#and part of me is like if i could just keep quiet about this and not be constantly bringing them up and stuff it would be fine

[onlyhereforthestories]

Chica Medica - Part 7 (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

I know this isn't the final in question but I can't find a gif of it. So have this one instead. Plus who wants to see sad Ale anyway 👀 This is the final part. this journey has been crazy and long but I can't thank you all enough. I'm glad this one got finished even if it took me like 2 years! Enjoy!

The atmosphere in the stadium was thick with tension. It was the day of the women’s champions league final, Barcelona vs Lyon. The anticipation had been building for the last few weeks, now it was her and both teams were toeing the line on another historic moment. It was a weight that you could feel even though you weren’t a player.

The teams had already started their warmups, which meant the stadium already had that buzz of energy ringing round it. Fans were filling into the seats, drinks and snacks in hand, chants falling from their lips and filling the arena. In the middle of all that excitement, was the nervous energy surrounding the players, you could sort of feel it coursing through you as you did some final checks on players. A lot of the players had been involved in the 2019 game with the same teams, the day when Lyon crushed Barcelona dreams of champions league glory with that brutal 4-1 win. The memory of that loss still lingered, and it hung over today’s match like a dark cloud.

From your position on the sideline, you could see it in the way the players moved. Some were more focused than usual, pushing themselves harder in the warm-up drills, while others seemed distracted, their minds already on the game to come. Even Alexia, who was usually so composed and steady, seemed a little off.

As warm-ups wrapped up and the team headed back toward the locker room for final preparations, you felt a familiar presence beside you. Alexia had broken off from the group and was making her way toward you, her expression tight but unreadable.

"Can you tape my ankle?" she asked, her voice steady, but you could hear the tension underneath, the underlying nerves that no one else but you and her would know about, even if it was never acknowledged. To the outside world she looked like the normal fearless captain ready to lead her side the best she can and always does.

You nodded and motioned for her to lead the way down the tunnel and past the locker rooms to the medical space. It wasn’t the first time she’d asked you to tape her ankle, it had actually become something of a pre-game ritual for the two of you, but today felt different and was different. The air between you was thick with the weight of the upcoming fixture, and you could sense that there was more to this than just a simple request.

As you gathered the tape and began to wrap her ankle, you kept your movements slow and precise, giving her time to speak if she wanted to. You could feel her eyes on you, her leg resting gently on your knee as you worked.

After a long pause, Alexia finally broke the silence. “I’m nervous.” It was barely said above a whisper as if she was in a room full of people and she didn’t want anyone of them to hear her.

The admission caught you off guard. The Alexia Putellas, mighty captain of Barcelona Femani, worldwide superstar, role model for many little girls around the globe, was nervous and admitting it verbally to you. In the quiet moment before the biggest game of the season, she was opening up and letting her guard down for you.

You glanced up at her, offering a soft smile. "That’s normal. It’s a big game. And it important to you."

She nodded, her eyes focused on the way your hands were delicately wrapping tape round her ankles. "I keep thinking about 2019," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper still. "How we weren’t ready, how they tore us apart. I don’t want that to happen again. I don’t want to let the team down. I don’t want to let the fans down."

You paused for a moment, your hands gently holding her ankle as you looked up at her. The weight of her words hung in the air between you, and you could see the vulnerability in her eyes along with the fear of failure, of history repeating itself.

"You won’t," you said softly, your voice steady. "This isn’t 2019, Ale. You’re not that same player, and this isn’t that same team. You’ve led them through everything this season. Whatever happens out there, they’re ready because of you. They are ready to fight with you."

Alexia exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing just slightly as she absorbed your words. You could tell she was still battling the nerves, but something in her posture shifted. It was like a quiet resolve starting to settle in and the confident captain was stepping back in.

"You’ve always been there," she said after a moment, her voice soft. That little glint she gets in her eyes when she’s just scored a goal present. "Since the start of the season, through all the ups and downs. I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much that’s meant to me."

You smiled, finishing the last few wraps of the tape around her ankle. "You don’t have to. I’m always here, no matter what."

The noise of the stadium, the weight of the final, the memories of what happened in 2019 were pushed to the back of both your minds in that second. For this one little moment it was just the two of you, in this quiet shared space.

She reached down, her hand gently brushing yours as you finished securing the tape. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "For everything."

You squeezed her hand gently, offering her the reassurance you knew she needed. "You’ve got this, Ale."

With a final nod, she stood up, testing her ankle and giving it a small flex before looking back at you. The tension in her eyes had eased, replaced with a quiet determination.

As she walked back toward the locker room, you watched her go, your heart swelling with pride. This was Alexia, the player who carried the weight of the team on her shoulders, but in moments like these, she was just a woman who needed support too. and you would happily always be that support.

The stadium lights grew brighter as the time for kick off approached, and you knew that no matter what happened on the pitch tonight, Alexia would give it everything she had. And so would the rest of the team.

You sat in awe as you watched all the pre-match stuff happen around you. Your eyes found it hard to leave the Barcelona captain once she had led the teams out, and as the songs were playing out, you noticed her glance your way. It was barely a second look but she caught the small smile and little thumbs up you gave her and it gave her that boost she needed to get her head focused, or so she thought.

The opening whistle rang through the stadium, but instead of the usual surge of excitement, there was a quiet undercurrent of nerves rippling through the team and the crowd. The air around the stadium thick with anticipation and nerves around what was to come. Lyon, experienced and relentless, were not a team to underestimate. And within ten minutes, they made sure to remind everyone of that.

You watched from the bench, your heart sinking as Alexia was tackled. Henry standing up from the slide with the ball and driving in field, she took a couple of touches before unleashing a strike you knew Alexia herself would have been proud of and you could only watch on as it nestled into the net. 1-0 to Lyon.

