#and it's all come along so well in my head

[moonstruckme]

oh my gosh ¹⁴⁾ trying to cope with a fever during a heatwave with poly wolfstar sounds like the ultimate summer comfort fic 💕 remus would be so good at taking care of u, and sirius would be soooo dramatic in solidarity 💖🌸

Thanks lovely <3

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 713 words

Remus comes home from work to find your flat a cave. There are signs of life in the living room, displaced pillows and a blanket looking cast aside, but your home is eerily silent. He discovers the cause in your bedroom: you and Sirius, looking like you never left bed in the first place. 

Every curtain is pulled shut, but some daylight prevails, casting the two of you in shades of grey where you lay in your pajamas atop the bedsheets. You’re spread out in every direction, clearly asleep, whereas Sirius seems to be occupying himself simply with looking at you. He glances up as Remus enters. 

“Hi,” Remus whispers. “When did you get home?” 

“Never left,” Sirius replies softly. He nods to you, taking a piece of your hair idly between his fingers. “She’s sick.” 

A quiet, doting, oh drops from Remus’ lips. He sets down his bag and comes to the edge of the bed. “With what? Since this morning?” 

Sirius nods as Remus eases himself onto the mattress beside you. There’s a flannel laid across your forehead. “She said she wasn’t feeling well when she woke up, just after you left. Seems like a cold or something. Wicked fever, though.” 

You shift a bit, their voices evidently causing you to rouse. Remus takes the opportunity to lift the flannel, lying the backs of his fingers across your brow. You are terribly warm. 

Your eyes open lazily. “Hey,” you mumble. 

Remus can’t help but smile. “Hi.” 

“Did you…” You stretch, groaning. “Is work done already? How was your day?” 

His chest aches with fondness. “It was good, sweetheart. What about you? You’re not feeling well?” 

Your lips pull down into a frown. Remus represses a cooish, pitying sound he knows you’ll hate. “My head hurts.” 

He tuts. “We’ll have to do something about that, then.” 

“We have,” Sirius chimes in. He sounds slightly offended. “Exhibit A: warm flannel.” 

“Right.” Remus leans over you to give him a kiss, conciliating. “Thank you, love. What about paracetamol?” 

Sirius hums proudly. “Had it.” 

“Perfect.” Remus takes the flannel from your head, smoothing away some damp baby hairs. “I think we’ll probably trade this out for a cooler one until our temperature comes down, alright?” 

Sirius frowns at this, but you sigh, shifting again like you’re trying to find a cool inch of bedspace. 

“I’m really hot,” you admit. 

“Aw, baby, we know.” Sirius takes your hand, kissing the back. “Good that you’re getting wise to it, though. We bemoan how hot you are all the time.” 

That coaxes a tired smile out of you. Remus has to imagine you really are sweltering. This time of day in the summer, your un-air-conditioned flat is usually at its warmest; it’ll take a few hours to cool off, and the effects are undoubtedly worse when you’re already suffering a fever. 

Remus feels along your face and the back of your neck contemplatively while Sirius coos at you. You seem in a strange enough mood to indulge him, the two of you going back and forth in low, murmuring tones. Remus knows his hands aren’t cold, but you act as though they are. You sigh quietly each time he moves his touch to a new place. 

“How would you feel about having a cold bath?” he asks after a while. 

You look up at him, your eyebrows raised slightly. “That actually sounds kind of nice.” 

Sirius hisses through his teeth. “Yikes, babe. That’s how you know it’s really bad.” 

Remus hides a smile. “Maybe Sirius will even get in there with you, yeah? Would that be nice?” 

“Oh.” You’re well aware of Remus’ game, but you play along, turning your eyes up to your other boyfriend sweetly. “That would be really nice. Would you, please?” 

Sirius’ eyes narrow. “You’re both terribly, undeservedly cruel to me,” he says, looking between you. “But if it’ll actually make you feel better, I’ll do it.” 

“Awe.” Your lips stretch into a syrupy smile as you roll over, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “That’s so sweet. Thank you, baby.” 

Sirius pats your back, a smug uptilt to his mouth. “Yeah, well, I’m a giver.” But after a moment his brows furrow, the smirk slipping. “Does this mean you do want me to?”

[superhoeva]

the thought of walsh and abbott both getting possessive over reader at work and the both of them competing while double domming reader after they're all off is driving me insane

(i think you've opened pandora's box...)

When your name tumbles from their lips at the same time, all you can do is freeze.

“C’mere for a sec, kid. Got a good one for ya.” Jack is the first to start again, B-lining for where you stand at a monitor, ten seconds-post finishing a chart for your latest patient. “Guy in 18 has a–”

“Actually, I need you with me. Single GS incoming, six minutes out,” Walsh appears on the other side of your shoulders, clenching her hand together to keep her from grabbing your arm like she so desperately desires.

Pursing your lips, you keep your eyes on the screen. You end up kicking yourself in the inside when you can’t find anything to make it look like you’re busy.

“Well, sorry, Dr. Walsh but she’s coming with me,” Jack declares, making sure to soften his face with a quick smile when he nods his head at you to follow. “Gotta reattach the tip of an index finger, want you gloved up so I can talk you through the suture–”

“Too bad. I need her with me in Trauma. Have Parker do it, she could handle that with her eyes closed. Easy.”

“Parker’s busy, and this is a good learning opportunity for the kid. Or have you forgotten we’re a teaching hospital, Dr. Walsh?”

“She can learn just as much from a GSW as she can from a replantation.”

“You sure about that one?”

“Hey,” you breathe out, moving to step in between where the two are starting to unconsciously tug toward one another. You even throw a little frown at them but it probably looks like more of a pout because you hate when they get like this–and you know they know you hate it when they get like this. “Really, you guys? Right here?”

A handful of thick seconds pass. Finally–

“...come on.”

“...let’s move.”

Huffing, you drop your arms and toss an annoyed glare at the ceiling. “Fuck me.”

“Fuck me…” you whisper out, flinching when Emery circles a drenched tongue around your clit at a whine-indcucing pace. You squirm against Jack’s front, who doesn't stop the sloppy kisses he pressing just below your ear when he tightens his grip around you. “Ah.”

“Thought y-you all we’re supposed to be–shit–making up f-for earlier,” you whimper, “not this.”

“Should’ve had me go first. Would’a let you come on my tongue at least three times by now, doll.”

“Oh, I think you spent your fair share of time down here yesterday afternoon,” Emery smacks along your slit, hand squeezing at the plush of your thighs as she sends a cutting look past you toward Jack. He meets the sharp gaze, sending a just-as-piercing leer while his teeth move to nibble at your jaw. “Could still taste her when you kissed me before work. You should fucking shave, by the way.”

Just as Jack hurries to rebut, Emery sucks at you clit with enough force to wail a moan from you loud enough to cover Abbot’s rasp. He rolls his eyes at the two of you even though his cock jumps at the sound and the sight.

“Can someone please just fuck me?”

A little of the tension melts, Jack and Emery sharing a small quirk of the lips.

Dragging her lips up your body, Walsh hangs over you and Jack in a close hover. She bends a little, sharing a long snog with Jack before pulling away and turning to you.

“We’re sorry, baby,” she coos, cupping your cheeks and bending to kiss your lips. You feel Jack breathing deep behind you as her tongue swipes across yours. Giving you one last peck, she pulls away with a quick wink that only you can see before helping Jack shift you against him. “Got her?”

“Yeah. You set, hun?”

A genuine smile ghosts across Emery’s mouth, and she stares at you and Jack. Chest warming, she hums out an easy mhm. 

“You?”

Jack grins at Emery, pecking a kiss to your shoulder just before lacing his fingers with the woman at your front. “Never better, baby.”

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[misctf]

Safe Space Spray

Owen picked up his phone and dialed Jake's number as he drove along the winding country road leading to Jake's family cabin. The warm southern sun beat down through the windshield while classic rock played softly from the speakers. After a few rings, Jake answered.

“Well hey there partner!” Jake's cheerful voice came through the speaker. “How far ya'll out?”

“Not too much longer now,” Owen replied, his deep southern drawl rolling through each word, “I reckon 'bout thirty minutes tops. That fishing hole better be swimmin' with catfish like you said!”

“My mama didn’t raise no liar.” Jake replied, his hearty laugh echoing over the phone.

Owen smiled. This was gonna be the best fishin’ trip yet. As the call continued, Owen kept his eyes on the road ahead, the vast expanse of rural landscape stretching out before him. Suddenly, something caught his eye- a small figure standing beside a broken-down vehicle on the shoulder.

“Aw shucks, looks like some fella's car done gone and quit on 'im.” Owen muttered to himself as he slowed his truck, “Jake, I reckon I’ll be by later. I’m gonna see if I can lend a hand.”

Owen pulled his pickup truck over onto the gravelly shoulder behind the stranded vehicle. He removed his hat and ran a hand through his short brown hair and approached the man hunched over the open hood.

“Howdy there! Looks like you're havin' some trouble with your ride. Name's Owen, I'm pretty handy with fixin' things if you need a lendin' hand.” He called out in his friendly drawl.

The stranger, a slender young man with styled blonde hair, whirled around. His eyes widened in surprise and apprehension as he took in Owen's appearance. The twink's hands shook slightly as he reached into his pocket and aimed what looked like a small spray bottle directly at Owen.

“I-I don't want any trouble!” the blonde stammered, his voice high-pitched with anxiety.

Before Owen could react, the twink pressed down on the trigger, unleashing a fine mist across his handsome face and chest. Owen blinked and coughed, shaking his head slightly as droplets hit his face and clothes. It didn’t sting or burn. It felt like water.

“The hell was that for?” Owen demanded, his brow furrowing in confusion and annoyance, “I ain't here to cause you no harm, bud. Just tryin' to help.”

“I-I'm sorry!” The twink squeaked, “Around here, you don't know what kind of people you'll run into.”

Owen sighed heavily, wiping his brow, “Listen here, I understand yer cautious. But I promise you, I mean no ill intent. Let me take a look at yer car, see if I can get 'er runnin' again.”

The blonde hesitated briefly before nodding, “Okay... I guess that would be okay. Thank you.” He stepped aside, allowing Owen access to the vehicle.

As Owen popped the hood, he furrowed his brow in concentration, his large hands working deftly under the hood. However, he found himself growing increasingly clumsy and uncoordinated, fumbling with tools he'd handled with ease a hundred times before.

“I swear...” he muttered, his words coming out slightly slurred, “This oughta be a cinch for me...”

He fumbled with the engine components, his large hands suddenly feeling clumsy and unfamiliar. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he struggled to focus. Just then, the twink appeared at his side, holding out a bottled water.

“Here, you must be thirsty after all this work.”

Without thinking, Owen took the bottle and chirped in an impossibly high, effeminate voice, “Thanks sis!”

Owen froze, his eyes widening as the words left his mouth. A wave of dizziness washed over him and he gripped the edge of the car hood for support. Shaking his head, he tried to push the strange moment from his mind.

“Uh, thanks kindly.” he mumbled, taking a long swig of water to cover his embarrassment.

He turned back to the engine, determined to finish the repair quickly so he could be on his way.

With renewed focus (and a touch more difficulty), Owen worked to diagnose and fix the issue. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he stepped back as the engine roared to life.

“There ya go, as good as new!” He grinned at Paul, wiping his hands on a rag.

As Owen straightened up and turned to face Paul fully, he couldn't help but really notice the younger man for the first time. Paul's delicate features, stylish hair, and slim physique suddenly seemed incredibly appealing. Their eyes locked- Paul’s deep blue captivating Owen’s. Owen felt an unfamiliar flutter in his chest and his dick stir ever so slightly in his increasingly tighter jeans.

“You've been an absolute lifesaver.” Paul gushed, flashing Owen a dazzling smile. He stepped closer, the two now the same height. Owen could’ve sworn he had been taller, “If you ever find yourself in the city, call me. I'd love to thank you properly.” He slipped a piece of paper into Owen’s pocket with a playful wink.

Owen felt a flush creep up his neck at the suggestive tone. He cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure despite the odd sensations still tingling through his body.

“Ah, well, just doin' what any decent fella would do.”

Owen watched as Paul slid gracefully into his car, the movement highlighting the pert curve of his ass. He swallowed thickly, his heart pounding for reasons he couldn't quite explain. As Paul drove away, Owen looked down and saw the discarded can that Paul sprayed him with earlier.

“He must’ve forgotten it.” Owen frowned inspecting the strange bottle, “Safe Space Spray... what in the world...” He chuckled, “I reckon I’ll get it to ‘em when I see ‘em next.” He paused, “What the hell am I thinkin’. I ain’t seein’ him again...”

But he wasn’t sure he could even convince himself. He wanted to see him again... Owen shook his head and placed the can in his pocket before climbing back into his own truck. With a sigh, he reached for the ignition but recoiled at the sight of his hand.

“What in the...”

Owen stared at his hand in shock, noting the slight tremor and how it almost seemed to have lost some of its natural ruggedness. His callouses... gone. His nails... well-manicured. Alarmed, he gripped the steering wheel tightly and peeled out, speeding towards Jake's cabin with an urgency he couldn't explain. As he drove, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he noticed his hair looked shaggier, his facial features softening.

“What in tarnation is happenin' to me?” he muttered, his voice cracking slightly. He tried to rationalize it, blaming stress or exhaustion, but he knew it was something more.

Just then, he squirmed in his seat as his ass inflated, his previously snug jeans straining against the growing mounds. And with each bump in the road, Owen stifled a moan as jolts of unfamiliar pleasure rushed through his groin.

“No, no, no... Oh my GAWD!” He whimpered, cringing at the loss of his rich Southern drawl- replaced now by words colored by a nasally, high-pitched timbre, “Like... this is totally not okay!”

Owen finally arrived at Jake's cabin, tires screeching as he parked haphazardly. He stumbled out of the truck, trying to balance himself given his now fat ass. He can hear Jake outside, gathering wood for a bonfire and he bites his tongue before sauntering towards the door.

