#LET ME FINISH THE BREAD FIRST

[kaviiinsky]

Why does bread get moldy so FAST!!!!! I can’t even finish the loaf before I can’t eat it anymore because it’s moldy!!! Why can’t I buy half loaves!!!

[knightinink]

Whad’ya mean Pip doesn’t have a dad? He’s right there! (aka Joe’s the father Pip never had & they make me very happy)

[chastiefoul]

“my wife” ft. nanami kento

in which the married man nanami kento cannot stop using every single excuse to call you his wife. he just can’t help it, it sounds really nice.

at the bakery, instead of looking for it he went to the counter to ask, “excuse me, do you have whole wheat bread? my wife prefers that over the plain one.” was there a reason for him to mention you? nope. is he going to to it again? absolutely.

he now brings home cooked lunch to work. the man who usually dreads the small talk from his coworkers now becomes quite eager when they notice the bento and asked him about it. “my lunch looks great? thank you. my wife cooked this for me.”

or when it’s after hours and there’s random talk amongst the workers such as places to visit on vacation. “these are really good recommendations, i’ll have to visit them with my wife if i have the chance.”

when he’s on grocery shop duty after work when you asked him to buy something from the market. kento tasted the one of the sample food and perked up, for two reasons. reason one is that he finds something you’d like, second reason, “where can i find more of this? my wife would love this.”

when a random stranger flirts with him and he didn’t miss a beat to say, “ah, you find me charming? thank you, my wife would agree.”

his phone would ring while he’s occupied in a work discussion and he had the slightest smile on his face as he stood up, “excuse me, my wife is calling.”

the way he always tried to insert you in every conversation even if the topic barely correlates to you. “i seriously almost drowned that day, the beach can be really dangerous,” one of his coworker said, finishing a story. and who would be able to know why kento felt the need to say, “my wife quite likes the beach.”

even in front of mutual friends such as gojo, as he knew the both of you back from high school days. “let me ask my wife first if she wants to come.” oh now it’s gojo’s turn to roll his eyes after so many years he has tormented the blond man with his antics. “you know that i know ‘your wife’ right? that she’s my friend too?” nanami looked at him, “what’s your point?” he deadpanned.

on the most random time of the day, his mind wandered to you as always. “i miss my wife.”

-

guys i think he has a wife

[draconym]

Since you all had so many kind things to say about my spouse on this post, I will provide you with ten Spouse Facts:

He has a pet rabbit that we found as a stray, which he has clicker trained to do various tricks. He also wrote the rabbit a theme song which he frequently sings to him (when he is not baby talking at him). The rabbit loves this.

He plays the guitar, piano, and dizi (Chinese transverse flute). When I got very sick a few months ago, he wrote a song for me and has sung it to me nearly every day since. He also wrote a (beautiful, heartbreaking) song for his mother who has dementia and whom he visits every day, because music is retained much longer than other kinds of memories.

He doesn't have a car. He is anti-car. He has two bicycles: a Raleigh Record Ace (with a custom paint job featuring a rabbit) and a Lightspeed. He has a lot of biking gear that makes him look like a Pokemon trainer.

He eats raw onions whole like they are apples.

He got serious about baking as a hobby a few years ago, when he was irritated by the imprecision of bread recipes for not stating the optimal temperature of warm water to proof yeast. He created a gas displacement chamber out of jars and aquarium tubing and ran a series of experiments to find out the answer himself. We ate a lot of bread that month.

He taught himself tablet weaving in an afternoon. He also knits, and one time he sewed himself an entire ballroom gown for a Halloween costume because they don't make ballroom gowns in his size.

He's conversational in Spanish, French, Japanese, and Mandarin.

He learned to beatbox in his college a cappella group. (I also beatboxed for my college a cappella group, but my parrot prefers his beatboxing over mine.)

The first time we met in-person was at a Humans vs. Zombies nerf gun LARP. I asked him out to dinner a few weeks later and at the end of the evening I said "let me know if you want to do this again" and before I even finished the sentence he said "I want to do this again."

The last time he ate eggs was about twenty years ago, when he ruined a batch of chocolate merengues and then tried to recombine them with the yolks, creating Chocolate Scrambled Eggs. Apparently it was terrible.

[darknight3904]

It Burns For You

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: ɪɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏʀʏᴏ ɢʀᴏᴡ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴘɪᴛᴏʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɴᴇꜱ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: ɴᴏɴᴇ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ. ᴏᴏᴄ ᴄᴏʀʏᴏ, ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛᴏᴛᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ʜᴇᴇʟꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ. ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ!

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ

Coriolanus is 12 when he sees you for the first time. Your red uniform is pressed perfectly and your school bag looks brand new. Your lunch consisted of a hearty-looking sandwich with roast beef and lettuce and a container of fresh fruit that had his mouth-watering.

"Do you want a piece? Our maid always packs too much and I can never finish it. You can have some if you want." Your voice fills his ears

A delicate-looking hand is holding a juicy-looking strawberry in front of him. He reaches for it and it takes every ounce of self-control he has not to shove it in his mouth. Instead, he takes a small bite and thanks you for sharing.

"Don't you have a lunch today?" You ask

He doesn't. The school had said they would start supplying the students with lunches soon but how soon? Coriolanus had already been attending for a number of years and still nothing.

"I already ate it." He lied

"You're still hungry though. You can have the rest." You say with a smile as you push your fruit bowl to him.

"Is it your first day?" He asks

"Yes, my mother thought that my governess wasn't doing a good job so she had my father enroll me here. I miss being at home with my new kitten though. She has long white hair and she is the cutest thing in the whole world." You said

Coriolanus can't believe that you had your own governess, let alone a pet to call your own. He later learns from Arachne that your father became incredibly rich by manufacturing weaponry for the Capitol. Despite your inherent wealth, you've never flashed it around him.

You and Coriolanus are 15 when you discover all the lies he tells at school about his family. He had left his uniform jacket behind on his chair and you got his home address from Sejanus, meaning to give it back so he'd have it for tomorrow. Instead, you had discovered the Snow's decrepit-looking building and barely functioning penthouse. Coriolanus' heart nearly stops when he emerges from his room to see you and his Grandma'am sitting together as she compliments your shoes.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, ready for your judgment and teasing words

"I wanted to return your jacket, Coryo. You'll need it for tomorrow."

The red of the jacket in your arms matches his face as he ushers you to the door, trying to hide the fact that Tigris was preparing cabbage in the kitchen that would undoubtedly stink the entire place up with the scent of the Snow's poverty.

"Stop rushing me, your cousin invited me to stay for dinner." You say trying to stop the way he is leading you to the door.

"You don't want what she is making. Tigris is a terrible cook." He said

Tigris lets out a shout of disagreement from the stove and Coriolanus ignores it.

"How about, I go out and get something to add to the meal Tigris is cooking, and by the time I get back you change your attitude about me staying for dinner Coryo. "

And with that, you walk out the door and slam it in his face. He's rather stunned at your declaration but knows you're serious. He rushes around their home, trying to clean up what he can while Tigris laughs at his frantic motions. Then, just as he was debating whether or not he wanted to change out of his uniform, you return from your short trip to the closest market.

"I wasn't sure what Tigris is cooking so I got a couple of things." You say placing the bags on the table.

Coriolanus is sure you spent a fortune on what is in these bags. Fresh bread accompanied by a sickly sweet fruit spread and a block of butter sits in one while the other holds something else in a brown box. You take your seat next to him at the ugly little table he has eaten too many meals at and cut a piece of the bread for Grandma'am. He is worried when Tigris starts portioning out the cabbage she cooked on the stove. Coriolanus watches your expression as you take a bite but nothing that he expected happens. You don't knit your brows in disgust or get up to leave and take your fresh bread and mysterious box with you. Instead, you go back for a second bite and compliment what Tigris has done with the food.

He sits stiffly next to you and can barely accept the slice of bread you offer him. You excuse yourself to use the bathroom and Tigris reaches across the table and pinches his shoulder.

"Stop sitting like that, Coryo!" She scolds

"Like what?" He asks,aware that Tigris meant how oddly straight his back was.

"You're making her uncomfortable. You've been friends with her for years she isn't worried about what our home looks like." Tigris says

"She might not be but what happens when she goes to school tomorrow and talks?" He asks

He shuts up when he hears the sound of the bathroom door opening again.

"That was lovely Tigris. I've never had anything like it, I'll have to invite you all to my own home for dinner sometime. Our cook makes these pastries that are simply wonderful. They even get sold at local markets, which leads to this..."

His eyes widen when you finally unveil what was hiding in that second bag. A dozen expensive looking deserts sit in the brown box you brought, each one decorated differently.

"I hope I picked something everyone would like. I know Coryo mentioned that Grandma'am liked chocolate so I picked this one just for her."

Coriolanus feels a wide smile stretch across his face as you pass out your little desserts. His worries about you gossiping to their peers fade from view as he bites into what he thinks is a croissant. You laugh at his reaction and toss a napkin at his face which is most likely covered in the gooey fruit filling that was in his pastry.

He walks you back to your home that night and thanks you for making his night. He can't remember the last time Grandma'am had smiled from eating chocolate. You accept his thanks and gently tell him that he shouldn't be ashamed about his financial situation. He never gets to disagree with you though because a soft kiss is pressed to his lips followed by a rushed,

"Goodnight, Coryo! Thanks for the cabbage!"

He walks back to his own home with a jump in his step. Thoughts of you consume him as he smiles to himself, proud his first kiss was shared with you. He feels his heart burn with something that felt like it was going to come up and out his mouth as he finally made it back to his room, you officially had him wrapped around your finger.

Your room is flooded with sunlight the first time Coriolanus sees it. A soft, silky-looking bed spread sits atop one of the biggest beds he has seen as you beckon to your cat, Maisy to come and say hello to him. He looks at the oversized wooden dresser that sits against one wall. He sees the photograph of him and you that was taken a few weeks ago at your 17th birthday party nestled among little knickknacks. Books Coriolanus has never even heard of line your shelves as he you place a record on the player that sits on your desk. Soft sounds of a piano and the words from an unnamed singer fill your gorgeous room as he turns to you.

"Do you want to dance?" He finds himself asking

You accept and he leads you or well tries to. You're rather stiff and it turns out dancing is harder than it looks because he isn't any good at it either. You laugh as he trips over his feet and end up falling with him, landing on the ground entangled in each other. Your fingers brush his curls from his eyes as his nose brushes yours.

"What're you doing?" You ask quietly

"Nothing." He responds, his eyes flicking to your lips.

The moment his lips touch yours, a tingle shoots down his spine. This is a real kiss, not what you gave him when you were both 15. He cups your face and your hands are tangled in his hair as he deepens it. He felt his head spin as you moved against him, almost as if you wanted him to swallow you whole right here on your bedroom floor. A giddy feeling swelled in his chest when he pulled away for air.

"Coryo...what was that?" You ask

"I thought you'd know by now. That was a kiss, darling." He laughed brushing his thumb across your lip

"I know that...but why'd you give me one?" You ask

"Don't you know?" He smiles and places a chaste kiss on your lips "My heart, it burns for you, it always has."

Part 2 is out now!

Series Masterlist

[vunblr]

Threads and Timber

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Smut. Unprotected sex.

Summary: Bucky grapples with a questionable Christmas gift.

Word Count: 10k

notes: Roots and Branches AU

The kitchen was filled with the comforting aroma of a slow-cooked stew, steam curling from the pot as she gave it a final stir. It had been days since she’d seen him properly, their interactions reduced to brief, tired phone calls that left her wanting more. Winter was a quiet season for lumberjacks, but rather than resting, Bucky had been keeping busy at Sam’s, taking on carpentry work to fill the downtime.

That morning, his voice had been a low rasp over the phone, thick with an exhaustion that tugged at her heart. She’d tried to coax him into a real conversation, hoping to hear more than his clipped responses, but the demands of the mayor’s big project had stolen him away yet again.

Sighing, she ladled the rich, hearty stew into a tupperware, tucking in a chunk of freshly baked bread alongside it in a bag. Bucky deserved more than just quick meals scarfed down between tasks. He deserved to pause, breathe, and care for himself. If he couldn’t come to her, she’d go to him.

Grabbing her coat and scarf, she bundled up against the crisp December air and headed out. The drive to Sam’s workshop was quick, the sight of the modest building came into view as she rounded a bend. Even from a distance, she could hear the faint buzz of saws and the rhythmic tap of hammers.

Inside, the workshop was a flurry of activity. Sawdust floated like golden confetti in the beams of light streaming through the high windows and half-finished pieces of what looked like a massive table were scattered across the floor. Sam was barking orders from a workbench, his voice carrying over the chaos.

Her eyes found Bucky instantly. He was crouched low, a pencil tucked behind his ear, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms dusted with sawdust. His hair was tied back, but a few strands had escaped, brushing against his face as he measured and marked a plank with laser-sharp focus.

“Y/n!” Sam’s voice jolted her from her reverie. He grinned, straightening and brushing his hands on his jeans. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Someone’s breaking the ‘no distractions’ rule.”

Bucky’s head snapped up at her name, and his eyes softened the moment they landed on her. He stood, wiping his hands on a rag as he approached in an unhurried but purposeful manner.

“What’re you doin’ here?” His voice was gruff, but the hint of a smile tugging at his lips betrayed his surprise.

“You sound so thrilled to see me,” she teased, holding up the bag. “I brought you lunch. Thought you could use something that didn’t come out of a vending machine.”

Sam let out a low whistle, winking at her. “That’s some first-class treatment, Barnes. I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.”

Bucky’s ears turned pink as he shot Sam a warning look before turning his attention back to her. “You know is not necessary to do this,” he muttered, though his eyes lingered on the bag with unmistakable appreciation.

“I wanted to.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice as she met his gaze. “You’ve been working so hard, Buck. Let me pamper you, even just for a little while.”

He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he nodded. “Thanks, sweetheart” he murmured with a softer tone. He reached out, brushing a gloved thumb across her cheek in a brief but tender gesture.

She smiled, handing him the bag. “Go ahead and eat before it gets cold. I’ll keep Sam company while you take a break.”

Bucky hesitated, his brows furrowing slightly. “Stay,” he said simply, the word weighted with longing.

Her chest tightened, and she nodded. “Okay.”

He led her to a quieter corner of the workshop, where he perched on a workbench and pulled out the container. She watched as he took his first bite, his eyes fluttering shut briefly as the flavors hit him.

“This is good,” he said after a moment, going for the bread.

She grinned. “Good enough to make up for barging in on your workday?”

He glanced at her, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that faint, heart-stopping smile of his. “Better than good.”

As the hum of the workshop continued around them, she leaned against the bench, content to simply be there, sharing a quiet moment with the man she loved.

Bucky set the tupper down with a soft noise, brushing a thumb across his lips to catch any lingering traces of the stew. “Thanks, darling,” he said quietly, his voice carrying the kind of warmth that made her heart squeeze.

“Always,” she replied, reaching out to straighten the collar of his flannel shirt. “You’ve got this, Buck. Just don’t forget to eat something other than coffee and frustration, okay?”

His lips twitched into that faint smile again, and he gave a small nod, his fingers brushing briefly over hers before she pulled away.

She was just gathering her things to leave when Sam appeared, wiping his hands on a rag as he strolled over, his expression equal parts curiosity and amusement.

“Before you go,” he started, leaning casually against the nearest workbench, “I wanted to mention something. I’m hosting a little Christmas Eve get-together at my place. Just the crew and a few friends, nothing fancy. If you don’t already have plans, you’re more than welcome. Both of you.”

She paused, caught slightly off-guard but pleased by the offer since it was her first Christmas in the town. Her gaze flicked to Bucky, whose expression had shifted into something more guarded. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and he rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes.

“We’ll see,” he muttered, with an unmistakable discomfort in his tone.

Sam raised an eyebrow, smirking as he straightened. “That’s Buck-speak for ‘I’d rather wrestle a grizzly than go to a there.’ But hey, maybe you can change his mind.”

Her lips twitched into a small, knowing smile as she adjusted the strap of her bag. “We’ll think about it,” she said smoothly, subtly offering reassurance with a light touch to Bucky’s arm.

Sam chuckled, tossing the rag onto the bench. “I’ll take that as a yes. You know where I live if you decide to come.”

“Thanks, Sam,” she said warmly, before turning to Bucky. “I’ll leave you to it. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

His eyes lingered on her for a moment, something unspoken passing between them before he gave a slight nod.

As she headed for the door, Sam’s voice followed her, teasing but good-natured. “Don’t let him talk you out of it, we need some holiday spirit around here.”

She glanced back with a grin. “I’ll do my best.”

Outside, the crisp air nipped at her cheeks as she climbed into her car, stealing one last look at the workshop. Her heart ached a little at the sight of Bucky already back at work, his shoulders squared and focus returning to the task at hand.

The evening stretched as she leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples after slogging through another chapter of the “gunslinger x damsel” novel. The sheriff’s daughter had just been kidnapped -again- and the hero’s smoldering intensity was only matched by his unrealistic ability to outshoot twenty bandits in the middle of a dust storm.

With a sigh, she saved her notes, muttering to herself, “Why is it always the sheriff’s daughter? Does anyone else in the town ever fall in love?”

Pushing her laptop aside, she grabbed her coffee and opened a shopping site on her phone. The homepage cheerfully proclaimed Winter Deals for the Holidays! in bold, glittering letters, and she clicked through out of idle curiosity. She scrolled past cozy knit blankets, sparkly ornaments, and slippers shaped like reindeer hooves, when something caught her eye.

It was hideous.

A sweater -no, the sweater- covered in garish Christmas patterns, complete with snowmen, reindeer, and lights embedded in a gaudy green tree. It was oversized, loud, and utterly atrocious.

She bit her lip, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth as she imagined Bucky in it. Her grumpy, reserved boyfriend, with his broad shoulders and no-nonsense attitude, dressed in something so absurdly festive. The mental image was enough to make her laugh, fogging the rim of her mug with her breath

It was their first Christmas together as a couple, and while she didn’t expect him to suddenly transform into the embodiment of holiday cheer, the thought of coaxing him into this sweater filled her with a mischievous kind of joy.

Her finger hovered over the “Add to Cart” button as she mulled it over. He’d resist, of course. He’d grumble, roll his eyes, maybe even cross his arms and give her that look that usually meant “not a chance.”

But then she thought about his small, reluctant smiles, the way his gruff exterior softened in private moments, and the quiet way he always indulged her whims, even the silly ones.

Tap.

She placed the order, her heart skipping with excitement as she leaned back against the cushions. Whatever resistance he threw her way, she’d make it work. After all, it wasn’t really about the sweater. It was about sharing this first Christmas, and maybe, just maybe, helping Bucky feel like he belonged in this season of warmth and celebration.

As the confirmation email popped up on her screen, she whispered to herself, “This is going to be so good.”

The late afternoon sun dipped low in the sky, casting golden light over the frosted edges of the forest as she pulled into the clearing. Bucky’s cabin stood nestled against the trees, smoke curling lazily from the chimney, but her attention was immediately drawn to him.

Unsurprisingly, he was outside, splitting firewood in a rhythm that spoke of muscle memory and focus. Each swing of the axe cut clean through the logs, the sharp crack echoing in the stillness. Steam left his mouth in warm puffs with every breath, but he didn’t seem bothered by the cold. He wasn’t wearing a jacket -of course not- with the exertion keeping him warm. His fitted thermal shirt clung to him, the fabric pressed across his shoulders and chest, the sleeves pushed up to reveal his forearms flexing with every motion.

She bit her lip, taking a moment to appreciate the sight before stepping out of the car, a festively wrapped box tucked under her arm. The crunch of her boots on the snow caught his attention. He paused mid-swing, lowering the axe and planting it firmly in a stump before turning toward her.

His breath fogged the air as he walked over, wiping his hands on his jeans, with a hint of a smile softening his sharp features. “Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, his voice low and warm as his arms circled her waist.

“Hey,” she murmured, rising on her toes to press a kiss to his lips.

He kissed her back, slow and sure. When they broke apart, his brow quirked, his gaze flicking to the box in her hands. “What’s that?” his eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity.

“I brought you a present,” she announced, holding it up.

His brow arched higher, though a faint flush crept up his neck. “You didn’t have to bother.”

She grinned, nudging him playfully. “It’s almost Christmas, Buck. Humor me.”

With a resigned huff, he tilted his head toward the cabin. “Come on, then.”

Inside, the warmth from the wood stove wrapped around her as they stepped in. “Alright,” he said, leaning back against the counter as he folded his arms. “Let’s see it.”

She placed the box on the table, her grin widening as she gestured for him to open it. “Go on”.

The corner of his mouth twitched as he tugged at the ribbon and peeled back the wrapping paper. The moment his eyes landed on the sweater, his expression shifted into a deadpan stare.

“No.”

She bit back a laugh, clasping her hands behind her back as she rocked on her heels. “Oh, come on! You haven’t even tried it on yet.”

His gaze flicked from her to the offending garment, tightening his jaw. “Not happening.”

“Buckyyy,” she begged, stepping closer. “You’ll look so good in it at Sam’s party-“

“About that,” he interjected, straightening and crossing his arms over his chest.

She paused, tilting her head. “What about it?”

His lips pressed into a line as he glanced toward the window, avoiding her gaze. “We didn’t really talk about going,” he said carefully. “I’m not exactly... eager to be around that many people. You know how I am with crowds.”

Her shoulders softened as she closed the distance between them, and her hands rested lightly on his folded arms. “Honey, I get it. I know it’s not your favorite thing, and you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. But it’s Sam’s party, and I think he’d really appreciate seeing you there, even just for a little while.”

He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes flicking to hers. “I just... I don’t know.”

She cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing over the faint stubble there as she smiled softly. “You’ll have me with you the whole time. And it’s not some big, formal thing, just a cozy night with friends. We don’t have to stay long, I promise.”

His eyes lingered on hers, weighing her words. Finally, he sighed. “Alright. I’ll go. But only because of you are asking.”

Her smile widened, and she leaned in to kiss him gently. “Thank you. You’ll see, it’ll be fun.”

He huffed, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Fun, huh?”

“Absolutely,” she said with a playful glint in her eye. She stepped back, gesturing to the sweater still sitting on the table. “And everyone will love your sweater.”

His brow furrowed, the faint flicker of warmth disappearing into another deadpan stare. “Not a chance.” he muttered.

“Just try it on!” she pleaded, laughing.

“Not. Happening.” he repeated, but his tone was less certain now as she stepped closer.

Undeterred, she smirked, leaning in, and placing her hands on his chest. “You’ll be the star of the evening.”

“That makes it worse,” he grumbled, but the faintest hint of a blush crept up his cheeks as her hands slid to his shoulders.

“Please?” she whispered, her voice soft and teasing as she kissed his jaw.

He let out a low groan, his resolve clearly wavering, but he held his ground. “No.”

She leaned back, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Fine. Let’s try a different tactic.”

Before he could react, she grabbed his shirt and guided him backward, pinning him gently against the edge of the table. His eyes widened briefly before narrowing, his hands settling on her hips instinctively.

“Sweetheart,” he warned, though his voice had lost its edge.

She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear as she whispered, with a low and sultry tone, “If you wear it for me, I’ll make it worth your while.”

The breath he exhaled was almost a growl, his hands tightening on her hips as his head dipped forward, his forehead brushing hers. “That’s not fair,” he muttered.

She tilted her head, her lips curving into a smug smile. “Life’s not fair, Jamie.”

His eyes closed briefly, and when they opened, they were filled with resigned heat. “Fine,” he grumbled, the word almost a sigh. “But you owe me.”

Her laugh was soft and triumphant as she kissed him again, lingering this time. “Deal.”

The sound of laughter and muffled music reached Bucky even before he opened the door. Sam’s house was alive with chatter, bursts of laughter, and the occasional clink of glasses. He paused on the doorstep, squaring his shoulders, his hand hesitating on the doorknob. He glanced down at the sweater -the ridiculous, awful sweater- and sighed deeply before stepping inside.

Warmth enveloped him immediately, the room packed with neighbors, Sam’s crew, and a few familiar faces from around town. He quickly scanned the crowd, his jaw tightening as he spotted her near the fireplace, chatting animatedly with one of Sam’s friends. He didn’t make it more than a step before Sam’s booming voice cut through the din.

“Barnes!” Sam’s grin could have lit up the entire house as he pushed through the crowd, his laughter already bubbling up. His gaze landed on the sweater, and that was all it took.

“Oh, man,” Sam crowed, slapping his knee in exaggerated delight. “I knew you were coming, but I wasn’t ready for this. That thing’s a masterpiece!”

The room erupted into laughter and good-natured teasing, a few people craning their necks to catch a glimpse of Bucky’s “holiday spirit.” Bucky’s ears burned as he shoved his hands into his pockets, his expression a mix of resignation and discomfort.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his voice low as his eyes darted around. “Get it outta your system, Sam.”

Sam wasn’t about to let it go that easily. “You’ve got to let me get a picture of this. No one’s gonna believe me otherwise.”

