#YOU LEFT HIM! YOU DIDN’T WANT HIM! YOU CAN’T JUST COME BACK!

[kunareads]

if i believe you | chapter nine

teach me to walk

clan head!satoru x reader

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wc: 4.6k

a/n: this chapter dragged me through three different circles of hell. also, if you've been waiting for smut......... keep waiting!!! also, see this great ask about this chapter if you’re curious

content: fluff and angst and yearning as usual

INTERACT HERE FOR TAGLIST!

18+ please <3

steam curls against the mirror, softening the edges of your reflection into something unfamiliar. the house is quiet—blurred, somehow. like the hush that settles over a church after everyone’s gone home.

you move automatically. lotion over your skin, loose clothes pulled on with distracted hands.

the sleepiness from the car is gone now. stripped away the moment you were alone. why can’t he be here?

it feels ridiculous—childish, even—after everything. after all that time spent holding each other at arm’s length. but it doesn’t matter. the ache’s still there.

he was warm beside you. brushing his lips against your knuckles. teasing you, gentle and shameless, like the kamo gardens were yours alone. like he hadn’t nearly made a scene at dinner.

you could almost believe him, you think. you could almost believe he means it—the warmth, the constant ease—if it weren’t for the questions still echoing in your head.

you sit at the edge of your bed and the silence presses in—insistent, expectant. waiting for you to admit it to yourself.

he’s not coming to you.

you know it the way you know the shape of your own hands. instinctive. not because he doesn’t care—never that. you remember how he looked at you when you broke. the way he held you even though he didn’t know how to fix it.

i’ll be here when you’re ready, he’d said. he meant it. still does.

and that’s the problem.

you have to be the one to break the silence because he won’t bring it up. won’t pry, won’t ask why you said the things you said—i’m failing you, you didn’t want me, i’m not what you need. he won’t ask what it meant that you asked for answers when neither of you were ready to give or receive them.

and until then, you’re stuck circling the same questions over and over, too afraid to ask them out loud in case he confirms your worst fears.

why did he say no?

why, even now, won’t he touch you?

and the one that you can’t acknowledge without shame burning hot behind your ribs:

are you allowed to want something from him?

you know the answer. it’s always been no. wanting is selfish. wanting is dangerous. it means asking for something you haven’t earned and don’t deserve. wanting is sinful.

but wanting sneaks in anyway. it settles in your stomach when he’s close. it curls in your chest when he reaches for you. steals your breath when he’s warm and laughing and looking at you like he did tonight.

and you have no idea what to do with it.

because if wanting isn’t shameful—if it’s allowed, like he wants you to think it is—then it has to be named. spoken out loud and handed over.

it’s terrifying.

not just because the words are too big in your mouth, but because you’ve never said them before. never been allowed to say i want this, or i want you, or i want to understand why you don’t want me back.

but the longer you sit here, the more unbearable the quiet becomes. it’s not cold anymore, and it was never really punishment. it’s waiting.

he’s waiting.

you felt it in the way his face went soft when you made his favorite dessert. in the kiss he left on your hand and in the space he made for you at the table. in the way he said nothing in the days after your parents left—not because he didn’t care, but because he promised to follow your lead.

so if you want answers, you have to ask. you have to reach for them. for him.

but what if asking ruins everything?

and what if not asking leaves you stuck like this forever?

you stand before you can talk yourself out of it.

you pad through the house, one hand trailing the wall as you pass. the wood is strong under your fingers, solid in a way you’re not. you press your palm into it a little harder, needing the anchor.

the front door is half-open. the night breathes through it, cool and silver and smelling faintly like earth. you drift closer, hovering in the doorway.

satoru sits on the veranda, loose-limbed and still. his head tips back against a post, sweatpants and a t-shirt replacing the robes from earlier. he looks… relaxed. content, even.

maybe you’re imagining the gap between you. maybe if you stay quiet, it’ll shrink on its own.

you can’t see his entire face from here, but you can see the patience. the way he knows you’re standing there, and he’s trying not to reach for you first.

maybe he’s been waiting.

maybe you’re about to ruin everything.

you stand frozen. the night hums between you, quiet and watchful.

and then—before you lose your nerve—you step outside.

you don’t sit. you wrap your arms around yourself instead, a few paces away, the air brushing cool against your skin.

“satoru?”

your voice is quieter than you meant it to be.

he turns his head slightly, enough to show you he’s listening. he stays where he is otherwise, giving you all the space in the world to turn back and pretend you were just passing through.

“can i ask you something?”

his answer is immediate. “anything.”

your fingers tighten against your sleeves. you keep your eyes on the edge of the veranda, too afraid to meet his.

“what are you waiting for?” you ask.

he doesn’t speak right away.

not because he doesn’t know—you’re starting to understand that now—but because he’s not willing to rush your words. won’t knock them out of the air before they land.

and that might be worse.

it might be easier if he got confused, or defensive, or told you that you’re wrong about everything. but he just sits there and waits.

so you keep speaking.

“i mean…” you shift your weight, the thought still forming. “i keep waiting for you to take something.”

you glance down, fixing your eyes on the floorboards like you might sink into them.

“that’s what was supposed to come next, right?” your voice cracks despite your best efforts. “i thought if i just… let you have me, things might make sense. you were supposed to—”

you stop. you can’t say it. own me. use me. make me belong to you. the more you learn about satoru, the more the words seem unfathomable connected to him anyway.

he doesn’t rush to soothe it. doesn’t offer you anything yet—not comfort, not contradiction. and that’s the most terrifying part. that he’s really listening.

you press on, because if you stop now, you won’t start again.

“i don’t know if i’m your wife,” you say. “or a guest, or someone you just feel responsible for now.”

you pause. swallow. the words taste off, but they’re the only ones you have.

“i don’t know what i’m supposed to be to you,” you continue.

“i keep thinking maybe it’s just me. maybe i’m not something you want.”

you wince at the sound of it. it feels naive and humiliating, like you’re confessing to something selfish. but it’s out now, and you can’t take it back.

you raise your eyes, finally.

not because you’re brave, but because you have to. you need to see what this all sounds like to him. whether it’ll be written across his face.

it’s not.

he’s just watching you. silent and very still. like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he blinks.

“am i not something you want?” you ask.

the quiet that follows is awful. thick and endless. your heart slams against your ribs, and your arms tighten around yourself like you might be able to keep the ache from spilling out.

for one terrible moment, you wonder if you’ve broken something you can’t fix.

but then satoru exhales. shaky, like you cracked something open inside him.

“come here.”

you freeze, heart pounding. part of you wants to run. part of you wants to fold yourself down, apologize for asking at all.

but the bigger part—the one he’s been coaxing out of hiding since the day you met—wants to believe him.

“please?” he says. “just for a second.”

when you move, it’s slow. one step, then another.

he waits.

he waits until you’re standing right in front of him, until you’re within reach because you chose to be, and only then do his hands rise, carefully uncrossing your arms from your chest like he’s untying a knot.

he pulls you down gently, letting you kneel to his level, and wraps you into his chest, his arms folding around you like a shelter.

his chin rests lightly on the crown of your head. the warmth of him seeps in immediately, steady and grounding. you breathe him in—cotton and soap and something stubbornly, stupidly sweet.

he holds you like he’s scared you’ll vanish. one hand draws slow, absent circles along your back, soothing something nameless.

it’s a long time before he speaks.

then, carefully—

“i’ve wanted you this whole time.”

the words fall so simply, so unguarded, that for a moment they don’t make sense. like you’ve misheard him.

you blink.

that can’t be true.

you almost say it out loud. he’s already looking at you like he heard it anyway.

“but you—” he stops, his voice catching. “you were bracing for me to hurt you.”

it hits something deep inside you. it’s not an accusation. it’s an ache. a terrible, tender thing he’s been carrying alone.

you hadn’t even realized it showed.

you go still against him. completely still. and he knows—he knows—you’re remembering it now.

your wedding night. his voice, quiet. you look like you’re waiting for an execution.

“i couldn’t—” he breaks off, the hand moving across your back going still. he exhales unevenly. “i couldn’t make that your first memory of us.”

the words settle between you like something sacred. something terrible.

you lean your forehead into his shoulder and squeeze your eyes shut. the weight of everything you’ve been carrying—what you were taught, what you tried to be, what you should be—presses down harder.

your hands twitch against his chest. you pull back, curling into yourself on instinct. your knees draw up, arms wrapping tight around them. you feel small, stupid, unfinished.

it’s easier not to look at him. easier to let the words fall into the space between your knees and his feet, where you can pretend he won’t catch them.

“i don’t—” you start, but you cut yourself off. the shame hits too fast, too hot. you’re not supposed to say it out loud. it’s not supposed to matter.

you close your eyes, steadying yourself, and try again. “i don’t even know what this is supposed to be like.”

you curl tighter around yourself, pressing your forehead to your knees.

“it’s something you give,” you whisper. “something you endure. not… something you want.”

the words taste like old iron. like reciting someone else’s prayer. they don’t belong to you—not really—but you don’t have anything else.

“i don’t think i’d even know how to want.”

silence settles again. the breeze moves through the trees, the sound of his breathing stays steady.

then, light as a feather, his hand brushes against yours. a tether, if you want it.

“do you want to know?” he asks.

the question is so soft it almost doesn’t hurt. almost.

and he’s watching you like absolutely nothing depends on your answer.

you hesitate. fear still claws at your throat, whispering that you’ll get it wrong, that you’ll ruin whatever this fragile thing between you is becoming.

you don’t know how to say yes.

you don’t know if you’re allowed to say yes.

but the thought of saying no feels worse. like slamming a door you barely had the courage to crack open.

so you nod, small and uncertain, while your voice catches up. and then, quietly: “i think so.”

his face softens immediately, so much that you have to look away because there’s warmth rushing up to your cheeks at the sight.

you reach for him slowly, your fingers curling lightly around his—just enough to ask him to stay.

“i can show you,” he says carefully. “if you let me. if you want to.”

your throat tightens. “what does that mean?” you ask. “to learn. with you.”

you hate how stupid the question sounds, but it’s the only one you can ask.

he swipes his thumb over your knuckles and nods like he understands.

“just that we’ll figure it out together,” he says. “and that you don’t have to know anything. and you’re allowed to change your mind.”

that doesn’t sound like learning. not the way you were taught.

learning, for you, meant silence. it meant getting it right the first time, or not at all. it meant eyes on you, waiting to catch your mistakes. correction before praise, and obedience before comfort.

“what if i don’t know what to do?” you ask. “or i get it wrong?”

his mouth curves. not into a smirk—something more exposed. something a little sad.

“then you say so,” he says. “and we pause. and we try again later. or differently, or not at all.”

he lets that settle before adding, quieter, “you can ask me anything you want. no more guessing.”

you’re staring at him. the edges of you feel frayed—like you’re unraveling in slow motion.

“and you won’t…” you trail off, unsure how to finish.

he finishes the thought for you anyway. “i won’t be disappointed. i won’t be mad, i won’t push.”

“but if i get it wrong—” you start, but your throat closes. he squeezes your hand, steady and light.

“you can’t get it wrong,” he says. “there’s nothing to get right.”

you don’t understand that.

not really. learning has always been rigid. merciless and swift. you were supposed to answer before the question was even asked. to be flawless—or you were failing.

this feels… alien.

and maybe that’s the point.

“you’re allowed to stop and think.” satoru says. his voice threads even softer now. “you’re allowed to feel good, and to not know what you want.”

your chest aches.

he says it so simply. like it’s always been true. like it’s never been something you had to earn.

“you just have to work with me, angel. if that’s something you want.”

your breath wavers, but you squeeze his hand back. a small, scared movement.

and he smiles—so bright and careful it makes your ribs hurt.

“what if i’m bad at it?” you whisper.

his smile tips. “then we’ll be bad at it together.”

a small sound slips out of you. a puff of laughter, maybe, except it trembles too close to tears. you press your face to your knee, hiding the way your mouth wobbles.

“what if…” you trail off, biting the inside of your lip. “what if i don’t like it?”

shame rises hard again, thick and familiar, trying to choke the words down before they can be heard.

“we stop,” he says without missing a beat.

“you tell me,” he adds. “every time. if you like something, if you don’t. if you’re scared. if you want to stop.”

his thumb draws slow lines over your hand, like he’s trying to teach your body the rhythm of safety. like he’s building a language between you with nothing but patience and touch.

you exhale shakily. the tightness in your chest loosens by a fraction. for the first time in your life, maybe, you think you could learn to want something just because it’s yours to want.

he pulls you back into his chest and you stay that way for a while. the night buzzes around you, easy now, and satoru can feel the shift. the ache hasn’t gone away, but it’s muted by something new.

you move first. slowly, carefully, like standing might undo whatever’s been holding the two of you together out here.

he watches you stretch your arms overhead with a quiet sigh, and he wants to reach for you again.

“tired?” he asks.

you shake your head. “not really.”

he smiles at that. it makes sense. the night’s still thick with everything said, everything unsaid—everything that’s barely beginning. of course you’re not sleepy.

“me neither,” he says.

you don’t say anything else as you turn and walk inside. he gives it a second, then two, then follows casually, like he was headed that way anyway.

you’re already leaning against the counter when he steps into the kitchen—bathed in low light, a little flushed from the evening, one hand digging through a tin of cookies.

this is what he wanted, he thinks. not just the conversation, but this. you. here, in his space. barefoot and hunting for snacks like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“not gonna share?” he asks, voice low and mock-serious.

you blink up at him like you’re surprised to see him there.

“…do you want a cookie?”

he tilts his head, smiling. “i want that cookie.”

you glance down at the one in your hand and hesitate, not sure if he’s teasing. then you take a small, defiant bite, eyes flicking back up like a challenge you don’t entirely mean.

satoru laughs. airy, delighted. his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek.

it’s so easy to fall into this with you. easier that it should be, probably.

he pushes off the doorway and steps closer before he really decides to. he moves in close, then closer, until he’s right in front of you, one hand bracing against the counter next to your hip.

you tilt your head, trying to read him. figuring out whether this is still part of the game. your hand tightens slightly on the tin.

but you don’t pull away from him, and you don’t drop your gaze.

he leans in, smiling but grounded underneath. “what if i said please?”

you look up at him—really look—and something flickers across your face that he almost misses. softer than fear, more open than hesitation. something want-shaped.

and it hits him all at once: you’re here because you want to be, letting him be this close to you because you want him there.

his heart stumbles. he wants to kiss you. wants to press a hand to your waist and not let go.

he doesn’t. he exhales instead. slow and careful, with the kind of control that costs something. then—just to make you smile—

“what about pretty please?”

your eyes flick up to his, startled. but the smile he was looking for is tugging at your mouth—small and shy and impossible to miss. it makes his stomach turn over.

you hold the cookie out to him, tentative, like he might be joking.

he doesn’t take it from you.

instead, he dips his head slightly and brings his mouth to it. he takes a bite—slow and clean. his eyes stay on you, lips brushing your fingers on the way up.

your breath catches. your hand stays frozen in the air, like you’ve forgotten how to lower it.

he straightens like nothing happened. chews, swallows, flashes you that easy grin.

“good cookie,” he says. “thanks for sharing.”

you’re still staring at him.

and now—now he sees it clearly. not fear, not confusion. desire. new, tender, barely formed. but there.

his chest feels too tight for how casual he’s trying to be.

you lower your hand at last, blinking down at the tin in your other arm. he watches you go quiet, watches something shift behind your eyes—like you’re sorting yourself out in real time.

you’re cute. so fucking cute.

you set the tin on the counter—a little clumsy, like you don’t know what to do with your hands anymore.

he reaches over and closes the lid for you. “you picked the best kind,” he says as he steps away slightly.

“they were on top,” you mumble.

he smiles. you’re flustered.

he turns toward the cabinet, tucking the tin back into place.

you stay where you are, watching him move, watching him wipe his thumb on a napkin like nothing about any of this feels unusual.

then—

“how do you know when you want something?”

you sound curious. like you’re asking why clouds float. or how ovens work.

he freezes. his brain short-circuits before the question can settle.

because he knew it.

he saw it on your face. it in the way you didn’t flinch when he leaned in. and now his stomach is doing something stupid and warm and helpless.

he leans against the counter opposite you. “what kind of something?” he asks, casual. letting you decide how far to take it.

you glance at him, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve.

