him. Anyway, I thought you knew who I was, and you were making fun of me.”

                “What? Never...”

                Jake twists to give him a look, eyebrow raised in disbelief and Bradley shakes his head.

                “Not about this,” Bradley stresses.

                “So, I suspected, and then I thought you knew and hadn't told me and I got so angry...”

                “You picked a fight,” Bradley says with dawning realization, because he’s fucking been there and done the same thing, like picking at a wound.

                “I wanted to hurt you. I'm sorry.”

                “I swear I had no idea.”

                “Oh yeah, I know that now. Last night when I turned up... I almost asked you. Last night was when I started to realize that you really had no idea.”

                “Gorgeous and smart…” Bradley says, and he’s never seen Jake blush before, but he’s doing it now, his face going pink from the corner of Bradley’s eye. “And then my coffee cup picture from this morning... Shit. That’s when you really realized I was truly fucking clueless.”

                “Yeah. And I needed to figure out a way of telling you but I had no idea how…”

                “Well, you did a good job telling me. You made my coffee perfectly and I still didn’t put it all together.”

                “Still took you long enough to get here though.”

                “Oh, I didn’t check the messages until about an hour ago. I messaged Coyote pretty much immediately. Did you think it took me that long to figure it out after you told me you were in the Dagger Squad?”

                “Well, it has been about four hours.”

                “No! I’ve been at Ice’s all morning. Spending time with the family.”

                Jake makes a choking sound.

                “You’re actually… family?”

                “Yeah,” Bradley says with a quiet sigh. “After my mom died and when Mav was deployed I lived with Ice and his family. When I left Mav I pretty much left Ice too. I made up with him a few years ago. Here. Read this…”

                He shifts awkwardly and pulls the letter out of his pocket, pulling Jake back into his arms and handing it to him.

                “Are you sure?”

                “Yeah. I have literally no secrets from you.”

                He reads it again over Jake’s shoulder, let’s himself cry again and tries to not feel self-conscious about the fact that he’s holding Jake and crying. He’s allowed to feel emotions. He’s not an automaton.

                “Jesus Bradley…”

                It’s the first time Jake has said his name and he lets out another little hiccupping cry, but it has happiness behind it this time, not that Jake can tell and he lets out a little laugh of just how ridiculous the whole situation is.

                “Yeah. Ever had emotional whiplash? I think that’s what I’m experiencing today. It’s pretty fucking rough.”

                “Stay here tonight. Hell. Did you sleep okay last night? You said you didn’t want to be alone…”

                “Last night was great. Exactly what I needed thank you. And yeah, I’ll stay here. Might need to borrow some clothes.”

                “Or we can just… go to bed.”

                “Are you sure?”

                “Ni-, Ro, Bradley… I do not want to waste any more time, especially considering how much time we might not have.”

                Fuck. Now there’s a depressing thought. Although it also seems like Jake is having the same internal battle about what to call him as he’s been having.

                “What’s your middle name?”

                “What?”

                “I’ve been calling you Jas in my head for so long, when I get angry with you I’m going to need to full name you…”

                “Jacob Andrew Seresin.”

                “Bradley Peter Bradshaw. Nice to meet you.”

                “You’re an idiot,” Jake says, but he’s turning, shifting to face him and Bradley smiles, knows he probably looks messy with fresh tear tracks, but he’s smiling at him and Jake is smiling back.

                “We were so close so many times weren’t we…”

                “Yep. Think it had some silver linings though.”

                “Yeah? Like what?” Bradley asks, because he’s curious.

                “Don’t want to think about some of them right now. Want to take you to bed.”

                “Yeah. Lead the way…”

…            …            …                 Every touch is reverent, and he hasn’t slept with anyone in a long while, not since he last slept with Jake in fact, which has him realizing that he hasn’t done anything sexual with anyone but Jake for… nearly three years. Huh. He’ll share that little tidbit of information later, when he’s not sliding his hands under Jake’s t-shirt and working it up off his body. Jake’s working Bradley’s clothes off, and he doesn’t usually feel the need to check in, not when it’s the middle of the day, both completely sober, but he still needs to, the emotions of everything making it a necessity.

                “Okay?”

                “Yeah, yeah. It's okay. This isn’t our first fucking time…”

                Bradley grins, lets himself press his body against Jake’s, letting them both lower their bodies into Jake’s bed. He’ll pay more attention to Jake’s room and bed when he no longer wants to give absolutely every bit of his attention to the man under his hands and mouth.

                “Sorry if I want to cater to my body worshipping kink…”

                “Selfish,” Jake says, his voice breathy and Bradley bites at his collarbone lightly.

                “Yeah. Very selfish. You should totally kick me to the curb.”

                “Mmm. See if you can convince me otherwise…”

                He feels a happy and excited swoop of pleasure that Jake seems playful, happy in himself to have Bradley in his bed, to stay in his bed for more than just sex.

                “I love you,” Bradley murmurs, and he kisses a trail down Jake's neck, then back up. Lets his fingers touch everywhere he can reach, captures Jake’s mouth in a kiss as he grinds his hips down, feels Jake’s mouth gasp open and he licks into it. They’ve had sex with each other a lot, but it’s never quite felt this heavy. Like every touch, every shift of their bodies against each other, carries with it a little bit extra weight, extra meaning.

                “I love you.”

                There are definite benefits to already being familiar with Jake’s body, knowing how he responds, what he likes. It’s been long enough since they last slept together than it’s all novel and new, while also having the deep-rooted feeling of familiarity and sense of homecoming. He wants to worship every inch of him, Jake seems more than willing to let him. The fact he can pepper his actions with I love you is exhilarating, being able to both show Jake and tell him in equal measure.

                He knows he can make Jake come twice, wants to take him apart and hold him together, give him absolutely everything. God, all the things he’s fantasized about are now potential things they can explore together and he grins into the jut of Jake’s hips, sucks little kisses as he teases along the band of his underwear.

                “Off off, get them off…”

                “It’s been months, or years, depending on how you count. What’s a few more minutes? You know I like the anticipation and building up.”

                “Fuck off, you can edge me another time. I know you want to. Right now I want you to make me come.”

                “Demanding.”

                “Damn right.”

                He pulls Jake’s underwear down and sucks the head of his cock into his mouth as he continues to work the underwear down his thighs. It’s a little uncoordinated, Jake trying to help by thrusting his hips up, his cock hitting the back of Bradley’s throat so suddenly he gags, unprepared, digs his fingers into his hip to stop him from doing it again as he pulls the underwear off and throws it elsewhere. He feels Jake’s fingers running through his hair, deliberately ignores the subtle direction to go faster, slows down and grins when he hears Jake groan and mumble asshole under his breath. Jake groans again, his whole body tensing then relaxing under him and Bradley lets himself finally speed up.

                He shifts, kneels between Jake’s spread legs so he can get an unobstructed view up his torso, can watch his face as Bradley gets his hands and mouth all over him. His fingers encircle Jake’s cock and he works fast, mouth and tongue licking over his balls before sucking the head back into his mouth. Jake is watching him, mouth open, chest shuddering with broken breaths and Bradley feels a swell of sudden and immense gratitude that he gets to have this. That Jake is allowing him to have it.

                “I love you,” he says, his eyes not leaving Jake’s as he opens his mouth and sucks Jake down again, lets Jake’s hips thrust up, ready for it this time and shivers at how gorgeous Jake sounds saying his name. He works his hand faster, presses a knuckle against his perinium, licks and sucks his balls and it’s a tight fit but Jake just stretches his legs wider to give him more space to work. He sees the muscles in Jake’s stomach clench, loves that he knows that that’s one of Jake’s tells, that he’s close to coming. Then he is, shooting up over Bradley’s fist, hitting his chest and stomach.

                “I love you,” Bradley says again, it becomes like a prayer as he runs his hands over his calves and thighs, presses kisses up his inner thigh and his balls again. His eyes haven’t left Jake’s. He licks up Jake’s stomach, cleaning up Jake’s come as he goes, smirks at the little broken sound Jake makes. Wonders if he should have said something about the lack of condom this time, but hopes that Jake simply trusts him. Three fucking years.

                “God I love you…” Bradley whisper, wants, needs, Jake to know the truth of him. Jake kisses him, tongue seeking out every groove between his teeth, moaning against him and he realizes he’s maybe getting off on the taste of himself in Bradley’s mouth. God they’re going to be able to explore and try so much more now that they have the trust that exists between them. Something he knew he wanted, and to have it, he feels so damn lucky.

                Both of Jake’s hands are in his hair, he’s being kissed so thoroughly, Jake’s grinding his hips up against him where he’s partially holding himself above him. Then one of Jake’s hands is on his ass, gripping and pulling and oh. He grinds down, presses his erection against Jake and grins into his mouth.

                “Why are you still wearing underwear?” Jake complains.

                “Mmm… was too busy getting reacquainted with your body.”

                He loves the torn expression on Jake’s face, clearly wants to argue some point, but also can’t think of anything that he can argue about. Instead he digs his fingers into Bradley’s ass cheek and rolls his hips and Bradley moans, much closer than he thought he was. He wants to drag this out, continue re-learning every inch of Jake’s body with all his years of knowledge he’s acquired.

                “Come on, want to get my mouth on you… take you fucking underwear off.”

                Oh. This isn’t quite going the way he had planned in his head, but he stands and quickly strips off the garment which Jake has been scowling at. He’s more than okay doing what Jake wants as well. He follows Jake’s annoyed muttering directions until he’s straddling his chest, head of his cock a mere inch above Jake’s mouth. It’s a fucking gorgeous sight and his mouth is dry as he watches Jake, eyes dark, and then the tight warm heat of Jake’s mouth takes him in and he groans, his hips twitching reflexively. Then Jake’s hands are on his hips, encouraging him and his eyes fall shut as he lets himself start rolling his hips, the suction around his cock tight and warm. He opens his eyes to look at Jake, to give himself a visual to what he’s feeling and experiencing and –

                “Oh god… Jake. Fuck.”

                He pulls out sharply, not able to give any warning before he’s coming. Not that coming all over Jake’s face and neck is any better than coming in his mouth, but he’s not going to assume. His breath is coming in panting gasps, his body shaking and he puts a hand down to hold himself up, stares and Jake’s eyes carefully open and Bradley shifts down, needs to be kissing him again. He cleans up his own come this time, peppers his licks with kisses and murmured I love yous against the shell of Jake’s ear. It’s not what he had planned maybe, but it’s no less perfect. They’re going to need a shower, and he can’t wait to introduce that new level of intimacy into their relationship. He settles beside him, pulls up the sheet and reaches out to place a hand on his waist, fingers brushing softly.