Bucky opened his mouth -likely to tell him exactly where he could shove his camera- when she turned at the sound of Sam’s laughter. Her gaze found him instantly, and her face lit up as she set down her drink and moved toward him.

“Buck,” she called softly, her voice cutting through the teasing like a lifeline.

She reached him quickly, her eyes sparkling with amusement as they flicked over the sweater. “Look at you,” she teased, as she placed her hands lightly on his chest as if they were the only two people in the room. “You look so sexy in this.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and his eyes softened as he tilted his head toward her. “You’re the only one who thinks that, sweetheart.”

“I don’t care, I think you’re perfect,” she murmured, leaning closer as her hands slid up to his shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you a drink. You’ve earned it.”

He followed her toward the kitchen, his hand finding the small of her back as they moved through the crowd. The weight of people’s stares and Sam’s lingering laughter faded as she pressed a glass of cider into his hand.

“See?” she teased as they stood near the fireplace. “Not so bad.”

He took a sip of the cider, his brow raising slightly. “We’re still talkin’ about this sweater, or somethin’ else?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Both.”

Their conversation eased into a steady rhythm, her warmth drawing him out of his usual reserve. Then they talked with a few neighbors, her doing most of the chatting while Bucky offered the occasional quiet comment or nod. His hand never left her, though, whether resting lightly on her back or brushing her arm as he reached for his drink.

At one point, she leaned close, her voice dropping as she murmured near his ear. “You’re doing great.”

His lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Doin’ this for you, darling. Not Sam’s damn party.” The faint blush dusting his cheeks made her heart skip a beat.

She smiled and brushed her fingers lightly over his arm. “I know. And I appreciate it. You’re amazing.”

A faint smile flickered across his lips before he exhaled a quiet sigh. His hand at her back gave a gentle squeeze, and his gaze softened as he studied her for a moment longer.

“Be right back,” he murmured, leaning in to press a brief kiss to her temple.

She watched him slip away, his broad frame disappearing toward the hallway toward the bathroom, and couldn’t help the small smile that lingered on her face. Cradling her glass of cider, she let herself enjoy the warmth of the moment, the chatter, the laughter, the glow of the lights.

“Hey,” came a familiar voice, low and smooth, cutting through the warmth of her thoughts.

She turned to find John Walker standing nearby, a charming smile playing on his lips, carrying himself with the kind of casual confidence that bordered on calculated. His eyes flicked to hers, lingering just a little longer than necessary.

“John,” she greeted politely, offering a small smile.

“Didn’t expect to see you here tonight,” he said, stepping just slightly closer. “You’re usually busy keeping Barnes out of trouble, right?”

She chuckled lightly, the comment earning a quick quirk of her brow. “He doesn’t need much keeping. He’s more than capable.”

“Sure,” John replied, though the grin tugging at his lips tightened just a fraction. His gaze flicked over her briefly. “But I bet it keeps you busy. Still, I gotta say, you brighten up the place tonight. Hard not to notice.”

She smiled politely, shifting her weight slightly. “It’s a lovely party,” she said, deflecting without missing a beat. “Sam always knows how to bring people together.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, though his focus remained squarely on her. “But some people stand out, you know? Like you. I mean, you’ve got this effortless way about you… easy to see why Barnes sticks so close.”

The compliment caught her off guard, and she laughed, more out of politeness than anything else. “Well, thank you, John. That’s kind of you to say.”

“Just honest,” he said smoothly. “Not every day someone like you walks into a room-”

Before she could respond, a familiar warmth settled at her side. Bucky’s arm slid firmly around her waist, his grip possessive but subtle. His blue eyes locked on Walker, the barest flicker of annoyance crossing his expression as he took in the exchange. His tone, low and even, carried a subtle edge.

“Walker,” he said simply, nodding in acknowledgment.

John straightened slightly, his charming smile faltering just enough to be noticeable before returning with a hint of stiffness. “Barnes,” he replied, his tone measured. “Didn’t realize you’d made it tonight.”

“Obviously,” Bucky said flatly, his arm tightening just a bit around her waist.

“Nice sweater.” The blonde complimented, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Bucky pressed his tongue against his inner cheek, his jaw tightening as he prepared to fire back.

But before he could get a word out, she interjected smoothly “I know, right? I picked it myself.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched slightly. Meanwhile, John’s grin faltered, his eyes flicking between them as he tried to recover.

“Well,” he added after a beat, with forced cheer. “It’s definitely... festive.”

“Sure is,” Bucky responded dryly, his gaze never leaving John as his fingers flexed subtly against her waist.

The tension lingered for a moment before John cleared his throat, offering a polite nod. “Guess I’ll grab another drink. Nice seeing you.”

“Likewise,” she replied easily, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath Bucky’s stoic exterior as she turned to him with a soft smile.

Bucky waited until John had stepped away before letting out a quiet exhale, relaxing his grip just a little.

She tilted her head, studying him curiously. “You okay?” she asked, brushing her fingers over his arm.

“Fine,” he muttered, though his gaze lingered in the direction John had gone. His voice softened as his hand slid to the small of her back, “Just didn’t like the way he was lookin’ at you.”

Her brows lifted slightly. “Bucky,” she murmured, leaning closer to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his lips brushing the side of her head. “I know.”

For the rest of the evening, they remained close, sharing conversations with the guests and exchanging subtle touches. His thumb would graze her wrist when she reached for her glass, or her hand would linger on his arm during a laugh. Eventually, they found themselves tucked into a quieter corner of the room, the chatter fading into the background. She tugged playfully at his sweater, her fingers curling into the coarsed knit as she coaxed him to lean down. “Come here,” she murmured, her voice teasing as she rose on her toes.

His eyes flicked down to her lips, his brows furrowing slightly as if to ask, Here?

“Yes, here,” she whispered, grinning as she tugged again.

With a low sigh that could have passed for reluctance -if not for the way his hand tightened at her back- he leaned down, capturing her lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.

The room erupted in whistles and cheers, Sam’s voice rising above the noise. “Look at you, Mr. Christmas! Ugly sweater and public display of affection? Who even are you right now?”

Bucky pulled back just enough to shoot Sam an unimpressed look. “You done?”

Sam grinned, raising his glass in triumph. “Never.”

As the laughter subsided, Bucky turned back to her, his hand brushing against her cheek as he leaned close. “Later, darling,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with promise. “I’m gonna make you pay for this sweater.”

Her cheeks warmed as she tilted her head to look up at him. “Actually...” she murmured with a hint of mischief. “I was planning to atone for it sooner than you think.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed, his gaze searching hers. “What-”

Before he could finish, she tipped her glass just enough for a splash of cider to land squarely on his pants, the liquid soaking into the dark denim with unmistakable precision.

“Oh dear,” she gasped, her voice laced with exaggerated concern as she placed a hand on his chest. “I’m so sorry!”

Bucky stiffened slightly, his jaw tightening as he looked down at the damp spot, then back at her. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and wary, “what are you-”

“Let me fix it!” she interrupted, grabbing his hand before he could protest. She tugged him gently but insistently toward the hallway, her fingers laced with his as she maneuvered them through the crowd.

He let her lead him, his long strides matching her quick steps. He faintly intuited where this might be heading, but the thought didn’t fully land until they reached the bathroom door.

She pulled him inside with one smooth motion, shutting the door behind them with a soft click. The lock turned with a quiet finality that seemed to echo in the tiny space.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, his jaw ticking as he glanced between her and the door. “You really spilled cider on me just to get me in here?”

Her lips curved into a smile that was anything but innocent as she stepped closer, her fingers brushing the edge of the ridiculous sweater he’d begrudgingly worn for her. “You look so handsome in this, Buck,” she murmured, her voice low and sweet as her hands slid to his belt. “How could I resist?”

His body reacted before his mind fully caught up. His breath hitched as her fingers worked at the buckle, her deliberate slowness driving him to the edge of reason.

“Darling...” he warned, though his voice had lost its edge.

“Shh,” she whispered, rising on her toes to press a soft kiss to his jaw. Her voice was a sultry murmur, “I told you I’d make it worth it.” She added, warm breath fanning against his skin.

Her hands moved with deliberate intent, sliding down to his waistband. Bucky’s breath hitched as the sound of his zipper filled the tiny bathroom, her fingers brushing against his already interested cock. She pressed her palm against him through his boxers, and he hissed, his head tilting back as he tried to maintain his composure.

“Sweetheart,” he rasped again, his voice low and strained. “We’re at a damn Christmas party... what if someone-”

She silenced him with a quick peck, her lips curling into a playful smile. “We’re cleaning a vicious stain,” she corrected, her tone teasing but unwavering.

“You don’t have to…” he muttered, while his hands hesitated on her waist.

She knew what he meant, knew the unspoken vacillation behind the words. In all their time together, he had always shied away from this particular kind of intimacy. He’d muttered something once about it feeling degrading for her, some outdated notion she’d tried to challenge more than once. But tonight, she wouldn’t budge.

“I don’t,” she agreed softly, her voice firm as her fingers stroked over the growing hardness beneath the fabric. She leaned in, her breath hot against his pulse point, making his resolve fray with every passing second. “But I want to. And you know…” she murmured, punctuating her words with a kiss just below his ear, “that eventually, you always give up and agree to what I ask of you.”

His groan was low and guttural, and his hands tightened on her hips. “You’re somethin’ else.” he muttered, his voice a mix of frustration and surrender.

Her lips brushed against his neck, her teeth grazing his sensitive skin as she whispered, “I know.”

He sucked in a sharp breath as her fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his underwear, stroking his length with a slow, deliberate rhythm that left him clinging to the last shreds of his control.

“Have it your way,” he muttered, as his head fell back against the wall.

Her triumphant smile was quick, her fingers giving him one last teasing caress before she sank gracefully to her knees.

“Good,” she said softly, her hands sliding up his thighs as she looked up at him, her gaze locking with his. ”Now, let me thank you for being so brave, coming to the party, wearing the sweater... indulging me.” Her hands moved to the waistband of his boxers, and with deliberate care, she eased them down, freeing his aching cock. The cool air of the bathroom hit his heated skin, and he hissed softly, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

“Jesus, darling,” he muttered, his blush creeping past his collar, tinting his neck and ears. He was already hard, the veins along his length standing out as his body betrayed his restraint.

She smiled, her lips curving with just a hint of mischief as she wrapped her fingers around him, stroking slowly to let him adjust to the intimacy. “You’re so beautiful, Buck,” she murmured, her thumb brushing along the tip, spreading the bead of precum glistening there.

He cursed under his breath, his head falling back again against the wall with a low thud. “You’re gonna kill me,” he groaned, his voice rough and strained.

“No,” she whispered, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the base of his cock, her lips warm against his skin. “I’m going to make you feel good.” She started slow, her tongue tracing along the underside of his length, one hand still pressed at his thigh, savoring the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch.

His hand came to her shoulder, not to guide her but to steady himself as his breaths turned ragged. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes dropped to her, and the sight of her there, so confident and focused on him, sent heat pooling low in his belly.

She took him deeper, her lips stretching around him as she sank down, her tongue swirling with each movement. His hips jerked instinctively, and he muttered a soft apology, his blush deepening on his cheeks.

“Relax,” she soothed, pulling back slightly to run her tongue along his tip before taking him in again. Her hands slid along his thighs, her touch grounding and gentle as she worked him with a rhythm that had him trembling.

“Shit,” he rasped, his voice breaking as his head tilted back again. His fingers flexed against her shoulder, his free hand gripping the counter behind him as if he were afraid he might lose control entirely.

As the heat coiled tighter in his core, he exhaled sharply, his voice thick with need. “Open your blouse.”

She paused, looking up at him with wide, curious eyes. She held his gaze for a moment, then her hands moved to the buttons of her blouse, slowly undoing them one by one. She shrugged it off her shoulders, revealing the soft curves of her bare skin beneath.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as his eyes roamed over her.

She smiled again, her fingers brushing lightly over his thighs before she leaned forward, taking him back into her mouth. Her movements were more purposeful now, her tongue pressing in just the right spots, drawing out a chorus of curses and low, desperate groans from him.

He could feel himself nearing the edge, the pleasure building so quickly it left him dizzy. “Darlin’,” he choked out, pulling back slightly with a groan.

His hand slid to himself, his grip firm as he stroked quickly, the tension snapping with a guttural moan. Warm ropes of his release spilled over her breasts, painting her skin as he worked through the aftershocks of his orgasm. When he finally stilled, his eyes met hers, and he let out a shaky laugh, the blush still high on his cheeks. “Gonna need more than a minute to recover from that,” he muttered, his voice thick but laced with awe.

Her lips curled into a sly smile, her chest still rising and falling as she caught her breath. “Oh, we have time. Cider can be very tricky to clean.”

That earned her a soft, breathless chuckle. “Speaking of which,” he said, straightening as he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief -because, of course he had one- and wet it under the stream of warm water from the sink. Turning back to her, he knelt slightly and gently dabbed at her skin. His movements were slow and deliberate, his touch reverent as he cleaned her chest.

“I told you that you didn’t have to do that,” he murmured, his voice low and full of warmth, his eyes focused on her as if she were the most precious thing he’d ever seen. “But damn if I don’t appreciate it.”

Her cheeks flushed at his words, but she didn’t shy away from his gaze, watching him as his fingers brushed against her with quiet care.

“You’re unbelievable,” he added softly, shaking his head as he continued. “Always finding ways to take care of me... and knock me on my ass in the process.”

She laughed softly, and her hand rested on his wrist, stilling his movements for a moment. “I’ll always take care of you, Buck. That’s what we do.”

His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for a moment, the teasing energy between them softened into something deeper, more intimate. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice a little rough as he cupped her cheek with his free hand, his thumb brushing lightly over her skin. “That’s what we do.”

He finished cleaning her with a few more light touches, his gaze lingering before he leaned in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. Standing, he folded the handkerchief and set it aside, offering her his hand to help her up.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Let’s get back out there before Sam decides to come lookin’ for us.”

She rolled her eyes with a smile, buttoning her blouse again as they prepared to slip back into the party.

The hum of conversations and laughter swallowed them up as if they’d never been gone. Bucky’s hand rested at her back, his touch was light but reassuring as they maneuvered through the room together. They stopped to chat with a few neighbors and some of Sam’s crew, the warmth of the gathering lulling Bucky into an unusual state of ease. She noticed how he leaned into the conversation more, even throwing in the occasional dry comment that earned a laugh or two.

At one point, Sam passed by with another drink in hand, his gaze flicking to Bucky with an exaggerated look of appraisal. “Barnes, you’re still rockin’ that sweater. I think it’s startin’ to grow on me.”

Bucky shot him an unimpressed look, though the faintest smirk tugged at his lips. “Enjoy the view while it lasts, Wilson. This thing’s gettin’ torched tomorrow.”

“Not if I get a picture first,” Sam shot back, winking at her before moving on to talk with another guest.

She laughed softly, squeezing Bucky’s arm as she leaned close. “Look at you, doing so great.”

“Don’t push it.” he muttered, though the affection in his tone betrayed him.

The night carried on, the crowd beginning to thin as people trickled out into the chilly evening, leaving the room quieter but no less warm as the soft glow of the string lights bathed the space. She was mid-conversation with a neighbor when she felt it, that unmistakable sense of being watched. Her gaze flicked up, and there he was, standing near the door. His eyes were steady and intent, and when their gazes met, he tilted his head ever so slightly, the gesture subtle but clear.

She excused herself with a polite smile, weaving through the remaining guests to meet him. His hand found hers as she approached, the rough warmth of his fingers squeezing lightly before guiding her toward Sam, who stood by the doorway, chatting animatedly with a couple of friends.

“Sam,” she called softly, earning his attention as she offered a warm smile. “Thanks so much for inviting us. We had a wonderful time.”

Sam grinned, his gaze warm before it shifted to Bucky with a mischievous glint. “Always a pleasure,” he said smoothly. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he held up his phone, displaying a photo he’d clearly taken earlier in the evening.

The image showed Bucky mid-conversation, the atrocious sweater at full display as he stood with his arms crossed, looking far too good for such a ridiculous outfit.

“Buck, this one’s goin’ in the memory books,” Sam declared, laughing as he turned the screen for them to see.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, his deadpan stare fixed on the photo “Delete it,” he said flatly.

Sam only laughed harder, tucking his phone into his pocket. “Nope. I already sent it to the work chat.”

She bit her lip to hold back her laugh, slipping her hand into Bucky’s arm and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Take it as a compliment,” she teased softly.

Bucky sighed, already steering her toward the door. “Let’s go,” he muttered, the faintest flush creeping up his neck as Sam chuckled behind them.

The crisp night air greeted them as they stepped outside, and she instinctively leaned into him for warmth. He slipped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as their boots crunched against the snowy path.

“You’ve had a lot to drink tonight,” she said lightly, glancing up at him. “We should walk to my place instead of drive.”

Bucky huffed, slipping an arm around her shoulders to pull her close as they started down the snowy path. “Guess we’re walkin’, then,” he said, with a dry tone. “Not like I needed my dignity tonight anyway. This damn sweater saw to that.”

She laughed, leaning into him. “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s exactly that bad,” he replied, but there was no real heat in his voice. His fingers splayed across the curve of her back as he spoke, before dipping further to give her ass a deliberate squeeze.

“Bucky!” she gasped, her eyes darting around to check the empty street, her face flushing hot against the winter chill.

“What?” he asked, his tone perfectly deadpan. “You made me wear the damn thing. Seems fair.”

She swatted lightly at his chest, and her voice dropped to a scandalized whisper. “Someone could’ve seen.”

“Let ‘em,” he said simply, his voice was low and gravelly as he leaned closer, brushing his lips against her ear. “I’m the socially awkward one, remember?”

A laugh bubbled out of her, the mix of his teasing and the warmth of his voice making her cheeks burn even hotter. She loved how he could be grumpy and endearing, awkward yet somehow confident, all wrapped in the absurd charm of an awful Christmas sweater.

The warmth of her house wrapped around them as they stepped inside, starkly contrasting the frosty night air they’d left behind. She slipped off her coat and hung it by the door, turning to see Bucky doing the same. His movements were unhurried, his broad frame still slightly stiff from the cold, but his eyes already warming as they met hers.

“Tea?” she asked, smiling softly as she walked toward the kitchen.

He nodded, following her with slow, deliberate steps. “Something warm sounds good.”

She moved easily through the space, setting the kettle on the stove before reaching for the cabinet overhead. Standing on her toes, she stretched to grab the box of apple-flavored tea tucked near the back.

Bucky watched her intently from where he leaned against the counter. The sight of her body arching as she tried to reach the tea was all the invitation he needed.

“Here,” he said, as he moved behind her.

She stilled as his hand reached past hers to grab the box, his chest brushing against her back, his body pressing against hers just a moment longer than necessary. The warmth of his body sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. When he handed her the tea, she turned slightly, offering a quiet, “Thanks.”

His gaze lingered on her, heavy and thoughtful, as his thumb reached out to trace her lower lip. The touch was featherlight. His eyes darkened, his expression unreadable as his thumb lingered there, brushing softly.

Her cheeks flushed as she wondered if he was thinking of what transpired at the party, the intimacy they’d stolen away behind closed doors.

“Buck-” she started, but her words were lost as he leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was soft and searching.

She sighed against him, her hands coming up to rest on his chest, feeling the coarsed knit of the sweater. His lips moved gentle at first, coaxing, before the kiss deepened, growing messy and heated as his hands slid down to her waist, pulling her closer.

She gasped softly when his tongue brushed hers, trailing her fingers upward to tangle them on his long locks as the kiss grew more fervent. The kettle whistled faintly in the background, but neither of them moved to address it.

When they finally broke apart for air, her lips were swollen, her breaths coming in soft, uneven gasps as she looked up at him. His own breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling as his gaze dropped to her lips again, undecided, as though torn between kissing her once more or letting his hands venture where his mouth hadn’t yet dared.

“Tea can wait,” he murmured, his voice rough with want as his thumb brushed over her lips once more. Then, he kissed her again and in one fluid motion, he lifted her, setting her on the kitchen counter with effortless strength.

She gasped softly, wrapping her legs instinctively around his hips as he positioned himself between them. Her hands trailed up his arms, fingers skimming over the firm muscles of his biceps and shoulders eliciting a low hum deep in his chest.

“You really like this ugly sweater, don’t you?” he asked, breathing warmly against her cheek.

She smirked, tilting her head to nip gently at his jawline, her teeth grazing the faint stubble there. “Not the sweater,” she murmured, her lips brushing his skin as she spoke. “I like the present wrapped inside it.”

It was all it took. The last thread of his control snapped like a frayed rope.

With a low growl, his hands moved to her blouse, and in one swift motion, he tore it open, sending flying buttons scattering across the wooden floor. His hands were on her instantly, rough and insistent, covering her breasts, squeezing and kneading as his lips sought hers again.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmured against her mouth, his voice rough and strained, “how patient I’ve been after your little performance at Sam’s? After what you did in the bathroom?”

“I was just trying to make up for the sweater,” she said breathlessly, her lips curving into a teasing smile even as her body arched into his touch.

“Oh, you’re gonna make up for it,” he muttered, his hands sliding to her back to unhook her bra with practiced ease. He pushed it aside, his mouth descending to her collarbone, then lower, his words rumbling against her skin. “Every last bit of it.” His lips found her breasts, his tongue tracing lazy circles around her nipple before he took it into his mouth, sucking gently at first, with more intent later. She gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair as he alternated between soft licks and sharp nips, his teeth grazing her just enough to send sparks through her body.

“Bucky,” she breathed, tilting back her head as she moaned under his ministrations.

He didn’t stop until her skin was wet and tender, her nipples flushed from his attention. Satisfied with his work, he lifted his head, lips glistening as he met her gaze with a wicked smirk.

One hand slipped to the waistband of her pants, tugging at the elastic as his other arm encircled her waist, lifting her effortlessly. With a quick motion, he rid her of the fabric, panties and all, and the cool air against her bare skin made her shiver.

He set her back on the counter, kissing her again, one hand steadying her by the waist while the other reached out. She heard the faint clink of glass and broke the kiss just in time to see him holding a jar of plum jam he’d spotted earlier on the counter.

His smirk turned darker as he unscrewed the lid, his eyes locked intently on hers. “I fancy something sweet with the tea,” he informed in a low tone.

Her cheeks flushed as the realization dawned, moving her hands to stop him. “Bucky-”

But he was faster. His fingers dipped into the jar, scooping up a generous amount of the sticky preserve. Before she could protest again, he smeared it against her wet folds, the cool sensation making her jerk.

“Cold,” she gasped, her body twisting slightly at the sensation.

His hands settled on her thighs, steadying her as he dropped to his knees in front of her, his lips curving into a smug smile. “Not for long,” he murmured. Before she could form another thought, his mouth was on her, the contrast between his warmth and the cool jam sent shockwaves through pussy. His tongue moved deliberately, savoring every inch of her as he spread her thighs wider, pulling her closer to the edge of the counter. His lips latched onto her clit without warning, and his tongue delivered a hard flick against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

She gasped sharply, her body jerking in response, her thighs trying to close instinctively against the overwhelming sensation.

“Uh-uh,” he murmured, his grip tightening as he steadied her, his broad shoulders keeping her legs apart. His voice was low, almost a growl, as he glanced up at her. “You’re not goin’ anywhere, darling.”

Before she could form a response, his tongue resumed its assault, alternating between firm flicks and languid strokes that left her trembling. Her nails dug into the counter’s edge as her head tipped back, with a mix of soft cries and breathless gasps spilling from her lips.

As her pleasure built, he added two fingers, making her body arch, and turned her breathing erratic.

“Perfect holiday dessert,” he murmured against her, his words muffled but dripping with mischief as he picked up the pace lapping the last traces of jam on her heated skin.

She cried out, her hands flying to his hair, clutching it as if it were the only thing anchoring her. “Bucky,” she whimpered, her voice was high and shaky, her body nearly unraveling under the relentless pressure.

Her legs trembled as the heat inside her coiled tighter, his tongue and fingers driving her closer to the edge with every precise movement. She could feel him groaning softly against her as if savoring her reactions just as much as her taste, and it pushed her closer to breaking.

“Bucky… Jamie, I-” she tried, but her words dissolved into a broken cry as her body tipped into release, her thighs quivering around him.

He didn’t stop, working her through every pulse of pleasure until she was trembling and utterly spent. Only then did he pull back, his lips glistening, his smirk utterly satisfied.

“Best tea pairing I’ve ever had,” he said amusedly, as he kissed the inside of her thigh and locked his gaze with hers before standing up.

Her body was still trembling as she pressed her forehead against his shoulder, her breaths coming in soft, uneven pants. She clung to him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater as she tried to catch her breath.

And then it hit her.

“The kettle,” she said, her voice a little breathless, a mix of urgency and disbelief. “The water’s probably about to evaporate...”

Bucky hummed in acknowledgment, his lips brushing her temple before he reached out with one arm. Without even looking, he turned off the burner with a quick twist of the knob.