“…just in general,” you say. like that makes it less obvious.

he huffs a laugh. god. you’re killing him.

he lets the silence stretch for a beat longer than he needs to. not to make you squirm (well, maybe a little), but mostly to buy himself time. to get his brain to restart.

“hm,” he says at last, tilting his head like he’s giving it real academic consideration. “usually i get really annoying about it.”

you blink at him. “that’s… how you know?”

“yeah,” he nods, like it’s obvious. “if i start talking too much or showing off or following someone around the house for cookies, it’s probably a sign.”

you stare at him. he grins.

“…so like now,” you say slowly.

“exactly like now,” he says, shameless.

you make a sound between a scoff and a laugh, eyes dropping back to the floor. but you’re smiling, and it lights something up in him.

he watches you for a moment longer before shifting. his voice dips slightly, still playful but with something quieter underneath it now.

“sometimes it just… sneaks up on you.”

you look at him again.

“you don’t always know what it is at first,” he says, more careful now. “but it feels a little like gravity. like you’re being pulled toward something.”

he softens. “and even if you don’t know what you’ll do when you get there… you still want to move.”

he meets your gaze and shrugs—casual again, like his heart’s not sitting all the way up in his throat.

“or, you know,” he adds a beat later, “sometimes it’s just about cookies.”

you smile, small and shy, still looking down. “it does feel like that. the gravity thing.”

“yeah?” he breathes.

you nod. “i think… i didn’t know what it was. but now i sort of do.”

his stomach does a backflip. fuck.

he stays quiet, leaning a little farther back into the counter like he needs it to hold him steady.

“is that dumb?” you ask.

he shakes his head immediately. “not at all.”

he lets out a breath—slow and careful—like if he exhales too fast, he’ll say something stupid. something like you’re all i want. something like stay with me.

the silence that follows is tender in a way he’s not quite sure how to hold.

he could stay in it forever. you and him in this warm, sleepy kitchen where you’re looking at him like he didn’t ruin anything, like he might even be something you want.

but you yawn—small and unguarded—and blink a little slower than before, like the weight of the day is finally catching up to you.

his smile tugs sideways. “that gravity thing wearing you out?”

you huff a quiet laugh, rubbing your eye with the back of your hand. “a little.”

he chuckles under his breath. he can’t help it. you’re so fucking adorable like this—sleepy-eyed, mumbling, rubbing at your face like it’s been the longest day.

and it has. he knows that. it’s been everything packed into twenty-four hours.

he offers you his hand. “come.”

your gaze flicks up, surprised by the offer, but you don’t hesitate. your fingers slip into his, grip easy and trusting.

satoru feels it all the way down to his toes.

he walks a little slower than usual. not because you’re following, but because he’s not really ready for this part to end.

you reach your door too soon. both of you stop, him turning to face you, and you don’t let go of his hand. you look up at him, eyes soft and a little unfocused.

he wants to say something. he should say something.

you beat him to it.

“…can i kiss you goodnight?” you ask, sweet and tiny, like you don’t know if the words will come out right.

he thinks his heart stops. fuck yes.

he’s not sure what he was expecting—maybe nothing. maybe just your hand slipping away, a quiet goodnight and the dull click of the door.

but not this. not you asking. not so gently.

“yeah,” he says. “please.”

you rise on your toes and press a kiss to his mouth. light and short. almost playful. almost like you’re teasing something.

he blinks when you pull back. “that it?” he teases, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

you look at him, blinking once, then smile—slow and sleepy and a little coy.

god, he’s done for.

he steps in closer. his hands rise to either side of your face, light and steady.

“let me,” he murmurs.

you tilt your head up. he leans in again, and this time, the kiss lingers.

your hand curls into his shirt without thinking as your lips part for him, warm and unsure. he meets you like he’s been waiting all night. it’s exactly how he told you—like gravity—slow and inevitable.

it lasts longer than either of you expected. long enough for your breath to stutter out against his mouth in a quiet, helpless exhale.

and he smiles into it. barely, just enough for you to feel it.

when you part, it’s reluctant. your lips hover close, neither of you really wanting to let go.

your eyes flutter open, dazed and a little dreamy.

“goodnight, satoru,” you whisper.

“night, angel.”

you turn the handle and disappear into your room.

he stays there in the hallway a while, smiling to himself like an idiot.

[minswriting]

DAYLIGHT - SPENCER REID X READER

About: Toxicity comes in any shape or form. You and Spencer, on what is a seemingly healthy relationship, share undertones of sadness and unresolved emotions. Issues that only get pushed away and temporarily forgotten about when the two of you use sex to ignore the he problems.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, angst, toxic relationship but not abusive, sex as a coping mechanism, unprotected sex, oral (f), unresolved feelings, etc.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Please comment and reblog to support your writers! I hope you guys enjoy! Thank you to @beenreidingaboutyou and @aureatelys for reading it before i posted it so i can make sure it’s all set heeheehee.

Telling myself I won’t go there

Oh, but I know that I won’t care

Tryna wash away all the blood I’ve spilt

This lust is a burden that we both share

Two sinners can’t atone from a lone prayer

Souls tied, intertwined by our pride and guilt

It all began at a coffee shop. You had just moved to Washington, D.C., were still figuring out your surroundings. And that day, you had found your new frequent coffee stop.

There he was, standing awkwardly, fiddling with the strap of his satchel as the two of you shared a passing glance as you were making your way towards the exit while he was waiting in line.

You weren’t someone that believed in love at first sight, at least not until that moment. Your heart raced, pounding in your chest, as your gaze met with those beautiful chocolate brown eyes. It was nothing more than a brief look, one that only lasted less than a few seconds. And yet, it felt as though it had been an eternity. In that moment, you knew that was the man you were going to fall for.

Everyday you went to the coffee shop, ordering your coffee and exchanging glances with the man that you felt drawn to. There were days, however, he wasn’t there which often left you a bit disappointed. It took about two months before either of you had said anything to the other. The man accidentally bumped in the doorway while you were on your way out and he was on his way in.

“Oh!” He exclaimed, eyes widening as he began apologizing profusely. “I-I’m so sorry,” He said.

You were careful to ensure your coffee didn’t spill, not wanting to embarrass yourself in front of the hot man. “It’s okay,” you smiled. “I-uh-I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Spencer,” He grinned goofily.

And a beautiful friendship foraged by coffee and a love for life came into fruition.

You’d love to say that your relationship with Spencer was a happy and loving one. With his eidetic memory remembering anything and everything about you, how you reminded him to be himself, and the way the two of you cared for one another was admirable. The fact that for your first date, Spencer took you to a bookstore and the two of you browsed around before getting dinner certainly set the bar for romanticism in your relationship.

The first time you realized you were in love with Spencer was the day he ran to your apartment in the rain after he had gotten back from a rough case. He was standing outside your door, drenched and shivering. “I just-I needed to see you,” was all he said. It was all he needed to say before you pulled him into your apartment. It was the night the two of you also had sex for the first time.

When you guys eventually said “I love you” to one another, Spencer was the one that said it first. You had come over to his place after your own long day at work, stressed and in desperate need of comfort from your boyfriend. And as Spencer held you close to him, rubbing your back, he simply murmured “I’m always here for you. I love you,” into your ear. You didn’t hesitate to say it back to him.

There's darkness in the distance

From the way that I've been livin'

But I know I can't resist it

Relationships, as amazing and beautiful they can be, can quickly turn into something completely different once the couple gets too comfortable in them. You began noticing Spencer’s flaws about a year and a half into your relationship. The subtle disagreements the two of you had would become something more. And there were nights that you went to bed sad and angry.

When Spencer was on a case, you hardly expected much out of him. He would promise to text you when he’d land, promise to call you once he’d get to the hotel, and make sure you’d know when he’s on his way home. And for the first year the two of you were together, he did exactly that. But one day, it just stopped and you weren’t sure as to why.

It saddened you, to say the least. You knew his work was important, it’s why you never pushed him. Being a profiler in the FBI was not easy work and you couldn’t imagine yourself in such a position. Even so, however, you couldn’t help but feel as though you no longer were a priority in Spencer’s life. Everything else always came above you and that very thought is what led you to confront Spencer about it, or at least try to.

You had been sitting on the couch, dressed in nothing but one of Spencer’s shirts, as you waited for him to come home. You fiddled with your fingers, anxiety had been eating up at you as you processed your emotions. As you heard a jingle of keys outside the apartment door, you knew Spencer had just arrived home. It wasn’t too late at night. He had left for his case just two days prior and now it was only eight o’clock in the evening.

Whenever Spencer would come home, you would usually jump for joy, greeting him at the door with a hug and a kiss. But that too was something that hadn’t been happening as of recently. Spencer wasn’t sure as to why. Perhaps you didn’t know either. But instead, Spencer was met with your form on the couch, looking contemplative as you looked at your lap.

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

You and I drink the poison from the same vine

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

Hidin' all of our sins from the daylight

From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight

From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

“Hey,” Spencer greeted, his voice hoarse from not being used in the past few hours.

You looked up from your lap, turning your head to look at Spencer, who was standing in the doorway. “Hey,” you replied before looking back down.

That action itself caused Spencer to frown. He kicked off his converse and placed his satchel down next to the door as he closed the door behind himself. He made his way over to you, kneeling in front of you. He looked up at you with those puppy dog eyes as your gaze caught his, the ones you’d never been able to resist. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Spencer asked, his voice just above a whisper.

Tears pricked at your eyes, the softness of Spencer’s tone adding to your already high strung emotions. “I-“ You tried to speak but your voice got choked up. You took a deep breath. “You didn’t call or text,” you whispered, looking at Spencer tearfully.

Spencer stayed silent for a few moments, unsure of how to respond. He swallowed, looking down for a second before looking back up at you and grabbing your hands with his. “I’m sorry,” he replied. He didn’t give a reason, he didn’t make an excuse, he simply apologized. “I-I’ll do better,” He exclaimed.

You didn’t respond, except for with a tearful sniffle. Your gaze fixated in your lap once more, your hands still intertwined with Spencer’s. “I don’t want to be on the back burner,” you whispered after a little bit.

Spencer didn’t respond immediately as he let go of your hands, placing his on your thighs. “You’re not,” he replied before leaning down to press a kiss onto your left knee. You knew what this was insinuating. Whenever you and Spencer had any sort of conflict as of recently, the two of you resolved it by having sex. You should say no, to stand your ground and allow yourself to be heard. But instead, you spread your legs for Spencer, revealing your cunt to your boyfriend.

Spencer let out a small hum before kissing your knee once more and working his way up. He was grateful you had only been wearing one of his shirts and nothing else as it made for much easier access. “My beautiful girl,” Spencer murmured against your inner thigh. His eyes met yours for just a moment. You were still crying, he didn’t really give you a chance to let your feelings out. Regardless, Spencer just wanted you. He wanted to consume you, to show you that you meant a lot to him, even if he wasn’t being the greatest right now.

You took a shaky breath, looking down at Spencer with glistening eyes. And without any further hesitation, Spencer dove in. He licked your slit, from your hole to your clit, a small whimper escaping his lips. You gave a soft moan, as your hands moved to grip the cushion beneath you. You shouldn’t be turned on, you shouldn’t be allowing Spencer to taste you in such a way, not when you’re feeling upset. And yet, all thoughts are gone the moment his lips wrap around your clit.

Spencer began slowly, eating you out with a precision and delicacy that he usually lacked. When he would eat you out, it was often like he was a starved man, depraved from water and food. Tonight, however, it was as though he was apologizing to you. His own form of an apology and how can you be mad about that when it feels so good?

Spencer’s tongue moved around in figure eights, gathering all of your juices with his tongue. You couldn’t help the small whines and moans that left your lips. Spencer was always so good at giving head. Your hand moved to Spencer’s head, entangling your fingers with his curls. You tugged at his hair, causing him to moan against your pussy. The vibrations sent a shiver up your spine.

His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking on the nub as he brought his middle finger to your entrance. You gasped unexpectedly, moaning a bit louder when Spencer inserted his finger. He pumped his finger slowly, getting you used to the feeling before suddenly curling the digit, hitting your g-spot dead on.

“Oh fuck,” You whimpered, throwing your head back in pleasure as you tugged at Spencer’s hair.

It wasn’t long until you were cumming from Spencer’s mouth and finger, thighs clenching around his head as your back arched and you moaned his name in that pornographic way that had always had him ready to burst right then and there. And when you were finished, you relaxed against the couch, breathing heavily as you looked down at Spencer.

His eyes were filled with lust, his face glistening from your juices, and you could tell how turned on he was. And so, the rest of the night was filled with having sex around the apartment. You didn’t think about your issues with Spencer until early in the morning when you woke up sore and with a sunken feeling in your chest, a feeling that things were likely not going to change anytime soon.

Tellin' myself it's the last time

Can you spare any mercy that you might find

If I'm down on my knees again?

Deep down, way down, Lord, I try

Try to follow your light, but it's night time

Please, don't leave me in the end

The following week, it happened again. You knew change didn’t happen instantaneously which is why you waited until the third time it happened. And then the fourth. Spencer wasn’t putting in the effort to stay connected with you anymore, to let you know he was okay. You guys didn’t message each other while he’s away, he didn’t call you, he was indeed not doing better.

Spencer came home late one night after a week-long case. He was exhausted. The case was much more emotionally taxing than he’d care to admit. As he walked into the apartment, he wasn’t surprised to see you weren’t in the living room. It was past twelve in the morning, you were likely asleep or getting ready to go to sleep.

He knew he hadn’t been calling or texting you. During cases he just gets so caught up in what he’s doing that everything else no longer matters to him. He supposed that’s what your issue was. The fact that he indeed puts you to the side in order to focus on his career.

Spencer made his way to your shared bedroom, gently opening the door. There you were, quietly reading and looking as beautiful as ever. You were lying on the bed, the blankets covering your lower half. You were wearing the silk nightie that Spencer always adored on you. But the moment you noticed Spencer, you frowned and closed your book, placing it on the nightstand before turning off your lamp. You turned to your side, facing away from Spencer’s side of the bed. That’s how Spencer knew you were mad at him. He hadn’t spoken to you in a week, after all.

A small sigh left his lips as he undressed himself and crawled into bed next to you. He got under the covers and scooted closer to you before pressing small kisses along your shoulder blades.

It didn’t take a profiler to know that you had been thinking about leaving him. The way your heart wasn’t in it like it used to. Maybe it was all Spencer’s fault. He wasn’t treating you the way you deserved to be treated. But he was selfish and his love for you was more important to him. And therefore, he didn’t want to lose you.

His kisses moved upward from your shoulder blades to the back of your neck, gently nipping at your skin. He knew exactly how to turn you on, to make you forgive him for not being the man you deserve to have. Without saying anything, Spencer gently pulled you onto your back. You looked at Spencer with those glimmering eyes, a sign that you were close to crying once more. And Spencer couldn’t help but feel shitty.

“I’m sorry,” He murmured before pressing a kiss onto your lips.

“Are you?” You replied.

Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t. His job is his livelihood, you knew this. And yet, he also knew that you weren’t asking for much. You were simply asking for him to just check in on you even just once or twice while he’s away. Rather than responding, Spencer simply buried his face in your neck as he crawled on top of you. “Need you,” he breathed, his breath hot against your skin.

“Then have me,” you whispered back.

That was all Spencer needed before reaching between the two of you. He gripped his cock while you spread your legs for him. He guided his cock to your cunt, using the tip to spread around your wetness. The both of you let out tiny whimpers. “You’re always so wet,” Spencer murmured.

You didn’t respond as you simply just looked up at Spencer. There wasn’t much you had to say. You could tell that he knew exactly how you felt. Even so, you know the best way for the two of you to communicate is through your bodies. The two of you looked at one another. You reached up, placing a tender hand on Spencer’s cheek. And in that moment, you could tell that Spencer truly felt bad.

