#and I don’t know how to say that in a nice way

[pucksandpower]

Drunk in Love

Max Verstappen x fiancée!Reader

Summary: in which Max gets drunk, forgets that the two of you are literally engaged, confesses his love for you, and then gets reminded that his ring is on your finger … in that order

Based on this request

The lights from Jimmy’z spill out onto the sidewalk, a dizzying kaleidoscope of reds, purples, and blues. You stand just outside, arms crossed, as your phone buzzes for the third time in five minutes. It’s Daniel this time.

“Hey,” he says, voice just slightly too cheerful to be innocent. “So, uh, Max is-”

“I’m already here.”

“Oh, perfect. He’s …” Daniel hesitates, and you can practically see him scratching the back of his neck. “He’s just a little … spirited tonight.”

Spirited. That’s one way to put it.

You hang up before he can add anything else and glance toward the club entrance. Max stumbles out a few seconds later, propped up by Lando, who looks like he’s trying not to laugh. Max’s head lolls to the side, and when he spots you, his entire face lights up like you’ve just walked out of a movie.

“Hey!” He yells, voice loud enough to make a couple passing tourists glance over. “It’s you!”

You sigh, stepping forward to take him off Lando’s hands. “Thanks,” you mutter to the younger driver, who just grins.

“Good luck,” Lando says, clapping you on the shoulder before disappearing back into the club.

Max leans heavily on you, his arm slung over your shoulders. “You came for me,” he says, slurring slightly. “You’re like an angel. My angel.”

“Uh-huh,” you deadpan, guiding him toward the car. “Let’s get you home, Max.”

He stops abruptly, digging his heels into the pavement. “No, wait.”

You look up at him, exasperated. “What?”

“I need to tell you something.”

“Can it wait until we’re in the car?”

“No!” He insists, voice rising. “It’s important.”

You glance around, feeling the curious stares of a few people lingering nearby. “Okay, fine. What is it?”

Max wobbles slightly, gripping your arm like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His eyes are glassy but serious as he looks at you. “I’m in love with you.”

You blink. “What?”

“I love you,” he repeats, louder this time. Then, almost conspiratorially, he leans closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Like, really love you. You’re … you’re perfect.”

“Max …” You hesitate, unsure how to respond.

“No, listen!” He says, pulling back to look at you. “You don’t understand. I’ve been in love with you for … forever. But I didn’t know how to say it, and now it’s too late, because you probably think I’m some idiot who-”

“Max,” you interrupt, placing a hand on his chest to steady him. “We’re engaged.”

His brow furrows. “What?”

“We’re engaged,” you repeat, holding up your left hand where the ring glints under the streetlights.

Max stares at it like he’s never seen it before. “No way.”

“Yes, way.”

His face splits into a grin so wide it’s almost childlike. “No. Way.”

“Yes, Max. We’re literally engaged. Have been for months.”

He takes your hand in his, squinting at the ring. “Holy shit. That’s a nice ring.”

You snort despite yourself. “You picked it.”

“I did?” He looks genuinely astonished.

“Yes, you did. And you cried when I said yes, remember?”

“I cried?”

“Like a baby.”

He lets out a delighted laugh, the kind that starts in his chest and bubbles all the way up. “I’m a genius,” he declares, throwing his arms in the air. “I got you to say yes!”

“Yes, Maxie. You did.”

He pulls you into a hug, nearly knocking you off balance. “I’m so lucky,” he mumbles into your hair. “Like, stupid lucky.”

“You’re also stupid drunk,” you point out, but there’s no bite to your words.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes wide and earnest. “Do you love me?”

You laugh softly, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. “Of course I love you, you idiot.”

He beams at you, his happiness so pure it’s almost contagious. “Good. That’s good. Because I’m going to marry you.”

“Yes, Max. You are.”

“And I’m never going to mess it up.”

“Not if you keep calling me to pick you up from clubs at two in the morning.”

He looks horrified. “Wait, did I call you?”

“No,” you admit, “Daniel did.”

Max groans, burying his face in his hands. “That traitor.”

“Come on,” you say, tugging him toward the car. “Let’s get you home before you pass out on the sidewalk.”

As you help him into the passenger seat, he grabs your hand again, his grip surprisingly firm. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he says, his voice softer now.

“I know,” you reply, leaning in to kiss his forehead.

He closes his eyes, a contented smile playing on his lips. “I’m going to marry the hell out of you,” he murmurs as you buckle him in.

You shake your head, climbing into the driver’s seat. “You already are.”

And as you pull away from the curb, he’s still grinning like he’s just won the championship all over again.

[hoshifighting]

idk if someone asked you this but i’m a new reader and I REALLY REALLY LOVE YOUR WORKS!!!

can you please make wonwoo, the nerdy president who u thought was innocent and sweet but he’s the one behind ur fave nsfw audio creator???? AND HE’S A HARDFUCKER.. not what u expected tho..

i don’t know if i make sense but please pretty please 😭☝️

Synopsis: where you discover that the nerdy class president is the one man who creates the most nasty NSFW audios that you spend long nights listening to. WC: 2.8k WARNINGS: smut, audio porn, masturbation, hard fuck, dirty talk (obviously), bad sleeping habits (because of wonwoo), fingering, spanking, dirty talk, pussy eating, penetrative sex, protected sex, wonwoo whining, a lil invasion of privacy.

you’ve been running on fumes all day, the hazy buzz of sleep deprivation clinging to your brain like static. it’s no surprise, really. your night had gone the way it always does: you got home, flopped into your chair, threw on your headphones, and let onyx_lens—your favorite nsfw asmr creator—drag you under with that stupidly deep voice of his.

it was kind of pathetic, actually. you barely remember what the script was about—something about obedience or whatever—but you do remember the sound of his voice sinking into your brain like warm honey, making you cum so hard that you blacked the fuck out right after. now here you were, bleary-eyed and trying to stay upright in literature class, the regret of last night’s poor choices catching up with you.

wonwoo, the class president who was somehow both effortlessly chill and annoyingly observant, had been glancing at you every few minutes. you could feel his eyes on you as your head dipped forward for the third time, only to snap back up like a busted bobblehead.

but, in true wonwoo fashion, he didn’t say anything. no scolding, no judgmental sighs—just quiet observation.

when class finally ended, you were ready to yeet yourself into a nap for a solid 72 hours. you were shoving your stuff into your bag when wonwoo’s voice cut through the noise.

“you good?”

you froze. his voice wasn’t the same as onyx_lens’s, obviously, but it had that same deep, smooth timbre that made your brain short-circuit for a second. it didn’t help that his question sounded so much like something out of an nsfw script. you turned to face him, hoping your face wasn’t giving away how flustered you suddenly were. “uh—yeah,” you said, shaking your head a little too quickly. “just tired.”

wonwoo raised an eyebrow. “not sleeping well?”

your brain screamed. your tired, half-horny brain screamed louder. the overlap of his voice and onyx_lens in your head was un-fucking-bearable. you managed to nod, muttering something about late nights and deadlines, hoping he wouldn’t pry.

he didn’t, but his next question wasn’t much better.

“think you could help me with the sci-fi project? your last lit analysis was good, and i could use the extra pair of hands.”

you blinked at him. “me?”

he nodded, adjusting his glasses. “you. unless you’re too busy with...whatever’s keeping you up.”

oh, you mean my nightly sessions with onyx_lens and my vibrator?

you swallowed hard and tried to play it cool. “nah, i can help.”

and that’s how you found yourself standing outside wonwoo’s apartment later that evening, clutching your bag. his place was exactly what you’d expect from him—minimalist, neat, and smelling faintly of coffee.

“come in,” he said, holding the door open for you. “make yourself comfortable.”

easier said than done. you perched awkwardly on his couch as he set up his laptop on the coffee table, your eyes darting around the room in an attempt to ignore how nice his voice sounded in person.

“so,” he began, sitting across from you, “any ideas for the project?”

you cleared your throat, trying to focus. “uh, maybe something about robots and humanity? like, exploring ethical dilemmas or something.”

wonwoo nodded thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on you in a way that made your skin heat. “good idea. we could tie that into the main themes from class.”

he leaned forward slightly, scrolling through a document on his laptop, and you couldn’t help but notice how his glasses slipped down his nose. you were so not prepared for this level of proximity or his stupidly deep voice.

“you okay?” he asked again, glancing at you.

you blinked, realizing you’d been staring. “yeah, just...thinking.”

his lips twitched into a small, knowing smile. “good. let me know if you need a break or...anything.”

the way he said anything sent a shiver down your spine. you weren’t sure if it was exhaustion, residual arousal from last night, or the sheer presence of wonwoo in his element, but your brain was a mess.

you were supposed to be helping him with this project, but all you could think about was the way his voice would sound whispering in your ear, saying things that would make onyx_lens blush.

you were so close to winning the “most pathetic college student of the year” award it wasn’t even funny. after much back-and-forth with wonwoo, class president of your downfall, you somehow convinced him to let you walk home alone. except the man still went all soft and paid for a taxi anyway, which, like… thanks? but also stop being so nice, what the hell.

it was nearing 11 p.m. when you got home, and as if on cue, your phone pinged with a notification: onyx_lens’s weekly live is starting.

you stared at it for a second, blinking in disbelief. today’s theme? "neon circuits and orgasm denial (a cyberpunk experience) 8d audio"

sci-fi-themed. of fucking course.

you almost laughed at the audacity of the universe for this one. was this some sort of cosmic joke? was wonwoo onyx_lens?! no way. no goddamn way. you shook off the thought as delulu nonsense and dragged yourself to the bathroom for a quick sponge bath.

by the time you flopped into your chair, headphones on, the live was already in full swing. that voice—that stupidly deep, velvety voice—flooded your ears as the chat buzzed with unhinged comments. onyx purred, and you were done for.

you couldn’t even focus on the sci-fi plot he was spinning, something about rogue androids, monster cock, neon vibrators and human experimentation. his voice wrapped around you like a silk chokehold, and you were gone—just a vibrating mess in your chair, coming undone embarrassingly fast.

fast forward to the next morning: you woke up feeling like a used dishrag. again. headphones still on, your phone dead, and the memory of last night’s live replaying in your brain like a broken record.

by the time you dragged yourself to class, you were running on fumes and vibes. your hoodie was scrunched up around your face, making you look like a cross between a gremlin and an overgrown baby.

wonwoo noticed. you could feel his eyes boring into you as you tried—and failed—to stay upright. you were so close to just giving in and laying flat on the floor. honestly, it might’ve been comfier than your chair at that point.

wonwoo, sitting two rows away, looked like he was internally debating whether to intervene or let you rot in peace. when the bell rang, you startled awake like you’d been electrocuted, nearly knocking your stuff off your desk in the process.

“you okay?” he asked, falling into step beside you as you shuffled out of the classroom like a zombie.

“i’m fine,” you mumbled, voice muffled by your hoodie. “just need food. like, now.”

you detoured to the convenience store on the way to his apartment, snagging an entire kimbap roll and tearing into it like a starving animal. wonwoo followed behind, holding your water bottle with a look that was equal parts judgment and amusement.

“you couldn’t wait?” he asked, watching as you ate half the roll in one bite.

“bro,” you said around a mouthful of rice, “if i didn’t eat this, i was gonna pass out on the cold asphalt. your problem now, mr. class president.”

he rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, just handed you your water like the reluctant babysitter he was.

this was going to be a long afternoon.

you couldn’t help yourself. the suspicion had been eating away at you for weeks now, ever since you first heard his voice in class and that nagging sense of déjà vu set in. wonwoo had escaped to the bathroom, and you had the perfect opportunity to snoop.

your fingers hovered over his notebook, but then your gaze darted back to your own screen. back and forth, back and forth. his notebook. yours. the coincidences were piling up like a conspiracy wall in your head. the voice, the specific vocabulary choices, even the cadence—how did i not notice this earlier?!

“fuck it,” you whispered to yourself, grabbing his notebook and quickly pulling up the site where you normally streamed your favorite asmr creator. just to check. just to confirm your theory.

your heart pounded as the site loaded, every second dragging like molasses. the channel page opened, and at first, it seemed normal. too normal. you almost clicked away, feeling stupid for even suspecting anything.

but then you saw it: edit profile. analytics.

your breath caught, and a sharp scoff escaped you as you crossed your arms. oh, my god. the realization hit you like a freight train. it’s him. wonwoo. class president. sci-fi nerd. “how the fuck did i not notice?” you muttered, half impressed by his audacity.

you were so lost in your spiraling thoughts that you didn’t hear him return—until his voice, practically kissed your earlobe.

“what. do. you. think. you. are. doing?”

you jumped so hard your knee slammed into the underside of the desk. whipping around, you found wonwoo standing over you, his expression unreadable but his jaw tight.

“uh—nothing?” you stammered, trying to slam your laptop shut, but his hand darted out and stopped you.

“‘nothing’ doesn’t look like you snooping through my computer,” he said, his voice dangerously calm.

your cheeks burned. “okay, fine, maybe i was curious—”

“you were curious?” his tone sharpened. “curious enough to invade my privacy?”

“invade your—bro, you’re literally whispering dirty robot sex fantasies to the entire internet. how is that private?”

“that’s different!” his ears flushed a deep red, and you couldn’t tell if it was from anger or embarrassment. “that’s content. this—this is personal.”

you rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair. “oh, please. you’re mad i figured it out. admit it.”

he leaned closer, towering over you now, his hand pressing down on the desk beside you. “what do you want, huh? blackmail? are you gonna tell everyone?”

you laughed, loud and incredulous. “tell everyone?! dude, relax. i’m not gonna expose your little side hustle. besides…” you smirked, tilting your head to look up at him. “you should be thanking me. clearly, i’m a fan.”

wonwoo’s eyes darkened, and his lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out. 

“you’re a what?” he asks, your pulse skyrocketing as he stepped even closer, crowding you against the chair.

“did i stutter?” you whispered, the challenge clear in your tone.

his mouth crashed onto yours, teeth and tongue and frustration. you barely had time to process it before he was yanking you out of the chair, his hands rough as they gripped your hips and spun you around.

“you want to act like a brat,” he growled into your ear, his voice so reminiscent of his asmr persona that it made you roll your eyes back slighty, “then you’re gonna get treated like one.”

he bent you over the desk, the cold surface pressing against your chest as he yanked down your college skirt and underwear at once. his fingers slid through your folds, already slick just from being around him.

“so fucking wet,” he muttered, almost to himself. “you get off on this, don’t you? knowing it’s me.”

“shut your mouth,” you gasped, but it came out more like a moan as he pushed two fingers inside you, curling them and pressing them hard on your front wall.

“make me,” he challenged, his other hand coming down sharply on your ass. the sting made you gasp, your hips jerking against his hand as you tense on the desk.

the pace of his fingers was relentless, his thumb circling your clit in time with the thrusts. every part of your body was starting to be feveirsh, and you hated—hated—how easily he was unraveling you. you spent nights thinking about how it would be if onyx fucked you, and here you are. of course you would be a mess in a second.

“sorry” he mocked you. “am i too much for you?”

you clenched around his fingers, your nails digging into the desk as you tried to hold back a moan. “you talk too fucking much actually wonwoo,” you hissed.

“yeah, that's what's paying me at nights” wonwoo chuckled darkly, pulling his fingers out and flipping you onto your back with his big arms. before you could protest, he was kneeling between your legs, his mouth suddenly hot and insistent against your core, better than any other vibrator you insisted on using at night.

the sounds—the wet, obscene sounds of his tongue—mixed with your whimpers as he devoured you like a man starved. his hands gripped your thighs, holding you open as you tried to squirm away from the overwhelming sensation.

“stop—”

“stop?” he looked up, his chin glistening. “not until you admit i’m your favorite.”

you glared down at him, breathless and defiant. “you’re such an asshole.”

“and yet…” he smirked, diving back in and flicking his tongue against your clit until your head fell back, a broken moan spilling from your lips.

it didn’t take long before you were coming undone, your body shaking as his mouth pulled your clit. wonwoo didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down, dragging out your orgasm until you were a trembling, incoherent chaos beneath him.

wonwoo doesn’t waste a second after pulling back, his hands flipping you over again so you’re bent over the desk, your cheek pressed to the cool surface as he grinds against you. the thick outline of his cock rubs against your dripping folds, still covered by the soft fabric of his grey sweatpants. you gasp, your hips jerking back involuntarily, and his pearly-white smile flashes above you.

“look at that,” he murmurs, almost smug, as a dark spot begins to spread on his sweatpants from your slick. “you’re soaking me through.”

the way he emphasizes the word makes your back contort in shivers, but you’re too far gone to care. your fingers claw at the desk as he keeps humping against you, his pace quickening. when he finally pulls back, you hear the shuffle of fabric as he yanks down his sweatpants and briefs. the soft clink of a drawer opening catches your attention, and you crane your neck to see him sliding on a condom.

“you’re still melting all over my desk,” he rubs a hand over the curve of your ass. “can’t even wait for me, huh?”

before you can respond, his hand comes down sharply on your ass, the sting making you gasp. he doesn’t stop, spanking you again and again until your skin is flushed and burning.

“you look so pretty like this,” he says, his hand smoothing over the heated skin before gripping your waist and lining himself up. “all messy and desperate for me.”

when he pushes in, stretching you inch by inch until you’re full and breathless, pussy trying to clench at his big grith to adjust. wonwoo groans, his head falling forward as he sinks in to the hilt.

your walls flutter around him, and he moans at the feeling, the sound so real and raw that it sends a jolt straight to your core.

“talk to me,” you manage to gasp, your voice muffled against the desk.

he chuckles, his pace picking up as he leans down to whisper in your ear. “you want me to talk dirty? you want me to tell you how tight you are? how good you’re taking me?”

you moan in response, your hips bucking back against him as his words send you curling.

“yeah, you like that, don’t you?” he continues, his voice thick with lust. your moans grow louder, and he suddenly remembers the videos you must’ve listened to—the whining, the moaning. the thought makes his stomach flip, and he decides to give you exactly what you want.

he starts letting out soft whimpers, his voice breaking with each thrust, the sounds spilling out almost involuntarily. “fuck, babe, you’re gonna make me cum—”

the genuine desperation in his voice drives you wild, and your body clenches around him, pulling him deeper. he groans, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you’re sure they’ll leave marks, but you don’t care.