“I-I have to get inside... hide this from Jake...” He whimpered, “How... why is this...?” His eyes widen, “The spray!” He squealed, “I need to like... totally wash this off!”

Owen practically sprinted to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. With trembling hands, he began tearing at his clothes, buttons flying as he stripped. He stood naked in front of the mirror, hardly recognizing the reflection staring back at him.

His once broad shoulders had narrowed, his pecs shrinking into perky little mounds with cute pink nipples. Below, his six-pack had melted away, leaving behind a smooth, hairless torso. And between his legs... Owen gasped, covering his mouth as he saw the nub that had once been his proud cock.

“Oh em gee...” He whined, “I'm like... a total twink now!” Tears pricked at his eyes as he reached for the shower knob with slender fingers. Steam billowed out as he stepped under the hot spray, hoping the water might somehow reverse these changes.

Owen lathered up a loofah, scrubbing at his skin vigorously. To his horror, he watched clumps of any remaining dark body hair rinse away down the drain, leaving behind silky smooth flesh. Scars and rough patches vanished, his complexion becoming flawlessly soft and clear.

“Eep!” He yelped as his hands brushed lower, encountering the plush globes of his ass. They seemed to swell and expand with every passing second, growing rounder and fuller until they were each easily a handful. Owen couldn't resist giving them a tentative squeeze, marveling at their suppleness- imagining another man playing with them.

A breathy moan escaped his increasingly plumper lips as he kneaded the doughy cheeks, sending sparks of pleasure radiating through his core- thoughts of muscular men squeezing his ass filled his head.

“Oh fuck yes.... I wonder...” Curiosity got the better of him as he inserted a digit inside his virgin hole. It stretched deliciously around the intrusion and Owen saw stars, his neglected cock weeping steadily. He pumped the finger faster, soon adding a second, then a third, “Oh.... Ohhhhhhh....” He moaned, his eyes rolling up into the back of his head, “I'm... I'm gonna... cum!”

Owen let out a long moan as his entire body seized and his orgasm crashed over him like a tidal wave. He slumped to the shower’s floor, his eyes half-lidded and glazed over. After a few moments of basking in his post-orgasm bliss, the new twink slowly stood up and exited the shower. He walked over to his bed and collapsed- the day’s events exacting their toll on him.

“What the hell!?” Owen looked up- a shocked expression gracing his cute features.

“J-Jake! I... um...It’s me! It’s Owen!” Owen stammered, his voice pitching higher than normal. He made no attempt to cover himself, proud now to flaunt his assets. And besides, why had he never noticed how sexy Jake was before?

Jake's jaw dropped, his eyes bulging as he took in the shocking sight before him. There were few, if any similarities between him and his friend. But there were enough.

“Holy shit, Owen?! What happened to you?”

Owen's eyes lit up as a mischievous grin spread across his glossy lips, “Oh sweetie, you wouldn't believe the wild ride I've been on!” He giggled.

Reaching over to the pile of discarded clothes, he fished out the mysterious spray can. Jake looked at his friend, and then to the can, and then back up to his friend.

“Wha...”

Without warning, Owen pressed down on the trigger, unleashing another fine mist straight into Jake's stunned, handsome face...

[cardansangel]

TALK TO ME, BOY ──── s. reid

(🪩) ─── who needs google when your boyfriend alr knows everything? ⌗ fluff. long nights. writer! reader. caffeine addict! reader (me core). loser (affectionate). temple kisses asdfghjkl. sleep-ridden.

talk talk ✶ vv short. consider this me joining the spencer reid cult,, also inspired by this + now you know why this is my search history. @spcherryygirl, this one's for you.

you scrolled through your manuscript. the murder mystery novel you were writing now sat at a clean number of 193,540 words, a mess of metaphors and pronouns and everything in between, all fueled with late-night coffee and of course, help from your boyfriend.

pushing aside limp hair from your forehead, you squinted at the words that had now begun to turn into jelly on the too bright screen. sleep was calling, beckoning to you with outstretched arms. you refused stubbornly and swigged down the remnants of your caffeine.

the time at the corner of your laptop read 2:47 am.

a choked yawn left your lips, but you pushed on. "spence." you swivelled your chair around, facing the brunet who lay sprawled out on the chaise lounge. his eyes peeked at you from behind his glasses and he cocked his head, inviting you to continue.

"at what temperature do bones turn to ash?"

"extremely high temperatures; temperatures typically need to reach between 1400°F to 1800°F, or 760°C to 982°C." he didn't hesitate in his words, nor pause to ask why you required such information; he'd retired from that.

you jotted his words down on a sticky note, humming a thanks.

spencer was behind you in one fluid motion, draping his arms around your hunched body and resting his chin atop your head. "you should get rest. i promise you, your work won't disintegrate if you take a much-needed break."

his words earned him a pinch, as well as a sharp "no" from you.

"that was uncalled for, angel," he mumbled, the words pressing into your hair. "so was your opinion," you jibed back, clicking and clacking away at the keys like your life depended on the words that you wrote.

he laughed, the only happy sound in your otherwise entirely monotonous life.

"how's it coming along?"

"well, the main character hasn't yet found the note in her locker, which is a HUGE turning point in my story, and i'm not too sure what to exactly do with-"

you trailed off, furrowing your eyebrows at the sappy look in spencer's eyes. his brown eyes, like melted chocolate was contained in those depths, were flecked with amusement.

you mouthed the words "idiot" and flicked his forehead, turning your back to him. your fingers hovered the keys and you began to type out again. but it was no use. writer's block had seized you again and you were sure you'd need more than two hours of sleep if you wanted to make any progress tomorrow.

begrudgingly, you closed your tabs and folded your laptop. you felt spencer snicker at your back, felt his arms tighten around you. he brushed his lips along your forehead. he prodded at the airbuds in your ears, tugging them off. "you should come sleep."

with one last longing look at your laptop, you obliged, scrambling to your feet.

"atta girl."

© cardansangel 2025

[gatorbites-imagines]

I know I'm a freak. I know 😔. BUT hear me out PLEASE🙏

Powerful superhero male reader right? But he's an omega, and he doesn't know it. So like, when he first goes into heat he's confused, hormonal, territorial, and angry. Just generally aggressive. And Mark has kinda corraled him away from the city so he doesn't destroy it any further.

Like, imagine this naked angry man dripping all types of fluid that you already had a crush on is glaring at you like you're his next meal.

Next thing Mark knows he's on the floor being torn up by bites and being ridden till he can't even think. Crying a snotting cus he really can't take it anymore.

- the freakiest

Mark Grayson x Homelander!male reader 

I went on a bit of a tangent soooo,,,, more under the cut 

I had like... Homelander!Reader in my head for this, except hes like, stronger than normal Homelander and able to keep up with viltrumites. The GDA or government seem like the kinda people to grow a whole person to keep as a weapon. And it all worked out, in the beginning, when you were a young child or teen trying to please the adults in your life. 

Maybe you're on a more... normal overpowered level, so the suppressors the government and GDA pumps you full of work perfectly, even when you start becoming more unstable and show less regard for life and humanity, outside of need for fame and attention. 

Homelander!Reader would hate Mark when he first shows up. Hed have hated Nolan too, but with Mark it's even worse cuz Nolan has been around for so long, and here Mark is showing up. Homelander!Reader does his whole, very fake acting, it's so obvious he wishes Mark would explode on the spot. 

Perhaps Homelander!Reader grows stronger with age, which starts making the GDA and government antsy, because he's becoming harder to control. And they are finally realizing, that huh, raising a child in a lab with no family or contact, kinda makes an unstable and unpredictable killing machine. 

It also means Readers body is growing stronger and resistant, and it ends up with him burning through the suppressors, probably during a fight with Mark. The suppressors would have been slowly wearing off with time, making Homelander!Reader even more unstable and snappy, until his full-blown heat comes through. 

His scent would be questionable at best, not very omega in flavor. All those years of straight up torture under the GDA and government will do that, along with all the killing and hate in his body. Its sour, metallic like blood and gore, but also too sweet, like artificial candy, the kind that makes you dizzy from how strong it is, but it makes Mark salivate. 

At least Homelander!Reader is easy to corral because he's so angry and controlled by his secondary gender and biology, stuff he's never felt before. Mark, being a genius, would try to use his scent to calm the very powerful feral omega down, only works to mark Homelander!Reader start drooling and frothing at the mouth. 

All that hate Homelander!Reader has leads to the wildest hate- and lust fueled heat. Reader obviously doesn't have a nest, and doesn't even have an apartment that's his own, so the two end up holing up in some hole somewhere, far away from everything. 

Mark would think he just needs to calm Homelander!Reader down, until he starts huffing Marks scent and rubbing on him. And Mark? Well, he's a freak by nature you know, so Reader staring down at him with glowing red eyes and gushing slick? Mark would never have survived. 

Poor Mark assuming he can keep up with Homelander!Reader cuz he's a viltrumite, only for Mark to be sucked dry like a caprisun, panting and seeing double from dehydration. Mark ends up with scratches and bites all over his body, unlike Reader who doesn't bruise. Only reason Reader doesn't mark our dear Mark is because he's just too obsessed with his knot to do so, and cuz he's never really thought about it. 

Now I got the mental image of Mark trying to cover himself cuz his knot just aches from being used so many times, and Homelander!Reader, still halfway feral, feels bad, like instinctively. So, he shuffles down and does his best attempt at an omega purr, something that sounds kinda like rocks in a tumbler because he's never purred before. And as he purrs Reader nuzzles and kisses Marks knot and stomach. 

Something about this feral rut/heat makes them realize feelings, and the relationship wouldn't be perfect in the beginning, probably wouldn't for a long time, but they get better with time. 

Reader is the worst omega in the world, even after his heat passes. Hes selfish, mean, still could not give a shit about those he sees as beneath him, but... he likes Mark now. Mark scents him and nibbles on his scent gland when they're alone. His teeth can't actually pierce it (Yet, emperor Mark could, trust), but it always gets that choppy ugly purr going. 

Imagine Homelander!Reader trying to nest and it's like a pigeon nest... its so ugly and uncomfortable, but Mark is supportive. Like, he will lay in the pile of hay, knitting needles and tarps and be all “omg babeee, such a pretty nest, thank youuu”, even if hes laying on the floor. It makes him chuff when Homelander!Reader lets out his own little shy omega noises at the praise. 

[livelaughlou]

in the now-post ep for 8x18

Here I am, back again! Couldn't just let that go, now could I?

bucktommy - rating: teen

spoilers for 8x18: Seismic Shifts

He sees his fifth place in a row and feels more dejected than ever, and he didn't think that was possible. When he pulls into Eddie's driveway to crash on his couch again, he very literally stops short when he sees a very familiar truck parked next to Eddie's rental.

"What?" he asks softly to himself as her gets out and makes his way into the house to hear faint laughter coming from the kitchen. He looks around at all the boxes surrounding his makeshift bed on the couch and sighs.

"In here, Buck!" Eddie calls so Buck follows his voice, sees Eddie, Chris and...he exhales slowly, Tommy standing around the island.

"Hi Evan," Tommy says with a soft smile.

"Hi," Buck says stupidly. "Not that I'm not glad to see you, but what are you doing here?"

"That would be my fault," Eddie explains, holding up a hand. "After your fifth text lamenting the state of the LA housing market, I called him. Now, I know you haven't talked since before the...well, before. But I made an executive decision."

"He has a spare room," Chris pipes up.

"I do," Tommy says. "And you're welcome to it, of course."

"But-"

"I'm kicking you off my couch, Buck," Eddie says good-naturedly. "You're too good for it. And...well, I thought I owed you after the ass I've been."

"You've apologized," Buck says, still in a daze at Tommy standing in front of him, offering him a place to live with such a soft look on his face that Buck wants to kiss him about it. The ache of missing him is mixed with the ache of missing Bobby these days, but he's not been sure what to do about it after asking him to be a pallbearer then ghosting him.

"I know," Eddie answers. "But you guys gotta get your shit together, okay? You're both pining and you won't admit it."

"Because you're idiots," Chris offers as he scrolls on his phone.

"Christopher!" Eddie scolds lightly. "But also, yes, that. We'll leave you guys to talk. Chris, ice cream?"

"Yeah!"

Buck watches them leave and turns to Tommy, who's got his hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans, a move that Buck had learned means he's anxious and doesn't know what to do with his hands.

"Hi," he says again.

Tommy laughs a little. "How are you?"

Buck shrugs. "I'm. Well. I'm...you know, I don't know."

"That's fair," Tommy says. "I've been the same. I wanted to reach out, but I just didn't know if you wanted me to."

Buck sighs. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Tommy insists. "I understand. And...look, if you don't want to do this, I understand that too, but I do want to offer you a place. No hotels or crappy couches, I've got a perfectly good bed."

Buck remembers. He tilts his head, regards him carefully. "In your spare bedroom?"

Tommy rolls his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip as he considers his next words. "Yeah," he says finally. "Like we said. I have a spare bedroom."

Buck remembers that 'and for you' in vivid detail. "Because...because you want to do it for me."

"Evan, you call, I come running. Even by proxy in this case. You know that by now," Tommy says softly, coming closer, close enough that Buck can feel his body heat, remember how it felt when Tommy would get this close before sliding his arms around him without hesitation. Buck wants that. He's wanted a lot.

Maybe it's time to go for it.

So he closes the space between them, wraps his arms around Tommy's waist. Tommy doesn't hesitate and Buck breathes in relief as he's enveloped in a familiar embrace, like putting on his favorite sweater, or wrapped up by his favorite person.

"I miss you," Tommy says, pressing a kiss to the side of Buck's head. "I miss you so much."

Buck closes his eyes against a wave of tears. "Me too," he mumbles to the side of Tommy's neck. "What if I don't want to sleep in the spare bedroom?"