                “So… It’s nice to finally meet you. Properly I mean…” Bradley says, eyes searching Jake’s face and he’s smiling and feeling fond and content. Soft, he realizes, thinking about Natasha’s word she uses to describe him sometimes, especially the last couple of years when he’s been working at getting better at being more in touch with his emotions.

                “I love you,” Jake says, and like hearing his name for the first time Bradley feels like he’s going to burst. At the same time it’s like Jake Hangman Seresin melts away and Jas is there, eyes wet with unshed tears and he kisses him again, feels the wetness slide over the pad of his thumb.

                “I love you so much.”

                “Can’t believe it took us this long.”

                “You know we could have avoided all this if we'd just told each other our names...” Bradley says, because he’s definitely going to dig a little. He’s still him.

                “Names? We could have sent each other photos of our faces…”

                “Neither of which you wanted by the way. So I’m making you take the blame for just how long it took. But you also get the credit for figuring it out…”

                “Damn right I do.”

                “Love you Jake…”

                “God you’re a sap…”

                “Only with you.”

                Jake blushes and Bradley smirks, because genuine sincerity is apparently the way to make him a complete mess.

…            …            …

                Their day back at training after Ice’s funeral he feels more settled and is immediately thrown off balance again by the fact that Maverick isn’t there. He sits there in disbelief as he hears Admiral Simpson outline new parameters and agrees with every muttered and under-the-breath comment. A little distracted by the noise coming in over the radio.

   ��            “Uh, Maverick, range control, uh, green range is confirmed. I don’t see an event scheduled for you, sir.”

                “Well, I’m going anyway.”

                “Nice,” Natasha murmurs and Bradley rolls his eyes. Of fucking course everyone is already impressed with him. He hasn’t even fucking done anything yet.

                “Setting time to target: Two minutes fifteen seconds.”

                “Two-fifteen? That’s impossible.”

                Bradley agrees in principle, however he also knows that Maverick knows himself. He wouldn’t set a time like that if he didn’t truly believe he could fly it. Jake turns around and smirks at him, as if to say this is your fucked up family and Bradley subtly gives him the finger, although inwardly he feels thrilled that he has someone with him, that knows him so well and his whole bullshit relationship with Mav. It’s such a relief, especially now that Ice is gone.

                “Final attack point. Maverick’s inbound.”

                He looks around the room, and he understands why everyone is so invested. If Maverick can do this then it proves it’s actually possible. He already knows it is, Maverick wouldn’t be trying to teach them if he didn’t think it wasn’t possible. But the others need to know it. Know it like he does.

                “Popping in three, two, one.”

                He leans forward, can feel the tension in the room mounting.

                “Bombs away.”

                Seconds tick by.

                “Bull’s-eye!” “Holy shit!” “Yes.”

                “Damn.”

                Damn indeed.

                He knows then, looking at Cyclone and Warlock’s faces that they’re probably going to send Maverick. Make him team lead. Which means either he's going, or Jake is going. There aren’t any guarantees and he can't believe their actual time together may only be counted in days.

…            …            …

                By mutual agreement they don’t talk about it. They also don’t mention anything to anyone else, instead sequestering themselves away at his family home that no-one knows about except Mav, who definitely won’t be looking. They have to air it out, and deal with the dust and cobwebs, but’s it’s not as bad as it could be and he wonders if he has something else to retroactively thank Ice for, even if he can’t anymore. They buy new sheets and pillows and the entire house soon smells of them and sex and takeout food, neither of them wanting to waste time cooking when they can just be holding each other.

                He keeps up his morning cup of coffee picture, tells Jake he doesn’t ever want him to doubt how he feels about him, even when he’s lying in bed and the cup of coffee in question is brought to him by a nearly naked Jake. Tells him the view that comes with his morning cup of coffee is much improved. The time they have together might be short but he’s going to make the most of every moment they have together.

…            …            …

                “It has been an honor flying with you. Each one of you represents the best of the best. This is a very specific mission. My choice is a reflection of that and nothing more.”

                He feels sick. He doesn’t care about flying and proving Mav wrong. Not anymore. He just doesn’t want Jake to go and then not come back. He has no idea who Mav will choose, and he knows Jake feels the same about him going. They’re both good. But there are so many things that can go wrong. There’s a reason why Mav has been listing off fucking miracles.

                “Choose your two foxtrot teams.”

                “Payback and Fanboy. Phoenix and Bob.”

                “And your wing man?”

                “Rooster.”

                The relief he feels is immediate, knowing that Jake is going to be safe. Is going to live. It’s immense. The look of on Jake’s makes him feel sick though, because he knows it’s exactly what he’d be feeling if Jake had just been named Maverick’s wingman instead. They find a quiet spot and Jake kisses him like he’s trying to climb inside his body, Bradley presses them together like he’d let him climb inside if he could. Then they’re having to head up on deck.

                “Give em hell,” Jake says, and he doesn’t need to say any more, he can see the unspoken words in his eyes and tense line of his jaw. You come back to me, you have to come back to me. He nods in understanding, an unspoken promise.

…            …            …

                He can’t lose his last parent, not now.

                God.

                If he survives this Jake is definitely going to kill him.

                And he’s probably going to get kicked out of the Navy.

                He hopes Jake will be okay with him being unemployed.

…            …            …

                “You all right?”

                “Yeah, I’m good. You all right?”

                Then he’s being pushed to the ground and he winces at the pain in his ribs, his head swimming a bit. Fuck. He thinks he has a concussion.

                “What the hell?”

                “What are you doing here?”

                “What am I doing here?

                “You think I took that missile so you could be down here with me? You should be back on the carrier by now!”

                “I saved your life!”

                “I saved your life! That’s the whole point! What the hell were you even thinking?”

                “You told me not to think!” Bradley snaps, because he’s got tone on him now, the fucking self-righteous asshole. They both pant, catching their breath and just stare at each other for a few moments, and he still doesn’t really know how he’s going to relearn how to not be constantly angry or upset with Maverick.

                “Well, it’s good to see you.”

                “It’s good to see you too,” Bradley states, because he’s meant to be building bridges, not yelling, no matter how much of an idiot he thinks Maverick is.

                “So what’s the plan?”

                Maverick is insane.

                That’s the plan.

                No sane person would think this was somehow feasible.

                “You’re not serious.”

                He’s thinking about Ice’s letter, talking about how he was always glad to have Maverick on his side, because it beat having Maverick as an enemy and god he hopes that still remains true. That Maverick has some infinite well of good luck. Or a guardian angel. Hopefully both.

                “You’ve got to be shitting me. An F-14?”

                “I shot down three migs in one of those.”

                “We don’t even know if that bag of ass can fly.”

                “Let’s find out.”

                “Mav!” Bradley calls out, but he’s already hustling away. “Oh for fucks’ sake…” Bradley mutters under his breath as he heaves his aching body up and convinces himself that he has to follow Mav. Does he not have pain receptors? Surely he’s aching at least half as badly as Bradley is.

                “There’s guys up there, Mav.”

                “Yeah.”

                “There’s more over there.”

                “Okay. Let’s start running.”

                “Yeah, run. Run.”

                He feels like he’s stepped back in time, the hangar holding the enemy F14 rusty. His body coursing with adrenaline and Maverick is looking crazy-eyed. Bradley knows the feeling.

                “Once… once I give you the signal for air, you’re gonna flip this switch until the needle gets to 120. When the engine starts, you got to pull out the pins and disconnect everything. You understand?”

                “Yeah.”

                Then Maverick is running around and Bradley’s glad that he apparently knows what he’s doing. He thinks of Ice and how he’d always said how crazy Maverick was. He’d always sort of thought he was exaggerating for the sake of telling a good story but is starting to think he downplayed some of the more dangerous shit that Mav has taken part of. It’s a little terrifying to think about. He hops into the back of the F-14 and stares at all the dials and little screens, only vaguely familiar. Maybe from a visit to a fucking museum. He’s starting to really believe that Mav lives the not thinking aspect of his motto, because when he questions the wings coming out, raises entirely valid concerns about it being a taxiway he is just plain ignored. No. He gets told to hang on, like he has another option or any say in the matter.

                “Holy shit!”

                Holy shit seems to be his inner and outer mantra for the next few moments, Maverick intent on having a one-sided conversation that he doesn’t need to contribute to, which is just as well because he has nothing of value to add. The way Maverick asks him to get in touch with the boat is infuriating, like it’s a simple press of a button like a kid’s walkie-talkie. Nothing is fucking working, and he doesn’t know enough to get it working. He has to ask, feels like Mav is teaching him how to drive all over again, and that was an unmitigated disaster until Ice and Sarah took over.

                “Throw the, uh… The uhf-2 circuit breaker. Try that.”

                “There’s 300 breakers back here. Anything more specific?”

                “I don’t know. That was your dad’s department.”

                “I’ll figure it out,” Bradley mutters, and he continues looking, only to see something out of the corner of his eye and he freezes for a micro-second. “Mav, tally two, five o’clock low. What do we do?”

                No one is ever going to believe him that Mav’s plan here is wave and smile. He follows the instructions though, can hardly believe that it somehow buys enough time for Mav’s brain to speed through however many options he thinks he has. Bradley doesn’t know how many he’s got, he can’t get past the idea that he’s going to die. Again. The idea of dying. Not actual dying. Maybe it’s just a day where he’s going to constantly think he’s going to die, but never actually does. Fuck he really really hopes so. He will live with the nightmares if he doesn’t actually have to die.

                “All right, listen up. When I tell you, you grab those rings above your head. That’s the ejection handle.”

                “Mav, can we outrun these guys?”

                “Not their missiles and guns.”

                “Then it’s a dogfight.”

                “An F-14 against fifth-gen fighters?”

                “It’s not the plane, it’s the pilot. You’d go after them if I wasn’t here,” Bradley states, absolutely certain of the fact. The taxiway was apparently easy and not risky at all. Holy shit his mind supplies.

                “But you are here,” Mav counters.

                “Come on, Mav. Don’t think. Just do.”

                God he hopes he doesn’t die. Then Mav has shot one of them down and he can’t believe it, warns him about the next one, feels helpless without the option to fire his own missiles. Watching the fifth-gen fighter in action is unreal and god he wants to fly one. Then they’re getting low and heading back into the canyon area, heading out toward the sea, so at least in the general direction of the boat at least. He’s grateful that the terrain does seem to confuse the targeting system, that they still haven’t been shot down and he knows if he lives through this he will need to thank Mav every day. Fuck. If Ice is somehow watching he’ll make sure it happens just to ensure they make up. It would be a power move from him for sure.