“please,” he moans, his voice high and strained. “let me cum for you. let me—fuck—”

you push back against him, meeting his thrusts as your own climax builds, your breaths coming in short, broken gasps. the room is filled with the wet, obscene sounds of your bodies moving together, and the tension snaps all at once.

you come hard, your body shaking as you cry out, and wonwoo isn’t far behind. his hips stutter, a guttural moan escaping him as he spills into the condom, his body trembling with the force of it.

he collapses over you, his chest heaving against your back as you both try to catch your breath. after a moment, he presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck, his voice still hoarse as he murmurs, “guess i’m a little better live, hm?”

you just let out a defeated moan, the coldness of the table soothing your hot cheeks.

“keep quiet about this, and i'll keep giving you more.” well, it's just an excuse that wonwoo said to fuck you over again.

[femmeroll]

hiii, could you write something about sevika corrupting a sweet church girl?

your blog is really cute btw <3

omg omg omg !!! i’ve been dying to write something like this, thank you for the request!!

sevika x fem reader

cw: religion, corruption, implied age gap, fingering, semi-public.

you’re a good girl. made good grades in school, good daughter, good sister, kind person. you never miss a sunday service. and if you must, you’ll be at the church for service on monday afternoon. you spend your life being pure, avoiding sin wherever it may rear its devilish head.

no pride or greed or lust. just simple, sweet purity.

that is, until you meet that lady.

every day on your walk home from mass you see her. maybe mid forties, dark hair, and easily six feet tall. she stands outside the deli every morning at 11:45 on the dot for her smoke break.

and every sunday morning she says hello, or good morning, or asks how ‘sunday school’ is going. it’s strange. you always give her a smile, say hello back, but she seems so condescending. like every word she says to you is secretly making fun of you.

you don’t really know her either, which is weird. it’s a small town, everyone knows each other. not…her thought. she’s just an impossibly rude person you see on sundays that causes you to remember the jesus was always kind to strangers.

it’s a cold january morning, sidewalks slick with ice. like clockwork, that woman is standing outside the deli with her cigar.

“careful, virgin mary. don’t want you slippin’ out here.”

okay, rude.

“i’m okay, no need to worry,” you respond, stopping in your tracks in front of her. the gaze she holds on you is almost uncomfortable. she’s staring down at you like she’ll burst out laughing at any moment. like the mere idea of you is just hilarious to her.

“sevika, by the way. my name.”

oh. sevika. okay.

“y/n. it’s nice to properly meet you. i’ve never seen you around outside of…this.”

“i’m not very social” she responds.

you smile. you certainly know the best way for people to find community in town.

“well, there’s a service on mon-”

she cuts you off with a scoff. “not interested. not the place for me.”

“why not?”

sevika leans closer, letting her lips fall near your ears.

“i like smoking, drinking, cursing, fucking. it’s not the place for me, princess.”

you clutch the cross around your neck with a gasp. this is wrong on so many levels. sinful, disgusting, unnatural…and yet you feel your face getting impossibly redder.

sevika stomps out her cigarette. “see you next sunday, princess.”

whether you like it or not, sevika evokes quite a bit of lust in you. her smirk, her piercing grey eyes, her muscles that stretch the fabric of her impossibly tight tshirt…you can’t help it. the forbidden fruit is strong. you suppose it’s all a part of the lord’s plan. send you a taste of homosexual temptation and watch you be a true follower.

you aren’t though.

you entertain her flirting, all her lustful stares, and your church dresses start to come above the knee just to give her something to look at. you don’t know why you like this so much. it’s gross. it’s wrong. it’s against god’s wishes.

but jesus christ, one look from sevika and that all goes out the window. every good christian moral, everything you’ve known to be true disappears the second sevika locks eyes with you.

after a monday evening service, you take your weekly stroll home. it’s dinner time, and sevika is working.

you open the door to the deli, seeing sevika behind the counter. you watch silently as she meticulously rearranges the meats on display.

“i could use some dinner, sevika” you say and she perks up, brief shock replaced with her signature smirk.

“princess. c’mon back, i’ll make you whatever sandwich you want.”

and she does. you’re sitting on a wooden stool in the back of the deli, making small talk. sevika’s presence feels strangely right, like these little moments were made to happen. maybe this was the lord’s plan after all.

sevika steps closer, towering over you.

“you have sauce on your lips. messy eater, huh princess?”

she takes her calloused thumb and wipes the sauce away, eyes never leaving yours. the air feels thicker and your face feels hotter. and without skipping a beat, your lips on on sevika’s.

she stammers a bit in shock, then immediately gaining back control. she wraps her hand around the back of your neck to pull you in deeper. you can feel her smirking against you, prying your lips apart and exploring the inside of your mouth with her tongue.

her lips feel like the missing piece of a puzzle, perfectly slotting against yours in a dance of passion and affection. she’s calculated with the way she kisses, making sure you feel every bit of her tongue gliding against your mouth.

“sevika-” you pant, pulling away. “we shouldn’t, i-it’s not right.”

“shush, princess,” she growls, “gods not watching right now.”

and maybe he’s not. so fuck it. you nod and let sevika pull your blouse off, pushing her head into your chest. she litters your chest in bites, reveling in the sweet moans you let out.

her hands make their way under your skirt, silently asking for permission to pull your slick panties down.

all you can do is nod, desperate and utterly dumb for her touch.

“so soft, princess…” she moans, “so wet. is that all for me?”

another nod.

“you gonna be a good girl?”

another nod.

sevika pulls hand away with an evil grin. “words. or you aren’t getting shit from me.”

“yes, it’s all for you. yes, i’ll be good. please hurry before i remember that i’m a woman of god and stop,” you groan.

her ring finger circles your swollen clit, spreading your folds and rubbing you down to your needy hole. one of her thick fingers is enough to stretch you out, walls tightening around her as she slowly moves in and out of your cunt.

“tight fuckin’ pussy…so pure and innocent, huh? just a good little church girl who likes other women fucking her greedy cunt?”

she chuckles darkly at herself, and at the way you get even tighter at her mean words. so humiliating, so blasphemous, so unholy. and yet every deep, deliberate thrust has you closer and closer to cumming.

“sevika,” you whimper, “i can’t hold it, please.”

“is that right?” she teases.

“you can cum, baby. but make sure to repent after.”

[reiding-writing]

YOU OPENED YOUR REQUESTS?? omg a wonderful start to the new year!! ignore if this doesn’t speak to your soul— but would you be able to write a good old fashioned best friends to lovers, mutual pining fic for reid? i’m a sucker for the “he fell first, she fell harder” trope, like he’s been in love with her since day one and their friendship has always toed the line of something more, but she’s an oblivious genius and doesn’t realize how deep their affections for each other run……. and like when she realizes her feelings (like a brick to the head) she starts DISTANCING HERSELF OOH A LITTLE ANGST THERE and reid is like :(( what did i do :(( but it’s ok bc they smooch and make up in the end

263 DAYS — SPENCER REID!

a lot can change in 263 days.

spencer reid x fem!reader | 7.3k | flangst | masterlist.

a/n — writing longer fics like this is so fun but also so long, but it’s been nice to get back into it 🙂‍↕️

WARNINGS | friends to lovers, emotional distancing, brief (almost) argument, reader gets injured and goes to the hospital (but recovers fine), happy ending

DAY ONE

You step into the conference room of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, a mixture of nerves and anticipation twisting in your stomach.

The space feels both larger and smaller than you'd imagined—a sprawling table, chairs scattered in quiet disarray, and a dozen tiny details you'd only seen in crime documentaries and shadowed profiles on paper.

The faint scent of coffee and something metallic—maybe old ink—hangs in the air, grounding you. You take a slow, measured breath, trying to steady yourself.

You’re here. You made it.

“First day?”

The voice is soft, inquisitive, and it pulls your attention immediately. You glance to your right and meet the eyes of someone who seems equally curious and cautious, like a bird assessing whether you’re safe to approach.

He’s lanky, taller than you expected, with an untamed mop of brown hair and a pair of shoes that look like they’ve seen a decade’s worth of pavement. Spencer Reid, you realise.

“Yes,” you manage, your voice steadier than you feel. “And you must be Dr. Reid.”

He smiles at the title, though it seems more reflexive than genuine. He shuffles forward a step, hands awkwardly held together behind his back. “Just Reid. Or Spencer. Whichever you prefer.”

You offer your hand to him, nervous, but inviting. “Nice to meet you, Reid.”

He nods quickly, eyes flickering over your hand like he wants to take it, but he doesn’t. “Sorry, I don’t uh— germs—”

“Oh,” You pull your hand back a little too quickly, awkwardly stuffing it into your pocket. “Sorry, uh—”

“No, no, it’s not you, I’m just— conscious about it,” He presses his lips together in what almost a smile, a silent apology.

You mirror it. “It’s nice to meet you anyway,”

“You too,”

His gaze flicks over you, not in the usual appraising way you’ve grown used to from strangers, but more like he’s cataloging details he can’t quite put into words. There’s no judgment in his eyes, just pure, unabashed interest.

“You’re nervous,” He says, then winces. “Sorry. That sounded... obvious. I just meant—it’s normal. Most people are their first day. Especially here,” His voice lowers slightly, conspiratorial. “It can be... intense.”

A laugh escapes you, light and involuntary, breaking the tension in your chest. “Not exactly comforting, but thanks for the honesty,”

This time, his smile reaches his eyes. “I’m not great at comfort, but I excel at honesty.”

You find yourself smiling back, even as a small voice in the back of your mind whispers that you shouldn’t let your guard down so easily. Not here, not yet.

But something about Reid—his sincerity, the way he tilts his head like he’s trying to solve a puzzle only you can provide—makes it hard to resist.

“So, what brought you to the BAU?” he asks.

The question is simple enough, but the weight behind it is clear. He isn’t just asking out of politeness; he genuinely wants to know. You consider your answer carefully, aware of the dozen eyes that will likely follow your every move today.

“Truthfully? It’s… been a dream for years,” you admit. “I’ve always been fascinated by the psychology of it. How people work, why they do what they do. And... I guess I wanted to make a difference,”

His expression shifts, softens, like you’ve just handed him a piece of yourself and he knows better than to drop it. “That makes sense,” he says quietly. “You’ll be good at this,”

The confidence in his words surprises you. “You don’t even know me,”

“Not yet,” he says, and there’s something almost playful in his tone. “But I’m usually good at reading people. Comes with the job,”

“Any initial impressions?”

He hesitates, and for a moment, you think he might deflect. But then his gaze meets yours again, steady and unwavering. “You’re smart. Observant. But you second-guess yourself more than you need to. And... you’re kind. I think you’ll see things others might miss because of that,”

The honesty in his voice leaves you momentarily speechless. Kind isn’t a word you’d ever considered an asset in this field, but the way he says it makes you wonder if it could be.

“Thanks,” You say, and mean it.

Before he can respond, another voice cuts through the room. “Reid! Stop monopolising the newbie and get over here.”

You glance over to see another man—broad-shouldered, with a gruff boyishness to him. If you had to guess, you’d say that Derek Morgan.

Reid offers a small, apologetic shrug and gives you a quick, almost shy smile before moving to join the others.

As the team gathers around the table, you feel his presence more acutely than you should, like an invisible thread connecting you even when you’re not speaking. Every so often, you catch him glancing your way, his brow furrowing as if he’s trying to figure out a particularly tricky equation. And maybe he is.

Over the course of the day, you learn what makes Reid so extraordinary.

The encyclopaedic knowledge, the way his mind works at lightning speed, piecing together patterns and details that no one else sees.

But you also notice the little things—the way he fidgets with a pen when he’s nervous, the way his voice speeds up when he gets excited, the way he looks at you like you’re the most fascinating mystery he’s ever encountered.

By the time the day ends, you’re exhausted but exhilarated, your head spinning with new information and possibilities. As you gather your things, Reid approaches you again, his movements hesitant but deliberate.

“You did well today,” he says, and there’s no trace of condescension in his tone—just genuine praise.

“Thanks,” you say, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the compliment itself and everything to do with who it’s coming from.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then, as if unable to stop himself, Reid blurts out, “You’re going to fit in here. I can tell,”

You tilt your head, studying him. “And you’re sure about that? Already?”

He nods, his gaze earnest. “I don’t know how to explain it. I just... I feel like you belong.”

The words linger between you, heavy with a meaning you can’t quite name. You smile, soft and unsure, and he mirrors it, his expression a little brighter than before.

As you walk out of the building together, the weight of the day finally settling on your shoulders, you can’t help but think that maybe Reid is right.

Maybe you do belong here.

DAY ONE-HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-NINE

The BAU has a way of warping time. Six months can feel like six years, and yet, it can pass in the blink of an eye.

By now, you’ve settled into the team, carving out a place that feels solid, even comfortable. The initial nerves have faded, replaced by a quiet confidence that surprises even you. But the biggest surprise is Reid.

Somewhere along the way, he’s become your constant. Late nights poring over case files often turn into coffee runs, his impossibly detailed book recommendations have all but taken over your nightstand, and your shared chess games have become an unspoken ritual, the board tucked into the corner of the break room practically reserved for the two of you.

It’s not that you don’t notice the way he seems to gravitate toward you—it’s just that you don’t think much of it.

Reid is Reid: attentive, brilliant, and endlessly curious. If he listens a little more intently when you speak, if his smiles linger longer than necessary, if he remembers details you barely recall sharing, well, that’s just how he is. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

The morning starts like any other.

A case has just wrapped, leaving you with a rare, precious day in the office to catch up on paperwork and recover. The bullpen hums with low chatter and the rhythmic tapping of keyboards, but your attention is elsewhere—specifically on the chessboard in front of you.

“Check,” Reid announces, his tone smug but his face a careful mask of neutrality. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed loosely, his expression daring you to find an out.

You narrow your eyes at the board, studying the positions like your life depends on it. “I don’t like you very much right now,” you mutter, earning a soft laugh from him.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, his voice warm.

“Don’t I?” you quip, your fingers hovering over your knight. You’re stalling, and he knows it.

“Take your time,” he says, though there’s a playful glint in his eye. “It’s not like you have anything else to do today.”

You glare at him, but there’s no heat behind it. “You’re enjoying this too much,”

“Maybe a little,”

The banter is easy, familiar. It’s become second nature by now, a rhythm you fall into without thinking. Finally, with a dramatic sigh, you move your knight, narrowly avoiding defeat.

Reid’s brow furrows as he examines the board. “Not bad,” he concedes.

“I’ll take it,” you reply, leaning back in your chair and stretching.

“Lunch?” he asks, already rising to his feet.

“Let me guess,” you say, smirking. “Thai food again?”

“It’s efficient,” he says, as though that explains everything.

“Efficient isn’t the same as exciting,” you tease, but you grab your jacket anyway.

The walk to the nearby restaurant is brisk, the February air biting against your skin. Reid falls into step beside you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“Did you finish that book I lent you?” he asks, glancing at you.

“Not yet,” you admit. “But I’m close. You were right—it’s better than I expected,”

He grins, and you feel a flicker of satisfaction at the sight. “Told you. It’s all about the narrative structure. Did you notice how the author—”

“Reid,” you interrupt, laughing. “Save the lecture for later. I’m still processing and I have a feeling you’re going to spoil the ending,”

He huffs but lets it go, his grin lingering.

—

Back at the office, you dive into the endless pile of paperwork waiting on your desk. Hours pass in a blur of forms and reports, the steady hum of activity around you lulling you into a comfortable rhythm.

It’s only when a steaming cup of coffee appears in your peripheral vision that you realize how long you’ve been sitting there.

“Thought you could use this,” Reid says, setting the cup down beside you.

You blink up at him, surprised but grateful. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“I know,” he says, his lips twitching into a small smile.

He doesn’t leave, instead pulling a chair up beside you and settling in. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the quiet companionship as natural as breathing.

“You know,” you say, glancing at him, “you don’t have to babysit me.”

“I’m not,” he says simply. “I like being here.”

There’s something in his tone that makes you pause, a softness that feels almost... vulnerable. But before you can dwell on it, he shifts the conversation, asking about your latest case report.

The moment passes, but it stays with you, an echo at the back of your mind.

—

The day winds down with another chess game, this one more competitive than the last. The bullpen has emptied out, the rest of the team long gone, leaving just the two of you and the faint hum of the building’s heating system.

“Checkmate,” Reid announces, his tone triumphant.

You groan, dropping your head onto the table. “I give up. You’re officially unbeatable,”

He laughs, the sound soft and unguarded. “You’re getting better,” he says, and you know he means it.

“Flattery won’t save you next time,” you say, sitting up and meeting his gaze.

His smile falters, just for a moment, and there’s something in his eyes you can’t quite place—something intense and unspoken. You tilt your head, about to ask if everything’s okay, but he looks away, busying himself with packing up the chess pieces.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asks, his voice carefully neutral.

“Of course,” you say, watching him.

As you part ways for the night, that look lingers in your mind, and for the first time, you wonder if there’s more to Reid’s attentiveness than you’ve allowed yourself to see.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FOUR

It starts with the little things.

You notice Reid’s uncanny ability to anticipate your needs long before you voice them. A cup of your favorite tea waiting for you on your desk after a long day.

A book you mentioned in passing, slipped into your bag with a handwritten note on why you’d love it. The way he finishes your sentences, not out of impatience, but because he’s somehow always attuned to what you’re thinking.

It’s Reid being Reid, you tell yourself. He’s observant, that’s his job. It doesn’t mean anything more than that.

But then there are the things he shouldn’t know. Like how your nose crinkles when you laugh too hard, a detail even you hadn’t thought about until you catch him smiling faintly at the sight. Or the way he hums along, almost unconsciously, to the songs you sing under your breath while focused on paperwork.

You’d dismiss it as coincidence, but Reid doesn’t believe in coincidences.

It’s a cold, gray morning when the call comes in—a double homicide in a rural town that has the local police out of their depth. By mid-afternoon, you’re knee-deep in the case, the clues coming together like pieces of a grim puzzle.