Tommy wraps his arms around him even tighter. "You can have whatever you want."

"You," Buck answers. This he knows. This is the only thing he's sure about right now. "I want you."

Tommy laughs, all sweet affection. "You got me."

"And if I'm still a mess? I have a tendency to break out in tears whenever I remember Bobby's gone," Buck admits.

"We can be messes together?" Tommy offers, leaning back far enough to cup his wet face in his hands.

Oh, Buck realizes. There are the tears. Figures. Tommy's wiping them away with his thumbs.

"I can't do this without you anymore," Tommy continues. "I'm sorry I ever thought I could."

"You're here now." Buck leans his forehead against Tommy's. "I'm good with that."

[jyn-mother-fucking-andor]

Thinking a lot about the ending of Andor and my own little head canons.

Honestly, the more I sit with it the more I think that both things can be true in that Cassian loved Bix but also is at peace with how they left things. Of course he misses her. Of course he thinks about her. Of course he wonders what their life could have been. And yet, once she’s gone, he just seems so much lighter.

There’s no question that they loved each other deeply and that he was devastated when she left. How she left. But ultimately so much of their relationship was him “saving” her or trying to protect her from the empire, from her trauma, from herself. The poor man was exhausted and was desperately clinging to the idea of a life with her that he couldn’t see the life they actually had. How isolated they were together, even on Yavin 4. While I take some issue with the way Bix left him, the “I’ll wait for you” speech, and the pregnancy… I’m grateful that she took that step back. Sometimes the most profound act of love towards another person is to let them go. She loved Cassian but I think she was also honest with herself about what their relationship had become. That ultimately they were not in a space to be healthy together.

When we see Cassian about two years or so after she’s gone, he’s more relaxed than we’ve seen him in the entirety of when they were together. He has built a little life for himself, a community, a home on Yavin 4. Maybe isn’t exactly what he envisioned, but it’s the life he needs. Sure, he’s lonely but he also just seems to be at peace. When Vel tells him to reach out to Bix, he shrugs. He says maybe but it feels like he’s saying no. Why? Because he’s moved on! He’s finally feeling like he can let her go, that their story is over. I’m sure he still has love for her but it’s shifted into something else and he’s found peace with her on his own way.

Then Jyn comes along.

She’s so different from Bix and yet the love she feels and the heart she brings to the rebellion reawakens something in Cassian. Hope was fading away, then there she was, bringing it home. It knocks the wind out of him and you can see it in every look he gives her. He’s impressed and terrified and transfixed. She’s a walking hurricane and yet she’s his mirror. She’s the echo in his shadow. Jyn’s the partner he needs to make that last push against the rebellion. As Luthen said, they burn for a sunrise they’ll never see and it’s a beautiful thing that they can hold each other when the end does come.

In that final scene, we learn Bix’s fate and see that she also found a home and community as well. She gets to take solace in knowing that in making the choice for her and Cassian, she saved him in a way. She saved herself. She finally found her peace. I like to think she met someone and that they reignite something she felt was long gone or that she’d never have after Cassian. I hope she was able to move on too and that they help her raise her baby and that she feels seen and cared for and loved. Of course she’ll tell her child about their father and the legacy he left behind with the rebellion. But at the same time, I have no doubt that that child will grow up in a better world because Bix left.

Who knows, maybe if the Rogue One team had lived, maybe Cassian and Bix would have reconnected? Maybe. Maybe not. But I like to think that if they had, it would be as friends. Sure, their family wouldn’t be the most conventional and there would undoubtedly be some awkwardness in the beginning, but they’d find their way. They’d co-parent and I do honestly believe that Jyn and Bix would have a lot of respect for one another and would be great friends. Jyn would love that child like her own and would be a bad ass step mom.

All this to say, at its core, Rogue One and Andor (pretty much all of Star Wars for that matter) is all about hope. Hope through rebellion. Hope through friendship. Hope through love in all forms.

[mandarinmoons]

Too Close for Comfort

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gender neutral reader Summary: Being stuck in a closet with your best friend evokes some feelings you hadn't felt before, leaving you both confused and questioning where you stand Words: 877 Warnings: None A/N: This is my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins "Stuck Together Challenge"! It's also my first time taking a part in a writing challenge and I really enjoyed it <3

“Whoa, Emily, careful!”

Emily snickered behind you as she pushed you along to the closet, Morgan trailing behind her while doing the same to Reid. Morgan laughed as Spencer nearly tumbled to the floor because of the force he used to push the lanky man ahead, causing Spencer to huff and regain his balance.

The two of them had been teasing you and Spencer for a while over how close you both were, constantly telling everyone that you were going on a date whenever they heard you make plans to see each other after work and making kissy faces when they saw you talking to each other during work hours. It was something you could easily brush off, but now it was getting ridiculous.

After a long case, Rossi invited everyone to his place for a get-together and a few hours later, Penelope suggested playing some party games. Of course, Emily and Morgan being the evil geniuses that they are, threw out the idea to play seven minutes in heaven and it ended up with them rigging the game to make sure that you and Reid were stuffed in the closet together. You knew they could be sneaky, but this was hitting a new nerve.

“Have fun!”

Before you had a chance at a comeback, the door was slammed in your face and you and your coworker were surrounded by darkness. Blinking a few times to get used to the lack of light, you saw Spencer awkwardly looking from side to side, taking in his surroundings. To you it seemed as if he was doing his best to avoid eye contact with you, even if you could barely see one another.

“Rossi’s coats seem nice.”

“It’s Rossi, pretty much all of his belongings are imported from Italy.”

Spencer chuckled and lifted his head to catch your gaze. The smiles faded from both of your faces as reality of the situation set in. You were stuck in a cramped closet and the tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife. You didn’t think you could ever feel unease with Spencer, if you were to ask who was the one person you felt most comfortable with your answer would always be him, but something about this situation felt different. It felt as though you hadn’t been this close to him before and it was unearthing some new feelings.

It might have been dark, but there was just enough light coming in from the crack of the door that you could make out the features on his face that you loved so much. The golden hue in his irises, the crows feet surrounding his eyes whenever he squinted, it was the things that came to mind at first whenever you thought of him. Why were you thinking of him this way?

“This was not what I meant when I said I wanted to be closer to you.”

“Oh really, genius, what did you have in mind then?”

“I don’t know, sitting beside you on the couch while we watched a movie?”

“Yeah and then have Emily and Morgan poke fun at us again throughout the film.”

“Well that certainly sounds better than being stuck here.”

“It’s only for seven minutes!”

“You never know if they decide to “forget us” in here.”

“That does sound like something they would do.”

Faced with the fact that your coworkers might play a prank and keep you locked up for longer, you sat on the ground to be more comfortable and Spencer followed suit. As he sat down, the tip of his shoe hit yours and you nudged him back gently, making each other chuckle by continuing the action.

“You know behaviour like this is what makes them tease us.”

“I know but it’s hard not to do.”

“What? Not getting on my nerves?”

A chuckle leaving Spencer’s lips again, he moved across the closet so he was now sitting next to you, his shoulder brushing yours and feeling his breath on your face. Your eyes locked once again and the tension felt as strong as before.

As you kept your sight on him the hotter the closet seemed to get. It was hard to look away, you swore you saw Spencer’s pupils dilate and you were arguing with yourself in your head whether it was true or not. 

“Hey Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I um…”

Before Spencer had a chance to finish his sentence, the door unlocked and you winced at the sudden light pooling into the room.

“You two seem comfortable.”

Shaking your head at Emily’s comment, you stood up and offered Spencer a hand, feeling your cheeks heat up feeling how warm his hand was in yours. 

With Emily striding back to the kitchen to the rest of the team, you and Spencer stood there for a moment taking in the situation, holding hands and trying to look away to hide the obvious blush on both of your faces.

“After you.”

Smiling at his manners, you let go of his hand and made your way back to everyone, leaving Spencer to stand by himself for a second, cursing Emily in his head for the intrusion, and for not letting himself finish what he wanted to say.

You can find my masterlists here! Let me know your thoughts in the comments and like & reblog to support <3

[daxisyzz]

Hey there! Love your work and would love to submit a request if that’s alright. I have an idea for a Bucky x reader one shot inspired by his look in Thunderbolts. I love his longer hair coming back, but imagine Bucky having the reader put in hair extensions in his hair so he can have really long hair again instead of waiting for it to grow out? If this idea inspires you to write then I’m so glad but if not don’t feel pressured to write anything. Hope you’re well! :)

heyyy I love this idea!! Sorry for replying late. Here's your little fic. Hope you have a great day<3

Hair Me Out…

Summary: Bucky didn't think he'd miss his long hair — until he sees you casually ordering hair extensions for yourself. Now he needs them too... and you're the poor soul tasked with making it happen. Along the way, he finds a small part of himself that he'd forgotten he still loved.

Word count: 1.1k+

Setting: pre-thunderbolts*, post-tfatws.

Bucky wasn’t even trying to snoop.

Really, he wasn’t.

He was lying across your bed, big and lazy, arms folded behind his head as he listened to you tap away at your laptop, a content little hum coming from your side of the room. Every so often, you’d mutter to yourself or click your tongue in frustration, but otherwise, you were blissfully unaware of his not-so-subtle staring.

“What’re you doing?” he finally asked, lifting his head to look at you.

“Shopping,” you said, clicking a few more times. “Hair stuff. Some skincare junk. You know essentials.”

He hummed, about to close his eyes again, when something bright and silky caught his eye.

You were browsing a site that sold hair extensions — gorgeous, long, flowing locks in every shade imaginable.

Bucky blinked, sitting up a little straighter.

“Wait. Is that for you?” he asked, sounding more interested than he probably should’ve.

You nodded. “Yeah. I wanna try longer hair without committing to, like, years of growing it out.”

He kept staring. At the screen. At you. At the screen again.

Something deep inside him — something he thought he’d buried — stirred.

His own hand went to the ends of his current hair, brushing it lightly. It had been growing out again after a few trims and missions that had demanded ‘uniform standards.’ It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t short.

But it wasn’t his long hair, either.

He missed it.

Missed the way it used to fall in his face, missed the wildness of it, the way it made him feel a little less... polished. Less fake. More himself. More of someone he'd become after losing everything.

“...Can you get me some, too?” he blurted, before he could think better of it.

You paused, hands frozen over your keyboard. “...What?”

He scooted closer, earnestness written all over his stupidly handsome face. “Extensions. Get some for me.”

You turned to stare at him fully, one eyebrow raised. “Bucky. Babe. Love of my life. You are a literal enhanced super soldier and you’re telling me you can’t wait for your hair to grow?”

He pouted actually pouted and tugged lightly at the ends of his hair. “But you’re gonna have long hair and I’m gonna look like a half-baked chia pet.”

You snorted so hard it startled him.

“A chia pet?” you repeated, wheezing.

“A sad one,” he said gravely. “One that needs love.”

You were half-crying, half-laughing now, clutching your stomach. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m serious,” he said, grabbing your hands in both of his big ones, squeezing them like he was proposing marriage. “Doll. I’ll do anything. Just order some for me, too.”

"You'll do anything?" you teased, still wiping tears from your eyes.

"I'll be your personal assistant for a week. I'll clean the kitchen. I'll even let you pick the next five movies we watch. Even if they suck."

You shook your head, grinning like a fool. "Alright, alright, I'll do it. Only because you look so cute."

Bucky whooped and immediately pulled you into his lap, hugging you tight enough to make you squeak. "You're the best. Seriously. I'm gonna look so good."

"You’re gonna look like a prince," you said dryly.

"Prepare to have Sam roast you into oblivion."

"I don’t even care," Bucky said, burying his face in your shoulder. "I want my hair back."

Few Days Later

Bucky was sitting on the floor in front of you, legs crossed, a towel thrown around his shoulders like a cape. You carefully parted his hair, sectioning it and clipping in the silky extensions you had color-matched for him.

He was so still, so obedient, it made you grin.

"You’re a good client," you teased.

"Yeah, well," he said, glancing at you over his shoulder with a smirk. "I gotta be. My stylist’s got very delicate hands."

You rolled your eyes fondly and snapped another clip into place.

As you worked, you caught him sneaking peeks at himself in the mirror watching the longer pieces blend into his real hair and his smile was so genuine, so open, it almost hurt.

By the time you finished, Bucky looked like he'd stepped straight out of 2014 — but softer, happier.

You admired him from a few steps back, a fond warmth blooming in your chest. "You look perfect, Buck."

He preened a little, flipping a lock of hair over his shoulder. "Damn right."

Just then, the door creaked open.

Sam stuck his head in, mouth already open to say something — and froze.

The look of pure, stunned silence on Sam's face was priceless.

You bit your lip hard to hold back a laugh.

"...No," Sam finally said, deadpan. "No. Absolutely not."

Bucky grinned, pure menace. "Hey, bird boy. You like the new look?"

Sam just shook his head slowly. "You look like a dude who lives in a cave and plays the flute for forest animals."

Bucky tossed his newly long hair dramatically. "Jealousy’s an ugly color on you, Wilson."

"I'm sending this to Torres," Sam said immediately, pulling out his phone.

"Traitor!" Bucky shouted, lunging for him.

You laughed so hard you had to sit down, watching Bucky chase Sam down the hall, towel flying like a cape behind him, hair streaming.

After the chaos died down, you found Bucky sitting in front of the bedroom mirror again, just quietly looking at himself.

Not in the playful way from earlier.

Softer. Sadder.

But not bad.

You walked over slowly and wrapped your arms around him from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He smiled faintly at your reflection.

"You okay, Buck?"

He nodded, his hand coming up to tangle lightly with yours.

"Just... stupid," he said quietly. "Looking at myself like this."

"Not stupid," you murmured.

He shrugged a little. "It reminds me of... when I wasn’t doing so good. Long hair, no plan, no peace. I hated that version of me for a long time."

You pressed a kiss to his temple, squeezing him tighter. "He was doing the best he could. He survived. And he deserved love, too."