                When the second fifth-gen plane goes down, the pilot ejecting just before it smashes into the side of the canyon walls Bradley feels his heart start beating again, like his entire body has been in stasis for however long that all took. It probably wasn’t longer than a couple of minutes, but it feels like a lifetime and the briefest moment in time all at once. Through some miracle he gets the radio working, and if anyone asks him what he did he won’t be able to tell them. He attempts to get in touch with the boat, but he’s not sure if it’s working two-way, too distracted by the sudden beeping indicating the location of a bogey and he looks for it, knows he needs to be another set of eyes. Why can they not catch a fucking break? The fifth generation fighter appearing on their nose is a blow, as is them running out ammo, then flares. Nothing left to offer even the smallest splinter of hope. The plane is taking hits and he’s glad they built them to withstand hits because they would be dead by now. Then Mav is talking about gaining altitude and ejecting and he listens this time, pulls the handles desperately, his stomach sinking when nothing happens, the ejection function clearly broken.

                “I’m sorry, Goose.”

                Oh shit. He can almost feel the waves of Mav’s guilt, that his death is going to be as his back seater just like his dad. He feels like throwing up, not advisable and he’s not going to be alive to have to do anything about it –

                BOOM.

                The explosion, cloud of black smoke, vibrations and then the new jet appearing all happen simultaneously. Then the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

                “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. This is your savior speaking. Please fasten your seat belts, return your tray tables to their locked and upright positions… And prepare for landing.”

                “Hey, Hangman, you look good.”

                “I am good, Rooster. I’m very good. I’ll see you back on deck.”

                He’s pretty sure there’s a threat in there but he could cry he’s so relieved and happy. Soon the adrenaline coursing through his body is going to stop and he’s going to hit a wall but Jake will be there. Mav will be there.

                He’s alive.

                Nothing else matters.

…            …            …

                Having working engines to land matter.

                He’s once again very glad that Mav is the one flying.

                Fuck this shit.

…            …            …

                He’s never crash landed on a deck before and he never wants to do it again. He wonders if people have bucket lists of things they don’t want to have happen, but which have happened anyway. Sounds like it might make for depressing lists.

                “You good?”

                “Yeah. I’m good,” Bradley says, but he’s already thinking about saying similar words to Jake. Searches for him as he steps down from the F-14, his legs wobbly, body aching and head starting to pitch like he’s in a storm. He spies Jake, can’t help but smile at him goofily. He looks so good and he wants to kiss him. It’s probably not a good idea.

                “Chalked yourself another kill.”

                “That makes two,” Jake says, and Bradley will save the fact that he now technically has three for a day when he needs to bring Jake down a peg. Or when he needs to remind him that he had no choice, because taking life is not a thrill either of them particularly want.

                “Mav has five. Makes him an ace.”

                Bradley shakes his head, because he’s pretty sure Mav doesn’t like the idea that he’s killed people either, although again he expects similar sage advice to don’t think if he ever asks him about it. Maybe he might surprise him though. He calls out to him, glad they’re at least going to have a chance of mending their relationship and he smiles, starting to feel the world tilt again.

                “Thank you for saving my life.

                “It’s what my dad would’ve done,” Bradley says, and he knows it’s the truth. The hug he gets has him wincing and Jake hasn’t stepped further away than a couple of feet, has clearly been watching him carefully, is pushing his way towards him, his hands running over Bradley's face and torso in concern and he presses his face into his hand, suddenly feeling like sleep would be a really good thing to do right now.

                “You need to go to the fucking sickbay.”

                “Uh… Something you want to share with the class Hangman?” Natasha asks.

                “Yeah. I just saved his life, don't want him to fall off the fucking carrier and waste all my hard work.”

                “Come on, take me to sickbay.”

                “Okay, that’s weird... Maybe he's concussed,” Natasha says.

                “Oh, he’s definitely concussed,” Maverick says, and Bradley wants to argue, but Jake’s arm is around his waist and supporting him, leading him away from the noise.

                Then they’re going down some steps, Jake turns at the bottom and reaches for him, kisses him and Bradley smiles and hums appreciatively, even with his brain feeling like it’s swimming in soup he’ll never turn down being kissed by Jake.

                “I thought you were taking me to sickbay?”

                “I am, but first I’m going to kiss you because I am so happy to see you alive. And I won’t yell at you, because I’m pretty sure you’ve got a concussion –”

                “And broken ribs,” Bradley adds, because he’s pretty that where the pain is coming from.

                “Jesus Rooster. I am so angry with you. How dare you risk yourself like that. You’re an idiot!”

                “Your idiot though. I hope?”

                “Yes you’re mine. Damn it. Come on, sickbay.”

                “Thought you were going to kiss me?”

                “I did, but then you mentioned broken ribs. And I’m thinking we’re going to have to get creative for a little bit while you mend… come on.”

…            …            …

                Of course Mav ends up in the sick bay too, being forced to be looked over by an exasperated Cyclone and amused looking Warlock. Both clearly relieved that everyone is back alive, even if not well.

                “So, how long have you two been together then?” Mav asks, and Bradley follows his gaze to his and Jake’s linked fingers. The fact that Jake hasn’t left his side. Yeah. That’s not subtle at all. He guesses they’re done with keeping it from everyone then. He’s more than okay with that.

                “Couple of days.”

                “Over a decade.”

                They look at each other and both pull a face.

                “It's complicated.”

                Maverick looks between them and simply nods his head.

…            …            …

                Jake doesn’t leave him alone, only when Natasha arrives and tells Jake to go and eat and have a shower does he actually go, kissing him quickly and throwing Natasha a wink as he leaves. She looks a bit worried and confused and he’d laugh if it didn’t hurt so much.

                “So… you finally giving up on your penpal huh? Settling with Hangman?”

                “What?”

                “Your online boyfriend. You giving the thing with Hangman a go instead now? I thought you were… going with the guy online.”

                “Uh. Not exactly. Jake is my online boyfriend.”

                “What?”

                “Yeah.”

                “The guy you’ve been… holy shit. You’ve been together for years and you’ve only just figured it out?”

                Oh fuck, he realizes his mistake then, realizes he’s never going to hear the end of it. From both her and Jake both. And probably fucking Coyote too.

                “Haven’t the two of you been fucking each other for like, the last three years?”

                “Natasha!”

                “Oh no, I have heard too many drunken ramblings about his ass to let this go. You owe me so many foot massages if you want me to keep this quiet.”

                “Fuck.”

 …           …            …

>>I need to tell you something.

>>Through Grindr?

>>Yeah well, it’s relevant I guess.

>>Wanted to tell you before I delete it off my phone.

>>I haven’t hooked up with anyone but you since 2016.

>>I mean, it’s either been you in person, or you on here. So no one but you.

                “Really?” Jake asks, voice loud in the quiet of the room.

                “Yeah, really.”

                “Oh.”

                “Mmm. You’re my first choice online and you’re my first choice in person so pretty much makes you my only choice…”

                “Good. Just the way I like it.”

                “Me too.”

2019 - Jake's POV

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Hi lovelies, I know I reblogged a post about the S&B news earlier but I just want to put my own words out here real quick.

I’m slightly late writing this because I spent the last 30 minutes or so watching the wonderful wonderful wonderful brekkerbybrekker on Instagram live and it was honestly just a full half hour or me crying whilst I watched her cry. I feel like we all know her but if anyone doesn’t she’s on insta and tiktok and she’s absolutely brilliant so do go give her a follow.

The Grishaverse has been part of my life actually for only 2 years, nearly 2 1/2, and I say only because I feel like I have been part of this world forever. I read Six of Crows in May 2021 and I had finished reading the series by September. I think it was in June that I started watching the TV show, after I’d read the first Shadow and Bone book. So although I read the books first, or in the case of S&B the books that were relevant to the season, I have never existed in this fandom - and definitely not as an active part of it - without the show there. And really the main thing I want to say is please please please don’t let this fandom end because we don’t have the show anymore. I know it existed before me but I also know that we got a lot more traction because of the show, you can see that in the way the popularity of it spiked before the release of season 2, and I don’t want to lose this because I love it here so damn much. It really hurts that we won’t be able to see our beloved, wonderful cast in all the futures we’d hoped for, and I really hope they know just how much we love them. This is a difficult revelation, but we will continue on together because we are a strong and wonderful community joined by such genuine love for such a beautiful series of novels.

Over the next few days I’m planning on reblogging the analyses of season 2 that I posted in March so if you’ve joined me since then (which I think a lot of you have since we’re so close to 1.3k thank you all so much) and haven’t read them then give them a look because I really think there’s so much wonderfulness to celebrate about that show and that’s what we need to keep doing now. I also might end up writing some new analyses of the show since I will almost definitely be rewatching it.

Deep down, I honestly really thought we were gonna make it

I know that not everyone will get why this provoked an emotional response from me and that’s okay, but please don’t be disrespectful of the fact that it did 🖤

[ohdeerfully]

Thank you so much for adding Sir Pentious to your blog 🥹🎩🐍 I’m new to fic requests, and either a drabble or HCs would be amazing no matter which you pick, so here goes…

Could I please request platonic Pentious with a hotel resident reader who’s new to hell and visibly going through a rough time? Between being dead, dealing with their new demon body, and facing another extermination after just surviving the last one, they’re clearly struggling despite putting on a brave face. And secret softie that he is, Pentious decides he ought to intervene, whether it’s drag them along on activities take their mind off of things, or just stick with them until they open up enough to vent to him?

Thank you very much again!

Signed 🪼 Anon

Hii 🪼! Thanks so much for requesting my very first Sir Pentious oneshot >:3 I hope i wrote him okay! I don't know his character super well, but he's super fun!!!

Do His Egg Bois Know He Eats Egg Sandwiches

Sir Pentious x Reader (platonic)(fluff) TW: reader is depressed ):

join my discord!

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You had been at the hotel for a year or so now, having been found by Charlie during your first night in Hell. Ever since then, even in the comfort of the hotel and surrounded by the kindness–and chaos–of Charlie and her friends, you still couldn’t really believe or cope with where you were. Thinking about it, and the fact this was eternity–it made you feel like shit. And that goddamn tail of yours that kept getting in the way of everything, and the pair of hypersensitive ears that forced you to listen to the “screams of the damned” all night. You wondered if you’d ever get used to the new limbs. 