“Handled,” he murmured.

When he turned back to her, his other hand was already moving to unbuckle his belt, the sound of the metal clinking making her stomach flip.

She leaned forward, pressing soft kisses along his neck. Her lips trailed up to his jaw while her hands slid to the hem of his sweater, her fingers curling under the edge as she began to tug it upward.

Before she could get far, his hands shot out, grabbing her wrists in a firm but gentle grip. “The sweater stays on,” he said, his voice commanding but tinged with a teasing edge that made her breath hitch.

“You can’t be serious,” she said, her voice caught between incredulous laughter and disbelief.

“Oh, I’m serious,” he said smirking as he leaned closer, holding her in place by her wrists. “You went through all this trouble to get me in this thing. Now you’re gonna enjoy the full experience.”

Her blush deepened as his hands slowly guided hers back to the counter, pinning them there for a moment as he kissed her. His lips were hot and demanding, leaving no doubt that the sweater wasn’t going anywhere.

Bucky’s hands slowly released her wrists and shifted his focus back to his pants, deftly undoing the buttons and sliding the zipper down. He toed off his boots one by one, the sound of them hitting the floor was muted against the hum of their shared breaths. His pants followed, pooling at his feet as he straightened, towering over her.

Her hands found him instantly, sliding down to grip the firm curve of his buttocks through his boxers, and pulled him closer, tightening her thighs around his hips as her she urged him forward.

His clothed erection pressed against her heat, and she moaned softly into the kiss. Bucky hummed appreciatively, as his hips shifted slightly, grinding into her and catching the unmistakable warmth of her slick staining his boxers and the hem of the sweater.

“Darling” he muttered against her mouth, his voice thick with want. “You’re makin’ a mess of me.” His hands slid up her thighs, parting her legs farther, exposing every inch of her need to his gaze. His thumb pressed gently through the wetness, gathering it before bringing it to his lips. He sucked on it intently, as he let out a low, satisfied hum. “Better than the jam,” he said, his smirk as wicked as the flush climbed up her cheeks.

She barely had time to catch her breath before he hooked his thumbs into his boxers, pushing them down and letting them fall to the floor. His cock sprang free, warm and heavy, the tip already glistening as it brushed against her wet pussy. The sensation made her gasp, her body jerking slightly in response.

“Jesus, Bucky,” she breathed, her hands clutching at his shoulders.

He grinned faintly. “Thought you liked the present inside the sweater,” he rasped, stroking himself once, slow and deliberate, his blue eyes flicking to hers.

He didn’t waste any more time. With one hand gripping her hip and the other guiding himself, he pushed forward, the slow stretch drawing a soft cry from her lips. He groaned and his forehead dropped to her shoulder as he filled her, his hands gripping her thighs to hold her steady.

Her hands flew to his back, her nails lightly digging into the sweater's fabric as she clung to him, her legs wrapping tighter around his hips. The movement urged him deeper, and he began to move, slow and deliberate, each thrust pulling a gasp from her lips as her head tilted back against the cabinet.

The intensity escalated quickly, one of her hands slid from his back to his hair, tangling her fingers in the dark strands as she gave a firm tug.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his rhythm faltering for half a second before he picked up the pace, his hips snapping forward with a growing urgency.

He pushed her closer to the edge of the counter, the shift in position driving him deeper. His hands adjusted instinctively, one sliding beneath her leg to lift it from behind her knee, angling her hips just enough to hit a spot that made her cry out.

“Bucky,” she gasped, her voice trembling as she tried to ground herself, her fingers scrambling for the counter’s edge. But it was no use. The force of his thrusts rocked her body, the roughness of his movements leaving her breathless and teetering on the brink.

“Hold on, darling,” he murmured, though there was nothing gentle in his tone now, only raw, unrestrained need.

His other hand left her hip, moving instead to cradle the back of her head. His palm pressed firmly, steadying her against him to keep her from hitting the cabinet as his thrusts became punishing, each one hitting deeper, harder.

Her nails raked down his back, clutching desperately as his cock drove into her, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the kitchen. The angle, the strength behind each thrust, the way his grip held her in place, it was too much, and yet not enough all at once.

And then, something shifted. The coarse fabric of his sweater pressed against her clit with every hard thrust, the friction sending a jolt of pleasure that left her gasping. Her eyes flew open as a new, dizzying layer was added to the spiral of pleasure inside her. “Don’t stop… oh God, don’t stop!”

He growled low in his throat, his grip tightening on her as his movements became sharper. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured roughly, his lips brushing her ear. “Show me how good it feels. Come all over my cock.”

She complied with a loud cry, her nails dragged down his back again, her thighs trembling as she mewled his name, her voice breathless and broken.

He cursed roughly and pressed his forehead against hers as the orgasm hit him. The hot rush of it spilled out between them, mingling with her slick as he pumped into her a few more times, chasing the last shreds of his pleasure.

He held her steady for a moment, the air was thick with the scent of sex and the sound of their uneven breaths. As the haze of his climax began to fade, he pulled back slightly to look at her, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded. A smirk tugged at his lips as he became aware of the mess coating her thighs, the counter, and the sweater's hem.

“Guess is even uglier now,” he murmured, his voice rough and teasing, with a flicker of satisfaction.

She bit her lip, a soft chuckle escaping her as she slid her hands up his neck. Her fingers brush against his stubbled jaw before cradling his cheeks. Her touch was gentle, coaxing him to meet her gaze.

“Maybe,” she whispered, her smile growing as her thumb brushed the corner of his mouth. “But you look sexier.”

A scoff escaped his mouth, quiet and incredulous. The flush that had crept up his neck during their encounter flared again, coloring his cheeks and ears as his gaze darted away. When his eyes returned to hers, they carried a mix of awkwardness and disbelief.

“I think you’re the one who drank plenty at the party,” he mumbled, the boldness of just moments ago slipping away as his usual reserve crept back in.

She smiled, unfazed by his deflection, and leaned in to pepper light kisses across his face. First his temple, then his cheek, and finally the corner of his mouth, her lips lingering with quiet affection.

“Bucky,” she murmured, her hands trailing down to rest on his chest. “You don’t have to downplay it. You’re everything I want.”

He sighed deeply, as if her words had pulled something loose inside him. His hands slid from her waist, brushing her bare thighs as they fell to his sides. “We should... clean this up,” he muttered, his voice thick with a mix of shyness and practical retreat.

Her lips curved into a knowing smile as she pulled back slightly, her gaze holding his. “Alright,” she agreed, sliding her arms around his neck and letting him lift her gently off the counter. Her feet hit the floor, but her hands lingered on his shoulders. “But I’m still going to call you sexy.”

He groaned, the flush creeping back to his ears as he glanced away, shaking his head slightly.

She leaned up to press one more kiss to his jaw before stepping away to grab a towel. “Now, let’s see if your sweater survives this mess.”

“Sadly, I don’t think it will,” he replied dryly, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smirk. “We’ll have to put it down. Mercy killing.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes as she dabbed at the counter with the towel. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.”

“It’s worse,” he shot back, his smirk widening. “Now I’ve got another reason to torch it.”

Her laugh grew louder as she glanced back at him, and her heart skipped at the sight of the teasing glint in his eyes. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“And yet, you made me wear that” he countered, stepping closer to pluck the towel from her hands. “Guess that makes you just as bad. Maybe next year I’ll buy one for you too, so we can share the suffering.”

She froze for a beat, then quirked a brow, a slow grin spreading across her lips. “Oh, look at you, already planning matching sweaters. You’re such a sweetie,” she cooed with mock sweetness as she looped her arms around his neck.

“That wasn’t the point of-” he started, his ears burning red as he stumbled over his defense.

“Uh-uh,” she interrupted, tilting her head with a grin. “You know, I already like the idea.”

He groaned, letting his head fall back slightly. “God help me,” he muttered, shaking his head.

She laughed as she pressed a kiss to his cheek, delighting in his flustered expression. “You’re adorable when you’re cornered.”

“Maybe in a year,” he grumbled, pulling her closer despite his groaning, “you’ll forget this conversation, and I can go back to non-blinding, low profile shirts.”

“Not a chance,” she quipped, rising on her toes to press a kiss to his jaw. “Now, where’s that towel, matching sweater boy? We’ve got a mess to clean up.”

His lips twitched into a reluctant smile, his hands settling on her hips. “You’re lucky you make all that misery worth it.”

She laughed softly, grabbing the towel and bending to wipe at the counter while he watched her, his hands still resting lightly on her hips.

Bucky sighed, shaking his head with a faint smirk as he picked up a stray button from her torn blouse that had fallen to the floor. “We really made a mess this time,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

She glanced over her shoulder, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “Oh, I don’t know,” she teased, tossing the towel into the sink. “I think it turned out just fine.”

He chuckled, standing straighter as he slid his arm around her waist, pulling her closer with an affectionate hum of mock contempt. Her body fit against his perfectly, her head resting on his chest as the coarse fabric of the sweater brushed against her cheek.

Outside, snow began to fall in soft flurries, the flakes swirling lazily in the glow of a nearby streetlamp.

“Merry Christmas, darlin',” he murmured, brushing his lips at the top of her head.

She tilted her head up, brushing her fingers along his jawline, tracing a soft path as she gazed up at him. “Merry Christmas, Bucky,”

Ps: Reader gets a present too, in another fic I'm working on 😉

dividers by: @saradika

[juletheghoul]

The General

a/n: So, the Roman got me. It was to be expected, honestly lol. I am well aware we know practically nothing about this character but I couldn't help myself. I wrote reader as a slave here, if you aren't into that - no worries. This is un beta-ed, any mistakes are my own. Shout out to @foli-vora for letting me flood her with my thoughts and ideas and for helping me flesh it out🩷 Hopefully you enjoy!

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, some dirty talk, creampie, alcohol, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance) one creepy dude making a pass, Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus, let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 1.6k

reblogs are appreciated

Series masterlist Masterlist next chapter; the baths

He comes through the tent flap late into the night, covered in blood, grime, and rage, and yet - you are there to greet him. The gods have seen it fit to bestow him with another day of victory, another day of life and with that life, comes his expectations of you.

You rush to pour the water you’ve kept hot at his fire into the basin he uses to wash, eyes scanning quickly for the clean linens he uses to cleanse himself of the gore of battle, and making yourself scarce once the basin is full.

He says nothing, but he has no need to. 

You watch from your place at the edge of his vision, every nerve and receptor in your body honed to anticipate his needs. 

His armor needs to be cleaned before first light, thank the Gods I didn’t fall asleep. I will need to mend the tear in his tunic as well–

His hand shot out, face up towards you, interrupting your mental tally of his state but your body responds quicker than your mind and you’re there in an instant, placing the clean linen into his dampened hand. Still, he says nothing. 

You move towards his table while he finishes, shuffling his maps and well laid battle plans with great care in order to set out the olives and cheese he likes, the crusty bread and the dark wine he prefers. 

“General.” The gruff voice at the tent flap scares you half to death, but you don’t cry out. You’re too well-trained for that. A few of his soldiers stand at the threshold. “We wish to share a cup, a toast to your victory.” They are eager, the red glint of blood still fresh in their eyes. 

He grunts in response, but gestures to his table before giving you a pointed look. You rush to fetch more cups, setting them down at the extra places at his table. They are all seated by the time you finish pouring for them, and with another glance from Marcus–your general–you move to fetch more food from his stores. 

They’re raucous, the heat of the battle still coursing through their veins. Where Marcus is focused on calming the blood, they are eager to stoke the fire. They are either oblivious to his dark mood, or unbothered by it. 

“More wine!” One of them cries out, despite the way the General’s jaw clenches. You hurry to comply, pouring into the younger man's cup without spilling. “You are lucky General Acacius, a pretty, young, thing like this waiting to warm your bed of a night,” he leers up at you, his gaze slipping across your body like eels in a bowl, “would you share your wealth, I wonder.” His other hand slides up the back of your thigh causing you to gasp, his touch wholly unwelcome. 

“If you would like to keep your hands, I suggest you keep them to yourself.” His voice cuts through the air, “Come girl, take my cup away. I have no taste for wine just now.” You move away from the unwanted touch and towards Marcus, avoiding his eyes to complete the task at hand. “Go now, all of you. I will see you in the morning.” He moves from his place at the table, and if the others are unwilling to comply, they make no mention of it. The table is clear by the time he comes back, absent unwanted company. 

He says nothing while removing his armor, but you rush to his side to assist anyway, carefully putting the pieces aside to clean. 

The mood shifts, and his gaze now bores into you, and your heart races to feel it. Where the other man's eyes made your skin crawl, Marcus’ eyes feel like a caress. You feel them on the slit in your tunic, where your thigh is exposed. You feel them on your chest when you turn towards him to help take his chest plate off. 

Goose flesh spreads like a stain across your skin, and your cunt weeps for him, betraying any thoughts that you might not want what he quite obviously wants to give you. The proof of it tenting his tunic when the leather Pteruges are removed.

Those brutal hands, the ones that’d been covered in blood and grime not an hour past, now grab onto your hips, the grip hard enough to bruise. The thin linen shift does nothing to insulate you from his heat, does nothing to dull the press of his want against your belly. Any doubts swimming in your mind about crossing this line with him–again–are silenced when the linen is all but ripped off, leaving you almost shivering in his arms. 

The arousal is something fierce, an entity all in its own and it responds to his brusque movements with a perverse glee. It sets your nerves alight, drips down onto your thighs as he herds you towards his bed mat. His intensity infects you, it strengthens your grip, you’d swear it sharpened your nails by the way you rip at the very tunic you’re going to have to mend.

You land on your back amongst his linens and he’s quick to follow you there. It takes less than a breath for him to shrug everything off, both of you as nude as the day you were born. 

“Open your legs.” His voice is gruff, and thick with want, the same want that smears fat pearly drops against the skin of your thigh. 

Your nipples harden, drawing both his eye, and his mouth as you hurry to comply. He bites, pulling a gasp from your lips. His tongue quickly soothes it though, this is his pattern, an addictive balance of pain and pleasure. First one breast, then the other gets his attention, but only briefly, his desire burns too brightly. 

You only manage to pull his face up to yours before his cock finally slips into your wet heat, feeding a gasp directly into his mouth when you take his kiss with a force to rival his own. 

The size of him always shocks you into silence. He isn’t the first man to have you this way, your chastity had been gone long before you came into his service; you were glad of it to feel the way he molded you to accept him though. Now, and every time he’s been inside you. 

His stroke is brutal, it’s hard, and rough and all but moves you higher onto his mat. It’s perfect.

Your knees hitch high onto his hips, just as he raises one knee to press against the back of your thigh for purchase and it pays off because he finds the spot that makes you keen. 

He lets out a breathy laugh, relishing the state of you and the euphoria of your climax is far too close to feel any shame. Instead your cunt floods him, the slip of him moving so noisy and vulgar and welcome and blissful it pushes you closer still.

“More, please—“ you moan out the words, the first words you’ve spoken to him since he’d returned from a day of violence and he corrects you even now. 

“More what,” he grunts, anger and ecstasy shining on his visage, “speak correctly, girl.” His voice is clipped, his movements faltering and you know he’s close.

“More please, Dominus.” They’re a whimper, and he responds to them just how you hoped he might. He moves quickly and for a moment you can see how he’s earned his reputation, agile and smooth and within a moment he sits back on his haunches, pulling your hips up to meet his thrusts. 

You don’t know whether to scream, or weep, either way you thank the Gods for putting you in this man’s way. The pleasure is peppered with pain where his fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, and you know you will feel the ache of holding them open tomorrow, but it’s so hard to care when it feels so good.

The precipice looms, the shadow of the climax clouding anything and everything and when you reach down towards where you’re spread wide, it only takes a couple of quick, wet circles at your clit to float away.

He groans, hips stuttering and you know you’ve taken him over the edge with you, you can feel the evidence of it painting your insides. His eyes glaze over as he watches himself fill you to the brim, slack-jaw and drunk on his orgasm and your flesh on display for him. 

“I expect you to remain full of my gift-“ his tone is filthy, lust and victory of a different kind on his features as he grinds himself deeper, “until I take you again.” He hisses the last few words out, pulling his softening cock out to inspect his mess. “Am I understood?”

“Yes Dominus.” The words are sweet as summer fruit on your tongue, eager to please him.

He smiles, but it’s predatory and it makes you clench around nothing, your body betraying your words when you feel his spend dripping out in front of his eyes.

He tsks, pushing it back in with thick fingers.

“You are well aware I don’t tolerate such insolence.” His eyes narrow, but his mood is still playful, removing his fingers from your cunt, only to stick them in your mouth. “Now, get some rest. I expect you up at first light.” He speaks with absolute authority as you suck his fingers clean, and nod.

------

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[tunatoge]

little lunch mishap - s. gojo x reader

contents: fem!reader (called mom/momma), mentions of eating, gojo sucks at packing lunches for his kids, written a little after gojo finds megumi and tsumiki

when gojo first met megumi, he’d made sure his infinity was on; he had you and shoko throw random things at him from across the field with and without cursed energy to make sure it worked properly. now, two years later, he doesn’t even realize that it’s off around the seven-year-old kid—not until megumi nails him in the face with an unripe clementine.

“ow!” gojo exclaims, bringing his hand up to his cheek as he lets his sunglasses clatter to the floor. “what was that for, megs?”

megumi glares at gojo, holding a softer and riper clementine in his grasp. you glance over at them from the kitchen as they stare each other down.

“that was the fruit you put in my lunch,” megumi grumbles as he sinks his little fingers into his ripe clementine. “i know you packed it ‘cause mom normally peels them for me.”

“okay,” gojo starts as he leans over and picks up the clementine megumi threw at him, the skin split and the sticky juice dripping all over the tiled floor and his hands. he places the ruined fruit on the counter, bending over again and picking up his sunglasses. “momma had a mission this morning, so me—your amazing and awesome dad—packed your lunch and tsumiki’s,” gojo says with gritted teeth, putting unnecessary stress on the word ‘dad’. “and by the way,” he adds as an afterthought, “tsumiki ate all of her’s.” gojo puffs his chest triumphantly, settling his glasses back onto his face.

you glance at tsumiki as she does her homework, stifling your laughter when a small grimace washes over her features.

“was it that bad?” you ask her in a quiet whisper, making sure gojo and megumi don’t hear you.

tsumiki looks up at you and nods, “satoru made us sandwiches but i think he used the bread that you told him to throw out; it was kind of moldy.” she takes in your wide eyes and adds: “i didn’t eat it, i threw it away.”

you let out a relieved sigh, turning back around to pick up a plate of sliced apples and a cup of peanut butter. you place it down on the kitchen island next to tsumiki as she thanks you. megumi finishes shoving his peeled clementine in his mouth, passing the peel off to gojo as he takes a seat next to his sister.

“are you making lunch tomorrow for school?” he asks you, picking up an apple slice and taking a bite out of it.

you hum in response, scooping out some marshmallow fluff fruit dip you’d made a few days ago. you set it in front of gojo who begrudgingly reaches over and takes an apple slice. you stop megumi from slapping the fruit out of gojo’s hand.

“hey! it wasn’t that bad,” gojo insists through a mouthful of apple. megumi looks at him in disgust. “you had veggies, fruits, and a main meal! i even packed a snack in there!”

you sigh, “‘gumi, what did satoru pack you?”

megumi wipes his hands on a napkin as he looks at you. he makes a point to swallow before speaking. “an unripe clementine, a whole unpeeled carrot from the garden with its top still on, a moldy sandwich, and a family sized bag of skittles.” he swings his feet back and forth under the kitchen island, “i ate the carrot.”

you glance at satoru who reddens at megumi’s words, “okay… tsumiki, what was in yours?” you turn your attention to the little girl who sits next to megumi.

tsumiki glances at gojo in sympathy, “a moldy sandwich, a whole avocado, a green tomato that he picked from the garden even though megumi said it was unready, and a chocolate bar.” she looks at you with a smile, “i ate the avocado. i also had a square from the chocolate bar.”

you frown as you turn back around and pull out a bag of bread and an open bag of chips. gojo watches as you easily slather two slices of bread in peanut butter and strawberry jam, slicing it diagonally and placing the pieces on two different plates. you dump a generous amount of chips on each plate before placing them in front of megumi and tsumiki. you turn around and pick up the marshmallow fluff dip, sliding it into the fridge and shutting the door with your hip. gojo unabashedly stares at your ass when you bend over.

“okay, satoru,” you sigh as you turn towards him. he looks up at you with bright eyes, smiling into his palm. his glasses are on the counter. “from now on, you’ll take my morning missions and i’ll make their lunches.” you watch from the corner of your eye as megumi eagerly eats his chips and sandwich. “and you’ll throw out the bread when i tell you it’s gone bad.”

gojo drops his head on the counter. “you know, you’re so pretty, baby.” he looks up at you through his lashes, batting them intensely. “i’m truthfully so lucky to have you in my life.”

you look at him blankly. “and you’ll be doing the dishes for the next two weeks.”

“WHAT?”

[overlyspecific]

I NEED a merlin fic where Merlin gets exposed as a warlock while Uther is still king and has to flee (maybe with Arthur’s help) but he doesn’t want to go far (so he can protect Arthur) so he just lives in the woods outside of the castle and becomes a robin hood type character.

If this happened soon enough i think the knights that Merlin gets to serve Camelot would just be apart of his forest gang instead. they could fight bandits but also steal from obnoxious nobles that treat people badly. they could also break innocent magic users and druids out of the dungeons.

Arthur would become a kind of Maid Marian character where his dad tells him to track Merlin down but whenever he goes Merlin just stops him with his magic and flirts with him before letting him go when they are far enough away. (Arthur gets trapped often because he misses and wants to see Merlin but he will never admit it)

Morgana, Gwen and Gauis would also probably sneak information to Merlin often or just let him into the castle whenever something comes up. Merlin always visits Arthur when he sneaks in the castle so it goes something like this:

Merlin: *siting with his feet on Arthur’s desk, reading highly confidential court documents while eating Arthur’s dinner*

Arthur: *comes into his chambers to relax after a council meeting and sees Merlin* 😧 You can’t be in here! What are you doing? Stop reading those!

Merlin: I thought you’d be happy to see me ☹️

Arthur: Maybe I would be if the entire castle wasn’t looking for you and you weren’t eating my dinner, you clotpole

Merlin: You did miss me! 😊 Also thats my word.

Arthur: I still have to arrest you…

Merlin: Can I finish the bread first?

and then Merlin proceeds to get away by dramatically jumping out the window and disappearing with magic and Arthur pretends to be mad but is smiling to himself

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12

[januaryembrs]

LET IT ONCE BE ME | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [7]

Description: The THREE times she waits + the ONE time she doesn't have to.

length: 17.9k

trigger warnings: criminal minds gore + violence. jealousy. talks of sex and male and female anatomy. they get horny for one another basically. talks of Maeve + day of the dead. yearning idk? mention of one twin absorbing the other one in the womb (sorry if this is taken the wrong way but I conferred with my friend who did this when she was a foetus and she said it's not offensive and is okay to talk about so?)

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

‘Let it once be me, who do I have to speak to 

About if they can redo the prophecy?’

The one where they pretend to be married

“I will not be exploited in my own home,” Bugsy chided, the faint smell of burning toast filling the small kitchenette. The butter knife sat ready in her hand, salted spread dripping down the handle where she’d been busy making breakfast before she had been called. 

He blinked back at her, unamused. 

“No. You cannot just scream at me whenever you want something from me. This relationship is toxic,” She huffed, turning back to butter her toast with the thick goodness. Sometimes she loathed living with three boys who had her wrapped around their fingers. 

The second piece of bread popped out of the toaster, which she quickly grabbed and began spreading, her fingers gripping onto the crusts gently as she did so. The squealing started again just as she readied herself to take the first bite, and she whirled around to see the two orange eyes that stared at her from on top of the counter. 

“Sergio, stop. You’ll get Niko all wound up-” She hadn’t even finished her sentence when Spencer shuffled into the kitchen, his hair mussed from sleep, his long plaid pyjama bottoms skirting high up his ankles where he’d impossibly hit another growth spurt and forgot to find better fitting clothes. Niko darted in between his legs, rushing to jump up on the breakfast bar, where Sergio was already interrogating Bugsy for more treats, a low yowl leaving his throat at the thought of being left out of feeding. “You boys are driving me crazy, no more biscuits for today-”

The yowl grew in decibels, a second one symphonying it, and she rolled her eyes, ignoring the whiney babies, turning to hand Spencer his piece of toast, crust already cut off and split into halves the way he liked it. 

“I warned you not to treat them when I’m not here, they’ve become spoiled brats,” She huffed, though she felt her entire body warm up when she looked at his doe eyes, still half idled with sleep as he watched her swan around his kitchen, their kitchen technically since she had all but moved in to his little apartment meant for two housemates. 

But they weren’t just house mates. They weren’t even dating. But she knew he wanted to. Because he loved her. 

