#and its ok if you can’t do everything on your own

[sageivyreads]

cornered dogs

Ghoap/street kitty hybrid!fem!reader

introduction: hello! ok i lied i have no idea when the smut is happening because i can’t figure out how to integrate it into the story yet so this might just become a slow burn if i decide to continue it. also i have no idea how to write scottish accents please spare me!! part 2 to this

contains/warnings: 4.4k words, brief description of a dog attack, reader is drugged, morally gray ghoap, mention of wounds, slightest of angst and mildest of comforts(ghost is a little mean), kinda unreliable narrator reader, r is forced into a bath but it’s for her own good, r is nicknamed ‘Kitty’ since they don’t know her name, 18+, no smut.

reader description: reader is an adult woman. no mention of race or size. her hair is briefly mentioned as ‘messy’ and fur ‘matted’. no mention of hair color or length. she also has scars. able bodied and doesn’t talk, but she will eventually.

It’s misty and wet when the boys (only Soap, Ghost never went to bed) wake in the morning. Furniture is strewn across porches, newspaper soggy on driveways, windshield wipers are propped up in piles of snow atop the car. The storm last night was not even near the calmest. It seemed to have a goal to ruin everyone’s day.

Ghost and Soap have their separate thoughts of worry about you. Soap, when he saw the harsh wind out the bathroom window when he was brushing his teeth. Ghost, when he stepped out of his apartment building for his morning jog and saw the mess the storm had left. It rains and snows frequently where they live, you should be fine, they try to reason with themselves.

And you were doing fine. You’d found sheets of metal in the trash to place over your temporary home for protection from the rain. Which was a few old cardboard boxes smushed together with ripped blankets and tattered rags. You had a full belly for the first time in months the night before, so you’d be okay without food for a bit.

But it’s not like you had someone telling you the weather, and you were underprepared. The wind is so harsh it causes the metal sheets to entirely crush your little home. You just narrowly throw yourself out when it comes crashing down, your knees scraping against the pavement.

You’re heartbroken. Devastated, as you stare at everything you once had been destroyed. But you can’t even feel it, can you? Not when the frost is biting at your nose, warning you of the need for shelter immediately.

You stand from the gravelly road on shaky legs, hugging your arms tight to your chest. The black hoodie is your thickest layer, and you put it on top while hoping it’d absorb some of the rain. Hail is beating at your face as you start to wander, looking for anything you might be able to use for shelter.

Boxes, piles of garbage, trash bags, anything. You come across a dumpster and you think you could slip in the gap between it and the concrete wall. You’ll still be cold, but it’ll protect you from the wind and rain. It fucking stinks. Hopefully you’ll be able to stand the smell.

You proceed, crouching to shift some trash bags stacked against the wall to hopefully slip between. The sound of a low rumble, different from the thunder, makes you stand once more. You turn, and your heart turns cold at the sight you’re met with.

There’s a snarling dog in front of you, hackles raised and legs bent low to the ground as it takes slow steps toward you. Saliva drips from its mouth and mixes with the rain and oil on the street.

The footsteps of the mutt mix with the tip taps of the rain, but your screams don’t.

Your escape is not swift nor scarless. It’s messy, but even after being attacked, you understand the animal. When cornered, everyone is an enemy. You think yourself more alike a pathetic dog than whatever part of you is hybrid.

There’s a nasty chunk taken out of your upper arm, but it’s not too deep. You’ll live.

This whole situation has left you unbelievably startled. You’re soaking wet and shaking, but not from the cold. Your tears are warm against the skin of your cheeks. You can feel scrapes and smears of warm blood on various spots of your body, but you can’t see any injuries other than the bite on your bicep you were currently pressing on with your opposite hand.

Your teeth dig into the split on your lower lip, nose bridge scrunched up from the pain. You’re tired. So tired. Now that the life-saving adrenaline has worn off, and you’re cold, alone, and wet, you only think of one place to go. The only familiar place you have left, really.

It’s a struggle up the stairs of the fire escape with how severely your legs are shaking. You’re worried it’s too late to be wandering so close to people. The storm had started around three in the morning, and after losing your home, searching for a new one, and being attacked, you’d now guess it was around five.

The men in the apartment woke up early, you knew that. But you couldn’t think too hard right now, not when you were so scared.

Your hands shake and slip on the slick surface of the window ledge. On the fourth try, you finally pry it open. You climb inside as quietly as possible, closing it behind you and sinking straight to the floor.

You leave smears of bloody fingertips on the edges of the window and drywall. Your back is against the wall, head slumped on your knees where you hug them to your chest. You wish your mind allowed you to sleep.

It’s only maybe an hour later when you see a light turn on in the other room. But you don’t- can’t fucking move. You’re paralyzed. Even as footsteps approach, even as the kitchen light turns on.

One of the men, the one you hadn’t had encounters with yet, sleepily steps into the kitchen. He’s tanner than the other one, shorter too. He’s got a funky, overgrown hairstyle. Maybe a mohawk in desperate need of a haircut?

He reminds you of the sun. If it were a rowdy, messy guy who had a guilty pleasure in reality TV.

He makes it to the cabinets, the coffee machine, and the fridge before he notices you. Or, the fingerprints. There’s a mug currently being filled by an automatic machine by the time he catches red on his window. His feet stutter to a stop, a frown starting as his lips before his eyes lower to you.

His expression softens, eyebrows raising in surprise at the sight of you. Bloody, clutching your injured bicep, shaking, and soaking wet. Your eyes are wet and surrounded by puffy, pink skin. Your hair clings to your face, the way your clothes do with your body.

“Hi there, sweet thing.” he coos, stepping a few feet away to pull his coffee out of the beeping machine. “Looks like someone’s had a rough night, huh?” He places the mug on the counter before he slowly sinks to sit against the cabinet across from you.

You stare. He’s got weird hair and an even weirder accent. He’s weird. It takes so much energy to even blink, you can’t believe you’re still conscious. You’re terrified, your heart pounding in your chest and ears, but all you can do is stare.

He slowly nods, “Yeah, figured. You must be cold. Mind if I grab ya a blanket? ‘ah can turn the heat up, too.”

All he gets is a blink in response. He stands, slow and measured even as his knees click. “Sit tight,” he urges. You don’t move. He walks out of your sight for a few moments, coming back with a blue wool blanket.

He approaches until he’s a few feet away, spreading out the blanket like wings and tossing it over you as best he can with the distance. It lands on your knees, not nearly high enough for your liking. Your icy fingers twitch. You slowly grip the end of the fabric to pull up to your collarbones.

His lips twitch into a frown at the sight. He wants to swaddle you, surround you in soft blankets and shiny things like a crow would with its mate. Wants to run you a warm bath, and give you another meal. Hot, this time.

But he can be patient. He doesn’t want to scare you off.

“Do ye want somethin’ to eat? Are you here because you’re hungry?” he asks, crouching to sit on the floor against the opposite counter once more. He sighs as he gets nothing in response besides a twitch of your eyebrow and the movement of your throat swallowing.

“Maybe I could get ya something for that arm? If y’let me see, I can help.” he tries to assure you the best he can, but he doesn’t exactly want to be attacked for trying to help. This is his first interaction with you, and it’s already not going great. He gives you a sad smile, and you notice a muscle twitch near his forehead. The crinkle in his skin leads to a star-shaped scar on his temple. You wonder where it’s from.

Soap’s head turns as he hears a clinking noise from the apartment hallway before the door opens. It’s the man you’ve seen before, dressed in joggers and a dark black hoodie, which you think might’ve been grey before it got soaked from the rain.

He locks the door behind him, slips off his shoes, and steps further into the home. He doesn’t notice you immediately either, but much quicker than Soap did. His steps slow once he reaches the kitchen counter, eyes flickering over Soap on the floor, to the bloody window, to you.

His eyes scan you, flicking up to the fingerprints on the window, and the bloody hand clutching your upper arm. Your wet skin and clothes. The way you tremble, the blanket Soap must’ve placed over you.

Soap stands to join him where he’s staring at you. “I found her like this when I came out for coffee this morning. She hasnae moved or talked.” Soap informs, giving you a concerned glance before refocusing on the other man.

All you do is observe as they talk about you. It feels like the cold has settled into your bones at this point, and you have a permanent brain freeze. You haven’t moved in so long, that you think you might actually turn into a statue if you don’t die from infection.

It’s quiet for a moment.

“She can’t stay like tha’. Gonna get hypothermia if she stays wet for any longer.” He digs into the pocket of his hoodie to drop his keys in some weird, wicker woven bowl before he starts towards you. You stiffen, fingers turning into fists against the blankets.

“Woah, woah, what’re ye doin’?” Soap quickly steps up with him, a hand on his arm and expression concerned.

Ghost’s face is blank as Soap stops him, but you notice a twitch on his lip. “I’m going to help her. What, you think she’s got fleas or somethin’?”

Soap scoffs, “How? ‘Cause she’s just gonna let ya touch her? She’s never even let any o’ us willingly see her, much less talk or touch.”

Ghost gives him a long look you can’t decipher, and huffs before he shrugs his hand off his arm and walks up to you. “What d’you think she came ‘ere for? She wants help and that’s wha’ she’s gonna get.”

He reaches down to grab you by your uninjured bicep and elbow, pulling you up to stand. He’s not the most gentle, but he’s not too rough. You stumble, legs shaky and stiff. You feel like rigor mortis is already settling into your muscles, even if you’re still alive.

“Simon,” Soap hisses, and you learn one of the men’s names. You try to step back toward the window, feet fumbling, but Simon nabs you back with a hand on your nape.

He doesn’t respond to Soap, one hand on your shoulder and another on the back of your neck as he guides you to walk in front of him.

The steps are forced and heavy like you’re some newborn calf who was learning how to walk. He guides you to the bathroom where he opens the door and walks you inside. You think your brain might’ve turned offline briefly, and came back on once you realized you were in danger (you aren’t). You don’t know what’s going on, and don’t remember how exactly you got here. What are you missing?

“You’ll be alright, love. We’ll take good care of you.” Soap tries to soothe, keeping up with the hulking man holding you. You glance at him, expression a little pinched. You’re still by the door and can see the living room through the hallway. You could still run. You’re faster than they are. Why are you trying to leave, again?

“Over ‘ere, Kitty.” the man you now know as Simon, says. He leans over the tub to start the faucet. Your eyes flick back to him but you barely blink. He sighs heavily and stands back to his full height. He takes a step and you take two backward, but he just grabs you by the arm and yanks you towards the bath.

His hand goes to the back of your neck again, forcibly shifting your gaze to look up at him. “Did ya freeze up there in tha’ little head of yours, too?” he huffs, lightly flicking your forehead with his free hand. You scrunch your nose, trying to pull away from him.

“No. You need a bath. You’re filthy and freezing.” he grumbled, pulling you to stand at the edge of the tub.

“Do y’need me to undress you?” he asks, keeping his face level with yours. You don’t know what’s wrong with you. Why you aren’t running when they are practically in your face and telling you they’re going to strip your clothes off.

“Si, fuckin’ ease up a bit, alright? She’s clearly startled. Let’s leave her to get undressed.” Soap butts in, stepping further into the bathroom and crossing his arms across his chest.

“Is tha’ what you want? Do y’need me to leave? I’ll leave if I know you’re going to get in.”

You sniffle, the only noise you’d made during this entire time. Your lower lip wobbles. You refuse to make eye contact. The blood on your arm has mostly dried at this point but your hand is still clutching it. Your other hand is fisting the blanket around your shoulders, feet like stone on the ground. If they both left, you think you probably would’ve looked for the nearest window so you don’t have a response to that.

“Alright,” he huffs, straightening next to you. He grabs your cold hands, pressing them to his shoulders and shaping them into a grip. The blanket falls and you shiver. “I’m going to undress you. You can squeeze if I touch somethin’ you don’t like, or I hurt ya. Understand? Squeeze if you understand me.”

Your gaze flicks up to him momentarily, but you can’t read anything behind his eyes. Your fingers flex to the best of your ability, and you think you’re squeezing, but your hand is too numb for you to be sure.

The blood on your hands transfers to the black fabric of his hoodie, but doesn’t show.

“Good,” he nods, kicking the blanket out of the way from where it gathered at your feet. His fingers slip under the hem of your layers, bringing your- his, ripped hoodie above your head, as well as your thinner layers, gaze only briefly wandering over your body. He seems to focus more on the scars than your chest.

He only shifts your grip briefly to let the articles of clothing fall to the floor before putting them back. He continues with your shirt, pants, and undergarments until you’re bare. Your eyes have fixed themselves on a wet patch on his shoulders, afraid that if you move he might go further than you’d like.

“In the bath now,” he confirms, and Soap reenters the conversation to help when Simon gestures for it. They move you like a doll. Simon moves your grip to the side of the tub, Soap moving one leg at a time into the bath. He guides you to sit, and you shiver violently at the temperature change.

Your teeth start clattering. Or maybe they had always been. Your hands hug your arms, crossed across your chest to give you some kind of modesty. It’s not much.

“Johnny. The door.”

Johnny, you learn, stands from his crouched position to close the bathroom door. Something he’d forgotten to in his rush to help. There’s something wet dripping down your face, and it takes you a moment to differentiate whether it’s tears or water dripping from your hair. You think it’s both.

You can vaguely hear some sort of conversation, but your mind seems to blur it out. When Johnny reenters your sight, he’s only in his boxers. You’d probably be taken aback by the amount of skin discoloration- scars, that were on his body if you didn’t have more important things to focus on. Like why he’s nearly naked and getting into the bath with you.

Whatever train of thought you had started conjuring immediately splutters to a stop. He steps into the bath behind you, and you cringe slightly at the thought of your previous wet clothes sticking to your skin.

One of your hands grips the side of the tub, looking to prepare for an easy escape. Johnny’s arm comes around you to grab your wrist and slip it from the edge, gathering both of them to press against your diaphragm in one of his larger ones.

You start to squirm, feet slipping against the tub in your search for momentum as he pulls you back against him. “Easy, lovely. You’re alright.” he coaxes into your ear, wrapping his free forearm around your collarbones and holding you in a loose chokehold as he leans against the back of the tub and takes you with him.

You don’t necessarily fight it, but by the way, your fingers curl into your palms and your breath hitches and stutters, you know they know you’re uncomfortable. Your throat chokes around a whimper as Simon steps around the tub back into your sight.

“Shhhh,” Johnny hushes, settling his chin in the crook of your shoulder. Simon had abandoned his hoodie, now in a black, athletic, tight-fitting shirt. The long sleeves were pushed up to his biceps, a wet clicking noise drawing your attention to his hands.

He was rubbing a plain bar of soap between his palms, slicking his hands before his attention turned towards you. He sets the bar on the side of the tub, reaching for your left foot first. He lifts it out of the water and holds it steady as his hands rub the filth off of you.

You’re already warming up by the time he finishes one leg and starts on the other, only wincing every once in a while when he brushes a scrape. The problem is, you think the cold was numbing your pain. Your temperature is rising and with it your pain.

Your bicep burns now, and tingles in some weird way. The only time you’re adjusted is for Simon to have a better angle to wash you. Johnny keeps you still, mumbling sweet things to you every once in a while. You think you’ve blocked him out at this point.

You’d winced and squirmed a little when he rinsed your wound with water. You didn’t have much of a choice. Your shoulders relax slightly as he finishes and steps away. He hasn’t touched your hair, tail, or ears yet, which only made you worried more for what’s to come. After a moment he returns with a black plastic bottle you can’t catch a good enough look to read.

You watch, wary as he uncaps the lid and holds your upper with his free hand. His hand tilts, spilling the clear liquid over your wound where it bubbles and turns white. You scream, throwing your head back and feeling Johnny flinch as your skull knocks against his chin.

“Fuckin’- easy, easy. We’re not trying to hurt you, calm down.” Johnny tries to soothe you while your squirming increases tenfold.

Johnny never releases you, only tightens his grip and throws a hairy, muscled leg over your hips when your kicking becomes a problem. You squeeze your eyes shut, fresh tears slipping down your newly clean cheeks as your lips part on a sob. It stings, it fucking stings. Why did they do that? What’s wrong with them?

You think you get lost in the white, tight pressure of your eyelids for a moment because when you come back, there’s white gauze and bandages wrapped around your upper arm. You’ve stopped moving. Your lips are parted to let out panicked pants and the whites of your eyes feel irritated.

“Kitty,” Simon speaks so suddenly that your eyes flick up to meet his. A few strands of hair fall in front of your face and you flinch when he smoothes them back. “Relax. We’re not tryin’ to hurt you. You need to cooperate. You hear me? Don’t bite.”

He uses a rough thumb to wipe the tears from your cheeks before he uses that same hand to pry your jaw open, watching as your eyelashes flutter rapidly. He holds your mouth open and uses his free hand to drip a few drops of water into your mouth from a glass cup you have no idea where or when he got.

You stiffen, confused, watery eyes locked on his. He then puts the cup on the bathroom counter and places two small pills on your tongue. You have ample time to bite him. You don’t, reason unknown to you.

He then closes your mouth and watches you closely as he tells you, “Swallow.” You do and can see the way he stares to see if your throat bobs. “Open,” he urges, and this time you do it on your own. When he finds nothing, he praises you with a quiet “good girl.”

“Pain meds. They’ll help ya feel better,” he adds before you even think to ask. You think your brain has been put on a backtrack or something since you stepped into their house. Maybe it was the cold, maybe it was the pain. But now all you can think about is how they could help you every day. Maybe not. They’re too overbearing. Right.

Simon leans over to reach for a bottle labeled ‘shampoo’, but stops when Johnny speaks up. “Si, maybe let’s leave that for another day. Today has already been a lot.” He pauses, and stares, which he seems to do a lot. He grunts in response, leaning over to unplug the tub.

‘Another day’ completely goes over your head.

Your hair is.. well, it’s a mess. You’ve tried to keep it somewhat short so it doesn’t have so much upkeep, but it’s not like there’s a free barber at every corner. the matted fur on your tail and ears you… don’t even want to talk about it.

“I’m gonna let go now, alright?” Johnny says next to your ear, tone soft enough it doesn’t make you jump this time. You nod hesitantly, the first type of communication you’ve ever given to them. He slowly releases you and Simon reaches his hands out for you to grab. You do, slowly, letting him help you stand and step out of the tub.

Johnny lugs himself out of the tub, grabs a towel, and excuses himself from the room. Simon wraps you up in a fluffy, gray towel, rubbing and patting at your face and shoulders until you’re mostly dry. And you kind of just.. stand there. Johnny comes back a few moments later, clothed and dry now, holding a few articles of clothing in his hands.

“Got some clothes for ya,”

Your gaze turns towards him, and you shiver and cross your arms across your breasts once Simon lets the towel drop. He holds a few things up to your body to see what fits best. He dresses you in boxers, one layers of pants, a short-sleeved shirt, a long-sleeved shirt, and a long-sleeved shirt.

You almost wish they had something warmer. Or a raincoat, maybe? But beggars can’t be choosers, can they? At least the socks they tug onto your feet are warm and fuzzy.