You currently laid flat on your bed and staring at the ceiling, not really thinking about much in particular. Honestly, the boredom you currently felt was comforting; better than the depressive episodes you’ve been dealing with, at least. It has gotten worse lately because of the impending extermination, but you took care not to think about it too much, less you choke and breakdown in anxiety.

A neat rapping of knocks roused you from your mindless comfort, and you slunk your way to the door. Before opening it, you made sure that your appearance was as neat as possible. You heaved a breath, smiled, and opened the door.

Sir Pentious stood on the other side, his sharp fangs peeking under his lips in a bold smile. “Charlie hass asked me to…” You smiled slightly at that appropriately snake-like lisp of his. “...take you out in town! For some… fun,” His bold smile slowly quivered, becoming more and more uncertain and anxious as his invitation became quiet, nearly dying on his lips. His hands were nervously folded behind himself.

You quirked your brow at him, leaning softly on the doorframe. “Why would Charlie ask you to take me out?” You replied, not intentionally aggressive, “Wouldn’t she usually just… do it herself? Or at least tell me first?” You noticed the way Sir Pentious nervously flicked his tongue a few times as he considered your words.

“Well… I… er,” He struggled for a moment, until suddenly his eyes lit up with an idea. “Well, Charlie wass, and I wass going to take EVERYBODY out! But, eh, they’re all busy.” His head tucked slightly, sheepishly, and you watched as the hood on his neck seemed to squeeze closer to himself. He was so obvious.

You ran your hand through your hair, thinking for a moment. Sir Pentious stared at you expectantly, with a mix of anxiety and excitement in his narrow eyes.

You could either stay inside, locked in your room, waiting for nothing, melting in your own depressive thoughts and worries; or, you could just go out and try to have some fun with the snake standing in front of you. You haven’t been out in town much, despite being in Hell for a year–you were always too worried. You didn’t have the energy to go out in the first place, so the anxiety you felt made it all the more difficult to drag yourself out of bed to explore.

Ah, what the hell.

“Sure,” You accepted, albeit a bit apprehensively. His spine immediately straightened out as you accepted his offer, his eyes practically glowing with pride at himself. He gave you a curt nod, a grin, and turned to slither away.

“Meet me in the lobby in twenty minutess!” He called, before disappearing around a corner.

And, so, you did. You had quickly washed yourself, and scrounged around your dirty laundry to find a decently clean outfit, making note that you should get to work on washing everything when you got back. Hopefully this outing would give you a bit of energy to do some chores.

He was waiting by the bar, his fingers rapping against the countertop. He was obviously trying to be patient; you knew he had a temper. You appreciate him trying, though.

“So,” You began as you came near him. He whipped his head around when he heard your voice. “What’s your idea of… fun?”

“Follow me!” He declared boldly, ushering the both of you out of the hotel. You saw his airship was ready to go, a small ramp leading to the entrance. You nervously smiled at the sight, wondering what he had in store for you. You briefly wondered how Charlie would react knowing Sir Pentious was, very likely, up to no good.

Those eggs of his were already waiting inside, as you saw one peek around the frame of the door. It jumped at the sight of Sir Pentious ascending the ramp, skittering away before coming back with the others. They all watched from the doorway.

Your worries of Charlie were dispelled when Sir Pentious explained that he wanted to go to a strip of stores a few blocks away. You decided not to ask him why he chose to take his airship to just go a few blocks away; he seemed very excited to show off the interior to you, explaining what this button did, and oh, did you notice this lever? Just wait till you see what this knob does! You were genuinely surprised at how complex his build was. Sir Pentious was a lot smarter than everybody gave him credit for.

His eggs were always in your way, and you had to take extreme care not to stumble over or smash one. They were always getting up close to you in order to examine you, or touch your clothes. You were growing irritated at them, honestly, but clenched your jaw to ignore the growing frustration.

It had taken a short time to get to the street, and Sir Pentious ‘parked’ his airship in the air, hanging down a sturdy ladder for the two of you to descend onto the street. You stared down nervously, air whipping at your face.

“Sir Pentious… I don’t think…” You timidly looked down, and then back up to him. He stood there proudly, hands on his hips. He frowned at your apprehension.

“Nonsense!” And he shoved you, his toothy grin quickly disappearing from your vision as you staggered out of the opening below. 

“What the fuck!” You cried, tumbling for a brief moment in the air, your tail whipping wildly to try to straighten yourself out. You were able to grab a rung of the ladder, probably just a few seconds away from smacking into the road. Your heart was beating so hard you were worried it would give out.

“What. The fuck.” You said again, venom practically dripping from your words as you glared at Sir Pentious, who was easily using his two arms to make his way down, tail curled on the ladder for extra stability. If you could kill him with your eyes, you would. 

You continued the last few rungs, arms shaking so hard with adrenaline that you had to make a few attempts to grab the rope with every step.

“Now,” Sir Pentious began, looking around after you were both firmly on the ground. “I believe there iss… some sort of place for foodstuff. There!” And he quickly left you behind after eyeing the shop. You quickly followed when he paused to wave you forward.

It was a pretty standard lunch spot, with the standard Hell foods that you saw for sale in the hotel’s own cafeteria. You ignored the description of the food, knowing that if you thought too hard about what the meat was made out of you would be too sick to eat. Food was another thing in Hell that you just couldn’t get used to.

Sir Pentious ordered some sort of egg sandwich with a soda, and you opted for a salad of sorts with some mystery meat and a colorful array of toppings. You tucked yourself neatly into a chair, poking at the contents of your bowl for a minute before trying it. It really wasn’t that bad.

Sir Pentious was tentatively sipping at his soda, his tiny nostrils flaring at each intake of the carbonated drink. You saw the level of soda go down, up, down again, up again, as he tried desperately to keep the drink in his mouth.

“Do you… not like soda?” You asked behind a laugh. He put on a face of shock at you.

“Of coursse I do! Everybody drinks it! How weird it would be if I couldn’t!” He went back to daintily dragging at the straw. You saw the up and down of the drink continue. You rolled your eyes at his attempt to seem hip. It really wasn’t that serious.

You had ordered some tea, and you pushed the glass towards him.

“Wanna trade?” You asked, and his eyes lit up. “I like soda more than tea.”

“Yess!” He said, a bit too excited for his own taste, obviously, because he immediately lowered his voice. “Of course, only for you. I don’t care either way. But ssince you do,” He swiped at your glass, quickly replacing it with his soda. You honestly weren’t really interested in drinking it, knowing that a lot of it had already been in his mouth and spit back.

After you had both finished, a bit of casual small talk between bites, Sir Pentious paid, to which you thanked him multiple times for, and he simply stuck his nose up and dismissed you, saying it was his responsibility for being the one to offer to take you out.

You actually enjoyed your time with him, which surprised you, because you never thought you’d enjoy the company of the temperamental snake. But, you could tell he tried his best to remain level-headed with you. You wondered if he knew how shitty you’ve been feeling.

When you arrived back at the hotel, you were incredibly thrilled that Sir Pentious was able to park his airship on the ground. No more getting shoved out of tiny holes from the sky. You saw Charlie carefully eyeing the two of you as you came inside, her focus mostly on a conversation with Vaggie. She was likely trying to see if there were any signs of “bad behavior” coming back into her hotel.

Sir Pentious  leads you back to your room, rambling about some invention of his, his words dripping with pride. You were only half listening while you fumbled for the keys to your room.

His words stopped for a moment when you opened the door, and you could tell he was looking at the terrible disarray your room had come to during your periods of doing nothing during depressive episodes. You let out a nervous laugh, closing the door just enough for you to block his line of sight as you leaned against the door.

“Hey, thanks for taking me to get some food,” You smiled at him, and he returned your smile with his own. You could tell there was a softness in his expression, and you kind of hated it, knowing that it was probably coming from a place of pity after seeing the state of your room.

“You know, if you ever need somebody to talk to, I conssider myself a great listener,” He began, and you felt weird hearing the softness and genuineness of his voice. Though you weren’t to sure about the ‘great listener’ part. “Of course I offer my earss to everybody here!” He quickly added, trying to prevent himself from sounding too touchy-feely. You grinned at him and shot him a quick thumbs up.

“Thanks, Pentious,” You backed up into your room, giving him a short wave. “I’ll talk to you later.”

He waved back at you, giving you that fanged grin of his, before you shut the door. You turned on your heel, and stared at the mess you called a room.

Time to do some cleaning, I guess.

[airas-story]

How about Stephen teaching Tony how to ice skate? (Even better if Tony already knows how but wants to spend time with Stephen.)

So, uh, this prompt has apparently been here since the beginning? But it wasn't showing on the device I was using. So I only recently found it. Anyways, I felt guilty for Tumblr hiding it, so this became a Wednesday fic (and a long one, though that was on accident) instead of a drabble.

“There is nothing in this world that could make me enjoy ice skating,” Tony said, scoffing.

Stephen raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that bet.”

Two Days Later:

“Here.” Stephen held out Tony’s thin coat—and maybe, if Tony hated the cold so much, he’d get a thicker one, but that logic had apparently escaped Tony. “Your coat.”

Tony took it, expression disgruntled. “Do we really have to do this?”

Stephen rolled his eyes. “Just put on the coat, Tony. I’ve spelled it so that it should keep you warm, since apparently you couldn’t manage to buy one thick enough to actually do the job.”

Tony sighed, but put it on obediently. “It’s a coat,” he said dryly. “I’m utterly amazed.”

“We’re inside, Tony. The spells don’t need to activate, yet.” He pulled out Tony’s gloves and handed them over. “Now these.”

Tony narrowed his eyes, but accepted them. “This isn’t going to work,” Tony told him. “Sure, maybe I won’t be cold, but I’ll still fall on my ass a few times and bruise and decide I hate the whole thing.”

Stephen rolled his eyes. “You’re being such a bad sport about this.”

“Excuse you, no one said I had to be a good one! In fact, it’s in my own favor not to be.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Stephen told him. “You can try to sabotage our date, but I’m still going to win.” He had every reason to be confident. 

Tony was a romantic, after all, and Stephen was more than willing to play into that.

Now that Tony was properly dressed for the occasion, Stephen opened them a portal. He’d chosen an ice skating rink outside of New York where it would be a little less populated, and that Stephen’s googling had informed him was doing a ‘couple’s night’.

Tony was grumpy the whole time they chose their skates, but so long as he was cooperating Stephen wasn’t going to call foul. Every reluctant concession was going to taste all that sweeter when Tony conceded Stephen the win.

“When I fall and break a bone, I want you to remember that this was all your fault,” Tony told him as he wobbled on the blades towards the rink. “And then when I complain for the next month about my limited mobility I expect you to be a patient and loving boyfriend about it.”