You and Reid are tasked with canvassing a suspect’s property, a sprawling, dilapidated farmhouse that creaks ominously with every step. It’s quiet—too quiet—and the sense of unease prickles at the back of your neck.

“I don’t like this,” you mutter, glancing at Reid.

He nods, his hand hovering near his weapon. “Neither do I. Let’s stick together,”

The words are barely out of his mouth when it happens. A figure bursts from the shadows, wielding a machete with reckless desperation.

You react instinctively, your weapon raised, but the suspect moves faster than you expect, slamming into you with full force.

Pain explodes in your side as you hit the ground, the breath knocked from your lungs. Reid’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and commanding.

“FBI! Drop the weapon!”

The suspect hesitates for a fraction of a second—just long enough for Reid to act. His shot is precise, disarming but not lethal, and the suspect crumples to the ground, writhing in pain.

Reid is at your side in an instant, his hands trembling as he presses them against the slash on your side, stumbling through the order for a medic on his radio.

“You’re okay,” he says, his voice tight with panic. “You’re going to be okay.”

You manage a weak laugh, wincing at the pain it causes. “You can’t get rid of me that easy, Reid,”

His eyes dart to yours, wide and filled with something that looks an awful lot like fear. “Don’t joke,” he murmurs. “Please don’t joke.”

His hands are gentle but firm as he applies pressure to the wound, his lips moving in a quiet stream of reassurances you barely register. “Just breathe. Help’s on the way. You’re fine. You’re fine.”

The world blurs at the edges, but through it all, you feel him—his presence steady and unyielding, anchoring you to the moment.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND SIX

You wake in a hospital bed, the sterile smell of antiseptic filling your nose. It takes a moment for the haze to clear, and when it does, the first thing you see is Reid.

He’s sitting in a chair beside you, his posture stiff, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and his hair messier than usual, but when he notices you stirring, his expression softens with relief.

“You’re awake,” he says, and there’s a faint tremor in his voice.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” you say, your voice hoarse.

His laugh is soft, almost disbelieving. “You have a talent for understatement,”

He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and for a moment, he just looks at you. There’s something in his gaze—something raw and unguarded—that makes your chest tighten.

“I thought—” He stops, swallowing hard. “I don’t know,”

“I’m alright, Reid” You offer gently.

He nods, but his jaw tightens as if he’s holding back a thousand words. “You scared me,” he admits finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

You reach out, your fingers brushing his arm, and the tension in his shoulders eases slightly. “I’m okay,” you say, and though the words feel inadequate, they seem to bring him some comfort.

For the rest of the night, he stays by your side, his quiet devotion more reassuring than any words could be. And for the first time, you start to wonder if there’s more to Reid’s attentiveness than you’ve allowed yourself to see.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SEVEN

The BAU rarely has time for unwinding, but tonight is one of those rare evenings. A case has wrapped early, the unsub is in custody, and Hotch decided to reward the team with a dinner at a cozy Italian restaurant not far from Quantico. The room is filled with laughter, the clink of glasses, and the scent of fresh bread and marinara.

You sit sandwiched between Morgan and Reid, your wine glass half-full and your plate of pasta nearly untouched. The conversation flows easily—Morgan cracking jokes, Garcia spinning outrageous anecdotes, Rossi offering sage commentary.

You chime in when prompted, but your mind is elsewhere, your attention flicking between your teammates and the warm, intimate glow of the restaurant.

It’s when the laughter swells again, this time at something Garcia said, that you notice it.

Reid’s gaze.

He’s looking at you, not laughing, not even smiling, just... looking.

It’s not the way someone glances at a friend or colleague. His eyes hold something deeper, something unspoken but achingly clear. Admiration. Longing. Affection so palpable it steals the breath from your lungs.

The realisation hits you like a freight train, or perhaps a brick to the head, straight into your brain like it’s punishing you.

Every late-night chess game. Every quiet conversation over coffee. The way he remembers the smallest details about you, the warmth in his voice when he says your name, the way his presence feels like a comfort you didn’t know you needed—all of it comes crashing into focus.

How had you missed it?

But the thought doesn’t end there. Because as much as his gaze stirs something in you, it also forces you to confront the ache you’ve felt for months.

The way your chest tightens when he smiles at someone else. The way your pulse quickens when he’s near. The way your stomach flips at the simplest touch—a brush of his hand against yours, his knee grazing yours under the table.

Oh no.

Panic bubbles in your chest, threatening to spill over. You tear your gaze away, your hands fumbling for your wine glass as you take a too-large sip. It does little to steady you.

“Hey,” Morgan says, nudging you lightly with his elbow. “You good? You’ve been quiet,”

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, the words too sharp, too rehearsed.

Morgan raises an eyebrow, but thankfully, Garcia swoops in to demand his attention, sparing you further interrogation.

Beside you, Reid shifts slightly, his knee brushing yours again. The touch is electric, sending a jolt straight to your heart. You chance a glance at him, and for a moment, you think he might say something, but instead, he simply offers you a soft, almost hesitant smile.

It’s that smile—sweet and unguarded—that undoes you.

You force yourself to focus on the chatter around the table, the way Garcia’s voice rises animatedly, the way Rossi’s laughter rumbles like distant thunder.

Anything to keep from drowning in the realisation that Spencer Reid, your closest friend and the person who knows you better than anyone, has somehow become the centre of your world.

And worse—much worse—is the fear that you’ve been blind to his feelings for so long, that your obliviousness might have hurt him in ways you don’t yet understand.

By the time dinner ends, your head is spinning, your chest tight with emotions you don’t know how to name, let alone confront.

As the team begins to gather their things and head for the door, Reid lingers beside you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “You sure you’re okay?” he asks softly, his voice tinged with concern.

You force a smile, though it feels brittle. “Just tired. Long day,”

He nods, but the worry in his eyes doesn’t fade. “If you need to talk—”

“I’m fine, Reid,” you say, a little too quickly. A little too sharply.

His expression falters, and guilt twists in your stomach. You want to explain, to tell him that your panic has nothing to do with him and everything to do with the fact that you’ve just realised you’re in love with him. But the words stick in your throat, too raw, too terrifying to voice.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you manage, grabbing your coat and heading for the door before he can respond.

As you step into the chilly night air, the weight of your realization settles over you, heavy and inescapable.

You’re in love with Spencer Reid. And you have no idea what to do about it.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FOURTY-TWO

The days that follow are a blur of avoidance and self-doubt. You bury yourself in work, volunteering for extra tasks, lingering at your desk long after everyone else has gone home. When Reid suggests coffee or a quick game of chess, you make excuses—paperwork, errands, a headache.

“It’s not you,” you insist each time, forcing a smile that you hope looks convincing. “Just busy.”

But it is him. Or rather, it’s you. The truth feels too messy, too raw to share. You can’t bear the thought of risking your friendship, of letting your feelings slip and watching the warmth in his eyes dim with awkward discomfort. It’s easier this way, you tell yourself. Cleaner.

It doesn’t feel cleaner. It feels awful.

—

Reid is nothing if not perceptive. You know this, and yet it still catches you off guard when he notices your distance almost immediately.

At first, he’s subtle about it. A furrowed brow when you brush past him in the bullpen without stopping to chat. A quiet “Are you okay?” when you excuse yourself from a team lunch, claiming a nonexistent phone call.

But as the days stretch into weeks, his concern deepens.

One evening, after a particularly grueling case debrief, he approaches your desk with a tentative smile, holding out a steaming cup of your favorite tea.

“Peace offering?” he says lightly.

You glance up, surprised, and for a moment, the warmth in his expression makes your resolve waver. But then the weight of your feelings crashes over you again, and you force a polite but distant smile.

“Thanks, Reid,” you say, taking the cup without meeting his eyes. “But I really need to finish this.”

He hesitates, the smile slipping. “Did I... do something?”

The question hits you like a punch to the gut. You look up, startled, and find him watching you with a mixture of confusion and hurt that makes your chest ache.

“What? No, of course not,” you say quickly, too quickly.

“Then why—” He stops, his hands fidgeting with the strap of his bag. “What’s wrong?”

Your heart sinks. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” you lie, but even as the words leave your mouth, you know he doesn’t believe them.

“Right,” he says softly, his gaze dropping to the floor.

The silence between you stretches uncomfortably, heavy with everything you’re not saying. Finally, he nods, stepping back.

“Okay,” he says, his voice tight. “I’ll… let you get back to work, then,”

As he walks away, a knot of guilt tightens in your chest. You want to call him back, to explain, to apologise, but the words won’t come. Instead, you sit frozen at your desk, watching him retreat with his shoulders slightly slumped, and wonder if you’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life.

—

That night, Reid lies awake, staring at the ceiling of his apartment as your words echo in his mind.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

The lie is so transparent it hurts. He replays every recent interaction, searching for the moment he might have crossed a line, the moment he lost you.

Did he hover too much? Was he too pushy with his invitations? Did he say something wrong?

The thought that he might have ruined your friendship gnaws at him, an ache that refuses to fade. He tries to focus on the logical, the facts: you said he hadn’t done anything.

But facts don’t explain why the laughter in your eyes has dimmed, why the easy rhythm of your friendship has crumbled into awkward silences and forced smiles.

He doesn’t sleep that night, and by morning, he’s no closer to an answer.

But one thing is clear: he can’t lose you. Not like this.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FOURTY-NINE

It’s late when the team finally returns to Quantico, the exhaustion of a long case settling over everyone like a heavy fog. You’re the first to escape the bullpen, eager to retreat to the quiet sanctuary of your apartment. But just as you grab your coat, a voice stops you.

“Can we talk?”

You turn to find Reid standing behind you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his expression a mix of worry and determination.

“Reid, I’m really tired—”

“Please.” His voice is soft but insistent, his eyes searching yours. “Just a few minutes.”

You hesitate, your instinct to avoid clashing with the ache in his voice. Finally, you nod, letting your coat drop back onto the rack.

He leads you to one of the empty conference rooms, closing the door behind you with a quiet click. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence stretching taut between you.

“Did I do something to upset you?” he asks finally, his voice trembling slightly. “Because if I did, I—I don’t know what it was. And I need to know, because you’ve been distant, and I—” He falters, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I miss you.”

The raw honesty in his words nearly undoes you. “Reid...” You take a step back, panic rising in your chest. “You didn’t do anything. I’ve just… been busy.”

“Busy?” he repeats, his voice laced with disbelief. He looks up, and the hurt in his eyes is like a punch to the gut. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

You stammer, searching for an excuse, but the words feel hollow even as you speak them. “It’s just... work has been overwhelming, and I haven’t had time, and—”

“Stop,” he says softly, cutting you off.

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I know you,” he says, his voice steady now, though there’s an edge of desperation beneath it. “I know when something’s wrong, and something is wrong. You don’t avoid people because you’re ‘busy.’ You don’t avoid me unless there’s a reason.”

You swallow hard, your throat tight. “I’m not avoiding you—”

“Yes, you are,” he says firmly. He takes a step closer, his expression earnest, pleading. “I just... I need to understand. Did I do something to push you away? Did I say something, or—”

“No!” The word bursts out of you, louder than you intended. You see him flinch slightly, and your resolve crumbles. “No, Reid, you didn’t do anything.”

“Then why?” he asks, his voice breaking. “Why are you pulling away from me?”

His hurt expression cuts you to the core, and for a moment, you consider telling him the truth—laying it all out, messy and terrifying as it is. But fear holds you back, the fear of ruining everything, of crossing a line that can never be uncrossed.

“I can’t,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I just... I can’t.”

His brow furrows, confusion clouding his features. “Can’t what?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and unanswerable. You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, and what you see there—hurt, confusion, and something deeper, something vulnerable—almost breaks you.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly, the words barely audible. “I’m so sorry.”

And before he can say another word, you turn and walk away, leaving him standing alone in the empty room.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FIFTY-THREE

You don’t even remember the drive to Reid’s apartment. The streets blur past in a haze of headlights and cold January air, your heart pounding like a war drum in your chest.

The weight of your own cowardice has become unbearable. His hurt expression haunts you, replaying over and over, the echo of his words a constant refrain: “Why are you pulling away from me?”

You can’t do this anymore. You can’t keep pretending you’re fine when every moment away from him feels like a slow unraveling.

By the time you reach his door, your nerves are frayed to the breaking point. You hesitate for a moment, your hand poised to knock, before finally forcing yourself to take the leap.

Three short raps echo in the quiet hallway.

The door opens after a moment, and there he is—Spencer Reid, standing in sweatpants and a rumpled t-shirt, his hair slightly disheveled, his expression wary but softening the instant he sees you.

“Hey,” he says, his voice uncertain.

“Hi,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

His brow furrows slightly. “Is everything okay?”

“No.” The word slips out before you can stop it, raw and unfiltered. You take a shaky breath, clutching the strap of your bag like it might anchor you to the moment. “Can I come in please?”

He steps aside immediately, his concern deepening as he watches you.

Once inside, you pace the small living room, your hands trembling, your mind racing. Reid stands by the door, watching you with a mix of confusion and apprehension, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“Okay, you’re scaring me a little,” he says gently. “What’s going on?”

You stop pacing, your back to him, and close your eyes for a moment, gathering every ounce of courage you have. When you turn to face him, the words tumble out in a rush.

“I have been avoiding you,”

He knew that. But hearing you say it tears him up just a little.

“because I’m an idiot,” you continue, your voice trembling. “Because I thought it would be easier to push you away than to deal with the fact that I—” You falter, your throat tightening, but you force yourself to continue.

“I’m in love with you, Reid.”

His eyes widen, his lips parting in surprise, but you keep going, afraid that if you stop now, you’ll lose the nerve to finish.

“And I was scared. Scared of ruining our friendship, scared you’d look at me differently, scared of losing you. So I distanced myself, and it was stupid and selfish, and I’m sorry.” Your voice cracks, and you take a shaky step toward him. “I’m so sorry, Spencer.”

For a moment, the silence is deafening. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, just stares at you with an unreadable expression.

“Say something,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Please?”

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he takes a step toward you. Then another. And another, until he’s standing so close you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“I’ve been in love with you since the day we met,” he says softly, his voice trembling with emotion.

Your breath catches in your throat. “What?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he continues, his eyes searching yours. “You’re brilliant and kind and funny, and you make me feel like I’m not... like I’m not so different. I didn’t want to risk losing you, so I kept it to myself, even though it killed me to see you pull away.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, a rush of relief and disbelief and something achingly tender.

“Spencer...”

He steps closer, his hand lifting to cup your face, his touch impossibly gentle. “You don’t have to be scared anymore,” he whispers. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Before you can respond, he pulls you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you might disappear. You bury your face in his shoulder, the familiar scent of him—coffee and faint traces of his shampoo—wrapping around you like a balm.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur against his chest, your voice muffled.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands still resting on your arms. “Don’t be,” he says, his gaze soft and unwavering. “We’ve both been scared. But we don’t have to be anymore.”

You nod, a tear slipping down your cheek, and he brushes it away with his thumb, his touch lingering.

“Does this mean I can invite you to coffee again without you running away?” he asks, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You laugh, the sound shaky but genuine. “Yeah, yeah that’d be nice—”

His smile widens, and before you can overthink it, you lean in and press your lips to his.

The kiss starts tentative, a soft brush of lips, as if both of you are testing the waters, unsure of what to expect after so long of keeping everything bottled up.

But as the seconds pass, as your heart beats faster and your pulse races with the rush of finally having everything laid bare between you, the kiss deepens.

It’s overwhelming, more than you ever imagined. The gentle pressure of his lips on yours sends waves of warmth through you, and it’s as if everything else—everything you’ve been afraid of, everything that’s kept you distant—melts away in that single, perfect moment.

The tension, the months of pining and longing, spill into the kiss, filling the space between you with everything you’ve been holding back.

You slide your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and he responds instantly, his hands moving to your waist, holding you tightly as if he’s afraid this moment might slip away. His lips are soft but eager, the kind of kiss that says everything words couldn’t express.

The world outside this room fades into nothingness—the hum of the city, the quiet night air, the noise of your past self-doubt—all of it is gone. It’s just you and him now, tangled up in each other in a way that feels so natural, so right.

You pull back slightly, breathless, and when you look at him, the expression in his eyes is one of pure awe. He’s looking at you like you’re something he’s dreamed of for so long but never thought he’d get to touch.

“You,” he breathes, his voice barely a whisper, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,”

You laugh softly, still reeling from the intensity of the kiss, the electric feeling of his arms around you. “I think I have some idea,” you say, smiling through the haziness of your emotions. “I’m not that oblivious,”

He smiles, a little sheepishly, and presses his forehead to yours. “Yeah, well… I guess we’re both just really good at pretending.”

“Not anymore,” you say, your voice filled with newfound certainty. “No more pretending. No more running. From now on, it’s just... us.”

Reid’s smile widens, and he nods. His hands move to cup your face, the touch tender, reverent. “I promise,” he says softly. “I promise, I won’t let fear get in the way again,”

You nod, your chest swelling with relief. You feel the same. Fear won’t keep you apart any longer.

The transition from being friends to lovers feels seamless, like something that was always meant to happen but only needed the right moment to click into place.

There’s no awkwardness, no second-guessing. It feels like this was the way things were always supposed to be, as if every conversation, every shared laugh, every moment you’d spent together was building toward this.

“You know,” he says quietly, a hint of playfulness returning to his voice, “I think I’m starting to like this ‘not pretending’ thing.”

You chuckle, your heart full, and pull him into another kiss, this one more relaxed, more comfortable. There’s no rush now—just the simple, perfect feeling of being in his arms, of knowing you don’t have to hide anymore.

When you pull away again, you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “I love you,” you murmur.

“I love you too,” he replies, his voice a little thick with emotion. “I’ve loved you for so long.”

The words are simple, but they carry the weight of everything you’ve both been through.

And as you stand there in his arms, the world outside his apartment feels like a distant memory, something far away that no longer matters. All that matters is the feeling of being together, of stepping into the future with him, side by side. No more fear. No more distance. Just you and him.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SIX

Returning to work after that night feels surreal, like stepping into a world that’s familiar but somehow brighter, sharper. Everything feels new, but also so wonderfully right.

The team notices almost immediately. They’re profilers, after all.