The stadium erupted with cheers from the Lyon supporters, but for Barcelona, the shock hit hard. You could see it in the way the players slowed for just a moment, the disbelief written across their faces. A few glanced toward the bench, their expressions filled with frustration and a rising sense of panic. This wasn’t something they were used to.

But none of them showed it more than Alexia. Her eyes were focused, but there was an edge to her movements that you recognized all too well, the tension, the pressure weighing down on her.

As the minutes ticked on, you could feel the anxiety building. Barcelona was chasing the game, trying to press forward, but Lyon was everywhere, cutting off every pass, intercepting every run.

Jenni had a chance or two to put Barcelona level but couldn’t quite do anything with the changes, the keeper of defenders dealing with her presence or shots well.

And then it happened again.

A quick one two down the left-hand side, a looping cross to the back post that Panos couldn’t quite intercept and a well-timed run from Lyons striker meant they doubled their lead. 2-0 Lyon.

You saw the anguish in the players’ faces, the disbelief starting to set in. The memory of 2019 was no longer just lingering in the background, it was happening all over again. The stadium felt heavier, the chants of the Lyon fans growing louder, the Barcelona ones dying out a little, and the Barcelona players seemed to feel the weight of every step they took.

Then, in the 35th minute, Lyon struck again. A mistake at the back gifted a tap-in to one of their players. 3-0 Lyon.

The sound of the ball hitting the back of the net was deafening, but all you could focus on was Alexia. She stood frozen for a moment, her hands resting on her knees as she took in the damage. Her expression was unreadable, but you could see the pain in her eyes, the mounting pressure of the game slipping away. She was fighting against the memories of the past, but they were catching up with her.

From the bench, you felt helpless, watching as Barcelona tried to regain some control, but the first half had been brutal. Lyon was dominating, and the damage seemed almost irreversible. The team’s confidence, which had been so strong coming into the final, was visibly shaken.

Then, just before halftime, Barcelona found a glimmer of hope.

In the 41st minute, a well-timed run from Alexia finally broke through Lyon’s defence. She latched onto a lovely cross from Caro and struck the ball with precision, sending it into the net passed the diving keeper. 3-1.

There was a brief moment of celebration, a flicker of joy in the stands and on the pitch. But it was muted, more relief than anything else. The team knew the damage had been done. As Alexia jogged back to her position with the ball tucked under her arm to hurry the game along, she glanced toward the bench, and for the briefest moment, your eyes met. You saw the anguish behind her focused gaze, the weight of the scoreline still heavy on her shoulders despite the goal.

It was a moment of hope, but it felt small in the shadow of everything that had already happened.

Halftime was tense. The locker room was filled with an oppressive silence, the usual chatter and tactical talk nowhere to be found. Everyone knew what had to be done, but the path ahead felt impossibly steep. You could see it in their faces, the frustration, the doubt.

Alexia sat quietly, her head bowed slightly as she caught her breath. She didn’t say anything, but her presence was commanding. The team took their cues from her, waiting, watching. There were no outbursts, no speeches. Just the weight of the moment settling into every player’s shoulders.

When it was time to head back out for the second half, they rose with quiet determination. No one needed to say anything. They all knew what was at stake, and they knew how difficult it would be to turn things around.

You stood near the tunnel as the team filed out, catching Alexia’s eye as she passed. She didn’t say a word, but there was a flicker of something in her gaze, a steely resolve, a promise to keep fighting, no matter what. Not that you would ever think she could give up.

The second half was a battle, but the damage from the first half was too much. Barcelona fought hard, pressing Lyon, creating chances, but the goals just wouldn’t come. Time ticked away, and with each passing minute, the weight of the scoreline became heavier.

Lyon defended with everything they had, and despite Barcelona’s best efforts, they couldn’t break through again. Alexia pushed herself to the limit, running harder, tackling fiercer, willing the team forward, but it wasn’t enough.

The final whistle echoed in your ears, the high-pitched sound sending your heart into your stomach. Lyon had won, again. Barcelona had fought so hard to get here again, had overcome challenges but had fallen short yet again, and the heart break was evident. The stadium was alive with the cheers of Lyon’s fans, but all you could focus on was the devastation unfolding around you.

Your players, your friends stood frozen, the weight of the loss settling in. Some dropped to their knees, others stared at the ground, their faces etched with disbelief. The pain in the air was unmistakable, and you could feel it in your own chest, a dull ache that mirrored theirs.

Then your eyes fell on Alexia.

She was on her knees in the centre of the pitch, her hands covering her face as she tried to contain the overwhelming flood of emotions. The captain, the leader, the one who carried the weight of this team on her shoulders, was breaking right in front of you.

You could see her shoulders shaking, her body trembling with silent sobs, and it was too much. The sight of her like that, so utterly heartbroken, tore at you. Every instinct in you wanted to go to her, to hold her, to tell her it would be okay. But the truth was, you weren’t sure it would be.

The overwhelming loss was too much for you to bear in that moment. You couldn’t handle watching Alexia break down like this, not after everything that had happened between you, not when your own emotions were threatening to pull you under. You could see her lying on her back sobbing even when your eyes were closed.

So, you turned away.

Without a word, you headed toward the tunnel, your heart racing and your chest tightening with every step you took. You could barely see through the blur of tears forming in your eyes as you hurried into the medical room, seeking the solitude you needed to process what had just happened. You couldn’t stay out there, not with Alexia on the floor, not with the agony of defeat surrounding you.