Stephen snorted. “Does that really sound like me, Tony?”

“Not really,” Tony admitted. “Your bedside manner continues to be atrocious. But you’re going to have to try, anyways.”

“Noted.”

He took Tony’s hand and stepped onto the ice, carefully pulling Tony with him.

Tony let out a startled eep as he immediately slid on the ice. His arms came up as though he was on a balance beam to try to stabilize himself.

Stephen tried not to laugh at the image, instead teasingly nudging Tony into proper form.

They made it around the rink once and Tony looked at the exit longingly. Stephen just tugged him along. “Not so fast,” he told Tony. “You’re giving this a shot.”

“Only because this is you,” Tony told him. “And only because when I win this bet, I want to have won fair and square.”

Tony stumbled over his skates, nearly taking them both down. Stephen managed to balance them as Tony let out a creative round of curses. “Told you.”

“You haven’t broken a bone yet,” Stephen pointed out. “You’re fine. Just glide, Tony.”

“Just glide,” Tony mimicked. “Because that explains so much.”

Stephen let go of Tony’s hand, and skated ahead before he turned around to skate backwards. “Eyes up, Tony. Stop looking at your skates. Look at me.” 

Tony’s eyes came up so that he was looking forward instead of down. “Of course you can skate backwards. Show off.”

“It’s not that hard, Tony. Just because you can’t do it…”

“I could learn if I wanted to. I just don’t want to.”

The Christmas music that had been playing switched to a slow love song as an employee went on speaker to inform the skaters that the general population skating time was over and that couple’s night had begun.

Tony sent him a narrowed eyed look. “Oh, you’re playing dirty.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stephen countered. “But if I were playing dirty, then that’s only to be expected.” 

They made it around the rink two more times and Tony’s skating was starting to smooth out as he figured out the movements and his awkwardness faded.

Stephen went back to skating normally, taking Tony’s hand again.

“Not so bad, is it.”

Tony let out a disgruntled noise. “You haven’t won this bet, Stephen.”

The outdoor lights came on as the sun started to fade.

Stephen glanced at Tony to see a faint smile around his lips. “Your spells are holding out marvelously,” Tony told him. “It’s not even cold.”

“Of course they are. They’re my spells.”

“You know that doesn’t work on me. Wong has told me too many stories for that. Like that time when you almost broke reality by playing with an infinity stone.”

Stephen scowled. “They really should put the warnings before the spells. And I didn’t break reality, so really, you’re proving my point.”

Tony laughed, stumbling for a moment before catching himself. He was too amused, at the moment, to even complain about the near fall. 

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same,” Stephen added.

“I read,” Tony protested.

“Not far enough ahead,” Stephen countered. “Your curiosity would absolutely have you trying spells before you got to the warning sections.”

That started a heavy debate on which of them was better at following instructions and using the necessary safety parameters.

The answer was that neither of them were particularly good at it.

Tony sighed, breaking their moment. “I suppose,” he said, tone one of pure annoyance. “That I have no choice but to concede.”

Stephen smirked in victory. “You know you never had a chance, right?” Stephen told him. “I am perfectly willing to exploit your weaknesses.”

“And what weakness did you exploit?” Tony asked, tone mulish. “Because that’s a weakness I need to get rid of.”

“Me,” Stephen said simply. “You were skating with me, so of course you were going to end up loving it.”

That earned him a pained face. “Well, that’s unfortunate. I can’t exactly get rid of that weakness, can I?”

“No,” Stephen agreed. “I’m afraid I’m here to stay.”

[lovemyavatar]

STAR GIRL

| Lo’ak x F!Avatar!Reader |

Summary: Sully's always stick together, but is there room for one more?

Warnings: fluff, some angst and family drama

Notes: I just want to take a second to thank each and every person who has interacted with this series, it’s truly meant so much. I’ve read and re-read every comment, message, kind word. You’re all incredible and the support means the absolute world. I can’t believe this series is coming to an end already, it’s been so much fun to write. I have a little surprise at the end of this chapter that I’m super excited about and hope everyone will like! I LOVE when you guys talk to me so don’t be shy and let me know what you think! Until next time MWAH

dialogue in Italics is Na'vi translated to English

chapter eight

Chapter Nine — The End

The sun has long breached the moon, warm afternoon light blanketing Pandora by the time you approach Home tree.

Your fingers, interlocked tightly with Lo’ak’s, tremble as anxiety surges through your chest. Wide eyes dance over the huge, overreaching leaves of the place you so recently considered home, the sound of the clan’s morning activities fluttering to your ears.

“Wait!” You suddenly jerk to a halt, free hand latching onto Lo'ak's bicep.

He stops beside you, just before the tree line breaks into the wide gathering area. Your eyes round with unease, searching for comfort within his warm gaze.

A soft breath falls from his lips, chest tightening at the sight of you so on edge. A large hand cradles the side of your head gently. You instantly lean into his touch, a fraction of tension releasing.

“Hey...” He coos, guiding you forward so he can place a kiss in the center of your forehead. He leans back slowly, head dipping to catch your eyes. “Nothing, and no one, will take you from me. Okay?”

You’re nervous, no, terrified to face his parents. You haven’t spoken a word to them, haven’t seen so much as a glimpse of them in nearly a week. Not since Jake so harshly yelled at you, so cruelly accused you of being a traitor.

Lo’ak‘a gaze remains steady on yours, unwavering in his love for you. He's completely serious, if any of his family members argue against your union, he has some choice words ready. Now that you're his for life, he won't let anyone disrespect you, no matter who they are.

“Okay.” You agree lowly, sending him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

He nods reassuringly, fingers tightening around yours as he guides you forward, back toward the place where you’ll build your new home together. He barely makes it a step before a tall figure approaches, walking briskly through the brush.

In his haste, Neteyam nearly rams right into you. He’s the perfect picture of a poised leader on a mission, brow furrowed, shoulders square, bow slung tightly across his chest. He rears back in alarm, narrowly missing the two of you.

“Eywa!” He curses under his breath, eyes widening a fraction as he takes in the scene before him.

His spine straightens, tail flicking to attention at his back. His eyes narrow, trailing over the two of you scrutinizingly. At first, he’s surprised that you’re standing before him at all. After that day in the forest, when he stumbled upon you and your Ikran, he fully expected to never see you again.

But now, here you are. With his brother, the day after he disappeared without warning. The pieces start falling into place, Neteyam’s thoughts racing as he dissects in the sight of the two of you together. Together walking from the woods, with your hands clasped and—oh, shit.

“Baby bro, you didn’t.” There’s a rough warning beneath his words, head tilting to the side almost pleadingly.

Lo’ak forces down a hoarse swallow, lifting his chin in defiance. His hold on you is firm, bordering on painful as he meets Neteyam’s glare with one of his own. Daring him to challenge the union. The older Sully groans, eyes falling closed as he pinches the bridge of his nose in irritation.

“I shouldn’t be surprised.” He sighs heavily, molten eyes shifting to you.

You’re tempted to curl inward, to crumble beneath his judgmental gaze, but you remain strong. You have no regrets about mating with Lo’ak. You’ve chosen him as your partner for the rest of your life, and nothing anyone says or does can change that now.

With a dismissive shake of his head, Neteyam turns to go back the way he came, seemingly abandoning whatever he was about to do.

“Wait! Where are you going?” Lo’ak steps forward, arm outstretched and ready to stop him from getting to their parents before he can.

“As far from here as possible.” He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even spare a retreating glance before disappearing through thick foliage.

Your brows furrow worriedly, sharp teeth catching your lower lip as anxiety quickly mounts. Lo’ak groans quietly beside you, irritated that your first greeting wasn’t a pleasant one. Before you can dwell on it, he’s pulling you behind him, over the last remaining barrier between you and your future home.

The second your foot touches warm soil, a loud, ear-piercing scream echoes through the base of Home Tree. It makes your shoulders hunch, muscles pulled taunt in alarm. Your eyes widen, as do most of the clan's as they whip around to see what the fuss is about.

A moment later, you crumble to the ground under the weight of a tiny body colliding with yours. Your hand is ripped from Lo'ak, who bursts into a fit of laughter beside you. Your arms instantly curl around Tuk’s middle, turning carefully to ensure you'll take the brunt of the fall.

“You left me!” Her face is scrunched into a deep scowl, nose wrinkled, small lips pulled into a frown.

She pouts down at you from her new position, perched on your stomach. You can't help but smile, heart skipping a beat at the sight of her. Despite the clear anger pointed your way, nothing but joy floods your system at having her close again. You didn’t want to dwell on it while convincing yourself you’d never see this place again, but you missed her like crazy.

Slowly, you sit up, pulling her into a tight embrace in the process. She tucks into you without hesitation, face smooshing against your chest. Her little arms wrap around your waist, returning the hug with her full strength.

“I’m sorry, Tuk.” You murmur soothingly, head falling to rest on top of hers.

A huge, boyish grin splits Lo'ak's face, arms crossing as he watches the scene unfold. Warmth blooms in his chest at the sight of the bond you share with his baby sister. He knew she missed you, couldn't escape the constant questions about where you'd gone and when you'd be back every moment you were away.

“You skxawng (idiot)!” A new voice interrupts, your head instantly tilting up in recognition.

Despite the insult, a soft smile pulls at Kiri's lips as she approaches casually. You match her expression, moisture prickling at the corners of your eyes. You're quick to blink away the tears, a surge of embarrassment bringing color to your cheeks.

You didn't expect to feel this swarm of emotions, didn't anticipate being overwhelmed by the sight of your two closest friends welcoming you home with open arms. Kiri leans down, offering a helping hand. Your fingers slide into hers easily, gratitude brightening your expression as she pulls you up from the ground.

Tuk bounces to her feet beside you, hopping up and down excitedly. A giggle bubbles in your chest, tension gradually releasing the longer you're in the presence of her playful spirit.

A sudden, quiet gasp has your attention snapping back to Kiri. Her fingers twitch against yours, grip tightening to an almost painful degree. Her eyes pop wide, flicking between you and her brother.

“Did you...?” She pulls you in by the firm hold on your arm, words a breathless whisper into your ear as you stumble against her chest.

The color of your cheeks deepens, heat blanketing your neck and chest. Of course, she’d sense it, long before you could even formulate a plan to tell her. All you can do is nod, stomach flipping with unease. Your heart soars at the way her mouth pulls into a slow grin, relief flooding you when she doesn’t appear upset.

“Tuk, Y/N is our sister now.” She peers down at her with a hint of pride, the youngest Sully’s eyes popping wide in shock at the declaration.