You let them move you around like a puppet on strings. One man slipping your arms into the sleeves, one man pulling boxers up your hips. Once they finish, Simon heads over to your clothes.

You watch as Simon picks them from the floor, Johnny adjusting your new outfit to fit you more comfortably, and shoves them right in the bathroom trash.

Johnny watches the way your expression drops as you look at him and shoots Simon a look. “Sorry, lovely. These clothes are yours now.” He tries to placate, his eyes soft as he looks at you. You frown.

“Right,” Simon grunts, “Hoodie got all ripped up. The rest are beyond saving. You’ll wear this now.”

Johnny places a hand on your shoulder, guiding you out to the connected living room and kitchen. You’re disappointed, but you don’t think you can be mad when they’ve done all this for you. You have nothing from before. Maybe that’s okay.

“Ye ready to leave?” he asks, riffling through a cabinet in the kitchen. It takes a moment before you nod. “Think the storm is dying down. You can stay until it’s over, f’you want.”

You shake your head, subtly, instinctively, stepping towards the window. “That’s alrigh’, won’t make ya.” he smiles, showing you his palms up before he takes a step back.

They don’t say anything. They seem to go back to whatever they were doing before you. Soap grabs his cold coffee off the counter and pops it in the microwave, a few beeps sounding out as it turns on. Simon has carried his hoodie back out from the bathroom and placed it on the coat rack by the door.

It almost seems too natural. Practiced.

Your feet feel cold and heavy when you take another step towards the window. You swear they were warm just a moment ago.

While you blink away some blurriness from your vision, you’re hyper-aware of the excess saliva gathering in your mouth. Fuck, please don’t throw up, you urge.

When your gaze refocuses on the window, the rain looks like a watercolor painting. The muscles behind your eyes ache. Your foot is taking another step before you permit it.

Your newly socked feet cause you to slip slightly, one hand snapping out and you just barely have enough time to grip the cedge of the kitchen counter. Your head pounds.

“Och, easy, Kitty.” Johnny gentles, coming up behind you and placing his now cold hands on your shoulders. You don’t know when you got so hot. Feverish.

“Let’s go sit ya down with Simon, yeah?” he asks, but it’s not really a question as he already starts to guide you towards the couch where Simon is sat. You don’t remember seeing him walk that way.

Johnny sits you on the couch next to him, who lifts an arm to coax your head into his lap. He pets his hand over your head, his fingertips feeling the heat of your skin as he brushes against your cheeks.

He pushes your hair back from your face and you let your eyes fall shut solely because of the intense nausea taking over you. Your lips part to let out slow, harsh breaths.

“I don’t feel so good,” you moan, voice slurring, fingers curling into a fist against the fabric of Simon’s pants. The room feels like it’s spinning.

“I know, love.”

notes: sorry for the abrupt ending! also i don’t mind tagging people so go ahead and ask if u want!

tag: @pagesfalling

[ririxxbat]

ok imagine Clark Kent as a soon to be dad with preg! reader ackckckck SOMEONE MAKE A PROPER FIC ABT THIS PLSSSS

Timeless

□Pre-superdad, fluff, Clark Kent x reader, married, Clark Kent being nervous, no use of YN, Clark calls reader "love", 748 words, timeless by ts•°

A/N- super duper short, first fic haha, usually I dont make stuff like this, but I had this idea for a while so why not try it. Might trash this if it doesnt do well since I dont actually plan to make more of these and i js want this acc to be like all fun for me and js a place to yap abt my interests, but if you guys do like it I can try to make moree. Always open to comments and suggestions but pls be nice.

Hope you enjoy it my loves ♡♡

Ever since you got pregnant, Clark has been fussing about every little thing. Making your own food, nah, Clark can do that. Reaching something, nope. Not allowed, in this household. “Do you need a foot rub, love?” “Sit right down.” Its Every. Single. Day.

One night, about a month before your due date, Clark was catering your every need. And then some. He was practically running around the house, doing things that he thought you wanted. You were lounging on the bed, until you had enough and stood up. Clark saw and ran to your side holding you up. “What do you need? I can get it done for you, no problem.” He said, panicky and fidgety.

“Clark, all I need is you right now.” You replied. A soft sigh escaped the Kryptonian’s lips. You led him to the bed, laying on your side’s, facing each other.

“You are incredible, you know that?” Clark said, barely above a whisper. His hands, resting below your stomach, his eyes locked in on the baby inside of you.

“Says the Man of Steel.” You replied, hands cupping his face. Clark let out a soft chuckle. “That’s.. that’s just a job. But this..” He took a moment to pause, the sense of contentment washing over him. “This is my life. You, and this baby, is my life.” You were the one person, his soul was bared out to.

“Clark..” You breathily replied, smiling at the love of your life.

“You bear our child, and you.. hold life in your hands.” God, was he getting soft. But, that was okay. Because it was you, he was soft for. You lean in, kissing him. It was soft, and gentle. No lust, just love, the kind that makes you want to grow old together. The kind that you know, will be cemented for generations to come. You pulled away, your foreheads pressing against one another.

“You make me fall in love with you, over and over again.” You sighed out, feeling like goo. Maybe that was okay too, because he would hold you together. He always does.

“You are everything, this baby is everything.” Clark’s voice was mellow, the love in his eyes could not be mistaken for anything else. His smile faltered, just for a moment. But you didn’t miss it. Of course, you didn’t, it was you, after all.

“What’s bothering you?” A look of worry plagued your face. The concern, seeping in.

“It’s just.. I’m so nervous. What if I’m not a good enough father? What if I can’t balance being Superman, Clark Kent, and this baby’s father? I can’t bear the thought of letting you down. Of letting our child down. ” He looked down, he just couldn’t look at you, knowing that he was spiraling. You didn’t react the way he thought you would. He thought you would think he was questioning this decision, questioning them. You knew he wasn’t. That’s just not how her husband is.

“Clark Kent, you listen to me right now.” She tilted his head up, she needed to look at him when she said this. “You will be a great father. If you will be half the husband you are, as a father, you will be amazing. And even when you’re not, I am here. You will not raise this child alone, okay? We lean on each other, always. I will be your support, and you will be mine.” Her words shook his heart. More than she normally does. “If we make mistakes, we learn and we grow. Together. Always, together.” And with that, he melted.

“Thank you.. God, what would I do without you?” Clark let out that hazy laugh once more. “That’s what I’m here for.” Your half-lidded eyes, falling shut. “In every universe, in every other life, its you and me. Together.” Clark said, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, until you fell asleep.

And so, a month later, came a beautiful baby boy. He looked exactly like his father. Except for one thing. He had your eyes. A reminder, that this was your love incarnate. The little baby boy, was sleeping in his cot, when you and Clark finally had a moment of peace together. In the dim light of the living room, you two were on the couch, taking in the fulfillment of their family. “We truly are, timeless.” Clark whispered to his sleeping wife. In the midst of all changing in the world, you stood still. And oh my, were you two timeless.

YOU WILL NEVER NOT BE FAMOUS MY SWEET BABY CLARK KENT.

[stripesysheaven]

started crying last night in bed but for once it was in a good way and not a bad way. things might be looking up for me

[subaru-meteorlight]

.

[quarterlifekitty]

Something something bear!hybrid!Price something something breeding you full of his cubs…please?

I’m gonna do some RECYCLING here

Imagine Grizzly!Price introducing himself on the day you move in. And he’s never seen a bear like you before. You’re a bear for certain— the fluffy ears and tail, the scent of fruit and honey, it pulls out instincts he’d long forgotten about.

But you’re so little. And you have that funny little ring of fur around your neck. And that long tongue. And you can’t stand the cold. No hibernation instincts whatsoever.

A sun bear.

And he feels this tremendous itch when winter comes. He always feels this sort of dull ache— sleep is calling him. But he’s the kind of man who can’t help but keep an eye on everything going on around him. And you’re not prepping at all. Where are your crates of groceries? Your house has a cellar for God’s sake and he hasn’t seen anything go in there. Each time he sees you through your window, just enjoying yourself and ambling around the house— it’s like dry kindling is being tossed onto the embers around his heart.

He always felt this hard drive to nurture, to provide, to nest— he can’t stand seeing you so vulnerable and unprepared. And you’re so small! What’s going to happen once you get snowed in and you barely have enough to last you a week and a half?

Which is why he keeps coming around. Bringing his own things, preserves, jerky, canned goods— all under the guise of having “made too much”. Proving he has what it takes to care for you. You don’t really get it, he can tell from the look on your face, but you appreciate the treats.

He can’t get the image of you licking into a nearly empty jar of blueberry compote with your too long tongue out of his head. Of course his girl wouldn’t be wasteful.

Price only gets broodier as the dead of winter approaches. A blizzard is forecasted— and he all but demands that you stay at his place. He has a generator, firewood, a full larder— you don’t. You follow easily, like a dog rolling over to have its belly rub. What’s to protest?

He insists you sleep in his bed. Why waste the body heat when you could share? He barely has to prompt you before you’re rolling around, playing in his sheets, rubbing your scent everywhere. Sun bears mate year round, so you always smell just a little ripe and juicy— and it drives him crazy.

Having you in his bed, keeping you warm, feeding you…. It pushes him into that state of mind. You’re not in a man’s house anymore, you’re in a bear’s den, and his body knows what comes in spring, even if yours doesn’t.

He grinds up against you in his half-asleep daze, his nose buried in your neck as he mutters about what you’ll look like all fat and happy from overwintering with his cubs inside you. You might be a bit too small to take his cock at first, and it might be a bit of struggle to carry his brood, but you’ll have him to get you ready. He’ll look after you every step of the way, so just don’t worry your pretty head about it, ok?

[justporo]

So you'll see tomorrow

A/N: Seeing a beautiful piece of artwork by @velnna and listening to Half life by Livingston I got a very angsty idea for a drabble (so be warned, it's sad). This idea came to me first a while back listening to Just a Man (you know from *that* BG3 edit). @velnna as always thanks for letting me play with your son - and sorry I hurt him... Also thank you to Dad on Maf's discord server for the inspo for the final line.