“How could you expect me to say no, they’re so compelling,” He said, his voice gravelly where he’d lightly snored, as much as he always denied he did, fussing Niko behind the ear with long, gentle fingers. He took the plate out of her hand, his eyes swirling with a moved expression when he saw she’d cut his crusts off, his gaze snapping back up to where she’d sweeped her hair out her face, a large shirt and a pair of his clean boxers adorning her figure, “Thankyou,”

He hadn’t said the three magic words since, neither of them had. But they felt it. The weird static that had been thick in the air between them before was crackling along their skin with every glance, like they were both thinking the same thing.

I love you, and you love me.

He smiled at her warmly, the urge to grab her by her face and kiss her skin all over almost overwhelming him, because he counted himself lucky every single day. She loved him. She loved him. She loved him. He heard it in every heart beat, like a mantra that his chest clung to since the words had spilled from her soft lips. She was waiting for him, for his head to settle with the idea that Maeve was gone, and he could let her go and not feel terrible about it; waiting for him to make the first move. 

“Coffee?” He asked, watching her eyes soften as they trailed over his face, and he worried he looked a little worse for wear since he’d rolled out of bed and headed towards the source of the girl he loved arguing with someone in the kitchen even though that someone had turned out to be the greedy bastard they loved dearly.

He knew he was the luckiest guy in the world to have her waiting on him, and he never let himself forget it. 

“Yes, please,” She said, and he brushed past her, close enough for it to be on purpose when their arms touched, his hands busying themselves in between the plate and munching on the first bite of breakfast, because he didn’t know what he might do if they spent one more second looking at one another like that. 

She watched him move towards the kettle she’d sent him for Christmas when she was in London. After using one for two weeks she’d seen the light and realised he would love the nifty little invention. Her arm burned where he’d touched as if he’d taken a flame to her skin, her chest boiling up with every single thing she could think to tell him, like how good his hair looked when he didn’t do much with it, or how hot his voice sounded like that, or that she really really did love him the way she’d never even thought possible outside her silly romance novels, that she’d never believed Pip when he’d told Estella; “You are part of my existence, part of myself. You have been in every line I have ever read,” and yet when she thought of it now, watching Spencer busy himself shovelling sugar into two mugs, it made entire perfect sense. 

She couldn’t remember who she was before she knew him, and she didn’t ever want to know. 

She opened her mouth to say something, perhaps to say those three little words again, or just to tell him he smelled good even when he hadn’t put any deodorant or aftershave on, but her phone’s ringtone cut her off. 

Already knowing it was going to be Penelope with a new case, she flicked the call on to speaker phone, “What you got for me, baby girl?” She said, trying to make her voice as deep as it would go, and she heard Spencer snickering where he was stirring hot water into the instant coffee.

“Was that supposed to be Morgan?” Pen’s voice replied, a small chuckle of her own evident even through the digital tone.

“I thought that was pretty good,” Bugsy replied, stuffing the last of the toasted bread into her mouth.

“I thought he was right in the room with us for a moment there,” Spencer chimed in, humouring her, as he also took an enormous bite from his breakfast, knowing they were more than likely about to be called in and their game of house, one where they flustered every time they spoke, was going to be over, “I was like, woah, Morgan, when did you get here-”

“Alright, my little rascals. We have a case, Hotch wants everyone in,” Penelope said, no doubt already paging through JJ, “No more coffee for either of you, you’re both being weird enough as it is,” 

“Definitely not,” Spencer said, sliding the mug of milky, sweet caffeine over to Bugsy who smiled at him wickedly.

“Wheels up in twenty, Garcia,” The woman added in the same voice as before, Spencer laughing with a shake of his head and moving to stand behind her, his chest pressed against her back, his arm winding around her waist to give her a small, affectionate squeeze on the hip. 

Penelope sighed, already accepting that their mercurial attitudes weren’t going away any time soon, the sudden mood change entirely odd to the rest of the team who had no idea that they had almost kissed just one week ago. To everyone else, they just seemed to have bounced back to normal, reverted back to Bugsy and Spencer; attached at the hip, only the eye contact and secretive smiles had been dialled to a hundred. The line went dead, and her head shot to look at him, where his hand had yet to move, and it was scoldingly hot against the soft fat that gathered at her hips.

“I’ll get your good shirt, I put it out to dry yesterday,” She said, her voice suddenly much less brave than it had been when she saw his eyes crinkling with a small smile. 

He nodded, and she caught his gaze trailing down her nose, darting over her lips for a second in a way that made her chest rev like a Ferrarri out of gear. She felt her breath catch in her throat when he looked back up to her eyes, his forest hues entrancing like he was playing some silent flute song and she was a snake dancing under his orders. 

He took a second to realise they were standing in his kitchen, his body pressed against hers like he hadn’t even realised they were so close, like he’d just gravitated to her that way, like he couldn’t stop it even if he’d tried to. He’d had a taste of nectar, and he was a drunk man ever since. 

Spencer wrangled a hold of himself, allowing himself to stroke the back of her head lovingly, and pressing a kiss to her crown, before he stepped away from her, and the siren song dropped, the two of them dispersing to get ready for the case. 

Bugsy swore she could hear her heart pounding the entire drive to headquarters.

–

“I think the real question is why married couples?” Hotch mused, a steaming cup of black coffee sitting in front of him on the jet, his nose in the file on his lap. 

Bugsy scanned over the manilla folder in her hands, her legs swinging rhythmically beneath the table she sat on, Rossi to her left, her own second cup of coffee squeezed between her thighs. It was a heavy case for a weekend morning, three married couples found slashed and dumped together, the UnSub showing no signs of slowing or stopping.

“If he’s a sadist, having a witness to his torture heightens his pleasure,” Alex added, her lips pursed in contemplation, her hair primped surprisingly neat considering they’d been called in with little to no notice on a Sunday. 

“Israel Keyes kidnapped a husband and wife at gunpoint, got them in a car, took them to a remote location, and then killed the husband in front of the wife,” Spencer said, trying not to look straight at Bugsy when he felt her eyes on him.

He’d never been one to keep a good poker face, never been good at hiding how he felt especially when he was happy. And she made him happier than he deserved to be. He knew their little arrangement would become glaringly obvious to the rest of the team if he let himself look at her. he had no control of his face when it came to her, how he felt his eyes soften, his lips turn up into a dopey smile, his hands itching to touch her just to confirm she was real.

He saw her head tilt down, into her lap as she tried desperately to focus on the words on the page, but he caught the small smile that she kept for herself, and he had a feeling she was struggling just as much as he was. 

“Keyes was a sexual sadist, though,” Rossi interjected, his hands wrapped around a scolding cup of the green tea Penelope had bought them because she’d read of the stress relief benefits. They’d taken it, but David and Bugsy were the only ones who had tried it, “This guy, I don’t know,” 

“Cutting a husband and wife to death, it’s more like he’s mocking their marriage bond,” JJ said, her bluebell hues dancing to Bugsy when the girl chimed in.

“Mutilating both of them, killing them together, it’s like the idea of couples and happy marriage is a trigger for him; it’s personal. He wants to make them pay for their happiness, likely because something’s stopping him from having it too,” She said, taking a long sip of her coffee, Rossi nodding along with her. 

“That’s where my head’s at. ‘You took each other for better or worse, now I’m going to show you worse’,” He said, leaning back against the table, his shoulder nudging the younger girl. 

Derek stroked a hand over his stubbled beard, “His home life’s probably a wreck, at least one ex-wife, not to mention mom and dad,”  

“Alright we need to hit the ground,” Hotch said, flicking a glance at the youngest agent where she was all but inhaling her sweet beverage, “Prentiss and Reid, I want you mapping out a geographical profile,”

She nodded, her eyes slowly trailing to Spencer’s as Hotch distributed jobs around the team, but her head subconsciously tuned his stern voice out into static. Because when she looked up at his face, he was already staring at her, and the sound of her heartbeat racing crawled its way back into her ear, the thrumming so loud she was sure David could hear it too, she might as well have held a megaphone to her mouth and announced “Spencer Reid, you make me so nervous in the good kind of way,”

His hazel eyes trailed over her face, her expression unreadable as she scrambled to keep a lid on her feelings, and she wondered if this was where the phrase ‘Don’t shit where you eat,’ came from, because him so much as looking at her wiped her mind completely, which was not ideal for an agent working on a case. But she couldn’t help it, he was enchanting, and she guessed he was having just as much of an inner quarrel as he looked away from her, the apples of his cheeks and tips of his earlobes turning a strawberry ice cream pink. 

She had no idea how she was going to make it through the rest of the day so close to him. 

–

“First couple were last seen on the corner of Hill Avenue, Bella Mia Italian restaurant,” Bugsy read from her scrawled notes, as Spencer took a purple white board pen to the map of Detroit. Drawing a circle of a 5 centimetre radius around the little dot, he kept his eyes ahead of him. Hearing her pace behind him, he didn’t need to look up to know she was chewing her cuticles again. 

“Stop biting,” He chided lightly, hearing a guilty silence where he knew she’d caught herself with embarrassment. He tried not to show his amusement, knowing it would only make her feel worse, he bit down a smirk and raised his pen back to the map, “Next one?” 

She’d been on edge all day. He would have probably brushed it off as caffeine jitters seeing as she was on her fourth cup already, but Spencer knew her too well to know her tolerance was so high she had about two more mugs in her before she’d start to crash. 

He knew what it was, the memory of her skin beneath his lips burning his cheeks all over again, the look in her eyes when he’d been close enough they were sharing breath. He knew what it was because he felt it too. It was like their confession had set off a ticking time bomb, one that neither of them had the countdown to, and the clicking of every passing second sounded oddly like a pulse in their throats. To put it short, just the sound of her footsteps was making his skin pimpled with gooseflesh. 

“Uh, next one is Bowlarama, about ten stores down from there, Couple number two were seen getting milkshakes and heading towards the parking lot before they went missing,” She recited, her fingers firmly clutching the paper in her hand to resist the urge of gnawing at her nails again. Why was she so nervous? She lived with Spencer, ate breakfast, lunch and dinner with Spencer, spent almost all her evenings either playing chess or watching movies with Spencer, or on the odd occasion he found a book in reach he hadn’t read yet, he’d read out parts to her he found particularly engaging to those million, trillion, billion neurological pathways of his. 

The squealing of the pen against the board was the only thing keeping her head in the case, Spencer’s messy handwriting dotting around the map with points of interest, and she begged her brain to kick into gear the way it normally did, tried everything to yank herself out of the head fog she’d found herself lost in where thoughts of him emerged through like Mr Darcy strolling through those clouded moors, like how his voice sounded when he smiled, how his hand looked gripping that pen, how his body was lithe and handsome even from the back. 

She shook her head, jamming her face back into her files, to the gory images of couple number three, mutilated and bloody, and reminded herself she had a job to do. 

Get it together, Prentiss.

“Couple number three’s last known location was on the corner of Whittier Avenue, outside a wine bar named Blue Mates,” Bugsy read out, hoping her hot cheeks would dissipate before he noticed, “It seems couples out on date night really agitate this guy,” 

Spencer hummed, focused on his third circle, the three of them overlapping with almost precise measurements. It was hard not to notice the pattern to them. He heard her draw nearer with his profile complete, and they stood beside one another, so close they knocked hands when they leaned in to take a closer look at the rings.

“He hits the same street of stores every time, one after another,” Spencer said, his long forefinger trailing down the strip of shops and bars the UnSub seemed to have a taste for, “I mean, excluding retail and supermarkets, since they’re unlikely spots for a husband and wife to go out on a date, the pattern is really quite linear where he hits next,” 

Gently taking the pen out of his hands, Bugsy leaned up to colour in every single store that would be considered retail, crossing out a pet shop or two, leaving only the cafes, bars, restaurants, even a cinema. And sure enough, the three spots the victims had been last seen lined up perfectly as the first three ‘date night’ locations on the strip, the next being a steak restaurant named The Greasy Grill. 

“How much do you want to bet our UnSub is getting a craving for Sirloin right about now?” Bugsy said, putting the pen down onto the table and they exchanged a look of accomplishment, just as Hotch walked in with the Chief of Detroit police. 

“What did you find?” Hotch asked, his eyes falling to the asterisks drawn on the whiteboard, the rest of the known locations Penelope had sent dotted around the map. 

“Date night is very important to this UnSub,” Spencer said, the two of them turning to their boss, his shoulder bumping hers, and it was only then she’d realised she was all but pressing up into his side. 

“He goes on dates?” The chief of police asked, his brows furrowed. Taking a step away, her eyes darting to the map as a means of distracting herself, she pointed to the ink marks they’d squiggled on the paper.

“No, but the victims do and he knows that,” She explained, tracing a chewed fingertip down the street, “The UnSub hit here first, where our first couple went out for pizza. He then moved down here where the second victims had their date night in a bowling alley, and onto our newest victims, they were last seen having wine here, each kidnapping site along the same strip with the next possible location being right here,” She said, her finger slapping against the Greasy Grill, Hotch nodding in thought as the Chief got on the phone with his own team. 

“Good work, you two,” Hotch hummed, and he opened his mouth to speak again when Bugsy’s phone began to ring.

Snatching it out of her pocket, she caught sight of Alex’s name before swiping to answer, pressing it to her ear, “Hello?” 

“Fourth victim has just been found dumped in a car.” The woman said immediately, and Bugsy switched her mobile to speaker so the other two could hear her. Turning on her heels to face the white board, she grabbed the pen resting on the table beside her, yanking the lid off with her teeth.

“Where?” She asked, Spencer picking the plastic from between her lips to help her communicate, her eyes focused on the road names as she waited for Alex’s response. 

“Back alley between Warren and Forest Avenue, one woman found alone in a white Buick,” Alex said, and all three of their faces scrunched in confusion as she said it. 

“He’s changed his victimology,” Spencer murmured and Bugsy nodded, her lips pressed in a flat line, “Alex, is the woman married at least, or has the UnSub completely altered his preference?”

“We have her husband here right now,” Alex confirmed, and Hotch stepped over to where the two geniuses inspected the map, “He said he missed a dinner reservation they had two nights ago at a restaurant called-”

“The Greasy Grill?” Spencer and Bugsy spoke synchronously, and Alex paused audibly. 

“I take it you two have figured out his pattern already?” She asked, though she didn’t sound all too surprised. 

“See if the husband knows anything else, Blake. We’re going to figure out the next location that fits the pattern,” Hotch ordered, and they bid each other goodbye, as Bugsy and Spencer were already coordinating which plots of land were retail stores. 

By the time the line went dead, there was a big red mark circling a mini golf course slash cocktail bar, and the duo looked at him expectantly. 

“If the UnSub keeps his victims for around three days at a time, and the woman was found this morning, my guess is he’s going to head there tonight,” Bugsy said, capping the pen and dropping it back onto the desk, feeling Spencer nodding behind her, “And if the victim was supposed to be at the restaurant with her husband, it means he’s still looking for couples, he just happened to get unlucky. He’s going to want another happy-go-lucky husband and wife pairing,” 

Hotch’s face became unreadable for a moment, his gaze switching between the two of them, like he was assessing the risk factor of sending his two youngest agents undercover for the second time. But they seemed to have worked together seamlessly the first time, in that casino, so he didn’t see the qualms about asking them to work the same act this time.

“What?” Bugsy asked, the look in his eye unnerving her, and she flicked a glance behind her at Spencer’s equally lost expression, turning back to see Hotch dialling Dave’s number to update him on their plan, “Hotch, what is it?”

“He wants a happy couple,” Hotch said, his phone already up to his ear as he eyed the little to zero space between the two agents who swore blind they were just friends, “We’re going to give him one,” 

–

She had to admit, this was a little nicer than the red dress she’d been stuffed into last time. The sundress was flowy enough she could hide her gun strapped to her hip, and still compliment her figure nicely enough that she couldn’t complain. And best of all, it meant she could wear her ballet pumps instead of those god awful stilettos she’d pulled out last time they were undercover. 

She still remembered that evening in the casino, watching Spencer’s big brain tick faster than she’d thought possible even for him. The briefing of this even seemed much more relaxed, seeing as their aim was to look like the happiest couple alive. ‘You worry about playing your parts, we’ll worry about playing ours,’; was what Alex had said when she’d brought in a dress about Bugsy’s size, the woman already styling her hair to look like she was really going on a date. 

Because she was, sort of, not really, going on a date with Spencer. Except none of it was real, like someone up there had to have one final laugh at her luck, like that carrot on a string she’d been waiting patiently for the past week was looking a lot more delicious by the second as it dangled in front of her.  

There was a knock on the small hotel room Hotch had booked them in for the evening, seeing as they were going to be scoping out the area until late, and Bugsy headed for the door without pause, thinking it was JJ returning with the fake wedding rings they’d gotten from a cheap jewellers down the street. 

She swung the door open, only to be greeted by two dark eyes looking at her done up face, her primped hair, her floral dress. 

“Spence,” She said, picking over every inch of him, breathless already, because she always thought he looked hot in a button down shirt, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, “You look-”

“You look beautiful,” He rushed, like he might just burst if he held it in any longer, and she smiled sheepishly, her face flooding with heat all over again. Damn you, Reid, with your stupid charm and ridiculously good looking lips.

“You look beautiful too,” She complimented, noticing a gold band on his finger then and she realised he had something in his palm, “You run into JJ already?” 

He nodded, smiling with a stammered breath, “Yeah, I said I’d come check if you were ready. Hotch and Dave are already there scoping out the bar,” 

She simpered under the weight of his nervousness, “Well, I’m ready,” Holding out her left hand, she raised her ring finger, “Marry me, pretty boy,” 

He snickered, shaking his head at her clear diversion from the stifling tension in the air, and held her hand in his delicately, his skin warm as it encompassed hers entirely, and he was careful to slip the false engagement ring over her digits, following it with a gold band of her own. 

“You ready to get your ass kicked at miniature golf whilst our friends catch a criminal, Mr Reid?” She asked, and he had yet to let go of her hand as she shut the door behind her, slipping her hotel room key into her purse. 

“That’s a bold statement from such a sore loser, Mrs Reid,” He said back, a smile so wide he thought he might burst a vessel as she laughed, and tightened her fingers around his, interlacing them just like she had done a handful of times before, and his chest crackled with white hot excitement when she knocked her shoulder into his side in affection. 

His lips scorched with the words Mrs Reid the entire drive to the bar. 

–

“Any eyes on him, yet?” Bugsy whispered to the women in the stalls, touching up her lipstick as JJ and Alex hid in the women’s bathroom for the signal. 

“Not yet,” Blake said, sitting on the closed toilet seat in her kevlar and jacket, all but twiddling her thumbs and wishing she’d brought a sudoku, “Are you guys having fun at least?”

“Pretending to be married to my best friend while a serial killer eyes up my guts for the taking; yeah I’m peachy,” Bugsy replied, rubbing her lips together and making sure her gun was still strapped tight to her hip, “Besides, he really is kicking my ass at golf,”

“He’s going to let you win anyway, you know that right?” JJ said, tucking her feet up onto the seat in her own stall in case anyone who wasn’t on their team came in to the bathroom, “He always lets you win because he knows it makes you happy,”

Bugsy paused, the tissue that was collecting rogue lipstick smudges from her face almost falling in the sink, and she was quick to gather her voice with a clear of her throat.

“Maybe I just win because I’m good, Jennifer,” She said, a lilt of teasing in her tone, binning the scrap tissue paper and heading for the door, “Keep an eye out, kiddos. I’m going back in,”

They chirped a goodbye, the two of them sighing as they waited for Hotch’s message, and Bugsy walked back out to where Spencer was waiting by Hole Seven. It was a classic windmill on top of a hill, a small tunnel where the door was supposed to be leading to a lower level behind the plastic decor, where the hole lay waiting for them. 

“You ready, honey?” He said, holding out a purple putter they’d chosen at the start of the course, and she smiled genuinely at him. She had been telling somewhat of a lie when she’d been so unenthusiastic in the bathroom, though she thought telling the women just how much fun she was having being married to Spencer might just rub salt in the wound considering they were bored stiff sat in the bathroom.

That and she wanted to keep whatever it was they were feeling theirs and only theirs for just a little bit longer. 

“Ready, my love,” She sang in response and let him go first. He had to lean over a fair bit seeing as he was so tall he made everything on the course look particularly miniature, including the putter that seemed dwarfed by his height. Taking a quick look at the hill, no doubt calculating the angle and force he would need to hit it with, he gave the little, pink golf ball a generous tap and it raced up the slope, straight into the tunnel. They heard it knocking around a little in the chamber, before it came careering out the other end and rolled no closer than a yard away from the hole. 

Bugsy looked at him with wide eyes, to which he pretended not to look almost arrogant with how easy he’d made it seem, only when he looked back at her with a shit eating grin, she knew exactly how pleased with himself he was. 

“I bet it’s not that difficult, it’s all just a matter of force and drag and whatnot, right?” She said, strolling up to place her lilac ball on the inky dot marking the start. 

“Totally, although this is where, I don’t know, say a degree in Engineering would come in useful, I bet,” Spencer chimed in, and she didn’t need to look at him to know he had that smirk on his face. 

“Mr Reid, get ready to eat your words,” She replied over her shoulder, smacking the ball hard enough it flew up the slope, bouncing off the wall of the windmill and racing all the way back down the hill, rolling right back to where they stood, Spencer hiding a laugh behind his hand. She gaped, her face hot with annoyance, “Wait, wait! That was a practice run, I get another go,”

“Practice run, I see,” Spencer said with a chuckle, shoving his hands in his pockets, and watching her scramble to set the ball back on the marker, “So out of interest, how many of these practice runs are you getting,”

“Just the one,” She said, hitting the plastic globe again, though this time it barely made it half way up the incline before it rolled right back down again, “Two, I get two. This one’s the real one, starting now,” 

“The real one? So this one’s really the one that counts, right?” He teased, and she glared at him over her shoulder. He stepped closer to her, a look of the cat that got the cream smeared all across his face as he took a stance behind her, wrapping his arms around hers with the oldest trick in the book, “Why don’t you let your dearest husband help you out, huh?” 

“I have a masters and half a degree in medicine, I think I know what I’m doing,” She hummed, though the feeling of his hands resting over hers soone quietened down whatever fire was stoked in her belly from losing their game. Spencer was so close she could feel him breathing down her neck, feel his chest on her shoulder blades, and worst and most heinous of all, feel his crotch pressing against her tailbone. 

“Alright, alright. Just humour me,” He murmured, a new found confidence in him that he only seemed to get whenever they were playing the part of being other people. He gave her a salacious lick of his lips, smiling at her with a pink parted mouth, his eyes dark in this light like he knew what she was thinking as well, and he couldn’t help but think she looked so pretty when he flirted with her a little. He’d always thought that when she was stunned into that quiet tone, the mousy look she got on her face was rather cute. 

His hands engulfed hers with a mesh of pornographic veins and sadistically handsome knuckles, his mouth at her ear as they lined up the shot together. 

It was as if a murmuration of birds had flocked together in her chest, dipping and diving and creating all manner of shapes in her stomach as she felt it flip three or four times, his body so entirely pressed against hers she never wanted to move a muscle. She’d had the odd thought pop into her head about what sex with Spencer Reid might feel like, and yet all she could think about in the haze of the putter and fake grass beneath their feet was how delicious he felt pressing into her like that. 

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear as she looked forward again, and she could have sworn she held back a moan when he breathed out down her spine. 

“Hotch has eyes on a guy at the bar watching us,” He whispered, her back straightening as she was reminded with a slap to the face they were still working the case. That as much fun as they were having, as happy as they were supposed to seem, they still had a very real job to do, and she felt stupid for thinking the flirty glances and erotic embrace was for anything more than to sell the married couple act. 

But Bugsy was nothing if not committed to her job. So instead of worrying if Spencer had felt anything real in the last hour or so, she decided to double down and give their UnSub a real show. 

Sticking her ass out so she brushed against Spencer’s crotch more, she intertwined her fingers with his, and hit the dimpled sphere the direction he guided her; and sure enough it rolled straight into the tunnel with little qualms.

Spinning in his arms, the smile was nearly wiped off her face when she saw Spencer’s eyes had darkened to a rich espresso hue as he looked at her. But she hid it well, despite the fact she caught the way his pupils were blown wide, and simply leaned to kiss him smack dab on his cheek, a smirk on her face when she pulled away.

“I guess I just needed the correct motivation,” She said with a flirty undertone, and she revelled in the way his lips parted enough she saw the whites of his absurdly pretty teeth. 

“Remind me to not take you out to mini golf for our first date,” Spencer huffed, his ears red as a mushroom top as they both stepped over to where the hole was and she snickered, trying her best to ignore the wings hammering away at her ribcage when he said that. 

“Duly noted, Mr Reid,” She said, watching him lineup his next shot with a smirk, and she wondered just where exactly they would go on their first date. Her smile only got wider, a girlish glee to her eyes. “So, theoretically, where were you thinking of taking me?” 