Warmth swells in your chest, heart fluttering between your ribs. The whisper of belonging tickles your insides, weakens your knees. Threatens to bring you back to the ground with wave after wave of intense emotion.

“Is it true? Is it true?” She jumps up and down, beaming at you with such adoration, it makes tears spring to your eyes all over again.

The huge grin on your face must be confirmation enough because she lets out another scream, the excited wail echoing through Home Tree. You’re quick to shush her, gaze hastily scanning the area. You force down a thick swallow at the sea of concerned eyes that are already trained on your little group.

A low rumble has begun within the clan as they notice your presence. Many have paused their duties, instead openly staring as you’re greeted by the Olo’eyktan’s children. The weight of their judgement, the mounting questions you know you’ll soon be forced to answer, settles onto your shoulders.

The tightness around your spine returns in full force, muscles already aching from being pulled so taunt.

“Girls.” At the sound of a familiar rough voice, your smile falters.

Kiri’s hand drops yours, instead tucking against her chest as she folds into herself protectively. You realize she’s bracing for impact, steeling herself from the predictable wrath of her father before it arrives.

“Go back to your chores.” Jake’s expression is all hard lines, brow furrowed, lips pursed, eyes narrowed as they seem to dissect each one of you in the little circle.

“But dad! Y/N is—” Tuk begins excitedly, still beaming despite the obvious shift in everyone else’s demeanor.

“Now.” He barks, using a tone usually reserved only for his sons.

Lo’ak shifts at your back, long fingers curling around your bicep. You send him a questioning glance over your shoulder, but he only shakes his head before gently pulling you against him. You don’t fight the motion, instead relying on his stability as you lean into his chest. One of his arms slides along your stomach, holding you against him firmly.

Tuk deflates, not used to receiving such harsh orders from her father. Her shoulders slump, tiny lips pursing in irritation. Kiri is quick to wrap an arm around her, murmuring softly as she all but drags her away. Her eyes round as they slide toward you one last time, silently wishing you good luck.

Your heart rate instantly skyrockets at the impatient click of Jake's tongue. Hesitantly, your gaze meets his, stomach churning with unease. A long breath falls from his pursed lips, hard eyes sweeping down your form quickly.

“Believe it or not, I'm happy to see you in one piece, kid.” His voice is deep, rough despite the kind words. It's clear that something dark is brewing just beneath the surface as his attention snaps over your shoulder, tone sharpening. “Is what your brother says true?”

He chooses to speak in English, hoping to maintain a semblance of privacy for this conversation. The clan has no shame in the way they watch their leader with curious eyes, slowly forming a large circle around the three of you.

Fucking Neteyam, Lo'ak hisses internally, stiffening against you. He pulls you in closer, narrowed gaze shifting over the crowd, ready to piece at the slightest movement toward you.

“We are mated before Eywa.” His chin lifts confidently, words strong as they leave his lips with conviction.

Quiet sounds of shock roll through the clan, hushed murmurs making your ears flatten against your head. Jake lets out a short hiss of displeasure, expression tightening before it’s replaced with the usual hardened mask of dismissiveness. He looks away briefly, as if assessing the audience that continues to surround you.

“Listen close, son.” He leans toward you both, voice dropping to a tense whisper, pointing a finger right in Lo'ak's face. “I get it. I really do. Back in the day I would’ve done anything to be with your mom. But there are rules.”

Your breath hitches, ice cold dread seeping into your bones at the insinuation. There's no way he would...would he? You silently pray he’ll show you mercy, or at least try to understand where you’re coming from. You’d never forgive yourself if mating with you was the downfall of Lo’ak’s relationships with his family. His clan.

His fingers twitch against your stomach, pressing you further into his warmth. A low growl rumbles through his chest, vibrating the overworked muscles of your back. Your eyes pop wide at the threatening display he’s just showed his own father.

“I don't care. I love her, dad. I would do it again.” Your ears twitch at his affirmation, cheeks warming. You sink impossibly closer to him, needing the reassurance of his skin on yours in as many places as possible.

Jake suddenly stands to his full height, hands landing on his hips, an exasperated look crossing his face. His jaw clenches as he fights the urge to lay into Lo'ak for his blatant disrespect. The entire clan has now gathered in the area, and though he's disciplined his son many times in front of them, he doesn't want to cause a scene right now.

“Alright, let’s go, you two.” Long fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, another heavy sigh of disappointment leaving his lips. He turns in the direction of the Sully family tent, glare piercing straight through Lo'ak's questioning gaze. “I’m not facing your mother alone.”

With that, he stalks forward, expecting you to follow. You glance at Lo'ak nervously, the cord of panic squeezing your heart cinching tighter by the second. His lips quirk into the ghost of a smile, though the gesture doesn't reach his eyes.

He plants a quick kiss along your temple before shifting to your side. The arm that's been protectively wrapped around your waist doesn't waver as he guides you forward, following his father's lead. Your eyes cautiously trail over the dense sea of eyes as they part for you, before falling to the dirt, finding the scrutiny too much to bare.

Within a few short steps, the woven flap of their shared home slams shut behind you. A tremor wracks your body at the sight of Neytiri, hunched over a pile of fruit in the corner. Her rhythmic chopping halts instantly at the sudden presence in her home. She looks up, eyes widening when they land on Lo'ak.

She's on her feet in an instant, crossing the tent before anyone can even think about speaking.

“Oh, my youngest son.” She coos, relieved to see him whole and uninjured. He’d run off without so much as a goodbye, and she’d been worried sick, even ordering Neteyam only minutes ago to look for him.

Her expression drops, hardens when her eyes scan his form, catching on the way you're so tightly wrapped up against him.

“What is this?” The question is full of accusation, her gaze sharpening into the ferocious glare you've been dreading all day.

All you can do is watch as realization dawns. As she takes in the intimacy between you and her son, the way he holds you so protectively, like only a mate would do. She sees so much of Jake in her youngest boy, recognizes the defiant square of his shoulders all too well.

A soft gasp lodges in her throat, a shaky hand covering her mouth as she rears back as if she's been struck. Her eyes widen, utter horror darkening the usual bright glowing yellow. They jump between all three of you, as if unsure who to blame for this.

“Lo'ak, do not tell me...”

“It is done.” He instantly defends, voice even though his jaw is already clenching in preparation for the fallout.

Neytiri hisses aggressively, taking a few steps to the side, then back the way she came, pacing in front of you. Her tail flicks upward, standing at attention against her spine. She looks every bit the fearsome hunter she is, steely glare piercing straight to your core as she zeroes in on you.

“You have brought shame to this family!” She spits, looking at you like you've just committed the most egregious sin. Like her family is falling apart, and you're the cause.

“Don’t act like you didn’t do the same thing with dad.” Lo'ak growls, pulling you tighter against his side, the harsh tone of his accusation earning another hiss from his mother.

“Hey! Watch your mouth, boy.” Jake takes a step forward, narrowed eyes catching his son's pointedly. He stands at the ready only inches away, prepared to step in if things escalate.

“I did not mate with your father until he became one of The People! You will throw away your future for this—for her?” Despite the reservations she still harbors, she can't bring herself to call you a vrrtep (demon) any longer.

She recognizes everything you've done for the clan. For her family. You've brought Kiri out of her shell, given Tuk some direction, calmed Lo’ak’s rebellious spirit. Mo'at never stops singing your praises, even going so far as to suggest that Eywa would bless a union with Neteyam—had you not been so smitten with his brother—due to your skill within the Tsahik tent.

But you are still other. No matter how much she has secretly grown to tolerate you, she would never choose such a match for the son of Toruk Makto. Every union their children commit to holds weight, impacts the perception of the entire family. They must be strong to protect the clan, to be effective leaders.

“Okay, you know what? I'm just going to say it.” You release a tense breath, jerking free of Lo’ak’s tight hold as anger licks up your spine.

There's only so much you can take, so much judgement, so many harsh words before you have to stand up for yourself. For your relationship with Lo'ak. The thinly veiled restraint you've been desperately holding onto lays at your feet in tattered shreds as you take a step forward, ignoring the quiet plea from behind to calm down.

“Your mate used to the human! Used to be an Avatar!” A finger points harshly in Jake's direction, though your molten stare remains locked on Neytiri. “I have learned your ways, just like he did! I claimed an Ikran, just like he did! I have as much right to be one of The People as he did!”

Neytiri stills before you, fists clenched tightly at her sides, lethal glare blazing a hole straight through your tough exterior. Truthfully, you're terrified, trembling where you stand, heart clattering between your ribs harshly.

“You do not speak of Ma Jake!” She hisses, chin dropping menacingly, tail flicking back and forth harshly.

“I have been nothing but kind to you, and you have refused to even try to see me.” You're a bit breathless, surprised yourself at the way you've just spoken to her.

You never wanted it to be like this, never imagined this kind of tension could exist simply because of who you are. Who you love.

“I cannot see what does not exist.” She grunts, hard eyes slicing to Lo'ak, still wound tightly behind you. “All you do is take.”

“It won't be me that takes your son away, Neytiri, but your own prejudice.” A humorless laugh falls from your chest before you can stop it, stomach flipping with anger and frustration.

At the snap of your harsh words, the dam breaks, an animalistic snarl cutting the thick silence before Neytiri pounces. She lunges for you, hands raised to strike, face tight with rage. You rear back instinctively, but it's useless as Jake and Lo'ak rush to step between you.

“That's enough!” Jake roars, one hand wrapping around his mate's shoulders while the other locks around her waist, hauling her against his front.

She growls and fights against his firm hold for only a moment before allowing him to drag her away. Meanwhile, Lo'ak covers your body with his, crouching as he hisses at his mother dangerously. It feels foreign, wrong, the action shattering a fraction of his heart.

Under normal circumstances, he would never dream of disrespecting her in such a way. But now, he has no choice, he would die before allowing anyone to lay a hand on you in his presence. Even his own family.

When his parents are safely on the other side of the tent, he turns to you, both hands cradling your face tenderly.

“Tam, Tam (there, there), baby, mawey (calm).” He murmurs, lips caressing the skin of your forehead before he tucks you into his side.

Every one of your muscles is tense, trembling with pent up emotion. Your chest heaves against his, ragged breaths attempting to soothe your racing heart. Your arms wrap around his waist, looking for stability as you try calming raging emotions.

It's given you a tiny sense of release, having finally defended yourself the way you've been aching to since the moment you arrived in Home Tree. But still, it hasn't made anything better, hasn't relieved even a touch of the hostility that's palpable within the small space.