Once inside the medical room, you leaned against the wall, taking deep, shaky breaths. You tried to block out the sounds of the celebration from Lyon, it was just another punch in your already beat up heart. But it was hard. All you could think about was Alexia, how broken she had looked, how much this loss meant to her, and how helpless you felt to not be able to comfort her.

On the pitch, Alexia wiped her eyes, the tears still flowing as she tried to gather herself. The pain of losing the Champions League final was unbearable, but it wasn’t just that. It was everything combined, the pressure, the expectations, the weight she has carried for so long. And now, the crushing defeat that brought back memories of 2019, a nightmare she thought she’d escaped, had returned and god did it hurt.

But amid the chaos, something was missing. Or rather someone was missing.

Alexia looked up, her eyes scanning the sidelines, searching for you. She needed you now more than ever. You had always been there for her, a steady presence in the chaos. And in this moment, all she wanted was to find you, to feel that connection again. To feel good again.

But you weren’t there.

Her heart clenched, a new wave of panic washing over her. She searched the faces around her again, but she still didn’t see you. The celebrations, the commiserations of her teammates, none of it mattered. She needed to find you.

Without thinking, Alexia got to her feet, her body aching but her mind focused on one thing: you. She moved quickly towards the tunnel, ignoring the flashes of cameras, and the questions from some of the staff still by the bench. None of it mattered now.

When she was inside, her eyes darted around, searching for any sign of you. Then, she caught a glimpse of the medical room door slightly ajar. Her heart pounded in her chest as she made her way toward it, hoping, no praying, that you were there. That she could feel something other than defeat.

You were so in your head that you didn’t hear the soft creak of the door as it opened. You were seated on the edge of one of the treatment tables with your head in your hands, trying not to fully breakdown. You couldn’t face the team right now and you certainly couldn’t face Alexia after everything. You felt like you were betraying her in a way by not being out there, but it was just too much.

The you heard it, her soft voice coming from the doorway.

“Y/N?” it was tentative, nervous a little, but it was unmistakably her.

You lifted your head, your breath catching slightly in your throat when you saw Alexia standing in the doorway. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, her face still etched with the raw emotion of the loss. But there was something else in her gaze, something intense, something you couldn’t quite place.

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her, and for a moment, the two of you just stared at each other. The weight of the game, of everything that had been left unsaid between you, sat poised in the air, heavy and unwavering.

"Why did you leave?" Alexia asked, her voice barely above a whisper. There was no anger in her tone, just a quiet pain and confusion.

"I couldn’t..." you started, but your voice faltered. "I couldn’t watch you like that. It was too much."

Alexia’s eyes softened a fraction, and she took a few steps closer to you. "You think it wasn’t too much for me?" she asked, her voice shaking. You couldn’t tell if it was from the sadness still surrounding the day or the hurt you have now caused her. "You think losing this, after everything... was something I could just handle on my own?"

You looked away, the guilt rising in your chest, making it harder to keep your emotions in check. "I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to help you. I didn’t know if I was allowed to help you."

"I don’t need you to say anything," Alexia said, her voice thick with emotion. "I just need you there. With me. I’ve already lost one important thing tonight. I’m not losing you, too."

Her words hit you like a sucker punch to the gut, the intensity of them taking your breath away momentarily. You looked up at her, your heart beating out of your cheat as the weight of it all settled between you. The loss, the heartbreak, the months and months of tension between you, it all lead to this moment.

You watched as Alexia took a step closer, her hands shaking as she reached out for your own. “I can’t lose you,” she whispered. “Not after everything, I know I’ve pushed you away, I know I’ve made mistakes, but … I want you. No, I need you. I need you with me, and not just because you are a part of this team. As more, with me.”

Her confession hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. You could see the slight fear in her eyes behind the determination, the fear you knew of losing something else, someone else, important.

"I’m here," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you stood up, closing the distance between you. "I’m here, Ale. I want and need you too."

And that was all she needed.

Without another word, Alexia closed the gap between you, her lips crashing into yours in a kiss that was filled with all the emotions she had been holding back for so long. It was desperate, intense, and slightly hurried but it was everything. Everything she hadn’t been able to say, everything she had felt but hadn’t been able to express, was in that kiss.

You kissed her back, your hands sliding up to cup her face, feeling the warmth of her skin still slightly damp from a mix of tears and sweat, and the familiar softness of her lips. The weight of the loss, of the heartbreak, melted away in that moment, and all that remained was the two of you. It was always the two of you.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and wide-eyed, Alexia rested her forehead against yours, her breathing ragged as she whispered, "I’m not losing you."

You smiled softly, your heart swelling with emotion. "You’re not losing me. Not now, not ever."

The kiss lingered between you, as did the warmth of being pressed against the woman you loved, there was a mixture of unspoken emotions still on the tip of your tongues but now wasn’t the moment. The reality of where you were crept back in when the roar of the crowd could be heard outside, the faint celebrations of the Lyon players. As much as you wanted to stay in this quiet, life altering moment with alexia, you knew she would need to return to the pitch.

A soft knock interrupted the peaceful silence.

"Alexia?" It was Leila’s voice, quiet but insistent. "We need to be back on the pitch for the medals."

Alexia exhaled heavily, her forehead still resting against yours, her eyes closed as if she wasn’t ready to face the world outside just yet. But she nodded, knowing there was no escaping this part. You gently placed your hand on her arm, offering a small, supportive smile.

"You need to go," you said softly. "They’re waiting for you."

Alexia pulled back, her eyes still red from earlier, but the strength in them was returning. "Come with me?"

“Always.” You nodded, squeezing her hand before leading her toward the door.

Leila gave you both a knowing look when she saw the two of you walk out together with your hands connected, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she offered a small smile and gestured toward the tunnel.