It starts with the little things—your hand brushing against Spencer’s as you both reach for the same file, the soft, shared smiles exchanged across the bullpen, the way you instinctively gravitate toward him during team meetings.

Morgan’s eyebrows shoot up the first time he catches Spencer stealing a glance at you, his expression so openly fond it borders on dreamy.

“Something you want to tell us, Pretty Boy?” Morgan teases one morning as Spencer sits at his desk, clearly distracted.

Spencer startles, his ears turning red as he fumbles with his pen. “I—uh, no, nothing.”

From her desk, Garcia narrows her eyes suspiciously, then looks at you, her gaze bouncing between the two of you like she’s connecting the dots. “Wait a second. Are you two—?”

“We’re not talking about this,” you say quickly, though the smile tugging at your lips betrays your attempt at sternness.

“Oh, we will talk about this,” Garcia says, grinning triumphantly. “Just as soon as I gather my emotional support snacks.”

Hotch and Rossi, ever the professionals, don’t comment, but the knowing looks they exchange speak volumes.

So does the HR form that magically appears on your desk the same afternoon.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND SIXTY-THREE

A quiet afternoon, as the team prepares for a lull between cases, Spencer walks into the bullpen holding a carefully wrapped package. The sight of him—nervously shifting from foot to foot, his hair slightly mussed, his tie askew—makes your heart ache in the best way.

“Hey,” he says softly, approaching your desk.

“Hey,” you reply, setting aside the file you’ve been working on. “What’s that?”

He holds out the package, his fingers brushing yours as you take it. “It’s for you,” he says, a little shyly. “I’ve had it for a while, but… I was waiting for the right moment,”

Curiosity piqued, you carefully unwrap the package, your breath catching when you see what’s inside: a first-edition copy of a book you’d mentioned offhandedly months ago, a rare find you never thought you’d own.

“Spencer,” you breathe, running your fingers reverently over the worn leather cover. “This is—this is incredible.”

He shrugs, his cheeks flushing pink. “I remembered how much you loved it, and, well… I wanted you to have it,”

You stare at him for a moment, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of the gesture, by the quiet devotion it represents. Setting the book aside, you rise from your chair and step closer to him.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice soft but filled with emotion.

Before he can respond, you lean in and kiss him, your hands resting gently on his shoulders. It’s not your first kiss, but it feels just as electric, just as full of promise.

When you pull back, his eyes are bright, his smile soft and radiant. “I think I like this ‘new chapter’ we’re in,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with affection.

“Me too,” you reply, your heart swelling as you brush a stray curl from his forehead.

As you return to your desk, the book resting on the corner like a talisman of everything you’ve built together, you steal another glance at him.

He’s already immersed in his work, his brow furrowed in concentration, but when he catches you looking, he smiles—one of those rare, unguarded smiles that makes your chest ache with how much you love him.

This is where I’m supposed to be, you think. And Spencer would agree.

[minnietrys]

Cherish

◯ Cho Hyun-ju x Fem! Reader

▵ Alternative universe! (Baby youngmi is alive)

□ fluff, some flirting, small mentions of homophobia and transphobia

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Warning this is the first time I write fanfic since I was 12 writing on Wattpad… so please let me know how I do! I wanna bring mine and people wanted fanfics to life because they ain’t any for baddie hyunju.

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She was beyond lost, her family, friends, and all her loved ones turned their back on her once she finally started being who she felt like who she should be. Maybe she did something bad in her past life to deserve this. Or maybe she was mentally ill like they said.

All those thoughts keep pounding into her head as she just sits. Sits all alone feeling more alone then she see looks.

“Excuse me ma’am?” Hyunju jumps out of thoughts but multiple keep coming at her at that word ‘ma’am’. It’s like the missing piece finally met the puzzle. It makes her feel better about herself. Makes her feel like she was right about her feelings.

“Um…would you like more coffee?” The waitress asks. Finally Hyunju looks up and finally answers “oh my yes. Sorry I have a lot going through my head I guess I tuned you out. I’m so sorry” she was nervous with the reply. She finally gets a glimpse of the waitress name ‘y/n’ she must say it’s a pretty name for a good looking girl.

“Oh that’s fine! That happens to me a lot!” y/n said with a joyful smile. But hyunju feels safe in that smile. Like all her worries can just disappear.

Wait no she has to snap out of this. She just barely met her for crying out loud. More importantly you haven’t even told her your name she just had wandering eyes. But she would love to know you.

“Um..this may sound totally odd but can I have your number? You just seem like a really nice person that I wanna know.” Hyunju put her big girl pants on and finally shot the answer. Though her palms are so sweaty with the need for your answer.

Most people look at her with disgust and say nasty things to her face. But not you. You have the look of kindness something she hasn’t seen or felt in awhile.

“Oh..s-sure? Sorry I don’t get asked for my number as often” she noticed you nervous movements. Maybe it was a bad idea to ask. Maybe you feel pressured. Maybe she came off as threatening. Maybe you hate who she is. Maybe you—

“Here, please text me or call me. I’m y/n by the way and your name?” Her thoughts were cut off when you gave her a paper from your notepad with your number, name and a heart?!?! A heart! She started feeling flustered, but remembered your question.

“C-cho Hyunju..” she answered very timidly. “Well then by the looking of it your Hyunju unnie, right?”you said hoping to not just have guessed wrong.

But the word keeping racing though her head ‘unnie’ a name she thought someone will never call her but someone did and she hopes she can continue to cherish this moment and that person.

She just nods, but you smile “Well I hope you see that text from you unnie, if not I will not give you any more sugar for your coffee.” Hyunju fakes gasps “So what if I don’t text but I call instead will I still get the sugar?” she try’s to hide the little smirk forming on her face.

“Hmm nope, you will actually have to buy me coffee instead if you call” you say with blush hoping to not come off as pushy. “Well then I suppose I will call because that’s a better deal than just some sugar.”

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Ahh let me know if this was good and maybe if I should make it a series! I will also try different characters and plot lines

[uncle-fruity]

Decided to read the article. I absolutely believe that what the author calls "male flight" has some validity to it, but it doesn't seem to be a reason men have given themselves, and it seems reductive to put the decline of men pursuing education solely on misogyny. Not to say that misogyny isn't a factor, because I agree that the article's thesis lines up with historical trends of devaluing anything seen as "feminine" work, and I know enough sexist men to know that many do have an aversion to being in anything they consider women's spaces. I'm not sure that I fully agree that the main reason men aren't pursuing education is the kind of direct misogyny described in the article, but I also don't have any evidence to the contrary lined up, and it's certainly within the realm of possibility.

Early in the article, the author lists out other reasons that have been cited to partially explain the decline in men's enrollment:

[Image Transcript: Other reasons I came across while researching for this article include:

-- Men can make more money without a college degree than women can, so women need college more.

-- Higher rates of alcohol, drug use, gangs and prison for boys negate college as a viable option.

-- Colleges are usually left-leaning, so right-leaning students increasingly don't feel comfortable there. And more men than women lean right.

-- Men join the military more than women.

-- A man will sometimes have to provide for wife/kids before he can finish college. /End transcript.]

Unfortunately, the author did not give citations for any of those claims, nor did she spend much time explaining why she thought these reasons weren't major factors -- or not as notable as the reason she gives: the rise of women in higher education. It would have been nice to see where that information was coming from. Particularly the point about higher drug and prison rates would be nice to have some context for. To be fair, there is a section just before the part that I cited that does give some sources for some of the other reasons people have attributed to the decline of male enrollment.

And, actually, to be extra fair, I'm gonna post that part as well, because it might be helpful. So this is the part directly before the passage I just cited:

[Image transcript: The Pew Research Center has found that boys are more likely to think they don’t need a degree for the jobs they want, and when they do enroll in college, work opportunities lure them away.

Ruth Simmons, president of A&M University thinks “the problem is the way we treat our boys in k-12. They turn away from school because of the negative messages they get at school… Behavior that is rewarded for boys doesn’t fit well with good student behavior.”

Another college president, Donald Ruff believes it boils down to money. “Honestly I think it’s the sticker shock. To see $100,000 that’s daunting.” /End transcript.]

I have little to add about this passage, I just thought it would be helpful to include.

The author also does not seem to consider race in her argument beyond drawing parallels between white flight and male flight. As far as I could tell, this article gives few statistics about the races involved. Is the influx of women predominantly white or predominantly non-white? When we talk about men not enrolling, is there any racial element being considered -- are non-white men enrolling at higher or lower rates than they used to? Are we talking primarily white men not enrolling, or is this male flight evenly distributed across racial demographics? How do these demographics play out? Because, to me, it seems like misogyny and racism could both be at play here. If more black women than ever are going to college, it is likely that male flight is in tandem with white flight, but to actually make that claim with any amount of credibility, we would need more information, which the article does not provide/is not focused on.

To be clear, I do not have the answers to those questions. I am merely speculating. This is one of those cases where I'd need to spend more time looking at other sources to get a broader view of the issue, including the sources the author included, the ones she used to support her claims, and the Freakonomics episode she mentions.

On that note, there's this interesting passage, which comes off as sorta... idk... I don't have the exact words for it. Undermining her own point a little? I'll analyze this feeling I have more after the image transcript. (Also, the "they" that is mentioned at the beginning of this passage is referring to the Freakonomics podcast.)

[Image transcript: They mentioned that there is one subset of men who out-enroll women. Which subset might that be?

Gay men.

While only 36 percent of US adults have bachelor’s degrees, 52% of gay men do.

"If America's gay men formed their own country, it would be the world's most highly educated by far.” - Joel Mittleman

At the Joel Mittleman quote in the podcast, I leaned forward…yes… surely now we will wonder why only straight men aren’t attending college… yes? /End transcript]

I feel like this passage gives a passing glance at intersectionality and then just hand waves it away to prove something about straight men. It just strikes me as something that should be explored more if the argument you're making is that men are leaving for misogynistic reasons. Because we should all know by now that gay men are perfectly capable of being misogynistic and that there are definitely gay men who don't want to share spaces with women. Is it that gay men overall tend to be more in touch with or comfortable with femininity, and are therefore less deterred by the presence of women in the classroom? I guess I'm honestly just confused as to how gay men factor into this conversation and why this deviance from the overall trend is not explored. It seems extremely relevant to the conversation?

Also, the article up to this point has been saying that men -- as a general category -- are choosing not to go to college. Is it true that the article is talking about straight men only, as this portion seems to imply? Are we considering gay men as somehow not men or unaffiliated with the rates that men are choosing college? Does the presence of more gay men in academia also mean that this "male flight" is also in part due to homophobia, or is homophobia not being considered as a factor the same way race doesn't seem to have been factored in?

Finally, how do trans men factor into this conversation? Were they counted as women or men? Were they considered at all? If they were, that certainly is not represented here.

So, I guess my overall impression is that this is an interesting and compelling thesis, but the specifics are missing in a way that makes the author's argument fall flat. I think this article would really benefit from a more intersectional approach. I also believe, as with all social issues like this, that the problem is never just one thing, but a combination of things, all of which need to be considered to address the underlying systemic issues that get us to this point. I absolutely believe the author is on to a big part of the problem, but I think her scope is limited and she needs a more solid foundation of information to build her argument on.

Idk. Read the article for yourself and see how it hits.

Why aren't we talking about the real reason male college enrollment is dropping? (Celeste Davis, Oct 6 2024)

"White flight is a term that describes how white people move out of neighborhoods when more people of color move in.

White flight is especially common when minority populations become the majority. That neighborhood then declines in value.

Male flight describes a similar phenomenon when large numbers of females enter a profession, group, hobby or industry—the men leave. That industry is then devalued.

Take veterinary school for example:

In 1969 almost all veterinary students were male at 89%.

By 1987, male enrollment was equal to female at 50%.

By 2009, male enrollment in veterinary schools had plummeted to 22.4%

A sociologist studying gender in veterinary schools, Dr. Anne Lincoln says that in an attempt to describe this drastic drop in male enrollment, many keep pointing to financial reasons like the debt-to-income ratio or the high cost of schooling.

But Lincoln’s research found that “men and women are equally affected by tuition and salaries.”

Her research shows that the reason fewer men are enrolling in veterinary school boils down to one factor: the number of women in the classroom.

For every 1% increase in the proportion of women in the student body, 1.7 fewer men applied.

One more woman applying was a greater deterrent than $1000 in extra tuition! (…)

Since males had dominated these professions for centuries, you would think they would leave slowly, hesitantly or maybe linger at 40%, 35%, 30%, but that’s not what happens.

Once the tipping point reaches majority female- the men flee. And boy do they flee!

It’s a slippery slope. When the number of women hits 60% the men who are there make a swift exit and other men stop joining.

Morty Schapiro, economist and former president of Northwestern University has noticed this trend when studying college enrollment numbers across universities:

“There’s a cliff you fall off once you become 60/40 female/male. It then becomes exponentially more difficult to recruit men.”

Now we’ve reached that 60% point of no return for colleges.

As we’ve seen with teachers, nurses and interior design, once an institution is majority female, the public perception of its value plummets.

Scanning through Reddit and Quora threads, many men seem to be in agreement - college is stupid and unnecessary.

A waste of time and money. You’re much better off going into the trades, a tech boot camp or becoming an entrepreneur. No need for college. (…)

When mostly men went to college? Prestigious. Aspirational. Important.

Now that mostly women go to college? Unnecessary. De-valued. A bad choice. (…)

School is now feminine. College is feminine. And rule #1 if you want to safely navigate this world as a man? Avoid the feminine.

But we don’t seem to want to talk about that."

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Treat You Better » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Ex Boyfriend’s Dad!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky explains how much better he would treat you compared to how his son treated you.

Warnings: Smut (18+), Fluff, language, age gap (reader is in her 20s), crying, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, fingering, female receiving, unprotected sex, size kink, praise kink, vibranium arm kink, daddy kink, Bucky’s dog tags, aftercare, pet names

A/N: I wrote this a little over a year ago, but I accidentally deleted it so I wrote it again. Enjoy!

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

Bucky has noticed that you haven’t been coming over lately. You always come over to hangout with his son Aiden, your now ex boyfriend. Aiden broke up with you, because he found someone prettier than you. Now, here you are, with a box full of Aiden’s stuff that he left at your house and standing outside of his dad’s house. Bucky smiles after he opened the door when he seen you.

“Hi, Y/N.” Bucky greets with a smile, stepping aside to allow you to come inside the house.

“Hi, Mr. Barnes.” You say.

Bucky knew something was off with you by the sound of your voice. It doesn’t sound like your normal cheery and sweet self.

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

“Can you tell Aiden that I dropped his stuff off please?” You asked, completely bypassing his question and putting the box on the table.

Bucky gently grabbed your arm before you could walk away. He knows something’s wrong with you and he’s going to figure out what it is.

“What’s wrong?” He asks again with worry in his voice.

“I don’t want to unload my problems onto you.” You muttered, your voice cracking.

You looked down at your feet, avoiding eye contact. Bucky gently tilted your head up so you were looking in his blue eyes.

“Talk to me.” He says softly.

You didn’t say anything. Bucky didn’t miss the way your bottom lip quivered. He seen a couple tears roll down your cheeks.

“Did my son do something to hurt you?” He asks.

You nodded your head yes.

“Did he cheat on you?” He asked. “I swear if-” You cut him off.

“Aiden didn’t cheat on me.” You finally spoke up.

“Then what did he do that has you so upset?” He asked.

“He found a girl prettier than me and broke up with me.” You tell him.

That’s when you broke down into tears. Bucky immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him. You laid your head again his chest as you cried your eyes out. He rubbed your back soothingly to help calm you down.

“Look at me.” Bucky whispers.

You sniffled and looked up at Bucky with teary eyes.

“I want you to listen to me when I say this.” He wipes your tears away. “You are beautiful. Don’t ever say you’re not.” He says softly.

“Thanks.” You sniffled again. “You’re just saying that to be nice.” You say, looking down and fiddling with his shirt.

Bucky tilted your head up to get you to look him in the eye.

“I’m saying it cause it’s the truth.” He caresses your cheek softly. “My son is an idiot for not seeing that.” He says softly.

You stared in his beautiful blue eyes, getting lost in them. Before you knew it, your lips were on his. You realized it after a few seconds and pulled away.

“I’m so sorry!” You apologized. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” You say, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

Instead of saying something, he kissed you passionately. You were caught by surprise, but kissed him back. Your hands grasped his shirt, clutching the fabric in your hands. You melted into his touch.

“Let me show you how beautiful you are.” Bucky says against your lips.

You nodded your head, giving him permission to do so. Bucky picked you up. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. You carded your fingers through his soft brown hair and kissed his neck as he carried you to his bedroom. He kicked the door shut with his foot before he gently laying you down on his bed.

Bucky hovered over you, his Army dog tags dangling above your face. You grabbed the chain of it, giving it a tug to pull him down for an eager kiss. He lightly chuckled at your eagerness. This kiss was more eager, but also passionate. Bucky’s lips were soft against yours. The stubble of his beard scratched against your skin as he kissed you, which you loved.

Bucky’s hands trailed down your body, disappearing under your shirt. One hand warm and one hand cold against your skin. His hands rubbed up and down your sides. His hand then found the bottom of your shirt. He pulled away from the kiss, looking at you for permission, which you gave him. You sat up just enough for him to take it off and throw it somewhere in the bedroom. He got quickly entranced by your beauty.

Bucky leaned down, kissing along your skin and marking it up. You sighed contentedly while running your fingers through his soft hair.

“You’re so beautiful.” Bucky softly murmurs against your skin.

You blushed when he called you beautiful. You haven’t been called that in a while.

One of his hands slid to your back, expertly unclasping your bra. He took it off of you and dropped it on the floor. Bucky eyed your breasts before marking them up with hickeys. He slowly kissed his way down your body, stopping at the waistband of your shorts. He looked up at you for permission, which you gave him. He unbuttoned and unzipped them. You lifted your hips so he could take your shorts off. Your panties are now exposed to him. The wet spot on your panties was now visible to him.

Bucky couldn’t help but admire the lace fabric on your body. His fingers traced the floral pattern on your panties. He then kissed your hipbones through your panties before placing soft kisses on your inner thighs after spreading your legs apart so he could get in between them. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties and stopped, looking up at you for permission. You nodded and lifted your hips just enough for him to take your panties off.