Lo'ak turns to face his parents, brow pinched in anger. He doesn't want to choose between you and his family, but he will without hesitation. He openly glares at Jake and Neytiri, something he'd never dare before this moment. Before everything crumbled right in front of him.

“Muntxa (mate),” He coos the term of endearment pointedly, sending a clear message as one of his hands trails soothingly down your spine. “Why don't you tell them what you told me?”

Your face jerks toward his as you lean back, creating a few inches of space that allow you to gaze up at him in question.

“I don't think now is a good time, Lo’ak.” Your words drip with uncertainty, completely lost as to why he would bring this up now.

“Tell us what?” Jake is already on high alert, spine straightening as his hold on Neytiri loosens a fraction. She's calmed in his arms, resigning herself to glaring at you from across the room.

A rough sigh leaves your lips, anxiety rearing its ugly head once again. You planned on delivering this news gently, over dinner or maybe even a warm fire. Definitely not like this, when emotions are already so high. Truthfully, you wanted to have this conversation privately, first sharing the information between you and Jake alone.

Lo’ak nods encouragingly, hoping you’ll follow his direction. He wants to show his parents that you’re on their side, that you’re fully committed to the clan. He knows this will help, and even if it’s not the best time, you don’t have much of that left anyway.

With another deep breath, your shoulders square, muscles tight in preparation to drop the bombshell.

“Two days ago, when I was at the lab, we received a correspondence. From an incoming ship.” Your voice is quiet, even as you brace yourself for the worst.

Jake drops his hold on Neytiri instantly, stalking forward a few steps in shock before reining in his rising emotions. No, no, it can't be, the words echo through his mind like a prayer. With two simple sentences, his worst fear has just come true.

“What are you saying?” He rasps, fists already clenched as every one of his muscles coils painfully tight.

“It was a hostile branch of the RDA. They were sending out feelers, trying to see if any humans survived the last two decades.” Your chin dips, apprehension clouding your mind at the look of pure horror on Jake's face. Your voice drops to a low whisper as you deliver the final piece of information you have. “They're supposed to land in five days.”

“No, no.” He's the one pacing now, eyes wide as they flick wildly around the tent, looking for something solid. He turns on you, a sudden gleam of accusation beneath his glare. “If that were true, Norm would've reached out.”

“He did.” Your brow pinches with confusion as you watch the always poised leader practically have a panic attack right in front of you.

He stops suddenly, recalling with agitation that he hadn't checked the tech tent within the last day. He'd been distracted, looking for Lo'ak.

“Fuck.” He rasps, turning on his heel to flee the tent in a few quick strides.

Just like that, the conversation is over, the issue of your union with Lo’ak seeming so petty now.

Silence blankets the room, palpable tension the only thing remaining in Jake’s absence. Your eyes sweep toward Neytiri cautiously, but she merely hisses before stalking through the door after him.

You’re left standing there, stomach turning with unease. Though Lo’ak instantly pulls you into him, wrapping you in the warm strength of his embrace, it does little to fill the gaping hole in your chest.

Because, after all this time, you’re no closer to belonging than when you first arrived.

A frustrated huff leaves your pursed lips, brows pinched in concentration as you try—and fail—to focus on the task at hand.

Your fingertips are raw, skin battered by constant wear. The last several days have been a flurry of preparation. You've done little else but sit, hunched over well-used tools as you sharpen spears and arrowheads.

With one final swipe of stone against wood, you lift the jagged weapon up close for inspection. It's not great, but it will do. You toss it to the side, ignoring the sharp clatter as it tumbles onto the pile of finished products.

Your head lifts for a brief moment before grabbing the next log, eyes scanning the open area of Home Tree. A tiny breath of relief falls from your lips when they land on Lo'ak, dutifully helping Jake fit the newest group of warriors with their own woven chest pieces to mark their rising rank within the clan.

You haven't seen much of him since the fight in his family's tent. You've chosen to remain in your hammock at night. Traditionally, mates sleep together in the family home until they are ready to build a tent of their own, but there's no way you could subject yourself—or the rest of the Sully's, frankly—to that level of awkward.

He visits you at night, showering you with kisses to make up for lost time, even falling asleep in the cramped space with you once after a particularly grueling day. Things are changing fast, and the Recombinant's, as you've learned they're called, haven't even arrived yet.

It's scary, not knowing what to expect. Not knowing how you fit into all of this, despite the effort you’ve put into finding your place.

Your ears twitch at the sound of soft footsteps approaching. Your spine straightens, relief flooding you at the welcome distraction. You’re expecting Kiri, or even Tuk, but quickly deflate at the sight of Neytiri. Instantly, your eyes fall to your lap, hands busying themselves with another log before she sits down beside you.

You're tucked away in a corner, near the tree line, enjoying some much needed quiet as you work. It's just been so hectic, the constant bustling around Home Tree grating on your already fried nerves. So, when Jake asked for your help with this, you immediately found the most secluded spot that left Lo’ak within your line of sight.

You desperately try ignoring the way Neytiri's eyes bore into the side of your head, urging you to look at her.

“It is time.” Her voice is surprisingly soft as her eyes dance along your features, lips pressed into a firm line.

You can’t help but glance up at her in question, the cryptic phrasing making your heart leap with anxiety.

Unbeknownst to you, or anyone else, she has been watching you. She would never admit it, but your words from that day have stuck with her. They've nestled into the back of her mind, prodding each time her gaze finds you, rushing around her home to help in any way you can.

She has seen you prepare salves and balms with her mother and daughter, skillfully mixing ingredients almost as fluently as they do. It hit her, that day, how hard you must've worked all those weeks after Mo'at took you under her wing.

She's watched with careful eyes as you tend to the children, calming and entertaining not only Tuk, but now her friends by the raging fire each night. The other women have noticed, too, gazing upon you with soft smiles, and a hint of adoration.

Most importantly, she has seen how Jake guides you under his diligent instruction, looking after you as if you are one of his own. She sees the parallels between you, can understand why he's defended you all this time. Your dedication to the clan is clear, so obvious in fact that she's kicking herself, wondering how it took so long to realize.

“I will only say this one time, so listen close. I am sorry.” She knows she's been too harsh, too rigid. Eywa, even her youngest has been more welcoming.

She doesn't regret the protective instinct that drove her judgement, she would do anything to keep her children out of harms way. But at this point, she does recognize that maybe, just maybe, she let the fact that you're different cloud her mind, prevent her from seeing you as she should've a long time ago.

Your eyes pop wide in surprise, breath catching at the words you never imagined hearing from her.

“I can’t promise to always make the right decisions, but I will try.” The admission is gentle as she peers at you with rounded eyes, nothing but warmth shining within the bright yellow. “I know how Lo’ak feels, it is how I felt about Ma Jake. Though I wish you would have waited to mate, I should not expect anything else from my son.”

You're stunned, completely frozen as your brain slowly processes the words you've been dying to hear for weeks.

“I know I have not been fair to you, but for as long as you treat my son well, I will be happy to call you my daughter.” One of her hands rests gently on your shoulder, a tiny smile pulling at her lips.

A ragged breath leaves your quivering lungs, vision blurring. Your heart soars, chest caving with a quiet cry as tears slip freely down your cheeks. Finally, the last piece of the puzzle has clicked into the place. The last thing you needed to feel whole, to fully step into your new life—whether you would admit it or not—is her acceptance. And now you have it.

Your hand moves to cover hers, a wobbly smile the only response you can muster. For the first time in your twenty years here on the moon, you feel seen. Truly and fully seen by everyone that matters.

Now that you have her blessing, the only thing left to do is become one of The People in the eyes of the Great Mother, before the entire clan.

Excitement coils in your stomach, eyes glittering at the prospect of completing your own ceremony. Of emerging from this turbulent time better off, closer to the most authentic version of yourself.

There’s no doubt in your mind as Neytiri eagerly jumps into action beside you, helping to finish the last of the spears before eclipse blankets Home Tree in darkness, that you’re exactly where you were always meant to be.

That you’re exactly who you were always meant to be.

Coming soon…

Neteyam x F!Avatar!Reader Series

You’ve been recruited by the Omatikaya clan. Finally given an excuse to use your Avatar for more than field tests and experiments. With the threat of war looming overhead, tensions mount, but it’s not the approaching hostile forces that keep you on high alert. A certain Olo’eyktan’s oldest son has been ordered to train you, so that you might be of assistance in the coming battle.

He’s determined to keep you at arms length. Distraction has never fit into his painstakingly structured life, and he surely has no time to entertain it now. Despite his best efforts, his restraint is tested beyond previously known limits. No matter how infuriating every interaction seems to be, he can't escape the fact that he's never been met with something quite as tempting as you.

taglist:

@bajadotcom @darksxder @fanboyluvr @dakotali @kaymarnun @mxshrooms009 @violet-violenc @neteyamforlife @cleverzonkwombatsludge @dazecrea @lcovelymaria @faeraella @bxbyalixo @nurayastories @emoballs69 @little-bunnybabe @callsignhotshot @idga-fudgeicle @alexandra-001 @avidreader3107 @goddesslilithmoriarty @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis @gwolf92 @danyxthirstae01 @dreamimix @dreamersbelieveinus @lovekeeho @wtf-why-do-i-gotta-do-this @abbersreads @jakesullyssluttt @keii-nn @hopelesslydevotedloser @quest-for-pluto @liyahsocorro @wingedghostpepper @ricecakeslove @gretesstuff @deserticwren @behindthearcane @neteyams-wifee @tomhreader @eywas-heir @lovedbychoi @b0rednb1tchy @neqeyam

@jackiehollanderr @belos-simp69 @daeneeryss @mazemymirror @daughterofthequeen @b-tchymoon @audrinawf

[hobbylobbyy]

Okay! How about a Lucifer x male (or gn if you’re more comfortable) reader in a platonic fic? Reader is like a servant who helps Lucifer through depresso days

A/N: This sounds like a really nice friendship dynamic, I’m rlly happy I get to write it!

Also btw you’re an imp for the sake of not knowing what a duck is

Coping Methods

Summary: It’s been a few months since Lilith left Lucifer and he’s been taking it about as well as you think he would. He can barely get out of bed until you manage to coax him into a fun activity to ease his mind.

Platonic Lucifer x Male!Reader

Nobody expected Lilith to leave. Maybe that’s what made it worse when she did.

She didn’t leave anything behind either, not her clothes, not her shoes, not even a single letter.

Every being in that castle fell into a deep depression, it just felt so gloomy without her there. Though, it hit the Morningstar’s the hardest.