You leaned up, capturing Spencer’s lips with your own. The kiss was soft and tender as your lips moved in sync with each other. Spencer aligned his cock to your entrance, gently pushing into you. Your breath hitched before you whined into the kiss. Spencer let out his own noise, a groan of some sorts as he eased himself into you. Once he was fully inside of you, Spencer let go from the kiss, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. “You okay?” He whispered softly, his breath fanning your face.

It was a bit of an adjustment. He had been gone for a week and therefore, the two of you haven’t had sex in that time. You nodded your head, giving yourself time to get used to his size. After a few minutes, you took a deep breath and relaxed. “You can move,” You breathed out before biting your bottom lip.

That was all Spencer needed before he began moving his hips slowly, bringing his cock out before thrusting it back into you. The feeling caused you both to let out your own moans. “You feel so good, princess,” Spencer murmured hotly, looking down at you as he continued moving his hips gently.

Your lips were parted as small moans left your lips. “Feels good, Spence,” You whispered, looking up at him.

Spencer hummed in response, gaining a bit more rhythm in his thrusts. The feeling of your cunt wrapped around his cock was exactly what Spencer needed after such a long case. To just be close to you, to feel your presence with him. Your pussy was so warm and wet, your skin so soft, and you were the most perfect person he could ever be blessed to be with. Which is why he felt so bad about being a poor communicator. He knew you deserved the world, you deserved everything great.

Spencer leaned down, bringing his lips to your neck as he peppered your skin with kisses. He continued moving his hips, his cock thrusting into you rhythmically but not too fast. It was still tender and loving, a contrast to how you felt emotionally in your relationship. “Please don’t leave me,” Spencer said vulnerably, his voice just above a whisper before he buried his head in your neck.

You paused for the briefest moment, realization hitting you. Of course the profiler knew about the thoughts you were having. Perhaps it’s been in your behavior. Your hands made their way to Spencer’s back, gently clawing at his back as he fucked you. You turned your head slightly to look at Spencer. Your eyes met each other’s and in that moment, you knew you would never actually leave him. “I won’t,” You whispered.

You could see Spencer’s eyes glistening, a relief in his expression that you hadn’t realized he had been holding in. “Good,” He said hoarsely before capturing your lips once more.

When the two of you eventually came, your orgasm was brought on by Spencer’s repeated attack on your g-spot with his cock. It was much more intense than you could have anticipated. The way your toes curled, the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head, and the way you clawed at Spencer’s back. Your cunt clamped around Spencer’s cock, causing him to bury himself deep inside of you before cumming as well.

Sex, although not a healthy coping mechanism, was your way of communicating with Spencer. The way the two of you understood what the other was saying. The ability to be emotionally vulnerable while also seeking pleasure from each other was one that you loved and hated. Because although it’s a way to communicate, it is also a way to just slap a band-aid on the situation. Band-aids do nothing more than just stop the immediate bleeding.

You don’t know if the term soulmates is true or not. To have a bond so strong that it was just pure destiny for the two of you to find one another. You’d like to believe that Spencer is your soulmate. Your connection with him is more than you could say about any of your previous partners. And yet, there’s this system the two of you go through where neither of you want to acknowledge the other’s emotions regarding certain situations.

You and Spencer love one another more than words can truly put together. And that’s why you’ll never leave each other, even when things get too hard. Your love for each other is too strong. But at the end of the day, love alone just isn’t enough in a relationship.

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

You and I drink the poison from the same vine

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

Hidin' all of our sins from the daylight

From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight

From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

[cheolieji]

when you’re the 14th girl member of svt but you’re especially close with scoups and you’ve liked him forever but you didn’t do anything about it but he found out (by overhearing you talk to one of the members about it) but then u guys got into a huge fight one day and the members try to comfort u and scoups feels super bad cuz he said a lot of hurtful things and he’s trynna apologize and get with you to tell you how he truly feels but u ignore him PLS WAH also please add lots of angst PLEASE (you can add smut or whatever as you please)

unspoken pt 1 - choi seungcheol

wc: 2,257

Idol au

14th member fic

angstttt

guide for requesting on my page [17] check it out before requesting please

I will make a part 2 but lmk how you guys want it to be like!!

You’ve been in this group for years, and Seungcheol has always been the person you felt closest to. Not just because he’s the leader, not just because he’s good at holding the team together, but because he sees people. He saw you when you were struggling during pre-debut. When you thought you didn’t belong. When you thought no one noticed how hard you were trying. He always noticed.

And of course you fell for him. Slowly at first, then all at once. But you never said a word. You told yourself it wasn’t worth ruining everything over a stupid crush. Told yourself you could live with just being close to him. You learned to ignore the way your heart clenched when he smiled at you. You learned to bury it.

Until yesterday.

You didn’t even mean to say it. You and Jeonghan were up on the rooftop after practice, your head full of exhaustion and your heart heavier than usual.

“I’ve liked him for years,” you admitted, voice so low you were barely sure it even counted as speaking. “I’ve tried to stop. I’ve tried so hard. But I can’t. And it doesn’t matter anyway. He’d never feel the same.”

Jeonghan just looked at you with that sad kind of knowing in his eyes. He didn’t try to argue. He just let you feel it.

Neither of you realized Seungcheol had followed you up there. He turned around and left before you could say anything.

The next day, you expected him to say something. Anything. But he didn’t even look at you. He was cold. Distant. And tense during practice.

It started when you missed a move. Small mistake. You were distracted. Tired.

“Again,” Seungcheol said. “From the top.”

You reset your position without arguing. But the second time, you hesitated for half a beat.

“For god’s sake, can you just focus?” he snapped.

Your head shot up. “What?”

“You heard me.”

You felt everyone’s eyes on you.

“I made a mistake,” you said, forcing your voice to stay calm. “You don’t have to bite my head off.”

“Maybe if you actually tried instead of moping around like a kicked puppy, we wouldn’t be wasting time.”

You blinked, stunned. You felt the words hit harder than they should have.

Jeonghan stepped in. “Come on, that’s enough.”

Seungcheol turned on him. “Don’t start.”

“You’re overreacting,” Joshua said from the side, voice low but steady. “You know you are.”

“I’m the leader,” Seungcheol shot back. “I’m allowed to be frustrated when people stop pulling their weight.”

That was when you laughed. Just once. Quiet and bitter.

“Pulling my weight?” you said. “I’ve done nothing but try. I’ve been here just as long as you have. I’ve bled for this group too.”

“You’re always making everything about you,” he snapped. “You think we don’t see it? You think we don’t notice how you sulk every time something doesn’t go your way?”

“Stop it,” Jihoon said, stepping forward.

“No,” Seungcheol said. “I’m sick of pretending this isn’t a problem. We’re walking on eggshells around someone who clearly doesn’t care anymore.”

Your stomach turned. “You think I don’t care? Are you serious?”

“You’re selfish.”

No one spoke after that.

You grabbed your bag and walked out.

No one stopped you.

You spent the whole day locked in your room. You didn’t answer your phone. You didn’t respond when Seungkwan knocked softly and asked if you were okay. You didn’t open the door when Jeonghan came back later and whispered your name like he was afraid you'd break just from hearing it.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t let yourself. But your chest felt hollow.

When night came, the dorm was quiet. Everyone tiptoed around the tension in the air. No one played games. No one turned on the TV. No one dared to speak too loud. Like they were scared something fragile was already hanging by a thread.

And then Seungcheol knocked once before pushing your door open.

You didn’t look at him.

He stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him like that would soften anything. It didn’t.

“I know you probably don’t want to see me,” he said. His voice was low. Unsteady. “But please. Just let me talk.”

You sat on the edge of your bed, facing the window. Completely still.

He took a breath. Then another. And then he started talking.

“I messed everything up. I know that. I know what I said today was... it was unforgivable. I was angry. I was confused. And I took it all out on you because I didn’t know what else to do. I thought if I made you hate me, maybe it’d be easier. For you. For me. For everyone.”

You didn’t move.

“I heard you yesterday,” he said. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t follow you on purpose. I just... I was going to ask you something. I don’t even remember what now. But I heard what you said to Jeonghan. About me. About how long you’ve felt this way.”

His voice cracked then, and he swallowed hard.

“I wanted to say something. I should’ve said something. But I froze. Because the truth is I’ve been trying to pretend I don’t feel the same. I’ve spent so long trying to lead this group the right way, trying to keep everything balanced. And I told myself it was safer if I stayed away from anything that could shake that.”

He stepped closer, slowly, like you were something fragile. Like he was scared to breathe wrong and shatter you completely.

“But I like you. God, I like you so much it makes me feel like I’m standing on the edge of something I can’t control. And that scared me. Because you matter to me. Not just as a member. Not just as a friend. You matter in a way I don’t even know how to explain.”

Still, you didn’t turn around.

“I never thought I’d be the one to hurt you like this,” he said. “I hate myself for what I said. I keep hearing it play over in my head, the way your face looked when I said you were selfish. You’re the least selfish person I know. You’ve carried so much on your own, and I saw it. I’ve always seen it. And I still tore you apart.”

He crouched down in front of you now, trying to meet your eyes. His voice dropped even lower.

“I’ll do anything to fix this. I’ll wait as long as you want. I’ll say sorry every day until you believe me. Until you can look at me again and not feel disgusted. I’ll earn your forgiveness even if it takes the rest of my life.”

You blinked, but still didn’t look at him. The ache in your chest was too loud. His voice couldn’t reach through it.

“I know I don’t deserve you,” he whispered. “But I want you. I want to try. Not just to fix what I broke. I want to be by your side. I want to hold your hand and not have to hide it. I want you to know that I’ve been yours longer than I ever realized.”

He waited.

You gave him nothing.

Not a word. Not a glance. Not even a breath that told him you’d listened.

So he stood. Slowly. Like gravity was heavier around him now.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” he said. “And the next day. And the next. Until you don’t flinch when I say your name. Until you believe that I mean every word.”

Then he left.

And you let him.

Again.

[lieslab]

Can we always be this close?

Pairing: Seungmin X gn reader

Summary: A camping trip with your best friend turns into an accidental sleepy love confession.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2.1k

_ _ _

“Kim fucking Seungmin!” 

Every time the words rolled off your lips, it was always met with a snicker, or a chuckle. A round of jubilant laughter cut through the air. Something about screwing around with you and making you angry, he found it amusing. 

Maybe it was the way you stood and pouted with your arms crossed over your chest. A whiny huff and your refusal of eye contact. You spun around and refused to acknowledge him. 

The huffs, puffs, and grumbles. The scowls and glares. You did it because you knew he found it all amusing. You wanted him to find it amusing. You wanted to be seen around Seungmin. To be seen and heard. To be loved is to be known. 

An unexpected friendship found you in the middle of nowhere. You drifted in and out of new phases of your life alone. At least, you did until you found Seungmin. Since then, your friendship rolled into something so much more, in your eyes. 

You’d never admit you wanted to kiss his stupid grinning face. A flaming passion struck his heart every time he looked into the crowds of his supporters. A silent love and never-ending admiration, even if he didn’t always admit it out loud. 

You wanted him to look at you like that. Like you mattered much more to him. Not a friend, but something that stirred a fire in the depth of his stomach. You didn’t want smoke, you desired sparks. Something seen and felt. 

“This is my campfire. How does it look, Stay? Are you proud of me? I did exactly what Minho hyung told me to do and I can’t believe it worked. I should have more faith in him. Look at it.” 

In your distant folding chair, you watched him lean the camera closer to the heightening orange flames. In the night’s darkness, out in the middle of nowhere, the fire became the main source of light. The two of you had been on your camping trip for a few hours now. 

“Should I drop stay into the fire?” He tipped the tripod closer, almost letting the device fall in. At the last moment, he pulled it out with a grin. “Just kidding. I’ll let you live another day, for now.” 

The two of you showed up to the campsite hours ago, wanting to be situated before the sun went down. The company rented the place out, wanting Seungmin content. He promised to give it to them, he just didn’t inform them you’d be with him.

Any footage they ended up with, you’d have to be cut out to avoid being seen. It was supposed to be Seungmin’s solo camping trip, but he didn’t want to be alone. Every time he needed to film, you disappeared from the frame and stayed quiet, letting him film whatever he needed. 

“Do you want to see where I’m sleeping? Come check it out. I hope you’re proud of me, Stay. I worked real hard to put up the tent. It was difficult, but I managed.” He walked to the tent, unzipping it and turning on a lantern. 

A large outstretched air mattress sat big enough for two. You were both planning to bring an air mattress, but at the last moment, Seungmin decided it’d be easier to have one. Less space to take up. Less time spent filling both mattresses and more time enjoying the outdoors. 

The more he droned on about the sleeping experience, your eyes drooped. Tucked beneath your hoodie, the hood covered your eyes. This late, the temperature dipped and left the outdoors far cooler than you imagined. 

Thankfully, your hoodie and the fire helped. Your hands twisted around the longer sleeves and you tucked the fabric around your hands. Your head drifted back against the seat and let his faint words soak your soul. 

The scent of pine-soaked firewood tickled your nose. Flames cracked and whipped with the breeze. Your eyes drooped lower and lower. Today had been a long day. From setting up the tent, collecting fire, and roasting dinner over the fire, the manual labor involved was much more than you were used to. 

When Seungmin finished, he turned off the camera and spun around to face you. “Hey, I’m finished and we can…” He trailed off at your hidden body. “Um… Hello?” 

You didn’t respond. Too exhausted and tired, you were nearly asleep. He called your name and when you didn’t respond, he walked over to your slumped body. The back of your head rested along the back of the chair. Your head tipped to the blackened sky. The sharp angle would cause your neck to ache in the morning. 

He reached out, gently poking what he imagined to be your cheek. Beneath the hood, your head shifted and you whined. He poked your face with a single finger again. “What are you doing?” 

“Sleeping.” 

“Why?” 

“‘Cause ‘m sleepy.” Your words came out mumbled. Half-asleep, you weren’t fully in control of your words. 

“Get up. You wanted to play cards with that boring deck of cards you brought.” 

“I’m tired.” 

“And I’m not.” 

You whined and shifted, trying to get away. “Too late. Play tomorrow. Good night.” 

“You are such a loser.” 

“And you’re a jackass.” 

He reached up and pulled back your hood, so he could see your face. “Big baby.”  He pushed back a piece of messy hair. “Wake up and look at me.” 

“No.”

He grabbed your chin and tipped your head down. “I invited you on this trip out of the kindness of my heart and now you’re being a royal brat. A total pain in my ass. You’re so ungrateful for the things I do for you, sometimes.” His voice came out playful. 

One of his fingers flicked the tip of your nose. You swatted away the pesky hand with a sleepy huff. Groggy eyes opened and the two of you made eye contact. Orange illumination highlighted his eyes and the bridge of his nose. Shadows soaked the eye bags and cupid’s bow. 

“Asshole,” you whispered. 

“Get up, I mean it.” You whined, but he continued. Grabbing your wrists, forcing you to stand, and tugging your stumbling frame to the tent. “You’re going to stay out here all night and get eaten by a wild animal.” 

“Nuh-uh.” 

“I would dare you, but I kind of enjoy the company your dumbass provides me.” 

“You like me?” Your eyes drooped again. “That’s nice. I like you, too. I think I might love you, but I don’t know yet.” 

He stopped in his tracks. Your arm slung around his shoulders and your weight propped against his body. You were trying to keep your balance, but it was a struggle. His head slowly turned to face you. “You might love me?” 

“I don’t know. I just like your face. You’re funny and talented and hot and-” 

“Are you tired, delirious, or drunk?” 

“Yep. Drunk on loooove.” You fluttered your eyelashes a few times and shifted. Your body tipped forward, but before you could fall, he steaded you. 

He sighed, shook his head, and helped you walk further into the tent. The fire continued to crackle and pop behind you. With the tug of the zipper, he lowered both of you to the ground. “You’ve gotta work with me here. If you want to get some sleep, you have to crawl into the tent. The bed is right there.” 

You groaned and let out another few complaints, but you shifted away from his body. On your hands and knees, you climbed over the burlap opening and into the eight person tent. It was way bigger than the two of you needed, but you both liked it that way. You could keep all the essentials tucked away from the weather and you still had plenty of room. 

You were nearly to your bed until a foot grabbed your ankle. You hit the ground with a faint “hmph.” 

“Easy. Calm down. I just need to take off your hiking boots before you trail dirt everywhere. I forgot you had them on.” 