You shivered when you felt Bucky’s breath against your wet pussy. His vibranium thumb rubbed your throbbing clit. A gasp left your lips when you felt the feeling of the cool vibranium of his thumb. As Bucky continued to rub your clit, his tongue licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit. He moaned at your taste. Your hands found their way to his head. Your fingers began tugging on his soft hair when he started eating you out.

“Oh, Bucky!” You moaned loudly.

The sound of your moans was music to his ears. Bucky loves the way his name sounds when you say it and moan it.

“Does that feel good, babydoll?” Bucky asks gruffly.

“Mhmm, yes!” You moaned, nodding your head.

You gasped when the tip of his tongue prodded your entrance as he licked from your entrance to your clit again. Bucky brought his vibranium hand to your pussy, one of his fingers circling your entrance. He took his mouth off of your pussy momentarily so he could watch his vibranium finger slide in your pussy.

“Fuck…” He mumbles, watching his finger move in and out of your pussy at a slow pace. “I can’t wait to feel this sweet pussy around my cock.” He practically moans.

Bucky added another finger, moving his fingers faster. He curled his fingers, hitting your sweet spot perfectly, making you moan loudly.

“Did I find your little spot, doll face?” He asks teasingly.

“Yes.” You nodded your head vigorously. “Please don’t stop.” You begged.

Bucky latched his lips back onto your clit, sucking on it as he fucked you with his vibranium fingers. Pleasure took over your body quicker than ever before. It’s like Bucky has known your body long before this. At least, that’s what it feels like for you and him.

“Daddy!” You blurted out in a moan without realizing it.

He took his lips off of your clit and looked up at you with a smirk on his face. You looked down at him, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment when you realized what you just called him.

“Mr. Barnes, I-” Bucky cut you off by curling his fingers and hitting your sweet spot, making you moan loudly.

“So I’m daddy now, huh?” He asks teasingly.

“I didn’t- I mean-” You couldn’t figure out what you wanted to say due to the pleasure you were receiving from his vibranium fingers.

“Say it again.” His voice sounded husky and low. “I want to hear you fucking say it again.” He says, curling his fingers again.

“Daddy!” You cried out in pleasure.

Your moans went straight to his cock, making it uncomfortably hard in his jeans. He was jonesing to feel what your pussy feels like wrapped around his cock.

Bucky put his mouth back on your clit, sucking on it while his vibranium fingers continued to fuck you. You could feel your orgasm building up faster than ever before. You felt like you were about to fall over the edge. Bucky could sense it too.

“Cum for daddy, babydoll.” Bucky says.

You did just that. You came so hard that you soaked his face and vibranium hand. His vibranium fingers fucked you through your orgasm. His vibranium thumb gave your clit one last rub before he took his fingers out of your pussy.

You laid there trying to catch your breath from the mind blowing orgasm your ex boyfriend’s dad just gave you. It felt like you were on cloud nine. You’ve never came that hard before. Not that you remember.

After a moment, you lifted your head to look at Bucky. A pouty formed on your lips when you noticed that Bucky was still fully clothed and you were completely naked on his bed.

“What’s with the pout, pretty girl?” Bucky asks, caressing your cheek with his right hand and rubbing his thumb across your pouty lips.

“You’re still fully clothed.” You say, the pouty staying on your face.

Bucky chuckles before hovering over you and kissed you. He then got off the bed to take his clothes off. You watched with hungry eyes when you seen his perfectly sculpted body. A shiver shot through your body when he unbuckled his belt, along with unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. You were practically drooling when he pulled down his jeans and boxers in one go, revealing his hard cock.

“You want daddy’s cock, babydoll?” Bucky asks, wrapping his hand around his cock and stroked it.

“Yes I do, daddy.” You answered, almost whining.

Bucky chuckles lightly before getting on the bed in between your spread legs. He put your legs on his thighs before lining his cock at your pussy. He rubbed his cock against your pussy, getting it wet with your slick.

“Daddy…” You whined.

“Alright, alright. Daddy will give you his cock now.” He says.

Bucky slowly slid his cock in your pussy, inch by inch. A soft moan fell from your lips the more his cock entered you.

He’s the biggest you’ve ever had. He’s definitely bigger than your ex boyfriend.

Bucky allowed you to adjust to his size when his cock was fully inside of you. You nodded, giving him permission to start thrusting. Bucky pulled almost all the way out, only leaving his tip inside of you and then thrusted back into you.

“Oh my god!” You moaned, throwing your head back against a pillow. “You’re so big!” You moaned again.

Grunts fell from his lips from how tight you are.

“Fucking tight…” Bucky grunts lowly. “He didn’t fuck you good, did he?” He asks.

“No.” You shook your head and pouted.

“I’ll show you how a real man does it, babydoll.” He says.

“Yes please!” You begged in a whiny voice.

Bucky’s right hand grasped onto the headboard while his vibranium hand put one of your legs over his shoulder and started fucking you at a pace you’ve never experienced. You sure as hell know that you love it.

Your hands scrambled to find something to hold onto. One hand held onto his sheets beneath you, clutching the fabric in your hand while you put your other one on his abdomen just to feel it. His abs flexed against your hand every time he thrusted into you.

Pleasure took over you. You felt like you were on cloud nine. You never wanted it to end. You were loving everything about this and so was Bucky.

“You feeling good, doll?” Bucky asks.

“Mhmm, yes!” You moaned.

Your moans were like music to Bucky’s ears.

He increased the speed of his thrusts. His cock was hitting all of the right spots. You arched your back in pleasure. Bucky got an eyeful of your breasts when you pushed them up towards him. He dipped his head down, kissing along your soft skin. His teeth nipped on your skin to mark up your breasts. He then kissed his way up to your neck and kissed just below your ear, a soft moan leaving your lips.

“You’re being a good girl for daddy.” Bucky praises, whispering in your ear.

You moaned at his praise. Praise kink… unlocked.

“You like it when daddy praises you, doll?” He asks.

“Yes, daddy.” You answered in a moan.

You grasped onto his bicep, digging your nails in his skin. Bucky moans when he felt your pussy squeeze around his cock.

Bucky then readjusted the two of you. He took your leg off of his shoulder and wrapped it around his waist, along with your other leg. His right hand left the headboard and he hovered over you, caging your head in between his arms and his dog tags dangling just above your chest.

“Look at me, pretty girl.” Bucky demands softly.

You looked up at him in your pleasure filled state. Lust clouded his blue eyes. He had a soft expression on his face. His vibranium hand gently cupped your cheek, caressing it. His vibranium thumb rubbed against your bottom lip. You voluntarily parted your lips for Bucky to slide his thumb in your mouth. You closed your lips around his thumb and began to swirl your tongue around it like you would do to suck his cock. Bucky watched intently.

“Fuck…” He grunts softly.

You grinned around his thumb innocently. That made Bucky want you more. He sped up his thrusts at the sight of the innocent grin on your face.

He took his thumb out of your mouth and kissed you hungrily. You moaned against his lips. Your hands found their way to his head, carding your fingers through his soft dark brown hair.

You felt like a coil tighten in your stomach. Your second orgasm was building up quicker than your first one.

“I’m close again.” You whimpered softly.

Bucky’s vibranium hand snaked its way down your body to your clit, rubbing it in fast circles to help your orgasm build up even more.

“Cum for me, gorgeous.” He pants.

You moaned his name loudly when that coil snapped, coming harder than you did the first time. Your legs were trembling against his sides. Bucky gave your clit one last rub before focusing on his own orgasm. He could feel himself close to coming too. He tried to unwrap your legs from his waist so he could pull out of you and not cum inside of you, but you weren’t haven’t it. Your legs tightened around his waist.

“You gotta let go, doll.” Bucky coos, gently tapping your thigh with his vibranium hand.

“No!” You whined.

“I can’t cum inside of you.” He pants, his thrusts becoming sloppy.

“I want you to.” You tell him. “Fill me up, daddy!” You moaned.

“God damn…” He moans.

Bucky leaned his head against your shoulder, his face in the crook of your neck. You kissed his neck softly before nipping on his skin to give him a hickey.

Bucky finally came, coming inside of you and painting your walls with his cum. His thrusts slowed down before he pulled out of you, his cum leaking out of your pussy. He laid down next to you and covered the two of you up with a blanket. You snuggled yourself against his side and he wrapped his arm around you. You laid your head on his chest, his fingers playing with his dog tags.

“Be mine?” Bucky asks after a couple moments.

“What?” You asked, lifting your head.

“Be mine?” He repeats. “You deserve to be loved and treated the right way by a real man. You obviously didn’t get any of the from my son. I can give you that and more.” He says.

You stared in his blue eyes for a moment, thinking about it. Bucky has a point. His son never gave you one ounce of love. You need that from a real man. That man happens to be Bucky.

“I’ll be yours.” You finally said with a smile.

Bucky smiles and kisses you passionately.

“Let’s take a shower and cleaned up.” He whispers against your lips.

You hummed in agreement. Bucky stood up and carried you to the bathroom, setting you on the sink counter. He turned the water on in the shower and waited a couple minutes for it to heat up. He walked back over to you and stood in between your legs, rubbing the tops of your thighs with his hands.

He then carried you to the shower and cleaned you up gently, pressing soft kisses against your skin as he did so. You leaned against his body, looking up at him with a smile on your face and the look of adoration. You reached up, putting your head on the back of his head and carded your fingers through his wet hair. Bucky smiles at the feeling. He then leaned his head down, kissing you sweetly and passionately. He wrapped his arms around your midsection, holding you close to him. After a few seconds, he pulled away from your lips, looking deep in your eyes with love and adoration.

“I love you, doll.” Bucky murmurs softly.

“I love you too, baby.” You softly murmured back.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[notjustjavierpena]

Parents

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Merry belated Christmas from me! I know this is my second Christmas fic this time around but I finally got the courage to write about Wife’s awful parents. 

Summary: Javier puts his foot down during Christmas with your toxic family. 

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: Toxic family dynamics, psychological abuse, childhood trauma, Christmas, conflict and confrontation, sobbing, declarations of love, hurt/comfort, body/fat shaming

Word count: 5.7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61942318

Parents

You get a call from your parents’ home number a few weeks before Christmas. Your mother and father haven't actually bothered seeing you since your wedding day last year but Lucas is four months old now and there’s suddenly a strange interest from them in being grandparents to your firstborn. Somehow, they talk you into spending Christmas with them and reassure you that they’ll take care of everything as long as you bring their grandson. The whole idea causes a ball of anxiety to settle in your stomach, almost imitating getting hit right in the solar plexus with how much your breath struggles to even out as you tell Javier about it. Your husband agrees reluctantly but not without raising a concerned brow, asking you several times - and with days between each time - if you are absolutely sure. 

He even asks you now as he parks the car in your parents’ driveway, looking at you with a serious expression, brows furrowed while you sit stiffly in the passenger seat. You glance towards the front door, trying to act casual as if you’re staring at a wild animal who might pounce if it notices your anxiety. It is an odd feeling you get, staring at your childhood home but feeling more as if it is the scene of a crime. This house is not a memory of warm and fuzzy feelings but rather a place of constant criticism and unjust pain. 

Javier says your name softly beside you. On the backseat, Lucas hiccups.

“Do I look okay?” You quickly ask instead of acknowledging the tone of his voice, fixing your hair without changing anything. 

“Yeah,” he answers and tries not to comment on your nerves, “You look beautiful, mi amor (my love).”

The call from two weeks ago had your shoulders tensing up before you even answered the phone but the way they had reasoned you into revisiting the place of your hardest years has made your shoulders not come down again. 

You sigh gently and unbuckle your seatbelt, “Okay. I can do this for just an afternoon. Let’s get this over with.”

You climb out of the car, Javier following you after carefully unbuckling Lucas and cradling him in one arm while balancing the diaper bag on the other shoulder. You leave his car seat, knowing how much easier it would have been to transport your son inside in it but Lucas has been fussy all night. You really wish he hadn’t because you don’t want to go inside with only half the energy that a good night’s sleep could have provided. 

As you ring the doorbell, you take a look at Javier one last time, “Please don’t interfere. I don’t want to make everyone uncomfortable.”

“Baby, are you sure that—“

“Oh, there you are!” Your mother exclaims when she opens the door with a syrupy smile, “We were starting to wonder if you’d gotten lost.”

“Sorry. Life with a baby and all,” you shake your head with an embarrassed chuckle and try to ignore the tension in your muscles, shrugging your coat off your shoulders to reveal your wine-red button-up and dark skirt. 

“Honey, I thought you knew we always dress up a little during the Holidays,” your mother says while glancing at your outfit with veiled disdain, “Where’s that nice blue dress? With the ribbons?”

“This is all that fits me right now, that isn’t maternity clothes,” you answer apologetically at the first jab of many. Beside you, Javier takes a step closer to you without saying anything. 

“Anyway! Where’s the little man?” Your mother chirps, already having moved on and looking to Lucas who has started stirring in Javier’s arms. When she gets closer, about to reach out to run a hand over his little head, Lucas immediately starts whimpering as if he is aware of the unpleasantries that his mother has had to endure at the mercy of this woman. He knows the culprits before they’ve even revealed themselves. 

“Oh, he’s a little fussy, isn’t he?” She laughs it off and retreats much to your relief, letting Javier bounce your son to make him settle down again. When he quietens down again, you share a glance with your husband who signals that everything is okay. You take a deep breath and let him handle the situation. 

“Where’s Dad?” You ask to turn your attention away from your crying child, smoothing out a nonexistent crease in your skirt. 

“I think he’s just about to get the turkey out of the oven,” your mother says, wagging a finger in Lucas’ face with a little smile, “Why don’t you go say hi and I talk to my grandson for a moment? Oh, look at you, Lucas! You’re just perfect, aren’t you?”

You reluctantly leave the three of them to head for the kitchen. You can feel each family photograph staring back at you as you walk through the hallway to your destination; a picture of your five-year-old self on a bike but somehow no picture of your graduation ceremony as if it has been decided where things went wrong before you could acknowledge it yourself. 

“Hey Dad, smells so good in here,” the kitchen does indeed smell wonderfully as you walk through the door. Your father looks at you over his shoulder, giving you a little smile and you try not to think about how he didn’t bother to come out to greet you. 

“Mom and I were wondering if you were ever coming,” he notes while plating pieces of turkey meat. In the hallway, you can hear Javier striking up polite conversation. He’s handling your mother with his usual calmness, and you feel grateful for his presence yet embarrassed that you aren’t strong enough to handle it yourself.

You shrug a little, Javier’s presence giving you the courage to try and mirror said calmness, “Newborns, you know.”

“He’s four months,” he corrects. 

“Right, time flies,” you reply with your confidence fading fast, the words coming out in a way that doesn’t quite carry the quick wit that Javier usually loves about you. You touch your arm, standing awkwardly by the counter, “Still figuring it out as we go.”

Your father doesn’t turn around, “Parenting’s not rocket science, you know. Your mother and I managed just fine without all the made-up nonsense you young people talk about these days.”

You jump a little as your mother puts a hand on your shoulder and says your name to get your attention. You look back at her, “Can you set the table? I put the tablecloth ready on the silverware cabinet.”

“Sure, Mom,” you smile, already heading for the dining room to escape from your father’s subtle judgments. You find Javier has already gone, an irrational thought popping into your head of how he has bolted and left you to deal with your mom and dad by yourself. 

You glance into the kitchen as you start placing the plates in each of their respective places, “Where’s Javier?”

“He went to get the presents from the car,” your mother replies from the kitchen. You hear her take out a serving bowl from a cabinet. 

“Oh, I should go help him wi—“ 

“He’s your husband, sweetie. Let him handle it. There’s no need to emasculate him like that,” she is suddenly in the doorway, staring you down in a way that makes your hands shake. Her gaze drops to the table and her brows furrow, “You’re using the wrong plates!”

You look up with a racing heartbeat, “What?”

She sighs your name audibly, “These aren’t the Christmas plates. We don’t use regular plates for special occasions. Honestly, I thought you’d know better.”

The words sting and you set down the plates you have been holding in case the littlest twitch will make you drop it onto the floor, “Sorry, Mom.” 

“Ah well, now you’ll never forget it,” she jokes without humor in her voice as she opens the door to the china cabinet, pulling out the plates adorned with what you recognize to be hand-painted holly. You shamefully realize you know them from childhood Christmases and that they are exactly where they’ve always been. 

Automatically, you gather the wrong plates to make room for the right ones. It’s Christmas, you remind yourself as you do it. It is one day. You can survive one day. 

“See? Isn’t this much better?” She says cheerfully when your mistake has been corrected and while you nod, Javier reenters the house. 

He joins the two of you, carrying a large gift bag in one hand and holding Lucas on the other arm. You immediately go to take him, doing a careful transfer until you can lay his tiny body against your shoulder while supporting his bottom. 

“¿Todo bien? (Everything okay?)” Javier asks quietly when you follow him into the living room where the tree stands. He sets down the bag and tries to act casual, laying out the gifts and waiting for your honest response in the meantime. Apparently, you haven’t been as successful in hiding the distress on your face as you thought you had. 

You force a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes and Lucas starts whining again. You bounce him gently, “It’s nothing. Just… Christmas stuff.”

Javier glances toward the hallway to the kitchen where your parents’ voices can be heard faintly over the sounds of cooking. His jaw tightens slightly and his mouth becomes a thin line. 

“Don’t,” you say as firmly as you can muster because you wish he would, “It’ll only make it worse.”

“Dame un beso (give me a kiss),” he says instead, and you shyly lean in to peck him on the lips. Afterward, he pulls back but only after stroking Lucas’ back, “You’re both doing great, okay? Don’t let them get in your head.”

You are interrupted by your mother’s voice ringing out from the dining room, telling you that dinner is ready. Javier kisses you one last time before reassuring you that everything will be okay and that he is in your corner. You try to smile, tense as you take a seat with Lucas still in your arms. 

The Christmas meal begins with polite conversation, your father asking Javier about work and your mother telling you about neighbors that you haven’t spoken to in years. You mostly just speak when spoken to, having decided to focus on your baby as he keeps wriggling in your arms in discomfort. You try to rub his belly, try to make him settle by giving him your attention but still, his tiny face crumbles and he lets out a string of small complaints. 