“Theoretically,” He said, lining up his shot, the ball only a small tap away from the hole, his feet spreading a little wider so he could lean down to putt the pink sphere, “I was thinking of going to that book cafe out in Delaware, the one where they have a bunch of drinks inspired by different authors. We could play a game I used to with my mom, where we choose a book for each other we think the other would like,” He took the shot, his ball rolling into the cavity without much effort as she watched him meticulously, her entire body softening with his sentiment right down to her marrow, “And then I was going to say we build a sofa fort in the living room and watch whatever movie you like, maybe get some popcorn on the way home,” 

He looked up at her, and almost reeled back in surprise to see her looking at him with something so vastly emotional in her eyes, like he’d offered her a winning lottery ticket or a chance to go back in time in a flying police box, her expression a complete window into her soul because she’d never been too good at hiding how she felt when she was around him. 

Spencer opened his mouth to speak again, only for their earpieces to jump to life, Hotch’s voice out of breath as he reported down their ear. 

“We have the UnSub, we caught him trying to sneak into your car like we profiled.” He said, and she knew his brow was creased without even having to see his face, “We’re taking him in for questioning now, you kids wrap up and head to the station,”

Bugsy hummed in confirmation, fighting the disappointment that their show was over, and they’d have to go back to their usual act of pretending there wasn’t three little words hanging over both their heads, gnawing at the back of their brains. 

Clearing her throat, she set up her shot ready to finish their game, “Well, theoretically speaking, when you’re ready to ask me on that date, I’m there,”

He smiled to himself, perhaps ready to flirt with her just a little more before they went back to being Bugsy and Spence, not Mr and Mrs Reid, when she hit the golf ball just the tiniest bit too vigorously. It rolled straight past the hole, bouncing off the wall and heading further away from the end than when she’d started, and she groaned in frustration. 

“How are you so terrible at this-” Spencer burst out laughing as she stomped over to the lilac ball, lining up another shot with a grumpy expression. 

“Not another word, Lover boy,” 

2. The one with an old flame.

“I wonder what Hotch wants,” She mused, her head resting on the arm of the seat, her eyes shut for the duration of the flight. Rossi had called them into the office startlingly early for a Friday, the entire team sleepy eyed and annoyed as they’d strolled onto the sixth floor. 

Yet the minute that they’d heard Hotch needed them, they’d soon perked up in interest, seeing as it was Aaron’s only appointed week off to see Beth in New York, and they had quickly jumped in to help with whatever it was he needed. 

“Penelope’s still waiting for NYPD to send her the autopsy reports for the previous victims,” Rossi said, him, Strauss, JJ and Alex playing a few rounds of Shithead with a peeling deck of cards because for once they had no paperwork to be looking over while they travelled. Bugsy had laid on the couch, the one Spencer usually commandeered, except this time he let her take the comfy seat, instead letting her legs drape over his lap as he read from his book, another two sat next to him for when he finished that one. 

“He sounded panicked. DEA thinks we might have a bad batch of something making its way through the club scene causing the deaths,” Strauss added, putting down two sets of three on top of JJ’s ace, “Aaron’s brother just happened to have been caught in the crossfire,”

“Men are almost twice as likely to die from drug overdoses than women, just last year there were forty-one thousand, five hundred and two cases.” Spencer said without lifting his head from his pages, his thumb caressing over Bugsy’s ankle bone, “The fact that the majority of the victims are women suggests it’s more than likely is a date rape drug that has been laced since they tend to be targeted towards female victims more often than males.” 

“Ecstasy can be made in pill, powder or liquid form so it really wouldn’t be too difficult to slip it into someone’s drink,” The girl mused, her eyes squeezed shut tightly as she attempted to catch up on another half hour of sleep, “Or to convince people the drug they’re taking willingly is safe,”

“Even regular users might not know they're being dosed until it's too late,” JJ agreed, setting down a seven on top of Rossi’s two fives. 

“What about the two victims who were clean, Linda Heying and Eric Sullivan’s family claimed they never touched the stuff,” Alex questioned, as Morgan looked over the list of victims that they had been able to track down, despite the majority of the information waiting for them at New York. 

“Either the victims are good at hiding the truth or the UnSub is killing for another reason,” David said with a sigh, as Strauss set down the six of clubs, “We should take a closer look, see how they’re connected,”

“Well for now, let the princess get her beauty sleep,” Bugsy said, snuggling into the throw pillow Spencer had passed her as they’d sat down, “I’m feeling weird today,”

His head ripped from his book at that, the rest of the team going back to playing their cards, his hand skirting up to her calf to stroke her leg gently, “You okay?” 

She huffed, “Yeah, Penelope said it's because my Mercury is in Retrograde or something, I don’t know. I just feel strange,” She grumbled, resting a hand over her stomach, “Probably just coming on my period early,”

He frowned, moving her legs off his lap and standing up. Before she could ask where he was going, he stepped to the opposite end of the couch, picking her head up gently by the crook of her neck and sitting back down, resting her back onto his lap. 

His fingers were in her hair before she could say anything, scratching gently at her scalp the way he knew she turned to putty for, and she smiled, swearing blind she’d be purring if she could. 

“We’ll get you some breakfast when we land,” He murmured, and she snuggled her cheek into his thigh, his slender fingers massaging her skin kindly. 

“Thankyou, Spence,” She whispered back, all but slurring her words as sleep caught right back up to her, and before long she was drooling on his black trousers, the sight of it making him smile sweetly to himself. 

And it was for a moment like that he wondered what exact feeling he was waiting for in the first place. 

–

“Any updates?” Bugsy asked, as they entered the New York Police Department and saw Hotch waiting for them, his arms crossed in a casual shirt and jeans, clearly having had no intention of working this week, “How’s your brother?”

“A little shaken but then he never exactly made the best choices in life,” Hotch huffed, putting a hand on her back as she leaned in to give him a small hug because he seemed particularly stressed, “Emily always said you were bad, I’d take you over him any day,”

“Thanks,” She murmured into his shoulder, with a frown, “I think?”

He smiled, amused the way she had a knack for, though the worry in his mahogany eyes didn’t budge, and Spencer was all but a step behind her as the team filed into the building. 

“You guys have coffee?” Spencer asked, his eyes subconsciously trailing after Bugsy as she moved to talk to one of the detectives, and Hotch nodded, pointing him over to the small kitchenette at the back of the precinct. 

“Over there, I’ll get you guys set up with the lab reports now that you’re here. Autopsies came back for Linda and Eric,” Hotch said, and Spencer murmured in agreement, heading straight for the instant coffee and creamer, worrying about the girl who was already nose deep in a file by the time the machine had poured the first cup. 

He wondered whether there were any pharmacies nearby for anti-sickness tablets, or if she needed a heavy dose of water and sleep instead of the caffeine goodness he was whipping up for her, but then he knew she’d rather shrivell into a ball in the precinct bathroom than ask for a day off, would rather suffer in proud silence than make herself look weak. 

Bugsy remembered it happening in choppy intervals. One minute she was heading up the steps towards where Spencer stood patiently by the coffee machine, something already popping up as a point of interest in her overworked brain. Her head was down, muttering to herself the points of the victimology that conflicted with one another, when she felt herself slam right into a solid body, and she jumped back, steadying herself with an embarrassed expression. 

“Oh my god, I’m so, so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was-” Her eyes snapped up to see a messy blonde sweep of hair, wide blue eyes she’d known ten years ago and a thick beard that happened to be the only thing new about him. Her gaze locked onto him, and she felt a fury she’d not thought about in over a decade rile up inside her, “Sean?” 

“Bugsy,” He breathed, the horror sweeping over his expression, a hand shooting up to slick his hair back nervously, “What are you- how are you-” 

She shoved him back with two firm hands, tossing the file onto the table beside her, and shoving at his chest again, his own hands coming up to defend himself lightly even though his expression read nothing but guilt. 

“Woah, woah, let’s just talk about this, I was just a dumb kid-”

“You left me, Sean. You left me in a foreign country alone with no boarding pass, no cell phone,” She snarled, and the sound of her tone rising turned a few heads, Spencer all but ditching the spoon into the sink when he saw her going nose to nose with some guy who looked purely terrified, “Your dumbass friends spent all my money on hookers, I’d still be in Italy if it wasn’t for the fact you graciously decided not to steal my bank card-” 

She shoved him again in between her growls, and it wasn’t until two hands came up to stop her did she realise Derek and Spencer had all but appeared behind her, the former’s arms wrapping around her waist to draw her back. 

“Woah, woah, talk to me, pretty girl. What’s with the aggression?” Derek asked, his eyes wide with concern as he looked between the youngest agent and their suspect. It seemed her volume had reached the other side of the room where Hotch had been talking with Strauss and Alex, and Spencer could practically see the steam coming out his ears as he whipped around to their trio. 

He could already hear the lecture coming, and the thought of it made him gulp.

“This is Sean,” She spat, and Derek and Spencer’s head snapped to the blonde man who looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole, “You know, the asshole that ditched me on another continent and stole my money,”

“I didn’t mean to steal your money, I thought you had it in your purse, I-I didn’t think to check before we left the hotel room,” He tried to interject, though the girl's glare intensified, unaware her boss's shoes were now thundering across the steps. 

“Where you left me to miss the flight I paid for, you inconsiderate prick-”

“You told me to leave you alone! You said you were sick of us waking you up-”

“I meant playing your music too loud, dumbass-”

“Well sorry, last time I checked I’m not a mind reader, Bugsy-”

“What in God’s name is going on here?” Hotch’s voice was a crack of lightning through the precinct, and the two of them shut up immediately, like two school children caught squabbling in the halls, Sean turning to his older brother with an exasperated expression. 

“Aaron, I swear, I don’t know what she’s doing here,” Sean pleaded, and Derek, Spencer and Bugsy turned to their boss in unison with bewildered faces. Hotch looked back at them, his own anger dissolving into utter, raw confusion. 

“Do you two know each other?” Hotch, Aaron, asked the girl in the middle, the other men all but positioned as bodyguards in the midst of their little spat, and he saw her cheeks hot with anger deflating as she drew a breath to answer. 

“Unfortunately,” She spat, scrutinising the familiar tone Sean had used when he’d said Aaron’s name, “Do you two know each other?” 

“He’s my brother,” The Hotchner’s replied in unison, their tone almost identical and she felt stupid for not seeing it sooner.

Bugsy felt her face drop, her eyes scanning between them for any signs of a lie, except all she found were the tiny details of their face that seemed to half match. Like their cheekbones, and the crease between their brows, the shape of their lips. 

Her face blanked, gobsmacked silence passing between the five of them as she digested exactly what that statement ment. 

Sean, her Sean, the Sean she’d been sleeping with on and off for six months straight, who used to make her tea way too milky and without sugar the way she hated it, but would bring it to her in bed and stroke her back when they were finished, the Sean who once tried to ask her to be his girlfriend when he was stoned and she’d laughed at him and snatched the blunt away, told him to get a hold of himself because that was the exact opposite of how friends with benefits worked. 

Sean, who she had trusted to keep her safe, who’d ditched her naked in a hotel room in a foreign country and made her feel stupid for ever believing a word a man said.  

She stuttered for a response, a wide eyes mix of terror and confusion and repulsion washing over her in stages. 

“I need-” She swallowed thickly, her mouth drier than sandpaper, gently pushing Derek’s arm from around her waist, “I think I need a walk- a walk sounds good- yeah-”

Rossi paced over to the five of them, his phone clutched tightly in his hands. He almost paused at the wall of awkward tension around the group, each participant seeming stuck for the right thing to say, the entire situation so bizarre that Spencer debated faking a migraine to get him and her out of the room for some air. 

“Hotch,” Both of the men turned to look at him, and the sight of it made Bugsy shudder, feeling almost completely out of her own body at the thought of her nude body on top of Sean’s because now all she could see was Aaron in his place, “Six new bodies found in a nightclub-”

“I’ll go!” She jumped, all but bolting past the men, trying her hardest not to touch either of them because her skin crawled with a sickening uncanny valley looking between the brothers, “I’ll go inspect the crime scene,” 

And no one stopped her, because they’d seen her be all manner of strange before, but never quite like that. Aaron nodded his head to Morgan, and the man took it as a sign to follow her. He quickly obeyed, hot on the girl's heels as she kept her head down with an odd, freaked out expression on her face like she was about to throw up and scream at the same time. 

Which left Sean alone as Spencer and Aaron whirled around on him, similar looks of annoyance on their face as the younger agent looked the man head to toe. 

He was handsome, handsome in a rugged way like he was used to bar fights and late nights and drinking until three am with pretty ladies like her. He was built wide like Aaron, his shoulders broad and muscles stocky, a few tattoos dotted around his arms that only added to his rough looking appeal, and Spencer wondered if she’d always liked the bad boys, wondered if he was an outlier in her dating history. 

Except they weren’t dating, not yet at least. 

“So I take it she’s one of your agents,” Sean said, wringing his hands together in anxiety as the two taller men looked down at him, equally unimpressed.

Though, Spencer hated to admit, his was more green faced jealousy than anything else. 

“Agent Prentiss is one of the best,” Reid corrected, his tone cold and stern, and Sean visibly shrunk in on himself, looking to his big brother for help, only he found Aaron was just as annoyed, glaring down at him. 

“You have some more explaining to do, Sean,” His brother snapped, and the two men diverted him into one of the interrogation rooms, Spencer’s jaw clenched so hard he felt his temples ache, “Or next time I’m not stopping her from handing your ass to you, and believe me when I say you’ll wish you’d told me sooner,”

Sean gulped, all too aware of the way eighteen year old Bugsy had never backed down from a fight, when men twice her age shoved her in clubs or girls bitched at her for dancing too close to their boyfriends. He didn’t imagine she was any different at twenty eight, except this time she was trained and licensed to handle a gun. 

The door slammed behind them, and Aaron pushed his little brother into the seat with a firm hand, the sight of his unit chief just as protective over her as he was making Spencer bite back glee. The image of Bugsy laying into the guy was burned into his memory, eidetic or not, and it seemed to be the only thing that stopped him blowing his top as Sean opened his mouth to explain what had happened between him and the younger Prentiss woman. 

–

“What did you do, Thane?” Sean’s voice crackled over the feed, the wire on his chest brushing against his shirt as he paced in the wine cellar. Aaron, Morgan, Spencer and Bugsy sat in the van, listening to the conversation through shared headphones, Spencer and Bugsy’s heads pressed together as they followed the voices as best as they could, waiting for a confession or anything they could tie to the victims' gory deaths. 

“I spiked the wine, you idiot,” Sean’s boss, Thane, snapped, his breathing laboured and Bugsy took a shot in the dark to say he was pacing, worrying now that there was concrete evidence linking his date rape drug to the deaths of atleast nine people so far, “Oh, God. Oh, god, Jim is going to kill me.”

“Why the hell would you do that?” Sean seethed, his patience wearing thin as the man all but confessed to killing his girlfriend. 

“For a laugh, I thought it was X. Girl’s love that crap,” Thane replied, his voice louder as Sean stepped closer to him, and she exchanged a look with Aaron.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t X, was it?” The younger Hotchner barked, and she quickly let go of the headphones to grab a kevlar and her gun. 

“He’s going off track, Aaron, he’d not going to keep his cool much longer,” She said, and Spencer’s eyes trailed up to her face, her brow furrowed as Aaron moved to slip his own bulletproof over his head, adjusting the straps at his side. 

“Tell SWAT to stand by, we’re going in to support, but we may need back up,” Aaron ordered, unholstering his gun and switching the trigger off safety, “You two stay here and see if Thane says any more about the wine,”

She drew her gun to her side just as he did, and Spencer made a move to stop her, even just to check where her head was at because he knew she had this tendency of throwing herself in harms way and asking questions later. He selfishly worried what that upset look in her eyes meant, like she loathed that Sean was in danger as much as she loathed him. 

But he wasn’t quite fast enough, because by the time he’d reached a hand out for hers to ask if she was feeling alright, she had slid the door to the van open, hopping out onto the tarmac as Aaron shadowed her. 

And something ugly and envious reared its head in Spencer’s gut as the doors slammed, so much so that his jaw feathered and he took a deep breath out, his lips pressing into a thin line.

The two agents moved as one, their footsteps pounding over the linoleum floor of the night club. They swept to the back of the building, where the door to the stock room was, and it became apparent almost immediately from the grunting and shuffling the other side of the door that the two men were much closer to brawling than they’d guessed. 

“FBI, drop your weapon!” Bugsy called, bracing herself as she felt Aaron’s domineering figure at her shoulder. She raised her leg to kick the door in, and it swung on its hinges, smacking into the rack of beer. They caught the two men in the middle of a fist fight, Sean with a split lip, Thane with a gash on his forehead, his head locked under the younger man’s arm with a deathly grip.

She holstered her gun, seeing that neither of them were carrying, and moved forward to break the two of them up.

“Alright, Sean- Sean, that’s enough,” She scolded, her fingers prying his muscled arm off his boss’s trachea, and Sean took a second to realise it was disappointment in her face, not the white hot anger it had been not even a few hours before, before he let the man go, some colour returning to his bluing lips.

“He killed Linda,” The blonde Hotchner said softly, and something wavered in her eyes, something close to pity, and she nodded at him while biting her cheek hard. Aaron holstered his gun, surging forward to grab Thane with rough hands as he fought against the taller man’s grip. “She was sober, she’d gotten clean and he killed her,” 

“I know,” Bugsy said lamentingly, and against her better judgement she patted his shoulder kindly, more kindly than he probably deserved, and the thought of it made Sean’s baby blue eyes turn away in sorrow. 

Before she could say anything else, Thane wretched his hand out of Hotch’s grip, grabbing for the sharp box cutter and lunging right for Bugsy where she turned away from him. 

Sean’s expression morphed into fear for a moment, grabbing for her to yank her out of reach, but it was too late. She felt the slash across the back of her arm, where her kevlar couldn’t cover up, and she yawped in pain the way a dog sounds when its tail gets crushed. Turning towards the source of the danger, Sean’s hand weaved around her waist to tug her backwards as Aaron scrambled to grab the suspect. 

Thane’s hand gripped the blade and slashed down again, across her cheek and only inches away from her eye, her hands too late to grab his wrists to stop his advances. By the time he drew back to swipe for her again Aaron had already tackled him to the ground, pinning him to the wine soaked floor and fumbling for his cuffs. 

“We have an agent injured and needing medical, repeat, medical unit required on scene,” Spencer was out of his seat before Hotch could even finish his sentence, forgoing his own vest as he darted from the van, his heart racing at the sound of the scuffle echoing through Sean’s wire, and he felt his chest seizing at just what kind of a state she’d be in when he saw her. 

She was the only other agent on the scene. That call had to be made for her, the voice in his gut told him, but the twisted part of him hoped that it was someone else, anyone else, that had gotten hurt, because he might just throw a punch of his own at Thane or Sean or maybe even both of them if she had so much as a single hair misplaced. 

Spencer had only just about reached the bar area when the four of them emerged from the stock room, Thane in cuffs, looking rattled and aggravated. Spencer let himself take a long, hard look at the man with a glare that soon made him cower away, though he found little luck elsewhere as Hotch’s hands gripped him so tight Spencer thought he might be trying to strangle him through his arms. 

But that wasn’t who he was looking for. And there, trailing behind his unit chief sheepishly, with Sean’s hand on her back as he watched her carefully, his eyes worriedly darting over her skin when he saw how fast the blood was pouring from the laceration on the apple of her cheek, was Bugsy. Her expression was shaken, no doubt from nearly having her corneas slashed open had Sean not pulled her away even a second earlier, and she seemed in some sort of a daze, until she spotted the sweater vest she’d shoved in the wash about a hundred times, and two supple hands reached for her shoulders, snapping her attention out of her head. 

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked, all but ignoring Sean as the man went to flag down medical, his own appearance dishevelled and stunned, and it irked Spencer something childish when her head snapped to the blonde, watching him head for the paramedics. 

“I’m okay, Spence, it’s just a superficial wound,” She said as a reflex, meeting his eyes finally. But she simpered when she saw just how terrified he seemed, a warm palm raising to cup his face affectionately, “He just nicked the skin, that’s all. It’s not as bad as it looks,” 

Which wasn’t exactly a lie. Her face stung like a bitch, but the feeling of her cheek dribbling with the ichor was worse than the actual pain, and made her feel queasy more than anything. 

He went to say something else, or perhaps even gently caress the clean side of her face with his own loving gesture, but he was quickly interrupted by the medical team all but grabbing Bugsy out of his grip and assessing her themselves. 

“It’s probably best if you come take a seat, Agent Prentiss,” The woman said, pointing to where Sean sat on the back of the ambulance getting his nose checked over, “We’ll be over with some stitches and glue,” 

And Spencer made a move to follow the two of them, only to be stopped by Hotch, who called his name with that direct tone he took when he was worried.

“Reid, I need you and Morgan to interview Thane about where he got the drugs he used to spike the wine,” Aaron ordered, even though he seemed to watch the girl go just as bothered as the younger agent, and Spencer seemed conflicted between rebelling against his boss’s instructions or keeping to his track record of following them to a tea. 

He paused for a second, his gaze flicking to the girl who sat with her old flame, Sean’s eyes roving over her head to toe worriedly, and he looked back to Aaron, “But-”

“Now, Reid. She’s going to be fine.” 

And Spencer was forced to listen, even if his face burned with annoyance at the sight of the man watching her so tentatively. 

–

“Would you quit fidgeting, the medic said it was a surface wound,” Bugsy snipped, feeling the ocean hues burning a hole into the side of her head. She dusted her knees off of invisible dirt, braving a look up at her ex-fling where she was met with a wall of guilt.

And it was like for a split second she remembered all the mornings she’d wake up to him twirling the tips of her hair between his fingers, or when he’d shake his head whenever he’d look over her shoulder at her lab reports she’d be writing and make a passing comment on how a hot girl like her could have brains and looks. 

Or how he could be kind to her, genuinely sweet when he wanted to be, when they toed a weird line between friends with benefits and something a little more, because at his core she knew he was a good guy, he was just incredibly dumb for an eighteen year old. 

“Listen, Bug,” Sean sighed, looking down at the ground where they were perched on the back on the ambulance, Bugsy’s face stitched up so tight she hoped it wouldn’t scar very deeply, “I really am sorry for how I treated you,” 

His voice shook with something remorseful, and she let her eyes cast over his face that had grown even more handsome in the ten years since she saw him. With the good memories came the bad ones in equal measure, and the arguments over stupid shit like leaving cupboard doors open and playing music late at night and the time he forgot to feed her gerbil for two days when she was out of town washed back to shore from the deepest crevices of her mind. 

She’d been with men after him, had flings and meaningless kisses with boys who’d treated her much less kindly than he had. And when she thought about it, the anger and resentment she’d felt when she thought about those few days she spent lost in Italy stemmed from the fact she’d been forced to confront what she’d always feared since she was little. 

That Bugsy was alone in the world, forgettable, someone you could leave behind and sleep soundly. 

But when she thought of that now, the first face she pictured was Spencer, and how he would tell her to knock it off if she ever said that out loud, because he would never leave her, in a foreign country or even at a gas station if she needed to get fuel. He always walked up to the pump with her because he knew exactly how many women got kidnapped in places like that every year, he'd told her so already. 

And she knew the person she was when she could have loved Sean, the person who was reminded just how easy it was to leave her behind, was gone. In its place was the girl who Spencer loved like it was as easy as breathing. And the thought of it made her feel just that little bit less bitter towards the blonde man who fiddled with his rough, bloodied hands. 

“I was a dumb kid, I did a lot of things that I’m not proud of,” He swallowed heavily, his frown looking strikingly similar to Aaron's as he did, but she would never remind him, “But I did always wonder whether I’d see your name in the news curing some disease I could never pronounce or being the first person to learn like every single language there is,” He smiled sadly, and the old her knew him just well enough to know he was being honest, because his nose turned red whenever he lied. 

The thought of it made her lips curve up, despite how annoyed she’d been to see him again, and there was something bashful about the way the slid a hand into his to give it a quick squeeze.

“We were eighteen, Sean. No one has themselves figured out at eighteen,” She said earnestly, her head dipping to meet his ashamed gaze.

He shook his head, “You deserved so much better than I could ever give you, we both knew that,” He pulled his hand away, and her expression contorted into confusion, “It’s probably why you're with that doctor, right? Aaron said he’s like a whizz kid,”

“He’s not-We’re-” She sighed, running a hand over where the EMTs had stitched the gash on the back of her arm, “It’s complicated,”

“Complicated like we were complicated?” He asked, her fingertip tracing every single nook where they had looped the suture through her skin. 

She smiled to herself and looked over at him, something weighty like closure passing between the two of him as he watched her take his tired face in, knowing they were nothing more than just passing ships in the night now. 

“You meant something to me once, Sean, no matter how much we drove each other up the wall,” She snickered, and something like an exhausted chuckle matched her, “But it’s different with him. It’s like everything I do means something to the world when I’m with him, you know?” 

Sean took in the wistful look in her eyes, the girl he’d known who had only gotten stronger, scrappier, wittier with age, and he thought he’d be lucky to ever get someone like her again.