You huffed and let your face lay in the bottom of the tent. You no longer cared about anything other than sleep. His fingers worked quickly, trying to unlace your shoes before you could fall back asleep. 

He pulled and tugged at tight knots. It took longer than expected, but soon he finished slipping your foot out of the dirt-caked shoe. He repeated the process with the other. When he finished, a hand stretched out to your lower back. 

“Hey, come on.” He patted your back a few times. “You can get up and get on the air mattress now. You won’t get it covered in dirt.” 

You hummed, but didn’t move. Face down, you stayed in your spot. When you didn’t move, he reached down and tugged your ankle. “Hello?” 

You didn’t respond. His shoulders slumped and a sigh escaped his mouth. His fingers tugged at his own hiking boots. He placed them beside yours and crawled into the tent to assist you. His hands gripped your hips and he tried to get you up. It didn’t work the way he wanted it to. He wanted to pick you up and take you to the bed, but he couldn’t lift your dead-weighted body. 

“Get up,” he tried again. “Come on. Up.” You didn’t respond. “If you get up, I’ll cuddle you.” 

That was more than enough. You jerked upright and army crawled faster than a marine. One arm in front of the other, you snaked yourself all the way over at the opposite end of the tent. With a grunt, you managed to squirm yourself into the bed. Once complete, you patted the bed. “Come on.” 

His eyes widened and he blinked. It took him a moment to register your actions before he finally crawled over. “Sounds like someone was desperate for my attention. Can’t say I’m surprised. I’m just that great, right?” 

He expected you to get annoyed by his cockiness, but instead, you hummed in agreement. He slipped into the bed with a racing heart. You weren’t the only one that caught feelings. Seungmin realized he had feelings for you a few weeks ago. 

It was when you were in the process of pissing him off. He pushed your buttons too badly and for revenge, you were mocking him in a high-pitched voice. Exaggerated gestures and movements that put a scowl on his face. 

On the outside, he looked annoyed. On the inside, he realized he liked you more than he planned. His heart swelled at your mockery. Mocking, or not, you paid attention to his mannerisms. The way you walked around, pretending to be in your own little world before saying something sarcastic that he’d spew; an annoyance wrapped as endearment. 

Every moment after that, it was different. He asked to hang out more. His heart beat so quickly every time the two of you were next to each other, he grew afraid you’d hear it and tease him. If you could feel his racing heart, you didn’t show it. 

He slipped onto the mattress beside you. You shifted, pulling closer, until you could spoon him. All up in his personal space, you sighed and tucked your head into his chest. Flushed cheeks. A rocketing heart. The need for something more. 

“I love you,” you mumbled. “So much. Don’t ever change.” 

His cheeks darkened again. “You’re an idiot. All over me like some needy kitten wanting attention.” 

“Kittens can be interested in a dog’s scent.” 

“What are you saying?” 

“I bought the same cologne you have because I miss you when you’re on tour,” you mumbled. “I spray it on my pajamas sometimes.” 

“Huh?” 

“Shut up and let me love you.” 

“I think I’m going to have to take you to the doctor in the morning.”

Your head buried further in his chest. With a sigh, your sleepiness dissolved into unconsciousness. Warm and engulfed in the scent of campfire smoke, you let yourself fall asleep. Tucked beneath your best friend. The guy you had a crush on for months. 

A smile quipped up on Seungmin’s face. “I can’t believe you love me. You’re such an idiot, but…” He glanced down at your curled posture. Your fingers sat curled into the fabric of his t-shirt. 

“I didn’t think I wanted love,” he whispered, “but maybe tomorrow I won’t call you my best friend. Tomorrow, maybe I’ll call you mine.”

You might not remember the soft kiss pressed against the top of your temple that night, but he would. 

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz @ari-hwanggg

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

Ko-fi

[cameronsbabydoll]

Hi I loved SCC it literally altered my brain in a good way bc of your writing🩷🩷 do you think SCC! Reader one day just snaps, like full blown crashes out at Rafe for everything he’s done to her? I feel like she’s normally very calm and internalizes everything but maybe Rafe just said something to make her snap ( maybe he’s being mean abt reader making a simple mistake and calling her a bad mom/wife ie the only thing she’s allowed to be and she just loses it, and I mean lose it like actively full blown crashout for all the emotions that have been pent up for years) I just wanna see Rafe get yelled at and actually feel bad that he ruined her life.

Maybe she says something like “I hope our daughter doesn’t end up with a man like you”

idk I just want her to finally vocalize the things she’s been burying for years and take a bit of her power back yk?

it starts over something stupid.
a lunchbox left on the counter.
a slip you forgot to sign.

you apologize, soft and guilty, already beating yourself up for it.
but rafe just scoffs — like he’s disgusted.
like you failed him.

"you had one job."
"jesus, you can’t even manage that?"

and that’s it.

your hands are still trembling when the words rip out of your mouth.
loud. shaking. breathless.

“i gave up everything for this.”

he looks at you like you’ve gone insane.
and maybe you have. maybe that’s what happens when you bottle it up for too long — when you trade your life for a pretty little prison and pretend it’s what you wanted.

“i don’t go out. i don’t see anyone. i don’t do anything unless it’s for you or the kids—i don’t even know who the fuck i am anymore.”

you’re crying now, and you hate it.
hate the way your voice warbles.
hate the way he stares.

but you can’t stop.

“i used to be someone. i had dreams. i had friends. i had hope. and now i’m just—what? your wife? the mother of your kids? the woman who stays home and makes everything look perfect?”

he moves to speak, but you keep going.

“don’t. don’t you fucking dare try to twist this into something sweet. you took me. you trapped me. you called it love and locked the door behind me.”

his face shifts. something soft. something scared.

you know he didn’t expect this.

and that’s when you say it.
quiet. breathless. shaking all over.

“i hope our daughter never ends up with a man like you.”

his mouth opens. closes.
nothing comes out.

for once, you’re the one who leaves him speechless.
and god, it hurts — but it also feels like the first real breath you’ve taken in years.

[songbirdseung]

𝑰  𝑩𝑬𝑻  𝑶𝑵  𝒀𝑶𝑼  /  𝑺𝑰𝑴  𝑱𝑨𝑬𝒀𝑼𝑵

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦. (𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐢 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟎)

You and Jake never really fought. Sure, there were disagreements but what couple didn’t have those?

You were always understanding, always patient. You didn’t yell, didn’t complain. You talked things out, met each other halfway. And Jake? He loved that about you.

But tonight, frustration had bubbled over, resentment lingering in your chest like a heavy weight.

For the past two weeks, Jake had been coming home late, very late. He barely spoke to you, barely acknowledged you, and when he did? It was always complaints.

"You’re being so lazy lately.""The house is a mess.""What do you even do all day?"

You had held it in. Swallowed it down, convincing yourself that he was just stressed. That he didn’t mean it. That maybe you were overthinking things.

But tonight, when he brushed past you again, barely sparing you a glance, something in you snapped.

“You know what, Jake? If I’m so lazy, why don’t you do everything yourself?”

He had turned, eyes wide, completely unprepared for the outburst.

“Woah, what’s wrong with you?”

What’s wrong with me?

The audacity.

“You’ve been ignoring me for weeks,” you shot back, voice sharp. “You come home late, don’t talk to me, and when you do, it’s just to complain. What’s your problem?”

Jake blinked, momentarily stunned, before his expression hardened. “I’m busy, Y/N. I have a job. I can’t just sit around all day doing nothing.”

It was a low blow. A really low blow. And he knew it.

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides.

“You don’t get to treat me like this just because you’re stressed,” you hissed, eyes burning. “And you definitely don’t get to act like I do nothing when I’ve been supporting you this whole time.”

He opened his mouth, but you weren’t interested in hearing it. Instead, you turned on your heel and stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

And now, hours later, you were curled up on the bed, trying to sleep while Jake was exiled to the couch.

You knew he had been trying to make amends. He had apologized at least ten times throughout the night, coming to the bedroom door, knocking softly, whispering, "Babe, I'm sorry. Can we talk?"

You only answered with a firm, “Goodnight, Jake.”

You weren’t usually like this. You weren’t the type to give the silent treatment, but tonight, you just couldn’t deal with him.

Jake, meanwhile, was on the couch, staring at the ceiling in regret.

This was not how tonight was supposed to go. He hated that he made you feel unappreciated. He knew he had been an ass. He also knew that apologizing through a locked door wasn’t going to cut it.

So, with enough determination, he wrapped himself in a blanket, grabbed his pillow, and padded his way to the bedroom.

When the door creaked open, you turned to face him, only to be met with the most pitiful sight.

There he stood, wrapped up in the blanket like a burrito, pillow clutched in his arms, his big brown eyes looking at you with pure desperation.

You almost caved on the spot.

Almost.

“What do you want?” you asked, keeping your I’m still mad attitude, sitting up slightly.

“Well,” he said, voice small, “I can’t sleep without you. You know that.”

You narrowed your eyes, but Jake took the opportunity to shuffle closer, eventually crawling onto the bed. His gaze never left you as he inched nearer, hesitantly reaching for your wrist.

“Please forgive me,” he murmured, giving your hand a gentle tug, pulling you down next to him. His arms wrapped around you instantly, closing every bit of space between you.

His voice was softer now, almost fragile. “I know you’ve been stressed with studying, and I shouldn’t have taken my stress out on you. I didn’t mean any of those things. I’m really, really sorry.”

Your anger was melting. It always did with him.

You sighed, finally looking up at him. “I’m sorry too. For yelling and not just… talking about it.”

Jake shook his head. “No. You should have yelled at me. I deserved it.”

You rolled your eyes but let a small smile slip through. “Let’s not fight anymore, okay?”

He grinned, leaning in to nuzzle against you. “Deal.”

[kissedcupid]

Cute moments when you first talked and met Damian as Jason’s sidekick. Ironically there will be another part to this im just really tired , the one that comes out later will be a bit longer I just wanted to get the stuff out. This is also an au , not a series so I won’t frequently write for this.

Damian Wayne x reader ⨾ Emails I can’t send - Sabrina Carpenter 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘑𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯’𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘴 , 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯 , 𝘑𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 , 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘦𝘳 , 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘸/ 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 , 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘴 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘥 , 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 , 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘑𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘰𝘸𝘴 , 𝘑𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘛𝘰𝘥𝘥 𝘹 𝘧! 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘤 , 𝘋𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘞𝘢𝘺𝘯𝘦 𝘹 𝘧! 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤 , 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 , 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘯

𝜗𝜚 ꒱ wc. 1.811⋮ bookshelf !

notes : dividers made by anitalenia , I bended a lot of stuff in here so at some point it may not follow a lot of the plot..

0.1 › MEETING FOR THE FIRST TIME ⋮ Being Jason’s daughter he adopted on the street was kind of awkward to say the least. He took you in when you were ten , he didn’t ever really want to adopt you in fears of causing you harm or trouble but when he did he was kind of glad. You were like a mini him , and you enjoyed being being around him almost seeming like a father figure.

❝No I’m not doing that , why would I do that❞

✶ it was going to be the absolute first time you meet Jason’s family , it was a bit rocky since all you’ve ever known was Jason. It was hard enough to trust him what makes him think you could trust them. He didn’t really care for you meeting his dad , he really he just wanted you to meet Damian. You had no friends outside of healing Jason , learning how to cook , and everything else. He wanted you to have a life , he wanted you to see another person your age ; not because he got caught by Bruce and now there’s a family dinner , nope not at all.

✶ so when he told you to get ready because you’re going to a family dinner you wanted to die. Praying that they would be on you and stick to intrusive questions.

“No I’m not doing that , why would I do that.” You paced around the room already ready just in case , Jason’s didn’t want to go either but what choice did either of you have. “You have to do it , I don’t want to either but it’ll be worth it. You get to meet one of my brother’s , Damian he’s the youngest and the same age as you.”

Rolling your eyes showing that you knew that didn’t make a difference. “Don’t roll your eyes at me half pint , I may not be able to see from here but that doesn’t I could sense it.” Scoffing you had sat down on the carpet putting your hands on your face partially forgetting about your makeup. “Fine , I give up old man.” You chuckled slightly knowing it pissed him off a bit ; as you dusted yourself you had gotten up from your position. He hit your shoulder being annoyed at you.

As you two had arrived and dinner was ready all that was left to find seats. You didn’t want to sit next to someone you didn’t know , so you sat next to Jason very closely. “I can’t do this.” You were slightly pacing in your head , “what if they ask about my life story , or where I came from—” “No we aren’t doing this , you can do this half pint , you can survive.”

He then awkwardly patted your back as a sign of comfort. As everyone was seated , to your right was who you thought of as Damian and left was Jason. As everyone started eating the dinner was almost dead silent for ten minutes until the big man spoke up. “I’m Bruce , Bruce Wayne. And I suppose you are Jason’s…” he had let his sentence trail off to let you finish. You knew you had to have some kind of confidence and you needed to find it.

“I’m his side kick , kind of like a helper off field , and my name is __.” He looked skeptical almost as if you hadn’t told the truth. Then another person people up , “So , how old are you , and how much do you know about Jason ?” He was referring to how Jason was Red Hood and how he came back and shit. “I’m seventeen , I know that you all are you know. I’ve known for a while.” You really didn’t feel like speaking now , or even acknowledging this. “So you’re the same age as me ? Do you train as well alongside him ?”

You shook your head no , “I don’t train with him I know the basics and shit but like all I really do is medical stuff such as stitching and clean wounds.” You answered the person to your right , now confirming it was Damian. You didn’t know how to feel about Damian , you answered his question as if he was someone you knew for a while , you were disgusted by your own comfort around him.

He was a bit offended at your lack of respect with his the curse word. “You’re like a mini Jason to say the least.” Now it was just a conversation between you two. “I get that a lot..” you were a bit pissed off at how you weren’t recognized for your own identity as you were ions far from Jason , kind of. As the conversation started rising a tad bit the attention drifted away from you to Jason and why he adopted you.

You were still engaging with Damian. “So you live with him ?” Nodding your head a simple yes a response. You didn’t want to eat much so you gave the rest to the big back on your left. “Yeah which reminds me .. Jay , tomorrow can we go grocery shopping?” As he had finished a very aggravated conversation he turned to you , “Sorry half pint I can’t , you can though I have to do something. And remember no brands.” He was talking to you sternly like when you were younger.

Then nodding your head and turning to an indifferent Damian. “Grocery shopping ? Why would you need to do that ?” You could tell he has common sense , but like since he was rich you couldn’t tell if he’s ever been to a grocery store. “Oh we ran out of food since this bitch here doesn’t want to share his snacks , so I have to shop .. your voice stopped do you want to come ?”

Damian had no time for silly affairs and stupid stuff , and for some reason you’re naturally opening up. You could slightly feel a glare shooting at Damian from Jason , more of a dad glare. “I have no time for matters such as these , but sure. I might as well need to know you if you’re Jason’s sidekick.” He wasn’t there to be friends yet to simply just have leverage but that didn’t end anything , right ? So tomorrow was set , you’re going to the store at seven with Damian.

0.2 › GROCERY SHOPPING ⋮

Going to the store would be fun , it was late at night so not a lot of people would be there. Getting all you need would be pretty simple and easy.

But you realized you were never going to really get everything since Jay didn’t make a list. Walking down the isles with Damian on the side as you were pushing the cart , basically just getting a bunch of things. “I can pay for it.”

Did you hear these words right? “You , pay for this ?” You almost were impulsed to buy a bunch of things after hearing that. He nodded his head a short yes.

You pulled out your phone to text jay that you would be getting more than needed and that you didn’t need his money. As you started getting a bunch of stuff Damian started directing to you the check out isle.

As you reached the end , the worker there looked at least thirty , or potentially that one dude from the dinner , Dick maybe ? But like in a mustache. “Are you two a couple maybe ?” That was a weird way to start small talk. Damian spoke up for you , “she’s not my girlfriend.”

Dick looked annoyed he was really hoping to get drama. “Soo you’re using a black card for your "not girlfriend"?” Twirling the ends of his mustache he lowkey looked like inspector gadget but like jacked. “Whats that to you ?” “It’s just interesting..” As you two had finishing checking out you then headed home.