Bucky’s shoulders relaxed under your hands, the tension easing out of him slowly.

He met your eyes in the mirror and the look he gave you was pure devotion.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Maybe he did."

You leaned your forehead against his. "Definitely did. Definitely does."

For a moment, you both just stayed there him, you, the soft lamp light, the long, wild hair breathing together, existing without judgment.

And when Bucky finally smiled, really smiled

it was brighter than any version of himself he'd ever worn.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mission Control 27

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, blood, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You shiver as you pull closed the robe across your chest. Your gait is uneven but certain. There's no more pain but the tendons will never be as strong as they were. You can do most things but you don't think you'll be running any marathons.

Your teeth chatter as you enter the kitchen, moving through the dark. It's strange to think how easily you settled in. Well, it's much better than before.

It isn't the amenities that make you doubt. It's your acceptance. When you look out those large windows, you don't think of going out. Not far, anyhow. Not away from him. It's not exactly what you want, but what he wants. So far, that's kept you safe.

You take out a mug and bring it to the fancy machine with the glowing touch screen. No more whistling kettles and creaky cupboards. You don't let your mind wander about what this place is. That doesn't matter.

You put a pod in and tap start. The machine hums as it heats up the water for a cup of earl grey. You stand in the dark and shiver, shifting foot to foot on the cold tile.

The light flicks on. You don't look back. It's not the first time he's caught you creeping around in the shadows. You don't bother with the lights when you're just going to go back and hide in bed.

 A rush of air brushes your leg and something slaps onto the floor next to you. You turn and look down at the slippers beside your feet. Steve points down and a guilty smile curls your lips. He's a stickler.

You step into the slippers as the machine churns. You turn back and watch it spit out the tea. He stands beside you. You peek over as he lifts his hands. 

He signs at you. 'Very early.'

'My stomach's acting up again,' you say aloud, signing along. It helps to practice. You're getting better.

'Could have asked me' he moves his hands in a way where you can imagine his firm tone.

'I can do it.'

He frowns. He crosses his arms. You don't need a dictionary to translate that.

You try to move past him but he doesn't let you. He backpedals to the fridge and takes out the milk. He offers it to you.

You pour it and fold the top back in. He puts it away and stops at the fridge. He shuts it and looks at you. His eyes flick around.

"What's going on?" You ask as you pick up the mug, warming yourself as you hover it close to your nose.

He raises a finger and tilts his head. His eyes narrow. He leans and listens to the door of the fridge. He looks ridiculous.

"What is it?"

He wags his finger then taps his ear.

"You hear something?" You wonder. "Hm, maybe the machine?"

You point to the machine and he huffs. He comes closer, jutting his head forward as he searches for the source. You shrug. You don't hear anything.

He frightens you as he bends. He angles around then and grabs your hip. He presses his cheek to your stomach. He stands so fast he hits the cup with his head. You manage to move it away and miss your fingers with the dribble.

"Steve."

He looks at you wide-eyed.

"What? You're freaking me out."

He leans back on his heel, take a step without looking, then another, and keeps going until he's at the door. You scoff as he disappears. You look at the tea and heave. You blow over it and sip. Jeez.

You cross the kitchen and hobble your way back to the stairs. You climb up and enter the bedroom. He's not there. You put the cup on the night table. Maybe something herbal would help your stomach more. Ugh, but you're so tired.

You prop up the pillows. There isn't much to do around here. You're still hiding from whatever it is he's running from.

Sometimes, you watch the television downstairs. You're bored. All these new shows never get renewed or are just a spinoff of a spinoff. Most of the time you read. He still brings you books when he does go out. Now that you think of it, he hasn't done that in a while.

You look over at the window. The snow is lessening. It made sense weeks ago when winter was in its depths but now, you're starting to see the promise of spring.

Steve stomps in. You look up as you cradle the empty book in your lap. He paces around the bottom of the bed. His addled demeanour has you uneasy. You wonder if you should just take your robe off now.

"Would you tell me what's going on?" You ask.

He looks at you as he combs his fingers through his blonde hair. They catch and he curls his lip. He untangles his hands and bounces on his feet. He walks another circle then stops again. He stares.

"Look," you sign as you speak. "We have been practicing so you need to start using your words. I'm too tired."

He holds up his hands. 'Wait'.

He goes to the bookshelf and shuffles around. He slides out the tablet and flicks through it. He types as his forehead creases with concentration. He hovers one hand over his stomach then nods.

He looks at you and gestures out with his hand. You frown. "I don't know that one." He does it again. You sigh. "Still don't know it."

His face contorts in frustration. He stomps over to you and puts the tablet in your lap. You look down at the translation app. 'Pregnant'. You read it out loud and snort.

"No, that's... no." You shake your head. "I had my period... um..."

He sits on the edge of the bed and touches your knee. You look him in the eye. He arches his brows and tilts his head.

"How do you know? I'm fine."

'Sick,' he signs.

"I have a sensitive stomach."

'Tired.'

You roll your eyes.

'I heard it.' He moves his hands pointedly.

"You heard it? Oh, sure."

'I hear you too,' he motions then taps a heartbeat on the back of his hand. 'Now two.'

You stare at him. "No, I can't..."

His eyes drift and he makes a face. He shrugs. Then signs. 'We do a lot'.

Your cheek twitches and your forehead creases. Can he hear your heartbeat pick up? We don't do anything. He does it. He did this. When he wants you, you don't get a choice.

You shove past him as you swing your legs over the edge. You get up and stomp to the bathroom. He follows. You slam the door before he can reach you. You lock it.

He knocks. No. How could he do this? How could you not have thought of this? Shit.

Your eyes burn with tears. You didn't have a choice in any of this. Not just this... pregnancy, but this whole situation. He took you away from your life; he trapped you in that desolate house; he set that trap; he did what he's done over and over; he killed that man; then he brought you here and now...

You turn and hit the door with your fist. You holler in frustration. You close your eyes and inhale.

"I don't want to speak to or see you! I mean it." You snarl through. "Can you hear that, Captain?"

There's a scrape on the other side of the door. You look down and see his shadow shift. You listen to his footsteps. You don't usually hear them. The bedroom door clicks and you're left alone, in sobering silence.

[chunibyo-x-sorcerer]

Out of everything, this comes as a complete shock to the sorcerers here. Daichi's eyes widen at the news, "Wait...then that means..."

"Mob and SHo are going to be students here?" Taz asked.

"That's-"

"No." Nanami begins, shaking his head and trying to keep himself calm. "Reigen, you cannot be serious. This is better not be one of your cons." There is no way that Higher-Ups would allow this. It's too hard to believe. And with Espers added to the mix, it's chaotic. It was so hard to believe.

"Well..how about you ask someone in charge to confirm it. Gojo told me so when he came by my office the other day." Reigen crosses his arm.

Nanami groans. That would explain it if Gojo is involved but doesn't he know that most sorcerers don't like Espers due to trivial reasons???

"And also! I can be your teacher!" Reigen smiles, jerking a thumb at himself. Ichiji hears all this and sweatdrops as his glasses went lop sideways a bit "You're going to be what?"

"I will help out with the manager duties or maybe be a guidance counsoler or something along the lines!"

Mob tense but he looks to Taz only to blush worse and looks shy. "N..no worries Taz, I'm alright. It's just really good to see you too." he said rubbing the back of his head. His brother noticed but said nothing to smile.

"It's really good to see you as well, Taz." Ritsu said happy.

"Don't worry I'm alright! Nothing like that curse spirit can stop me!" Tome said. "Though...I wanted a interview with it." she pouts.

"You can't keep trying to get interviews with curses, Tome." Sho said annoyed. However, they look seeing Nanami and their teacher Reigen speaking.

"It's simple. We were doing an exorcism but the evil spirit took one of my own as hostages, burrow itself underground and we had to follow it all the way here. Surprisingly...your school! Which I must say...this looks perfect!"

"But not to worry, the spirit has been exorcised! So your students are safe and sound!" Reigen said with great confidence.

"..Can you please just tell me why you are here? Why did you bring your students here?" he asked.

"Hmm? Oh, you didn't know! I was gonna surprise you and all but...I can tell you!" he said but smiled. "WERE MOVING OVER HERE! Or to say, we are making a location here to help you guys with these devlish curse spirits roaming about! So we are like neighbors espers! All my students are going to be taking classes here with you!" he smiled.

"..........Huh?"

"............"

"I know your speechless from excitement! I know the higher ups will be excited to hear espers joining the school-"

"WWWHHHAAAAATTTTTTT!!!!!"

[thepinkpanther83]

Can you write this adorableness with Eddie as person B and reader as person A. Like reader can't sleep because her mid is racing of thoughts of Eddie and she says screw it at goes to him in the middle of the night? Please?

Sleepy Confessions

One-Shot Request: “Sleepy Confessions” Eddie Munson x Reader

💌 Author’s Note: This soft, sleepy slice of Munson-flavored comfort was requested by the lovely @meankenna, who always seems to know exactly what my heart needs to write. Thank you for trusting me with your vision- you are the reason this tender mess of midnight courage and tangled limbs exists. It was a joy bringing this tender, late-night Eddie moment to life. Hope it gives you all the heart flutters and cozy sighs. 💕

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

Summary: You can’t sleep. Not with Eddie Munson taking up every square inch of your thoughts. One sleepless night at the trailer, you finally give in and cross a line you’ve been dancing along for far too long. What waits on the other side? Something softer… and far more dangerous, than you ever expected.

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

Sleepy Confessions

One-Shot Request: “Sleepy Confessions”

It’s way too late to still be awake.

But sleep won’t come, not even close. You’re curled on the Munsons’ lumpy old couch, a blanket twisted around your legs and your arm tucked under your head, staring up at the water-stained ceiling like it’s got answers. Spoiler: it doesn’t. Neither does the ticking clock over the kitchen doorway or the occasional rumble of a semi barreling down the road outside.

Wayne’s on another night shift, and the whole trailer feels like it’s exhaling without him here. Too still. Too quiet. Except your brain.

It’s racing.

Eddie. That’s the problem. That’s always the problem.

You replay dinner in your head- how he offered you the last slice of pizza without blinking, how he flicked his straw wrapper at you, and then laughed so hard he nearly snorted soda. The way his eyes had lingered on you a little too long when he thought you weren’t looking. Or maybe he wanted you to see. You don’t even know anymore.

And God, the way he said your name earlier… soft, like it meant something. Like you meant something.

You drag the blanket over your face and groan into it. None of this is helping.

You toss the blanket aside with a sigh that’s more frustration than fatigue. Every part of you is buzzing- limbs heavy with sleeplessness, but your brain? Fully caffeinated on a potent cocktail of What ifs and Just kiss him already.

You mutter it under your breath before you’ve fully decided:

 “Screw it.”

The floor is cold under your bare feet. Your oversized hoodie barely covers your thighs as you pad down the narrow hallway. The trailer creaks under your weight, groaning softly like it’s in on your secret. You wince at every little sound, half expecting to wake a grumpy Wayne from the ether- but he’s gone. Night shift. It’s just you and Eddie. Like always.

Eddie’s door is cracked open, just a sliver, but it glows with soft amber from the string lights looped haphazardly around his wall. You catch a flicker of lava lamp motion- swirling, slow. There’s music playing faintly from the cassette deck, something dreamy and distant. Maybe Floyd. Maybe Sabbath on a softer night.

You hover there for a moment. Two. You think about turning back.

But then you remember the way he smiled at you tonight. Like he wanted to say something but bit it back.

So you knock.

Well. More like you nudge the door with your knuckles. It creaks open a little wider, betraying you.

He doesn’t stir.

You step inside.

His room smells like cedar, cheap cologne, and the faint remnants of weed. It’s stupidly comforting. His curls are a mess on the pillow, one bare arm tossed over his head like he’s auditioning for a Renaissance painting. He’s breathing slowly. Peaceful.

You almost feel bad.

Almost.

You inch closer, every step a minor rebellion.

“Eddie,” you whisper.

No response.

You swallow, nerves finally catching up to your heart. God, what are you doing?

You linger beside his bed like you don’t belong there- but also like you’ve never belonged anywhere else. His room is a cluttered mess of band posters, worn tapes stacked in milk crates, and that familiar scent- Eddie. Something about him always smells like smoke and the woods in fall. Like trouble and comfort in equal parts.

He shifts under the blanket, mumbling into his pillow. You reach out, fingers trembling, and brush the slope of his shoulder. “W-wake up,” you whisper, like you’re afraid the moment will break if you speak too loudly.

He groans softly, long and dramatic, like a grumpy teenager, a gravelly rasp that rumbles low in his throat. His brow scrunches before he pries open one eye.

“Mmmm… what do you want…”

Your heart seizes. But you’re already here. Standing in the warm glow of his room, barefoot and shaking.

You bite your lip.

You could still back out. You could say you just wanted a glass of water. Or ask him what that weird noise outside was.

But none of those lies would fix the way your chest feels like it’s going to cave in.

“I… umm…”

He rolls, sluggish and bleary-eyed, one arm flopping across his chest. His curls are a halo of chaos, face still slack with sleep, but one eye peeks open- barely. “You could’ve chosen someone else to wake up and bother, ya know?” he mumbles, rubbing his cheek into the pillow. “Just tell me what-”

“I love you.”

The words hit the air like a dropped glass. Sharp. Sudden. Irretrievable.

Silence.

And then… He freezes. Not in that awkward, I’m-about-to-reject-you way. No, he freezes like a man hit by lightning.

There’s a moment of silence.

The kind that stretches thin and golden, heartbeats suspended in time.

Eddie blinks once. Twice.

Then he shoves himself up on one elbow, sheets falling off his bare chest, curls in his eyes. He looks at you, like really looks at you. Like the world just flipped upside down, and he’s trying to figure out which star you fell from.

“…I love you too,” he says. Voice low, hoarse with sleep but sure, like he’s never meant anything more.