“Maybe we could open presents while he naps?” You suggest hesitantly when your mother has given you enough judgemental advice, “He’s been so fussy all night, and I don’t want him to get more overwhelmed than he—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” your mother says your name with a sigh. You hear Javier’s chair scrape against the floor, almost as if he is about to get up and get ready for a physical altercation.

“Let’s do whatever is easiest for the baby,” your father interrupts, placing a hand on your mother’s wrist. Her annoyance shines through her eyes but she nods with a smile nonetheless. 

“Of course,” you hear her grit out, “It’s just… We’d love to spend time with him. We’ve already missed so much, and Luke needs his grandparents.”

“We’ll see,” Javier answers for you. 

The dinner continues in mostly silence with turkey being substituted by pie, cutlery clinking against plates, and glasses being lifted and set down again. There’s tension so thick that it can be cut with a knife, your mother glancing at Lucas with a smile before it disappears from her face when she shifts her gaze to your direction.  

Mercilessly, she finally speaks, “So, honey, have you thought about when you’ll start losing the baby weight?”

“Mom!” You exclaim in shock, surprised that sound comes out when your throat feels like it is about to close up completely.

In the same manner as one would spit out a drink in shock, Javier’s fork scrapes unpleasantly against his plate, and suddenly, your mother’s name falls from his lips like the sound itself leaves him with a bad taste in his mouth. She looks startled by the interruption, almost like a deer in the headlights of a car, but it doesn’t faze your husband, “My wife looks beautiful and she has just given me - us - the greatest gift which is our son. Let’s not diminish that, shall we?”

You try to feel the weight of Lucas against your chest instead of how you don’t feel safe within this house, with its bruises on the walls and its ghosts of a youth spent walking on eggshells. Lucas’ body is warm, a reminder that this doesn’t matter. He matters. 

“I’m focused on taking care of my son right now, Mom,” you reply coolly with your lips resting on the soft hairs on Lucas’ head. 

“Right, of course. I didn’t mean anything by it,” your mother argues, clearly flustered, “You know how important it is to stay healthy for the baby.”

“Your mother just wants what’s best for you, honey,” your father intervenes, trying to steer the conversation onto friendlier and safer topics but she has already gotten up from her seat. 

“Why don’t I clear the table so we can move into the living room and open presents?” She mumbles, putting on a show by letting her voice waver. She has begun stacking plates before anyone can even say anything, practically fleeing the room and leaving you all looking slightly sheepish. Javier hides the roll of his eyes exceptionally well and he smiles when you catch him.

“I’ll put Lucas down for a nap,” you announce to what is left of the party.

Javier gets up alongside you to help you. He walks upstairs right behind you, a calming presence with the diaper bag in hand as you head for the guest room.

When you close the door behind the three of you, the tension seeps out of your body at having a quiet moment with your boys. The lighting in the room is soft and calming, almost making you want to lie down to nap with your son. 

“There we go,” you say as you gently place Lucas on the bed while Javier rummages through the bag for his pacifier. Lucas blinks up at you, his tiny fists balled and his chubby legs kicking excitedly. He lets out a happy gurgle.

“Oh, now you’re happy,” you tease softly and kneel by the bed to rub his tummy, “Picky with who we’re smiling at, are we?” 

Javier joins you by the bed and offers Lucas his pacifier. Your son stretches his arms and reaches for his father, letting out a high-pitched giggle around the pacifier. However, as he suckles gently, accompanied by your soft touch that has now moved to his chubby cheeks too, his eyelids start to grow heavy. 

When his breaths have slowed, you do whatever you can with the pillows to create a safe space for him to sleep. You create a barrier around him, ensuring as well as possible that he won’t roll over. 

“You know, you’d think that they would have set up a crib for him if they’re so desperate to see him,” you murmur bitterly as you adjust the last pillow.

“You sure you want to go back down there?” Javier asks carefully. 

“Can you grab the baby monitor?” You ignore his question at first but Javier is already handing you the monitor, ruining your attempt at not addressing the situation further. You sigh and get up from the floor, “I can get through it. If it’ll make them stop pestering me for a visit for a while.”

“I swear, one more word out of her mouth and I’ll open my own,” Javier says with anger simmering just beneath the surface. He drags you into his arms when you stand up again, hears your sigh of relief at being squeezed. It calms your nervous system so effectively that you slump. 

“Believe me, I feel like I am going insane,” you whisper into his neck and shoulder, grabbing aimlessly at his strong frame and inhaling his scent. He returns the desperate touch by simply rubbing your back in slow circles. 

“Yeah, I don’t know how you stay so calm,” he kisses your temple a few times. 

“Trust me, humans can endure a lot when they know there’s a time limit,” you chuckle humorlessly and pull away, “Let’s just do the gift exchange and leave.”

Downstairs, your parents are waiting for you by the tree. The collection of presents is sparse this year due to the short notice but you find it relieving to know that the gift exchange will be over quickly. 

Placing the baby monitor on the coffee table, you sit down on the sofa but don’t allow yourself to relax into it. Javier drops down beside you but leans back into his seat, his hand resting casually on your thigh to ground you. 

“Let’s get to the gifts. It’ll be nice to end this day on a happy note,” your mother says overly cheerfully, pretending to have forgiven and forgotten all about the situation earlier. She reaches for the first gift under the tree while your father stands ready with a bag for the wrapping paper. 

“That’s mine,” Javier tells her with a little smirk in your direction. He holds out his hand until she gives it to him, “To my beautiful wife. Merry Christmas, baby.”

“How thoughtful,” your mother mumbles and sits on the edge of her armchair. 

“Javi, I thought we weren’t on gifts this year,” you scold playfully but there’s no seriousness to your voice. You finally smile and this time it is genuine, feeling his gaze on you while you impatiently rip the wrapping. 

“I know what I said but I know you’ll love it. It’s more for Lucas anyway,” he informs you shyly. 

Inside, you find two pairs of identical fuzzy and comfortable socks with a dinosaur print on them. However, one pair fits Lucas’ tiny feet and the other fits yours. Your whole demeanor changes with the sight of your gift, your face lighting up with a bright smile, “These are so cute!”

“For your cold feet. Thought you could use something cozy while you take care of Luke at home,” he moves his hand to rest just above the small of your back, his palm smoothing over you on top of the fabric of your blouse. 

Your parents sit idly by. They stare at the gift with confusion and arrogance, clearly holding their tongue over how ridiculous they find it. Your mother picks at her fingers, “Interesting.”

“Interesting? Aren’t they adorable?” You hold the matching socks up happily, not sure what to expect but not even your mother’s judgmental expression can bring you down right now. To really rub it in, you kiss Javier’s mouth gently in front of them, “Gracias, esposo (Thank you, husband).”

But the happiness is short-lived as your father goes to get the next present from the small pile. He searches for a moment amongst the few there are, deliberately seeking out the present that you have brought them, most likely to be able to leave the room soon due to the obvious tension. He has never been one to intervene. 

“You shouldn’t have,” your mother tuts with a small smile as she carefully unwraps it in her lap, her fingers doing everything they can to not tear the paper so she can reuse it. 

When the framed picture of Lucas is revealed - a photo taken during an afternoon when he was particularly happy and smiling - her smile develops into a slightly wider one even if it looks against her will. She studies the picture with your father looking over her shoulder. 

“We thought you’d like something to remember him by,” you encourage her to say something. 

Your mother places the photo on the coffee table, her hands smoothing out the wrapping paper while she talks, “It’s lovely, sweetie. Though I’m sure we’d have more memories if we got to see him more often.”

You tense up beside Javier. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him do the same but he squeezes your hip to tell you that he is right there. Anxiously, you curl your fingers into your skirt but your mother isn’t finished.

“I just don’t understand why you’ve been so distant,” she continues, cold in her tone. “You hardly call, which would be fine but you visit even less than that, and now you’re letting Lucas sleep through his first Christmas. It’s not like you’ve gone back to work, so what is it?”

“Mom, please,” you say quietly but it doesn’t veil the wavering of your words, “I’m doing the best I can.”

“Are you?” She challenges, “Lucas has been fussing all night, hasn’t he? Maybe he’s picking up on your stress.”

You hear Javier say your mother’s name as he had during dinner, low and with warning. At the same moment, the baby monitor crackles with the sound of Lucas’ tiny complaints. The sound pulls you from your seat, your instincts to go to him overriding your desire to defend yourself from further abuse. However, your mother’s voice rings out behind you just as you take your first step.

She rolls her eyes, “Oh, just let him cry a little. You’ll make him clingy if you keep running to him every time he whimpers.”

You stop in your tracks, finally turning around to look her in the eye with your own eyes narrowed. You can see Javier watching you closely while you talk, “Mom, if he cries, he needs me.”

According to you, she has already gone too far but it seems that she cannot stop once she has started, “You know, you really should stop babying him so much. He needs to learn to self-soothe.”

Tears of frustration start to build in your chest and you can feel the muscles of your throat start to tighten as they rise to your eyes, “Jesus Christ, Mom, I’m not going to stop babying my baby.”

Her final blow comes out with a deliberate intention to hurt you, “There you go overthinking again and snapping at your mother. He is whimpering. Honestly, sometimes I wonder how Javier puts up with it. You can be such a bitch when you’re stressed.”

The room falls dead silent and the first tear escapes your eye at the cruel nickname… then a second and then a third until you start to cry silently and hopelessly. You suddenly feel like a teenager again, suffering from forced proximity. Your father opens his mouth but nothing comes out, seemingly not able to figure out how to defend his wife for once. It is the final straw for Javier.

“What did you just say?” He firmly cuts through the silence. He has gotten up from his seat and has stepped in front of you to shield you protectively from your mother’s line of sight. His nostrils flare with anger that might explode into rage at any moment but he keeps his voice steady, “You better not have said what I think you did or I am wondering why you haven’t apologized already.”

Your mother’s eyes widen at the idea of consequences. She splutters, caught off guard, “Apologize? Javier, don’t be ridiculous! I’m her mother—“

Javier laughs dangerously and condescendingly and looks away with a roll of his eyes. He shakes his head, not afraid to let the room know that he thinks she sounds pathetic without even calling her out on it. He crosses his arms over his chest, “You got a hell of a way of showing motherly love then; all you have done is tear her down today.”

“Javier,” your father tries to interject, “Let’s not make this into a scene.”

“No,” Javier turns to him, his jaw muscles flexing slightly underneath his skin with how much anger is flowing through him. The simple word makes your father sit up straighter than before - a testament to Javier’s days in Colombia - but Javier is not done, “You don’t get to lecture me about making a scene. Not after sitting there and letting this happen. She is your daughter.”

When your father has shut his mouth, looking uncomfortable by his defeat while he leans back into his seat with no intention to follow up on his words, Javier’s fury settles on your mother once more, “What’s your goal here, exactly?”

You’re aware that it isn’t just a simple few tears falling from your eyes anymore but rather a silent stream that has your face puffy and sensitive. It is accompanied by grief over your younger self not having had someone like Javier in her corner. You sniffle audibly, feeling as if you have been punched in the gut with how much it hurts and humiliates you to sit idly by. Your mother catches a glimpse of you behind your husband but it doesn’t seem to have any effect whatsoever. 

“There’s no secret agenda here, for God’s sake. I didn’t mean anything by it,” she sneers, trying to keep her demeanor straight despite the humiliation of getting called out being evident on her face. 

“Yes, you did,” Javier argues immediately and fiercely, pointing his index finger at her in an accusing manner, “You knew exactly what you were saying. You wanted her to hurt. Well congratulations, you’ve succeeded. Unfortunately, your daughter is a lot nicer than me and handled your words with a lot more grace than you deserve. I will not be doing the same thing.”

Your mother’s composure falters. She says your father’s name helplessly but he looks at her with tired eyes, full of quiet disappointment. Even if he is absent and passive like always, his refusal to intervene further is a sign that he would never go as far as his wife has just done. He shakes his head in disapproval, “Why’d you do it? We were having such a nice time too.”

She gapes at your father while his gaze drops to his lap, shrinking herself slightly at the realization that she is outnumbered and has to face your husband alone. Javier takes a step closer, radiating authority when she tries to avoid further confrontation, distaste so clear on his face for how he has lost her attention for a moment. When you let out a quiet sob, too paralyzed in your spot on the couch to go to your whimpering child, his face hardens further and he continues, “Listen to me.”

Your mother looks up reluctantly. She appears to be on the brink of an attempt to turn his words against him and argue right back once more, but Javier cuts her off before she can even start. 

“You don’t talk to her like that again. Ever. And you most certainly do not question her ability to be a mother. She is a perfect mother and God knows, she hasn’t gotten it from you. Lucas is a happy, healthy, and thriving baby because of her,” he takes a breath, and for a second, it seems like he might be done but then, “You hurt my girl, you understand that? And if you ever speak to her like that again - actually if you even speak about her like that again -  I will personally make sure you don’t get to have Lucas in your life.”

“Are you threatening us?” Her composure slips even more. 

“No, ma’am, I am instructing you,” he replies coldly, “If you can’t respect his mother, we’re done here.”

Javier turns to you now, his face softening immediately at the sight of you sitting teary-eyed on the couch with your hands clutching the baby monitor. He says your name so softly, a sound that has always felt like an unfamiliar and unwelcome sound within this house, and gently pulls the piece of technology out of your hands. 

“Listen to me, baby. Go wait in the car. I’ll get Lucas and his things,” he instructs you, placing the baby monitor on the coffee table behind him without looking away from you. He helps you to stand when you find yourself nodding. 

When you’re up from your seat, he puts a hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the door. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t let you linger in the room. 

“You don’t have to leave,” your mother protests with obvious surprise that you and Javier are carrying out the promise of consequences. She begins pushing herself to stand. 

“Sit down, I will not let you disturb any of the peace she has left,” he commands harshly when she tries to take a step toward you. 

Your mother falters, stunned by his audacity, and sinks back into her seat.

The moment you’re out of the front door, your legs start shaking so badly beneath you that you aren’t sure if you’ll even make it to the car. The walk feels endless, like climbing a mountain, the neighborhood surrounding your childhood home quiet because everyone is inside with the happy family that you never got to have growing up. 

Until now. You have it now. However, you have left them to fend for themselves on the battlefield to slide into the front seat of the car. You rub your chest as it feels tight but it soothes nothing and suddenly, the tears come harder than they had in the living room. You rest your head against the glass window, screwing your eyes shut and feeling drips of hot tears on your cheeks.

Memories come flooding and you have no power to stop them, pictures of many nights spent in solitude in your room because it was the only illusion of sanctuary in the house before you. The sound of your mother’s scoffs, her unbearable ability to make you feel small, inadequate, and unwanted. Her year-long cruelty feels like a knife in your chest but your father’s silent complicity twists its blade too, makes you think that you were never worthy of defending. 

Yet Javier had done it so effortlessly, had done what you’d wished someone would have done for you in your entire life, and he had done it without any hesitation. You are shattered by another night believing the worst about yourself, yes, but you realize that a part of your sobs comes from relief too. Suddenly, it all feels silly and you don’t know why you have always stopped Javier from speaking up for you since you met because his words - she is a perfect mother - have taken the power out of your mother’s incredibly fast. 

You hear the front door open and a shaky sob leaves you at seeing the two of your boys approach the car. Javier has the diaper bag over his shoulder whilst cradling Lucas against his chest, his face serious. He moves in long strides to get to you fast, not saying anything as he buckles Lucas’ sleeping form into his car seat before climbing into his own seat in the front. 

You sit up again, eyes still brimming with tears that streak your face. You feel overwhelmed like you have run a marathon or fought a bear or a monster. 

Javier puts on his seatbelt but doesn’t put the key in the ignition yet. He looks out of the windshield for a moment, breathes a sigh of relief. The car is quiet except for Lucas’ soft breaths as he sleeps.

Right until Javier says your name when you don’t automatically turn your head to look at him, ashamed of how the day has progressed. It is Christmas, after all, and Lucas’ first one ever too. 

“Mírame (Look at me),” he says in a gentle murmur. 

You shake your head, unable to answer with how tightly wound you are. You feel his hand under your chin, carefully pulling you by your chin until your eyes meet his. His outline is blurry from all the tears but his voice cuts through the fog in gentle firmness. 

“I love you so much, and I love our son, okay?” He says it like it is a promise, “They aren't ever gonna to talk to you like that again because I won't allow them to. Do you understand me?”

You silently look at him through your tears, nodding weakly. He reaches to brush your tears away with a knuckle. 

“Everything’s gonna be okay because you don’t have to see them if you don’t want to. You just have to let me take care of you,” he continues and cups your cheek instead, “And right now, I say you’re done with them for tonight. Actually, for as long as you fucking want.”

“I want… I don’t…” You say at first but then, “I’m sorry.”

Javier furrows his brows, “Why are you sorry?” 

“Because that’s my mom,” you try to speak around a fresh sob, “And you married me and I trapped you with my fucked up family.”

“Hey, heyheyhey,” he shakes his head, moving his other hand to cup your whole face now. He leans over the console of the car and rests his forehead against yours. When you simply cry harder, he pulls you into a hug, “You didn’t trap me, okay? You didn’t. I’m here because you make me happy. You make me so happy, baby, and Hell knows, I needed a bit of taking care of when you met me. Let me return the favor.”

His body is warm, soothing, and grounding. His embrace squeezes you hard enough to make you calm down, giving you a moment of quiet peace in your mind as you begin to take in his words. You feel the same. You want to say it but you’re afraid that you’ll never stop crying tonight, so instead you find the courage to say those words that you should have told yourself years ago, “I don’t think I want to go back.”

“What do you want to do then?” Javier pulls back to look at you. He moves back into his own seat again and starts the car to give you time to think clearly about his question. 

“Can we go to your dad’s?” You ask hesitantly. 

Javier’s brows rise slightly but he doesn’t argue, just nods as he puts the car in reverse. Before reversing out of the driveway, he pulls you in to kiss your forehead softly. 

“Claro, mi amor (Sure, my love),” he says simply, “He’d love to see us.”