0.3 › ICE CREAM ⋮ “You are not sitting on my side of the couch , get off.” You weren’t afraid to be aggressive because he would just give it right back. “No , why would I ?” You scoffed , tired of how you thought you could actually get a long , and maybe you were right.

Fortunately for him you just accepted fate and sat on the other side. You had eaten chocolate ice cream , it was a tradition between you and Jason yet unfortunately he wasn’t there. Damian was glad he didn’t have to fight you over it so he simply has a lifted expression , in return he was watching you eat your ice cream next to him.

“Oh do you want a bite ?” You weren’t chocolate obsessed but the days you had it were amazing. “No its—” shoving the spoon in his mouth full of ice cream you made sure to clean the spoon before you had spoon fed him. Watching him swallow , he had gave you a hard glare. But you couldn’t resist to look at how his Adam’s apple bobbed , it was interesting how it looks so.. “You want more ?” He shook his head no as you then ate a bit of ice cream cleaning the spoon before.

“I’ve been told by my father to get more people in my life who are my age.” You mentally needed to take note of that , losses and hits on your path may be caused by this and you can’t afford to go through this again. “What are you trying to imply ?” “Us being friends , or something , it’ll get my dad off my back.” You laughed just a bit more quietly , “So all I’m hearing is you want to use whatever this is to get your dad to shut up ?”

Damian looked confused as to why you would want to reinstate something pretty clear , “shorter words , what do I get out of this ?” His ears perked up as if you had yet to realize how rich he is , “I could get you a cat , or you could meet my cat.” How did he know you liked cats , or animals in general ?

“Wait , wait , actually never mind sure let’s do it. But , on one condition, we become actual friends I can’t do this fake stuff anymore. With how many friendships and relationships I’ve been through I can’t handle a fake one that leads me to believe we are friends.” Damian nodded his head , simply in a thinking matter. “Fine.”

BONUS : in the future..

© kissedcupid , all work belongs to me, if you want to translate my work please dm me and ask me before hand.

[annaswrites00]

Heatstroke

KA12 x Wolff!reader

(1.0k)

Summary - Kimi shouldn’t be locked in his drivers room with Toto’s daughter after the race, but he is… warning - none rlly, suggestive content

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The door clicked shut behind you, sealing the thick, muggy air in with the both of you.

It was hot—really hot. Not the dry desert kind that stung your skin, but the post-race kind, soaked in sweat and adrenaline. The kind that clung to every breath and left a buzz in your bones. The tiny driver room in the back of the Mercedes garage was lit by nothing but the harsh overhead fluorescents, casting sterile white across the walls, the metal benches, the discarded sweat towels piled in the corner.

And him.

Kimi sat slouched on the bench, still in the lower half of his race suit, black fireproofs sticking to his chest, damp curls pushed back with one hand. He hadn’t spoken yet—not since you slipped in and locked the door behind you.

Your pulse was still high. Not just from sneaking away, but from watching him—fighting wheel-to-wheel under the floodlights, battling for every tenth. He hadn’t made podium, but P6 was solid, and he knew it.

Still, he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“You okay?” you asked softly, stepping in further. Your heels clicked on the tile until you stopped just in front of him.

He looked up then. And that was it.

His gaze dragged over you—his jaw still tight, eyes dark, like the race hadn’t ended for him yet.

“I hate this place,” he muttered, dragging both hands down his face.

You gave a faint smile. “Then why are you still in your fireproofs?”

“Waiting.”

“For?”

“You.”

Your stomach dipped.

That was the thing about Kimi. He didn’t waste words. He never said anything he didn’t mean.

You swallowed and glanced at the door behind you. “We don’t have long.”

“I know.”

He didn’t stand. Just reached out, fingers curling into the hem of your shirt, tugging you forward until you were standing between his knees. He didn’t kiss you right away. He just looked up at you like he was committing every second to memory.

“You came,” he said.

“You texted.”

“You never answer when you’re with him.”

You stiffened slightly. “Kimi…”

“Toto’s not blind.”

“And you’re not careful.”

He gave a low exhale. His hands slipped around your waist, heat radiating through the fabric. His fingers brushed skin and your breath hitched.

“We should stop,” you said, but you didn’t move.

“You say that every time.”

“And we never do.”

His hands slid higher. “Why did you come?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Your mouth found his before either of you could say something dangerous. It was heat and tension and the ghost of something soft that neither of you ever let breathe too long.

He pulled you into his lap in one movement, fingers threading through your hair, kiss deepening, growing hungrier. The air was too hot, your clothes stuck to your skin, and all you could feel was him—everywhere. The fireproofs, the sweat, the thundering heat between you.

He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. “You can’t keep looking at me like that in front of your father.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you breathed, but your voice wavered.

“Today after qualifying—he was right there, and you gave me that smile.”

You rolled your eyes. “I was smiling at the data.”

Kimi smirked. “You’re terrible at lying.”

Your fingers curled into the back of his shirt. “You’re terrible at pretending this doesn’t mean anything.”

Something flickered in his expression then—too honest. He kissed you again to cover it.

The room was spinning now. Your legs bracketed his hips, his hands exploring under your shirt, but it wasn’t dirty. It was urgent. Like you were both chasing something you weren’t allowed to want.

Suddenly, a knock.

Sharp. Muffled. Followed by a voice.

Your father’s voice.

“Kimi? Media’s waiting. You’ve got three minutes.”

Your body froze. Kimi’s hands immediately dropped from under your shirt. The two of you stared at the door like it had grown teeth.

You scrambled off his lap, brushing your hair down, trying to cool your flushed face. He stood slower, adjusting his race suit up around his waist, running both hands through his hair like that would help.

You whispered, “Shit.”

He didn’t answer. Just grabbed a towel and wiped his face, eyes flicking to the door. Then to you.

“You need to go,” he said. “Now.”

You nodded and unlocked the door, hand lingering on the handle. You looked over your shoulder at him once—he was already turning away, grabbing his radio and slipping back into his post-race mode.

Before you left, you whispered, “Next time… maybe don’t kiss me like you mean it.”

He didn’t look at you.

But just as you closed the door behind you, you heard him say, “I always mean it.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Thanks for reading!!!

𐙚⋆°🦢.⋆ᥫ᭡

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Okay uhm 😌

Can I request something where the reader is afraid of storms and thunders? And she has been anxious because of the weather warnings. In the evening it starts to thunder and Bucky is just there for her and comforts/soothes her? With a lot of cuddles/hugs and kisses. He is just the sweetest and he wants that she feels safe. Please? Thank you ❤️

🌸

Thunderstorm » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Bucky comforts you during a thunderstorm.

Warnings: Fluff, language, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request 🌸 anon🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIFS ARE NOT MINE! Gif credits go to the creators.

You’ve been scared and anxious all day. You got a few weather notifications on your phone about a thunderstorm that’s coming sometime tonight. It’s not a really bad thunderstorm. It’s just a normal thunderstorm. You don’t like thunderstorms. You never did. Bucky doesn’t know that you’re scared of thunderstorms. You made sure to keep your phone charged and texted Bucky every so often while he’s at work.

You: What time do you get off work?

Bucky🩵: 7:30pm

You checked the weather alerts. The thunderstorm starts a little bit before 7:30pm. It made you even more anxious.

You: Do you think you can come home earlier?

Bucky🩵: I wish I could, but I can’t. I’ll be home before you know it

You: Ok

Bucky🩵: I love you, doll❤️

You: I love you too, Bucky Bear❤️

You let out a shaky breath as you shut your phone off. You took a quick glance out the window. You then turned the TV on and put a random movie on, trying to focus on something other than the thunderstorm.

As it got closer to the time it was about to thunderstorm, you got another weather alert on your phone, saying that it was going to start raining in a little bit, along with thunderstorms. A small whimper left your lips. You checked what time it is on your phone. It’s a half hour before Bucky gets home from work. You refocused your attention on the TV again.

About 15 minutes later, you heard saw lightning at the corner of your eye and heard a small rumble of thunder, making you jump a bit. You could hear the rain hitting the house. Your hands tightly clutched the blanket that’s draped over your lap. A few minutes later, you heard a loud crack of thunder, making jump more than you did the first time. You then covered your ears to block out the sound of the thunder and closed your eyes.

A half hour goes by and it’s still thunderstorming. The good thing is that Bucky just walked in the door, but you didn’t hear him due to you having your ears covered with your hands.

“Doll, I’m home!” Bucky announces.

Bucky frowns. You usually greet him at the door when he comes home, even if it’s late at night. He heard the TV in the living room. He went to the living room to see you covering your ears and slightly shaking.

“Babydoll?” Bucky gently taps on your shoulder.

You let out a small scream and uncovered your ears. You turned around to see your boyfriend standing behind you. Bucky seen tears on your cheeks.

“Bucky!” You whimpered.

You climbed over the back of the couch and hugged him tightly, not wanting to let go of him. You hid your face in the crook of his neck. You couldn’t care less that his clothes were wet from the rain. You just wanted to be in his arms. Bucky wrapped his arms around you and picked you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles together.

“Did something happen when I was at work?” He asks softly.

Another loud crack of thunder erupted outside before you could answer him. Bucky felt you jump in his arms. That was enough to tell him that you’re scared of thunderstorms.

“Are you scared of thunderstorms?” He asks.

“Yes.” You say against his neck.

Bucky rubbed your back and told you that everything was going to be fine as he walked to the bedroom to change out of his rain soaked clothes.

“You’re going to have to let go of me so I can change my clothes.” Bucky says softly.

“No!” You whined.

“It’ll only be for a minute, doll.” He almost whispers.

You loosened your hold on Bucky as he sat you down on the bed and then you let go of him so he can change into more comfortable clothes. As he was doing so, thunder rumbles outside, making whimper.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you’re scared of thunderstorms?” He asks softly, sitting down next to you on the bed.

“I thought you were going to think it was childish of me to be scared of thunderstorms as an adult.” You say quietly.

“I don’t think it’s childish, babydoll.” He says.

“You don’t?” You asked.

“Not at all.” He almost whispers.

Bucky caresses your cheek, rubbing his thumb against your skin. You jumped when a loud crack of thunder erupted outside.

“Focus on me.” Bucky says softly.

You gazed in his blue eyes. It helped you forget about the thunderstorm. Bucky leans in and kisses you passionately. That made you forget all about the thunderstorm.

“How do you feel now?” He asks, putting his forehead against yours.

“Better.” You answered quietly.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” He asks.

“Yes.” You replied.

You and Bucky went back to the living room to watch a movie. There was small rumbles of thunder here and there throughout the movie and Bucky held you the whole time and said nothing but sweet things to you. You were so focused on the movie that you didn’t see Bucky get on his phone to check the weather.

“Looks like the thunderstorm is just about over.” Bucky says, showing you the weather for the thunderstorm.

“Good.” You say, looking at the weather on his phone.

Bucky shut his phone off and put it on the coffee table next to yours.

“Wanna take a break from the movie and get some snacks and something to drink?” He asks softly.

“Yes please.” You answered.

Bucky paused the movie and you two went to the kitchen for a snack and something to drink.

“Bucky Bear?” You say as Bucky rummages through the pantry for a snack.

“Yea, babydoll?” Bucky asks as he continues to rummage through the pantry.

“Thank you for comforting me during the thunderstorm.” You say.

“You don’t have to thank me, doll. I’m more than happy to help you through anything.” He says softly.

You smiled and stood on your tippy toes and kissed his lips.

“I love you, Bucky Bear.” You almost whispered.

“I love you too, babydoll.” Bucky whispers back.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[ineveryfandom]

so what if bruce has a new baby now? they have OTHER PARENTS TOO

part 1

-

Barbara:

Bruce:

Barbara: what

Bruce, holding up a video game: i noticed we haven’t been hanging out lately…

Barbara: so?

Bruce, fiddling with the game: um, do you want to-

Selina, barging in: where’s my favorite girl?!

Barbara, with a wide smile: selina!

Bruce, visibly unhappy: …selina

Selina: hey, bruce. funny how we keep running into each other huh

Bruce, inching towards Barbara, glaring suspiciously: uh huh…anyway, barbara AND I are busy, so—

Barbara, already out the door: sorry b, selina and i already have plans

Bruce: but-

Barbara: y’know she always comes first, she’s basically my MOM after all

Bruce, absolutely devastated: *drops game*

Barbara: bye!

*door closes*

Selina:

Barbara:

Selina: how many more times are we gonna do this

Barbara, gleefully: until that stinking baby of his dies of old age

Jim, walking by: why is this my life

Batman: justice league, partner up. this is unfamiliar territory.

Batman, turning to Nightwing: okay chum, let’s—

Nightwing, hanging off of Superman’s arm:

Batman:

Superman, sweating: i-i didn’t consent to this!

Nightwing, climbing on his back, putting on the saddest puppy eyes known to man: what are you talking about papa? you dont wanna hang out with me anymore? did you only like me as robin?

Superman:

Superman: nightwing and i will take left

Batman, staring dead in Superman’s eye, kryptonite in hand, miming a slit throat:

Talia: beloved, i am here to bond with our child

Bruce: perfect timing, damian’s just right over—

Jason: im ready ummi

Bruce:

Talia, hugging him: how do you fare, habibi?

Jason, hugging her back: good, but im hungry

Talia: perfect. i have just the restaurant in mind.

Talia, to a frozen Bruce: i will bring him home by eight. we will see you then.

Jason: *doesn’t even look back*

Cass: im going out with new friend. his is name is minkhoa

Bruce: okay princess, text me if you—

Bruce: what did you just say.

Cass, fixing her hair, not paying attention: khoa helps me with training. and buys me ice cream.

Cass: sometimes he goes to my recitals

Cass: he is like a dad

Bruce, about to have an aneurysm: i change my mind, you can’t go

Cass: too late, he’s here.

Cass, by the door: bye...bruce.

Bruce:

Bruce, muttering, eyes wild: bruce? not dad? my little princess?

Bruce, pacing: bruce? bruce? BRUCE?

Alfred, slowly backing away: im too old for this

Bruce, tearing up his and Minkhoa’s only picture they took back in the league: minkhoa khan...consider yourself my enemy...!

Outside

Minkhoa: did you get it

Cass: *nods*

Cass, holds out the original copy of the photo Bruce just tore up: same time next week?

Minkhoa, pocketing the picture: so long as he doesn’t get to me first

Ra’s: detective, i am here to bond with our child

Bruce: who the fu-

Tim: im ready

Bruce:

Ra’s, holding out his arms: come to my embrace, timothy

Tim:

Tim, walking away: i can’t do this. i can’t. it’s not worth it.

Ra’s, following him: ah yes, this is the most accurate portrayal of a parent-child relationship. well done, timothy.

Tim: kill yourself

Steph, slamming the door open: i need an adult!

Bruce, sighing, but already getting up with a smile on his face: what did you do this-

Harley, breaking in through the window: im here!

Bruce:

Steph: quick, my mom found out i bought beer! i need an excuse!

Bruce, with a frown: that’s very irres—

Harley: tell her your favorite adult asked you to buy it for them!

Bruce:

Steph: good idea

Bruce: stephanie, your mother wouldn’t believe that i asked you to buy beer for me. i don’t drink.

Steph: literally what are you talking about

Steph, dialing her mom: mom, bruce asked me—

Bruce, shaking his head with a smile:

Steph: —to tell you that harley asked me to go buy beer for her and pam

Bruce: 😟

Bruce, helping Duke with his powers: and if you use it like this, you might be able to cut off all the lights. now try.

Duke:

*room darkens*

Bruce:

Bruce, looking out the window:

Bruce: did you just dim the sun

Duke: *turns invisible*

Bruce:

Duke: *creates new colors*

Bruce:

Duke: *makes holographic animals*

Bruce:

Zatanna:

Bruce:

Zatanna: so what do you think of my ward

Bruce, immediately exploding: he is MY ward you—

Wonder Woman: batman, i require a favor

Batman, giving her all his attention because this was this was a first: of course

Wonder Woman: recently, i have gained a child

Batman, befuddled: you’re PREGNANT?

Wonder Woman: no

Batman: oh

Wonder Woman:

Batman:

Wonder Woman: he has come to me of his own volition. and i took him in for he possesses skills unlike any other.