Then, with a lazy smirk curling his lips: “Now get in my bed right fucking now.”

You blink back at him, stunned.

“Wait- what?”

He throws the blanket open with one hand and reaches out with the other, fingers brushing yours. “C’mon, sweetheart. You wake me up in the middle of the night to tell me that, and you think I’m letting you walk outta here without at least one solid cuddle? Get in here.”

Your feet move before your brain can catch up. Your oversized hoodie rustles as you slip into the warm cocoon of his sheets. He pulls you in without hesitation- no dramatic speech, no overthinking- just wraps you up like you’ve always belonged there.

His arms settle around you, one draped heavy over your waist, the other sliding up your back like instinct. Like muscle memory. Like he’s been dreaming about this exact moment for weeks.

Your forehead finds his. His nose bumps yours. Neither of you says anything for a while.

It’s just quiet breathing and the hum of his lava lamp, casting gentle waves of red and orange across the room. Your fingers tangle with his beneath the covers- warm and twitchy, and when your pinkies loop, he gives the tiniest squeeze.

“About damn time,” he murmurs. Voice like gravel and honey. “Thought I was gonna have to write a ballad about you or something just to get it outta my system.”

You smile into the dark, your hand brushing the soft spot at the base of his neck. “You still gonna bother me in my dreams now that I’m in your arms?”

He chuckles- a sleepy, rough sound that vibrates through his chest. “Sweetheart, if you’re in my arms, I hope I bother you in your dreams.”

A moment passes. “Hell, I hope I wreck ‘em good.”

You laugh, and he pulls you closer, tucking your head under his chin like he’s shielding treasure.

Then, quieter- like it’s just for you and the night to hear:

“You better be here when I wake up. Or I swear on my entire Dio collection, I will come drag you back.”

You grin. “Promise.”

His thumb strokes along your spine once… twice…

Then it stills.

Eddie Munson falls asleep with a smile on his lips and the one he loves in his bed.

And for the first time all night, your mind finally shuts up.

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list!

@justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @v1per1ne, @daveythorntonslocker, @cokepowder55, @kelsiegrin, @meankenna

Masterlist

[bunnypeew]

One glass of wine too much - Alastor x Fem!reader

oke hi emmm its been a while since i've written something but I'm alive I promise!! here is a one shot i just had in mind of you and Alostor making out after you are both a bit woozy enjoyyy!!!

it was late at night, everyone was in the lobby after a party and they were mostly cleaning up after it,, you tho, were sitting down on a couch and were drinking a glass of red wine while you watched something on your phone.

Suddenly you hear a static noise coming near you and when you look down at the ground you see a shadow appear in front of your feet, you sighed and putting down your phone and looking up at the Radio Demon staring at you with a big smile as always

''What are you doing here all alone mon chere?,,

you were now twirling your wine glass in one hand while the other was holding up your head, your elbow being propped up on the couch arm. You seemed sad and... bored partially, he noticed that right away and he wasn't the type to care about stuff like this, but somehow he had gotten accustomed to you.

''It's nothing really,, just not enjoying myself at these parties recently,,

you sighed and took a sip of your glass, it was probably the third one you had but honestly you weren't sure at this point. He sat down next to you and spawned a glass of, some type of liquor you suppose. He started drinking along side you and you were both silent for a while, but as you kept drinking you kept on getting woozy and less worried about your sadness. Al didn't notice this at first because you were pretty tame, it was when you started saying random stuff about your life that he did, and let me tell you he was feeling amused by your behavior, he thought you were appealing.

''do tell me more, dear,,

''and like, I've never even felt anything for that guy, he was just being too much!! that seems like a shitty thing to say tho, am I being shitty?? I don't think I'm shitty I'm just being honest!!... eheheh, I like you tho Alastor, ah- maybe I shouldn't had said that either ah? oh well sometimes things just have to leave their place-,,

you kept on talking and talking, and he was giggling to himself, it wasn't until he put one of his hands on the small of your back, that made you almost jolt out the seat, he ignored tho and kept on sipping his liquor, he did noticed you stopped talking to, he tilted his head looking at you and spoke

'' why did you stop speaking my dear? I was quite enjoying your ramblings!,,

you were red as a tomato, or well even as red as his suit! Even tho you were woozy you could still feel embarrassment, you touched your cheeks and felt them being hot, then you went to your lips, feeling them a bit puffier then usual. Alastor was watching your every move and as soon as you touched your lips, his ears and tail twitched, something snapped into him and he couldn't tell if it was the liquor or just how beautiful you looked under the dim light of the lobby. He reached out to grab your hand slowly and then took your finger to his mouth, kissing them ever so softly, this made you gasp a little bit but your eyes were now locked onto his lips, he noticed and looked around himself before looking back at you and leaning in to lock your lips together.

At first it was a soft gentle kiss, you both reciprocated, but after a few seconds it became more deep, with his hand leaving your arm and went to your waist with the other one, he grabbed it, squishing it with his claws but not enough to hurt you. Your hands were on his chest at first but when you tilted your head a little to deepen the kiss even more your hands went to his cheeks, then in his hair pulling slightly at it. His ear twitched at that new feeling of your hands in his hair, his hands digging deeper in your waist, almost raising your shirt too, you let out a tiny sound as he did that. That almost made him go feral, also making him push his tongue to yours, making them dance and giving him the chance to taste you better, tasting mostly of the red wine you were sipping prior but also mint and strawberries, as for him you couldn't put a finger on it, it was a lovely flavor, from him and his lips. This went on for more minutes, it wasn't until you both heard an 'ahem' coming from near you that you, only you, turned around to see who it was. It was Charlie, she was displaying a big smile on her face and was waving to you, you stopped the kiss and looked at her with a guilty smile, your lipstick was all smudged and was all over Alastor's lips, he didn't care for the princess watching you so he started kissing your neck next but you stopped him by jolting up from the couch making him almost tumble off of it.

''SORRY CHARLIE WE ARE RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE LOBBY AREN'T WE OH MY GOD-,,

Alastor scoffed and sat back properly on the couch, fixing his bowtie, he wasn't upset or anything but his static was getting a bit louder. You weren't done for tonight it was all you gathered from that.

YEEEEES RAAAAH OMFG THERE IT IS MUAH MUAH MUAAAAH anyway hope you enjoyed reading cuz I deff did by writing <3

[odoraful]

𝑰𝑰: 𝑳-𝑶-𝑽-𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑵𝑨𝑳𝑳𝒀

xiao follows through with baizhu's advice and realises a lot more about his own feelings for you

⟡ part I: doctor, doctor!

⟡ content — xiao x gn!reader ; first love/confession ; perhaps a tad bit sad at the start but it gets better i swear!! ; zhongli and hu tao appearance ; xiao was oblivious in the first part, but he definitely isn't in this one hehe ; both of you are yearners for each other ; 4.3k words

⟡ a/n — finally finished!! i posted doctor, doctor in february and it's now may... omg i'm so sorry my lovelies for the wait 💔 i was a little sleepy when editing but anyway i really hope it's a good continuation :')

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In the past, Xiao would have never thought being bad at talking to be a disadvantage. He was once taught that it was a slower way of resolving things compared to the pointy end of his spear. Now, he silently wished he could speak with ease. Like the honeyed tales Zhongli could weave, or the precise lectures of Cloud Retainer. Xiao’s words were always blunt and rather clunky. And it didn’t help his speech if you were in his presence too.

Speak to Y/N about how they’ve been feeling, Baizhu had recommended. He had agreed so quickly in the moment because it sounded easy. Of course he could ask you, he had spoken to you dozens of times before. This time was no different, in fact, this was right in his repertoire: making sure you were in good health. Yet, with you standing beside him by the balcony at Wangshu Inn, his tongue became all tied up. Maybe it was the way the breeze toyed with your hair, your eyes glittered, or skin glowed in the morning light. The sight of you made all his words fizzle out.  

Archons, what has come over me? he wondered.

You turned to face him. He quickly tore his gaze away.

“What did you want to talk about, Xiao?”

Your question was to be expected. He was the one who had mentioned he needed to speak to you about something (which was the exact reason the two of you were standing out here). Yet, it still left him somewhat flustered.  

He kept his gaze on the vast landscape of Liyue—a brilliant canvas of yellows and greens.  “I wanted to tell you that you needn’t hide secrets from me,” he said.

You cocked your head to the side. “Secrets?” he was met with the sound of your light chuckle. “Do you think I’m living a double life or something?”

Xiao glanced to his side at you. It was enough to see you wiggling your fingers at him as you continued to tease, “Maybe I’ve secretly been a Fatui agent this whole time.”

He shook his head. “What I mean to say is… you can speak to me about anything. I know well that emotions can be confusing, but I will always try to understand them.”

Though Xiao seldom followed along with your joking remarks, he always replied to them in his own dry manner that you enjoyed. However, this time there was a seriousness to his words that caught your attention. Emotions? Confusing? Your chest grew tight as you straightened your back.

“Xiao, I wouldn’t hide anything from you,” you answered, genuinely.

Sensing your own concern, he faced you fully. “I know, but something has been different recently.”

Shouldn’t such trust and closeness between people mean being able to talk to them about anything? Both the good and the bad? Xiao was prepared to shoulder any of that weight for you. He reached for your hand that wrapped the railing of the balcony, encasing your fingers beneath his.

“Tell me what has been troubling you, please.”

It came out as a plea. Small and anguished. You had never heard Xiao sound like this before. And it was because of you.

There was only one thing you had been keeping from him. Something (or someone) that had been on your mind for a longer time that you cared to admit.

“Nothing’s been wrong,” you still denied, ignoring the open warmth that radiated from his hand into yours. A silent invitation from him to you. 

“I won’t accept that,” he responded gruffly. “It is bad to keep your emotions… bottled up.”

Xiao echoed the metaphor Baizhu used when they met. The mortal expression had sounded unusual when he first heard it, but now he understood—corking up emotions for too long can lead to spoiling.

“When you’re with me, you appear tense. If I am the one causing your trouble—”

“No!” you exclaimed, leaning in towards him. “W-well, yes, maybe. I-it’s complicated.”

What am I doing!? you thought. His touch was too hot. You pulled your hand back, fidgeting with your fingers, not knowing what else to do in your embarrassment. If Xiao had been offended, there was no hint of it on his face, only worry as he let his empty hand fall to his side.  

“Complicated? If there is a reason why, I will listen.”

You tilted your head upwards, staring off into the endless blue above, as if calling upon the Heavenly Principles themselves to give you strength and confidence.

You exhaled a breath.

This was it. The time to confess and be done with it.

“Xiao, I like you.”

The words you spoke felt foreign on your tongue. To be fair, you never thought they would ever come to light.

Every miniscule sound became too loud in the silence between you two. Your thrumming heart in your ears. The chatter of people echoing from below. The wind rustling through the golden leaves above.

Anticipating a greater reaction, you were surprised to see Xiao’s face remained neutral. Only a slight frow in his brows.

“I like you as well...” he said, carefully though obviously confused.

“No, no,” you shook your head, sighing deeply, “for me, it’s in a different way. I like you as more than just friends.”  

At your clarification of the distinction, Xiao’s eyes widened.

He had spent enough time observing people to know of romantic affiliations. Though, he never realised it could be directed at himself. Strangely, something within him stirred hearing you. A tether. A want. However, it seemed locked away in an unfamiliar space of his heart, collecting dust. Whether he intentionally cast such desires aside himself long ago, he could not say. Reciprocate, whatever inside him seemed to call out. But his old habits stifled such new feelings, knowing the hardship of entwining yourself too closely with others. His own karmic debt tainting all those who came near.

You saw the change in his reaction—knowing that he understood what you meant now—and hurried before he could say anything else.

“I can’t pinpoint when it started, but I know I’ve liked you for a long time, and that’s the reason I’ve been so jittery lately.”

You recalled his strong grip when he caught you from falling and his words of concern in your home accompanied by his gentle touch. You decided not to divulge too much of the private thoughts you had in those moments.

For all your previous hesitations, the words now seemed to uncork and flow freely out of you. “And I know people may see you as abrasive or unfriendly, but you have shown me just how caring you are so, so many times and every time I can’t help but like you more and more.”

Xiao remained motionless, processing everything. He was locked with parted lips and wide eyes staring into your avoidant gaze. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to reply to you. He just didn’t know how. The tether in his heart begged him to speak, but his lips might as well have been glued together.

“Please don’t answer me yet,” you spluttered. “I know what you’re going to respond with…”

There was a sad finality in your tone that struck him. You knew Xiao did not like you in the same way. He had expressed before his affections towards you as only friends. All the little gestures he did, no matter how fluttering, could not be interpreted as anything else, you believed.

You looked at him properly for the first time since your confession. “I want some time to prepare myself before I hear from you. Is that okay?”

Xiao nodded, finding the strength to move his body when his mouth failed him. “I-I would like some time to think, as well,” was all he could reply, his voice ragged.

He also needed to sort through his own tangled mess of thoughts. Figure out whatever in Celestia he was feeling inside. Emotions truly were confusing.

You gave a small smile. Meant to be a sign of reassurance for him that you were not so troubled anymore, but the wobbled corners of your lips perhaps betrayed that. “Alright, we’ll speak soon.”

You turned away from the balcony’s edge. Xiao watched as your figure disappeared down the steps and out of his sight.

One question had been answered, but it had left many, many more for him to understand.

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The consultant of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour had experienced much of life (and had an eclectic set of memories to show for it). He did not shy away from unknowns as they would eventually become facts to him through reading a scroll passed down through a family’s generations, listening to the slightly drunken tales of a wizened sailor, or any other method of storytelling that he had the honour of encountering. And because of his wealth of knowledge, Xiao decided to meet with him.