“I hope I do,” He said, and she knocked her shoulder into his to dispel the bad memories of two teenagers figuring out what feelings and kisses and sex meant in the messiest of ways. 

“Do me a favour?” Sean hummed at her, and she looked surprisingly like herself again when she smiled at him wryly, “Call Aaron more. It’s difficult being the only disappointment child in his life,” 

Sean barked a laugh at her words, and she smiled into her lap. Who’d have thought closure would be so healing. 

–

She felt eyes on her even as she tried to nap on the jet, having returned back to their original position on the couch, her head on Spencer’s lap. She had a sixth sense to who it would be, the Spider Sense they’d been calling it despite the fact Spencer tried to tell her it was mere intuition, she glanced up to where something melancholic swirled inside his forest gaze, already watching over her despite his book being open in his lap. 

She hadn’t even opened her mouth to speak before his obscenely large hand had sneaked under her jawline, tilting her face up so he could take a better look at the messy cut. 

“Have they given you anything for the pain?” Spencer said quietly, because the other’s were already trying to sleep, and she blanked for a moment, before her hand came up to snake around his wrist gently. 

“They gave me Naproxen for two days. Spence, I’m fine, really,” 

His teeth ground together, his other hand placing his book down beside him and moving to smooth the back of her hair, the sealed wound staring daggers at him as his eyes darted over the rest of her face, just to be sure they hadn’t missed anything. 

He nodded to himself, as if to conclude his consultation and his thumb stroked down the curve of her jaw, his head whipping up to quickly make sure no one else was watching.

“What, uh,” Spencer cleared his throat nervously, her expectant eyes looking up at him, “What were you and Sean talking about?”

Her brow quirked in confusion, and it wasn’t until she felt his delicate strokes hesitate that she realised he seemed on edge, “Why?”

“N-No reason, I just was wondering, you looked like you were-” He coughed again, even though there was nothing tickling his windpipe, nothing except embarrassment, because he’d never thought he’d be the envious type. 

He braved a look at her again, worried she would be annoyed with his crass and intrusive questions, only to see her smiling at him wickedly. 

“We were what?” She asked, and Spencer went so quiet he could have heard a mouse knitting if he tried, his cheeks flushing with raspberry red heat, “Are you jealous, Spencer?” 

He shook his head fast, unable to formulate anything that wasn’t a stammer, and she sat up in her seat, throwing her legs onto the ground so she could scooch up into his side. 

“Because if you were, you know I’d find that wildly attractive right?” She murmured, his cheeks burning an even hotter shade, the sight of it all but a bone to a hound to Bugsy who loved teasing him. She snickered, leaning in close to his vermillion ear, and leaving a tiny kiss on his clenched jaw, “Don’t worry, Wonder Boy. He knows I’m all yours,” 

3. The one with the day of the dead.

“Thankyou, thankyou, my helpful little mice,” Penelope chirped as the three of them stepped into her apartment, their arms filled with shopping bags, “Set them down on the counter, I’ll unpack them later,” 

“Wow,” Bugsy gawped at the altar stood in the corner of the woman’s living room, an assortment of sweets and tissue paper flowers decorating the layers, “Oh it’s so pretty, they’re going to love it. We spent a Summer in Mexico when Mom was having talks with their President, but we moved out before October rolled around so I never got to see a Día de los Muertos,” 

Penny smiled, though she quickly looked around the rest of her apartment that had yet to be decorated, “There’s still a lot to do before the party next week and,” She huffed, the bags taking up the entirety of her kitchen table as Bugsy frowned at her, “I’m scared. I’ve never had the whole team here before,” 

“Relax, Pen, I can help you set up,” The younger woman reassured, helping unload the groceries that needed to go in the fridge as Spencer helped her carry the larger items. 

Penelope perked up watching her guests move towards the cooler, a devilish smirk twitching at her lips, “Hey, while you guys are there, can you see if I have enough hot sauce for the party?”

“Sure,” They replied in synchrony, Bugsy putting the milk and soda in the side drawers as Spencer shelved away some of the meat. They both looked at the top row, where some kind of jalapeno salsa was resting next to a jar of fake eyeballs, and the flicked a casual glance at the woman who was pouring vials of red viscous liquid made to look like blood down her cheeks for a Penelope version of a practical joke.

Bugsy blinked once, not quite surprised as she would have thought seeing Penelope attempting to scare them with something they’d seen a thousand times over for real. 

“Now, are the eyeballs marinating in anything spicy or is it just like a pickled onion type of thing because all you seem to have is the jalapeno sauce,” She said, and Penelope deflated at her bored tone, looking at the two agents in discontent. 

“You guys didn’t even flinch,” She said sadly, her dark eyes flicking between them, “My poor babies, what has the world done to you?” 

Bugsy smiled, shutting the fridge door and handing the bubbly woman a leaf of tissue paper. 

“JJ’s right, I told her I wanted to go scary this Halloween and she just laughed at me, and said that I don’t have a scary side,” Penelope whined, and Bugsy giggled. 

“Sorry, babygirl, you wouldn’t be Penelope Garcia if you were capable of scary,” She teased, waltzing around the kitchen to put away the rest of the shopping, even as the woman tried to shoo her away from helping, “I’ve seen puppies scarier than you, Pen,” 

“If it helps, you probably do,” Spencer interjected, helping Bugsy shelve something on one of the higher cabinets, his long arms weaselling over her own as he reached past her, “The building blocks of the human personality are complex, varied and multi-faceted. It’s essential to one’s mental health to want to express these hidden personalities and it’s just a fact of nature that everybody has one,”

“Everybody?” Penelope asked, ignoring the way the two of them bumbled around her kitchen, handing things between one another the way she imagined them putting away the groceries in their own kitchen, like they worked just as well in the home as they did in the field. Dare she say it, like a couple who had been married and knew each other's routines for years. “Even the two of you?” 

“Oh, absolutely, yeah,” Spencer agreed, and Bugsy flicked a smirk up at him as Pen turned to her expectantly.

"I mean, you can't tell me Bitch-Slapping our boss or fist fighting with my sister was exactly usual behaviour for me," She pointed out, and the two of them nodded in agreement, although they wouldn't have exactly called it out of character for her.

“Okay, okay, I want to see it. I want to see Dr Spencer Reid’s hidden personality,” Penelope said, a smile growing as thick and fast as a weed when he seemed thrown off by her request, and it only took one look at the younger Prentiss to know she wanted front row just as badly. 

“R-right here? Like right now you want to see it?” He stammered, all too aware of Bugsy’s amused lashes batting up at him, the innocent expression she knew made it difficult for him to say no to, and he wondered for a second if she understood the exact amount of control she had over him when she wanted to. 

“I wanna see this hidden personality, pretty boy,” She smiled with her teeth, and he felt his hands turn jittery in embarrassment. 

“Okay, alright,” Spencer shook his arms out, clearing his throat with a growling sort of husk that made her raise her brows, and in a single blink he’d locked stern eyes with her, pointing to her with a completely un-Spencer-like stance; completely rose to his full height, confident and domineering, “I know what you’re thinking,”

She really hoped he didn’t. Because what she was really thinking was just how hot he sounded with that deep sort of timbre, that cocksure attitude. 

“You’re thinking ‘Did that guy just fire five shots or did that guy just fire six shots?’” He went on, his tone deadly serious, as her lips parted in surprise, and what had started out as a game turned into some wildly lewd thoughts fast, “You’re going to have to ask yourself a question; Do you feel lucky, pun-k,”

She swallowed haughtily, as he squeezed his eyes shut and when he looked at her again he was entirely puppy like the way he usually looked, none the wiser to the way her stomach had coiled in want. 

“That was Clint Eastwood from Dirty Harry,” He explained, looking to Penelope because he had no idea what that strange look on Bugsy’s face was, only to see his techy friend just as in awe, “I mean I know it’s not as effective as my dominant personality, but I really think it’s there-”

Penelope’s phone sprung to life with a call from Hotch and she quickly spluttered an excuse that they needed to leave right away, grabbing for her keys and heading for the door. 

Spencer made a move to follow her, only to feel a hand grab his shirt and turn him right back around, Bugsy still staring at him with that look in her eye, like she’d had too much caffeine or been told there was a million dollars cash waiting for them at home.

“Is everything okay-”

“Is Clint Eastwood strictly a party trick or would I be able to have him on request, maybe?” She said, her hands oddly tight as they grabbed at his soft stomach, and it was like he heard the click in his brain when he realised what she meant. 

“R-request, I guess,” He stumbled for composure, finding his footing when he felt her palms were clammy, “You got a thing for cops?” 

“Just the one, I guess,” She said with a clenched jaw, and he laughed though it sounded more like a choke, as she darted right behind Penelope to avoid suspicion. 

–

By the time the party rolled around, Penelope had decked her apartment out to the nines, marigolds and tissue garlands and lights and food of all sorts spread out across the altar, a mix of alcohol and juices available in pitchers, because Penelope was nothing if not a people pleaser. 

The doorbell rang right as Alex and Bugsy poured themselves some margarita, complete with the eyeball ice cubes ofcourse, and Penelope fussed in her beautiful dress, muttering under her breath the way she did when she was nervous. 

“What, what, what,” She murmured, her blonde curls bouncing with her steps as she reached for the door, “I thought you said you couldn’t come!” 

Bugsy’s head whipped to the door, Aaron looking much more casual than they were used to seeing him as he entered the decorated home, his colleagues all dressed smartly and in some shade of black. 

“Jack got a last minute sleepover invitation so I hope it’s okay,” He said, a bottle of rosé in his hand he’d brought as a contribution. 

“Ofcourse, ofcourse,” Penelope sang, leading him over to the altar where everyone stood with their offerings, sipping on their glasses of liquor, “Okay, everybody, I guess it’s time to start, here you go sir,”

She handed him a freshly poured glass of wine, chilled courtesy of the eyeball, and Aaron thanked her kindly, taking a generous sip to catch up with the others. 

“I want to thank everybody for doing this with me, and our altar’s burning, and I just feel so blessed to have you all here,” Penelope started with a grateful smile on her painted lips, a handful of old photos between her fingertips, “I will start, um, this is my mom and dad,” She said, nostalgia idling her tone as she gently placed down a worn picture of a teen couple holding a beautiful, blonde girl, eyes bigger than moons and full of curiosity, just how Bugsy would have imagined Penny as a baby, “I miss them. And this is my cat, Simba with his usual bowl of soda pop. He was a weird cat,”  

The team chuckled, looking at the enormous ginger Tom that lapped at the bubbly liquid. Bugsy took a sip of her drink as JJ took a step forward with a smile, her own photo in hand. 

“This is my sister, Roselyn. Ros.” JJ said, placing down a photo of a fifteen year old with identical eyes and nose to her, sitting it next to a small statue of the eiffel tower, “She always dreamed she’d live is Paris so um,” She swallowed, looking at her sister laying in the grass of their childhood home, something girlish in her gaze, “It didn’t happen but I thought this would bring her some happiness,”

They took it in turns bringing their offerings and pictures: David bringing some Cubs tickets for a soldier he had lost in Vietnam, Alex bringing a crossword for her mother, Spencer sliding down a picture of Maeve silently, alongside a cut out picture of Nikola Tesla, Morgan bringing his father, Hitch putting down the picture of Haley he kept in his wallet. 

Which left them all to turn to the youngest agent, who seemed flustered.

“So, I fortunately have not lost anyone properly thus far, so bare with me here guys,” She said fishing out an old scrapbook photo of her as a seven year old, a small orange snake wrapped around the length of her arm, twenty two year old Emily standing right behind her, the pair of them with beaming smiles as the snake seemingly poked its tongue out for the camera. 

Penelope clutched her chest in horror, “Is that a-”

“This is Tigger, the corn snake Emily gave to me when she left home,” She explained, and Spencer couldn’t help but smile at the million dollar grin she had in the photo, three of her front teeth missing sweetly, “I had him until I was about twelve before he kicked the serpent bucket, but he was cute for a slithery little guy,” 

She drew another photo, an ultrasound showing two tiny embryos and she put it beside the picture of Tigger, and the group drew a shared breath. 

“Bug, I never knew you were…” Spencer started, his stomach flipping when he saw the outline of the foetuses, only for the girl’s eyes to widen. 

“No! No, it’s not like that, this is um,” She cleared her throat awkwardly, scratching the back of her hand with a guilty look, “This is the twin I absorbed in the womb,” She said, and she felt the rest of her team gawking at her without having to look, “I guess I’d like to say, uh, I’m sorry pal. It was nice while it lasted, I hope you can forgive me,” 

“You’re being serious?” Morgan asked, gawping at the girl, right as Hotch broke out into disbelieving snickers, probably spurred on by the wine, and Alex was quick to join him, her hand over her mouth.

Bugsy turned to him with a ‘duh’ kind of look on her face, “Oh, 100% serious, yeah,” 

“Is that why you’re a little…” Rossi started, only he found himself stuck for words when she looked at him betrayed. 

“A little, what?” She asked, looking to JJ who cracked into a chuckle, putting her head in her palm.

“What he means is you have a big personality,” Alex said, wrapping an arm around the girl’s shoulder and giving her a motherly squeeze, hoping they hadn’t offended her, “And we wouldn’t change it for the world,”

“I should hope so, she got a double helping.” Morgan cackled, and Bugsy smacked his arm with a smile. 

“Every time I think I know everything about you, you come out with something new,” Penelope said, her own snickering laugh meeting the girl’s ears, “You’re like Jason Bourne,” 

“God help us if there had been two of you, Prentiss,” David added, patting the girl on the head as they laughed, and Penelope raised a toast to their altar, the rest of the team doing the same before they sipped out their cups and allowed themselves to enjoy the rest of the party. 

–

“Oh, I have something for you!” Bugsy said, springing to her feet and almost tripping over Sergio who had curled up by her legs. 

She’d cut herself off after her third, and by the time midnight rolled around she’d almost completely sobered up enough to the point her and Alex had been playing hangman except with only Old English words.

Her and Spencer had gotten home twenty minutes later, the two of them exhausted from an evening well spent, the melancholy happiness in the room draining them to the point Bugsy had immediately changed into her pyjamas when she got into the house.

Her pyjamas being Spencer’s boxers and one of his shirts since he’d inadvertently been hiding all of the underwear-top combinations she’d gotten from other flings that she’d brought when she moved into his. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” He said earnestly, and she simply waved his humble attitude off, the two of them sat on the sofa in their nightwear, flicking through the late night TV. 

He smiled, watching her bustle into her room and root around her closet, before she emerged with a terracotta coloured pot of lilac flowers, whirling on her heel to head for him. 

“What’s this?” Spencer asked, standing to meet her and Bugsy simpered, because she’d felt silly for buying them in the first place. Perhaps it was some left over guilt considering she’d spent the majority of Maeve’s existence in her life hating the girl, or atleast hating what she had that Bugsy thought she could never be privy to. Perhaps it was because all things considered she wanted Spencer to know that it was okay for him to mourn, because she’d never force him to hurry up his process when he’d been there for every second of hers. 

She handed him the potted plant, the small purple petals in the shape of half moons lighting up at him, and his mind raced as to what species they were since he’d certainly never seen them around the East Coast before.

“Scaevola aemula,” She said, fiddling with the hem of his shirt around her waist as she spoke because his eyes were unnervingly doe-like when he looked at her in the dark lamp light, “It’s called the fairy fan flower. I thought-"

She paused, her expression morphing into embarrassment, "Wait, this is so stupid, I’ll send them back,” She shook her head, the worry overtaking the rational part of her as she grabbed for the pot to stash it back in her room, but he held it out of her reach, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her body against his hip, as the other stretched out to keep her from snatching back the plant. 

“Tell me. What?” He said, his lips stretching into a devious smile to see her so shy suddenly, and she buried her face into her hands as he watched her, “I'm not going to think it's stupid. Why did you get me these?”

“They’re not for you- well, they are, but I just thought,” She stumbled over her sentences, her heart thumping that this was entirely the wrong move, that she was poking at an open wound no matter how caring she was being. Clearing her throat, she let her forehead thump onto his shoulder, her eyes squeezing shut as she spoke, “I thought you could keep it so that you can think of Maeve every time you water it, since Maeve was the name of the fairy queen,” 

He was quiet. God, why was he so quiet? Her breath was thick as molasses as they sat in the silence for a second. She nearly jumped a foot in the air when two of his fingers ran delicately beneath her chin, tilting her head up enough that he could see her face and she drew a sigh of relief when she saw he didn’t seem angry or hurt at all. 

His eyes were soft as pools of honey as he looked at her, his brows stirring into a sad-happy mix. 

“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” She whispered, their faces so close they were sharing breath, and he shook his head, his fingers never leaving her skin where they forced her to stay near, gave her no choice but to keep her looking at him. She didn’t think she could stop even if she wanted to. Everything pretty about him was dialled to a thousand whenever she got close, and his thick lashes blinked at her like he was seeing a mirage, a daydream. 

“This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me, Bug,” Spencer murmured back to her, his every word fanning over the bridge of her nose, and she sighed in content, melting back into his side as he pulled her into a hug, his own face burying into the crook of her neck, “Thankyou,” 

She smiled and hummed in happiness, wrapping her arms around his slender waist and drawing him so close she got a whiff of his shampoo. 

“I have a bigger pot in my room, if you like, then we can keep it in the kitchen sill, away from the boys,” She offered, beaming at him when he stroked over the back of her hair affectionately. She hopped out of the embrace, “I’ll go get it for you-”

“You’ve done enough, Bug,” Spencer reminded, something grateful in his tone as she paused and waited for whatever he was going to say, “I’ll go get the pot, you go decide what movie we should watch,”

“You’re sure?” Bugsy asked, her brows furrowed as she checked for signs of an escape in his movements. But he just smiled back at her tiredly, the purple flowers his accomplice as she gave in and headed back towards the sofa, “It’s by my dresser, where my paper bin used to be,”

He set the gift on the kitchen table, the lilac hues brightening up the kitchen already like they just knew how touched Spencer felt to have received them, like there really was some kind of fairy magic burrowed into the soil as they watched the two of them dance around one another, heading to opposite ends of the apartment with lingering glances and bashful smiles.

Spencer thought his chest couldn’t swell any bigger in size, his heart so inevitably full of her, it left room for no one else, not even Maeve, which was the first time he’d brought himself to think that in months. 

+1 The one with the book.

He opened the door to her bedroom, her duvet tossed everywhere because it was a rare occasion she made her bed before they left for work, her clothes strewn about the floor in the general direction of the bathroom, like she’d stripped on the way there, and the thought of it made his stomach seize with a heat, the idea of her undressing little more than a wall away from him knocking his every thought from his head.

The vase. He needed a bigger vase.

Quickly collecting her clothes up and shoving them into her laundry basket for her, he diverted his attention to her dresser, where the slightly roomier pot sat on the floor, a towel underneath it to catch any water remnants and he stepped over her various note pads and books she’d clearly tossed off the bed before she went to sleep. 

He tried to ignore them, he really did, but his scratching urge to keep things tidy for her wrestled with his conscience that said to leave her stuff alone. Before he could talk himself out of it, he found himself organising them into a neat pile in his hands and placing them on top of her dresser where one of her books had made it safely, or at least safe enough she wouldn’t trip over it. 

His gaze dropped to the book already on there, its leather cover entirely melting into the background of the dark chestnut dresser, yet it stared daggers up at him like it had been waiting to be noticed.

Great Expectations, Charles Dickens.

The book looked old enough to be easily from original 1900s, at least one of the first few hundred published. It was scuffed a little on the edges, the black lettering of the printed title choppy in places where it had been handled recklessly, and the leaves of paper were atom thin. The smell of dust and paper clouded his nose when he picked it up delicately.

Opening the front cover curiously to see its printed date, he was stopped in his tracks to see a little post it note on the title page, covering Mr Dickens’ name with a scrawled handwriting he’d known for six years. 

Six whole years. Nearly seven. He felt like he’d known her his whole life, when in startling reality he’d not even known her a third of it. 

And there it was, where he was expecting a list of notes or her thoughts on how David Copperfield had much more likeable characters, anything that she’d thought important enough to scratch down on the front page, instead was his name. 

Spencer,

He felt his breath catch the second he read it, contemplated slamming the book shut right then and there because this felt illicit to read whatever it was she’d scribbled out just for him even if it was dedicated to the stupid man who’d been asking her to wait on his stupid head and stupider heart to align so he could give her exactly everything she deserved. 

His gaze snapped away from the page, that voice in his head telling him this was wrong, that if she’d wanted him to see that book she would have given it to him already. And yet, like it did most days, the beating organ in his chest writhed in annoyance that he’d looked away, that he’d followed the rules one too many times for its liking. He bit his cheek, the two halves of himself arguing amongst themselves. 

After a second of debating, his eyes fell slowly to the note, a creeping guilt skirting down his spine that he was reading something private. How could something be private and yet meant for him? His brain scoffed at the dichotomy of it all, while his chest lurched when he caught a glimpse of more of her writing. 

‘Spencer,’ His heart trembled almost as much as his hand as he traced the writing with his forefinger, imagining her writing it out in a little ball point pen, her body slumped over the book with every intent of having him read her little note. He imaged her breath fanning across the page, her hand warm as her knuckles stroked over the paper, and it felt so much more intimate than a little post-it when he thought of her like that, ‘By the time you’re reading this I’ll be back home from London and we’ll probably be in your apartment doing that stupid thing we do when we pretend like I haven’t missed you more than anything in the whole world while I’ve been here in England,’

She wrote this in London, probably in that tiny apartment her and Emily had rented on a short lease, the one she’d said smelled like mildew and dust and wet wood but had a gorgeous view of Hyde Park when she looked out her bedroom window. 

She’d written it months ago, so why hadn’t she given it to him?

‘I miss you every day. You’re all I think about when I go for a run, and I think sometimes you’d really like it here. I’ve mapped out all the bookshops I’ve found and all the places that do really good coffee if you ever did want to visit England, but I think I’d be happy with you even if we lived in a little ditch on the side of the road like two drowning rats,’

His chest seized, tears lining his lashes when he thought about that day she’d yanked him into a hug the second she saw him, when he’d been too busy thinking about Maeve and burying whatever he felt for Bugsy entirely behind him. 

You should have called, Bug. He’d said, like his eidetic memory wanted to twist the knife in just that bit deeper, and he didn’t need his freaky brain to remember how her face had fallen when he’d said it like that. Like he didn’t even want to see her. 

He hated himself. He hated himself more than she’d ever had. Even if she had more rights than anyone to despise his selfish guts. 

‘Anyway, I know Dickens isn’t your favourite or anything, but I got you this because I know you like the original copies and because it made me think of you (but then again, what doesn’t?). 

I never truly enjoyed the living part of life until you were in mine. And so I guess that means I’ll love you until the life part stops too. 

All my heart,

Bug.’

He didn’t realise he was holding his breath until he finished the note, digesting every single word the average speed instead of his usual method of inhaling the letters faster than should be possible, like he wanted to savour every single one because they’d come from her. 

He heard her saying every single one, the thought striking him like someone had cracked him across the face with a paddle. She’d wanted to say all of this when she was in London, when he’d been too busy for her, when he’d been too busy with Maeve. 

I never truly enjoyed the living part of life until you were in mine. 

“Did you find it?” Her voice called from the other room, no doubt where she was settling down to flick the movie on, her heart so delicate and gracious because she was still waiting for him. 

Even now, even when she was in his clothes and under the blanket she’d brought from her apartment for them to use on movie nights because it got cold too fast in his house, when she was waiting for him to come back. 

Spencer felt knocked out of a dream, like someone had yanked the chord on his music, shaken him awake into the freezing realisation she was waiting for a reply. 

He’d made her wait long enough. 

He barely heard her footsteps entering her own room, probably worried when he hadn’t responded and she said his name, “Spence?” A shudder rolled over his neck when he heard it, a siren song he’d been hearing like a mantra for weeks and he felt something fat and full well in his chest when he turned to look at her, standing there in nothing but boxers and a shirt, just as she had when he’d first met her. 

Except she was his. She was waiting on his call, on his signal, on his word go. 

And it was like the idea of being with her for the rest of his life made his living part worth it too. Like it always had done. 

Her eyes fell down to where his hand rested on top of the book, the page splayed open where he’d delicately flicked it open, the yellow post-it catching in the light and making her expression fall. 

They looked at each other, the same thought channelling between them, their brains meshed together on some other kind of bluetooth the same way they’d always done, only this time it was a prickling hive mind that gave them both gooseflesh the second they locked eyes. 

“Why didn’t you give me this?” He asked, his voice small because he already knew the answer, not daring to move a muscle like she was some kind of deer ready to be spooked. 

“You were busy,” She said equally as sheepish, her thumb moving to pick the side of her nail when she saw his still stature. They went quiet again, neither of them daring so much as to breathe too loud because they both knew what was on that note. It was the closest she could ever come to splitting open her own chest and handing him that thumping wad of bloodied muscle herself, and it was only when he turned to look at her did she panic, words tumbling from her lips; anything to stop him from walking away because she’d been poking around a fresh wound, “You weren’t supposed to see- I mean you were but only when you wanted to, I didn’t want you to think-”

Except he wasn’t heading for the door like she’d thought, he was heading straight for her. 