Charlie had moved out nearly a month after Lilith’s disappearance, claiming she wanted to find herself and have her own independence rather than rely on her father for the rest of her life.

Lucifer, however, barely even left the castle, let alone his own room. Very few people were allowed near him at the time, only his personal servants, and you just happened to be one of them.

Today was one of those days where Lucifer couldn’t even bring himself to get out of bed, so you found yourself outside his door, hesitating to knock.

You couldn’t deny that you were terrified, but you had to make sure the king was okay, it was your duty as one of his personal servants.

You took a moment to collect yourself before knocking a few times.

It took a moment before he answered, “Who is it..?” The way he sounded so fragile almost broke apart of you, not once in your thousands of years of working for him have you heard him sound so vulnerable.

“It’s me, sir.” You replied, twiddling with your thumbs.

The door creaked open with a blur of golden magic, no doubt his own.

You stepped in and closed the door behind you, knowing that he’d prefer if nobody saw him in this state.

“Why are you here?” He asked, not looking at you as he curled into a ball on his humongous bed.

“Nobody has seen or heard from you all day, sir,” You started, making your way over to the edge of his bed but not daring to step any closer, both out of respect for him and fear for your safety, “We needed to know that you were still alive.”

“Alright, well, you’ve seen it now, haven’t you?” He asked rhetorically, “Just leave and take the day off for all I care, I-I just want to sit here for a little bit.”

“Sir..” You started, keeping your voice firm, “As your servant, I respect all your wishes, but as your friend… I will have to deny you this one.”

Before he could respond, you continued going, “In fact, I’m going to have to request that you stand up for me” you knew you were definitely going to get in trouble for this, whether by him or by one of your superiors.

“A-Are you trying to command the king of hell?” He asked, “You are nothing but my servant, I.. I don’t have many friends right now..”

You weren’t going to stop so soon though, your persistence was what got you this job in the first place, “Sir, I’m not trying to command you, I am just asking that you at least sit up and look at me”

It took him a second but he groaned in defeat as if he was a small child. He sat up, letting you see just how much he’d been crying. His hair which was usually neat was now a mess of curls and his face seemed redder than usual.

“I’ve done what you asked.. Is this all you wanted?” He asked.

“No, I actually wanted to request that you.. Uhm…” You had to think of an excuse for what you wanted to do first, “Could you accompany me to your workshop for a moment..? This is the only time I’ll ask you to do this, I just… N-Need to know where you’d like everything to go so I can clean!”

You commended yourself for being quick to think of an excuse, you knew how much the king liked his neatness.

“…There’s no need to clean it” Well, that stunned you.

“S-Sir?” You stuttered, “It definitely needs to be cleaned, just.. please?”

“I already know where everything is, just leave it be” Lucifer waved his hand dismissively before flopping back onto his bed, gripping a nearby pillow.

Well this won’t do. You needed him to get out of his bed. You needed him to actually do something.

“Sir, please, just accompany me to the workshop and I’ll leave you alone” You pleaded.

He sat still for a moment before shifting his head towards you, “…You’ll leave me alone for the rest of the week if I accompany you, do you hear me..?”

You nodded enthusiastically, “Yes sir! I-I can totally do that!” Not only did it give you an excuse to just do nothing for the rest of the week, your plan might actually work.

“Alright, just let me get ready first” He yawned as he sat up and threw his legs over the edge of the bed.

You quickly left the room for his privacy, as much as you loved your gracious king, you didn’t love him that much.

He left the room almost immediately, not having bothered to clean up his hair or the bags under his eyes. He knew that nobody in their right mind would point it out anyway.

“Just so you know.. I’m going to leave as soon as you’re done in there” Lucifer said.

“That’s alright with me, sir,” You flash a grin, “I’m just glad you got out of that messy room of yours”

“Watch it.” He rolls his eyes.

You chuckle softly as you approach his workshop, but you’re surprised once you open its doors.

The workshop that was usually a mess with his inventions and dreams and even dioramas of his theme park was now barren, only holding the pictures on the walls and his work bench.

“Wow, would you look at that..” Lucifer started, “Guess you don’t need me anymore, I mean, no mess to clean up!”

But you’re not gonna let him off the hook so easily.

“Uh, sir?” You smirked, “Could you at least spare me one request before I stop bothering you for the week?”

Lucifer groaned childishly, obviously not wanting to spend another moment out of the bed that he once shared with his love.

“Fine, fine, I guess it’s the least I could do since you so desperately wanted me over here” He conceded, walking with you to his workbench.

“So, what do you want?” He asked.

You grinned before pulling out some supplies from your pockets, “So, you know how made that thing on Earth before you fell? What was it called… Cuck..? I-I don’t know, but it made that quacking noise”

“A duck?” Lucifer cut you off.

“Ah, precisely!” You nodded.

“What.. What does that have anything to do with this?” He asked.

“Well, Mr. Lucifer, my request is that..” You paused for dramatic effect, “You recreate that! I wanna see what it looks like, and you seem to have pride in the fact that you made them, so maybe it’ll make you feel better!”

Lucifer paused for a moment before laughing. It might’ve been aimed at you rather than with you, but you’d gotten him to laugh at least.

“A-I’m sorry- Is that really all that you want me to do? Make a duck?” He said as the laughter died down.

“Yup! That’s what I want!” You nodded, making him chuckle once more.

“Alright, alright, fine” He sighed, “I’ll make you a duck, but then you let me wallow in self-pity, mkay?”

“Sounds fair!” You responded.

He didn’t say anything back to you as he started to work. You could see sparks flying as he melded metal together, shaping it into the form of a small creature.

“Pass me my yellow paint, would you?” He asked, pointing in the direction of his paints.

You hummed, grabbing his yellow paint for him and setting it down next to him on the table.

“Oh, and the black paint too” He said.

You huffed, “Couldn’t have told me that while I was getting the yellow?” But you got it for him regardless, wrapping your tail around it and ignoring the cold paint as it splashed on you when you brought it over.

He didn’t respond, too focused on painting it perfectly.

Then, the sparks and painting stopped, he smiled softly at his little creation.

“Here it is,” He said, picking it up with gentle hands, “This is what a duck looks like”

You looked at it in awe. It looked so.. cute. It looked so different from all the life in Hell, like it didn’t pose any threats at all.

You took a moment before nodding, “Alright, that’s uh… All I wanted” you smiled before standing up.

“I’ll lead you back to your room and you won’t have to worry about me for the rest of the week” You continued to speak before he cut you off.

“Actually…” He said, “Stay, I think I might need your help grabbing supplies for me while I make some more of these”

You took a moment to process what he said before your eyes lit up with excitement, “Really?!” You had actually been successful in getting the king to enjoy something!

“Really” He chuckled.

A/N: I hope this lived up to your expectations. I noticed too late that the reader doesn’t really have a gender specified but I guess that just means you can depict them however you want to!

Look at him :)

[nekropsii]

Also that June post sucked I wrote it on sleep meds at like 6 in the morning I articulated myself like shit. Not an excuse, but it is an explanation.

Further rambling under the cut.

I was trying to make the point that it’s deeply frustrating to me how much of a big deal was made out of it (in a negative sense) and how much harassment ensued especially right in the moment when nothing had even really happened yet and still hasn’t really happened but I said that Badly.

The JKR comparison was not a statement of there being any bigotry present, it’s just literally the only example most people - me included - can think of when talking about an author confirming some kind diversity before it even happens, if we see it at all. I’ll admit part of why I’m so cynical is that I grew up in an era where queerphobic jokes and queerbait were just about the only thing you could get in mainstream media, and everyone would still tout that as if it’s real representation, so I’m always prepared for people to just be lying to me.

So, I see that June gets confirmed in 2019 because someone won a treasure hunt, and we still haven’t really seen her, and I’m just instinctively deeply skeptical it’s even gonna happen. Especially considering we got that fuckin’ Roxy Detransition arc first.

Another sticky point is the canonicity of Postcanon, period. I do not see any works outside of Homestuck proper to be canon, especially not in the way that Homestuck itself is canon. I’ve said this several times on my blog and didn’t feel it worth reiterating but it’s kind of important, especially given the JKR comparison. I think June is awesome, it’s a really cool progression of her character, especially considering Homestuck was once pop culture and she’s the literal main character. But part of why I kept saying it was “literally nothing” was because I was operating under the mindset of “it’s not even canon anyway, why are you harassing people for being excited about it?”. It’s stupid to act like a character or person coming out as trans ruins everything for you in general, but it was especially stupid to me for this to be such a federal fucking issue when basically all we had to go off of at the time was a Tweet, especially in a fandom that proclaims itself to be so progressive, and especially when so many people who were denouncing June as being “not real” due to being in Postcanon got so excited when Roxy was turned into a trans dude. It’s just stupid and unfair and transparent, and I hate it.

The Junecourse situation was super fucking messy and really hard to navigate, and it frustrated me a lot because a lot of people were being kind of silly or even just outright bigoted. It was strange that people got so mad about it, it was strange that some people acted like June was a real person, it was strange that people got badly harassed no matter what they did or said. It was stressful and weird, and it was dumb to me that all that warring and all those lies were circling around a tweet, for the most part, and plenty are still operating under the simple tweet confirmation.

I should acknowledge that there’s apparently more than just the lone tweet now. I’m sure I’ve seen all that before, but I’ve got pretty bad memory issues and, again, I was writing it at 6 am on sleep meds, so it genuinely spaced my brain. That is completely on me and I apologize for contributing to false narratives. The post’s been deleted. I’m not asking for forgiveness or anything, I’m just explaining myself. It was a bad post, but I wasn’t making it out of malice, though I do recognize that in situations like this, intent doesn’t matter nearly as much as actions and impact does. That was a failure on my part. I’ve since deleted it.

I’m apologizing here not because there’s a fire being lit under me or anything - I’m not being pressured - but because this is a genuinely important issue to me. Sadly, I am merely an ally and still in the active process of reading theory, so I lack the general polish one acquires from lived experience and actual real learnedness. Transmisogyny is not a reality I have to live with every waking moment of my life, and as a TME man it is a systemic force that works directly in my favor, so I’m liable to accidentally perpetuate it, even if it’s something I do not believe in personally and am making strides to, for lack of a better, less cringe-inducing term, “be a better ally” about.

TLDR; I fucked up and made a sloppy post that contributed to false narratives surrounding a confirmed Transfem character and the discussion of her online. It sat around 77 notes as of deleting, though most were thankfully just likes rather than there being a whole lot of spread. Still sucks, though, and I’m sorry.

Thank you for reading.