Zhongli was inside Funeral Parlour. Not at the front desk, which the Ferrylady was currently standing behind, sorting through a ledger, but to the side in a waiting area. There were shelves filled with all manner of books and oddities, and comfortable seats for clients who generally needed to seek relief. Zhongli was drawing a finger against the spines of each book, wondering whether the collection needed updating, when the door to the Parlour creaked opened.

“Xiao! It’s lovely to see you,” Zhongli welcomed, surprise filling his face.

Xiao closed the door behind him gently, his eyes landing on Zhongli by the shelves. Recognising who the adeptus was, the Ferrylady simply nodded in acknowledgement, leaving the pair to catch up.

“Had I expected you, I would have provided more fitting refreshments,” Zhongli commented. “Here. Have some tea, if you wish.”

Xiao nodded in thanks as he was poured a cup of jasmine tea. He waited for Zhongli to be seated down first before he followed.

It had never been difficult for Zhongli to read Xiao. The distracted gaze, shoulders somewhat bowed, hands clasped in his lap. It was like Xiao was just another book on the Funeral Parlour’s shelves. Zhongli raised the cup of tea to his mouth, peering at the young adeptus from the rim before taking a sip.

“You seem... troubled. Is something the matter?”

Xiao watched the steam rise lazily from his teacup. Of course, Zhongli could easily pinpoint what was happening with him. Lingering emotions from the conversation Xiao had with you three days before bubbled up. It still felt surreal to him that it all happened.

“Yes, there has been something troublesome,” he admitted. “Y/N... told me that they liked me.”

Zhongli stilled his movements. You were no stranger to him. Naturally, he knew of many residents in Liyue, and he had also assisted you with his expertise in the past for commissions with the Guild. Now, he would never go so far as to say spying, but he also wouldn’t deny that he kept a special eye on you. Your close relationship with the young adeptus was something he was pleased to see blossom. Which was why it was confusing to see Xiao so unsettled in telling him the news of your confession.

Zhongli gave a comforting smile, placing his cup back on the table. “Y/N has confessed to you? I scarcely believe that that would be troublesome, but rather exciting.”

Xiao could only give a grunt in response.

Detecting this internal conflict, Zhongli lowered his voice, “Well, how do you feel about them?”

“I-I don’t know, which is the root of my problem.” A frustrated sigh escaped the yaksha. His mind was in all manner of disarray. “How do you know if your feelings for someone are different?”

Your words echoed in his head—as more than just friends.

“By different, are you perhaps referring to love?”

Zhongli’s pointed emphasis on the final word made Xiao redden. Again, he was not unfamiliar with the idea of romance. He had seen it in the streets of Liyue Harbour, from the young, sheepish sweethearts to the old, contented couples. Xiao had believed himself unworthy of it. But now, hearing the word spoken aloud, that wanting tether within him pulled again.

At Xiao’s sudden shyness at love being brought up, Zhongli had to stifle a chuckle. Still so new to the world, he thought.

“You know I cannot speak for your feelings, Xiao, but judging from how you came to me, it does seem there is more to your affections than what you first believed,” he observed.

Xiao ruffled his hair with his gloved hand. Zhongli was right. There was something more with you. There always had been.

“At rest, I have always sensed my karmic debt,” Xiao said. “But, since meeting them, the pain has lessened. I feel peaceful.”

The endurer of eons knowing peace. It felt foolish for Xiao to say, but it was the truth. He had never known safety and warmth to be with another person until you. His past had locked away these comforts from him, but the dust collected from forgotten emotions now seemed to blow away.

“Is this truly...” the word choked up in his throat. Zhongli had said it so easily before (even with the tiniest hint of amusement), but the word had not yet found its rightful place in his vocabulary yet.

“Why must this be so difficult...” Xiao instead groaned.

Zhongli gazed fondly at the young adeptus. “It is your first time. Do not be so harsh on yourself.”

He began to muse aloud. Xiao watched on, letting the sentences Zhongli weaved take hold. “Love enters each of our lives in many ways. Someone’s presence can come swinging like a sledgehammer, unexpectedly knocking us off our feet.”

With a knowing smile, Zhongli continued, “Or... it can be more subtle, like a pebble dropped into a still pool of water, rippling the surface from the centre outward.”

Xiao looked down at his filled cup of tea. Ripples. That was exactly it. Unassuming how you entered his life, and how impactful your stay had been. Finally, he took a sip of his tea, finding it less bitter than he would usually taste.

“Thank you for your guidance, as always.”

Zhongli laughed, “You needn’t be so formal, Xiao. I’m pleased you sought me out. Though, I do hope you come visit me again with some good news.”

Xiao nodded, albeit bashfully.

The old companions continued with the conversation. Largely, Zhongli tried to get Xiao to speak more about you. He knew full well that chance to be young and hopeless in love had been robbed from Xiao for centuries. So, with each short response Xiao gave about you between stutters, the redness never leaving his face, Zhongli was left more than satisfied.

After a short while, Xiao said goodbye, going back out to fulfil his duties with a newfound lightness. As he closed the door behind him, a shrill voice exclaimed from the stairs leading to the second floor of the Funeral Parlor.

“Was that the Conqueror of Demons?!”

Hu Tao had her hands on her hips, looking expectantly at her consultant.

“It was. You’ve just missed him, unfortunately,” Zhongli replied, leaning back in his chair.

The funeral director hurried down the steps, standing directly in front of his seat. “Oh, come on, you could have totally interrupted my meeting to have me say a quick hello!”

Zhongli gave a disagreeing hum. “We both know that you don’t enjoy funeral business being interrupted.”

Hu Tao puckered her lips and blew air out, creating a trill sound. Of course, Mr Zhongli was correct in saying that, but she was just making a joke! She slipped in the chair Xiao was just in, crossing her legs.

“So, why did Xiao swing by anyway?” she then gasped, “Is there new clientele?”

Zhongli shook his head, a smile playing at his lips.

“I’m not sure you would believe me if I told you.”

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You had always left the invitation open for Xiao to visit your home if he wished for a change of scenery. Though Wangshu Inn was gorgeous (and you would do anything to wake up to a view like that every day) there was still some charm to the quaint housing on the outskirts of the Harbour that you knew he would enjoy. All you asked for is that he did not teleport directly into your house unless you were in some peril, which he would know when his named was called. For every other time, however, he would have to knock before he could come in.

There was no peril here, but you did need to see him. Desperately. It had been three days, and your insides had stopped roiling since confessing. You were only left with preparedness now at hearing his answer. No matter how hard you tried to suppress it, there was a small part of you that hoped. Hoped Xiao might have a sudden change in his affections and realise he saw you as more than his friend.

You closed your eyes and steadied yourself.

You opened your mouth, beginning to say his name—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sudden noise pulled your focus away.

You weren’t expecting anyone at this time. Perhaps it was your elderly neighbour passing over some food she made, or a salesman looking to find customers for his wares. Frowning in the direction of your front door, you walked over and opened it ajar, just enough so you could see who was standing there.

You hadn’t even said his name, yet he knew he needed to come.

Familiar dark-greenish hair framing the amber eyes of a once harsh gaze, now softened since the day he met you. His chest puffed up and down, as if he had just run from somewhere. He looked at you like your parting had been years and not just a handful of days.

Your hand slipped from the handle, letting the door swing open fully.

“Xiao?” his name fell from your lips.

This was a very rare occasion where Xiao hadn’t thought things out fully before executing a plan. All he knew was that he needed to see you as soon as his meeting with Zhongli concluded.

“Hello,” he swallowed, composing himself. “I would have come sooner, but you instructed that I do not use my powers—”

“I know, unless I’m in grave danger,” you finished. “Thank you for knocking.”  

His politeness despite everything brought a small laugh from you as you spoke. It was a moment of your liveliness that Xiao took to like a moth to a flame, fluttering with desire.

You stood aside, allowing him to enter. The last time he was here he was convinced that you were ill and, quite innocently, wanted to nurse you to good health. Now, he knew the true reason for those symptoms and had come to an understanding of his own.

His boots tapped against the wooden floorboards of your home, and he came to a stop in front of you. Neither of you wanted to sit down, too filled with mirrored jumble of anxiety and hope.

“I have my answer,” he said.

He had never known his nerves to be this weak until now. His palms were sweaty beneath the fabric of his gloves, and his breath constricted. He can’t have imagined the amount of courage it took for you to have done the same thing.  

“Alright,” you folded your arms across your chest to bury your sinking heart. Even in matters like this, Xiao still got straight to the point. “I’m ready to hear it.”

Xiao flexed his hands at his side, trying to ground himself.

Although he could never paint flowery words with his speech, there was one thing he could always rely on—his bluntness.

“I-I love you.”

...

Oh.

This certainly had to be a dream.

A dream where the man you like just said that he loves you.

“I love you,” he repeated, his voice raw and gravelly.

Did he say it in a strange way? Xiao silently cursed himself looking at how motionless you were, hands falling to your side. He knew he should have practiced it aloud beforehand.

“Was that... wrong of me to say?”

Your head spun. Delirious laughter almost spilled from you.

What he had just said was the furthest from wrong. Any small hope that remained in you unfurled and bloomed brilliantly.

"This... isn’t a dream, right?” you whispered.

Xiao moved closer.

“No, it isn’t.”

This had to be real, otherwise, why did his hand feel so warm as it brushed against yours? His fingers gently took your hand. It was the only proof he could offer that this wasn’t a dream. That he was here, and his words were true.

“You love me? Really?” you had to confirm again.

“I do.” He did not waver in his answer, “I do love you. I should have realised it sooner.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The urge to cry became more tempting each time Xiao repeated that he was in love with you.

“I-I was sure you weren’t going to feel the same way,” you sniffed.

His chest seized up hearing your voice shake.

He recalled a fleeting memory. Resting beneath a shaded tree, dappled light cast across his face as conversation drifted through the air. The commotion from four others whose voices he could never forget for as long as he lived. They were speaking about falling in love once the war was over, how it would feel like when love found them. Peace in these lands must be achieved first, one had said. To which one commented what a buzzkill that was, which was followed by laughter from the others. Perhaps Xiao should have listened more closely to learn something then, rather than closing his eyes, letting the sound lull him.

“I... have little experience or knowledge of these things. These distinctions are quite new to me.” Xiao held your hand tighter. His pale cheeks dusted with pink. “Speaking with someone else helped me understand what my feelings for you meant.”

He was so close once again. Yet, you didn’t freeze up like before, afraid of revealing your hidden affections. Instead, you melted into his touch, adjusting your grip to feel more of him. There was nothing to hide between the two of you anymore.

“I’m sorry for making you uneasy for so long,” he quietly added.

“You don’t have to apologise, I’m not angry at all.”

Relief washed over him. There was even a smile on your face. Bright and warm and enveloping him like the morning sun. Playfully, you swung his arms back and forth.

“In fact, I’m really, really happy right now,” a chuckle accompanied your words.

Xiao’s lips curved into a smile too seeing you in higher spirits. “I am glad. To be honest, I feel much... lighter.”

Weightless, even. The taut desire he felt three days ago when you confessed had eased. He had gotten the courage to tug and pull on that tether until he was standing here with you in his arms.

“I think I have loved you for a long time but never believed myself to be worthy of it. You are too good natured and kind, and if something happened to you because of me,” he closed his eyes, unable to even stand the very idea, “I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

You had never once thought Xiao could hurt you. Even in the beginning when you met, though he was coarse as gravel, he always remained attentive. There was much of his past that left painful memories and only fed him sorrow and doubt. Despite it all, however, he still had a soft heart.

You reached out a hand, grazing your fingertips against his cheek.

“Xiao…”

His eyes fluttered open hearing his name being called so sweetly under your hushed breath.

“Can I hug you?” you asked. “Usually this is the part where people would hug each other.”

He nodded, burning to hold you as well. You encircled your arms around his chest, entwining your fingers behind his back. He wrapped his own hands at your waist and pulled you in, your body flush with his, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. Your breath tickled Xiao’s ear as you tucked your chin by his shoulder. Both of your heartbeats drummed with ineffable tenderness. It almost dazed him how much content swelled inside. He knew now why so many couples liked to hug.

Xiao was the first to lean back to look at you again. You were struck by this intensity of his eyes, seemingly lost with desire. Before you could think of anything else, your chin was tilted upwards.

Then, his lips were on yours.

You didn’t think Xiao could surprise you twice in such a short time.

The kiss was soft, like a falling petal brushing against skin. How much time had passed? Seconds, minutes, hours? You couldn’t tell. All you could focus on was the warmth from his lips and the shiver that it caused up your spine. This time, you were the first to pull away. Your cheeks were hotter than probably any of the springs in Natlan.

“How did you—” you stuttered.

Xiao cleared his throat. The spell he was just under seeming to disappear as he blinked away from your gaze, his blush intensifying. “I’ve seen many couples in the city do it. I-It just felt right to do.”

Shyly, he added, “Was that alright?”

He had a habit of second guessing himself when it came to his affections. Luckily, you were someone who was more than happy to give reassurance.

“It was more than okay,” you beamed. “It was perfect.”

You both stayed like this a moment longer, your hands around his back and his on your waist. Xiao spoke of meeting with Baizhu and Zhongli, which displayed a commitment to you that was far too endearing for your heart to handle.

There would be good news indeed when the time came to tell your companions what happened.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

⟡ taglist (hello lovelies!! thank you again for your patience 🥹🫶 i've never tagged people before so i hope this works) — @sizzles-z-4002 @redninjakitty14rp @butterescapism @fuyustuffs @unstablemiss @evilenbypotato

[fluentmoviequoter]

In Good Hands

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!Bradford!SWAT!reader (Tim's younger sister)

Summary: Tim finally gets to meet your team during a joint call, and when you're injured, he realizes that he doesn't need to worry about your boyfriend or how he cares for you. Or: When you're injured a call, Street shows you and everyone around how much he cares about you and how well he does it.