Warnings: implied character death (but this is just an alternate timeline ok??), self sacrifice

~~~

So this was it.

This is how they would all die.

There was no way they would defeat the Netherbrain. All their endeavours that led them here, all for naught. Unless…

Staeve saw it in his eyes first. How their expression changed from swimming and hopeless to hardened and determined. Astarion’s brows drew together - the crease they created between them as sharp as his daggers he lifted up once more.

“Staeve.”

He had never heard his voice like this. The tone as sharp as a knife and hard as rock.

It scared him.

“I’m going to create an opening for you. Be ready.”

Fear dug its claws into Staeve’s throat, choking him, as he began to realise what was about to happen.

“No,” the half-drow whispered, weakly grabbing for his lover’s wrists with all of his remaining strength.

“Astarion, no! You can’t do this!”

Panic gave Staeve new power. Helped him to forcefully turn Astarion around to him. Helped him make his love stare into his eyes as he screamed at him again. And again.

He shook him, even making the daggers drop from his pale, blood-speckled fingers.

Staeve kept screaming, feeling his voice become hoarse, hot streams of tears washing away the grime and gore as they made their way down his face.

But as he kept throwing everything at Astarion he noticed ruby eyes remaining hard and unfaltering. The decision had been made.

The last of his strength went with his last drop of hope as Staeve’s hands fell weakly from Astarion’s. His legs gave up, knees hit the ground hard.

And only then did Astarion shift, taking a final step back before making the run-up.

He dropped down in front of Staeve who could only stare up at him anymore.

“Let me do this one thing right, Staeve,” he whispered solemnly, cupping his love’s face. “Just this once let me make things right.”

Staeve’s vision was blurred, his head swimming. But he still clearly saw the warmth in Astarion’s eyes as he leaned his forehead to Staeve’s.

Astarion’s hand wandered to the nape of his neck as he pressed his eyes closed. “Promise me, you’ll live for me, Staeve. To the fullest.” When the vampire opened his eyes again, Staeve was sure there were tears in Astarion’s eyes as well.

There was nothing in Staeve to do or say. He wasn’t in control of anything anymore it felt like. Not even his own body as he solely kept listening to Astarion’s final words.

“And promise me,” the vampire continued, voice breaking, “sometimes - when you sit in the sun - you’ll think of me, Staeve. Promise me.”

Astarion only waited only long enough for Staeve to weakly nod, seemingly the only thing he was still capable of.

Then he crushed his mouth to his lover’s, the motion so forceful their teeth crashed together.

Desperation had them kiss so hard it hurt, that it felt like perishing already. Astarion’s hand on Staeve’s neck pressed down so hard it felt like bones might crush. A single last breath was passed between them as their lips moved against each other as they tried to make this the most vivid moment they had ever experienced.

One so he could never possibly forget this final kiss - how it had felt.

The other so he would go to his end, with the taste of his lover on his lips.

When a small eternity ended and Astarion broke away he grabbed Staeve’s face a final time.

“I know in another life, I would have loved you forever,” Astarion uttered with a smile.

Then he let go, Staeve almost toppling over, suddenly void of anything still lifting him up.

Astarion grabbed his daggers, turned around with a last glance and a smirk - and then he leapt.

[rafecameronssl4t]

ok hear me out........

dcc!reader watching Rafe get hurt during a game. Maybe they get into a small fight before the game and it gets into Rafe's head a little too much and throws off his game mindset

Feel free to totally ignore this if you're not vibing with the idea! Anyways I love all of you're writings, keep up the amazing work queen!!!!!!

Duties to whom? || Nfl Player!Rafe Cameron x dcc!reader

A/n: thank u for the request i love it!!!

Warnings: angst,

Word counts: 1,795

MASTERLIST (nfl!rafe x dcc!reader au masterlist)

The locker room felt stifling, the tension between you and Rafe thick enough to choke on. You stood in front of the mirror, carefully fixing your lipstick with steady hands despite the storm brewing inside you. “Just get out,” you said bitterly, dabbing at the corner of your mouth before tossing the tissue onto the counter.

Rafe, still in his uniform, stared at you in disbelief. His hands were on his hips, his chest rising and falling as though he’d just come off the field. “What?” he snapped, his tone laced with frustration. You turned your head slightly, catching his reflection in the mirror. “Have you forgotten that we have jobs to do, Rafe?”

“Jobs?” he repeated, his voice rising as he took a step closer. “We haven’t even finished—” “Well, I’m finished!” you cut him off, spinning around to face him fully. Your eyes burned with the remnants of the argument that had spiralled out of control. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore, so just go.”

Rafe’s scoff echoed in the small room, his head tilting back in exasperation. “Unbelievable.” You turned back to the mirror, refusing to meet his gaze. The silence stretched out, broken only by the faint hum of the stadium crowd filtering through the walls. “You always do this,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, but the accusation hit its mark.

“Do what?” you shot back, spinning on your heel. “Stand up for myself? Refuse to sit here while you act like you’re the only one who’s stressed? God forbid, right?” Rafe ran a hand through his damp hair, his frustration palpable. “That’s not what this is about, and you know it.” “Then what is it about, Rafe?” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Because I’m tired of having this same fight over and over again. It’s exhausting.” For a moment, he didn’t respond. His jaw tightened, and he looked at you as though searching for the right words, something to break the cycle you were both caught in. “You think this is easy for me?” he finally said, his voice quieter but no less intense.

“Balancing all of this? The games, the media, us? I’m trying, okay? But every time I slip up, you act like I’m the bad guy.” You blinked, his words catching you off guard. “Just please,” you said, voice cracking as you turned to face him. “Get out, Rafe. I can’t perform like this!”

Your words hung in the air, and for a second, his expression flickered with something softer—regret, maybe—but it was quickly replaced by a storm of his own. “And you think I can?” he roared, throwing his arms up in exasperation, “you think it’s any easier for me?” “Well, you’re going to have to, aren’t you?” you snapped, your voice sharp as a whip.

The anger in your tone startled even you, but you didn’t care. You were too far gone, too wound up from his relentless push and pull. You turned back to the counter, furiously zipping up your makeup bag with enough force that the sound echoed in the quiet room. The air between you was suffocating, charged with unspoken feelings and unresolved tension.

“I don’t even know what you want from me anymore,” Rafe muttered, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “I want you to stop!” you said, turning around to face him, your boots clicking loudly on the concrete floor as you moved. “Stop acting like everything’s about you! Like your stress is the only thing that matters. I have a job too, Rafe, and you—” Your voice faltered for a moment, but you pushed through.

“You’re making it impossible for me to do it right now.” He stared at you, his jaw tight, hands resting on his hips as if he was holding himself back from saying something he’d regret. You didn’t wait for a response. You couldn’t. Grabbing your pom poms, you stormed past him, your boots echoing with each step. “Good luck out there,” you threw over your shoulder, the words biting and sarcastic.

“Yeah, thanks for the support,” he called after you, but there was no real venom in his voice. Just frustration, layered with something that sounded an awful lot like defeat. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t afford to. Not with the performance waiting for you just outside the tunnel and the man who could unravel you with a single glance standing behind you.

~

From the moment Rafe walked out onto the field, you could tell his head wasn’t screwed on properly. Even as you called out formations and checked on the other cheerleaders, your eyes kept drifting toward Rafe. Something about his movements was off—less sharp, less calculated. The usual precision that made him one of the best in the league wasn’t there, and you knew exactly why.

The argument in the locker room had been raw, cutting deeper than either of you realised at the time. You thought you’d tucked your emotions away, but the nagging guilt wouldn’t let up. And now, watching Rafe stumble through a game he’d normally dominate, it was clear he was still carrying the weight of your words.

This wasn’t how you wanted him to play—frustrated and reckless. By the second quarter, it was painfully obvious to everyone that Rafe wasn’t himself. His passes were less precise, his footwork shaky, and his frustration was evident in every misstep. The crowd, normally electric in their cheers for him, began to murmur uneasily.

“C’mon, Cameron,” one of the announcers said over the loudspeakers. “What’s going on with him tonight?” You swallowed hard, your chest tightening as you watched him try to shake it off, slapping his helmet and pacing on the sidelines. You could see it in his body language—he was spiraling.

And then it happened. Midway through the third quarter, the Cowboys’ defensive line broke through, faster than Rafe had anticipated. He dropped back, eyes scanning the field for an open receiver, but his timing was off. His hesitation cost him. A linebacker barreled into him with full force, slamming him to the ground.

It happened to close to you, the impact was deafening, the sound of bodies colliding and helmets crashing together making your stomach lurch. The crowd gasped, the air heavy with tension as the trainers and medics rushed onto the field. You froze on the sidelines, your routine momentarily forgotten as Rafe crumpled to the ground.

You watched as he tried to sit up, his hand clutching his shoulder, pain etched into his features. The trainers helped him to his feet, and he waved off their attempts to cart him out, insisting he could walk. But the stiffness in his movements, the way he cradled his arm, told you it wasn’t minor. You didn’t even think about it.

The moment halftime hit, you were running toward the tunnel, ignoring the whispers of the staff your and the curious looks of the crowd. When you found him in the medical room, he was sitting on the edge of a table, his shoulder iced and his jersey pulled halfway off. He looked up when you entered, his expression darkening for a moment before softening as he took in your worried face.

“You’re supposed to be with your team,” he said flatly, though his tone lacked its usual bite. “And you’re supposed to be on the field,” you shot back, stepping closer. “Are you okay?” He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Took a hit. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” “Rafe…” Your voice broke slightly, and you stepped closer, your eyes scanning him for signs of serious injury.

Rafe looked away, jaw tightening. “I wasn’t focused,” he admitted, his tone low and bitter. “That hit? It’s on me. I let our fight get to me.” Your stomach churned. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I didn’t think—” “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” he cut in, his eyes finally meeting yours. “You didn’t think. You just threw all that at me and expected me to shake it off like it didn’t matter.”

You flinched but held his gaze. Your guilt surged, and you bit your lip, unsure of what to say. Finally, you reached out, your hand brushing against his uninjured arm. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to throw you off. I was just… angry, and I took it out on you.” For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, Rafe let out a heavy sigh, running his uninjured hand through his hair.

“Look, I know I wasn’t perfect out there tonight. But I can’t play when my head’s a mess. And you…” He trailed off, his voice softening. “You’re always in my head, and maybe that’s not always a good thing, but it’s the truth," A soft chuckle escaped his lips, breaking the tension, and despite yourself, a small smile cracked across your face. You stepped closer, hesitating before resting your hand on his good shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “For making it harder. For not realising how much you care.” Rafe glanced up at you, his eyes searching yours. “We’re both under a lot of pressure, but we can’t keep doing this." You nodded, your throat tight with emotion. “I’ll try harder. I promise.” He gave you a small, tired smile, the tension between you easing just slightly. “Me too.”

The sounds of the stadium filtered in from the hallway, a steady hum of cheers and announcements. It was a stark reminder that both of you had jobs waiting, responsibilities to uphold no matter what had just unfolded between you. “I gotta head back before Kelli and Judy ask for my head,” you sighed, the weight of your position tugging at you. But before you turned away, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

It was brief, but it held everything you couldn’t yet put into words—an apology, a reassurance, a promise. Rafe’s lips quirked into a lazy grin as you pulled back, his usual cockiness tempered by the warmth in his eyes. “I’ll survive,” he teased, his voice rough but lighter than before. “You know me—tough as nails.” “You’ll be okay,” you murmured, your hand lingering on his uninjured shoulder for a moment longer.

It was a gentle touch, meant to steady him, to remind him that no matter what had happened earlier, you were still here. He nodded, his grin softening into something almost boyish. “I always am.” With a reluctant sigh, you turned and made your way back toward the tunnel, the click of your boots echoing in the corridor. You could feel his eyes on you, watching as you straightened your shoulders and stepped back into the bright lights of the stadium.

[feyburner]

This is part of a longer thing I may post on ao3 at some point but here’s some silly little Jaytim texting AU. I use this format as a writing warmup.

EDIT: This has been posted on AO3.

[Unknown] »

Hey. This is Jason. 

I have a favor to ask. You can say no.

« tim

uh

1. i’m aware of how favors work  

2. what is it?

« tim

?

« tim

hey are you like. good

J »

Yeah fine 

Sry. Rethinking this maybe

« tim

what, do you need a kidney or something?

i can’t give you a kidney.

i don’t have any organs to spare.

J »

What ? 

« tim

what’s the favor?

J »

I wouldn’t ask if it wasnt important

I’d ask Roy but hes in star city 

or Kori but shes off world

I tried dickhead but hes in haven. Cant get away tonight

« tim

yeah jason i get it lol

J »

So Im currently in the cargo hold of a private yacht

« tim

what >?

J »

We’re caught in the storm thats hitting the city its a whole thing. 

« tim

are you in the cargo hold of your own volition or did someone put you there

J »

So I dont think I can get back t

No its on purpose

« tim

hang on. you’re in gotham bay right now? in a boat?  

jason this storm is really bad.

it’s already sunk a houseboat and a fishing boat at the marina

J »

I dont think I can get back totown toni

Christ you type fast 

Shut up for a sec. Clam down

Clam*

*Calm fuck me

Thought I was gnna be back tonight but bc of storm its not looking great.

Can you feed my sourdough starter 

« tim

what

J »

4511 overhill apt 6D 

Key under the neighbors mat. 6H

« tim

hey to clarify. “its not looking great” ← what does that mean

J »

Starter is on counter. in glass jar 

Should just need one feeindg. Maybe 2. depending 

« tim

on???

J »

On wwhen I get back?

« tim

so you do plan on coming back

J »

Yeah timothy I’m in a boat not the heart of Mount Doom

« tim

yeah? vaders not there? so that means everything’s fine? 

J »

Did you

jst say Vader

As in Darth

« tim

??? 

J »

Oh my god

« tim

jason are you in peril or what.

J »

No im not in “peril” lol.

Did you see the thing I said about my sourddough starter

It needs to be fed

« tim

wtf is a sourdough starter

nvm i googled it

J »

Its a live bacteria colony you use to m 

Oh ok

Yeah so it just needs 50g lukewarm water + 50g flour

Theres a scale next to the jar

Stir until it looks like hummus

Put lid back on

The end

« tim

the internet says if you put it in the fridge it doesn’t need daily feedings

J »

Sure. But that would mess up my bread schedule

« tim

your bread schedule 

J »

Man are gyou gonna fuckin feed Breadie Mercury or should I find someone else

« tim

im already en route. 

J »

Oh

Ok

Thank you.

Wtf dont text and motorbike  

« tim

how about you dont text and Sinking Boat

J »

Hey its not like I’m gonna cause a boat crash

« tim

i was stopped at a red light 😐

anwyay i’m at your place.

1. why do you not have a security system. when you said key under the neighbor’s mat i thought you were joking. 

2. how warm is lukewarm

J »

1. I’m the security system

« tim

just rolled my eyes so hard it actually physically hurt

J »

God youre annoying

2. ? Its lukewarm

« tim

ohhhhh thanks! that’s so helpful :) here i am trying not to murder your incredibly important bacteria colony that i just drove across town for but no thats great jason very descriptive thanks :) 

J »

Like warm but not too wram, nothing you’d want to take a bath in

Can you fucking

I TYPE SLOW.

« tim

ok.

[Image Attached]

he is fed

J »

Thanks man.

Sincerely.

« tim

so hows the cargo hold going

still intact i assume? 

J »

Mostly ya

« tim

pardon? 

J »

Slight leakage. Nothing major

« tim

oh? are you a boatologist now? 

i dont think you’re qualified to judge that?

J »

Moving right past “boatologist” out of the goodness of my heart.

Chill lol. If it was rly bad thered probably be some sort of alar

Hm.

« tim

did an alarm just start going off

J »

Dont worry about it

« tim

im not. 

did it though

also which yacht? im in the marinas scheduling dtabase

blue miracle, serendipity, carp-e diem? which one

« tim

jason?

« tim

if this is a joke it’s not funny

oh cool you’re not on comms either. great.

hey if youre dead again and i just fed your stupid starter for nothing im gonna be soooo mad just fyi

« tim

ugh.

*

J »

Hey

Thanks again for the

I’m not gonna say “save” bc I was doinf just fine on my own.

But thanks for the backup.

Lmk when youre home

Nope sorry lol you dont have to do that.

Night.

« tim

home

J »

Also I just saw your messaages from

Ah. 👍

From earlier. 

« tim

you mean from when you said “huh, this boat seems to be filling with water” and then disappeared? those messages? 

J »

Those were not my exact words.

« tim

right. your exact words contained somehow even less information 

J »

Shut up

I just wanted to 

You know. Youre the only one who jokes about it

The only one in the family I mean

your family, I mean

The bats.

« tim

? 

the only one who jokes about what

J »

Me being dead

« tim

oh. 

ok. well

its not like. actually funny to me. i was just annoyed. sorry i guess

J »

No thats not 

Tim. Shut up.

I dont mind. I like that one of you does. 

Its better than people talking around it. Like its this big shameful thing I did.

One of many

If I mention it in front of dickhead he does the face

the :~{ face

« tim

wow its uncanny

uh. for the record. 

i don’t think that’s the reason people talk around it

if im correct in thinking that by “people” you mean “one specific person whose name rhymes with Rat Can” 

 

J »

Yeah well

I just

Christ never mind. Im sorry. You are not the person to be sayign this to.

Im gonna shut the fuck up I think. 

Goodnight.

« tim

oh what, you can’t talk to me about being dead bc of that one time you tried to kill me? 

and failed btw :/ 

J »

Tim

Not to be so unchill

But you know how me being dead isnt actaully funny to you

« tim

…got it. sorry

J »

No. don’t apologize to me

Ever

I’m serious 

« tim

like for anything? 

what if i killed breadie mercury 

J »

You didnt. He is thriving

« tim

he is?

wait. really?

you can tell?

J »

[Image Attached]

Hes doubled in size since you fed him.

« tim

whoa

J »

Yup. Thanks again for thattoo.

*that too

Its stupid but hes kinda my son.

« tim

wouldn’t he technically be like, 10 billion sons

J »

He is my 10 billion sons.

« tim

lolol

wow. why am i so pleased hes thriving lol 

J »

Right

« tim

jeez

i was so worried about the water temp

google said lukewarm is 98-105 so i did 98 to be safe

J »

You used a thermometer? 

« tim

your instructions were vague!

i didnt want to kill your bacteria colony!

J »

Thanks Tim.

« tim

? you already said that lol

i gotta pass out btw

glad you didnt die: the sequel in a yacht

that would have been so cringe

night jason

J »

Night

*

J »

You up?

« tim

obviously

why

J »

Could use your eyes on something.

[Image Attached]

« tim

morse code but the dots and dashes are reversed and its spelling backwards in russian, ASTITP AYALEB AVD RTSIRP → PRISTR DVA BELAYA PTITSA → PIER TWO WHITE BIRD

J »

Bc it looks like morse but its not, its kind of scrambl 

Ok jesus christ . 

30 seconds? Seriously? Fuck me

Can I hire you? Jesus lol

« tim

that depends. do you pay more than batman?

J »

The fuck? Does he pay you guys now?

« tim

no.

J »

Then yes. I do pay more than batman.

« tim

how much more

J »

One coffee per codebreak? 

« tim

:\

J »

Two coffees per codebreak

Two and a loaf of sourdough

« tim

sourdough from breadie mercury?

J »

Ya

« tim

done

J »

Damn. I feel like you should have higher standards

« tim

i mean i was already gonna do it for free

now i have successfully negotiated coffee & sustenance 

im on a roll. nothing but Ws 

J »

Ws?

« tim

its young people slang you wouldn’t get it ❤️

J »

I am barely 3 years older htan you.

It could be argued, considering certain events, that we’re basically the same age.

« tim

and yet you text like an old, old man

J »

I do not

Would you rather I texted like “idk brb lmao roflcopter”

« tim

ROFLCOPTER?

oh my god. ohhhhhh jason. oh my god

that is absolutely not what the kids are saying these days. oh my god

J »

Ok you know what. At least I know Mount Doom isnt a Star Wars thing

« tim

? 

oh, is it star trek? 

J »

I’m 99% sure youre antagonizing me on purpose

But have you seriously not read or watched Lord of the Rings

« tim

no i have not.

J »

Hm.

« tim

what

J »

Nothing.

« tim

……….what

*

« tim

did you NARC on me

to BRUCE

about LORD OF THE RINGS?????

J »

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

« tim

WHY DO I NOW HAVE 3 SEPARATE SUNDAY AFTERNOON “HOUSE MEETINGS” BLOCKED OFF IN MY CALENDAR, JASON? 

WHY ARE THEY EACH 4 HOURS LONG?

WHY ARE THEY LABELED “CULTURAL EDUCATION (MANDATORY)”? 

J »

I can’t pretend to know what goes on in B’s mind.

That said, I have reason to believe he and Alfred take lotr pretty seriously.

« tim

its a TWELVE HOUR MOVIE

about GOBLINS

J »

I’m not gonna respond to that bc I know youre just lashing out.

« tim

if youve sentenced me to 12 hours of a movie i hate i’m gonna hack everything you own. 

im gonna mass text the entire cape wearers community the footage of that time condiment king kicked your ass so bad he felt guilty and offered to personally help you out of the mustard pool 

J »

What the fuck

How do you fuckig know about ?????? that???????? 

Not that ithahpened 

What hefuckk ??