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[heavenbarnes]

older bf!simon is always the one in control so sometimes i need to write him pathetic! (afab!reader described as wearing a dress and heels)

there’s an alternative universe out there where you make older bf!simon work for it

“i’m sorry i didn’t come back w’you that night”

he was embarrassed, his cheeks were pink and he was missing the balaclava that usually hid all changes in expression

but he’d managed to turn up on your doorstep to ply you with apologies and he looked so sweet dwarfing your lounge suite

“it’s alright, simon - i don’t mind the wait”

“it’s not that i didn’t want ye’, promise, i just-”

he cut himself off, let the words hang like ripe fruit that you didn’t even have to pick to know how sweet they taste

instead, you bridged the small gap across the couch and let your hand fall on his shoulder

“it’s okay, i know it can be a bit overwhelming”

he sighed a shaky wee exhale like it felt really nice to be understood, if not totally terrifying all the same

“ye’ don’t know how bad i wanted to, ye’ looked so bloody good”

you snorted a little breath through your nose, running your fingernails along the top of his shoulder

“i know”

he let the silence take over the room, you knew good and well there was something he wanted so badly to say

and you’d wait a lifetime just to hear him beg

“can ye’ please tell me”

it was so quiet, you could’ve missed it

but you didn’t

“tell you what?”

wait a lifetime

“tell me what’d you’d have done if we’d gone back there”

your lips curled in a smile, something wicked and heady

something that said you’d struck gold

ease him in

slow and steady

“i’d sit you back in the chair, put you right where i wanted you”

even through his shirt, you could feel his skin prickle as you ran your nails towards his chest

“i’d take off those heels, the ones you’d been staring at all night”

as much as you’d expected him to go rigid, you could feel him melting beside you

“i’d reach for the back of my dress, undo it so it just slips off my shoulders and let it pool on the floor around my ankles”

“run my hands up my chest, over my perfect tits, the ones you’d also been staring at”

simon’s breath caught him in his chest, your fingers running over his pec where you lightly traced the smallest lines

“pinch my nipples, show you how hard they were, how hard they’d been since i first saw you”

his eyes screwed closed, a deep breath expanding his in chest under your touch

“really, since i first knew you’d be there that night”

“then i’d turn around, put my back to you, and slip my fingers under the band of my little panties”

simon fought to pry his eyes open, darting straight to your fingers

he knew a look in your eyes was a death wish

“they’re so little, simon, honestly i could’ve probably torn them with a fingernail”

and you might just kill him anway

“you definitely could’ve”

there it was

like he’d tried to keep it in, a broken moan slipped from his throat- between the lips he was worrying with his teeth

“but i’d slide them down my legs, bend over so you could see them fall, and i’d turn around so you could get a good look, see my perfect little cunt”

“soft, warm, tight, and wet”

simon had been half hard since you’d opened the door

now? he thought the rush of blood might knock him out

“wet since you first placed your hand on my back when you were being all polite”

it was like he could still feel where his hand had been, like he’d never had the chance to hold something so soft

“you’d be able to smell it on my panties, so i’d hand them to you”

simon was acutely aware of the way your hand was slowly drifting down the firm lines of his stomach

“tell you to keep those, you could sniff them, lay them on your face when you’re tugging that thick cock and thinking of me”

in his lap, you ran your fingers along his thigh until they wrapped around his cock

“maybe taste them a little, or even wrap them around your cock”

his hips shot up, straight into your hand as he tipped his head back onto the couch

a pathetic whine ripped straight from his chest

“cum all over them, ruin them and give them back to me when you inevitably see me again”

you slowly ran your fingers along the length of him

rock fucking solid

“and i could give you your next pair”

you slowed down, gently stroking him through his trousers as his breathing evened out

couldn’t have you stopping his poor heart

he was the first to break

“then what?”

that smile crept back onto your face, catching the sight of his strained expression

it’s the devil you know

“hmm, i think i’d sit in your lap”

his thighs tensed, involuntarily but bordering on inviting

“feel that hard cock that’s been straining in your briefs”

squeezing it again, through two layers you could feel the small patch of wetness spreading under your thumb

“you might be older than me but you’re not too old, are you?”

he could hear the teasing in your voice, running a large hand down his face

dirty old bastard

“rub my hot wet little cunt all over your trousers, make a mess all over them”

simon’s hips were rolling under your hand, pushing the length of his cock up into your palm

clipped breath and tight chest

you didn’t have to be a genius to know what comes next

“got to ease you into it, know it’s been a long time since you got yourself into something this tight, don’t want you blowing your top”

his breaths became vocal, the quietest little whimpers told you exactly where you had him

right on the precipice

his hand wrapped tight around your wrist as he all but humped your hand

you let go

“just yet”

[idkwhatever580]

The rings on the two specific fingers is such a nice touch yall don’t even know.

Also I can just see how Glinda has her arms moving backwards to catch her as she lets Elphaba moves her to the bed

I can imagine how they might speak 😭

I am definitely about to write a clip for this because I have to... It's like an obligation

Read whatever tf I wrote under the cut :)

if it isn't already obvious Glinda=Pink Elphaba=Green

Also, I apologize for the overuse of "Ozian" words

...

Oh Elphie-

Is this what you meant?

I- I kind of meant that you’d use the tips on someone else but- I think I’m okay with this too

Are you sure? We don't have to do anything if you're uncomfortifiable... (Ever the gentlewoman)

Would you just shut up and smooch me!

Whatever you say, Miss Upland...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bonus (that ended up being longer than the first part):

*The poor poor students that room below Glinda and Elphaba that I have used a random name generator to name Simran (blue) and Pemphero (orange)*

...

Ugh. Galinda and Elphaba are at it again!

It's Glinda now, don't you remember? She changed her name in honor of Dr. Dillamond.

Okay okay, Glinda and Elphaba are making a disturberance again! Is that better?

*insert obscene noises coming from Glinda and Elphaba's room above them*

You know... This never happened before... They used to just yell at each other all the time and fight, but ever since they went to The Emerald City and all they have just been doing this.

Yeah... I wonder what happened...

Enemies to lovers trope?

No absolutely not there is no way that they are your basic, average enemies to lovers trope...

I mean....

Actually? Now that I think about it, you might have something going with that...

I know right?!

*More lewd sounds from above*

but that doesn't negate the fact that these girls are intercoursifying above us when I need to be studying for the Linguification test!

yeaahhh... I'm gonna go to my partner's room to run from this... try the library?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

According to "The Tab" website, these are the definitions of the words I used that already existed.

Disturberance: (noun) something loud and upsetting

Linguification: (noun) the study of words, and the least popular class at Shiz University.

And these are the definitions of the words I made up. (I struggled through this because I am not this creative)

Uncomfortifiable: (adjective) the feeling of discomfort, or disdain

Intercoursifying: (verb) the act of having sexual intercourse in a rowdy way that can disturb others.

Anyways I hope y'all liked it! Have a good day people!!!

little ways to flirt and flounce

[plaidcowboy]

༘˚⋆𐙚｡𖦹✧ rafe getting you a souvenir in morocco

✿ ۪⋆

content: wants to get the best for you. what he would do to get it..

author stamp: he was on a mission out there

“yeah, i’m safe. just got something i need to take care of right now” rafe responded to your question over the phone while shrugging on the coat he just bought. you were aware rafe was going off somewhere to handle something important when he informed you while also letting you know you could stay at his place until he got back. you knew he would be safe and didn’t have to worry, but either way you still called here and there to check up on him. how was it going? was it nice in morocco? you wanted to make sure you were using correct measurements while cooking. wanted to make sure it was okay for you to work on his laundry and that you possibly maybe accidentally shrunk one of his button ups. but you knew not to call too often because rafe would need to focus on completing what he went to morocco for.

“okay, great! i won’t bother you again for the rest of the day, but i just wanted to let you know i didn’t shrink anything of yours this time!” rafe chuckled, glancing at his surroundings. where off to next? he wondered to himself while you were babbling on about what you did differently to the machine when he spotted a stand where jewelry was being sold, a man behind it speaking to a customer. “that’s great, baby, good job. hey, what’s that metal you said you really liked for jewelry?”

you told him which was your favorite, not bothering to ask why, still giddy over rafe telling you, you did a good job. rafe knew that was your favorite, he’s seen it with the dainty necklaces you wear, but he wanted to make sure, wanted to make sure he was doing this right. only the best for you, and if you don’t have it, it just hasn’t been made yet.

“right, right. hey um, let me talk to you later, and don’t think i’m fine with you saying you bother me. i don’t like those words against yourself, and definitely not with me.”

you frowned behind the phone. “sorry rafe” you mumbled over the line. it sounded like you made him upset. you didn’t mean to..

“‘s okay, don’t let me hear that again.” you nodded quickly, forgetting he can’t see you through the phone. rafe, knowing you, knew you were nodding. “can i hear your words?”

“yes, i won’t say it again.” he watched the current customer at the stand walk away. “that’s what i wanna hear. i have to go now, call me whenever you please.”

you smiled at the reassurance. “okay rafe.”

he let you go, making his way over to the plethora of jewelry. his eyes skimmed over a few options, but nothing yet seeming just right for you. “uh..” he glanced up at the man. “this all you got?”

the man’s friendly smile dissipated. “excuse me?”

“hey, i’m not trying to insinuate anything. there’s something i gotta get. just let me know if this isn’t worth it.”

the man startled with wide eyes. “no, no. there is more back here” he discreetly tilted his head behind him towards a little opening.

rafe raised his eyebrow, assessing the opening and the man. he stalked toward him. “okay. but before i go in, i’m just letting you know, if you’re pulling some stuff, i can have this little stand shut down in a second.” he grinned at the now seemingly nervous man. “but until then..” he turned, walking into the opening. “show me what you got.”

he noticed the sets of jewelry lying about that seemed better quality than the ones on the stand. rafe chuckled to himself, seeing the man’s tactic.

he skimmed his thumb over his jaw in thought, picking up some pieces, putting them down, glancing at the man, knowing he wouldn’t dare pull anything. he looked back to a necklace that hung from a rack, grabbing it and pulling it closer to his vision.

“for a pretty lady, yes?”

rafe slowly turned. “what did you just say?”

the man hesitated. “the necklace? is it..for someone special?” rafe furrowed his brows. “yeah, it is. only dealing with you right now for her.”

the seller nervously chuckled. “they can be a bit demanding, huh?”

rafe lowered the necklace, giving the man the opportunity to stop while he was ahead. “not this one. i don’t know what you’ve got going on behind closed doors, and i couldn’t care less. now, how much for this?” rafe wanted to let it go. he had things to take care of.

the man, now more confident than he should be, approached rafe. “trust me, it’s all the same. tell me, is she..” rafe pulled the man by the collar of his shirt, halting whatever it was he thought he could say about you.

“are you kidding me? what makes you think you can say anything about my girl?” rafe frowned at the man in disgust.

“oh, i’m sorry” the man held up his hands. “here, i’ll let you take it, no charge” he hesitantly smiled.

rafe raised his brow. “oh i wasn’t going to give you anything. you’re not even in business.”

the man frowned in confusion. “what..?”

letting the man go, rafe pocketed your necklace, walking out of the opening. he glanced at the small sign that displayed open on the stand.

“hm” he flipped it around to closed. walking over to a nearby guard, he got his attention, throwing a nervous look over his shoulder toward the stand. “hey man, i just got propositioned to mess up business with these other stands by the man that runs that one.” the guard turned, looking to the seller that was now stepping out of the opening.

“yeah, him. he offered me like.. a load of cash. i don’t know what he’s on about.”

rafe watched the guard grab the attention of two others standing near him, and they made their way over to the seller, one seizing him by his arms, and the others packing away his stand.

rafe dropped the distressed look, feeling for the necklace in his pocket. only the best for you.

[hikidoll]

୨ৎ ˚ 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!

satoru gojo, suguru geto, megumi fushiguro, yuji itadori

୨ৎ satoru gojo

accidentally makes you cry like.. way too often.. usually because he’ll make a joke and you take the wrong way.

dont worry- he makes up for it in full.

while he isn’t the best at providing comfort through words. he’ll apologize through expensive gifts, or taking you out for a date at a nice restaurant.

“listen- i’m sorry baby. i didn’t mean it like that, i swear..” he says frantically as mascara streams down your face.

he’ll wrap you up in a big hug, pulling you flush against his chest. “it’s okay, baby. you know i love you, right?”

of course, he tells his best wingman. geto facepalms, “that mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble, satoru.” he mutters, the second-hand embarrassment evident in the way his nose scrunches as he cringes.

if someone else says something that hurts you, you best bet that if you tell gojo, they’ll regret it. gojo can be rather petty and vindictive when it comes to defending his sweet girl.

“i joke around a lot, but i’m serious about you, okay? promise.”

୨ৎ suguru geto

he has a natural calmness that helps keep you grounded when you start to get overwhelmed.

if you’re feeling overstimulated that day, he’ll run you a bath, cook you dinner, anything he can do to make you feel less overwhelmed and at peace. “let me handle it, okay?” he murmurs softly, before gently ushering you back into bed.

if anyone ever pokes fun at your sensitivity, he’ll be the first to remind you that’s what makes you special.

“don’t listen to people like that. they don’t know you like i do, doll.”

he’s always looking out for you, making sure people don’t take advantage of your kind nature.

if you needed it, he could listen to you for hours.

“never apologize for feeling. it’s what makes you human… and what makes you so easy to love.” he whispers, brushing a tear off your cheek with his thumb.

୨ৎ megumi fushiguro

he may not be the best at communicating or expressing his own emotions, but he is surprisingly empathetic. most of the time he can tell something’s wrong before you say it.

he’d die before breaking a promise to you.

he knows loud environments can be overwhelming for you sometimes, and he feels the same as well. you two often leave functions early together, retreating to the quiet of his apartment.

he keeps note of things that cheer you up, like cute stuffed animals, or your favorite snacks. if he knows you’re feeling extra sensitive, he’ll stop by and drop you off some comfort items.

“no, you’re not too sensitive.” he murmurs, gently rubbing your back as you sob next to him. “did someone tell you that? who was it?” he asks, his expression turning more serious.

regardless of how much of a crybaby you are, he finds it endearing how you express yourself freely, something he’s always envied about you.

“you’re stronger than anyone i know, okay? don’t let anyone make you think otherwise.”

୨ৎ yuji itadori

he’s a master at cheering you up. he always knows the right joke to crack to make you smile, the right things to do to get you back into a good mood.

he’s not afraid to make an absolute fool of himself if it means he can make you laugh.

“let’s head home, yeah? i’ve got a tub of ice cream waiting for us in the freezer!” he says with a cheerful smile, patting you gently on the back as he tries to race you back to the car.

he’s your biggest cheerleader, always hyping you up whenever you feel insecure.

he gives the best hugs ever.

if someone upsets you, he is quick to defend you. he’s not usually confrontational, but if it’s about you, he’ll stand his ground. “hey, that’s not okay dude. apologize.”

“too much for me? hun, nothing is too much for me. especially not you, sweet girl.” he says softly with a small smile, before pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

he always talks about you to his friends, singing your praises like you’re his queen. “she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. really.”

my four favorite boys!!! things keep pouring out of my brain help. hope you like it hehe :3

©hikidoll inc. do not copy.

[holylulusworld]

How to cure a grump (5)

Summary: You’re losing your job on Christmas.

Pairing: CEO/Boss!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: grumpy Bucky, mistaken identity, kinda fake dating trope, snowed-in trope

How to cure a grump (4)

How to cure a grump masterlist

On Christmas Eve, the room is crowded with family, friends, neighbors, and, well, your former boss. He still sticks out with his expensive suit, polished shoes, and his whole aura.

Oddly, people like to chat with him. Bucky is a natural when it comes to wrapping people around his finger.

You can’t do much about it tonight. If you yell at him, drag him out of the room, or, what you love to imagine, choke the life out of him for being a jerk, people could get suspicious.

Smiling at the thought, you hide in a corner, watching Bucky joke with the people who do not know what an asshole he truly is.

You grit your teeth and huff. It was foolish of them to judge the book by its cover this time. Yes, he’s got a pretty façade, but deep down inside, Bucky Barnes is rotten. You’re sure about it.

“Why the face?” Your mother nudges your side. “People love him, Munchkin. No need to worry. We all hated John from the beginning, and he turned out a jerk. Trust our instinct.”

Bucky looks your way, watching you when you’re not looking. He can still feel your lips and wonder what came over him. Not two days ago, you were nothing but an employee to him, and then he kissed you.

“Man, you dismantled Walker like a pro,” your cousin laughs and shakes Bucky’s hand. “About damn time someone put him in his place. I’d done the same, but Y/N didn’t want me to say a thing. She told me to let it slip and moved across the country instead.”

“So, I heard,” Bucky hums. “Y/M/N told me they had a business together. A company?”

“Uh—they wanted to open a business together. John not only cheated on her but also stole her idea. She’s so smart and wastes her time at the office. I heard her boss is a jerk too, letting her work overtime and do her colleague’s work.”

“He must be an asshole,” Bucky replies with a smirk. He loves hearing all the insults your cousin calls your boss. “Did she tell you all about him?”

“No. Y/N never complains. She only said she’d take the next flight because she had to stay later this week too. Y/N was always too good for this world. Helped everyone around, you know,” your cousin brags. “I just know she offers her help to co-workers, and they tried to take advantage of her kindness.”

“I think Y/N is capable of putting people in their place too,” Bucky replies. He appreciates that your cousin tries to defend you but knows you better. “No one takes advantage of her.”

Your cousin grins before patting Bucky’s shoulder. “I already like you.” He chortles. “Oh, I gotta take care of my girl now.”

Bucky nods, as his eyes drift toward you again. Ever so often his mind drifts back to the moment he kissed you.

“You’re staring,” your aunt chuckles, catching Bucky staring at you. “I know you’re head over heels for my niece, but don’t undress her with your eyes while being around her family.”

“What?” Bucky dips his head to glance at your aunt.

She chuckles again and pats his arm. “Aw, don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. I know Y/N is lovely.”

Bucky furrows his brows. All he did was look your way. Why your aunt thinks he had something dirty in mind is beyond him.

“Phew...that was…nice,” Bucky says as you watch your mom say goodbye to the last guest, your aunt. “Do you always host a Christmas party for the neighbors and half of town?”