Warnings: canon typical danger and violence, depiction of injury and pain (r), flirty!Street (and Aaron Thorsen thinks you're pretty)

Word Count: 2.4k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

Lying on the cool concrete floor of SWAT HQ, you watch a fan above you turn, tapping your fingers to the rhythmic thwock… thwock of a tennis ball hitting the wall and bouncing back to Street.

“How’s everyone’s family?” Deacon asks, trying to break the silence and bring a sense of normalcy.

No one replies for a moment, and you hear him sigh as leans against the wall.

“My brother is still overbearing and annoying,” you offer.

“Sounds like he’d get along great with my sisters,” Hondo scoffs.

“He doesn’t get along great with anyone,” you counter.

“At least he’s a good cop, so you can understand one another.”

You hum, and your team falls quiet again. Street resumes his seated, solo game of wall ball, and you follow the slow-turning blades of the fan with your eyes as you slide your feet toward your hips, bending your knees up.

“If you think about it,” Street begins.

“We don’t,” Luca interrupts.

“No thinking from you,” Tan adds.

“I was just going to say,” Street defends. “Hicks is acting like a pimp.”

You sit up, shoving your elbows into the floor to look at Street with wide eyes, as your team follows suit. No one actually replies to his claim, but the incredulous looks he receives are enough to make him shrug and switch up the way he throws the tennis ball.

Tan meets your eyes and mouths, “He’s yours,” before you roll your eyes and lie down again. Street isn’t entirely wrong, you realize. Hicks made the decision to take you off active duty and put you on standby for the stations dealing with rioting after a series of convictions were overturned following the indictment of a corrupt judge. He decides when you leave, where you go, and your objectives. Not entirely unlike a pimp, even if he’d make you run laps for saying it.

“Rise and shine!” Hicks calls as he returns from the chief’s office. “Mid-Wilshire called in an assist.”

“Finally,” you grumble as you stand.

“I knew you’d come through, sir,” Street says, pleased when you look away to avoid laughing.

“Okay,” Hicks drawls, shaking his head. “Officers are waiting for your on-scene. I’ll fill you in on your way.”

“Thanks, Commander,” Hondo calls over his shoulder, leading your team toward Black Betty.

Hondo leads you, Street, and Deacon past Black Betty and behind a row of cop cars, where six officers in patrol blues and two detectives take cover.

“I’m Sergeant Harrelson, 20-David SWAT,” he introduces. “What’ve you got?”

“Triple homicide in this residence four days ago,” Detective Lopez replies. “Dispatch alerted patrol of a crowd growing in the front yard, and with all the rioting, they decided to send two units. When they arrived, the suspects grew hostile, forced our people back.”

“Any of your murder suspects up there?” Deacon inquires, glancing through the back window of the shop he’s beside.

“Both of them,” Detective Harper answers. “But they’re surrounded by known felons with automatic rifles and revolvers.”

“You want them subdued?” Hondo clarifies.

“Preferably.”

“We need the house cleared, too,” Sergeant Bradford adds, kneeling with his back against his shop.

You notice all the windows have been broken and raise your brows, silently asking if he’s okay. Tim nods once, and you turn your attention back to Hondo.

“Sergeant Harrelson,” Angela says. “Are you Hondo?”

“I am,” he replies, smiling. “Heard of me?”

“Yeah, former partner of mine knew Buck Spivey.”

Nyla notices your name tag, cocking her head to the side as she inquires, “Any relation to our Bradford?”

“Not that I’m willing to admit,” you joke.

“I stand by what I said when they brought you home,” Tim grumbles. “There was still time to trade you for a brother.”

“You love me.”

“We’re going to move in behind this crowd,” Hondo says. “They might rabbit this way, can you handle one or two who break away?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Nyla answers, lifting the long gun beside her feet.

“Glad you’re on our side,” you muse.

“Be careful,” Tim demands.

You nod, then turn away from him to join the rest of your team and find the perfect route to enter the yard and get everyone in custody. After ensuring you have plenty of zip ties in your pocket, you tap Street’s shoulder to let him know you’re ready. He glances over his shoulder at you before he taps Tan, and you run single-file down the fence line two houses over.

“LAPD!” Hondo announces as your team slips into position. You surround the crowd, and they turn quickly, raising weapons as they move together.

“Put the weapons down!” you command. “Everybody, hands up!”

“Stop moving!” Luca yells, gesturing down with one hand while the other steadies his gun.

“What?” one of the men asks, stepping forward. “I can’t have a party in my own front yard now?”

“Not with weapons, and not after assaulting police officers,” Street answers.

“Cooperate, and you might get to return home sometime soon,” Deacon advises. “The DA remembers you, I’d bet. Don’t make it any harder on yourself.”

The man shakes his head, his tongue against his cheek. You see the moment he decides not to cooperate, but it happens too quickly to alert your team. The crowd breaks, people running in every direction as gunshots sound, the unmistakable hiss of bullets moving in different directions.

Apparently, the spokesperson for the group – and likely one of the murder suspects – Anthony Woodley runs toward you with two men close on his heels. You can’t stop all three of them alone, but if you slow Anthony down, the others might hesitate long enough that you can catch up. Dropping your gun, you use the strap to pull it to your back, then brace yourself to step in front of him. As he nears you, you move into his path and angle yourself to throw your shoulder into his abdomen.

He wraps his arms around your shoulders, his foot landing on yours before you both go down. You flip him quickly, using his surprise to get the upper hand. He groans with his face in the grass, and you press your knee against his back as you secure the plastic ties around his wrist. Looking around, you see that your team has most of the people in custody, and the three who made it past you are now facing Nyla Harper, Angela Lopez, and your brother. You don’t pity them at all, and when they raise their hands and kneel on the asphalt, you drop your head and sigh.

After you flip Anthony over and direct him to sit up and cross his ankles, you stand. Immediately, burning pain ignites in your ankle. You hiss, shifting your weight to the other foot as you wait for reinforcements. A prisoner transport van is en route, but you have to make sure everything stays calm and safe until it arrives, and then you have to clear the house. The pain in your ankle will make it difficult. Fortunately, it’s probably just bruising and swelling from the impact of running into Anthony. Or him running into you.

“That wasn’t half bad,” Tim says as he steps into the grass.

“You know it’s not just me you’re insulting, right?” you counter. “My entire team is here.”

Tim glances toward the others, who watch your interaction for a breath before checking on the suspects. The van arrives, and six officers exit patrol cars that park behind it to load everyone and take them to booking.

“If you’ll excuse us, Bradford,” Hondo tells Tim. “We’ve got another adequate job to do.”

“Ooh,” you drawl, pointing at Tim. “You insulted a SWAT sergeant. What will Grey think?”

Tim rolls his eyes, but when you turn toward the house to join your team, he notices you’re favoring one leg. You talk often, despite your insistence that he’s overbearing and annoying, so he’d know if something happened. Unless it just happened, leading you to hide it until you finish your job. That dedication and lack of self-preservation for a purpose skipped a generation, he thinks, but somehow, you both inherited it. He'll lecture you when you come out, if you’re still limping. He returns to his shop, leaning against the hood as Angela and Nyla prepare to leave.

“I knew your sister was a cop, but I didn’t know she was in the best SWAT team in LA,” Lucy muses.

“I didn’t know she looked like that,” Aaron adds.

Tim turns to glare at him, and he immediately rescinds the compliment, but makes sure to note that he wasn't wrong about how attractive you are.

“She is pretty,” Lucy agrees, shrugging. “Have anything else you’re hiding from us?”

“Depends,” Tim murmurs. “Are you hiding an off switch?”

Inside the house, you move with Luca and Tan through bedrooms, bathrooms, a few closets, and the kitchen. Circling back to the living room, you meet Hondo, Street, and Deacon, who confirm that their side of the house was also clear. The floor in the dining area is still stained with blood, and you step forward to look at the bullet hole in the wall, forgetting about your injured ankle. Now that your adrenaline is lowered again, you feel the pain ignite, sending bolts of discomfort up your lower leg. You stop, shifting to your other leg and dropping your hands to your thighs as you breathe deeply. Your boot feels too tight, and you know the swelling is worsening.

“Bradford,” Deacon says. “You okay?”

“I-” You stop yourself, taking another deep breath to stop the tears building in your eyes. It’s an instinctive body response to find another outlet for what you feel, but you bite down on your lip so hard you taste blood rather than cry in front of your team. “I twisted my ankle. I’m fine.”

Street moves to your side, taking his tactical helmet off as he moves. He tosses it to Luca, who catches it wordlessly, watching you with concern in his blue eyes.

Street kneels before you, bringing your hands to his shoulders. You lean heavily against him, sighing in relief that your weight is now his burden.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

Carefully, Street pulls your pants over the top of your boot, frowning when he sees the bruise peeking out from under your shoe and the red mark against your lower shin. Fresh blood beads, and Street’s brows pinch when he realizes that your pants are already wet with blood.

“What did Anthony have on him?” Street inquires, glancing up at you.

“He had a – I don’t even know what they’re called,” Hondo answers. “It looked like the top part of a meat tenderizer. The, you know, pointed mallet.”

Street nods, gently touching your calf. “Yeah, it did some damage,” he mumbles. Looking at you again, he asks, “Do you think it’s broken?”

You shake your head, laying the ball of your foot on the floor.

“Do you need to go to the hospital or can the medics back at HQ look at it?” Hondo asks.

“I’m fine,” you answer.

“You’re bleeding, and I’m pretty sure your boot didn’t look that wide earlier,” Street answers.

You drop your head then, swallowing at the sight of your leg. “Okay, maybe I’m not fine,” you admit. “But the medics can handle it.”

Street keeps your hands on his shoulders as he stands, then loops one arm around your ribs, holding you up against his side. “Could I interest you in a bridal carry?” he questions lowly.

“And hit her foot on the door jamb on the way out?” Tan muses. “Yeah, real romantic, Street.”

“Tan,” Street sighs, smiling. “If you’re jealous, just say that.”

“Easy,” Hondo interrupts, chuckling. “Let’s give Mid-Wilshire our report, and then we’ll head back to base.”

You allow Street to support most of your weight, only setting your toes on the ground before you jump with your uninjured leg. If you’d been alone, you undoubtedly would have let him carry you, but you’re still on the job; a bruised ankle won’t stop you from being ready to stand on your own if the situation calls for it.

“What happened?” Tim demands the moment you step outside.

“Tim, this is my team leader, Hondo,” you introduce.

Tim’s chest rises and falls before he asks, “What are you doing?”

“You said you wanted to meet my team. Now’s your chance.”

“I’m Lucy Chen,” the woman beside him says, waving.

“Aaron Thorsen,” the other officer introduces.

“This is Deacon, Luca, and Tan,” you continue, pointing to your teammates as they offer various greetings. “And this is Street,” you conclude, laying your hand on his chest for a moment longer than is probably professionally appropriate.

Tim’s eyes narrow at Street, who smiles and offers the hand not holding you up. “Nice to finally meet you,” he says.

Tim looks between you, clenches his jaw, and shakes Street’s hand.

“You got lucky,” he tells you.

“By getting a meat tenderizer to the ankle?” you question, incredulous.

Tim glances at your ankle, then shakes his head. “I was going to make you break up with what’s-his-name-"

“Street,” he interrupts.

“But,” Tim continues, “you’re in good hands with him.” Turning to Street, he drops his voice to add, “And she will always be in good hands, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

They stare at each other for several breaths, until you interrupt to say, “The house is clear.”

“Nice to meet you,” Hondo tells Tim, Lucy, and Aaron. “But if Streeter hurts her, you’ll have to get in line to deal with him.”

“If you can find the body,” Luca adds.

“I get it!” Street exclaims.

“I’m fine,” you assure Tim. “I’ll call you tonight.”

Tim nods, pats your shoulder, and enters the house. Lucy and Aaron give you their well wishes as they follow him, and you lean against Street when they’re out of earshot.

“Glad to know you all have such faith in me,” he grumbles, slipping his other arm around you.

“That’s my job,” you murmur against his vest. “Can we leave now? There’s an ice pack at HQ with my name on it.”

Street doesn’t ask you this time before he lifts you in his arms and sets you in Black Betty, so you don’t have to try to climb inside. You’re the first two members of your team, and while you’re alone, Street says, “Must be confusing with two Bradfords.”

“Sometimes.”

“Wonder what it’ll be like with two Streets.”

You look over at him quickly, but he has his eyes closed and his head tipped back, a smile on his face as he removes his glove and takes your hand in his good hands.

[sapphicandgraphic]

Sick As A Dog—Chapter 1

Synopsis: You’re a dog walker. When your favorite clients notice you’re not feeling well, they insist on taking care of you.

Chapter: 1/?

Warnings: Sick!fic, lots of hurt/comfort fluff in the beginning, protective Natasha, protective Wanda, maybe things get sexy later? (Who are we kidding, they absolutely will. Mommy Wanda, Daddy Natasha, anyone?)

Your alarm clock was blaring when you woke up. You blinked slowly, groggily, the last tendrils of sleep refusing to abate. You glanced at the time and swore softly, realizing you’d overslept.

As soon as you were upright, a searing pain shot through your head. You winced, reaching for a glass of water. You took a few gulps, registering more pain as you swallowed. A sore throat.

“Oh no,” you groaned, scrubbing a tired hand over your face. You’d gone to bed early last night, hoping to curtail the symptoms you’d been stubbornly ignoring for the past few days. Clearly that strategy hadn’t worked. Now you’d have to pay the price.

You dragged yourself upright, wandering into the kitchen to make a quick cup of coffee. Yelena was sitting at the island, scrolling on her laptop.

“I’m late! My boss is going to kill me.” Your voice was hoarse, raspy. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

The blonde barely looked up from her inbox. “Why do you sound like the crypt keeper?”

You laughed, but this quickly dissolved into a dry, wheezing cough. Yelena frowned, fixing you with a perturbed look.

“You’re sick,” she said.

You shook your head. “I can’t be sick.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re a dog walker, not a heart surgeon. You can take the day off.”