« tim

ooooooooo you better hope i love these goblins!

J »

Why are you?? evil??

« tim

you should have killed me when you had the chance!!

sorry.

J »

Its ok. That one was pretty funny tbh.

Oh hm shouldnt have laughed just then. Bad timing on my part

Brb

« tim

uh

« tim

ok…….. getting reports of a “disturbance” at pier two…….. 

« tim

sorry were you texting me *mid-standoff* with the russian mafia

« tim

ugh.

*

« tim

you know tracking your location would be so much easier if i didn’t have to hack into your comm sys every time

luckily your encryption is garbage but still. its 2 minutes of my life i wont get back.

J »

Not sure I recall giving you permission to track my location?

« tim

oh i’m sorry. next time i will simply leave you to go down with a texas oil magnate’s incredibly tacky yacht, or get swiss cheesified by mobsters 

J »

Hey I wrapped up the russians myself 

« tim

yeah? 

J »

…

Yeah….

« tim

so you thought the 12-minute universal signal jam was the act of a benevolent god? 

J »

:-|

« tim

im just saying it would be significantly more efficient if you agreed to a tracker

just one little tracker. you wouldn’t even notice it’s there.

think of all the time and energy you’d save me

J »

I feel the need to point out that you don’t have to repeatedly hack my comms system.

« tim

i mean it’s that or monitor sightings on the gocitizen app

i have an algo that texts relevant pings to me, which is super helpful for when i want an inbox full of random people talking about how hot you are. less helpful for literally every other circumstance 

J »

Uh

What

« tim

how hot *red hood is. to clarify

in their opinion

the people’s opinion

J »

?

« tim

the people of gotham city

J »

The people of Gotham city do not think Red Hood is hot lol

« tim

wait 

i cant tell if you’re being serious

J »

Uh? Yeah Im being serious? Lol tf

Why would they think hes hot 

They dont think Batman is hot 

« tim

o…kay…

huh.

how to… hmm

J »

Like nightwing sure

And the girls. Bc of objectification of women

« tim

oh wow

J »

Red Robin. If i had to guess

But when people see Hood its definitely not… that kind of response lol

« tim

what kind of response, exactly

J »

You know like saying “Hey Hood youre hot” 

« tim

oh, wow. 

okay. ummm

hmm. one sec.

J »

?

« tim

check your email 

J »

Ok…? 

J »

Oh my fucking god.

« tim

yeah

J »

Oh my god?

« tim

yeah

J »

This document is fucking 45 pages long?

« tim

its everything from the past 30 days yeah

J »

The past

Whaht the fuck

Ok some of these people definitely got hit by Poison Ivy.

This is . Tim wtf. I havent even heard of some of this stuff. 

« tim

oof are you on page 14

J »

Im on page 3???

« tim

oh my god

J »

What the fuck

Please please tell me its not like this for Batman too

Tim

« tim

its not like this for batman :)

J »

Ok. Jesus. I would genuinely have to move cities.

« tim

its worse :)

J »

Oh what the fuck

Oh my fucking god page 14.

You get this shit TEXTED to you?????

Ohm ygod. You read this?????

« tim

i mean

no

i glance at it

for security purposes.

i dont like, read it read it

anyway did you seriously not know? haha

J »

No??? Again its not like people tell me

« tim

yeah but

like

theres a certain level of objectivity involved, here

yknow

sorry im trying to find a non awkward way to be like “have you looked in a mirror lately” 

« tim

sorry

that was in fact awkward!

nvm

just let me know if you’d be ok with the tracker. its fine if not

i was mostly joking about the hacking

J (From Work) »

No you weren’t.

« tim

no i wasnt

i dont mind though. its like a brain teaser

anyway im going dark for patrol, later

*

J (From Work) »

[Screenshot Attached]

[Screenshot Attached]

[Screenshot Attached]

[Screenshot Attached]

[Screenshot Attached]

Question. why is the average Gotham citizen a raging horndog 

« tim

oh my god

you know i can tell you searched “red robin hot” right

J (From Work) »

Figured it was only fair

[Screenshot Attached]

This persons got some mad zoom lens skills

I’d think it was you, if it wasnt, yknow, you

« tim

wow. that is certainly a photo of my ass

…a stellar photo of my ass. wow. 

do you have a direct link? i gotta send this to steph

J (From Work) »

goctz.app/user/3824973/post/29348230df3

Haha

I kinda thought you and blondie broke up

back on again?

« tim

no lol we are very much just friends

she has a thing going with someone who shall remain nameless but suffice to say it’s Going

anyway we just send each other gocitizen vigilante ass shots 

its a whole genre

they’re like trading cards

J (From Work) »

Guess everyone’s got a hobby?

« tim

the only rule is no nightwing

J (From Work) »

Do I want to know why

« tim

he accounts for a frankly overwhelming percentage of vigilante ass shots

so its too easy

you’d THINK we’d have a no-batman rule, because ew, but due to the cape and his sixth sense for cameras pointed at him, a qualifying shot is actually extremely rare. 

← only guy who ever managed to take quality photos of batman 

anyway, we put it to a vote. i lost.

J (From Work) »

A vote between you and Steph? 

You lost a 50/50 vote?

« tim

i dont wanna talk about it.

J (From Work) »

Right. 

So what I’m getting from this is you have Red Hood ass shots in your phone.

« tim

no

J (From Work) »

No?

« tim

well

J (From Work) »

Yeah?

« tim

we don’t like, save them

that would be weird

we just notify each other. professionally, as colleagues 

and keep an ongoing points tally

thats all

so i do not currently have photos of your ass in my phone. thank you

J (From Work) »

How many points is my ass worth

« tim

i hate everything about this conversation

J (From Work) »

Its 100% your own fault, answer the question

« tim

if you must know. 

points are awarded based on a series of objective scoring criteria.

J (From Work) »

Uh huh. Like what

« tim

technical excellence

composition. lighting and color balance. 

dynamism 

J (From Work) »

Dynamism…

« tim

creativity

umm

emotional impact

and 

subject matter

J (From Work) »

I see.

« tim

ok i know it sounds bad

J (From Work) »

It sounds fucking hysterical Im near tears 

« tim

but if you think abou

oh

okay, well, great

J (From Work) »

I’ll let you know if I stumble on any more. 

Or is that cheating

« tim

its totally cheating

please do

J (From Work) »

You got it red. 👍

« tim

:)

[wearysparrows]

Chariot

ao3/masterlist

Summary: Caleb fingers you in his car, but you’re interrupted by a phone call. It doesn’t seem to deter him much, though.

cw: female reader, reader is mc, vaginal fingering, grinding, pseudo-incest, caleb referring to himself as your brother, porn with feelings, light spanking, caleb being talkative because he's caleb, sex while on the phone, Zayne gets caught in the crossfire, not beta read, 5K

“You still act frugal, but your Colonel’s salary must be pretty cushy if this is what you drive.”

You sat, arms crossed, in the passenger’s seat of Caleb’s car. It didn’t fit your childhood image of him at all – freckled skin and a bright smile, hands that were tanned and deft at breathing life back into long dead machinery. Caleb had turned more than one beater into something functional enough to drive you around in. He did it for fun. A friend's car that needed work was somehow always in the lot, or something Caleb had miraculously turned drivable in his precious free time. The black interior of the Lamborghini, with its blue backlighting, felt cold, sterile. This was Colonel Xia’s vehicle, not Caleb’s car. Caleb wouldn’t drive something like this. Not your Caleb. Together, you sat parked in an empty lot, one that overlooked the bustling nighttime lights of Skyhaven below. A dry summer wind buffeted the outside of the car, unable to touch you. Caleb turned his face toward you in the dark, eyes illuminated by the cool lights on the dash. It gave you the impression of light bouncing off the dark, untouched gems of a cave. Far away. A vein that couldn’t be mined.

“It’s not an act, baby. I still am frugal. Besides, my Colonel’s salary lets me spoil you –  just like I always wanted to. And the car lets me take you places. You hate it that much?”

His elbow was resting on the console, supporting his weight. His desire to hear the truth of your opinion was evident in his tone. Caleb never wanted you to lie to him, even if it hurt. You dragged the pad of your index finger over his knuckle bones – or rather, the plating that had replaced his knuckle bones – watching as it rose and fell over them. The paneling was scratched here and there, as if it had taken numerous beatings. Things we wouldn’t tell you of. His fingers twitched under your touch. You wondered if it was a reflex, a remnant of when the arm still boasted flesh on its outside. You knew he couldn’t feel the contact. Your heart ached dully for him, filling up the space between your diaphragm and lungs. You would have shared his pain, if you could. You wanted the same pain. The same everything. Two of everything. Always.

“You make it sound like everything you do is for me. It’s not that I hate it. It’s just not you. And there’s this huge divider between us,” you gestured to the console, which was stupidly large, and felt like a wall to keep Caleb out. Or maybe one to keep you in.

 “Besides, if I said I hated it, would you really get rid of it?”

Caleb reached for your hand that was playing with his fingers, and interlaced yours with his own. The metallic chill of his touch made gooseflesh rise along the skin of your forearm. The certainty of its steel had become something that grounded you.

“It doesn’t just sound that way. It is that way.”

Caleb was quiet for a moment before continuing, holding your hand, a peculiar stillness over him, as if considering the latter half of your statement. 

“If it’s the distance that bothers you,” his thumb stroked the top of your hand, tracing the valleys between your metacarpals.

“We can close it. You just have to give me the OK.”

With how Caleb had been acting after his return, you didn’t doubt the seriousness of his statement. When you came too close, he embraced you, but warned you he wouldn’t let you off the hook if you kept going – even if you claimed it was only on a whim. Your hands could only roam so far.

I can’t promise I’ll keep my cool whenever you do that. So don’t go any further.

You wanted to see Caleb lose his cool. You wanted to see it again. 

“OK, Colonel. Enlighten me. How will you close this big distance between us in your fancy car?”

You only had a moment to catch the wry smile that crossed over Caleb’s face before you were suddenly being lifted from your seat, weightless, the blue fractals of his evol reflecting in the lights from the dash. Its sound was all too familiar, a low hum, like the air was alive with its energy. An involuntary sound of surprise escaped you, and you were deposited neatly astride Caleb’s lap. While he had been commandeering the very gravity around your body, defying laws that everyone else had to adhere to, he had adjusted the back of his seat so he was leaning back, giving you more clearance to sit on top of him. Your skirt had hiked up around your thighs, and Caleb adjusted it back down your legs, eyes still on your face. His fingers against your skin sent hot energy skittering down your spine. You wanted them inside you, all over you.

“We’ve closed the distance. Physically speaking, anyway.” 

His tone was lighthearted, but laced with something else you couldn’t quite place. Not quite hope. Closer to resignation. His hands hovered around your calves, like he couldn’t decide on where to put them, before landing on the lower half of your thighs. Both big. One warm, one cold.

“I like the car a bit better from this angle. Though I’m still not wholly convinced.”

You looked into his face as you spoke, ignoring the interior of the car. He did look good from this angle, underneath you. He looked good from any angle. There was a reason he was unfathomably popular growing up. He seemed to have shed all of it, caging himself in his singular need for your affection. You reached out to his face, and pinched his nose between your index finger and thumb. He scrunched his face up in response, wiggling his nose, before you let him go. 

“What, you’re not satisfied with my nose, either? I’m not sure I can replace it as easily as the car, pipsqueak.”

His fingers played with the hem of your skirt, slipping underneath it. His thumbs stroked your bare skin. Forbidden heat clawed its way into your stomach. You gave him an excuse for wanting to touch his face, to make it yours.

“I’m not dissatisfied with it. I just own the air.”

Caleb paused, and a little smile replaced his curious look. His eyes crinkled up at the corners. His gaze on yours was full of a barely restrained burning intensity. 

“You own me, too.”

His casual admission of ownership left you unable to find words. Your skin prickled where the calloused pads of his fingers touched your bare skin. It was too much, not enough. He was always toeing the line, testing the waters, pulling away when he saw any hint of indecision on your face. You passed your hand over the dog tags that sat against his chest, and they clinked softly under your touch. Cold, like his right hand on your leg. You had insisted he wear it in its true form, without the false skin, and he had readily complied, despite his discomfort. You preferred his true self, even if he didn’t. Your Caleb was perfectly flawed. His eyes followed the movement of your fingers as you tangled them in his necklace. He spoke gently, in that tone colored with nostalgia he often used when he recalled memories of your shared childhood – both the good and the bad. 

“You know, when you were really little, you saw a drawing of Apollo driving his chariot of the sun across the sky in a picture book I was reading to you. You asked me if I’d be able to do the same one day, when I could fly. If I could pull the sun across the sky, led by white horses. I told you I’d do my best to live up to your image of me. So I’ve got all kinds of chariots for you. This is just one. If you don’t like it, I’ll get you another. Just tell me what kind you want.”

You heard the ring of your brother’s voice, the boy you had grown up with. The one who had taken you to the arcade, paid with his allowance. He cheated with his evol to win you toys when he couldn’t win by honest means.

Just tell me which one you want, and I’ll get it for you. I’ll get them all.

You studied Caleb’s earnest face in the dim light. The soft swoop of his hair over his brow, which cast dark shadows on his eyes that betrayed his depth of feeling, and kept it locked tight, all at once. The perfect slope of his nose, freckles given by the kiss of the sun. His full lips, chapped and bitten. Even in the heaviness of the night, he was still somehow radiant. The dark space of the car couldn’t contain him. You felt yourself soften towards him, your earlier irritation at his show of being the Colonel melting under his true light. 

“I guess being the Colonel of the Far Space Fleet is about as close as you can get to driving the sun across the sky. In the modern day, anyway.” 

Caleb chuckled, a soft, boyish exhale of air. He looked up at you with adoration so clear that it made something twist hotly in your chest. It was so different from the face he had worn the first time you had seen him again. That horrible mask of indifference. That damned uniform. So divorced from the image of your Caleb that you had doubted it was really him. But it was him. A side he had never shown to you. The two Calebs spread each other's gore across the sky, curling and reaching as blood did in water.

“That almost sounded like a compliment, pretty girl. Is the sun going to rise in the west tomorrow?”

Your mind conjured the image of Caleb lashing the sun across the sky in the west, forcing it to act the opposite of its nature. If anyone could do it – it was Caleb. Nothing seemed beyond him, even now. He had come back from the dead, after all. The cosmos no longer seemed such a tall order. Not even stars could return from the land of the departed. They only left black holes behind in their wake. You fanned one hand thoughtfully across his chest, feeling his heartbeat. It quickened, then stilled, then quickened again.

“I guess that’s up to you, isn’t it?”

Caleb grinned in response to your question, a real smile, showing you his rows of white teeth. He had canines that were just slightly longer than usual, one of which was just a little crooked. You had poked at them with your fingertips as a child, pressing them deeply into your skin, and watched the marks they left with unbridled curiosity. The pain was a kind you liked, because it had come from him. He had let you explore his mouth with your fingers, his tongue chasing behind them. He had done the same to you. Once, he had stroked the back of your tongue a little too hard, and you gagged on his fingers. His eyes had gone wide, and the game had ended when Caleb disappeared in his room for the rest of the day, leaving you wondering what you had done wrong.

You wanted to lick the inside of his mouth, to press your tongue against his. The direction of your gaze didn’t go unnoticed.

“Interested in my mouth?”

His hand rose to your face, thumb parting your lips, just like he used to. You licked at it with the flat of your tongue, and heard him inhale sharply through his nose in response.

“Yeah. It looks much better when you’re not talking so much, though.”

Caleb pulled you down to him, so that you were chest to chest. His voice was soft and sweet in your ear. He was hard underneath you. He had been for some time. You had both been ignoring it. It was the standard between you, something that was never discussed. It just was.

“Really? But I was gettin’ the impression you liked talking to me. You started calling me every day, again. You text me all the time, too. You even send me cute pictures of yourself. I especially liked the one where–”

You put a hand over his mouth, not wanting to hear him tell the truth of how you had teased him over text. Your elbow was resting on his chest in order to do so, and his dog tags dug painfully into the bones of your arm.

“Shut up, Caleb.”

His voice was muffled from behind your hand. You could feel the natural wetness of his breath against the skin of your palm as he spoke.

“Do you really want me to? Or are you just sayin’ that because you’re embarrassed? It’s just me. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

You heard the unspoken words behind his statement. Caleb had already seen every part of you. He had seen more of you than people who had been inside of you. He had wiped your tears, your snot, your vomit. Your blood. None of it fazed him. He wanted it. You sat back so that you were sitting on his thighs. Your hands hovered over his belt, tugging on it, but not undoing it. Caleb watched, gaze snapping between your hands and your face. Even in the low light, you could see the new flush that colored his ears and cheeks.

“You’re making me want to push my luck, baby. Is this a test of my self control?”

You stuck your thumb underneath the portion of his belt that was held down by the buckle.

“And if it is?”

Caleb took a breath through his mouth, and his words came out a strained rasp.

“Then I’d ask if you want me to pass with flying colors,”

His hand wrapped a firm grip around your wrist, one you couldn’t deny, and guided it to press against his cock through his cargos. Even through the layers of fabric, he felt so impossibly warm.

“Or fail miserably. ” 

You felt yourself warm from your chest, head becoming so hot so quickly that you felt a wave of lightheadedness. You had seen and felt Caleb hard under your eyes and ass many times – but he had never once made a move to acknowledge it. Seeing your hand against the outline of him sent a new kind thrill racing through you. You had imagined touching him like this more times than you could count. Putting him in your mouth. Responding to his interest. But you couldn’t, then. Not if he didn’t acknowledge his want. Now, things were different. Caleb wasn’t just a boy anymore. He wasn’t the king of the playground, the star of his highschool basketball team, nor the Valedictorian of his DAA class. He was a man. A man who wanted you. Openly.

“I’d like to see you fail at something, for once.” 

You removed your hand from his grip, prying his fingers from your wrist, and worked his belt buckle open. The jingle of the metal suddenly seemed ridiculously loud in the small space of the car’s interior to your ears. When it was free, you pulled his zipper down, down. Your fingers felt strange, weak. Like you couldn’t quite get enough power in them to do what you wanted to do. The zipper caught, more than once. You heard Caleb’s breaths coming quickly through his nose, and felt more than saw the heat of his gaze on you as you worked. He made no motion to assist you – either enjoying your struggle or holding himself back – you couldn’t be sure. Maybe it was both. 

Caleb’s hands were around your waist, then, and he lifted you back into his lap, setting you squarely over his cock. The only barrier between you was that of your underwear and his boxers. He had shucked his jeans further down his legs with his evol. His grip on your waist was so tight that it was nearly painful, pressing into your bones, and he used it as leverage to roll his hips up into yours. Being with him like this – it was surreal. So much familiar, and so much was so strange. Like a shared dream. There was no hiding how wet you were when you pressed up against him like this. His eyes looked so dark that they were nearly black, the deep lilac of them nearly erased by his pupils. His thumbs lifted the hem of your skirt, hiking it up over your hips, and he looked down between your legs for the first time, as if he was finally given permission.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

You felt him twitch underneath you. Once, twice.

“Are these the ones I bought for you?” 

Your mind, having been emptied of everything except for the feeling of his newfound closeness, took a moment to recall what he was talking about. You looked down at the place where he was touching you, thumbs digging pleasantly into the muscles of your hips. It was, in fact, not the usual article. Being a hunter, it wasn’t exactly comfortable to wear anything that was less than practical most of the time. But today was your day off – and you had opted to change into a pair that Caleb had supplied in the room he had given you at his house. (At the time, you had tried not to let your mind wander as to why he had supplied so many pairs in both your size and the brands you liked. But you knew Caleb. You had your suspicions – just more things you didn’t acknowledge.) You managed a nod. You hardly managed to feel embarrassed about it, though. He made it so easy to do as he wanted, so comfortable.  Even when you were still so angry with him – because everything he did benefitted you.

Caleb keened in response, a low whine in his throat, and the flat of his palm suddenly met your ass with a soft smack. The feeling went straight between your legs. It was something you hadn’t even known you wanted from him. Now, you suddenly wanted more.

“You’re so cute. Lift up. Hold yourself over me.”

You did as he asked, too caught in the heat of the moment to argue, bracing yourself by gripping the sides of the driver's seat, hovering over him with your knees on either side of his lap. You were dimly aware that he could have lifted you with his evol, but he was making you work for it, instead. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but any reservations you had were quickly forgotten when you felt Caleb’s hands drift up the back of your thighs. He squeezed your ass, and smacked it again, like he just couldn’t help himself. It was harder than the first time, and stung more with the impression from the first still smarting. Your body tensed up all over in reaction to the impact, your breath leaving you through slightly parted lips.