“Most of our neighbors would be alone on Christmas Eve, just like my mom. They are long divorced, widowed, and their kids don’t come around before or after Christmas,” you explain while Bucky watches you. “And family is family, you know. They all have their own family and will spend the rest of Christmas and New Year’s Eve with them.”

He nods thoughtfully and says, “I guess you’re better at opening your home for people. My parents only ever hosted Christmas parties for business partners.”

“Figures,” you bite your tongue and curse yourself for your response. “I meant it’s smart to invite business partners for Christmas. They feel valued that way.”

Bucky quirks a brow but says nothing. He’ll let it slip, knowing you’re not wrong.

“Anyway,” he fakes a yawn. “It was a long day, and I need to call Steve in the morning. He needs to take care of a few things while I’m stuck here.”

“And whose fault is that?” You huff. Bucky still tries to blame you for his friend’s mistake. “I didn’t ask you to come here.”

“Yours,” he grins. “You made me come out here.”

“It was your friend not telling you about our conversation.”

“Relax,” he laughs. “I know it was Steve messing shit up, okay. You’re not to blame.” Bucky got up from the couch, just in time to bid your mom goodnight.

She furrows her brows as your former boss makes his way upstairs.

“Munchkin, don’t you want to join him?” She snickers when you roll your eyes. “I know you did more than cuddle. You’re a grown woman and have needs. I understand, Y/N. With a man like James around, a woman can get all tingly.”

“Mom!” You groan. “It’s not like that.”

“I know love is tough. How about we call it a day, and you can go back to denying you don’t like the handsome man sleeping under my roof? She flashes you a warm smile before pulling you into a hug. “Maybe he’s a little snobby on the outside, but I think James has a good heart. He’s just not used to showing it…”

Once again, you toss and turn. Your mother’s words still echo in your mind, and your lips still tingle from Bucky’s kiss.

“Christ, get over it. It was one fucking kiss,” you groan and slam your fist into the mattress. “It wasn’t even that good. Even if he tasted good and his lips perfectly fit with yours. Stupid... just stupid. He’s an asshole who fired you two days before Christmas.”

You turn on your side and decide to sleep it off. Soon Bucky will be out of town and out of your life. When he’s gone, you can try to explain to your mother who he is…

“Hmmm…” you murmur in your sleep. Somehow, you’re warm, very warm. It feels like a heating blanket wrapped itself around your body to keep you warm—or rather hot. “Fuck…warm.”

Wiggling in your sleep, you try to fend the heat off. You groan and shift again as it’s too heavy. “Warm…” Your eyes slowly open as you try to turn in your bed. It’s impossible. Something, or rather someone, wrapped himself around your body. “What the fuck!”

“What? Where?” Bucky jolts up on your bed. He looks at you lying next to him. “What are you doing in my bed?”

“What am I doing in your bed?” You sit up and huff. “This is my room and my bed. Get out! This is not some case of only one bed!”

“I—” he looks around the room, frowning deeply. Bucky ruffles his disheveled hair, trying to remember how he ended up in your bed. “Did we—?” He looks you up and down, licking his lips.

“What? NO!” You slap his chest, realizing too late he’s not wearing a shirt. “We didn’t have sex! Did you drink yourself to sleep?”

“Maybe I got a little drunk,” he murmurs and falls back onto your bed. Just now you smell the alcohol on him. “I was so lonely, and Steve ignored my calls. He fucked my vacation up, and now I’m stuck here and can’t even—”

You watch him turn on his side. “Hey, go back to your room.” You poke his back, but Bucky won’t budge. “What did I do to deserve this?”

You sigh and fall back on your pillow. There’s no way you can move Bucky. Turning your back on Bucky, you huff. “If your hands wander, you’ll lose them…”

Tags in reblog.

[anthophilafalls]

Since I’m a Ford Pines x Reader writer occasionally (ONLY ROMANTIC FLUFF ok) the snow and the ambience of this is too cute I felt inspired to write something, hopefully this is ok with you OP but the imagery is so cute I immediately imagined this happening when Ford steps out into the snow to see how you’re doing after making cookies with Stan & the twins…

- - -

Warning: THIS IS A ONE-SHOT ITS PROBABLY POORLY WRITTEN MY APOLOGIES IN ADVANCE

The air was cold and clear, small flecks of snow speckle his large winter coat as he walked up next to you, gazing in wonder of the flurry of snow that now coated Gravity Falls.

Your eyes meet,

“Oh, hi Stanford” you greet him with a smile.

“Greetings y/n” Ford waves before nervously placing both gloved hands in his coat pockets, and turning his gaze away from your eyes.

You’ve seen him hide his hands before, he’s done it ever since you were kids, but this time it felt different. You hear the sound of snow falling around you, like kitten paws on a soft blanket, but the building silence calls for you to say something more.

“How was the Gingerbread house making?” you ask.

“Excellent, though not the most structurally sound structure I’ve devised…”

he responds, briefly meeting your eyes once more.

“Are your hands cold?” you ask, still curious about the speed at which he hid his hands from you.

“No, no they are really warm actually. Mabel designed some near perfectly thermally insulated gloves for me. Her knitting work is magnificent” he says taking a hand out of his pocket, slowly flipping it admiring the pattern on both sides.

“I love to knit too” you respond, “but I should probably offer some of my old yarn to Mabel, considering I don’t do it much”

“She is quite prolific in her craft” he chuckles, remembering how often he’s seen Mabel cross legged in front of the TV surrounded by balls of yarn.

You point pointing to his hand, now once again firmly place in his pocket. “You’re doing that thing again!” you comment lightheartedly

“What thing?” he asks confused checking his shoes for what you might be pointing at.

“Your hands” you giggle, “You know you don’t have to hide them from me, of course if you’re only doing it to be more comfortable don’t mind my observation…”

“Oh, right” He says running one hand through his hair , “I guess it’s a reflex”.

“A reflex from… oh right, I’m sorry” you say, “but I’ve never seen you do it this fast before, at least not in front of me.”

You see his cheeks blush slightly,

“oh.. well you see… I guess it’s because your” he stops himself, “it’s because Cathy Crenshaw” he says with a sigh.

“Cathy Cren- oh that jerk Cathy?!” you pound your fist in your hand.

“yes, I… Well, when I held her hand, she… she cried.” He says, staring to the ground shifting snow with his foot.

“but I wouldn’t c-” you catch yourself. You’ve loved Ford since you were kids, but could there be an actual chance he feels the same way? Darn it, you better not have scared him off almost giving yourself away.

“but you aren’t trying to hold my hand” you correct yourself.

“I guess not” he says, staring once more at his fingers.

“It’s ok, she was a total dweeb anyways. I mean who skips out on the science fair to play polo for free at some mansion” you respond snarkily

He chuckles, phew he isn’t too upset at you bringing this up.

It gets quiet again, the magnificence of your surroundings isn’t lost on you, both staring into the trees.

“Thank you” he says suddenly

“for what?” you ask

“For, for never being repulsed my me”

You glance, a little sadly back at him. why would I ever be? you wonder

“in that case thank you too, I was a weird kid as well, and new. It’s so nice that you and Stan let me join in with you guys, I don’t know who else I would have been friends with otherwise.”

He smiles, and the two of you stare back at the snow frosted forest.

“Winter is beautiful here” you exhale

“not as beautiful as you” he whispers to himself

“what?” you ask, butterflies fluttering in your stomach

“I ugh I think I saw a ewe” he stutters, panicked that you might have heard him.

“haha strange season for that” you respond casually, internally giddy knowing it’s not what he meant.

“haha yes, it might have come from the local petting zoo, or maybe it’s just a trick of light! haha.” he responds, clearly trying to change the subject.

“Hey” you say

“Yes?” he says, cheeks red from both cold and embarrassment

“It’s really fun talking with you” you smile sincerely.

His eyes meet yours and you stare at each other for a moment. After what feels like forever, he opens his mouth.

“Do you, perhaps, want to go back inside? Stan and the kids may be wondering where we are.” He says bluntly.

“Oh, oh yeah. I mean it is getting a little cold.” You respond, slightly disappointed.

“I’ll walk you back” he says. Slowly, he reaches his hand out toward yours.

“May I?” he asks,

“Of course” you say, as you hold his hand in yours.

It is complete…! :’D I wanted to get these done in December but life happened. Regardless, I’m glad I got to finish at a decent time. Enjoy some lovely Pines Winter bonding :D

[0omillo0]

I’m so glad you’ve finished your school! I know school can be rough especially end of the year. Speaking of free time. 🥺👉👈 How about (surprise) angst/hurt with Han this time (at this point I’m trying to go through all the members at least once) Y/N is having just like, the worst day. They come home to Han for comfort but he is also having just like, the worst day. So they argue and Han walls out, but later there’s a fire at the apartment complex and when he comes back there’s like a whole scene and he freaks out. Y/N is already in the back of an ambulance and they’re fine but Han takes five ever to find them and is freaking out the entire time.

Calling you clingy

Han Jisung x Reader 한지성

a/n: Hi! I’m sorry if this took so long but I’m kinda struggling with my emotions lately and I don’t really like the way I write… hope you’ll like it tho

The day felt doomed from the moment you opened your eyes.

Your alarm hadn’t gone off, leaving you scrambling to get ready. You spilled coffee on your only clean shirt, missed your bus, and when you finally arrived at work, it was like the universe conspired against you. A project you’d poured your heart into was torn apart in a meeting, and the snide comments from a coworker still rang in your ears. By the time you walked through your apartment door that evening, you felt like a frayed wire—one spark away from snapping.

Han sat on the couch, earbuds in, a notebook balanced on his lap. His pen moved furiously across the page, his frustration evident in every stroke. Seeing him there, a small part of your tension eased. He’ll make this better, you thought. He always does…

“Hey,” you said softly, closing the door behind you.

He didn’t look up. “Hey.”

You hesitated, unsure if he’d even heard you. “Han… I’m sorry to bother you but I had the worst day. I don’t even know where to start. I just… I really need you right now. Please…”

You had always been nice to him, always making sure to give him his space. And he knew.

But this time, he sighed, setting his notebook aside but still not meeting your eyes. “Y/N, I can’t do this right now. I’m kind of drowning here myself.”

His words hit you like a cold wave. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, rubbing his temples, “I’ve been dealing with my own stuff all day. I’m exhausted too.”

You stared at him, your throat tightening. “I’m not asking you to solve anything, Han. I just wanted… I needed you to be here with me... I’m sorry-”

Finally, he looked at you, irritation flickering in his eyes. “Stop saying you’re sorry! It’s like… you can’t handle anything without me. You’re always leaning on me, and it’s—” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “It’s clingy, Y/N.”

The word sliced through you like a knife. “Clingy?” you echoed, your voice cracking.

Han stood, pacing in the small space. “Yes, clingy. Every time something goes wrong, I’m the first person you run to, and I can’t—”

“And what?” you interrupted, anger bubbling up. “You can’t handle that? I thought that’s what relationships were for—being there for each other!”

His voice rose to match yours. “It is! But I’m not your emotional punching bag! I have limits too!”

Your chest tightened, tears prickling at your eyes. “Fine. If I’m so clingy, maybe I should stop coming to you altogether.”

“Maybe you should.” His voice was cold.

He grabbed his keys from the counter and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. The silence that followed felt deafening. You stood frozen, tears spilling over as his words echoed in your head.

You’ve never seen him like this. It hurt so bad it felt like you were drowning in your own tears.

You decided to listen to some music to distract yourself, until..

*Sniff sniff*

The smell of smoke was faint at first, so faint you ignored it. You thought it was coming from outside—someone burning leaves or a neighbor cooking. But then the fire alarm shrieked through the building, and the panic set in.

When you opened the door, smoke poured in, thick and choking. Flames flickered at the end of the hallway. Grabbing your phone and bag, you stumbled into the chaos, your heart pounding as the smoke burned your lungs.

By the time you made it outside, the cool night air felt like relief, but your head swam, and you couldn’t stop coughing. Paramedics found you, guiding you to an ambulance. You barely registered their words as they placed an oxygen mask over your face, the world spinning around you.

While you were fighting for your own life, Han wandered the city, replaying your argument in his head. At first, he felt justified—you’d been overwhelming lately, hadn’t you? But as the minutes stretched into hours, guilt started creeping in. You weren’t clingy; you trusted him enough to lean on him when things got tough. And he’d thrown that trust back in your face.

He turned toward the apartment, ready to apologize, when he saw smoke curling into the sky. His heart stopped.

“No. No, no, no,” he whispered, breaking into a sprint.

The fire was massive, consuming the upper floors of the building—your floor. His lungs burned as he ran, panic rising with every step. By the time he reached the scene, fire trucks and ambulances surrounded the complex.

“Y/N!” he shouted, shoving through the crowd of evacuees. “Have you seen Y/N?”

No one answered. He called your name again, louder this time, his voice cracking. His legs felt like they might give out, his thoughts racing to every worst-case scenario.

Finally, he spotted you in the back of an ambulance. Relief hit him so hard that he nearly collapsed.

“Y/N!” he cried, rushing to your side.

You looked up, your face pale but alive, the oxygen mask resting on your lap. “You came back,” you said hoarsely.

Han dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands shaking as he reached for yours. “I—I thought—I thought I lost you,” he stammered, tears streaming down his face. “I’m so sorry. I never should have left. I was selfish, and I was wrong. I’m so, so sorry.”

You stared at him for a moment, your expression unreadable. Finally, you pulled the mask down, your voice trembling. “You called me clingy, Han. You left me when I needed you most. Do you know how much that hurt?”

His face crumpled. “I know. I was an idiot. I didn’t mean it—I was overwhelmed, and I took it out on you. But I’ll never do that again. I swear. You mean everything to me, Y/N. Everything.”

Your lip trembled, tears welling up in your eyes. “You made me feel like I didn’t matter to you. Like I was just… too much.”

Han cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “You’re not too much. You’ll never be too much. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you if I have to. I’m so sorry.”

For a moment, you hesitated, the pain still fresh in your chest. But the sincerity in his eyes—the fear, the guilt, the love—broke down your walls. You nodded slowly, leaning into his touch.

“Okay,” you whispered. “But it’s going to take time.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his hands steadying as he held you close. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here.”

That night, you stayed together in your apartement, after making sure you were all right at the hospital, the weight of the day still heavy but no longer unbearable. Han didn’t let go of you for a second, whispering soft reassurances until your eyes closed.

You weren’t sure how long it would take to heal, but as you drifted off, you knew one thing: Han was willing to try.

@intartaruginha @hannamoon143 @omgsecretsecret @inlovewithstraykids @whoa-jo @madirye062 @vixensss @sseawavee @emilyywhyy @halfwinterhalfuniverse @velvetmoonlght @flourishmoon

[p0orbaby]

can you do a little blurb for leah taking care of reader, they went to skii and reader broke her leg it happened to me but luckily i just sprained it😭

-

The house is too quiet, save for the hum of the kettle in the kitchen and the faint creak of Leah padding back and forth across the wooden floors. She’s muttering under her breath, something about how tea cures everything. You’re not convinced. You’re sprawled on the couch like a tragic heroine in a Victorian novel, one leg elevated and encased in an obscene amount of plaster.

You hadn’t even wanted to go skiing. Leah had insisted. “It’ll be fun,” she’d said. “You’ll love it.” And like an idiot, you believed her.

Now, you’re convinced the only thing skiing is good for is humiliation and orthopaedic bills.

“I brought you tea,” Leah announces, placing a mug on the table in front of you with all the delicacy of a bomb disposal expert. She doesn’t sit immediately. Instead, she hovers, hands on hips, like she’s waiting for a thank you that isn’t coming.

You glance at the tea. “I can’t reach it”

Leah sighs dramatically, though you notice the corner of her mouth twitch. “Do you want me to get you a straw?”

“Maybe”

She rolls her eyes but picks up the mug and holds it to your lips like you’re a baby bird. It’s both endearing and mildly infuriating. “You’re so helpless,” she says, but there’s no malice in it.

“I wouldn’t be if someone hadn’t convinced me to strap two planks to my feet and hurl myself down a mountain”

Leah snorts, setting the mug down again. “You were barely off the beginner slope”

“It was steep”

“It was a mild incline,” she counters, but there’s warmth in her voice now, a teasing lilt that makes you want to argue just for the sake of it.

You glare at her, though it’s half-hearted. “You’re enjoying this”

“Not the part where you got hurt,” she says quickly, sitting on the edge of the couch and brushing a strand of hair from your face. “But maybe the part where you have to rely on me for everything”

“Don’t get used to it”

“Oh, I’m treasuring every moment,” she says, her grin infuriatingly smug.

You groan and let your head fall back against the cushions. “I hate this. I can’t do anything. I can’t even wee without help”

“That’s not true,” Leah says brightly. “You managed just fine this morning”

“Only because you held the crutches steady”

“Which I did brilliantly, by the way,” she adds, leaning back and crossing her arms like she’s expecting applause.

You roll your eyes. “Saint Leah of the Crutches. Patron saint of poor, unfortunate souls”

“Exactly.” She reaches for the remote and switches on the TV, flipping aimlessly through channels before settling on a repeat of Bake Off. “You know,” she says, nudging your uninjured foot, “this isn’t so bad. It’s like a little staycation. Except instead of a spa, we’ve got NHS-issued painkillers and bad daytime telly”

You don’t dignify that with a response, choosing instead to stare mournfully at the leg that’s become both a burden and a punchline.

Leah glances at you, her teasing dimming slightly. “Hey,” she says softly. “You’ll be back to normal soon. And then you can tell everyone how brave you were”

“Brave,” you repeat flatly. “I cried when the paramedic cut my ski trousers”

“They were really nice trousers,” she agrees.

“Expensive, too”

“Don’t worry,” Leah says, and there’s that twinkle in her eye again. “I’ll buy you new ones. And maybe some knee pads. Or a bubble wrap suit”

You huff a laugh despite yourself. “You’re annoying”

“But alas, you still love me,” she says, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to your temple.

You can’t argue with that, so you don’t. Instead, you let her settle beside you, her arm slung around your shoulders, and together you watch Paul Hollywood critique someone’s soggy bottom.