You snagged a protein shake from the fridge, choking down a few sips.

Yelena grimaced. “Seriously, go to the doctor.”

“I’ll be fine,” you insisted.

Your roommate muttered something in Russian. “Whatever. Just don’t die ok? I can’t afford this place without your half of the rent.”

You knew her well enough to recognize this blunt directive as her version of affection. Yelena was actually a big softie, once you got past the very rough exterior.

You’d met at a bar playing darts a few years ago, drinking everyone else under the table. By the end of the night, it was settled. Kindred spirits like that only come along every so often.

“If you want the rent money, I have to walk the dogs. See how that works? We can’t all be BitCoin miners or whatever the hell it is you do.”

She gave you the finger. You blew her a kiss and walked out the door. In truth you had no idea how Yelena made her money. It had something to do with finance, maybe crypto? Your eyes glazed over whenever she tried to explain.

The sky was threatening rain when you hopped on your bicycle and began the journey into Manhattan. The clouds opened up and started pouring just as you arrived at your first client’s house.

“Come on, Pepper,” you said, coaxing the ornery Pomeranian into her rain gear. “Let’s get this over with.”

By midday your symptoms had worsened. The dull ache that started in your chest slowly spread to your shoulders and back. The wet chill of the day seeped into your bones as you stomped up and down the streets of the city, soaking your rain coat, slicking your hair to your forehead.

Most of the time, you loved your job. Being outside, running around with dogs. But today was proving to be brutal. By the time you finished your last walk, you could barely see straight. You unclipped Oscar’s lead in the entryway of the massive brownstone, shutting the front door and leaning against it heavily.

The Rottie mix bounded into the living room, straight to his toy box, and brought you the squeaky plush raccoon—his favorite—depositing it at your feet like an offering. When you didn’t pick it up immediately, he nudged it closer with his nose and whined.

Despite the pain radiating through your body, you chuckled, shaking your head. “Not right now, bud.” Your voice was low, hoarse. His big square head tilted to the side in confusion.

You grabbed a towel from the hall closet, then knelt beside Oscar, removing his raincoat and wiping the mud off his paw pads. He waited patiently, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

“There ya go,” you said, dismissing him with a weary pat. You groaned, pushing yourself off the floor. Just that simple action required almost all your strength. Your head felt like it was full of concrete.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket. You checked the message blearily, realizing there were several of them. All from Yelena.

10:20am

Text me when you finish your route.

11:42am

And take the train home, you can’t bike in this weather.

2:15pm

Are you alive?

3:30pm

Hello????

You were about to reply when Oscar barked impatiently. He had trotted into the kitchen and was waiting to be fed.

You sighed, slipping your phone back into your pocket. You just had to finish up here, then you could head home and collapse into your bed. Take the weekend to recover. This was the mantra you’d been repeating to yourself all day. Now you were in the final stretch, you could see the light at the end of the tunnel.

But you felt so achy. And your mind kept wandering, losing track of what you were doing. You glanced into the living room longingly. What if you just laid down on the sofa for 10 minutes? Surely Wanda and Nat wouldn’t mind.

They were your favorite clients, after all. Practically family, considering Yelena was Nat’s sister. You had attended dinners and parties in their home before. Maybe it would be totally acceptable to crash out on their expensive, luxurious sofa…

A roll of thunder overhead snapped you back to reality.

“Feed the dog,” you sighed, worried your foggy brain would forget if you didn’t say it out loud.

You slipped off your muddy boots, then padded down the hallway. You made it to the kitchen feeling out of breath. Leaning over to grab Oscar’s food and water bowls, the world suddenly tilted sideways.

“Whoa,” you muttered, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter.

Oscar barked once, twice.

“It’s okay,” you said, trying to soothe him even as your vision swam. He turned and bounded out of the room.

You closed your eyes, then reached for the bowls again. This time you managed to set them on the counter. Mission half-way accomplished. Slowly you breathed in, willing the room to stop spinning.

The unexpected sound of footsteps on the staircase roused you from your stupor. You heard Wanda saying your name, a fact that would have startled you under normal circumstances. After all, the house had been empty when you arrived. But all your senses were dulled.

“Is that you?” She called. “I’m glad I caught you, there’s leftovers in the fridge and Nat wanted me to make sure you took them home.”

She was walking down the hall, Oscar trailing behind, and you dimly realized you should say something. But before you could form a coherent sentence, she paused.

“Sweetheart?” Her voice was different now—uncertain, confused.

“Yeah, it’s me,” you called, trying to sound normal, trying to muster the strength to stand upright as you leaned heavily on the counter for support. “In here.”

Wanda rounded the corner, carefully scanning the kitchen. When she finally saw you hunched by the sink, she stilled.

“Hey, Wanda,” you said with a little wave. You tried to smile. “Sorry, I was just…”

You trailed off, losing the plot mid-sentence. Even at full strength, you would have found the sight of the other woman distracting. But given the state you were in, you stood practically no chance. She was wearing a loose denim shirt with both sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Her hair was pinned back, and she had a pair of reading glasses perched on her head. You realized you were staring and closed your mouth, looking away as an intense shiver wracked your body. Wanda’s eyes narrowed. You gestured weakly to the dog bowls on the counter in front of you.

“Just about to feed Oscar,” you finished, hoping you didn’t sound as miserable as you felt.

Wanda watched as you struggled to push yourself upright. You took a few unsteady steps toward the pantry where they kept the dog food, then swayed like you might fall. The other woman stepped toward you instantly, catching you around the waist. She could feel how hot you were through your shirt.

“Let me do that,” she said. “You sit down, before you fall down.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but she was gone before you could get the words out. You sank onto the nearby barstool, legs feeling like jello.

As soon as you were down, you worried you wouldn’t be able to get back up. It felt so good to be off your feet.

When Wanda reappeared, she was still looking at you with the same expression as before—suspicion edging toward concern. But she knew you well enough to guess that outright fussing would be met with resistance. You were private. And you had a stubbornly independent streak. She’d have to play this one carefully to avoid scaring you off.

“Long day?” She asked.

“I’m fine,” you said mechanically. “Just tired.”

She set Oscar’s bowls on the floor, then fixed you with a glare.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Well, I am,” you argued. “Perfectly fine.”

That earned you a small smile. She shook her head, took a deep breath like you were trying her last shred of patience.

“Prove it,” she said.

You scrunched your face up in confusion. Wanda tried very hard not to find this adorable.

“If you’re fine, prove it,” she elaborated, speaking slowly so your fuzzy brain could follow along.

“How?” You whined, rolling your eyes.

“A minute ago you it seemed like you couldn’t even pick up Oscar’s dog bowls,” she shrugged. “So, show me something that a ‘perfectly fine’ person could do.”

“Or what?” You said, trying to buy yourself some time.

She sauntered toward you. “You’re not leaving this house,” she said slowly, enunciating each word. “Until I’m satisfied that you’re okay.”

A ripple of defiance propelled you off the barstool. As soon as you were standing, black dots gathered at the corners of your vision. You ignored these, taking a step forward. Then another. And another. You were almost in the hallway. It would have been a very impressive exit if you had managed to stay upright.

From faraway you heard Wanda cry out, her voice muted by the fuzzy ringing in your ears. The next thing you knew, you were on your back, looking up at the kitchen skylights.

Wanda dropped to her knees beside you. She called your name, brushing your hair back and feeling your forehead. You didn’t answer at first. Her sharp gazed flickered back to your flushed cheeks, glassy eyes.

“See,” you said, slurring slightly. “Perfectly fine.”

She didn’t laugh.

“You have a fever,” she said, words clipped. “How long have you felt like this?”

You shrugged. “Few days.”

“Days,” Wanda repeated faintly, trying to quell her outrage. Something about the flash of anger in her voice made you recoil.

“Don’t be mad,” you said, feeling pathetic.

She softened instantly, schooling her face into something gentle.

“I’m not mad, milaya,” she rasped. “Just worried.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to say there was no reason to be worried, just as another violent shiver wracked your body. Your teeth chattered.

“You and Nat,” she murmured, tracing her thumb across your cheek. “Refusing to admit you’re not invincible.”

You looked away. With sudden horror, you realized you were close to tears. Thankfully, Oscar reappeared in the room just then. He ran to your side, licking your face and furiously wagging his tail.

“Honey, I’m home!” A familiar voice called from the entryway.

“Speak of the devil,” Wanda breathed, and you could see the relief in her eyes. Now that they outnumbered you, maybe you’d listen to reason.

“Hey, did Yelena call you? She left me a weird voicemail,” Natasha said. There was a soft clatter as she placed her keys in the ceramic bowl by the door. “She’s worried about -“

“In here, Nat,” Wanda said impatiently. “Need your help.”

Natasha appeared, looking devastating as always in a fitted suit. She had clearly come straight from the office. Her smile vanished as she entered the kitchen.

“What happened?” She demanded, skidding across the tile. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Wanda said, just as you said “Yes.”

Natasha looked between the two of you, confused.

“She fainted,” Wanda explained, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I didn’t faint,” you grumbled, insulted by the prissy word. “Just got dizzy.”

Wanda and Natasha ignored you.

“Should we take her to urgent care?”

You groaned, horrified by that idea. You rolled sideways, trying to push yourself up off the floor. Natasha laid a hand on your chest. When you kept struggling, she reached over and pulled you firmly into her lap, anchoring you in place.

“Stay,” she said, her voice a stern rumble.

You tipped your head back and she felt a familiar flutter of affection as she glanced down at you. It had been there ever since Yelena started bringing you around. She pressed the back of her hand to your forehead, eyes widening in alarm. “You’re burning up.”

“I’m fine,” you repeated, voice cracking with exhaustion. “Just tired. Need to sleep it off.”

Wanda stilled, tilting her head to one side.

“I…agree,” she said, giving Natasha a significant look.

You frowned, trying to follow the unspoken conversation they seemed to be having above you.

There was a loud clap of thunder outside. The noise seemed to settle things for Nat. She nodded, acting like a gavel had been struck, a decision reached.

“You hear that?” Natasha said. “Can’t let you leave in the middle of a storm. Why don’t you stay for dinner? Once you’ve had a hot bath, a nap, and a home-cooked meal, we’ll send you on your way. Deal?”

“You don’t have to do all that,” you objected, even as you curled slightly closer to Natasha, seeking her body heat. She ran an absent hand over your back, rubbing big soothing circles.

“Sweet girl,” Wanda said fondly. “We want to.”

You felt a shy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Okay, the pet name was new. And wow, it did things to you, hearing Wanda’s low voice curl around the term of endearment reserved just for you. You looked back and forth between their faces then heaved a sigh, suddenly too tired to argue anymore.

“Okay,” you said, voice small.

Wanda smiled, victorious. “I’m making stew! Something hearty, restorative. There will be potatoes and broth and—”

“Ok, babushka,” Natasha teased. “Your old country is showing.”

Wanda scowled, then stuck her tongue out, turning toward the cabinet to retrieve several pots and pans. The next second, Nat was helping you to your feet, troubled by how unsteady you seemed.

“Do you mind if I just…?”

She didn’t wait for an answer before scooping you into her strong arms. “Hey!” You complained. But then you relaxed against her, eyes slipping closed as she carried you down the hall, then turned and started climbing the stairs.

“When’s the last time you ate anything?” She murmured against your hair.

You shrugged.

Her eyes narrowed. “Bad girl.”

The words made your breath catch. You buried your face in her shoulder, trying to hide flushed cheeks that had nothing to do with your fever.

Get it together, perv. Natasha and Wanda were trying to do something nice for you. Were they absurdly hot? Sure. Had you entertained an idle daydream or two about what it might be like to kiss them both? Of course. But that was no excuse for reacting like a horny teenager.

Natasha opened the door to a guest bedroom and set you down gently beside the bed. You thought she might leave, but then she walked into an en-suite bathroom and you heard the sound of running water.

“There are fresh towels and robes in here,” she called. “Can you get undressed or do you need help?”

You swallowed around a sudden lump in your throat. “I’m okay, thanks.”

She reappeared, smiling softly. “Do you mind if I stay? I don’t want to leave you alone. In case you pass out again, or slip, or…”

You gave her a tired smile. “You faint one lousy time and suddenly nobody trusts you.”

Natasha snorted, then turned and faced the wall for propriety’s sake. With shaky hands you began unbuttoning your pants.

“Yelena called me,” Nat said after a few moments. “She’s worried about you.”

You sighed. “Seems like there’s a lot of that going around today.”

Although you couldn’t see her face, you could hear the frown in her voice. “We care about you,” she said. “Is that so bad?”

You pulled your shirt over your head with a small grunt of pain. Natasha glanced back instinctively, catching a glimpse of your exposed stomach and toned abs, the low-cut sports bra showing off your curves. She sucked in a breath, feeling that inconvenient flutter again. It would help if you weren’t so pretty, she thought. Then she quickly turned around before you saw her peeking.

“Sorry,” you said, tossing the shirt on the floor. “I’m not very good at this.”

Natasha stilled, hearing the emotion in your voice. “At what?”

You gestured vaguely at the space between you.

“Making people worry,” you sighed. Again, tears suddenly pricked the corners of your eyes. It was a testament to how rundown you were. Natasha heard the way your breathing changed, became ragged.

She said your name so softly it made your chest ache.

“Can I turn around?” She asked.

You crossed your arms, feeling exposed in just your bra and boxers. But you gave her permission anyway. You trusted her.

“Sorry,” you said, hitching on the word. “Just makes me feel like…a burden, an inconvenience.”

Natasha stepped toward you, enveloping you in a warm hug. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, detka,” she murmured. “And you could never be a burden to us. It’s okay to let people take care of you when you don’t feel good.”

You sagged against her. “Kay.”

You might have let her go on holding you all night. But then your stomach growled, and she chuckled.

“Come on,” she said, lips quirking up in a gentle smile. “Don’t want the water to get cold.”

——————

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