“That’s my good girl.”

Before you could voice any kind of response to his praise, he was pulling your underwear to the side, his fingers finding you slick and ready for him. One and then two were inside you, giving you hardly any time to prepare or adjust. He was so eager. It was hard to believe the wet sounds were coming from his fingers inside of you. You shifted your hips back against his hand. Caleb was breathing open-mouthed underneath you, eyes laser focused on your face, watching your responses, drinking them in. His fingers were so much longer than your own, and touched you in places you couldn’t feel without him. 

“I’m inside of you, baby. Holy shit. You’re so wet. I’m the only one you get like this for, right? No one else but me. C’mon, tell me.”

It was hard to formulate a coherent thought when he was giving his all to thoroughly fucking you open with his fingers. You opened your mouth, willing at least the admittance of the truth to come out. Yes, he was the only one. Even when you had been with other men, you had searched for Caleb in the downturn of their eyes, in the largeness in their build, in the freckles on their faces, in the softness of their hair. You had never wanted anyone else. No one else could get you this worked up with just a few words and a simple touch. Caleb was the only one who aroused such strong emotion in you – anger, hatred, arousal. Love.

Just as you found your voice in the depths of your throat, the sound of your phone ringing from the console where you had placed it rudely interrupted. It was the same ringtone Caleb had chosen for you years ago, when he had been fiddling with your phone without permission, messing with your settings. After he had died, you hadn’t the heart to change it. It would have been like erasing one of his last impacts on your life. Caleb’s fingers inside you hardly paused, and you watched, stupefied, as his evol brought your phone towards you. You both looked at the caller ID at the same time. 

Zayne’s name illuminated the screen.

You saw a strange expression flicker over Caleb’s face as you turned back to him, before he schooled it into an easy smile. He pressed his fingers inside of you, as deep as they would go.

“Answer it.”

You gawked at him. His fingers curled inside of you. There was no way you could answer the phone right now. Let alone to talk to your doctor, your childhood friend. Why did he have to choose now, of all times, to call? Zayne never called. Why now?

“Caleb–”

He shook his head, eyes firm.

“If you won’t, I will. Put it on speaker.”

His voice was hard. It was the same one he used on you when you were kids, when you knew you had no other choice but to obey him. Usually for your own good. You were still hovering over Caleb’s body, and your arms were beginning to ache with the effort of holding yourself up. You pressed answer, and Caleb’s evol oh-so-kindly held the phone up to your face. Zayne’s voice came from the other end of the line, distant but palpable with underlying concern, even in his singular word.

“Hello?”

You did your best to collect yourself, while Caleb seemed to pay your struggle no mind. He only worked to bring you closer to the edge. Your thighs began to shake, your muscles protesting the position. 

“Zayne? Is everything okay?”

Your voice wavered, but you managed. Caleb palmed himself with his right hand as you spoke, a loud shuffling of fabric.

“Everything’s alright. I saw you were in Skyhaven – and in a fairly isolated area. I…was concerned.”

He sounded like he was choosing his words carefully, not asking you to reveal too much, nor revealing much about his own intentions. You were mid-wondering how the fuck Zanye knew where you were and why he had to call now, of all times, when you were at your worst, when it came back to you. You had shared your location with him when you had commandeered his unique skill set for an investigation just some weeks prior, deep into the mountains. You must have forgotten to turn it off. You didn’t have time to wonder why he was checking it after the fact. Guilt threatened to creep behind your eyes. You swallowed it away before answering.

“I’m…okay. I’m with a friend.”

Caleb’s movements inside of you became punishing in response to your words, pushing in and out, his thumb working your sensitive nerves. He smacked your ass again, and it was loud. You knew by the way he was acting that he wanted Zayne to hear what was happening. They weren’t exactly rivals during childhood – but Caleb had certainly seemed to see it that way. He made no effort to dampen the sounds he was eliciting from your body, not the slap of your skin, nor the wetness between your legs. You corrected yourself, hoping to soothe his anxieties, and implore him to give your body reprieve while you were on the damn phone.  

“I mean – I’m with Caleb.”

He was smiling underneath you, looking all too pleased with himself at your amendment. He cupped your breast through your shirt, squeezing it, rolling his fingers over the soft flesh there. His scent was everywhere around you. Clean laundry. A new day. Summer sun on skin. Freshly trimmed wheatgrass. It stuck in your throat pleasantly.

Zayne was quiet for a long moment. 

“Caleb? Your brother, Caleb?”

The reminder of just whose fingers were inside you caused you to clench around Caleb’s fingers in response. There was a flurry of movement, and Caleb shoved his boxers down without warning. You heard his cock slap heavily against his stomach as it sprang free. His fingers came out from inside of you, and one hand forced your hips down so that you were sitting directly on his cock, your underwear still pushed to the side. He wasn’t inside of you – just slipping wetly in between your legs. The other hand forced your head close to his mouth, fisting in the back of your hair, tugging. Your scalp prickled with pinpoints of lovely pain. His voice just above a harsh whisper in your ear. 

“That’s right. I’m your fucking brother. Are you going to tell him what you’re doing with your brother right now?”

Caleb repeated the word 'brother' with such vitriol that it was practically a snarl, rather than a word. The phone was still held aloft next to your face. 

“Y-yeah. My brother, Caleb. I’ll explain later, Zayne. I gotta…gotta go.”

There was another excruciatingly long silence. You would apologize later. Profusely. With excuses.

“Alright. As long as you’re safe.”

Zayne sounded wholly unconvinced, and like he wanted to say something more, but stopped himself short.

“Yeah.”

The phone dropped back onto the console with a dull thud, and you prayed upon every star that would listen Zayne had hung up of his own accord. Caleb dragged your face to his by your hair, his lips and teeth clacking into yours. He licked at the roof of your mouth, sucked your tongue, bit at your lips. Zayne’s words had set Caleb off, and his unresolved energy was practically radiating off of him in droves. His hand was on you again, pleasuring you, while bracing you by the hips with his other, sliding you up and down the length of his cock with barely controlled ardor. Your orgasm was upon you only seconds later, the anxiety of the phone call, the intensity of the situation, and the stimulation from both his cock and fingers were enough to crest you over the edge with a shuddering breath, inhaling the air from Caleb’s mouth into yours, the sweet taste of his breath your new reality.

Your arms finally gave up their valiant effort of holding you above Caleb, and you collapsed on top of him. His arms were instantly around you, his face pressed into the crook of your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin there. He came from rutting against you with a catch of his breath in his throat and a stuttering groan, and you felt the pulses of his orgasm between you, his spill hot against your skin. The heave of his chest lifted you up and down, up and down, in time with his breath. You braced yourself against his chest with the flat of your palm, lifting yourself to look him in the face. He was still just as hard underneath you, despite having just finished. Caleb’s head followed your upward movements, and he licked a stray bead of sweat from your cheek, up the side of your face like a dog. The wetness left behind from his tongue felt cool in its absence. You smacked a fist against his chest as he lay back.

“You are the worst. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?”

You couldn’t muster any real malice to bolster your words. Being with Caleb set your heart on edge and at ease, and he was the only one who could make your body feel as it just had. Caleb put the fingers that had just been inside of you in his mouth before answering your question, licking them clean of you. His free hand – the mechanical one – carded through your hair, brushing sweaty strands from your forehead. His expression was back into one of sweetness.

“Yeah, angel. I told you I’m the worst version of Caleb, didn’t I? I want to do all kinds of terrible things to you. Make sure you have everything you need. Everything you want. Be by your side. Wake up to you in the morning. Be inside of you. Keep you where no one else can find you. A world that’s just you and me.”

Caleb’s soft emphasis on the word terrible made it sound like he meant something else entirely. Like he was telling you his innermost, fervent dream. One that he had tried so hard for so long to make a reality. His hand cupped your face now, and you placed your own over it, nuzzling into the cool assuredness of the metal. Your voice came out barely a whisper.

“I must be the worst version of me, too. Maybe I want to hurt you more than you realize. Maybe I want you to suffer before you can have those things. Before you can give them to me.”

Caleb blinked up at you, and warmth spilled onto his face, into the ripening plums of his irises. Everything was reduced to him in that moment, and he was the pinpoint of the cosmos center as he spoke.

“Sufferin’ and pleasure – if they’re from you, they’re the same to me. Anything you give me, I’ll take it. I want it. If it’s from you, it can only be good.”

[vunblr]

Foundations (#1)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+. Slight Angst. Fluff. Possible Smut in the future.

Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.

Word Count: 8.1.k.

note: In this universe Steve didn't leave, Tony doesn't know that the Winter Soldier killed his parents, and everything is relatively ok. Let’s just pretend for a bit.

Two years ago.

Steve crouched in the snow-dusted ruins of the Hydra facility, surrounded by the faint hum of outdated machinery and the occasional creak of the aging structure. The air in the base carried a mix of metallic tang and decay as if the building itself was holding its last breaths. He ran his gloved hand along a table coated with frost and dust before stopping in front of a row of cryogenic chambers.

Each pod told a story of Hydra’s grotesque obsession with human experimentation. Steve’s sharp gaze scanned them uneasily and when he reached the last chamber, he froze.

Encased in cryogenic suspension, there was a small boy, no older than three, with his delicate features eerily serene within the frosted glass. The sight made his stomach twist.

Natasha’s voice crackled through the comms. “Steve, what did you find?”

He pressed a hand against the glass. “It’s a boy. About… two or three years old. Cryostasis. We need to get him out of here.”

His eyes darted to a nearby desk, where he eyed a weathered folder with its corners curled with age. Flipping it open, he scanned the documents, and his stomach churned with every line. “This- he is not a kidnapped normal human boy… they’ve been using fertilization methods here. Thirty samples and only this child lived after birth. The mother died in labor. Nat-” Steve’s voice got strained. “He’s… he’s Bucky’s son.”

The line remained silent for a moment before Natasha answered cautiously. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. There’s… documentation here, DNA confirmations. God, he doesn’t even have a name. Just a designation: A-25.”

A beat of silence passed again, heavy with the implication before Natasha’s voice softened. “What do you want to do?”

Steve exhaled slowly, his breath clouding the icy air. “We can’t just leave him here.”

-----

Back on the Quinjet, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The cryo-pod rested in the cargo bay, its faint orange light casting an otherworldly glow over the steel walls. Steve sat on a bench, with his elbows rested on his knees and his hands pressed on his face, wrestling with the enormity of the decision he’d just made. Across from him, two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents stood stiffly, with palpable apprehension.

“Captain Rogers,” one of them began, breaking the tense silence. “Moving him to the tower isn’t viable. We don’t know what kind of conditioning Hydra implemented, or if the kid is enhanced. He could be dangerous.”

Steve’s head snapped up, pinning the agent in place with his gaze. “He’s a child. And from what I read; he didn’t inherit the serum properties. Whatever Hydra did to him, it’s on us to undo it. Leaving him here or handing him over to a government lab isn’t an option.”

The agent shifted uneasily. “And if he’s unstable? Wha-”

Steve set his jaw, leaning back against the cold metal wall with determination. “Then I’ll handle it,” he cut firmly. “But we are not abandoning him.”

----

Two nights later in the common room, Steve, Natasha, and Tony gathered to discuss the next steps. The atmosphere was heavy. Tony leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a skeptical expression.

“Look, I’m not saying we keep this from Barnes,” he pointed out with a little hesitation. “But you’ve seen him, Steve. He’s barely keeping himself together most days. Throwing a kid into the mix?”

Steve’s jaw clenched, and he hardened his gaze. “That’s not your call to make. He deserves to know.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Even if it sends him over the edge?”

“He’s stronger than you think,” Steve countered firmly. “And he’s not alone, even if sometimes he thinks he is. If he decides to step up, we’ll help him. All of us. That boy is his only family, Tony. Bucky deserves the chance to decide what kind of relationship he wants with him.”

----

Present.

Two weeks into the new school year, she stood at the kindergarten’s gate, greeting the kids with a warm smile. The crisp autumn air carried the scent of fallen leaves, and shades of orange and gold framed the cheerful faces of the kids as they laughed and ran to their friends. Each day, they’d formed a routine, walking together through the small park leading to the school hall.

Nearly everyone had arrived when, just as she was about to close the gate, she noticed a figure approaching. Her gaze landed on a tall man with strikingly beautiful yet tired blue eyes. His hesitant steps betrayed a certain nervousness. Beside him walked a boy, the spitting image of him, with the same dark hair and soulful eyes. They were unfamiliar to her, but she knew immediately who they must be.

Thomas Barnes and, presumably, his father.

The director had informed her about the new student, explaining that, for personal reasons, the boy would start a bit later than the others. Now here they were, standing on the threshold of a new chapter.

She stepped forward with a warm smile. “You must be Thomas,” she said gently, crouching slightly to meet the boy’s gaze. Then she looked up at the man, her voice equally kind. “And you must be his dad. Welcome.”

The child hugged his father’s leg when he realized he had to go in alone. Bucky bit his lip, placing a hand on the boy’s head. “Kiddo, we talked about this. I’ll pick you up at three, and then we’ll go to Uncle Steve’s,” he said softly.

Then he gave her an apologetic look. “Also, what do we always say? Manners. You didn’t even greet Miss...”

Oh. She got so distracted by the pair that her clouded mind didn’t even consider the basic introductions. “Sorry! I’m Miss Y/n. It’s a pleasure to meet you two.”

The boy separated one hand from his father’s leg and, straightening his posture but with a quivering lip, offered his hand like a little gentleman. “I’m Thomas. I’m five years old, and… and I will be in your care.”

She shook his hand, surprised and delighted. “Well, aren’t you a little gentleman,” she said warmly.

The bell rang, and she straightened up. “Well, that is our cue. Would you like to come inside? There are lots of boys and girls who would love to meet and play with you,” she reassured. Then she looked at Bucky. “And, as your papa -Mr. Barnes- said, he’ll be here when we finish.”

“James,” Bucky said promptly, stretching out his hand firm but gently to shake hers. She felt a traitorous warmth rise in her cheeks when their gaze met at closer range. His tired blue eyes held more than exhaustion; something softer and more vulnerable lingered there, though it was quickly masked. Apprehension, perhaps? He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and yet, somehow, he was effortlessly handsome.

“Nice to meet you, James,” she managed, keeping her tone calm and reassuring. “Don’t worry, your little one will be fine, you’ll see.”

Bucky nodded once, briskly but slightly hesitant. “Yeah, I-I know. Alright, Kiddo,” he said, crouching slightly to Thomas’s level, in a low and encouraging voice. “You listen to your teacher and... have fun, alright? Just like we talked about.”

Thomas clung to his father’s jeans for a moment longer, small fingers clutching the fabric as if it were a lifeline. His lip quivered, and he glanced back at her with uncertain eyes. For a brief second, she wondered if he might refuse to let go, but then, slowly, he released his grip. The boy stepped toward her, tentative but brave, and positioned himself by her side.

She crouched again, offering him an encouraging smile. “You’re going to have a wonderful day, Thomas. I’ll be right here with you.”

The reassurance seemed to help. Thomas nodded shyly, though he didn’t speak. When she stood again, she noticed Bucky watching his son with an expression that tugged at her heart, equal parts pride and pain.

With a single nod of acknowledgment toward her, he straightened and turned on his heel, walking away without looking back. She couldn’t help but watch him for a moment longer than she should have, her gaze lingering on his broad shoulders as he disappeared down the path. She exhaled softly, turning her attention back to Thomas.

“Shall we?” she asked gently, holding out her hand.

Thomas hesitated, but then his small hand slid into hers. Together, they walked toward the classroom, the sound of children’s laughter welcoming them into a new day.

----

Bucky let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as he strolled along the sidewalk, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. Two years. It had been two years since Thomas came into his life, and now, for the first time, he was entrusting his care to someone else’s hands, strangers, no less. It might have seemed like an ordinary milestone for any other parent, but ordinary wasn’t a word that had ever described his life.

Normalcy was a foreign concept in their household. From the moment Steve had walked into the tower with that cryo-pod and the revelation of Thomas’s existence, everything had shifted. Even in the haze of his own self-doubt and fucked up brain, Bucky had known there was only one choice to make. Despite the murmurs of alternatives offered to him -guardianship through S.H.I.E.L.D. programs, adoption options- he hadn’t hesitated.

Responsibility. He owed the child that much, even if the idea of raising him terrified him to his core. How could he possibly be a parent when he was barely figuring out how to be himself? A walking mess trying to navigate a world he no longer fit into, burdened by guilt, memories, and nightmares. But Thomas wasn’t just a child, he was his child, a fragile thread tethering Bucky to something tangible and real.

The first months had been the hardest. Thomas, scared and silent, flinched at shadows and refused to speak more than a handful of words. A traumatized child by his earliest experiences, molded by Hydra’s cruel hands, and burdened with a fragility that made Bucky’s heart ache almost everyday. He could barely bring himself to imagine what might have happened if Steve hadn’t found him in that lab.

It wasn’t a journey he could have managed alone. Living at the Avengers Tower, he had been reluctant at first to accept help from the team. Steve, of course, had been steadfast and supportive, as expected. But what surprised Bucky the most was how the others had stepped in. Natasha’s guidance when words failed him, Wanda’s ability to soothe the boy, and even Tony’s seemingly endless stream of resources, like the top-tier child therapists he’d hired without hesitation.

Thomas was lucky, in a way, that Hydra’s experiments hadn’t left him with the serum’s super-soldier effects. The organization had tried, forcing serum-adjacent treatments to awaken something dormant, but to no avail. It was a relief Bucky carried deeply, though it did little to soften his guilt for not being there to stop it sooner.

Over time, they found a constant rhythm in their lives. Bucky wasn’t perfect -far from it- but he learned how to be there for Thomas. He showed him that food wasn’t a reward to fear, that adults could offer love instead of pain, that bedtime stories were for comfort and not to kept teaching lessons until he closed his exhausted eyes. Slowly but surely, the child started to blossom, inching out of his shell, exploring the world with a tentative kind of hope.

Still, Bucky knew they couldn’t stay in the protective bubble of the tower forever. Thomas needed more: kids his age, a chance to experience life outside their small, cloistered world. It had taken time, but Bucky finally worked up the nerve to rent an apartment for the two of them and begin the daunting process of finding a kindergarten.

The search was harder than expected. On paper, the process was simple: call, inquire, and enroll. In practice, things unraveled quickly. Many schools initially expressed enthusiasm, but the moment they learned Thomas was the son of that James Barnes, things changed. “Administrative errors” cropped up, classes mysteriously filled to capacity, or calls simply went unanswered.

When Tony offered to pull strings, Bucky refused. He wasn’t about to force his son into a place where the only motivation was Stark’s money. He didn’t want Thomas in an environment where whispers followed him down the hall, or where teachers tiptoed around him out of fear or prejudice.

So, he kept searching. Two weeks into the semester, he finally found a place. It was modest, tucked into a quiet neighborhood, with no interest in his past beyond the necessary paperwork. No judgment. No lingering stares. Just a promise to give Thomas a chance, and that was all Bucky needed.

As he walked away from the schoolyard, leaving Thomas in the care of his teacher and her warm smile, he tried to shake the tension in his chest. Rationally, he knew it was the right step. Thomas deserved to experience childhood, and this was the first of many milestones.

Still, the ache of leaving was sharper than he’d expected.

----

Thomas’s first day could have been better, but it wasn’t terrible either. As expected, the transition wasn’t easy. He seemed overwhelmed by the number of children around him. Though the school was small, nine energetic five-year-olds in one room was a stark contrast to the quiet, adult-dominated environment he’d grown up in.