Once you all made it back onto the pitch, Alexia and Leila went off to join the rest of the team in the line for the silver medals. The atmosphere was heavy around them, the weight of the crushing loss still taking its time to sink in. but behind that upset and sadness you could feel the determination in the air. Even if they were defeated this year, you knew they would go again next year, and as always, together.

As Alexia stood with her teammates lined up with her, waiting for her medals to be placed around her neck, she glanced at you. Standing off to the side but there, ever present you. There was something softer in her gaze now, gone was the torment of the first goal conceded, gone was the full weight of the loss, replacing it was something that you hadn’t seen before.

When the medal ceremony final started and Alexia walked to get hers, she accepted it with a quiet nod, her fingers barely brushing over it before she let it hang loosely around her neck. The team all stood together for the photo they all knew they had to take but all didn’t want to. The photo that would remind them of how close they had come. A bittersweet memory captures in a flash.

Once the photo was done everyone started to part ways. Some going to find their loved ones in the crowd, others taking a few steps away to give themselves a quiet moment. Alexia though had one more thing left to collect before she could join the rest of them.

The Golden Boot.

She had been the top scorer of the tournament, her performances throughout the campaign nothing short of extraordinary. But now, standing with the silver medal hanging loosely around her neck, Alexia looked anything but ready to celebrate her individual achievement. You knew she wouldn’t have cared for it that much even if they had won the whole thing, but it felt cruel to get it without the win.

As her name was called to receive the Golden Boot, she hesitated, her eyes dark with exhaustion and sadness. She glanced at you, standing off to the side, and you could see it. You could see the reluctance, the pain etched into her tear-streaked face. It broke your heart slightly, even though you knew that pain would fade.

You took a step forward, offering her a gentle smile, but you could feel her hesitation, her body still rooted in place. She didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to stand there in front of the cameras, holding a trophy when her heart was shattered by the team’s loss. She didn’t want to accept a single award when her team didn’t get what she thinks they should have together.

But you knew how important this was, even if she couldn’t feel it right now.

So, with that thought you walked up to her, you placed a hand on her arm, your voice soft but full of conviction. "Ale, I know it’s hard to think about right now, but even on the worst day, you achieved the best."

She looked at you, her brow furrowed in confusion, the weight of her emotions pressing down on her.

"You won the Golden Boot," you continued, your eyes never leaving hers. "It might be hard to take in at this moment, but this is a major achievement. You don’t want to forget it. And I certainly don’t want to."

Alexia’s eyes softened, her shoulders relaxing just slightly as she took in your words. There was still pain there, still heartbreak from the loss, but you could see a flicker of recognition. Something in her eyes that showed that she understood that even in the midst of defeat, she had achieved something remarkable. Something that in a month or two she would want to acknowledge and celebrate with her team and loved ones, just not now.

She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as she nodded. "I just... I don’t feel like I deserve it right now. Not after this."

You stepped closer, your voice steady and reassuring. "You deserve it more than anyone. You’ve worked harder than I have seen from any other player, and no one can take that from you, not even Lyon. This is your moment, Ale. Your incredible achievement. Own it."

For a moment, she just stared at you, her eyes searching yours for reassurance. Then, slowly, she nodded again, a soft, appreciative smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She couldn’t appreciate this now, but she knew you were right, and she would later, when the sting of the loss faded.

With a gentle push from you, Alexia stepped forward and made her way towards the podium. The cameras flashed as the Golden Boot was handed to her, and she accepted it with grace, even if her heart wasn’t fully in it.

She held the trophy in her hands, but her eyes were still tinged with sadness, her tear-stained face a reminder of the battle she had just lost. But even as the pain lingered, there was a quiet strength in her, an acknowledgment that this achievement mattered, well would matter just like you said. That it was something to be proud of, no matter how bittersweet the moment.

As she was asked by the photographers to pose with the trophy, her mind ran back to the loss. The sadness in her eyes captured forever for people to see. She caught your gaze, saw the pride and quiet admiration in your eyes and that gave her the strength to square her shoulders and smile slightly.

With a deep breathe she held the Golden Boot in front of her, ignored the flashing of the cameras that were capturing the moment forever. And although the smile on her face was faint, it was there, a small demonstration to everyone that despite the heartbreak of the day, she had achieved something worth smiling for.

When she made her way back to you after the photos, you could see the sadness was still the major emotion clinging to her, but alongside it was gratitude.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. “For being here with me. For reminding me.”

You smiled, reaching up to gently brush a stray tear from her cheek. “Always.”

The flight back to Barcelona was going to be quiet, the exhaustion from the match and the emotions of the night weighing heavily on everyone. The plane hummed softly as the team settled into their seats, some player lost in their own thoughts, some chatting quietly about the match and what they could have done to change it.  

You had planned to sit quietly somewhere near the back, giving the team space to process the loss. But as you made your way down the aisle, Alexia’s hand gently caught yours, stopping you in your tracks.

"Sit with me?" she asked, her voice soft but sure. “Please.”

You hesitated for just a moment, glancing around the plane. The team was scattered in their seats, most of them already focused on their phones or staring out the windows. No one was really paying attention, but this felt... different. Public, in a way that you and Alexia hadn’t been before. Even if it as only the team you both knew and cared for so much.

But Alexia didn’t seem to care. Her eyes were soft, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen around the team. She was letting her guard down, and this time, she wasn’t trying to hide it.

With a small smile, you nodded and slid into the seat beside her. As the plane took off, you felt Alexia’s hand slip into yours, her fingers lacing together with yours in a quiet, intimate gesture. She leaned her head against your shoulder, the weight of the day finally catching up with her. You rested your head on top of hers, letting her know you had her.