“Spence, please, I wasn’t going to tell you until-” But she’d shut up, because instead of replying anything back to her, instead of telling her she could have his heart and his soul and everything in between if she’d ever ask for it again, instead of telling her she was the thing that had kept him alive, like she might as well be the blood that rushed through every one of his veins, he grabbed her face in his hands so hard her back hit the wall, her hands flying out to stop herself from falling. 

And he kissed her, so hard he thought he might cry because it was better than any high he’d ever had, any drug on the market, better than his wildest dreams. She froze for a second, worried she’d tripped and fallen on her way over, that this was a concussion spun wild, because there was no way he was kissing her with every inch of their available skin pressing against one another, his hands swallowing her cheeks whole, his body invading her space, his breath rushing through her nose that bumped against his clumsily. 

Bugsy woke up after a second, her hands gripping onto his slender waist like he was pulling her drowning out of water, like he was dragging her from a flame which she didn’t think sounded too far off since her skin had become molten, her cheeks hot, her chest wrenching for control like she’d inhaled black smoke. 

But he was there, kissing her like she was all he had left, and she kissed him back with equal fervour, whimpering when he bit her lip, a hand wrapping around her waist to tug her just that bit closer to his stomach. Any molecule of her that was left behind was stolen by the action, and all she could think was that every inch of her was his, entirely his, his forever if he wanted it. 

“I love you, I love you so much,” He gasped, drawing away for a split second of air before he took her lips to his own once more, twice, and a third for good luck, their teeth knocking together as he wanted to tell her that a million more times while still kissing her, “I love you, I love you. God, I don’t think I ever want to stop saying it,” 

He pulled her to him again, silencing his own stupid ramblings of a mad man, a whine dragging from his throat as his brows furrowed, his lips soft and plump as he kissed her like he was begging for honey after a hundred day fast. 

And she smiled into his mouth, because Spencer was finally hers. 

--

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[bosbas]

Chapter 1: I said, "dancin' is a dangerous game"

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!reader WC: 2.5k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, lowkey why do i ship daphne and y/n....

Summary: At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

May 13, 1812 - You were in Hyde Park less than ten minutes before you saw Daphne Bridgerton's figure out of the corner of your eye. Delighted that she'd joined you earlier than expected, you waved her over.

"Hello, Daph," you greeted cheerfully, scooting over so your best friend could sit beside you on the bench. "I didn't think I'd see you for a few hours, given how many gentlemen asked you to dance last night. Did none of them call?"

Daphne groaned, a scowl set deep on her face, as she took a piece of bread from your basket and broke it into chunks to feed the ducks.

"Don't remind me. Most of them called, actually," she responded. "If only Anthony had let me have three seconds with them I might have been able to discern whether or not I was actually interested. He barged into the sunroom and promptly kicked everyone out. There was not a single suitor left in the room by the time he'd finished!"

You snorted. "Ah, so the overbearing eldest brother is once again to blame."

"Isn't he always?" she responded, too annoyed to match the lightness in your tone.

You just smiled to yourself and fed the ducks silently, knowing Daphne well enough to hide your smile from her, given that she was more than likely fuming at Anthony's constant meddling. You knew he meant well, but he was known to go a bit overboard at times. Well, most times. Especially when it came to Daphne's courtships.

"Anthony's the biggest rake in Mayfair, anyway. I don't know exactly what moral high ground he thinks he's standing on but it's certainly not as sturdy as he assumes," continued Daphne, still upset over that morning's happenings.

"Is it really that bad, Daph?" you said in an attempt to console her. "At least you're not getting hordes of unpleasant men at your doorstep every day. And you know the kinds of men that frequent the ton aren't always the kind you'd want to spend your afternoons with."

"I'm not getting any men at my doorstep! That's the problem!" exclaimed Daphne, exasperated. "I know you might not share the same desires as me, but I would eventually like to get married and have a family."

"I want to find a husband, too," you insisted, your tone bordering on defensive. "I just don't particularly feel bothered to look for one during my first season."

Daphne sobered immediately, coming out of her annoyance toward her brother as she could sense you were upset. "I didn't mean it like that, I swear," she insisted, placing a hand on your shoulder and looking into your eyes. "It was just-"

"I understand," you smiled at her, placing your hand over hers. "I just don't have the same urgency as you do, on account of my father having absolutely no stake in my marital status. No stake in anything about me at all, actually."

It would be a sad sentiment if you weren't used to it. You were an only child, and your mother had died after getting ill when you were only five years old. Your father, of course, was quite busy with the land he managed, and thus most of your upbringing had just been you and your governess. And the Bridgertons, of course.

You had met Daphne when she was eight and you were seven, and the two of you had gotten along splendidly since then. Since you had no real family of your own, bar your absent father, you spent copious amounts of time at the Bridgerton residence at Daphne's insistence. You now found yourself to be a semi-permanent fixture in their house, feeling just as home there as you did at your father's home.

This proximity to the Bridgertons had made you intimately familiar with Anthony's overprotective demeanor. Ever since you and Daphne were young, Anthony had gone out of his way to make sure that his siblings were cared for. Sometimes that included you, too. But unfortunately, he could take it too far sometimes.

"Did you like anyone last night, at least? Your dress was quite magnificent and I know I'm not the only one who noticed," you winked at Daphne.

She hummed thoughtfully. "I don't entirely know. I don't think one dance is enough to know whether I truly like someone," she responded, slumping down on the bench.

"Especially not when Anthony cuts the dance short halfway through," you laughed, recalling the eldest Bridgerton's attempts to thwart Daphne's search for a husband.

But your comment did nothing to lighten the mood. Instead, it seemed to make your friend even more irritated.

"It's my second year out in society! I still don't have a husband. Not even close to it, apparently," continued Daphne, aggressively tossing bits of bread into the pond.

"Well, you have to marry eventually. Anthony can't keep you away from every man for the rest of your life!" you argued.

But this did little to quell Daphne's annoyance. "He's certainly trying," she muttered.

"We can ship him off to the West Indies for the season," you joked. "Surely he won't be able to interrupt your suitors from halfway across the globe."

Suddenly, Daphne raised her eyebrows, looking at you with a devious smile.

"I was only joking! We can't actually ship him away," you laughed. "Besides, how would the ladies of the ton ever survive without the most desirable bachelor who is always just out of reach?"

Daphne snorted, amused at your dig at Anthony. "No, no, we don't have to ship him away," she said. "But you are correct in saying that I need time away from him to fully explore potential matches."

You hummed in agreement, imagining how much easier life would be for Daphne if her older brother simply... let her be. "Is he going on a hunting trip soon?" you said hopefully.

Your best friend shook her head, still smiling at you like she was plotting something.

"What is it?" you pressed, laughing at her expression.

"Can I ask you a favor?" she said, an expectant look in her eyes.

“Yes, I’ll kill Anthony for you. I’ve only been waiting for you to ask,” you joked.

“No,” Daphne laughed. “I’m serious.”

“Go on then,” you nodded.

“Could you ask him to dance at tomorrow’s ball?”

“Me? Ask him? Are you out of your mind?” you sputtered. You had never danced with Anthony at a ball, and you couldn't fathom the first time you did so being after you were the one to ask him.

“Y/N, please. I can’t just rely on forlorn glances across the ballroom to secure suitors. I need to actually speak with them, and I won’t be able to if Anthony keeps... hovering.”

Granted, hovering was a very generous word for what Anthony was really doing. But still, you looked at her, uncertainty in your eyes. You weren’t particularly keen on asking Anthony to dance, knowing he was famously opposed to marriage at this point in his life. Yes, you had grown up around him, but that didn’t mean he was interested in you at all, and you didn’t want to face that rejection if you could avoid it.

“Don’t give me that look! I promise it’ll work,” cried Daphne, desperate. “Just tell him you feel like dancing but don’t want to give another man the wrong impression since it’s only your first season and you’re still biding your time. Most of which is true.”

She made a good point. You didn’t want the hordes of men that seemed to flock to Daphne just yet. And would one dance really hurt that much?

---

The music in the ballroom pleasantly surrounded you as you stood next to Violet. Daphne had left to dance with Lord Wilson, a bachelor of very distinguished background who seemed to be hanging onto every word your best friend said.

Just as you turned to Violet to comment on how well-suited the pair looked, Anthony stormed over to where you were standing.

"It's unbelievable that she's even giving him the time of day," he said lowly, looking wholly unimpressed by the dance happening a few feet in front of him.

You could feel Anthony growing tense beside you as the seconds ticked by, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. Three seconds of his sister speaking with a man and he was ready to explode already? He was worse than you thought.

You saw Daphne lean back as she laughed at something the gentleman said, and you knew you had to act fast before Anthony intervened.

“Oh, the music is wonderful tonight! Anthony, would you care for a dance?”

He tore his gaze away from his sister and looked at you, perplexed.

“Are you asking me to dance?”

“I believe I am, Anthony,” you said.

He scoffed, not quite believing you. “That is not very proper of you, Lady L/N.”

“And you are a great authority on propriety, I presume?" you said, a playful edge to your voice. "Given your… adventures as a rake, surely you have a better idea of what is proper than I do.”

Anthony choked at your bold choice of words, not used to people calling him out so publicly. “Y/N! Why do you want to dance with me then, if I'm such a rake?”

You rolled your eyes. “I just enjoy the music and want to dance. And I don’t want to give any other men the wrong impression,” you recited exactly what Daphne had told you to say.

He nodded reluctantly and took your hand. “Very well. One dance, then. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong impression of me either.”

This was the last time you ever did anything for Daphne. God, how difficult could one man be?

But all of your annoyance faded away once he placed his hand on your hip and spun you around. This was rather nice, you found yourself thinking. You hadn't properly danced at a ball yet, and you couldn't help but think that you'd missed out on a rather enjoyable activity.

The dance was going along quite smoothly, and you and Anthony seemed to be melting together, no longer two individuals but instead moving more like one entity. You were especially enjoying whenever his grip shifted slightly and his hand ran across the small of your back. To be truthful, you were simply having fun.

That is until you felt Anthony shifting you across the dance floor so you could get nearer to Daphne and the gentleman she was dancing with. Feeling Anthony's shoulders tense underneath your gingerly placed hands, you looked up at him.

Looking into his eyes, you raised your eyebrows. "She's fine, you know. You don't have to watch over her every second of every ball."

Anthony rolled his eyes, dismissing your comment. "Of course I do. She's my sister! I have to take care of her. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to her or if she ended up betrothed to a dolt."

"Anthony," you softened your tone. "It's quite alright. It's not all up to you. You've got an entire family to keep her safe. And me, of course."

You could feel his muscles relax under your hands. "Thank you," he breathed out. "I know all of that to be true. I just worry about her. And about you! But luckily there aren't many suitors of yours to scare off."

"Oh," you said, your voice squeakier than you intended. "Thank you?" you questioned. You weren't quite sure how to take his comment.

"No!" he rushed out, immediately realizing what his words sounded like. "I didn't mean it like that. Daphne had just mentioned that you're not as interested in finding someone right now since it's your first season. And I hadn't really seen you dance with anyone at one of these balls before. And-"

"It's no trouble, Anthony," you smiled, giggling at how flustered he'd gotten. "I appreciate the concern nonetheless."

He shook his head, still not believing that he'd been so rude toward you. As much as you were a familiar face around his home, he couldn't quite tease you the way he did Daphne or any of his other sisters, and he was dreadfully embarrassed that he had made you upset, even if just for a moment.

"If you ever want to dance again, just come to me, understood?" he said, his voice turning serious. "I don't need another one of you to worry about."

You could barely contain your laughter as the music came to an end. "Yes, Anthony," you said dutifully, smiling at how silly he was being.

Looking over at Daphne, you were pleased to see that everything had gone to plan and she'd had the chance to talk to Lord Wilson the entire time you'd been with her brother. It was a relief that she'd finally gotten a normal courting experience.

Before Anthony could reach her and wrench her away from her suitor, Daphne rushed over to you, grabbing your arm excitedly.

"Shall we take a turn about the ballroom?" she suggested, leaving you no room to protest as she led you away from her mother and brother.

You laughed at her excitement, glad that your best friend was finally enjoying herself.

"Thank you so much, Y/N, truly," she gushed, squeezing your arm affectionately. "That was absolutely incredible. It's the longest time I've been able to spend with a potential match without Anthony hanging over my shoulder."

"I'm happy to do it," you said amusedly. "He was that lovely, then?"

"Oh, absolutely not," she shook her head. "Lord Wilson was dreadfully boring. But at least now I know! And I don't have to pine over him or wonder what he would be like. I know for certain I'm not interested, and I can focus on finding my true love match."

"That's wonderful, Daph," you laughed. You truly held so much affection for her. It was endearing to see her so excited over spending time with a man she didn't even like.

Suddenly, Daphne slowed her pace. Turning you around, she held both of your hands and took a deep breath. "Yes, it was. Which is why I must ask you to dance with Anthony tomorrow night as well."

"What do you mean? Ask him to dance again? I thought this was only for tonight," you sounded unconvinced. Asking her brother to dance one time had already been enough of a hassle, but having to pretend to need him to dance with you once more was looking like an insurmountable challenge.

"Please, Y/N," she begged. "It's the only way I'll find a husband that isn't someone like Nigel Berbrooke," she added, whispering the last part.

It was true, Anthony seemed to have impossibly high standards that only the most unpleasant bachelor in Mayfair seemed to be able to meet. If you could do anything to protect Daphne from that unpleasant fate, you would do it.

"I suppose I could try tomorrow night. Though I can't promise he'll want to dance with me again. Anthony seemed quite reluctant tonight," you conceded.

"Nonsense," said Daphne, rolling her eyes. "Anthony loves you dearly, I can't imagine he'd ever turn you down."

"Whatever you say," you responded, unconvinced but unwilling to dampen your best friend's chipper mood. Besides, you had a wonderful time with Anthony tonight. How could another dance possibly go wrong?

—

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[timefadesaway]

like imagine you see a band play at a village fête and you introduce yourself to them bc you think they're cool and you want to be in a band and you impress their de facto leader with being great at guitar so he lets you in the band and you eventually start writing together and become good friends because you bond over the death of each of your mothers and jerk off together and he has this other friend who he's really close with and you just fucking hate him he just gets on your nerves until he dies tragically and your friend receives £100 for his birthday so he takes you to paris and you spend the week taking pictures of each other in matching silly hats and sleeping in the same bed and you keep writing together you keep writing together and you both decide to credit all the songs either of you write to both of you as a shared name and your career begins to take off and you keep writing together and he writes you a valentines day card but takes it back to write a love song on it and you keep writing together and boy your career has really taken off and you're in movies and you're everywhere and you're put on display for the entire world at each others sides and you keep writing together and your cat has kittens and you name them pyramus and thisbe and you give him pyramus the part you played when you performed the rude mechanicals together and you keep writing together and he tries acid and likes it and you try it too and you try it for the first time with him because you don't want him to be alone on a trip and you look into his eyes and you dissolve into him and he gets more into drugs and you like drugs but not as much not like him and you meet a girl shes a photographer and you like her like really like her and you click so much it's noticeable and when your friend sees this he does acid and says he's god and calls up this artist and cheats on his wife with her and he clicks with her too just like that and you go away together with the rest of the band and everything changes and it sucks so you leave and you're writing together less now you write on your own and so does he and boy this girl is really something so you marry her you marry your photographer quietly and out of the public eye and a week later he marries his artist and you still write together a little but it's mostly separate now and you want different things and he plays you a tape of him and his wife having sex and you fall out and you try hard to keep the band together but it's ending and eventually he says quietly that he's leaving the band so you put out in the press that you're leaving first and you sue him and he sues you and moves across an ocean and you write you write alone this time and you write about him and it's mean and he writes about you and it's meaner and you write about other things too but you still write about him and years pass years pass and you run into him and jam and it's like old times it's like nothing happened it's magic and you invite him to write with you and come with you to new orleans and he agrees and he cancels and you dont see him for a long time until you visit his home and spend some time together and as you leave he says think of me every now and then old friend and you go and it's the last time you see him you call him every so often and you call him and talk about making bread and then he's dead and you never got to fix any of it even though you know eventually you would have but you can't now and you keep writing and his demo tapes are sent to you and you keep hold of them and you keep writing and you keep the tapes and eventually you put them to use and you record them and you wait decades to finish your last song with him but you do it and it's called now and then like the last thing he ever said to you in person. and you play bass

[cherie-doll]

I’m sick as ALL hell, and it made me imagine big strong military bf’s taking care of me </3 smh why can’t men be real

same, i wish men existed, *sigh* ૮꒰ྀི ⸝⸝ ›̥̥̥ ·̭ ‹̥̥ ꒱ྀིა

hope u feel better!! ₍ᐢ·͈༝·͈ᐢ₎⁺ ⊹˚.⋆

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: Taking Care Of You While You're Sick

⊱⊰ ik this painting is the death of Barbara Radziwiłł but ajsdks-

ઇଓ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Alejandro, Phillip Graves, Keegan, Hesh + Logan Walker, König, Horangi, Nikto

Price

Would try to give you the space you need when you ask for it

But inevitably, he can't go all day or night without you

Comes to you at night, scooping you up in his arms to take you to bed when you had fallen asleep on the couch, a mess of tissues and tea cups on the coffee table

Caresses your face as you lay in bed, pressing tender kisses on your nape since you don't want him touching your face

Tries to sweet talk to cheer you up because you're upset that you had to cancel/postpone plans

Ghost

He avoids making loud noises as to not make your headache worse

During the days you're sick a strong thunderstorm brings heavy rains, the soft tapping of raindrops hitting earth and leaves rustling makes you slip into the most peaceful slumber you've gotten in days

Lets you sleep in his clothes because he knows you feel comforted by his smell since you won't let him get too close

When it's past midnight and you can't sleep so you go on long, random rambles and he's just lying there listening but after a while he's like "please go to sleep, you need to rest"

Soap

Orders pastries from your favorite bakery and has them delivered so you can enjoy biting into freshly baked warm bread

Gets sad when you tell him you can't sleep in the same bed because you feel icky

"But you're going to be cold without me"

Whenever you get out of bed to grab something he follows right after you and drags you back

Due to feeling uncomfortable you frequently change places to rest and he follows you to every spot around the house

Falls asleep on top of you on the couch, it's kinda comforting

Gaz

Uses his softest voice, whispering when he asks if you need anything else

Rushing to bring you blankets, tea, books, the tv control and anything you ask for and place it on your hands

When he helps you walk to the bathroom to wash he takes the opportunity to open the window and let the summer breeze in for a change of fresh air

Frequently washes the blankets so you're always comfortable resting on silkin bedsheets

Cupping your face between his hands, radiating his warmth into your skin and telling you he'll take care of you and make sure you feel better ૮ ߹ᯅ߹ ა

Alejandro

Would make you drink tea whilst it's hot, you burned your tongue

Vicks Vaporub (no i will not elaborate)

Rubs mezcal over your body

Other than preparing you teas and making sure you're bundled up even if you feel hot from a fever, he doesn't know what else to do

He rests his head on your chest even when you tell him to sleep in a different room because you don't want to make him sick too

Listens to your heartbeat at night and doesn't fall asleep until he makes sure you're sleeping soundly

Phillip Graves

He will feed you when you confess you haven't eaten all day because you've just felt too ill to cook

Gently wiping your mouth

Every morning he quietly gets out of bed, letting you sleep in to prepare a breakfast he knows will make you feel better

Won't eat unless you've finished your meal first

You crave something that's not in the fridge, he quickly grabs his wallet and is on his way out to buy it for you <3

Keegan

Takes care of the plants and flowers you're always so dedicated to maintaining

Kissing your shoulder while you cuddle

You keep moving around in bed and he can't fall asleep either because you're restless

"Are- are you okay?" "Knock me out with a shovel"

You somehow manage to convince him to let you go outside on a walk saying the fresh air will help you some

He pulls you close to him when even the slightest breeze hits you, enveloping you in his arms

Hesh + Logan Walker

David will rush to the store to stock up on medicine, tea, and candy

He says sugar always helps keep you restore energy while you're sick

He stays up late with you on a movie marathon when you can't fall asleep

Logan tries to stay up with you too but he fails as his eyelids droop and falls asleep cuddled next to you

Logan washes your hair and takes such gentle care of it you almost fall asleep in the tub

He reads to you in bed knowing your eyes hurt and lets you rest your head on his shoulder

König

Is always fixing your spot in bed, adjusting pillows to your position and making sure you're covered with a blanket at all times

Carries you to rooms around the house

Lots of forehead kisses <33

Avoids going out, his task is to solely take care of you, unless you ask him to get you something, he'll be worrying and thinking about you while he's wishing the line at checkout would go a little faster

Buys things you didn't ask for but thinks you'll need, just in case

Horangi

Would prepare lots of teas for every one of your meals and makes sure you drink it all

Prepares lots of healthy stews to ensure you recover quickly, they're scalding hot but it feels good on your sore throat

Tells you to take it easy and stay in bed because he'll get everything for you

You don't listen and when you try to make something for yourself you accidentally drop a glass in the kitchen, it shatters on the floor and in an instant he's beside you

Checks you for any injuries, quietly taking your hands in his, running his fingers over your skin and sighing in relief when there are no injuries

Nikto

Always checking up on you, you'll be reading or watching tv and it nearly gives you a heart attack when from the corner of your eye you notice a tall, looming figure silently observing you

You're worried about falling behind on chores and other work that when you try to sneak off to do them you find it's all taken care of

With a hand on your back he guides you back to bed telling you that you shouldn't be worrying about chores anyways

Bear hugs you in bed so you can't get up and do things you shouldn't be doing because you're supposed to be resting

"I can't move" "You shouldn't, stay."

[peaches-creek]

When he walks through the door, you are cooking. Smells like something Italian but maybe not. He hears the bubbling of a pot and a searing of a pan. He crouches as he takes off his boots, caked in dirt and stinking of something foreign. He can’t greet you after a month like this, covered in grease and smelling of gunpowder and sweat. You heard him drop his duffle bag. He hears do drop the spoon you were using and the pitter-patter of your feet coming to greet him. Your smiling face turns the corner.

“You’re home.” You gently say as you walk over to him. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into your arms with his face in your neck. You pull his mask off and give a kiss to his temple.

“I smell.” He says.

“Everyone smells,” she quips, “lemme hold you for a minute.” He lets her do exactly that.

After a minute or so he tells her she needs to finish cooking, and that he needs to shower. They can have a meal together and then take a well deserved nap together.

While he’s in the shower he takes his time decompressing. Trying to become Simon after a month of being Lt. Ghost. He thinks of what you might be cooking instead of the mistake he made that almost costed Price his life. He uses your conditioner and gingerbread body wash, knowing that you wouldn’t mind. You never do. It shocks him, every time, when he thinks of how much you Love him. You know what he does, and you still call him your “cutie-patootie.”

By the time he’s out of the shower, dinner is on the table, warm and on his favorite blue plates. You made him lemon breaded chicken and garlic parmesan pasta, his second favorite dish, first being his mother’s meatloaf.

“You smell familiar.” You laugh.

“This smells great,” he states, “not as good as me though.”

You place a kiss on his lips.

“Okay now that you have kissed the chef, you may eat your meal.” You move to the other side of the table, sitting across from him.

“Catch me up, what did I miss?” He says.

You spend the next half an hour talking his ear off as he shovels food into his face. He prefers that, not only does he like hearing your voice but it also helps him settle in. Hearing all the things that you did around the house, putting up new pictures, the ones that you took when you guys went to see the Eiffel Tower. You also got a few new plants, and told him that you waited for him to get home so you could name them together. You also said how you started watching some new documentary that he had to see.

He spent his whole life moving from one place to another, barely living. Now he has you. You move him and he moves you. Once he was finished with his plate, you took it to the sink and placed it on top of the others, you can do those later, it’s time to put your man to bed. He deserves it.

“Okay now, let’s get you to bed.” You pull him up and drag him to your shared bed. It’s quite a funny thing to see, such a large man getting dragged through the halls just to be tucked into bed.

You reach your destination. You let go of his hand and pull the covers back. You settle yourself in first, waving your hand to tell him to come in. You then maneuver him to put his head on your chest.

“All settled in?” You ask. He nods his head. No words needed. He was exactly where he needed to be. You begin to rub his back as he slowly finds himself falling into a sweet sleep, courtesy of you.

[acotarxreader]

Hounded

Eris x Reader

Synopsis: Eris loves his dogs more than any other living thing and they love him but soon his eldest hound has found a new interest, you and your endless supply of bread rolls. An unlikely friendship begins to form between the Son of Autumn and one of Springs last border guards, Craos is just hoping to create some sort of parent trap situation.