Batman, not knowing where she was going with this: ...hm

Wonder Woman: he also has a sword, you see

Batman, still confused: okay...

Wonder Woman: so you understand?

Bruce, not wanting to admit how clueless he was: yes

Wonder Woman, sighing in relief: wonderful. now, i only need you to sign this

*hands him adoption papers and a transfer of custody, damian’s signature already signed at the bottom of both*

Batman:

Batman, pulling out a katana: you have three seconds

[moonvenerer]

“Should we punish that jerk by making him return the milk you gave him…with interest?”

I am coming back from my hiatus on this platform via writing LnDS fanfiction 😅

This quote from the current spring event made me scream and It needs fully appreciated.

Minors please do not interact.

Caleb x Female MC

After a long day of fixing up our flower plot, which consisted of Caleb doing majority of the hard manual labour like plowing the soil and I mostly passing him the necessary tools, I plop onto our shared sleeping bed within our campsite tent. “We sure went all out today Pipsqueak…sure you’ll be able to hold on out for the next couple of days left of this event?” He teases following suit in laying on the bed beside me, aside from his usual playful expression there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. I gently pinch his cheek-my body slightly hovering over his “quit underestimating my stamina!” He only chuckles in response quick to grab my wrist to prevent it from pinching him any longer, his free hand securely on my waist. “There are ways to prove to me that your stamina isn’t all too weak Pips” he murmurs, the mischievous glint growing to be more obvious.

…

“Shh baby you gotta keep your voice down, you don’t want to get disqualified and kicked out of the event due to public indecency-do you?” He whispers, breath tickling my bare shoulders that shudder and tremble in the pleasure of him drilling deep within me. This is what? The fourth, fifth, sixth round? I stopped counting after the third my vision whitening-mouth hanging slightly open as I drool and moan his name over and over again. I can hear his boyish laugh as he continues to abuse my cervix, his previous loads already gushing out with each powerful thrust-he is relentless. “I told you didn’t I?” He kisses my neck leaving more bite marks “I’d return all that milk you so graciously gave…with interest-now won’t you be a good girl and keep taking it hmm?” I barely catch on his reference from our conversation earlier that day regarding giving him my milk boxes as kids being the reason for his growth spurt-I’m too focused on not passing out from my fast approaching orgasm. “Fuck Pips you’re going to cum again aren’t you?” He presses his palm just below my navel feeling his cock bulge in and out of me “sucking me dry…so good” he praises “I’m going to keep fucking so many loads of ‘milk’ inside of you Pips you’re sure to grow something alright…can’t say it’ll be your height though” he muses before moaning out cusses as my walls clench tighter around his cock.

…

We are both covered in a sheer lay of sweat at the end. I’m already passed out, head on his chest as his arms loosely circle around me. Caleb kisses the top of my head gently “sleep well Pips…I’ll be sure to have you cleaned up before we head back on out” he murmurs before sleeping as well.

[lovetommyactually]

Sugar, Spice, and Everything… Nice.

BuckTommy, WC: 1.2k, post 8x15, cw: canon mcd, grief Ι below or on ao3

"Shit—!!"

That was the first thing Buck heard when he entered his house after a long shift, followed by something crashing.

"Shit, oh god, shi—"

A rush of anxiety washed over him. He dropped his bag and rushed to where the voice was coming from—the kitchen.

He shoved the door open, heart pounding—and there was Tommy, frozen mid-disaster, flour everywhere, a tray half on the floor, guilt painted all over his face.

"oh, h-hi, Evan, I'm sorry," Tommy muttered, embarrassed. "I was gonna make dinner, which I… didn’t make..."

"You... baked?" Buck said, breathless, staring.

"Uh..." Tommy looked wildly around the destroyed kitchen.

Buck barely had time to process it before he noticed Tommy cradling his hand, the skin red and angry.

He moved without thinking, crossing the kitchen in two steps. His hands were careful as he grabbed Tommy’s wrist.

"You idiot," Buck muttered, not unkindly. His voice was rough, like he was trying not to cry or yell, or both. “You didn’t use the mitt. Again!”

Tommy winced but didn’t pull away. He let Buck guide him to the sink, cool water rushing over the burn.

"I’m fine," Tommy said too quickly, too defensively.

Buck didn’t argue. He never did, when Tommy lied like that.

A minute later, Buck was rummaging through the drawer for the first aid kit, his hands steady even as his shoulders trembled. He dabbed ointment on Tommy’s skin, wrapped it gently with gauze.

Only when he finished did Tommy notice Buck’s eyes were glassy, his breathing uneven.

Tommy shifted awkwardly, voice low. "I, um, I just... I found all this," he said, nodding toward the flour, the sugar, a bag of chocolate chips, half spilled across the counter. "Thought it might cheer you up. I didn’t mean to wreck your kitchen, sorry."

Buck let out a wet laugh, pressing the gauze down just a little more securely. "You didn’t wreck it."

Tommy’s heart twisted. "I-I'm sorry you just came home tired. You must be hungry. I promised you dinner." He sighed, shame curling around his words. "I'll just... I'll order us some Chinese, okay?"

Buck nodded—but a tear slipped down his cheek anyway.

One hand wiped it away quickly. The other still clutched Tommy’s burnt hand like a lifeline.

Tommy hesitated. "Hey... are you—" He caught himself before finishing the question. Dumb question. Of course Buck wasn’t okay. It had barely been a month since Bobby died. Instead, he asked softly, "Was your shift good? Did... something happen?"

Buck shook his head, barely murmured, "mm'no, t'was fine."

Tommy nodded, swallowing hard. "G-good. Is it about... Bobby?"

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted it instantly. Idiot, he scolded himself. Idiot, idiot, idiot—

Buck shook his head again—but this time he laughed, a broken, wet sound, clutching Tommy’s hand tighter.

"No. No, I mean—" He sniffled. "It'll always be about Bobby. But—"

Buck looked up at him, eyes shining. "You know... we never really t-talked. About—about us."

Tommy's stomach dropped. His mouth opened, about to make some stupid joke to deflect, but Buck beat him to it—his voice cracking in the middle of his words

"You—" Buck croaked, wiping at his face. "I want to tell you things. A-and I need you to tell me things. We... we can’t just jump back in."

He hesitated, breath catching like he was afraid to even ask.

"We were, right? G-getting back together?"

Tommy nodded—quick, almost frantic.

Buck let out a shaky breath, eyes shining.

"You know I started baking after... after we broke up, right?" he said, voice barely above a whisper. "It was the only thing that stopped me from calling you. Over and over."

Tommy blinked, frozen. He hadn’t known. Not really. But somehow it made perfect sense.

"I thought it was dumb," Buck said, laughing weakly. "But B-Bobby… he told me it wasn’t. Said it's good to have a coping skill to deal with cravings."

Buck wiped his nose on his sleeve, sniffed, and added, voice even rougher "He also told me... that you're good for me, Tommy."

He peeked up at Tommy through his lashes, the tiniest flutter—shy, unsure—and Tommy felt something inside him snap, splintering into pieces.

Tommy swayed where he stood. That night—the night Bobby died—had been the worst Tommy had ever seen Buck.

Even after holding him through the breakdowns, the sleepless nights, the sobs so heavy they nearly crushed him, this was the most heartbreaking thing Tommy had seen since that night

Like buck was betrayed..

Like Tommy had proved Bobby wrong.

Tommy barely managed to whisper, "I'm sorry."

Buck shook his head immediately, clutching Tommy’s hand tighter. "No, Tommy. He was right. Y-You are. You’re so good for me."

He gestured loosely toward the kitchen—the chaos, the burnt batch of cookies, the counter buried in flour, the sugar and flour stuck in Tommy’s hair.

"I mean, look at this mess. You did all this just trying to cheer me up," Buck said, huffing a laugh that broke apart halfway into a sob. "You tried to bake for me. You have no idea how much that means. How... unexpectedly it's making me happy."

Tommy didn’t know what to say. His throat closed up, a lump he couldn’t swallow down.

So he didn’t say anything.

He just let Buck lean into him, let their foreheads touch, let the flour dust cling to them like hope clinging stubbornly between them.

"I want you to stay, Tommy," Buck whispered, voice shaking. "Will you? Stay?"

Tommy frowned softly. "Yeah, Evan. I'm not going anywhere."

Buck shook his head. "No, Tommy. I mean... forever."

Tommy closed his eyes. Oh… yes.

He had already decided that. He never wanted to leave again.

He leaned in and kissed Buck—slow, soft, like a vow. "As I said, Evan, I'm not going anywhere."

Buck smiled through his tears and nodded. "Good. Cause w-we still need to talk… about us."

He glanced at the kitchen again—a burnt batch of cookies, an overmixed second disaster, flour covering the counters and sticking to Tommy’s hair.

This ridiculous chaos Tommy had made just trying to make him smile.

And maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the grief. But Buck felt something tug deep in his chest again—the warm, aching knowledge that Tommy was still here. Still trying. For him.

Buck leaned in, grabbed a cookie, and bravely took a bite.

Immediately, he gagged, coughing and grimacing as he set it down. He turned to Tommy, scandalized.

"Did you put salt in this!?"

Tommy glanced guiltily at the crumpled recipe on the counter.

"I knew that was a bad recipe," he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "It was in the recipe, Evan!"

"A pinch!" Buck sputtered. "You put—what—a whole spoon??"

“Uh… maybe? I-I panicked?” Tommy snorted, finally breaking into a helpless laugh.

Buck shook his head, laughing too, even as tears still clung stubbornly to his lashes, “Maybe we should clean up here first. And you're not allowed to bake ever again."

"Fair," he said, wiping Buck’s cheek where a smudge of flour had landed. "Fair enough."

Tommy just smiled, relieved, letting Buck pull him closer.

Maybe the kitchen was a mess.

Maybe they were a mess.

But for the first time in a long, long while

Tommy thought maybe they could clean it all up together.

[janeyseymour]

Like Other Girls

summary: melissa schemmenti has always been told to be like the other girls. she isn't.

WC: ~4.15k

also, me, craving validation, so pls lmk what u think bc my brain is NOT chillin rn 🥺

Melissa Schemmenti has always been tough. She’s always had a fire in her eyes that yearned for more than what life was giving her. From the time she was young, the girl knew that she had to be tough to survive. That’s how it works when you grow up with more siblings than you can count. And to be a Schemmenti, you had to be tough. 

But then as she began to blossom from a little girl to a young woman, things changed. Nobody wanted her to be tough anymore. No, now, she was expected to change her entire personality to fit what society wanted her to be: a soft, mild, meek little lady. Time and time again, she would be berated for being loud and rambunctious or for not giving half a damn what she looked like at the time. 

“Can you be quiet for two minutes?”

“Why can’t you be like other girls- sweet, quiet, polite?”

“If you spent time putting effort into your looks the way you spend your time yapping, maybe you’d actually have a boyfriend.”

“Just… stop caring so much. It isn’t that big of a deal.”

Most of those words were spoken by people the redhead truly cared about- namely, her mother. 

Theresa Schemmenti was a hard woman to get into good graces with, and it was far harder to stay on her good side. And as a woman with so many children, if Melissa was in her mother’s top five at the end of the day, she would call it a win.

And growing up with someone so opinionated about her being, those words began to ring true for the girl turning into a young woman.

And then came along Joe- the man who she would ultimately end up marrying and divorcing. But between him, their marriage, and the then blonde’s mother, Melissa made herself far smaller than she had to be- smaller than she truly was. Gone was the boisterous and hardheaded little girl, and in came a quiet, never one to speak her mind, woman.

As his girlfriend and wife, Melissa’s life consisted of teaching second grade, coming home to cook (a chore she’s never minded), cleaning, and acting as the perfect trophy wife for Joe. Melissa lost sight of herself. She didn’t even just lose sight of herself, she became the one person she never thought she would be nor wanted to be. 

But once she broke her marriage off, Melissa Schemmenti vowed to herself that she would change. She would never make herself small for a man or anybody else again. Gone was the blonde hair that her mother and Joe nearly insisted on her having, and in came the red hair that she would become famous for. Melissa Schemmenti found that her brain still operated in the way that it always had- thoughts coming a mile a minute, smart comments popping into her head at any given moment. But now, instead of having to bite her tongue, she was free to say what was on her mind. And she absolutely adored it.

Those who worked with Melissa at the time were used to the blonde, shy, quiet woman. When she came in louder than they had ever seen or heard her with the red hair and larger than life personality that she had once buried, it was safe to say that they were shocked. It was an adjustment period for those who knew her, but they loved her all the same. Barbara Howard found that she thought she liked the more outgoing and stubborn version of Melissa Schemmenti more- another strong independent woman in a sea of women who rarely spoke their minds.

Years and years pass by, and eventually, it’s just the dynamic work wives who are still left from all those years ago- although Mr. Johnson is still employed with the school as well. Teachers have come and gone, and for the first time in years, the second grade and kindergarten teachers think that they may have a core group who might stick around for longer than a year. 

So when you finally come around and begin to work at Abbott, it’s safe to say that Melissa Schemmenti is back to where she was when she was younger- loud, brash, outspoken and tough. Or at least that’s what you think.

On the outside, the woman that you’ve fallen for is a hard ass. But as you peel away at her layers, you find that she’s as soft and as fluffy as a marshmallow. And then you start to date her. And you find that for as hard as she plays, she’s… a lot more insecure than you thought she might be.

—

The two of you are walking through historical Philadelphia as a date, and you’ve come to find out that your now girlfriend is quite the history buff- at least when it comes to her city. In actuality, it’s both of your city. You continue to let her ramble on with all of her little fun facts and tidbits about the place that has your heart despite the fact that you already know most of the things. You nod along with a smile as your intertwined hands swing in between the two of you. But then something strange happens. She’s in the middle of a sentence about the Liberty Bell when she suddenly goes quiet. You turn to her with furrowed brows.

“Babe?”

Your girlfriend’s cheeks tint red. “Sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” you ask as you kiss her temple.

The nervous bite of the lip and shy shrug of the shoulders only have you more confused. “Just… I’m sorry I’m rambling. I know you already know most of this.”

“And?” you ask the redhead. “I love that you love our city so much. And I love hearing you talk about what you’re so passionate about.”

You see the look of confusion cross her face before she smiles at you in a way you’ve never seen- almost as if she’s nervous to be around you and speak like this.

“Keep going,” you encourage her. “I love hearing new facts about this city.” You refuse to tell her you already know everything she’s said.

With a bit of hesitation, she continues. You just continue to listen as intently as you can with a broad smile on your face.

It’s only later that you can tell something is still bothering her.

“Lis,” you sigh softly as you hold her that night in bed. “I can practically hear the gears turning in your head. What’s going on?”

Melissa turns to face you with a look that tells you you’re absolutely correct in that she’s thinking intently about something. “Nothin.”

You gently take her by the chin. “Babe, c’mon. I’m not dumb. I know something’s up.”

“Didn’t… didn’t you get annoyed when I wouldn’t stop talking today?”

You shake your head immediately. “No. I thought it was quite endearing, why?”

“I don’t know,” she sighs with a shrug of the shoulders. “I guess it’s just… I was always told to stay quiet as a teen and as a young adult… to be like other girls.”

“Well that’s not what I want,” you promise her quietly. “I want you- no one else.”

You can tell your girlfriend isn’t quite convinced, as she worries her lip between her teeth.

“Mel,” you force her to look you directly in the eye. “I don’t know what you were told growing up, but I don’t want the quiet woman. I want the woman who is who she is and isn’t afraid to speak her mind. The one who cares so much about what she loves and isn’t afraid to information dump on me. If it’s important to you, it’s important to me. I don’t know who told you to make yourself smaller than you are, but that is not what I want. I want you, Melissa.”

Something in her mind clicks, and a relieved smile washes over her face. No longer are her brows furrowed in worry and confusion.

“You’re… amazing, you know that?” the redhead hums.

—

For the most part now, Melissa isn’t afraid to speak her mind. She freely spits out her thoughts on the things that she loves most. And it’s wonderful to see her comfortable around you.

But then budgeting issues come up, and she is far from soft spoken about it. The issues of women’s health care come to the light politically. Your girlfriend goes on tangent after tangent about it in the privacy of her house and your apartment. And then when you’re scrolling through social media one day, you see that there’s a march being organized on Broad Street. 