For a while, you just sat there in comfortable silence, the hum of the plane a soft backdrop to the steady rhythm of her breathing. You could feel the tension slowly melting away as she relaxed into you, her body finally giving in to the exhaustion that had been building all night.

At some point, Alexia’s breathing became deeper, more rhythmic. She had fallen asleep on your shoulder, her head nestled against you in a way that felt so natural, so right. You smiled softly, your heart swelling with affection as you carefully adjusted your position to make sure she was comfortable. Letting her head tuck further into you and away from the prying eyes you knew were to come.

And you were right, the peace didn’t last long.

From across the aisle, you spotted Mapi grinning mischievously, her phone in hand. She was clearly taking a photo of Alexia asleep on your shoulder, her eyes glinting with amusement. You rolled your eyes playfully and stuck your tongue out at her, quickly raising your hand to cover the part of Alexia’s face that was visible.

Mapi chuckled quietly, snapping the photo anyway before mouthing, "Too late!" She gave you a cheeky wink before turning back to her seat, clearly pleased with herself. Ingrid obviously smacking the woman upside her head that just tore more chuckles from the blonde.

You shook your head, but the moment was too sweet to be annoyed. Instead, you glanced down at Alexia, still peacefully asleep, and let the warmth of the moment settle over you. It didn’t matter if the team was starting to notice, Alexia had made it clear that she didn’t care they would notice. She wasn’t hiding this, and neither were you.

The flight continued, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a quiet sense of contentment. The pain of the loss still lingered, but in this small moment, with Alexia resting beside you, it felt like everything was falling into place. Maybe just maybe you could stay as Alexia Chica Medica.

[ahqkas]

“YOU HOLD ME WITHOUT HURTING ME — jason todd.

PAIRING! jason todd x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! you show jason it’s okay to bleed sometimes

WORD COUNT! 3.1k

WARNINGS / TAGS! wounds, mention of blood, fluff, reader’s hair mentioned, kissing + lmk if more found

NOTES! i tried to base this on that one tasm1 scene of peter and gwen where she patched him up , header below belongs to @/v6que !

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE SOFT HUM OF THE CITY OUTSIDE YOUR WINDOW HAD QUIETED TO A RARE WHISPER TONIGHT, a lull in Gotham’s usual chaos that felt like a blessing. Sirens, so common they were practically part of the soundtrack of your life, had faded into distant echoes, while the occasional honk of a car horn or the rush of tires on wet pavement seemed farther away than usual. It wasn’t complete silence—Gotham never truly slept—but it was as close as the city could get, a fleeting moment of stillness.

Inside, the warmth of your room cocooned you in a comforting contrast to the winter outside. The radiator hummed softly in the corner, its gentle heat mingling with the faint scent of cinnamon from the candle you’d lit earlier to help you focus. The flame flickered now, casting shadows that danced along the edges of your desk and walls, though the main light came from the golden glow of the lamp beside your bed. It bathed everything in a soft, inviting yellow light, the kind that made you want to sink deeper into your blankets and let the night carry you away.

But there was no time for that—not tonight. Your bed, usually your sanctuary, had become a battlefield. Textbooks, notebooks, flashcards, and stray pens were scattered like the aftermath of an academic storm. A bright pink highlighter sat capless somewhere near your elbow, while a pile of dog-eared textbooks loomed over you, threatening to topple if you so much as shifted the wrong way. You were surrounded on all sides by the evidence of your late-night cram session, the weight of the information you were trying to absorb pressing down on your already heavy eyelids.

The soft cotton of your oversized sweater brushed against your arms as you adjusted your position, tucking one leg beneath you and letting the other dangle off the edge of the bed. You propped your chin in your hand, squinting at the same sentence for what felt like the hundredth time. The words blurred and swam on the page, merging into an indecipherable wall of text as your brain fought against the exhaustion creeping in.

Your eyelids drooped again, the soft weight of exhaustion pulling them down as if gravity itself was conspiring against your efforts. You blinked hard, shaking your head slightly to snap yourself out of the haze creeping over your thoughts. The neat black ink on the page swam in and out of focus, words smudging together in a taunting blur. Focus, just focus. But no amount of repetition could make the phrase "mitochondria: powerhouse of the cell" feel less like a mantra from a far-off dream.

“Powerhouse,” you muttered again, your voice low and groggy, as if repeating it would anchor your wandering mind. “Powerhouse of . . . ugh.” You tossed the pen down onto the bedspread with a soft thud and buried your face in your hands, groaning into the quiet sanctuary of your room.

Your head sank forward, pressing against the cool surface of the open textbook. The faint scent of paper and ink tickled your nose as you let out a long, frustrated sigh. The night had started with so much ambition—a cup of coffee you swore would keep you awake, a meticulous plan to conquer this section of the syllabus—but now? Now, all you could think about was how soft your pillow looked, just a few inches away from your outstretched arm.

At least it was quiet tonight. Quiet enough that you could hear the rhythmic hum of your radiator and the occasional groan of the building settling. The sounds wrapped around you like a soothing melody, a rare lullaby in the city that never stopped moving. There was no blaring of police sirens, no shouting from the streets below, no low thrum of distant helicopters scanning the skies. It felt almost unnatural, this stillness, like the city was holding its breath.

But it was a welcome kind of calm. For once, there were no distractions, no sudden noises to pull your focus away from the monumental task at hand. You adjusted your position on the bed, the mattress creaking softly beneath your weight, and let yourself soak in the serenity. Just you, your books, and the glow of the lamplight. Quiet enough to think, to study, to—

A faint creak echoed outside your window, cutting through the silence like a needle dragging across a record. You froze, your hand halfway to turning the page, and lifted your head slowly, ears straining to catch any further sound. The fire escape of your apartment didn’t creak like that, but you knew the noise well. It was the sound of weight shifting against metal, deliberate and steady, and it was coming from outside.