Warning: Fluff, banter, blood, wounds, doggos, Eris shaming the dogs belly, poor editing

A/N: Hi friends! I orginally wrote this for @erisweekofficial for the Hounds theme however I've been really in the trenches recently and only got around to finishing it now, so I'm sad to have missed Eris week but still happy to be publishing my first Eris fic! Let me know what you think!

P.S Craos (cray-us) in Irish means blazing when referring to fire and Tine (tin-ah) means fire so I named two of the dogs after these words for a lil Irish flare

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

The hounds were Eris’s greatest pride and occasionally his greatest pain in the ass. He fought with this very thought the day his eldest hound, Craos had managed to dip out of his view one walk. Eris blamed himself for losing sight of his favourite friend, so deep in the thoughts of worry about the Night Courts antics that threatened to expose his double agent status to his father. Actually, he blamed them for her escape, it was easier that way. The Autumn leaves crackled against the weight of his heavy boots, his voice getting lost in the whipping whirling wind of the forest far from his residence. Eris swung harshly around on his heels, just in time to catch Craos bounding up the hill towards him, mischievous as ever. 

“You scared me half to death girl” He laughed down at her, running his thumbs over her ears in soothing circles she loved so much, his other hounds leaping around waiting for their turn. She seemed to wish to pull him in the direction she bolted from, something tethering her to the distant spot in the vast woods. “Come girl, leave that hare to its escape love, you’re getting…fluffy enough without the extra feed” he laughed, leashing her to him and taking her from her pointed stance. Eris made a mental note to closely monitor Craos food as she began to get rounder than the others in the pack, no doubt owing to the budding Autumn wildlife she’d snag unaccompanied.

-

The following weeks lead Eris down a rabbit hole of Night Court intricacy, forever walking the line between ally and babysitter. He took comfort in the daily strolls through the thicket of woodland, his beloved pack in toe. The days he missed the walks he noticed his own demeanour change, his interest in the tangled interpersonal mess the Inner Circle was weaving waning beyond even an ounce of interest. Eris checked his hounds daily and despite their own vast staff, he loved to take care of them and nurture the breed while nurturing something he wasn’t even sure he still had inside himself. Some care for another living thing. Not in a selfish way of course, but more in a self-preservation sense, what he loved had a habit of crumbling in his hands or being crushed in someone else’s. 

Deep in thought, Eris ran a hand down the head of one of his younger hounds, Tine, who laid his head on the lap of his master as Eris tried to gain an understanding of the written correspondence on the desk. Tine grumbled against Eris’s thigh before stretching down to the ground. 

“Its tough work being pampered Tine” he laughed to himself, casting an eye on the other 4 hounds, curled into their own worlds by the fire of the study. Eris smiled softly at the relaxed nature, would any other living thing find such comfort in the company he provided? He forced the ever-present question away from his thoughts, casting a look to the sofa where Craos would often take her rest. Empty. Eris stood abruptly, chair screeching along the slate enough to have Tine stand to attention once again. Craos had been there when the others came in from their dinner? Hadn’t she? Another attempt by the Night Court to swipe away Eris’s attention buried him in paperwork when the dogs were returned to him. 

Quick on his feet, Eris and his pack found the staff of the kennels and after a brief and sharp discussion it was unclear if Craos was with the pack on return from her exercise. Following sharp threats, Eris took to the woodland again, his hounds hunting down their own with precision. His voice reverberated off ancient trees as their crisp golden leaves began to ink with lush green colour. Thoughts of the worst clouded the shrubbed path as Eris felt the border of Spring, his second least favourite place in the realm.

“Craos!” He echoed across a section of the stream border between Spring and Autumn. The mischievous hound leapt with excitement at the presence of her master, bounding through the shallow stream to return to Autumn and its son. He gave thanks for Spring's current instability as during time previous he wouldn’t have gotten this close to the Spring border without a visit from the furry High Lord. Eris couched into the silt of the streams bank, rubbing Craos's goofy face while quietly scolding her, knowing full well she wasn’t listening. 

“Petal” Eris looked up from the rushes towards the call of the sing-song siren-like voice. Not in the mood for confrontation with Spring, Eris crouched further into the brambles, obscuring himself from the female across the watery border. Craos pulled against Eris’s gentle hold, eager to cross the border again and succeed with another call from the voice. Eris watched the most feared hound in all the realm, leap like a bunny rabbit to your shadow, jumping to lick your face as you crouched to allow her. 

“Petal darling easy” You laughed, coating the clearing in an ease unfamiliar to Eris. through the thick river rushes Eris watched his much-revered hound roll to her back for scratches before leaping up to follow your hand as it dug through your bag. 

“Okay, sit now” you laughed, Craos eagerly obeying and happily rewarded with a small bread roll you took from your bag. 

“Easy easy” You beamed as she scoffed the lot, Eris watched the interaction with equal parts confusion and intrigue and at that very moment realised the most feared son in all the realm was acting like a bunny rabbit hiding from a fox in the rushes. That very son shot upright quickly from his burrow, causing you to leap slightly with fright as Eris pulled his shoulders back in a more becoming stance. The both of you looked across the crystal-like stream, Craos jumping at your feet eager to resume your undivided attention. 

“Come” Eris called across the rushing water, only to have Craos not respond to him with obedience. You slowly ran your hand down the hounds head, not taking your eyes from the High Lord’s son. 

“Forgive me sir but you have no business this close to the Spring border” You tried your best to project confidence, it slipping from your grasp in the face of Eris’s heated stare. 

“You’re forgive” You fought hard to not roll your eyes at the obvious display of sarcasm. Eris lightly tapped his side, Craos’ ears snapping forward to attention before bounding across the stream to her master.

“Good”

“Don’t hurt her, she’s only coming home” You walked to the bank's edge, eyes scanning Craos for any sign of distress.

“Home?-” Eris found it hard to muffle his confused chuckle “-she is my hound, property of the Autumn Court-”

“Property!?-” You found the full strength in your voice “-she is a living being and she belongs to Prythian, she is more at home in the forest and with me-”

“-And who exactly are you?” Eris was quickly losing patience as Craos seemingly shrunk in stature at her master's strengthening tone. 

“It matters little, leave the dog and return away from my border-”

“-Orders?” Eris’s laugh filled the clearing, his heavy boots now stalking closer to the perimeter “-I will not take orders from anyone.”

“I hear you take orders from the Night Court” You laughed, it now skirting along Eris’s nerves instead of soothing them. 

“I do no such thing” The river water’s temperature began to rise as the son of the flame began to stalk closer. 

“Really? I heard you even bend over when dear Rhysie asks” You laughed again, Eris now causing the very edge of the river to steam. You raised a hand before his boot fully slid into the refreshing stream, a long wall of water dividing up the middle of the lake, stopping him in his tracks. 

“Ah ah-” you shook your finger towards him “-fire and water don’t mix sir” Craos ears pinned back at your words before she looked between the two of you, unsure of her own next move. 

“Your name, tell me your name” He chewed out, examining the translucent wall in front of him for cracks. 

“YN, the last keeper of my Court’s boarders” You smiled so innocently, it almost lured Eris back into that unfamiliar softness until he heard the soft sizzle of the dying flame at his fingertips, it turning to steam against the new border. 

“The last? Perhaps you should take that as a hint and seek further employment at a market or something?”

“Is that where Rhysand bought you?” You smirked, with more playfulness than power and Eris fought away his own smile. Craos leapt forward, Eris going to catch hold of her before she could slam into the fortified border but to his surprise, she glided through it with ease unavailable to him. 

“She can stay, you may go”

“She’s my hound, however, your supply of bread rolls certainly explains her newfound…plumpness” He heard her seemingly groan back in offesen and you looked from her to him. 

“Now you’re annoying two females, you should potentially quit while you’re ahead” Eris scoffed at your teasing, the sound of the other hounds bounding behind him piquing your interest. The four looked to their eldest sibling across the water, heads cocked to the side in curiosity and some form of canine communication. The four followed suit of their leader and crossed to you and Craos with ease. 

“Look at you lovelies” You beamed, crouching to meet the hounds as they reunited with their sister. Eris watched through the glistening border wall, his feared hounds reduced to cuddly toys under your touch. It was if he wasn’t even there. You interacted with them like they were never a threat and never would be, the way that he felt you might feel about him. A foreign feeling to a male whose reputation often goes before him. 

“We-we must be going” Eris felt unsure of the ounce of guilt he felt towards separating you from his pack, some sense of something wrong flooded him when they all ran back to his feet, leaving you alone on the other side of the clearing once again. You looked down with softer eyes to the dogs at his feet, no ounce of fear from them giving you comfort. 

“Don’t make a habit of feeding them all now” Eris smiled, bringing your eyes back to him.

“I thought she was stray, I didn’t know she was one of yours”

“They’re all mine, you say she belongs to Prythian but that is the very land that tried to eradicate the breed” You nodded lightly at his proud words. Silence returned to the clearing only to have Craos groan, receiving a knowing look from Eris. 

“She can come back when she is not working and when I say it is okay but, the bread rolls end” another groan from his eldest hound “No more bread rolls” he reiterated to her, gaining a laugh from you. 

“It's okay Petal, we’ll see” You smiled at her, the other dogs listening carefully and plotting their own access to baked goods. 

“Her name is Croas, it means blazing, a more fitting name than Petal I think” he laughed heartily, the action surprising even himself a little. 

“I’m going to stick with Petal, keep to your side sir” You returned the grin before dipping you head and evaporating into the very mist you built the wall from. 

-

Eris jogged through the vast Autumn woods, desperate to crush the headaches the Night Court were giving him like the leaves under his boots. The hounds sprang into their own exploration, all staying in close proximity except Craos, who had gone to visit you. Over the past month, she began to spend more and more time with you in Spring, even missing a few nights away from home to keep you company. It didn’t bother Eris as much as he had thought, the bread rolls had stopped and Craos seemed happy, he had no reason to take away another living thing's happiness. He never wanted to do that, to begin with, it just became part of his image, his unfortunate brand he couldn’t wait to shed once he assumed power from his father. 

Wartime plans swirled across his head, scenarios of defeat and success clogging his mind until he was snapped from focus by his suddenly wet shoes. He had once again jogged to the border of Spring and Autumn. This was the third time since first meeting you that his feet had taken him where his heart wanted to go and his head didn’t consent to. Unlike those times, however, he found you sat a little way up the stream by the river's edge. Eris watched Craos sprawled along your side, your hand drawing lazy circles on her stomach as you kept your focus on the book in the other. 

“No wonder Spring is falling, when the border guards take such leisure during their worktime” Eris called across to you, throwing his weight into the trunk of a sinking willow, hands tucked deep in his pockets. You looked up from your deep study with a slight jolt, Croas leaping instantly to defend you and sinking back once seeing the perpetrator. Eris never thought one of his hounds would defend anyone without his instruction and yet here Craos was, delighted to be at your service. You looked at Eris's sinking shoe before tilting your head slightly, the wall of water reappearing with the movement. 

“Threatened sweetheart?” Eris smirked, his hands now crossing against his chest in amusement as you stood. 

“Why would I be threatened by someone who’s going to slip?” Before Eris could question further, the sinking willow slipped free a root from the crumbling soil under Eris’s weight, his full balance being thrown back to land on an equally shaky bank. Your laugh echoed off the Spring trees at the sight of the much feared Son of Autumn helplessly falling into the shallow water, it soaking him to his skin instantly. Eris felt flushed with anger, it mixing violently with embarrassment but the sight of your head tilting back with put amusement took it from him as fast as the bank took his balance and he found himself smiling. 

“I don’t know how but you did that on purpose” He stood, a quick flash of flame drying him off as Craos crossed back to his side. 

“I can’t be blamed for you being clumsy” You chuckled, tucking your book back into your bag, Eris catching a glimpse of the cover. 

“I’ve read that, I didn’t think others would have?” 

“So unique and mysterious sir, not like other High Lords” You teased, your hands finding your hips as the other hounds joined the scene, seemingly groaning to demand their dinner. 

“Well, if you would let me cross this silly little water show, I could show you” You raised an eyebrow to his tone of possible flirtation. You blinked softly, a splash of water ejecting from the wall to soak Eris again as he recoiled. 

“I can be blamed for that, little water show” You laughed loudly, Eris wiping the water from his face until another flash of heat dried it away. He thought briefly about how he’d killed others for less and yet no desire to do that to you.

“Maybe another time then YN, I just came for our girl anyways, come Craos better get you home for your dinner” He smiled at the obedient pup. 

“She had a bread roll” You winked before dissolving away in the mist. 

—-----------------

Eris dragged his hands through his hair, his rings snagging slightly on his locks. The warmth of the study fire took away the chill from the perpetual Autumn but was unable to do the same to his sentiments about the Inner Circle. They kept him away from his home for the past three weeks and so kept him away from his encounters with you which had become more frequent in the three months since your first. Still, he stayed on one side of the watery wall, happy to exchange some stories with you across its shimmering surface. Craos was only too delighted that her newfound parents had seemed to cross the bridge between indifference to let's say tolerance. 

Eris stood from his desk, taking a violet-coloured book from the vast library before stalking around the grounds of his hidden home away from home, his hounds in tow except for the usual conscientious objector. The sinking sun reflected beautifully off the crisp leaves of this secluded cottage away from both Autumn and Night Court headaches. He sank down into a well-rotting deck chair, it creaking under his weight as he cracked the spine of the forgotten book you had reminded him of two months prior. It wasn’t long before the sound of heavy panting snapped Eris from the world on the tea-coloured pages. 

“Craos?” He called to the growing darkness, standing to his feet as the hound came bounding through the trees before barking frantically, stirring the other sleeping hounds. 

“What? What’s wrong?” A flame came to Eris’s hand instantly as Craos took the cuff of his trouser leg between her teeth and pulled to which he went willingly. She released her grip before dashing back in the direction she came from, only stopping to make sure Eris was still following. The group leapt over tree roots and mossy burrows, all quick on their pursuit of Craos and her frantic nature until the familiar flush of Spring air rushed at them. Eris’s eyes shot to your weakening body across the familiar river, your groans of pain reverberating off the trees as you fought to stand. Craos met your side quickly as you procured yourself up on one elbow, the mud and moss obscuring you slightly from Eris. 

“Hi Petal, it’s okay” You tried through tears to reassure her, taking your hand from your mangled leg to rub her reassuringly, your blood tinging her fur on contact. She yelped towards you before looking back to a pale Eris, you only notice him then. You tried your best to push from the ground, the screaming sound of metal on bone attempted to deafen your cries of pain. It became clear to him then, that the giant metal teeth of a trap designed to capture naga had found a new victim to lay claim to, its unforgiving mouth crushing through one of your ankles. Eris sank a foot into the river, your shaking hand instantly raising the wall of mist to block him. 

“YN, let me cross” He pleaded, failing to hide the desperation in his voice.

“I-I can’t, he’ll know-know I failed to keep the-the border and he-he might come for you for-for crossing” Your rattling breath only pushed Eris closer to the wall, it solidly pushing him back despite your growing weakness. 

“Let me deal with that overgrown badger, let me across, I need to help you” he continued to plea, his palms flat against the wall of water as the hounds cried out their own appeals. 

“What-what if he comes for-for Craos” You cried, attempting to sit up, your pain threshold quickly being pushed to the limit. 

“Then we’ll both kill him but you need to live for that, now please” His sterness finally had you giving in, the wall dropping with an uncharacteristically loud whoosh. Eris was quick to your side, his strong hands pried open the deathly grip held on your ankle as you cried out in almost deafening pain. The pressure released on your spraying arteries caused a new flood of blood to cover you both, the loss of blood pressure stealing colour from your face as well as energy. Eris took hold of the mangled joint, his hands gently heating. 

“You’re gonna hate me for this YN”

“N-nothing new there so” You half laughed through gritted teeth, it taking some semblance of worry from Eris before he began to to heat his hands to molten levels. You screeched from the feeling of healing flame, your arms instinctively wrapping around Eris's neck to bury your scream in his shoulder. The cauterising was the easy part, the fractured joints and bones not so much. With your arms gripping around him, he sank his hands beneath your legs to pull you up from the ground, the sudden upshoot and loss of blood causing you to lose consciousness immediately. 

-

The feeling of plush fur beneath your cheek was the first thing you noticed, then the smell of crisp cedar and smoke. Your eyes flittered open to the flickering of a well-established fire, Craos lying protectively up the length of your stomach on the oak-coloured leather couch. You rubbed her gently causing her to immediately react with large licks up your cheeks, the other dogs rushing to do the same. 

“Easy everyone” Eris laughed, a large mug in his hand as you sat up from the overwhelming affection. You looked down to see your mangled ankle no longer resembling a horror scene, a pristine white bandage replacing the crimson blood and torn muscle. 

“You’ll be okay, I had a healer here, you might be a bit sore” Eris spoke softly, watching you inspect the wrap before passing you the mug. 

“Thank-thank you” You looked back to him before taking a deep drink from the ceramic. 

“You didn’t even assume I poisoned that, we’ve made a lot of progress” He laughed, sinking into the chair across from you. 

“If you were going to kill me it would have been at the sight of the first bread roll” You chuckled, Croas’s ears perking up at the mention of her favourite snack. 

“Yes well, there's still time” Craos grumbled at her master's teasing, gaining another laugh from you. You looked around the small living room that had become your infirmary, noticing the vast collection of books, wooden figurines of great creatures and general Eris-ness about the place. The inspection made Eris shuffle slightly in his seat until you caught him watching you. You smiled back, swinging your legs to stand again, Craos moved from your side to the other end of the couch. 

“Careful walking YN, I had to threaten the life of a healer to fix that ankle” He smirked but the worry was still written across his amber eyes. You took one or two shaky steps before stopping, Eris fixating his eyes on every movement as Craos seemingly decided to take things into her own hands…or paws. She suddenly jumped from the couch, knocking into the back of your knees, sending your shaking legs from under you. Eris was quicker to react than you, taking hold of your outstretched arms and saving you from imprinting your face on the coffee table. 

“Saving you for the second time” He smiled down at you, allowing you to shift your weight for him to support you, his hands finding your waist to steady you. 

“Maybe I’ll return the favour sometime and not drown you” You laughed again, your hands taking hold of his shoulders for greater balance.

“I have a weird feeling YN that you could save me in another way” He cut off any questioning you might have, your lips meeting his with a delicatness you didn’t know any male could have let alone one of the most feared.  You were suddenly pulled away from him by the feeling of paws on your good foot. You both looked down to Craos who stood knowingly between you both, looking up with adoration at her two favourites fae, making you both laugh. 

“Good girl Croas, very very good girl” Eris beamed down at her before looking back at you again, his new found salvation.

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

What do you think friends?

[l0vergirlsw0rld]

Need fluff with logan and a southern reader pretty pretty pls!!!

I’m from a hawt place so a winter man in a winter cabin is needed right about now. Please can I request headcanons or a one shot about the reader that bakes him so many sweets/makes so much food for winter he gets chubby and notices, maybe they swap recipes or bake together? Just so much domestic fluff

It’s a primal need to see this man happy, unbothered in the Canadian wilderness, thriving with anything his heart wants and I know I can make that happen lmao

taste of home

bigdaddy!loganxsouthern!reader

a/n: i got so inspired by this request that I started and finished in one session! was definitely needed to whip up some cute cozy feel feel-good after the hours of writing smut for Ravish. thank you for the request, my asks are always open! hope y'all enjoy it! <3 a/n: i got so inspired by this request that I started and finished in one session! was definitely needed to whip up some cute cozy feel feel-good after the hours of writing smut for Ravish. thank you for the request, my asks are always open! hope y'all enjoy it! <3

wc: 1k

18+ MDNI | sexual themes, FLUFF, the name daddy is used.

summary: Y/N has been a little homesick lately and found a temporary cure through baking for Logan.

"What're you getting all dolled up for?" Logan cooed from the doorframe he was leaning on, his arms crossed. 

Your eyes met his reflection in the mirror of your vanity. 

"Nothin', just felt like being pretty." You smiled up at him as you put on your pearl earrings. 

It was true, you had nowhere to go. Logan's cabin was located in quite literally the middle of nowhere. Miles and miles of trees surrounded the property secluding you both from any and all civilization. 

Back home, it was part of your routine to get ready for the day even though all you'd do was stay home. There was something fulfilling about looking your best every day: if you looked good, you felt good.

You had felt a little homesick lately.

 Logan had dragged you deep into the Canadian forests for the winter because he couldn't stand the southern heat that you were used to. At first, you weren't a fan of the idea, but seeing as how happy it made Logan, it made the move all worthwhile.

He'd let go of his negative ways, he was now affectionate, talkative, and adventurous. His being away from all the stress allowed him to show you some of his other colours and vibrant ones at that.

"What do you always say... as pretty as a plum?" He snorted.

"As a peach. It's pretty as a peach." You giggled. 

"Well then, darling, you're as pretty as a peach." He corrected himself, pushing off the door frame and walking up behind your chair.

"Why thank you, Daddy," You blushed as he placed a gentle kiss on your exposed shoulder. 

"God, I love it when you call me that." He groaned into your skin, giving you a soft bite. 

You giggled from the slight pinch and finished getting ready with a few final pats of powder. 

"Mmm, as much as I'd want to do that with you right now, know what day it is. It's my baking day, Lo'." You tipped your head back and pressed a kiss to his stubbly cheek. 

"Can't you do it tomorrow baby?" He huffed.

"You know it's tradition, Sunday is baking day. Do you want more sweets or what?" You raised an eyebrow. 

"Yes, mam'." He chuckled, taking a seat on the bed and letting you get to your  work station.

He knew how serious you got about your baking, it was your primary way of curing your homesickness. 

You'd always keep a pitcher of sweet tea in the fridge and cupboards stocked with fresh bread and goodies. Logan could not bring himself to complain, he had developed a major sweet tooth since being with you. Every time you'd make new batches they would be gone in a matter of a few days. It's as if he'd eat one each time he'd pass by them. 

You didn't mind though, it warmed your heart to see how much he enjoyed your baking. Often you'd find some powdered sugar left in his beard. 

"You should watch it with those," You'd warn him as he devoured them, one by one. 

"I got bones of steel. No need to worry baby, sugar is the last thing that'll take me out." He mumbled with his mouth full, not being able to control himself around your delicious treats.

His favourites were your peach cobbler, lemon bars and peanut butter-chocolate fudge. Those were also conveniently the easiest ones to make. You had tried to teach Logan how to make them on his own, but it never stuck. 

"Why are they flat like pancakes? I followed your recipe," He had come to you while you left him unsupervised in the kitchen. You put your embroidery down and peered into the baking pan. 

"Did you use baking powder?" You poked the gooey top of his 'cupcake.' 

"Yes." He grumbled.

"Are you sure it was baking powder and not baking soda?" You tasted the batter, making a face. Salty.

"There's a difference?" His eyebrows furrowed.

Baking didn't come naturally to Logan, and that was okay. You had your strengths and he had his, which is what made you two work so well together. 

You spent the entire day working up a storm in the kitchen. 

Multitasking the different steps for each recipe with ease. You had spent so much time of your life baking that tackling multiple projects at once didn't even make you break a sweat. Logan turned his leather armchair to face you from across the house so he could watch you. 

He enjoyed watching you get lost in your little head as you worked. The way your plump lips wrapped around your finger when you taste-tested the recipes, making sure they were just right for him. The slight lift of your dress as you bent over to grab some pans from storage. Your flushed skin, glowing underneath the kitchen light. That little sigh of relief would escape you as you tied your hair up from the heat of the oven. Just like that, silently, he'd ogle you from his corner, sipping his favourite whiskey, and watching his favourite doll. 

Of course, at any chance he'd get he'd be there to come help you when you needed him to reach some things that were too high up or lift the heavy sac of flour on the counter for you. 

Today, you had made the biggest batches yet, pans of cooling sweets covered your entire kitchen surface. 

"Whoa baby, what're you feeding, the army?" Logan teased as he walked by shirtless. 

When you first started seeing Logan, he was in optimal shape. He was nothing but an angry mess of hair and muscle. But since he moved you into the cabin, he had started putting on a few extra pounds, most likely from his overconsumption of your treats. 

"No, I'm feeding a Wolverine that's clearly getting ready for winter." You teased back, poking his stomach. 

 He stopped in his tracks and peered down at his hair-covered gut. 

In no way shape or form did he look bad with the added weight, if anything you like him having a few extra layers? 

"You callin' me fat?" Grinned mischievously. 

"I was just playin- ah Logan!" You gasped as he threw you over his shoulder with a swift motion. Holding your ass right next to his face with his arm. He hoisted up your dress with his free hand, revealing your white bow panties. Your legs kicked in protest. 

"Daddy, stop it- you're not fat-" 

"That's not very nice baby, gonna need to punish you." He chuckled giving you a hard spank on the cheek, then placed you back down. 

"Now if you will excuse me, I've gotta get ready for winter." He winked as he grabbed the cookie closest to him. Sinking with teeth in it with that smile you oh so fell in love with. 

🏷️: @babey-fruit-bat <3

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