“Did you see this?” you turn your phone to face her.

Melissa hums as she reads. “That… that’s cool.”

You find it a bit odd that she doesn’t have more to say about it considering how passionate she is about women’s rights. But you let it slide.

The second grade teacher doesn’t bring it up again, although you do see her laptop the one day when she steps away to use the bathroom- a tab about the march.

Instead of confronting her about it, you simply smile and take a seat back on the couch. When she returns, you pull up an Instagram post about the march and approach the topic that way.

“Hun?”

“What’s up, mi amore?”

“How would you feel about going to the march with me?”

Melissa perks up immediately. “The women’s rights one?”

You nod with a smile on your face. “I think it would be good. And I know how passionate you are about it.”

When you expect your girlfriend to perk up even more and agree, she shrinks just slightly. You frown. “What?”

“I- I don’t wanna do it if you only are going to do it for me,” the redhead admits quietly as she plays with one of the rings on her finger.

You let out a soft sigh. “Baby, I want to go because I also believe in women’s rights. And I love that you are so passionate about this issue. If you weren’t, I might be a little concerned.”

You watch as those green eyes go from nervous to something you’ve only ever seen one other time- when Melissa was rambling about the history of Philadelphia. You know immediately that someone’s words, probably Theresa’s, are replaying in her head.

“Who said what?” you ask her softly as you wrap an arm around her.

Her head drops to your shoulder as she mutters out, “My ma always told me to stop caring so much… that it’s not that big of a deal about whatever I had big feelings about.”

You nearly feel your blood boil at that soft admission. You’ve yet to meet the opinionated woman, but there are some things that your girlfriend has told you about her mother that almost make you want to detest her.

“You’re allowed to care very strongly about things, especially issues as important as this one,” you promise her. “We’re going to this march, and we’re going to make our voices as loud as possible.”

Melissa only nods.

The two of you do end up going, with a few of your friends from work, adorned with big signs. Being in that crowd of women and those who also believe in women’s rights like that makes the two of you feel more empowered than you’ve ever felt. There’s something special in the air that day as the two of you make your voices heard loud and clear.

—

You knew the day would come that you would have to meet Theresa Schemmenti, but what you weren’t expecting was for your girlfriend to be far more nervous for you to meet her than yourself.

Melissa is up and out of bed far earlier than you expected. Actually, when you wake up, she’s already showered and standing in her towel in front of the closet trying to figure out an outfit to wear.

This is a far cry from what usually occurs on a lazy Sunday morning. Usually, you wake up in her arms and spend a much longer amount of time lounging in bed than you probably should.

“Honey?” you yawn out. “What on Earth are you doing?”

“Getting ready for dinner with Ma,” she tells you.

“Lis, it’s… eight in the morning. We don’t have to be at her house until three.”

The redhead turns to face you, and she has that look again that tells you she’s about to tell you something her mom said that stuck with her.

“What did she tell you?” you ask knowingly.

“If I spent time putting effort into my looks the way I spend my time yapping, maybe I’d actually have a boyfriend,” Melissa relays quietly.

With a heavy sigh, you push the warm blankets off of you and go to wrap your arms around your girlfriend. You kiss her softly. “You are stunning no matter what. And… you don’t need a boyfriend when you have a girlfriend who loves you exactly the way that you are.”

She just looks into your eyes, searching for any hints of ingenuity.

“Melissa,” you mumble as you kiss her temple. “I love you for you. Every single bit of you.” You kiss her cheek, then her jawline, and you slowly make your way down until you reach the hem of the towel still wrapped around her.

It’s safe to say that your girlfriend doesn’t get dressed any time soon after your affirming words. But then you know that the two of you really do have to start getting ready… Melissa needs another shower after the morning that the two of you had.

Because of the time that you spent this morning back in bed… and then in the shower, your girlfriend doesn’t have the time to curl her hair the way that she was hoping to. It’s not that you care- her hair is stunning no matter how she wears it. And the shirt that she was hoping to wear over is dirty and has a stain on it from the other day in the classroom- she’s pissed.

“Baby,” you sigh as you kiss the slope of her neck softly. “You look beautiful no matter what. And besides, it’s just your mother.”

“That’s the problem,” Melissa huffs as she tries to find another shirt to wear. “It’s my mother, and she’s already going to have something to say about my hair and the few new wrinkles I have around my eyes… the less ammunition I can give her the better.”

You nod against her shoulder. “Okay, honey. But just… know that I love you for who you are- not for the way your hair is or the things you wear.”

“I know,” the redhead sighs quietly, and she does reach one hand back to affectionately pat the top of your head. “Thank you.”

“I’ll go downstairs and give you some time to get yourself ready, okay?” Melissa nods, you peck her cheek, and then you head downstairs and pray to God that Theresa doesn’t say anything to your girlfriend that will have you fighting like a Schemmenti. 

The drive there is quiet. You can tell that it’s taking everything in the woman next to you to not turn the car back around and opt for a nice night on the couch with you. You hold her hand and squeeze it gently every so often so that she knows you’re here for her. You aren’t going anywhere. 

Still when you pull into the driveway, you can practically feel the nerves radiating off of your girlfriend. With a few deep breaths, Melissa gets out of the car and leads you to the front door.

“It’s about time you got here,” Theresa greets the two of you brusquely. 

“I had to finish getting ready, Ma,” your girlfriend rolls her eyes as she hugs her mother and plants a quick kiss to her cheek.

“And you still couldn’t make your hair look presentable,” the matriarch of the family sighs heavily at the straight hair the second grade teacher is sporting. Then her eyes turn to you. “You must be the girlfriend.”

“Ma,” Melissa says in a warning tone.

“I thought you were fake when Melly didn’t bring you around until now,” Theresa states as she looks you up and down. “You clean up well, dear.”

“Thank you,” you blush slightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” It’s… not necessarily a pleasure though. Based on how she greeted your girlfriend, you can’t say that she’s making a great first impression. 

The two of you are ushered in and greeted with a few bottles of wine already set out. Your girlfriend pours you a glass of white before pouring herself a glass of red.

“Still with the red wine, Melissa?” Theresa raises a brow.

You see the redhead fight the urge to roll her eyes. “You know white gives me a headache almost instantly, Ma.”

Dinner is set out on the table and as the three of you eat, topics are kept generally light. And then Theresa asks what the two of you have been up to.

“Still just teaching, Ma,” your girlfriend sighs. “Both of us are.”

“I still can’t believe you became a teacher.”

“Why don’t you give Kristen Marie shit for becoming a teacher?” Melissa asks, and you can tell this is an argument they’ve had before.

“Because when you took the job at Abbott, a poorly funded school, I figured it was a way to gain experience. But you’re still there while Kristen Marie is at that fabulous new charter school.”

“I- I also work at Abbott,” you cut in softly. “And Melissa is one of the best teachers we have there. She’s a vital part of the school and making sure that it stays afloat.”

“And how did you end up there, dear?” Theresa asks you with a lifted brow.

You smile. “I’ve always done better with the kids who need some extra love. Abbott is like home to me.”

The matriarch of the family gives you an impressed look. “That’s wonderful dear. Abbott is lucky to have you.”

You essentially had just given Melissa’s mother the same reasoning to work at Abbott as her daughter, and yet she approves of your choice? What the hell?

“Don’t you think Melly could’ve done better for herself though?”

“I think she’s done perfectly well for herself,” you state in a tone that is soft yet still leaves no room for argument.

Theresa hums in thought but doesn’t press any further on that issue. “And what else have the two of you been up to?”

Knowing that you may just stir the pot with this topic, you smile broadly. “We’ve been going to women’s rights movement marches when we can find them. I find that it’s extremely important for women like us to be using our voices to show that we care about such vital issues in our country at this point in time. And I love that my girlfriend is just as passionate about these issues that I am.”

“You would be right,” Theresa tells you through almost gritted teeth. “Although I do remember telling Melissa that those issues would be taken care of without the protests… that it wouldn’t much matter.”

“And they still haven’t been ‘taken care of’, Ma,” the redhead grumbles. “And they very do much matter. They won’t just affect me an’ Y/N, but our students as they grow. It’s important to show them that they have a voice and that it matters.”

The mother hums slowly. “I suppose you were just ahead of your time.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Melissa counters.

Theresa just shrugs.

Conversation comes to a bit of a lull after that, and you turn the topic back around to Theresa and her interests.

Somehow, it turns into fashion. And she’s offering Melissa to take a look at some of the jewelry that she owns but doesn’t wear much anymore.

“I figured I’d offer since you don’t seem to have much to wear other than those same three necklaces and the two rings.”

“I quite like how she looks everyday,” you defend your girlfriend. “She always looks gorgeous.”

“Still,” Theresa sighs heavily as she pushes herself away from the table. “Come take a look with me, Melly.”

Your girlfriend glances to you, and you nod with a smile, already standing to begin clearing off the table.

You’re in the middle of drying the dishes when the two of them make their way back down. Melissa has quite a few different accessories that she’s brought down, although she doesn’t look thrilled in the slightest. 

“Well,” Theresa prompts. “Show your girlfriend the different jewelry.”

The redhead just holds them up, looking less than enthused.

“Put them on, dear!” the matriarch grins. “Show her how pretty you can look when you’re quiet and dressed nicely.”

You can feel your own blood boil at the incessant need for Theresa to quiet Melissa. You look to her with nearly murderous eyes. 

“You know, I actually love Melissa just the way she is,” you cut in with fire. “I like the way that she’s smart and loud and outspoken and cares about things that are important. I love the way that she dresses and how she wants and styles herself the way that she wants. I think she’s perfect, just the way she is.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re just saying that.”

“I can assure you, Theresa,” you practically spit out. “I am not just saying that. I wish you would accept your daughter for who she is, because who she is is nothing short of a dream to me.”

With that, you drop the dish towel that you had previously been holding and make your way to your bag. You sling your bag over your shoulder before grabbing your girlfriend’s and taking her hand in your own. “I think perhaps it’s time that we head out for the night.”

Melissa begins to lead you out of the house before she drops your hand and whips around to face her mother once more. She sets the jewelry on the table and stares at her mother, a look of heartbreak and fury present. 

“Is it so horrific to you that someone might love me for who I really am?” Melissa asks her mother in a desperate tone. “Is it so awful that someone might like me for me, instead of this person that you so desperately wish I would be?” You hear her voice crack on the last word. 

Theresa flounders for words, her mouth opening and closing a few times as she tries to get her words out. When she finally does speak, Melissa simply holds up a hand.

“If you can’t find the words immediately to apologize, I don’t want to hear what you have to say,” your girlfriend sighs softly. She picks your hand back up and attempts to lead you out of the house once again, but you have to say something- anything to let Theresa know that you girlfriend is just what you want her to be.

“You know,” you say quietly. “When I was growing up, I never imagined myself getting together with someone that you so desperately want Melissa to be. I saw myself dating a strong woman- someone who could hold their own. Someone who wasn’t afraid to be themself and could own that. Your daughter… she’s everything I could have ever wanted. She cares so much, and so freely. She stands for all of the things that I do, and is somehow even more passionate than I am on those issues. She’s drop dead gorgeous no matter if she’s dressed to the nines to go to an event for the district or if we’re simply lounging on the couch in our sweatpants. I- I wouldn’t change her for anything.”

With that, you exit the house. And when the two of you do, the walk to the car is silent. The silence is only broken once you’ve pulled out of the driveway and have driven down the street. She sniffles, and your heart breaks. In one swift motion, you pull the car over and put it in park before looking over to her. Her green eyes somehow both shine and dull simultaneously, at it absolutely shatters you. You simply gather her in your arms the best you can given the arm rest is in your way. She just pushes you away gently, but she keeps her fingers intertwined with your own. Melissa gestures for you to continue driving, and so you pull away and in the direction of her house.

The only words she says to you as she unbuckles her seatbelt are, “Come in. Stay.”

And you can only oblige that simple request after what she’s been through tonight.

tags: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights  @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @casualfoxwitch @babytakeittothehead @schemmentits 

[melwnst]

────── ⋆⋅☆SECOND HUNDREDTH CHANCES, D.W

summary. Dean breaks your heart, again. When he comes back to apologize, you know you’ll run right back to him.

warnings. angst, tiny bit of smut. Dean’s a toxic cunt in this. make up sex.

⭑.ᐟ two smut plots in one day… who am I?????? Please interact/follow and send requests if u have any! <3

word count. 1,2k

supernatural masterlist/full masterlist

──────────୨ৎ──────────

You wake up to the feeling that something is about to happen. Your heart is heavy, it’s tight in your chest, it’s pounding. You’re sweaty, your palms almost sticking to each other. And soon enough you hear it. You hear the buzzing, the sound of heartbreak, of uncertainty. You don’t have to think about who it is- you know it’s him. It feels like hours pass before it comes to a stop. It’s only a minute later that it happens again.

And again.

And again.

Until you have no choice but to turn your phone off- but not before seeing that he’s left 6 voicemails. Voicemails you don’t want to listen to because nothing he can say will make it better. It won’t ease the ache, the hurt, the sadness you feel or the feeling of missing him so much you feel like you can’t breathe and you’re running out of air every time you allow yourself to even think about him.

Dean knows. He knows why you won’t answer, he knows you probably won’t listen to the messages he leaves you, and he’s almost glad because he’s embarrassed. He hates how vulnerable he is. How he can be- when he pours his heart out to you. Except he has to- because he wants you to know that he’s sorry. That he doesn’t mean to push people away, it’s just what he does even if it’s not fair to anyone around him.

You force yourself to go back to sleep. You know it won’t do any good because you have absolutely zero chances of falling asleep tonight, not really- not with him running in your mind like he belongs there.

He doesn’t. Not anymore.

If you could reach inside and pull him out yourself, you would.

You can’t help but wonder how he’s doing, though. Because heartbreak isn’t going to help falling out of love with him. It’s still Dean. It’s still the guy who hates flowers but gets you some every week because he knows you love them. Still the same man who would rather sacrifice his sleep to watch you, to make sure that you’re safe and sound even when you’re sound asleep next to him.

So, it doesn’t help. He’s still there like a stain you can’t get off. And you don’t think he’s going away anytime soon.

You do manage to fall asleep though. It feels like 5 minutes before a knock on your door wakes you up. Your eyes open in one swift motion, and you know exactly what’s waiting for you behind that door.

Rather, who’s waiting.

It’s heartbreak, love, anger, sadness, grief, all mixed up together. It’s Dean. You don’t have to see him to know- you feel his presence. He could be thousands of miles away, and you still would.

You pull yourself out of bed, but you don’t open the door. You don’t want to. Because you know that the moment he apologizes, you’ll run right back to him. And maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing- but you’re just so used to it, it’s exhausting.

For what feels like the millionth- another knock collides with your door.

And then a voice.

‘Please open the door, I know you’re in there.’ His voice is hoarse, like he’s been crying.

‘I need to talk to you, please. Please stop ignoring me.’ He’s desperate. He’s like a completely different person.

You hear him mumble, you’re pretty sure you can decipher a small ‘fine, I’ll just talk through the door then.’

‘Okay. Hear me out, alright?’ He takes a small pause, and you take a small step forward.

You wince when the wooded floor cracks under your steps.

‘I didn’t know what to do. I suck at this, clearly. Please just open the door, I want to see you.’

Silence. It cuts deep, it breaks his heart, he closes his eyes, bangs his head on the door.

‘I love you, okay? I’m begging you, talk to me.’

Dean doesn’t beg. He’s not one to crawl towards someone, or get on his knees til they bleed to make someone understand something, a point. But he would for you. He’d do anything.

Dean gives up. He figures, maybe you need more time, more space from him because he’s agonizing.

You hear him sigh, and soon enough he walks away.

You step forward hesitantly, before you swing the door open.

Dean turns back in an instant, he’s not that far. Maybe he’s too close,even. Because you can feel him, you can smell his cologne, you can see that he just shaved because his skin is smooth, and you can tell he cried because his eyes tell you that he did.