Your pulse quickened, and you instinctively turned toward the window, where the dark glass reflected nothing but the warm glow of your room. Shadows danced faintly against the curtains, swaying with the breeze outside, but nothing seemed out of place. You frowned, brushing the thought away as paranoia. Maybe a branch had fallen or some stray cat had climbed up the fire escape again.

Jason wasn’t supposed to visit tonight. You’d both agreed on that earlier in the day, a mutual understanding that life—his, out on the snowy streets of Gotham, and yours, buried in exams and deadlines—was too demanding right now. He had patrol; you had textbooks. It was supposed to be a quiet night for both of you, separate but enduring, each fighting your battles alone.

So when you heard the soft scrape against your window, you froze, heart leaping into your throat. It wasn’t loud enough to be an accident, too deliberate to dismiss.

And there he was.

Jason stood there on your fire escape, the shadow of his imposing figure framed by the glow of your bedside lamp spilling through the curtains. Snow clung to the edges of his black and red suit, catching in the mess of his dark hair, the frosty crystals melting into droplets on his skin. His helmet was gone, his bare face illuminated in the low light, and for a fleeting second, you could almost convince yourself he looked shy, hesitant. But no—Jason Peter Todd didn’t do shy. Not really. He was here for a reason, even if it wasn’t the one he’d planned.

Your breath hitched as your gaze dipped lower. His jacket was torn along one sleeve, the fabric shredded, and beneath it, a wound marred the pale skin of his arm. Fresh blood seeped through, staining the snow-dusted fabric and dripping slowly down to the black of his gloves. The edges of the wound were jagged, raw, like it had been inflicted during a fight—one that he’d won, no doubt, but not without cost.

You were on your feet before you realized you’d moved, the fortress of textbooks and notes forgotten in an instant. “Jason,” you whispered, his name barely audible over the rush of your pulse. He wasn’t supposed to be here tonight, wasn’t supposed to need you like this, but here he was, leaning against the window frame as though standing upright was an effort.

Your fingers hovered near the lock on the window, hesitating for only a moment before you slid it open. The cold night air rushed in, biting against your skin and making you shiver, but Jason barely seemed to notice. He stepped inside with a deliberate slowness, his broad shoulders slumping slightly as he moved past you and into the warm glow of your room. His boots left faint, wet prints on the floor, the snow melting quickly in the heat.

“You’re bleeding,” you said, the words tumbling out instinctively, your voice tinged with worry. It felt stupid to say—it was obvious, painfully so—but seeing him like this had your mind scrambling to keep up. “You weren’t supposed to—what happened?”

He didn’t answer immediately. His lips quirked into a faint, almost sheepish smirk as he glanced down at the wound on his arm, as though it wasn’t worth mentioning. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, brushing it off in that gruff, nonchalant way of his. But the way his hand pressed against the injury, as though to stem the bleeding, told you otherwise.

You crossed your arms over your chest, fixing him with a look that you hoped conveyed both your concern and your impatience for the truth. Because nothing didn’t leave his suit ripped to shreds and blood dripping onto your floor.

“Jason, sit down,” exclaiming, your voice was firmer than you thought it would be. Worry surged through you as you closed the window behind him, sealing out the chill. The warmth of your room clashed against the icy snow clinging to his battered suit, the droplets melting and dripping onto the floor. You barely noticed. All you could see was the wound on his arm and the way his jaw tightened like he was trying to pretend it didn’t hurt.

“I told you, it’s fine,” he muttered, brushing past you with a tired shrug, his usual swagger diminished by the faint limp in his step. He leaned against the edge of your desk, scattering a couple of your neatly stacked flashcards with the motion. His gaze flicked to you then, softening just slightly, like he knew exactly what you were about to say and was already bracing himself for it.

“It’s not fine.” You stepped closer, reaching for his arm. He tried to pull it back, but you were quicker, your fingers ghosting over the torn fabric and the angry gash beneath. His muscles tensed at your touch, but he didn’t stop you. Not completely. “You’re bleeding all over my floor. At least let me—”

“Later,” he interrupted, his voice low and firm, but soft for you. “I’ll deal with it later. It’s just a scratch.”

Your eyes narrowed at his deflection. “Jason—”

“[Name],” he countered, your name falling from his lips like a warning and a plea all at once. He reached for you then, his uninjured hand brushing against your wrist and tugging you closer with gentleness that contrasted starkly with the blood dripping from his other arm.

The shift was dizzying, pulling you from worry to something softer and harder to resist. You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could get the words out, he leaned down, his forehead resting against yours. His breath was warm against your cheek, and the sharp edges of his usual bravado softened in the intimacy of the moment. “I didn’t come here so you could play nurse,” he murmured. “I just . . . needed to see you.”

Your heart clenched at the quiet honesty in his voice, but you refused to let him distract you so easily. “You needed stitches,” you shot back, trying to keep your resolve, though the way his thumb traced slow circles against your hip wasn’t helping. “Jason, you can’t just—”

Whatever you were about to say was lost as he kissed you. His lips captured yours with a sudden intensity that left no room for argument, silencing every worry you’d been about to voice. His fingers trailed from your neck up, landing on your cheek with a gentle caress, anchoring you to him, and for a moment, all you could do was melt into his touch. You felt his tension ease slightly, the weight of whatever he’d been carrying fading just enough as he pressed closer, as if kissing you was the only medicine he needed.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead still resting against yours, you opened your eyes to find his staring back, dark and unreadable but softened by something raw and unguarded. “See?” he whispered, his voice low and rough. “I’m fine.”