The morning began with a formal introduction, as she guided Thomas gently to the front of the room. “Everyone, this is Thomas. Let’s all say hello!” she announced with her ever-patient smile.

A chorus of cheerful voices greeted him in unison, and Thomas blinked, wide-eyed, shifting closer to her side. Throughout the day, he stuck to her like a shadow, quietly observing the other children. His curious gaze darted from one group to another, watching how they played together, laughed, and squabbled.

The first hiccup came when two boys got into a brief tug-of-war over a toy truck. Thomas visibly tensed, his small shoulders stiffening as he clutched the hem of her skirt. She quickly diffused the situation and offered Thomas a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, Thomas, sometimes there are quarrels, but nothing to worry about,” she said softly, her voice soothing as she rested a hand on his shoulder. He nodded but didn’t move from his spot.

Flora, one of the more outgoing girls in the class, made several attempts to coax Thomas into playing with her. Each time, she would approach with a bright smile and an outstretched hand, only to be gently refused as he shook his head and clung to his teacher. “Thomas is feeling a little shy today,” she explained kindly to Flora. “But I bet he’ll join you soon.” Flora nodded enthusiastically, skipping back to her friends, undeterred.

When the day finally wound to a close, the children were picked up one by one, their parents ushering them out with cheerful waves and chatter. Soon, the classroom emptied, leaving only her and Thomas. She glanced at the clock. Ten minutes past pick-up time. Not late enough to be alarming, but enough to notice the change in Thomas.

The boy sat stiffly on a bench near the gate, his small chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths. She crouched down in front of him, “Hey, Thomas, it’s okay. Your dad will be here soon, I promise. While we wait, want to learn a game?”

The child blinked at her, with glassy eyes by unshed tears and then nodded hesitantly.

She held out her hands and showed him a simple clapping game. The rhythm seemed to distract him, his and his breathing slowed down as he focused on mimicking her motions. They repeated the sequence a few times, and she rewarded him with a bright smile each time he got it right.

Then, footsteps approached the gate, and she looked up to see James Barnes hurrying toward them, with a concerned expression.

“I’m so sorry,” he said breathlessly, his blue eyes flicking from her to Thomas. “Traffic was worse than I expected-”

“Papa!” the small voice broke through as he bolted toward his father, tears streaming down his face now that the wait was over.

Bucky crouched and scooped him up immediately, cradling him close with his gloved hands. “Hey, hey, I’m here,” he murmured with guilt. “I’m so sorry, kiddo. I won’t be late again, I promise.”

As he held his son tightly, he turned toward her, ready to apologize again. But when he met her gaze, something in his chest shifted, just a flicker, something too fleeting to name.

She was smiling, kind and patient, with a softness in her expression that made it painfully obvious she wasn’t upset about waiting.

That shouldn’t have stood out. But it did.

“I’m sorry for making you wait and... taking up your time. It won’t happen again.”

She shook her head with a kind smile. “It’s alright. He was fine, really. And the game helped. Don’t worry about it.”

Bucky gave her a grateful look, softening his features just enough to show how much he appreciated her patience. “Thanks... for everything.”

She was about to respond when something crossed her mind. She hesitated briefly before speaking. “Um, Mr. Barnes -James- do you think we could schedule a meeting sometime this week? I usually interview families during the first days to get to know them better, but since Thomas started a bit later, we haven’t had the chance. If you’d like, we can arrange a time that works for you.”

His eyebrows furrowed slightly, and she quickly added, “Of course, if you need to check with Mrs-”

“It’s just me,” he interrupted, firmer than intended but not unkind.

She blinked. “Oh.”

Just him.

Her expression didn’t change much, she simply nodded, adjusting quickly, but something about her expression made his throat go dry.

“Alright,” she said smoothly, “how does tomorrow at 1 PM sound?”

Bucky knitted his brows, working through something in his mind. She took the hesitation as doubt and quickly reassured him, “The interviews take place during school hours. Another teacher covers my class while I meet with parents. It’s all planned out.”

He nodded after a moment, letting the arrangement settle.

“Then it’s a date.”

The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

Silence. His own brain screeched to a halt.

Shit.

The second the words left his mouth, he froze. Why the hell did he have to use that word? He shows up late on the first day, and instead of keeping his shit together, he throws that word in her face like some creep. What is she going to think? That he’s hitting on her? That he doesn’t take this seriously? His mind started spiraling as always, and he glanced at her, waiting for her reaction, expecting something-anything- that signaled she’s offended or uncomfortable.

But she only smiled. Not a smirk, not teasing, just… warm. Like she hadn’t even registered the slip, or worse, like she had and found it endearing.

“Alright, Mr. Barnes. See you tomorrow. Bye, Thomas! Have a wonderful afternoon!”

He nodded stiffly, turned on his heel, and walked toward the gate with Thomas in his arms. The tension in his shoulders was killing him, and his mind kept spiraling. Why couldn’t he have just said meeting like a normal person?

-----

He arrived five minutes early. Pressing the doorbell, he tucked his hands into his jacket pockets, exhaling quietly as he waited.

A moment later, a soft buzz hummed from the side gate, signaling that he should push to enter. The latch clicked open under his touch, and he stepped through, strolling into the modest front yard where tiny footprints were imprinted into the damp soil, remnants of an afternoon spent playing.

As he neared the entrance, the building’s front door swung open, and there she was, standing at the threshold to receive him.

She hadn’t expected him to be so… put together.

Her breath hitched for half a second as she took him in, her brain momentarily short-circuiting before she caught herself. He was overdressed for a simple parent-teacher chat. His hair was neatly tied into a short ponytail, keeping the strands away from his sharp, striking features. The crisp black shirt he wore, fitted just right, framing his broad shoulders like a second skin, the mother-of-pearl blue buttons subtly gleaming under the soft afternoon light. The contrast of the dark fabric against his fair skin only made his blue eyes stand out even more.

She blinked, suddenly aware that she had been staring, like an absolute idiot, at that.

Her own reflection in the glass door made her painfully self-conscious. She had thrown on a comfortable jumper that morning, warm and practical, paired with an open wool jacket she hadn’t given much thought to. Now, under his gaze, she felt underdressed.

Shaking off the ridiculous thought, she straightened her posture and smiled, keeping her voice even. “Mr. Barnes, right on time.”

His lips twitched slightly, almost a smile, but not quite. “James. Figured I shouldn’t be late twice in a row.”

She stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter. “Come on in. Would you like some tea or coffee before we start?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Tea, if it’s not a hassle.”

“No hassle at all,” she assured him, leading the way inside.

As he followed her down the hallway, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. This was just a meeting, a standard conversation about Thomas. That was all. She led him into the small office and closed the door with a soft click.

With him inside, the space suddenly felt even smaller, almost claustrophobic. As he settled into the chair, she turned toward the small counter, flipping on the electric kettle. With her back to him, she absently tugged at the neckline of her jumper, then glanced down, frowning as she noticed a faint smear of green tempera near the hem. Great. Just great. She tried to rub it away discreetly, but the stain refused to budge.

Forcing herself to move on, she turned around, offering a professional -and hopefully not too flustered- smile. “So, Mr. Barnes.”

“James is really alright,” he repeated. Then he asked himself if there was a rule to use the last name, and she was trying to make him notice that fact politely by still addressing him with formality.

She nodded. “Alright, James.” The name felt different on her tongue, more personal somehow, and for some reason, it flustered her to use it. She cleared her throat, refocusing. “I’m going to ask some questions about Thomas’s daily life and family status so we can start building his file.”

At that, she caught the way his gloved hands tensed over his knees. It was subtle, just the smallest tightening of his fingers, but she noticed. His expression, however, remained unreadable: calm, polite, the perfect picture of an agreeable parent sitting through a standard school procedure.

But she knew better.

Not wanting to push too soon, she offered an alternative. “Also, if you’re interested, I can tell you briefly about yesterday and today’s steps in his integration.”

Something shifted in his posture at that. Not much, but enough. A small breath in, a glance toward her, like a man bracing for news he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.

“Yeah,” he murmured, nodding. “I’d like that.”

----

Bucky felt little beads of sweat trickling down his spine. Was he trying too much?

He shifted slightly, flexing his fingers over his knees as he stole a glance at himself, just a quick, discreet look. Then, at her, and then, at the tiny office around them, shelves stacked with colorful folders, walls decorated with cheerful crayon drawings.

Back in his time, people dressed better. If a parent had to meet with a teacher, for whatever reason, it was treated as a formal occasion. A suit, a tie. The respect was shown in one’s presentation. So, naturally, he thought the right thing to do was clean up good.

Now, sitting in that too-small, squeaky green chair, with that attractive lovely lady making him tea, he felt like a goddamn wedding cake doll.

Her jumper was slightly wrinkled, her open wool jacket practical and cozy, and there was that stubborn little stain on the hem that she’d tried to wipe away when she thought he wasn’t looking. She belonged in this space, warm and natural, while he looked like he had an appointment with a boardroom, not a kindergarten teacher.

He swallowed, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. Too late to do anything about it now.

"Alright," she said, settling across from him with a patient smile. "Where do you want to start? The interrogation about personal matters or how Thomas is adjusting to his partners and environment?"

Bucky barely hesitated. "The second one."

She smiled knowingly as if she had expected that answer. “He was a little introverted at first, which is completely normal for a child his age in a new group. Most of the kids already knew each other, so he’s still figuring out where he fits in.”

Bucky nodded, listening intently.

She hesitated for a second before continuing, careful but warm. “He’s also a bit… dependent.”

That made something in Bucky’s chest tighten.

“Which, again, is perfectly normal,” she reassured quickly, reading the shift in his expression. “Especially considering his background. I have no problem giving him the comfort and reassurance he needs throughout the day. But maybe, with time, we can work on building his independence a little.” She offered him a gentle smile. “But overall, James, he’s a lovely kid. Really.”

Bucky exhaled slowly, easing some of the tension in his shoulders. Lovely. Not a problem. Not difficult. Just… lovely.

She turned to retrieve the tea, and as she was about to place his mug on the table, the sleeve of her wool jacket caught on a rough splinter in the wood. The movement sent the cup tipping, and a small splash of hot liquid spilled onto her hand and the table.

“Oh, fuc-” She caught herself just in time, trading the curse for a flustered, “Oh, dear.” She hastily set the mug down, shaking her wrist slightly as she clutched her burned fingers.

Before Bucky even registered the thought, his body moved on instinct. Old chivalry, muscle memory, -maybe both- he reached out, pulling off his glove in one swift motion and gently cradling her injured hand in his own. He wrapped his cool metal fingers around hers, as an automatic attempt to soothe the burn.

She tensed.

The reaction was so small that most people wouldn’t have noticed. But he did. The slight stiffening of her shoulders, the way her breath caught, the way she froze beneath his touch for a fraction of a second.

His brain caught up with his actions.

Shit.

This was something he did all the time with Thomas, an instinctive, unconscious movement, one that made sense when it was his son crying over scraped knees or bumped elbows. But this wasn’t Thomas. This his son’s teacher. A stranger, technically. And here he was, holding her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He winced inwardly, twitching his fingers slightly as if preparing to pull away, to apologize, to-

But then, she relaxed.

Just enough for him to notice. Her grip eased slightly as her fingers rested in his palm, still warm from the tea. And then, to his utter surprise, she let out a soft, breathy laugh.

“Well,” she murmured, “I guess that’s one way to handle it. Thank you,” she said, sincerily.

Bucky swallowed hard.

He wasn’t accustomed to people thanking him. Hell, he wasn’t accustomed to people wanting to share a space with him. The proof of that was in how damn difficult it had been to find a school willing to take Thomas in without judgment.

Was it always so hot in here?

The stupid shirt Steve had lent him to look presentable felt glued to his skin, clinging uncomfortably as a fresh wave of heat crept up his neck. He let go of her hand -reluctantly- and with a quick movement, he popped open a couple of the top buttons, trying to breathe. His fingers ran absentmindedly through his hair in the process, loosening a few strands from the short ponytail.

She blinked.

Hard.

His deep voice cut through the charged moment. “Don’t mention it. I’m sorry if I overstepped.” He murmured the words as he hastily pulled his glove back on, as if reestablishing some invisible boundary he had accidentally crossed.

It took her a second -maybe two- to remember how to speak after that sight.

“Oh, not at all,” she finally managed, waving her hand nonchalantly. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, so you are perdoned.”

“Oh, good,” he added promptly.

“Yeah, good,” she echoed.

And then- silence.

Not the comfortable kind.

The kind that stretched for just a few seconds too long, making the air feel thick and awkward. It was ridiculous, really. She was supposed to be having a professional conversation, and yet here she was, staring at him like a flustered schoolgirl while he sat there, stiff and unreadable, probably wondering if she had a single functioning brain cell left.

Snapping herself out of it, she straightened in her chair, clearing her throat as she grabbed a folder and a pen. Professional. Focused.

“Let’s start with the questions,” she stated, determined to get back on track. “How is the family group composed?”

A faint tick appeared in his jaw. “Just the two of us.”

She nodded, jotting it down. “Do you receive any kind of support from extended family members or close friends?”

Bucky hesitated. “I have… friends.” A pause. Then, a little softer, “Oh, um… my friend Steve is like an uncle to him.”

She froze for half a second, pen hovering above the paper. Steve.

As in Steve Rogers.

And suddenly, the fact that James Barnes -Bucky Barnes- was sitting in her tiny office, answering questions about kindergarten pickup times and playtime habits, felt almost surreal.

But she pushed past it, nodding as if it was just any other answer. “Tell me about a normal day in Thomas’ life. From the moment he wakes up until bedtime.”

The questions continued, one after another. But to his surprise, none of them were invasive.

Nothing about him. Nothing about his past. Nothing about the child’s mother.

She was only interested in Thomas, his routines, his favorite activities, the people who cared for him. What made him happy, what calmed him down, what sparked his curiosity.

And he just felt… like a normal Dad.

She tapped the pen against her lower lip, scanning the notes she had just taken, furrowing her brows slightly in concentration.

Bucky tried to keep his eyes anywhere else; on the folder, on the damn splintered table, but somehow, his gaze flickered back to her.

Her lips were slightly parted. Soft. That translucent lip gloss she wore caught the autumn light just enough to glisten innocently. She didn’t seem aware of it, of the way the movement drew attention, of how effortless it was.

He clenched his jaw. Pathetic.

Maybe Sam had a point. Maybe he really did need to -what was how he had said it?- "get some." Because sitting here, staring at his kid’s teacher like the virgin Steve used to be back in the day, was not normal.

Especially when she was just… there. In a damn tempera-stained jumper, flipping through papers, completely unaware that his brain had short-circuited over something as simple as the way she absentmindedly pressed the tip of the pen to her lip.

He shifted slightly in his seat, making the little chair squeak under his weight. He needed to get a grip.

She looked up then, extending the forms she had just filled out. “Here, read it, and if it’s fine for you, please sign it, and we’re done.”

He reached for the papers, his fingers briefly grazing hers. She was already moving, sorting through more documents, rummaging inside what looked like her purse as he scanned the form.

A moment later, he signed it, handed it back, and stood up.

The room somehow felt even smaller with him standing.

She tucked the papers into a folder, then hesitated for the briefest second before extending something toward him. A small, brightly wrapped raspberry lollipop.

He just looked at it.

She shifted uncomfortably, suddenly self-conscious. “Oh, um- it’s just a thing we do,” she explained, feeling a little ridiculous. “Teachers give a sweet to the parent who comes in for the visit. A friendly token.”

Bucky glanced at the candy, then at her.

Slowly, he reached out, taking it from her hand.

“If you feel too old to try it, give it to Thomas,” she teased lightly. “Though I must say, they’re pretty good.”

Bucky barely managed to keep his expression neutral as an entirely inappropriate image flashed through his mind involving her slightly parted lips against the bright red lollipop, swirling her tongue over the slick, glossy-

Nope. Absolutely not. He shoved the thought into the darkest corner of his brain and slammed the door shut.

Clearing his throat, he glanced at the candy in his palm. He was pretty sure the last time he had something like this was in the ‘20s, running through cobblestone streets in short, ragged pants and scraped knees. It felt oddly foreign now, a relic of a time buried long ago.

“No, it’s… it’s alright,” he muttered, tucking the candy into his jeans pocket, trying to expel the compelling thoughts swirling at the back of his mind.

Her smile lingered a moment as she straightened the papers, and again, the moment stretched just enough to make the air feel heavier than before.

She cleared her throat. “Well, the institution will be asking for another meeting in about three months to give you an update on how he’s doing. It’s the same for all the kids,” she explained, slipping back into professional mode.

Bucky nodded, adjusting his stance slightly, like he was grateful to have something to focus on.

“I’ve also added you to the parents-teacher WhatsApp group," she continued, "as a way to communicate news, the things kids should bring, upcoming events, that kind of stuff.” She hesitated, glancing at her notes before adding, “Um… it says you don’t have the app installed, so it would be great if you could download it.”

And then, silence.

Bucky barely moved, but something in his posture changed. His gaze flickered toward the small table, where his old clamshell phone rested near his keys.

She noticed.

That was not a smartphone, and it was definitely not suited for a parent-teacher chitchat group.

Before he could say anything, she quickly added, “It’s a policy here, since, well… it’s assumed everyone has it.” She smiled, small and reassuring. “But don’t worry, I can send you a normal text separately with the same information. Just… without the cool emojis, I’ll have to stick to ASCII.” She winked.

That got something out of him, a faint huff, not quite a laugh, but close. His shoulders relaxed just slightly. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Appreciate that.”

----

After a couple of months, Bucky was relieved -no, grateful- to see Thomas flourishing in his new environment.

The once-quiet, wary boy had slowly started to open up. He was more talkative now, his voice no longer a whisper but something steadier, stronger. He laughed more, flinched less. When he came home from school, he actually talked about his day, about the games they played, about Flora and Matthew, about how Miss Y/n read the best stories and always did the funniest voices.

Bucky didn’t know if she realized just how much of a difference she had made.

One afternoon, while Thomas was scribbling dinosaurs at the kitchen table, Bucky’s old clamshell phone vibrated against the counter.

He flipped it open. A general message from her number.

Dear families, our annual fundraising event is coming up! Each grade and nursery group will participate by preparing goodies to sell, baked treats, crafts, and more! We encourage everyone to take part and help make it a great day for the kids!

Bucky was already closing the phone when it binged another time. It was her again.

Don’t know about your culinary expertise, but we could really use some strong dads to help build the booths this saturday ;)

He blinked.

A just-for-him message.

For a second, he only stared at it, like his brain needed to catch up. The winking face at the end nearly made him short-circuit.

Clearly, she was recruiting him for his enhanced strength.

It wasn’t like the other parents would be thrilled to have him around. He rarely talked to them, never lingered after pickup, never engaged in small talk about school trips or birthday parties. The most interaction he got was a nod or a hesitant smile. Acknowledgment, but never an invitation.

And he understood why. He wasn’t the kind of dad people naturally gravitated toward. He wasn’t friendly like Steve, or charming like Sam. He was… him. Quiet. Intimidating. A man with too much history and too little practice in fitting into normal spaces.

So why would anyone want him there?

He exhaled sharply, glancing at the message again. Maybe she’d sent the same thing to a few others. Maybe it wasn’t just for him.

But… she had sent it. With a winky face.

And despite the self-doubt crawling at the back of his mind, he couldn’t ignore the small, reluctant warmth blooming in his chest.

Because for whatever reason, she thought to ask.

-----

When the Saturday came, Bucky was sharp on time at the open kindergarten gate, with Steve.