You regret opening the door the second you do, though. Because you see him, and it’s Dean. It’s your Dean. It’s the man that you love- and that’s when you know you’re fucked. Because you want to run into his arms, kiss him, pull him in, feel him everywhere, all across, from all over.

Dean’s even closer now, you can feel his breath, hear his heart beat fast for you.

The tension is thick, and he knows you’re about to give in. He sees the hunger in your eyes, he sees the anger too. And he plays with it. Not because he’s a bad person, but because he genuinely wants to be better for you, he just doesn’t know how to.

‘I hate you.’ You tell him, he can barely hear it, but he does.

‘I know.’

You want to punch him. You want to scream, lash out.

But you don’t.

Instead you pull his shirt, and crash your lips into his. There’s flames all around, it’s burning, it’s hot, because the anger’s too strong. It’s so strong that you step back, still attached to his lips, into your apartment.

Dean closes the door with his foot, while his hands travel. They explore as if they’ve never been there before.

‘I love you.’ You mumble against his lips, his flannel already on the floor, his shirt halfway taken off.

‘I know.’ He answers, pulling your sweatshirt over your head, and collapsing on the bed with you.

His mouth isn’t on yours anymore. It’s on your jaw, your neck, your ears, it travels down to your breast, your belly. Your core heats up, your thighs tighten together because it just can’t wait.

Dean looks at you as to ask. You give him permission, and soon enough your shorts are off.

You see stars, your voice goes hoarse because of the cries of pleasure. You pull at his hair, and you swear it feels like best make up sex you’ve ever had.

He’s not even inside you yet, and you already know it’s going to be.

Later, when you’re both sweaty and out of breath, your back turned to him, Dean stares at the ceiling.

‘I’m sorry.’ He looks at your bare back, and he hears you sigh. He knows it too well because it’s a sigh you let out every time he lets you down and builds you right back up again.

‘I know.’

You close your eyes, and even though you feel Dean’s chest touch yours, you don’t turn around, you don’t say anything else, because you know it’ll happen again, again and again.

But you wouldn’t dream of stopping it.

Because he’s still your Dean.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

taglist: @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis (comment to be added!🤍)

[lazy-ahh]

HIII !! :0 we've spoken before but I've only realized now I haven't been requesting things anonymously (omg I'm stupid I know lmao) :3 uhmmm here's another idea but it's more of a prompt lol, you can do whatever you want with it :)

Jason or reader : “You stayed.”

Jason or reader : “I’m still deciding if that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”

LIKE WE WERE KIDS AGAIN

pairing jason todd x gender neutral reader

"you stayed," you murmur, voice cracking like the childhood promises you both broke. jason doesn’t answer—just holds you tighter, as if his arms could undo years of hurt. (they can’t. but tonight, with your laughter muffled against his chest and his fingers tangled in yours, maybe "broken" doesn’t have to mean "unfixable.")

taglist @kasarian , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro

the first time jason sees you again, he’s supposed to kill you.

the warehouse is burning around you both, smoke curling thick in the air, the scent of gasoline and gunpowder clinging to the back of his throat. he’s here on orders—some lowlife crime lord’s hired muscle needs to be put down, and the red hood doesn’t ask questions. not anymore.

but then he sees you.

you’re standing in the middle of the wreckage, blood smeared across your split knuckles, a gun dangling loosely from your fingers like you’ve forgotten how to hold it. your eyes are hollow, glazed over—like you’re not really here. like you’ve been carved out and left empty.

he doesn’t recognize you at first. not with the way your shoulders hunch inward, like you’re trying to disappear. not with the way your hands tremble around the grip of the gun, finger twitching near the trigger like you’re fighting the urge to use it. but then you turn, just slightly, and the flickering firelight catches the curve of your cheekbone—the same one he used to poke when you were kids, laughing when you’d swat his hand away and call him an idiot.

"no fucking way," he breathes, the words punched out of him.

you don’t react. your gaze slides right past him, vacant, like he’s just another shadow in the room. like he’s not the boy who used to sneak you candy under the dinner table when your parents weren’t looking, who promised to protect you from monsters under the bed.

(he failed, didn’t he? because here you are—another ghost in a world that chews up kids like you and spits them out. and now you’re standing on the wrong side of his gun, working for the same bastards he’s been hired to wipe out.)

your lips part, just slightly, and he thinks you might say something. but then your jaw clenches, and something dark flickers in your eyes—betrayal. because of course you’ve heard the stories. the red hood doesn’t hesitate. the red hood puts bullets in skulls without a second thought.

and here he is, staring you down like you’re just another target.

(you don’t know that his finger’s frozen on the trigger. that his chest is so tight he can’t breathe. that all he can think is—what the hell happened to you?)

(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

the second time, he corners you on a rooftop.

the wind howls between you, sharp enough to cut, and jason’s boots scrape against gravel as he steps forward. you’re backed against the ledge, panting, one hand pressed to your side where blood seeps through your fingers—a bullet graze, too close for comfort. the red helmet hides the way his throat bobs, the way his teeth grind together at the sight.

you’re hurt.

the realization hits him like a punch to the gut. he’d chased you across half the city, fury burning through his veins because how could you—but now that he’s here, all he sees is the way your knees wobble, the way your breaths come too fast, too shallow. like you’re one wrong move from collapsing.

"what the hell are you doing?" he growls, voice distorted through the modulator, harsher than he means it to be.

you blink at him, slow, like you’re struggling to focus. the moonlight catches the sweat on your brow, the blood smeared across your cheek. when you speak, your voice is rough, exhausted. "surviving."

like it’s obvious. like it’s the only thing left in the world that makes sense.

and jason—

jason wants to scream.

because this isn’t you. the you he knew would’ve flinched at the sight of blood, would’ve squeezed his hand too tight when you crossed the street, would’ve cried when you scraped your knee on the playground and let him carry you home. the you he knew had laughed so loud it echoed, had tucked wildflowers into his pockets when he wasn’t looking, had been alive.

but the person in front of him now?

they don’t even blink as they wipe their bloody hands on their jacket, smearing red across the fabric like it’s nothing. like pain is just another part of the routine.

(he remembers, suddenly, stupidly—the way you’d cling to his sleeve when you were scared. the way you’d whisper don’t let go even when there was nothing to be afraid of.)

"you’re working for them," he accuses, stepping closer. his voice cracks, just slightly. "the same bastards who—"

"i don’t have a choice," you interrupt, voice brittle, breaking.

your hands shake. not from the cold. not from the wound.

from fear.

(he hates how small you sound. hates it even more because he knows, now, that you’ve been afraid for a long, long time.)

for a heartbeat, neither of you move. the city sprawls beneath you, all flickering lights and distant sirens, but jason doesn’t hear any of it. all he hears is the ragged sound of your breathing. all he sees is the way your shoulders curl in, like you’re waiting for a blow.

you think i’m going to hurt you.

the thought makes something in his chest splinter.

(he should. he should. that’s what the red hood does. that’s what he came here for.)

but then you sway, just slightly, and without thinking, his hand shoots out—fingers wrapping around your wrist to steady you.

your skin is cold.

(he doesn’t let go.)

(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

the third time, he finds you in a shitty motel room, and the sight cracks something open in his ribs.

the air smells like stale cigarettes and cheap disinfectant, the kind that burns your nose if you breathe too deep. you're curled into yourself on the bed, knees drawn to your chest, arms wrapped tight around them like you're trying to hold yourself together. the dim yellow light from the flickering lamp paints everything in sickly shadows—the hollows under your eyes, the dried blood on your sleeve, the way your fingers dig into your own arms hard enough to leave bruises.

on the nightstand, a half-empty bottle of whiskey sits next to a gun.

(jason's stomach turns. he knows what that means. knows what you were thinking when you put it there.)

you don't fight when he sits beside you. don't even look up. just keep staring at the cracked wall across from you, blank, like you're already gone. like you were waiting for death, and he's just the grim reaper finally showing up to collect.

(he wants to shake you. wants to pull you into his arms. doesn't know which would hurt more.)

"why?" he asks, softer this time. voice rough like he's the one who's been crying, even though your eyes are dry.

your lips twitch—something that might’ve been a laugh in another life. it cracks apart before it even leaves your throat, splintering into something raw and wounded, more like a sob caught between your teeth. your fingers curl into the thin motel sheets, knuckles white, as if clinging to them could keep you from falling apart completely.

"they promised they'd kill me if i didn't." your voice is barely there, scraped thin from screaming or silence—he can't tell which. then, softer, breaking: "i couldn't let them do that... not without seeing you for the last time."

the admission hangs in the air between you, fragile as the dust motes drifting in the dim light. jason feels it like a knife to the ribs—because you thought you were going to die, and your last thought was him.

jason's breath catches like his lungs forgot how to work.

suddenly, he's fifteen again—kneeling on hot pavement behind your apartment building, watching through messy bangs as you carefully press batman bandaids over his scraped knees. "hold still, dummy," you'd huffed, but your hands were gentle even when they shook. the cherry popsicle you'd split with him earlier dripped sticky-sweet on your chin, and when he laughed and wiped it away with his thumb, your cheeks went pink as the sunset. in that moment, twelve-year-old jason thought, with startling clarity: i'd follow you anywhere. die for you if i had to.

the memory burns worse than the whiskey in his gut. because now he knows—you never wanted this. never chose the blood staining your hands or the hollows under your eyes. you'd been stolen, just like he was. broken, just like he was.

(he should've known. should've seen the signs sooner—the way your hands trembled even when empty, the way your eyes kept darting to exits like you expected hands to grab you any second. god, how many times had you looked at him, silently screaming for help he didn't recognize?)

the mattress creaks as he shifts closer. his hand hovers over your shoulder, trembling with the weight of every unsaid thing between you. when his palm finally settles against the thin fabric of your shirt, he can feel your heartbeat rabbiting beneath—alive, alive, alive against all odds.

"i'm sorry," he whispers, and it's not enough. will never be enough for all the ways he failed you.

(he doesn't specify what for. the list is too long: for not protecting you. for thinking you'd gone bad. for that last summer before everything burned—when he'd peeked through your bedroom window and saw you muttering to your reflection, practicing how to say "i like you" with reddening ears. he'd nearly fallen off the fire escape grinning, thinking just say it already, i'll say it back, never knowing your confession would be stolen along with everything else the next day.)

you finally look up at him, eyes wide and lost, and jason thinks—

oh.

there you are.

somewhere beneath the blood and bruises and broken pieces, beneath the flinches and the fear and the face you've had to wear to survive—you're still you. the same kid who patched his wounds and shared your popsicles and looked at him like he hung the moon.

and despite the pit's rage, despite the bullets and the bodies and the years of pretending he's someone else—he's still him too. still the boy who promised to keep you safe.

(he won't fail you again.)

(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

"you stayed," you murmur into the quiet, finally meeting his gaze through the dim light. the words taste fragile on your tongue, like they might break if you speak too loud.

he exhales, rough around the edges. "i'm still deciding if that's the dumbest thing i've ever done," he says, but there's no bite to it—just that familiar teasing lilt that makes your chest ache.

(you remember him saying the same thing at twelve when he climbed your fire escape with a black eye, grinning through split lips because he'd "won" the fight. you'd called him an idiot then too.)

but he doesn't leave. doesn't even shift away when you curl tighter into yourself, knees digging into your ribs like you're trying to disappear.

"hey." his finger pokes your cheek—just like when you were kids. "stop that. you're thinking too loud."

you blink up at him. "i'm not a—"

"a gremlin? yeah, you are." his grin is all teeth, the same one he'd flash when stealing your lunchbox snacks. "always were. remember when you tried to eat mrs. mackey's science project because you thought it was jello?"

a startled laugh punches out of you. "it looked like jello!"

"it was a dissection specimen, you menace."

"you ate some too!"

"only after you dared me, you little—"

the rest gets swallowed by your shriek as he suddenly tackles you, fingers digging into your ribs exactly where you're most ticklish. the sound that comes out of you is half-laugh, half-sob, startled and bright after so long without.

(just like that summer when you'd both gotten caught in the rain, how he'd carried you piggyback through the downpour while you shrieked about his cold hands sneaking under your jacket to tickle you.)

you retaliate by shoving your icy feet against his calves, grinning at his yelp. "cheater!" he gasps, but he's laughing too, really laughing, the sound warm and rough and so painfully familiar it makes your eyes burn.

somewhere between breathless wrestling and poorly-aimed pillow attacks, you end up with your face smushed against his chest, his arms locked around you like he's afraid you'll vanish if he lets go. the quiet settles over you both, comfortable in a way nothing has been in years.

"missed this," you mumble into his shirt. the admission feels dangerous.

his heartbeat stutters under your ear. "...yeah."

(he remembers your thirteenth birthday, how you'd fallen asleep just like this during your movie marathon, how he'd stayed perfectly still for hours just so he wouldn't wake you. how he'd thought, with terrifying certainty: this. i want this forever.)

your fingers curl into his sleeve on their own accord, clinging like you're eight again and afraid of thunderstorms. jason's breath hitches—then his hand comes up to card through your hair, gentle in a way the red hood never is.

"stay?" you whisper, already half-asleep.

his arms tighten. "'til you're sick of me."

(he means forever. you both know it.)

2.2k full of jason todd and reader being traumatised together...! yippe...! .... AHHHHHH WHY DO I EVEN DO THIS TO MYSELF??? and also, don't worry mysterious anon, you're not stupid at all, don't you EVEN think about it >:[ hope you enjoyed this teehee! <3

[ur-fav-slushy]

!boyfriendhamzah headcannons

just some thoughts i have about hamzah if he was your fine shyt🤪

•hamzah drives. license or not he is your CHAUFFEUR. he likes to pretend to complain when you ask him to pick you up from work(like boy do your job!) but ofc he’s sitting there right when he needs to be because even tho he is CHRONICALLY LATE to everything he loves seeing your smiley face when you see his car.

“thought you said you weren’t gonna pick me up today?” you tease him while putting your seatbelt on. “i don’t recall ever saying that.” “you said it right after i told you i didn’t have time to shower with you this morning.” “nah i think that must’ve been your other boyfriend.”

•pda isn’t really his thing but when yall are alone? trust his hands are glued to some part of your body. elevator rides = drive by make out sessions like AS SOON as any door closes and yall are left to yourselves his face is an inch away from yours.

you both enter the elevator of your apartment building while talking about your days to each other. “-and then he didn’t even say thank you?! like who the hell shit in his cereal, anyways i jus-” just as the doors close hamzah puts his hand on your face and leans in to mold your lips against his. the kiss progresses further while you move between floors to the point where your both gripping on to each other when suddenly: ding! he pulls away when the doors open and just starts strolling away to his car. mf doesn’t even let you finish your story.

•he says he’s not jealous of the attention you give red and blue but as soon as he sees you chilling with red in your lap on the couch he’s gettting all up in your space wanting to know where his hug at🙄🙄

“what are you watching?” he asks from the kitchen while you sit on his couch with red purring against your hand as you pet him. “love on the spectrum! are you gonna come watch with us?” “us?” he asks as he rounds the corner and sees exactly who else your talking about. “red. go find blue.” he tries to shoo red when you stop him “no. he can sit here with us.” “he can sit next to us.” he reaches for red AGAIN when you swat him away and tell him he’s jealous to which he denies the claim and pouts as he sits next to you.

…somehow throughout watching the episode you guys end up with you spooning him as he cuddles red.(i am firm believer in big boys getting their fair share of little spoon time😤)

•he gets SO distracted when you come to the office, especially when it’s time for him record a podcast or some other form of content. in the podcast videos if you’re really paying attention enough you can see him look off to the same direction over and over again that the fans are starting to suspect he might be looking at SOMEONE instead of just something.

you can overhear martin telling a really funny story from where your sitting and when you look up from your phone to see what hamzahs reaction was to the story you find him already staring in your direction. you lock eyes and he smiles, you gesture for him to listen to martin and hamzah brings his focus back to the podcast but he can’t help but think about how gorgeous you look just sitting all pretty. just for him.

thank you for reading! this was my first time writing for hamzah and if you like what you read PLZ LET ME KNOW BECAUSE I HAVE SO MANY MORE HEADCANNONS FOR HIM!!!! ANYWAYS LOVE YOU FELLOW SLUSHIES MWAH😚💋