You sighed, shaking your head, your hands instinctively resting on his chest. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, though your voice lacked any real bite.

“Yeah, but you love me anyway,” Jason teased, that cocky grin returning even as the blood continued to drip from his arm.

You groaned, pushing lightly against his chest. “Fine. But I swear, if you pass out on my floor because you were too stubborn to let me help, I’m drawing on your face while you’re out.”

His laughter was quiet but genuine, and for a moment, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate. You didn’t give him the chance to argue this time. Grabbing the first-aid kit from your bedside table, you set it down on the desk beside him with a decisive clatter. Jason raised an eyebrow at your determination, the faint smirk still tugging at the corners of his mouth, but you were too focused to care.

“Jacket off,” you mumbled, your tone leaving no room for debate.

He sighed, tilting his head back slightly like he was preparing for a lecture, but he complied without protest. With a grunt, he shrugged off the battered leather jacket, hissing slightly as the movement pulled at the torn edges of his suit. You caught the flash of discomfort in his expression, but he said nothing, tossing the bloodied jacket onto your chair.

“And the top half,” you added, gesturing toward the suit. Your voice was softer this time, less demanding but no less insistent. His hands hesitated briefly at the hem of the torn fabric before he pulled it up and over his head, revealing the pale, scarred skin of his chest and shoulders. The gash on his arm looked even worse without the fabric covering it, the torn skin deep and angry. Blood smeared across his bicep and dripped onto the floor, and you had to swallow the lump in your throat at the sight.

Jason glanced at you, the teasing light in his eyes dimmed now, replaced with something quieter, more vulnerable. “It’s really not that bad.”

“Jason, it’s bad,” you countered, shaking your head as you grabbed a clean cloth and antiseptic from the kit. He didn’t argue this time, watching you silently as you tended to his wound. The warmth of his skin under your fingers was a reminder of how human he was—how breakable, despite the armor he wrapped himself in every night.

The first dab of antiseptic against the wound made him flinch, a soft hiss escaping through his teeth. “Sorry,” you murmured, glancing up at him.

He shook his head. “Don’t be. Just do what you need to do.”

And so you did. Your hands moved with careful precision as you cleaned the wound, biting your lip in concentration. Jason stayed still, his muscles tensing under your touch but his expression relaxed—at least outwardly. You knew him well enough to see the subtle shifts, the way his eyes darted occasionally toward your face, as if he were studying you just as much as you were tending to him.

“Why didn’t you do this yourself?” you asked softly, breaking the silence. “You have supplies at your place. You didn’t have to come here like this.”

He was quiet for a moment, the question lingering between you like smoke. Then, finally, he sighed, his voice low and rough. “Didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

The simplicity of his words made you pause, your hands stilling briefly before resuming their work. You didn’t press him further; you didn’t need to. Jason never came out and said it, but moments like this told you everything you needed to know. Beneath the sharp wit, there was a part of him that needed the quiet comfort of your presence, even if he didn’t know how to ask for it outright.

“Well,” you said gently, wrapping a bandage around his arm with practiced care, “you’re not alone now.”

His gaze softened, green eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. He reached out with his uninjured hand, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the touch lingering longer than it needed to. “Thanks,” he whispered, the word heavy with meaning.

You smiled faintly, finishing the bandage and tying it off securely. “There,” you said, leaning back to admire your work. “Good as new. Or, at least, good enough to stop bleeding all over my room.”

Jason chuckled, the sound low and warm, and you felt the tension in your chest ease slightly. “You’re wasted on studying,” he teased and with that, his smirk returned. “You could make a pretty decent field medic.”

Rolling your eyes at him, you packed up the first-aid kit neatly. “Yeah, well, let’s not test that theory any further tonight, okay?”

As you turned to put the bloodied gauze and scattered supplies away, Jason’s hand wrapped gently around your wrist, stopping you mid-step. His grip wasn’t firm, but it was enough to tug you back toward him, enough to make your heart lurch at the vulnerability written across his face. You froze for a moment, your eyes meeting his. The usual sharpness in his gaze was softened now, dulled by exhaustion, pain, and something quieter—something unguarded. His bravado, the cocky smirk and dismissive sarcasm that so often served as his shield, was gone. He looked at you like he was searching for something, something only you could give.

“I mean it,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper, but steady enough to hit you square in the chest. “Thanks. For . . . this. For being here.”

The words felt heavy, like they carried more weight than just tonight. They weren’t just gratitude for the bandages or the antiseptic or the quiet space you’d made for him in your small room. It was more than that. It was for the safety, the warmth, the acceptance you gave him so freely, no matter how broken or battered he was when he came through your window.

Your breath caught, and for a moment, you just looked at him, your throat tightening at the raw honesty in his eyes. “Jay,” you murmured, your voice trembling slightly. You didn’t know what to say—didn’t know how to put into words how much it meant to you that he was here, that he trusted you enough to let his walls down like this.

Instead, you slid your hand over his, the one still wrapped around your wrist, and gave it a gentle squeeze. You leaned down slowly, your fingers brushing against the edge of his jaw as you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. His skin was warm beneath your lips, and you lingered there for a second longer than you meant to, closing your eyes as a quiet promise settled in the space between you.

“Always,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but filled with every ounce of certainty you had.

When you pulled back, his eyes followed you, still searching, still vulnerable. His hand shifted slightly, his thumb brushing lightly against your pulse point like he was grounding himself in the feel of you. For a man who was usually so composed, so quick to hide behind sarcasm, he looked achingly human in that moment—like he wasn’t Red Hood, wasn’t Gotham’s vengeance, but just a man who needed someone to remind him it was okay to bleed sometimes.