Not that it had taken too much to convince him. Steve, being the charitable man he was, never missed an opportunity to help. But Bucky also knew his friend well enough to recognize the other reason he had agreed to come so quickly, curiosity. Curiosity about the place Thomas spent his days. And curiosity about the “winking emote teacher.”

Bucky had two reasons for bringing Steve.

One: With two super soldiers on site, setting up the booths would take a fraction of the time.

Two: He didn’t want to come alone. Not that he’d admit it outright, but walking into a social setting full of parents and staff -people he knew saw him as an outsider even if they tried to mask it- felt a little too exposed. At least with Steve there, the focus will be put elsewhere, and he knew his level of self-consciousness will drop.

Of course, Steve suspected as much. But to his credit, he had the courtesy of not saying anything.

They hadn’t been there long enough when he spotted her across the yard, balancing a few wooden planks in her arms as she walked toward the setup area. She was focused, navigating carefully, until a rogue Lego piece nearly sent her sprawling.

In an instant Steve was there, supporting her before she could hit the ground.

She let out a startled gasp, gripping his forearms instinctively. And then, the realization showed all over her face. Because holy shit, Captain America was in the kindergarten.

“Uh- thanks,” she said, letting go of his forearms, looking a little flustered.

Steve, ever the gentleman, just smiled. “No problem.”

Then, as if remembering there were other people present, she glanced over his shoulder, and finally noticed Bucky, standing just a few steps behind, looking slightly out of place.

Her face lit up with recognition. “Oh, hey! You made it. and with backup! That adds points, you know” She grinned, tilting her head playfully. “More help means more credit when it’s time to take home the leftover cakes and pies.”

Bucky blinked. “That’s a thing?”

“Absolutely.” She crossed her arms, pretending to be serious. “Hard work should be rewarded. And what better prize than free dessert?”

Steve chuckled, throwing Bucky a look. “See, now that’s motivation.”

Bucky shifted slightly, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Yeah. Um I thought some extra hands would come in handy, anyway.”

She nodded, rocking back on her heels slightly. “Well, I’m glad you did. We can definitely use the help, some of these booths have been in storage forever, and let’s just say… they’re not in peak condition.”

Steve smirked. “Don’t worry ma’am, we’ll make sure they stand up straight.”

She snorted. “That’s the bare minimum we’re hoping for, yeah.” Then she proceeded to give them a quick rundown of what was needed: booth assembly, structural support, and general heavy lifting. After making sure they understood, she left them to it, moving to a shaded corner where a group of teachers and moms were busy painting banners.

As Bucky grabbed a plank, Steve picked up another, glancing over his shoulder toward her. Then, with a knowing half-smile, he turned to Bucky.

“So… I assume she is Tommy’s teacher?”

Bucky didn’t even look up. Just gave a curt nod, with an unreadable expression.

Steve hummed. “She’s cute.”

He didn’t take the bait. Just kept his gaze firmly on the plank in his hands, jaw tightening just a fraction.

Steve pressed a little more. “Real cute.”

This time, Bucky gave him a noncommittal grunt. No eye contact. No reaction.

"Do you think the teachers might do a kissing booth?" Steve asked nonchalantly, setting a plank into place like he hadn’t just thrown a live grenade into the conversation.

That got a reaction.

Bucky’s hands stilled for a fraction of a second before he shot him a side glance. “…Is that still a thing nowadays?”

Steve shrugged. “Yeah. Dunno if it’s as chaste as it was in our time, Buck, but it’s still runnin’. Clint told me sometimes they have them at his kids’ school.”

Bucky pressed his mouth into a thin line, gripping the hammer a little tighter.

Steve chuckled, sensing an opening. “I mean, it makes sense, you know. A lot of divorced dads…”

“Yeah, I guess it does,” Bucky cut him off, hammering a plank into place with maybe a little too much force. The loud crack of wood echoed through the yard.

Steve just smirked. “Touchy subject?”

Bucky ignored him, grabbing another nail.

"You know, Buck, I think you should ask her out."

"Shut up, punk."

"I'm serious. What’s the worst that could happen?"

Bucky turned to him, giving him a look so dry it could’ve drained the Atlantic. His next words were slow, like he was explaining something to a mentally impaired person.

"Let’s see. First of all, she’s my child’s teacher. It’s unethical."

Steve opened his mouth, but Bucky steamrolled right over him.

"Two, I can barely deal with myself most days. I can’t trust my own mind sometimes. I’m trying to put my shit together because of Thomas, but you know there are days I can barely get out of bed. So adding another person into our lives right now?" He shook his head. "I don’t think that’s a good idea."

Steve stayed quiet, watching him.

"And three," Bucky exhaled, returning to the plank, "I don’t think she’d be interested, damn I even don’t know if she is seeing someone. And I don’t want to make our interactions weird."

Steve tilted his head, giving him a look that was both skeptical and amused but, to Bucky’s relief, he kept his mouth shut didn’t press further.

-----

After a couple of hours, Bucky and Steve eventually split up, taking on different tasks. As expected, Steve had a small crowd of parents ‘casually’ gravitating around him, helping with his station while subtly asking for pictures and sneaking in questions between hammering and measuring.

Bucky, meanwhile, retreated to a quieter corner, bending some metal pipes to straighten the framework. It was a stark contrast, really. Steve walked into a place and illuminated it, drew people in without even trying. And Bucky… well.

He worked alone, unnoticed. Or so he thought.

A sudden hand on his shoulder broke his trance, and he startled just slightly.

“Sorry!” she promptly removed her hand. “I called your name, but you didn’t seem to hear.”

Bucky just blinked, “It’s fine.”

She smiled, holding up a thermos. “Thought maybe you’d want some coffee?”

He exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he tried to shake off the momentary stiffness. “I, uh… yeah. That’d be nice. Thank you.” His voice came out a little rough, and his eye contact was fleeting at best.

Fucking Steve. Bringing up his nonexistent love life like an asshole, and now Bucky was hyperaware of her presence. Every small shift of her stance, every little tilt of her head. It was funny -no, it wasn’t- how their roles had completely reversed.

Once upon a time, Steve had been the one fumbling, awkward, struggling to find his footing with women. And now? He was Captain America, confident and magnetic, while Bucky was… whatever the hell this was. A fucking mess.

“Thank you for coming, James. Really,” she said as she poured coffee into a small cup.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

“And thanks for bringing help with you,” she added playfully. “It seems everyone is livelier since you two got here.”

He grumbled something under his breath, bending the pipe back and forth absentmindedly, like someone fidgeting with a strand of grass.

She caught the movement and grinned. “Showoff.”

Bucky huffed, pressing his lips into a firm line to stop the small, unwilling twitch of amusement threatening to surface.

“I’m going to miss this,” she said suddenly, looking at the thermos handle. “The community here is really nice. Luckily, I’ll still be around for the event.”

Bucky’s gaze snapped to her “What?”

She blinked. “I said, I’m going to miss-”

“Are you taking a vacation?” he interrupted, unable to stop himself.

Her brows furrowed slightly. “What? No-” Then, she realized. “Oh. James… Jane is coming back.”

Bucky just stared at her, the words not quite clicking in his brain. “Who?”

She tilted her head, looking almost apologetic. “Jane. The actual teacher. I thought you knew, I’m just a substitute. The real teacher was on medical leave, but she’s ready to return now.”

The words settled like a slow drop of ink into water, spreading, tainting something that had been perfect moments ago.

“I didn’t- didn’t know,” he admitted, quietly. Maybe because Thomas had entered late in the school year, they’d missed that little piece of information.

She seemed to notice the shift in him, the way his grip tightened around the empty cup. There was a certain distress in his expression, subtle but there.

“Don’t worry,” she said gently, trying to reassure him. “Jane is an excellent teacher and person. Thomas will be thrilled to have her in the class.”

Bucky nodded, curtly, handing the thermos cup back.

In all the interactions he’d had with her, the drop-offs, their little conversations, the parent meeting, the fact that she was just a substitute had never popped up.

"When’s your last day?" he asked, suddenly very interested in the twisted pipe in his hands.

“The Friday before the event,” she replied. “I’m still going to participate since I helped organize it, but by Monday, Jane will be here.” She paused, as if anticipating his reaction. “I can assure you, It won’t be a sudden change for the kids. This week, she’ll come for a couple of hours every day to introduce herself so they can get used to her.”

Bucky gave a slow nod, gripping the metal a little tighter than necessary.

It shouldn’t have really mattered. It shouldn’t have made him feel anything at all.

And yet, the news bothered him.

Because things had been fine. He wasn’t close to her, not in any significant way, but she was a constant. And if there was one thing Bucky Barnes wasn’t fond of, it was change.

It wasn’t like he had been expecting anything more than what he already had, which wasn’t much. Just crumbs, really. Small moments of connection. Casual chats, occasional teasing remarks that made something in his chest pull in a way he ignored. The way she talked to him like any other parent—like a man, not a reputation.

But it wasn’t just that, was it?

There were other things, little details that had wormed their way into his awareness without permission. The way her voice softened when she spoke to Thomas. The way her soft body looked like it would fit perfectly against his if he just- no. The way her eyes lingered on him just a second longer than necessary sometimes, making him wonder if…

Bucky exhaled sharply, straightening his pose, forcing the thoughts back.

It was comfortable. And, somehow, warm.

And now she was going to leave.

And maybe it was stupid, but it affected him more than he wanted to admit.

Chapter 2

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[doromoni]

Not Over the Papaya | OP81

⊹ ｡•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Ships : Oscar Piastri x Popstar! Reader , Ex!Lando Norris x Popstar! Reader

Genre : Fluff Smau

A/N : Oki, quick reminder! This is all fiction!! nothing in this ever happened in real life, so don’t hate on the people referenced please!

Face claim : Jennie Kim

Summary : Y/N and Oscar cope with their own breakups by making the Heartbreak Club.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

< Previous | Part 17 | Next >

landonorris

liked by ln4, mclaren, f1, and others

landonorris And thats how you do it 😏. Pole for tomorrow’s race baby!

mclaren back at it again!! thats our driver 💪

ln4 How many poles was this again? 🤔

user1 Ok sir cook!

user2 Get em Lan! close the gap from Max

user3 Yes! this year’s battle is so tight 😮‍💨

user4 I’m so glad Lando is Mclaren’s no. 1 driver

user5 yeah for now

user4 @user5 what do you mean, for now??

user5 Give oscar time, you’ll see

user4 Piastri is literally in P17 while Lando got pole 🤡

user5 you didnt watch the practice sessions did you 🤡

user3 Get the p1 tomorrow Lando!

user4 Y/N fumbled letting Lando go for Oscar…. couldnt be me 🤢

user5 why would you even drag Y/N here? let’s not forget who cheated on who

user6 McLaren worked extra hard to cover that issue…. and we should not make it any easier. Cheaters remain cheating

user4 yeah yeah whatever! Lando stays on top

user6 That smirk was not necessary sir… you literally got the fastest car??

user7 and his teammate got what place in the fastest car? right 17

user8 Lando’s got that team favoritism buff tho

user7 what favoristism?

user6 @/user7 are you blind or stupid? its pretty obvious that Mclaren favors Lando over Oscar

user9 Don’t listen to the haters Lando!!

user10 Ngl I like Lando over Oscar anyday. McLaren should just fire the Australian like they did with Danny ric. Bro is not going anywhere in this team.

Notification: My Osc🧡 replied to your message*

*Incoming call from Manager Kim

Pick up or Decline

Pick up

-Hi, Kim. What’s up?-

-Y/N, your new ep has still charting at number 1 an opportunity opened up and it is HUGE!-

-Like how huge are we talking Kim?-

-HUGE huge, Y/N!!-

-Really? whats the gig and when is it? -

- I need you to fly out here to the states like right now!-

-Woah what? I can’t right now Kim. Oscar crashed and I need to be with him in the race. Everything is in chaos here and I — can’t it just be over the phone? -

- What? are you being serious right now? Y/N this is your career. Are you really choosing a boy over it?! Y/N listen to me. This opportunity comes by once in a life time, don’t waste it -

- Kim… can’t you reschedule the meeting? or something? please? -

- No, Y/N. They want to personally meet you here by tomorrow evening. I swear this is your Lando situation all over again! -

- Excuse me?? what does that even mean? -

- Y/N , you’re reliving your relationship with Lando through Oscar! -

-That’s not fucking true Kim!-

-Really, Y/N?? You’re even starting to give up opportunities for Oscar!! Does that ring any bells for you?? huh?? Remember you gave up that collab with Justin Bieber because your shit of an Ex was insecure and jealous?!! How is this not the same?? You’re doing all of this for what? so that your new boy toy can cheat on you?? Your being delusional again, Y/N. Get it together -

-KIM! You’re being out of line! You have no right to dictate what happens in my personal life. This is my decision to make not yours, and I’ll stand by what ever consequence i’ll face for it-

- Yeah, you’re not the one cleaning shit up, if you aren’t here by tomorrow. I swear Y/N… I’m done with you and your team.-

*beep* *beep* *beep*

-Oscar’s POV-

Notification : Mark sent a message*

Notification: Logan has sent a message to Timtams and Ranch*

Calling: My Dearest 🤍

*Ring*

*Ring*

*Ring*

*The number you are calling cannot be reached, please try again later*

Calling: My Dearest 🤍

*Ring*

*Ring*

*Ring*

*The number you are calling cannot be reached, please try again later*

Calling: My Dearest🤍

*Ring*

*Ring*

*Ring*

*The number you are calling cannot be reached, please try again later*

Calling : My Dearest🤍

*Ring*

-Hello?-

-You had me worried there, dear. Are you busy?-

-Oh, uhm no. No I guess-

-Are you ok, Baby? Is everything alright?-

-Yeah, No. Im ok, just some things to think about for work-

-Ok… if you say so. I’m heading back to our room okay?-

-Yeah. see you later. Bye Osc-

-Thank you for being here and supporting me in everything Y/N… I know it’s not easy for you. I love you-

-I… I love you too Oscar-

f1news

liked by user 1 and user2

f1news after yesterday’s chaotic qualifying. The teams and the grid are only starting to heat up, with McLaren starting the fire. Oscar joining papaya isn’t as heaven sent as everyone thought.

While inside drama is brewing inside McLaren, are other drivers starting to pick sides? Yes they are! While some are neutral, it is obvious who are leaning towards supporting Oscar. The drivers had taken to instagram stories to show just on whose part of the McLaren garage they support.

user1 Chaotic is a way to put it. It was an absolute shitshow.

user2 I guess Mclaren couldn’t handle 2 talented drives at the same time. It’s actually so saddening, especially for Oscar. His team always puts Lando first at EVERYTHING.

user3 I find it hilarious how most of the grid are either on Oscar’s side or just doesn’t care.

user4 Only Carlos is actively still supporting Lando

user5 The dude has beef with Piastri, even before in Osc’s rookie year

user6 Carlos is very protective of Lando I guess

user7 Protective of Lando?? Dude the man is a grown adult! Carlos has beef with Oscar for a whole different thing I’m sure

user8 Everyone let us thank McLaren for the drama in and off track! you’ve made our lives more fun

user9 Ikr? might be torture for the people involved but its so entertaining for us. Lmao sorry Oscar.

user10 Max switching sides from Lando to Oscar is so freaking funny. Max is full out ignoring Lando

user11 Oh what i would give to know the tea behind that

user12 you know what would be iconic? Oscar throws another party

user13 Throw a party and invite all Mclaren then dip before it would even start

user14 ngl that screams Oscar fr

user15 I can’t wait for the race later! it would be carnage on track!!

user16 I’m watching Oscar for sure. Boy looks absolute mad during the qualifying.

skysports live

*paddock , track side*

-Oscar, just do your job and please keep your mouth shut. You’re under probation and comments against the team won’t make it any better-

-Yeah, yeah… why not fire me while you’re at it-

-Hi, Peter! I’ll take it from here… Well hello to you Oscar. How’s it at the back of the grid?-

-Great to see you too Lando. Yeah, it’s alright. It keeps me humble, not that you would know what that means-

-Oh, You’ll be more humble when I win today-

-Sure… not till you bottle turn 1 and lose the lead. Y’know like you always do-

-Lando, Oscar! What are you two doing back here? Oh yes, Oscar is in P17… can’t believe they’re considering you and not me. Tsk waste of a seat-

- Haha funny. Carlos, mate what are you even talking about?-

-That Red Bull seat shouldn’t be offered to you. Ferrari’s 2nd option shouldn’t be you!-

-What Carlos is saying is that you shouldn’t be offered seats or be driving at all, Mate. Honestly your better off back at Alpine. Good fucking riddance for us-

-Yeah, oh please fire me! and I’m not the one being replaced by Hamilton next year.

-Hijo de puta! You have the nerve?! -

-Whoa. Ok let’s all calm down. Oscar come with me-

-Oi! Charles were not done here. Oi!-

-Mate, what the hell??-

-Charles?? where are we going-

-Just keep walking. You cant stay out of trouble can you?-

-They came at me! I was seriously about to go my car. I swear, your teammate hates me. I didn’t do even anything to him-

-He’s loosing his seat, of course he’s pissed-

-Why at me?? Aren’t he supposed to be mad at you or even Lewis?-

-Ok, fine… you didn’t hear this from me. But Lewis’ contract isnt final with Ferrari and you are the next driver option-

-WHAT-

-So RedBull and Ferrari wants you… and Carlos wasnt even in the choices. So yes he’s livid and no he doesn’t like you-

-Oh…-

-Yeah, Oh. So get your act right and drive your ass off today. And maybe I or Max might have a new teammate next year-

*End of Oscar’s POV

Y/N.

liked by y/b/f , alexandrasaintmleux, markwebber, and others

Y/N. Here with you, no matter the goal. Always

tagged @oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri No matter the destination. Always

liked by author

mclaren Drop by the garage @y/n. we miss you!

redbullracing she’s with us today 😏

scuderiaferrari We have next dibs! 🤪

user1 why is redbull and ferrari in y/n’s comments??

user1 get married already!

user2 Y/N and Oscar support each other so much 🥺

user3 Wouldn’t be surprised if the two of them would elope or already be married.

user4 Oscar needs all the support right now.

user3 yeah thats sweet and all. But when are we getting the album tho??

user4 let Y/N have fun and take her time.

user5 I’m expecting a breakup and a love album at this point from you ms @y/n.

user6 Mom… Y/N and Oscar are being mysterious again. I’m scared

user7 I’m scared too 🥹

user8 like what goal are they talking about??? gettingg married?? starting a family?? change in careers??

user9 I need answers 🙂‍↕️

Notification: You missed a call from Manager Kim*

Notification: Manager Kim sent you a voice message*

-I see, you’ve made your choice. Don’t regret it. I’m done working with you-

Would you like to call Manager Kim back?

Yes or No

No

*RedBull Racing Motorhome: Lobby

-Hey, Y/N. You ready to go to Max’s garage? -

-Hi, Kel and hello P! yeah lets go-

-You ok, Y/N? is everything alright?-

-Hmm? yeah, yup. I’m ok. Just a lil weird not being in Oscar’s garage. Let’s go to the track! -

-Okay~ If you say so. P, can you hold auntie Y/N’s hand for me please? Mommy has alot to carry -

-Thanks, P! and thank you Kel-

-Yeah, I’m not stupid Y/N. Something is up I know it. But I won’t push you… i’m here if you need me, yeah?-

-Thanks Kel… -

F1

Liked by user1, user2, and user3

F1 And we have our podium drivers!! What a race indeed. 🏆

tagged @maxverstappen1, @charles_leclerc, and @oscarpiastri

user1 HOW IS OSCAR HERE??? P2? WHAT A DRIVE!!

user2 Man drove like a beast! His driving today was insane 🔥

user3 Oscar took yesterday’s qualifying personally 💀

user2 Lando being pole to p6 is just 🤡

user3 and his teammate started at P17 … is P2

user4 I can’t defend the man anymore

user5 Max and Charles really gave Lando a hard time during the first few laps huh

user6 Lando was so agitated in the team radio 😮‍💨

user7 I dont if i want to laugh or cry at Lando’s luck

user8 Charles defending P2 from Oscar was amazing driving, but Oscar was on smth else today!!

user9 Lando bottled the start. Gasp! … anyways.

user10 why aren’t we surprised 💀

user11 Isn’t anyone gonna comment about McLaren ordering Oscar to stand down?? Hello??? what was that?

user12 Not them ordering Oscar not to overtake Lando 🤢

user13 I’m so happy Oscar ignored team orders!

user14 Oscar deserves that driver of the day for sure!! Masterclass driving. He is a future WDC, i’m betting my house!!

Series Taglist : @champagneproblems17 @itsjustfranzi @cheriwritesig @forza-charles @awritingtree @sltwins @gr1mes-cc @hwalllllllelujah @btsfluffsworld @tillyt04 @landotd @booksandflowrs @czennieszn @thatsouthernblondewiththeass @tellybearryyyy @wobblymug @alittlechaotics-blog @bingussthirdtoe @mirrorball-6 @demandealalune @heartsforleclerc @yoongi-holland @maneskin-slave @alenix @forensicheart @bloodyymaryyy @stereading @hahahjej @youre-on-your-ownkid : closed

Maintaglist : @myescapefromthislife @peterholland04 @charlottef1 @fangirl125reader @mel164 @gnarlycore @chloelovesln4 @vickykazuya @merchelsea @ln4author @qzmef @nxk1309 @styl1shl1v @lottalove4evelyn @gr3yhues : closed for now

[u3pxx]

KIM KITSURAGI - “Is that. My kineema.”

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - Something in him is about to break, *big time*.

EMPATHY - And it’s not going to be pretty, do something!

- DRAMA [Formidable] - Everything is fine!

- “Sure is.”

DRAMA [Formidable: Failure] - Surely he’s aware that he’s not the *only* person in the world who owns a Kineema?

YOU - “Is it really *yours*? I mean, plenty of people have their own Kineemas, right? Like working men, government offices, uh, firefighters I guess, maybe even animal control people? Exactly! A million different people who could’ve driven it into the uh…”

DRAMA - Pause, my liege! Ixnay on the Ineemakay!

YOU - “It could even be our *mysterious* joyrider!”

KIM KITSURAGI - Your frenzied babbling falls deaf to the lieutenant's ears. Instead, he approaches the broken vehicle, sunken in the ice. He moves with a caution and gentleness you haven’t seen him display before.

INLAND EMPIRE - It must be cold and lonely down there, in the icy water. Maybe he could sense its sorrow, calling to him…

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Easy: Success] - His hands, which are always stiffly placed behind his back, are trembling.

ENDURANCE - This is the shuffle of a tired, tired man.

HALF LIGHT - He’s going to do something drastic because of you. Oh god, terrible! You’re a terrible liar! You can’t look at this, you just can’t!

VOLITION [Formidable: Success] - It's not *you* who drove his kineema into the sea. You have plenty of faults, but this one is decidedly not yours.

KIM KITSURAGI - He kneels down with his head bowed, casting his face in shadow. He plants a hand on the ice to stabilize himself, squinting to get a better view of the motor carriage. “Detective, it says ‘57’ on it.”

YOU - Sweat drips down your brow, and you feel a terrible headache coming. “Maybe our joyrider has an affinity for that number?”

LOGIC - He's not stupid, he knows that it's not that.

KIM KITSURAGI - “57.”

YOU - “What about 57?”, you brace yourself.

KIM KITSURAGI - “Precinct 57.”

YOU - You wince. “Kim, look-”

KIM KITSURAGI - “When I woke up in the Whirling-in-Rags with no memory of what happened during the days before, I've taken note that something of mine has gone missing.” He grits his teeth. "A very. Important. Something."

He runs his hands over his face, messing his already unkempt hair in the process. Regret creeps up on his features. “God. Fuck. They’re going to fire me over this, they’re not going to hear me out.”

EMPATHY - Desperation settles in the lieutenant's tone. Sadly, you find yourself in agreement, even if you don’t want it to be the truth.

YOU - “People are more valuable than machines, Kim.”

KIM KITSURAGI - “Not people like me.” He rasps.

YOU - “…”

KIM KITSURAGI - Before you can say anything more, you fail to notice the lieutenant carefully walking onto the edge of the ice. He looks over the frigid water, a dizzying blue that mirrors and distorts his exhausted face back to him.

YOU - “Kim?”

KIM KITSURAGI - Seconds pass as he looks to be contemplating something. Out of nowhere, he casually takes another step where the ice ends and the sea begins. It happens all too quick for the lieutenant to even voice a call for help— if he even wanted to — his body plunging into the cold water before your eyes.

YOU - “KIM!!!!”

uhhh bonus stuff? sorry i have swap au brainworms pfttt

(im not sure what skills kim has at the moment so rn he only has narration as his inner monologue ok whoops, i would like to keep harry as the guy who thinks in dialogue trees so im still figuring it out pfttt)

also, this was done bc i wanted to expand on these old scribbles of mine, just like an idea, i just think that he'd be having an even worse time wheezes

[blackenedsnow]

can i have a shadow fic? Just with his s/o whos going through extreme burnout and isnt taking care of themselves?...and needs help?..sorry beeing going through this myself and shadow my comfort boy

the weight of rest

WARNING: Burnout, self-neglect, emotional exhaustion

PAIRING: Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader

NOTE: Thank you for sending this in, this means a lot since I know the whole burnout thing too well lately. If anyone else needs a fic like this, please ask anytime ♡ for real, it’s ok to reach out <3. Hope you like this!

SUMMARY: Shadow finds you in a state of exhaustion and burnout, watching as you grapple with your own needs—ones you've left unmet for too long.

Some days you could feel it weighing you down, this silent and invisible load pressing harder on your shoulders, making every step an effort. You don’t remember when it started, this quiet, gnawing exhaustion that turned every little task into a mountain, every step into a crawl. But here you are, slouched over your desk, surrounded by half-finished tasks and reminders of things you should’ve done but couldn’t quite bring yourself to complete.

You weren’t sure when Shadow noticed. Maybe it was the nights you spent awake, staring blankly at walls, the way food lost its appeal, or maybe the quiet sadness that had settled in your eyes. But he noticed. Of course, he noticed.

“Hey.”

The familiar voice makes you look up, your tired eyes meeting his as he stands in the doorway. It’s that rare gentleness in his gaze, one that Shadow doesn’t bring out for many people. But it’s there now, steady and unwavering.

He moves closer, his eyes scanning the scene in front of him. He doesn’t comment on the mess, doesn’t lecture, doesn’t press. Instead, he reaches out, resting a gloved hand on your shoulder, grounding you just a little bit more in the present.

“I think…” Shadow starts, his voice low, deliberate. He trails off, like he’s choosing each word carefully. “You need a break.”

You look away, the words sinking in painfully, almost as if admitting it out loud made the exhaustion worse. But Shadow doesn’t push. He just waits.

“I know,” you manage to say, barely a whisper.

Shadow’s fingers brush along your shoulder, and he kneels down next to you, searching your face. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he says, and his voice, normally so distant and reserved, softens just a little more. “I’m here.”

You let out a shaky breath. You want to tell him everything, the tangled mess inside your mind that’s left you feeling like this. But the words feel heavy, weighed down by fatigue.

Without saying anything else, Shadow shifts his arms around you, carefully pulling you close. You melt into him, letting the exhaustion spill over, almost ashamed at how much you need this. Shadow’s grip is firm, grounding, and for a moment, everything else fades.

“Rest,” he murmurs, his voice quiet yet resolute, like it’s an order.

That was just once though, that didn't make much go away.

You can’t remember the last time you slept without feeling more exhausted than before you closed your eyes. You feel like you're drowning, and every breath is harder to take than the last.

Another day, you can feel him in the room even when you're not paying attention. His presence is heavy, quiet, steady. It’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the world when you're floating in a haze, the edges of your mind blurring, and your body slowly shutting down.

Sometimes you think he must be disappointed in you.

But when you look over at Shadow, sitting there in the corner, his dark eyes watching you with a patience you don’t deserve, you know he’s not disappointed. He doesn’t have to say anything. He’s just there. Always there, like the calm in the storm that rages inside your head.

"Are you going to eat today?" His voice breaks through your thoughts, low and measured, but you can tell there’s a hint of concern buried under the words. It’s not a question he’s used to asking. You've been slipping more and more, and he’s noticed. Once again, he's noticed. Of course he has.

You don't answer. You don’t have the energy to, and you're not sure if you even care anymore. You stare at the empty plate on the table in front of you, feeling the hunger gnaw at your insides, but the thought of putting anything in your mouth just seems impossible. Like you're too tired to even chew.

He moves closer, his heavy footsteps silent against the floor. You can feel the heat of his body as he stands beside you. You don’t look up at him. You don’t want to see the way he’s looking at you.

“I know you’re tired,” he says, voice quiet but firm. “But that doesn’t mean you can ignore yourself. You need to eat. You need to rest.”

The words should comfort you, but they don’t. They only make you feel like more of a failure. You can’t even take care of yourself, and you can feel the weight of that failure pressing down on you, suffocating you. You swallow hard, but your throat feels tight.

“It's okay,” you lie, your voice coming out hoarse, barely a whisper. But it’s a lie you tell yourself every day, and Shadow doesn’t buy it.

“It's not okay,” he replies, softer this time, but with an edge of steel behind it. “I can see it, [Y/N]. I can see what’s happening to you.”

He crouches in front of me, again, just like he did before. His hand gently lifting your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. There’s something in his gaze, something raw and unspoken, and for a moment, You almost feel… safe.

“You think I’m broken,” you whisper, your voice cracking. The thought has been in your head for days, weeks, maybe longer, and you can’t hold it back anymore. “I think I’m broken.”

Shadow’s grip tightens on your chin, just enough to ground me, to pull you back into the present. His eyes soften, and you feel something inside of you stir. It’s not pity you see in his gaze. It’s something else. Something deeper, darker, like he understands in a way no one else does.

“You’re not broken,” he says, voice firm, a contradiction to the softness in his eyes. “You’re just… hurting. And that’s okay.”

“I don’t know how to fix this.” you admit, your voice trembling.

“You don’t have to fix it,” he replies, his voice low and steady, like he’s trying to anchor you to something solid. “You don’t have to do anything right now. Just let me help.”

Just let me help. It’s not a command, not an order. It’s a simple request. One you know he’s made before, but you've always been too stubborn to listen.

But now, you can’t push him away. You can’t deny that you need him. You need him more than you've ever needed anything else in your life.

“I don’t know how to take care of myself anymore,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper, like it’s a secret you've been hiding.

Shadow’s hand moves to your shoulder, his touch grounding, reassuring. “I’ll help you,” he says, and you can hear the promise in his voice. “One step at a time.”

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

You all know what time it is ( and body dysmorphia is mentioned a few times just thought I would let you know!)

🐍Snake empress Danny🐍

Ok let’s go, So you all know the drill Danny has to booket it out of amity ( GIW, Bad Fenton) and just for a bit more angst everyone who he loves ( Sam, Tucker, jazz) got caught up in the nasty burger explosion and the GIW hit Dani and as a last minute decision Danny has to grow her in himself and because he has the organs for baby incubation ( trans! Danny let’s go! ) so now we have a heavily traumatized teen who is going to be a teen mom and just loss his whole support system and everything he’s ever known yeah we going angsty today anyway so when Danny gets to the ghost zone he a immediately goes to clockwork to help him so after Danny gets healed up a bit and calm down the best he can right now and

now let’s move the pov for a sec so clockwork can’t really take care of Danny and he needs to fine someone who can that’s when he remembers the little pocket dimension that is a little bit hard to go to if your not looking for it so clockwork brings Danny there and on a cliff top there is a abandoned castle that is overgrown and has trees all around it and a healthy population of snakes that equally watch over the place and keeping outsiders OUT and do not tolerate people who are not a part of the …. Group, pack? Wtf do you call a group of snakes { ok so I just looked up what a group of snakes is called and apparently it’s called a den, pit or nest so I’ll be using that information} den and are very picky about who is in the nest and who isn’t but surprisingly the little danger noodles decide that Danny’s friend shaped and now his part of the nest ( also before I forget to mention there is a big ass snake that is the main protection for the others and the castle itself ) and he’s mostly doing things around with the snakes wrapped limply around his neck and shoulders or his arm and or legs they just like hanging around Danny for the most part

And for the JL side of this well you remember that this place is its own little pocket dimension well it is connected to the JL universe and it sorta feels like your in a Fea area not uncomfortable just different, it has a passage in Gotham City to a overgrown manhole cover so somehow Damien finds this manhole in the garden of Wayne manner and Bruce grounded ( aka benched ) him and Alfred is shopping and nobody’s home so it’s just him and he decides to go into the manhole cover it leeds down to a large tunnel so big it is a surprise nobody has found it yet so Damian walks down it for about 2 to 4 minutes before he sees another cover and has to use a lot of force to open it and as he climbs out he sees that it was overgrown to the point that the vines were wiring the thing shut and as Damien looks around he dust himself off he sees that he is in a large forest almost to large if this place was really Gotham than this would have been cut down years before it got like this so he walks around and than he gets to a lagoon it looks like no pollution got here as well that’s when he sees them a person the person has long white hair that looks to be in some kind of braid with silver chains and their wearing what seem like a bunch of white fabric at first glance but is you really look it seems to be a dress but that’s not what really brings his attention to this person it is the snake that are wrapped limply around them one black one that hangs off their shoulders and looks some what of a necklace and they are holding what seems to be a large black marble bowl ( the bowl is for some of the aquatic plants some birds ended up eating most of the aquatic plant and there are almost none left so he’s getting some from the lagoon) 

And that’s all for the moment. Now on to the details of this bitch!

I’m thinking Danny looks a little bit like this

The reason he wears this is because it’s easier to walk around in ( not to mention the moment the rest of the den realized he was with fetus Dani ( or Eleanor I like that name better for her it gives her a bit of her own personality instead of just Danny clone) the big snake who were going to call Vesper ( you get it ) started to carry him around and while sleeping he would wrap around him to keep him warm ok got a bit off track

And for his hair I’m thinking he lets it grow out a bit and the little danger noodles like to bring him bits and pieces of things they think he might like so he ends up with this

But instead of gold I’m thinking silver

Also just some pics of what I think the castle will look like in some places

Anyway that’s all from me byeeee 

[mikgreo]

denji’s prized possession!!

nsfw, minors dni.

a/n: thinking about how cute and submissive denji would be!! always ready to get a taste of his prized possession. this man will get on his knees anywhere, everywhere, always, no matter what.🧡

warning: exploiting, cunnilingus, dry humping, fingering, denji cums on your stomach and licks it off, also rubs his cum on your pussy, panty stealing.

“babyyy..~” denji whispered into your ear.

“no, go to bed denji.” you said trying to free yourself from his hold.

you two were at his apartment. you were too tired to walk back home, afterall the mission you both got sent over too had taken almost the whole day. you decided to stay with denji, praying all he would do was cuddle and go to bed.

“pleasee. can’t wait til mornin’ pretty.” he was whining in your ear. so annoying, but cute. you thought.

denji had been begging you for almost 20 minutes to let him eat you out. you, of course being too tired, kept denying his request. you didnt wanna go through the trouble of getting up and taking your clothes off and all of that.

“denji, im too tired baby. i cant even get up im so sore. i promise tomorrow, when i can actually get up.” you said, attempting to turn around so you wouldn’t have to little spoon anymore.

“so if i did it while you were asleep you wouldn’t mind?” denji said while kissing your shoulder.

“mmm nope. its better than doing all the work, i would be fine with it.” you laughed jokingly, knowing he would do it, but it never crossed your mind he would, right now, today, tonight.

denji didnt say anymore, so you took it as an invitation to let your eyes rest and get some long, well deserved, sleep.

denji’s pov!

sooo hungry. i cant wait til tomorrow mornin’.

he freed his hold on you waist and slid down the bed, onto the ground, pulling you by your legs to get closer, earning a grunt from you.

he didnt think much of this. he knew you were a deep sleeper, so he had no fear moving you as he pleased.

he tilted your body to the right and raised your legs up, spreading just enough.

he stopped.

would you be okay with this? is this rape? surely not. i hope not, itll be ok. something about this excited him, he knew you would never be really upset with him. it turned him on, seeing you when your the most vulnerable, taking advantage of your body.

he smiled to himself knowing everything was probably okay.

he pulled down your shorts. leaving your underwear on.

he stuffed his face in your cunt, deeply inhaling your smell. he licked your clit through the fabric.

he unconsciously began to rub against the foundation of the mattress. he tried to find the position where he could get the most friction in his sweatpants.

denji grabbed your panties and pulled them up, watching them go up your almost soaked cunt, sinking into the lips of your pussy.

he buried his face once again in your pussy, lapping up all your juices eating you like a hungry dog.

he pulled your panties off, getting a better view of your pussy, sinking in a finger inside your tight hole.

he curved his finger up and down inside taking his time feeling around and exploring your gummy walls, he pulled out and licked it off clean. moaning at the taste.

he pushed his finger back in while flicking his tongue on your clit, occasionally sucking it and rubbing it with his free hand.

at this point denji’s face was a mess covered in your juices. he was a moaning mess, his pants earning a wet spot the more the rubbed against the base of the bed, he had came atleast twice.

he stuck his hand down his pants wetting his fingers with his own slick, taking it up and spreading it inside your pussy, as lube. but also because he found it hot to taste himself on your pretty pussy <3

denji lost track of time, your body had came around 3 times now, he knew if he kept going your body would eventually squirt “or somethin’ ” (his words) and you would wake up.

he found it exciting not wanting to be caught. it turned him on.

he decided to finish himself off by hovering over you relieving himself all over your tummy.

as he finished getting every last drop out his red puffy tip, he licked it off your stomach, licking it clean.

he picked up your shorts and put them back on, but leaving your panties bunched up inside his pockets.

he layed back down in the same position he was in about an hour ago, and took your panties out his pocket.

he spun them around and the air before sniffing them again.

he put them infront of you.

“see that y/n? i wonder who these belong to ♡” he giggled, “they’re my prized possession, along with your pretty soaking pink pussy.”

im soooo sorry if this was something weird to write!!:(

ive personally imagined myself in this scenario amd would fimd it super hot if my partner did this, but thats me.

[spencerreidsreads]

What am I going to do with you?

Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader

Summary: You and Aaron share a cute moment in the kitchen

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 850 (just a short little one)

*based on THIS request*

AN: Just a short request today. I hope you enjoy! :)

“Ow ow ow”

Your moans of pain are the first thing Aaron hears when he walks through the door of your shared apartment after a long day at work.

As he shuffles further into your living space, he notices the smell of his favourite home cooked food and hears the sound of water running.

He approaches the kitchen where he heard you curse in pain and he sees you bent over the sink, holding your left index finger in your right hand and holding it under the stream of water of the tap.

You hadn’t noticed him yet, he takes a look around the kitchen and sees a variety of foods dotted around the counters. You had been preparing dinner for the pair of you.

“You ok sweetheart?” Aaron asks with sincerity in his voice. He knew based off of your facial expressions that you weren’t injured too badly. But Aaron doesn’t like seeing you in any pain whatsoever, no matter how big or small. So he can’t help but be concerned.

You turn around in surprise, having not heard him enter the apartment. A small smile makes its way onto your face, hiding the slight grimace you previously wore.

“I burned my finger on the pan” you exclaimed, inspecting the barley there burn on your finger.

Aaron walks over, gently prying your finger out of your other hand and placing it within his own. He lowered down to your height and squinted his eyes slightly to get a good look at your finger. It was red and he could tell it would be painful, but nothing too bad. And not much could really be done about it, running it under the tap and being gentle with it would work just fine.

He brought your hand up to his mouth, placing a slight kiss just below the burn, not wanting to hurt you more by touching it.

“Again?” he asked cheekily. This wasn’t the first time Aaron has caught you cursing to yourself over a kitchen based injury, you’ve burnt yourself several times. You’re simply just clumsy in the kitchen.

“It’s not my fault the stupid pans are too hot” you respond with a slight pout on your face, not liking being called out for your clumsiness.

Aaron laughs lightly at this, he thinks you’re adorable. Clumsy, but adorable.

He brings you into a tight embrace, both from having missed you whilst he worked today, and to show he meant no harm with his teasing.

Aaron slowly rocked you both side to side as he held one hand around your lower back, and the other gently stroking your hair on the back of your head.

After a short moment of indulging in you, he pulled back and looked lovingly into your eyes.

“What am I going to do with you?” he sighed teasingly, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Maybe you can do the cooking for the rest of the week. I’m too injured to do anymore” you dramatically reply as you hold up your ‘injured’ finger, a smirk on your face.

“Oh of course, honey. I couldn’t possibly expect you to carry on with such an injury. Why don’t you go sit down while I finish plating up the food?” He questions, playing along with your dramatics.

You eagerly nod your head and rush to sit at the table. Aaron watches you go, his heart filled with so much love for you.

Once the food is all plated up he sets everything down on the table and sits to join you.

“Thank you for dinner sweetheart, everything looks great” Aaron tells you.

“You’re welcome” you respond. “I missed you”

“I missed you too. But I’m home now and should have the weekend off, so you have me all to yourself for a couple days.” Aaron is truly happy about this, he values every single minute he gets to spend with you. An entire weekend will be bliss. “What do you wanna do over the weekend?”

You thought about it for a second, there was plenty you had been wanting to do with Aaron for a while. Date nights out, museum visits and more. But honestly, you just wanted this weekend to be you and him with no disturbances. And nothing sounded better than staying in all weekend, with no one but each other. Cosy mornings and soft touches, movies and takeout, that sounded like bliss.

“Well… since I’m so terribly injured…”

You once again showed the burn on your finger (that had already practically disappeared)

…”I think we’ll have to stay in and watch movies and eat takeout all weekend”

Aaron truly couldn’t think of anything better. God he loved you so much.

“That sounds perfect, though I guess I’ll have to nurse you back to full health” he suggested with an eyebrow raise and a smirk.

You knew his suggestive intentions with that comment. He was going to take good care of you.

You smiled back, both of your eyes beginning to gloss over with lust.

This was going to be a fun weekend.