ADDITIONAL NOTE! if you like my work , please consider reblogging and / or commenting . thank you if you do 🤍

[buckevantommy]

Buck could fill a small bakery with the amount he's baked in the past few weeks. He cleaned out the flour shelf at his local corner market, used a coop's worth of eggs, pushed his mixer to the limit, and had his oven working near constantly. Every neighbor on his floor and everyone he's passed in the lobby has had a loaf of some kind left on their doorstep or politely shoved into their hands. Everyone at the station is begging him not to overload them on anymore sugar - they'll take the carb-loaded meals he makes at work but avoid Buck the moment he enters the bay doors with a basket of saran-wrapped sweet bakes.

The worst part is that it's not even working anymore. It never really distracted him enough to not want to call Tommy, just put his hands and head to use for an hour or two at a time so that he couldn't text or call.

But now there's nothing left to bake with. And Eddie is looking at houses in El Paso. And everyone has family to go home to, except for Buck. And every reason he has for not being the one to reach out first goes out the window.

After a few rings, Tommy answers with a questioning: "-Buck?" and it's a gutpunch he doesn't need today but he's already feeling like shit so the pain just gets absorbed into the rest of it.

"H-hey, Tommy." It feels good to say his name under- well, not better circumstances than addressing his broken heart, but something with a bit of tentative hope at least.

And it's good to hear his voice. The voicemails and audio notes and videos from their time together have soothed him and tormented him at different times, but hearing Tommy respond sends a pang of longing through him.

"Um. I-I, uh."

"Are you okay?"

A bitter sound trips its way out of Buck's mouth. "No. No, I-I'm not okay."

"Are you hurt?"

The urgency in Tommy's voice thrills him; he still cares. But Buck doesn't want to misrepresent himself, doesn't want to trick Tommy into caring about what he's going through.

"Guess that depends."

"On what?"

"What kinda hurt you mean."

There's an inhale across the line. "What can I do?"

Tears prick at the corners of Buck's eyes. "I just- need someone to talk to." He doesn't say: even though we're not together anymore, can we still be friends? because even though he's missed Tommy being in his life, he doesn't know if he could be just friends.

"Okay." Buck hears some rustling in the background, footsteps, background noise receding. "I'm here. Talk to me."

Tommy wants to hear what Buck has to say, he always did. So Buck talks. He tells Tommy about Eddie moving away, and Tommy listens. And when it gets too much he tells Tommy about a new niece or nephew of his on the way, and Tommy offers his sincere congratulations. And then he tells Tommy about his baking coping mechanism and Tommy quiets.

So much so that Buck checks to see if the call dropped.

"I'm on my fifth engine," Tommy admit. "I keep taking them apart and putting them back together until they work better than before. But everytime I was done I had to start again, fix another broken thing, because I couldn't fix.."

Buck takes an unsteady breath. Us. "Me."

"No," Tommy says emphatically. "I couldn't fix me. Too broken to be good enough for you."

It's a heartwrenching confession, but Buck feels a smile beneath the tears sneaking down his face. "You don't think I'm broken? Nobody stays for me, Tommy. At some point I gotta realize I'm just not someone people wanna stick around for in the long run."

"Evan.."

Buck breezes over the sound of his name in Tommy's mouth, can't dwell on how good it feels because it won't last. "Guess neither of us are forever guys, huh." His heart, bruised and battered, bleeds a little more. The tears stream freely now. He sniffles, but manages to steady his voice as he says: "I loved you. That was real."

Tommy's breath hitches. "I was a coward."

Buck nods. Cries some more. They're both fucked up.

Tommy hesitates, but then: "I'm off-shift soon. We could.."

He leaves it hanging. There's so many ways Buck could finish that sentence, most of them unbearably hopeful. He doesn't want to stay in his empty apartment anymore. "Yours?" His voice is a little wet. "Maybe I could help you with that engine."

Tommy's breath of amusement is a balm to Buck's aching heart. "You know something about vintage cars I don't?" It's teasing, and gentle, and Buck has missed this.

"Maybe. Maybe trying to do it alone is the problem."

Another breath of laughter, followed by resignation in Tommy's voice. "Yeah. Maybe you're right."

Buck listens to him breathe for a moment: in, out, in..

"I'll meet you at mine."

Buck's poor heart beats a little stronger.

*

It was more than an hour later, of battling crosstown traffic and then letting himself into Tommy's house because Tommy had explicitly told him to use the spare key. They never gotten to the point of swapping keys. That probably should've been a step they didn't skip over. Buck's too-long legs had skipped too many for Tommy's comfort.

He pushes all thoughts of that aside. He's not perfect, he's too much, but Tommy agreed to see him. Tommy wants.. he's not sure.

Buck stands in the little living room, surveying Tommy's space while his mind spirals, heart yoyo-ing between hope and hopelessness. He doesn't know how much time passes when the front door opens and Tommy appears in the entryway.

He looks good. Tired, if the dark circles under his eyes are anything to go by, but good. His hair is a little longer all over, and it suits him. Buck wants to tell him as much but he can't seem to say anything.

Then Tommy says, "Hey," soft and concerned and fond, a sad smile at the corners of his eyes.

And Buck's tears threaten back into his own. "Hey." His voice is watery and brittle.

Tommy's there in three strides, gathering Buck into his arms, and Buck lets himself be wrapped in an embrace. Winds his arms around Tommy and presses into his solid warmth. Breathes him in as the tears come.

He feels safe. Seen. His heart cradled in care the way his body is cradled in Tommy's arms.

Buck takes a deep, steadying inhale of Tommy's scent and pulls back enough to look him in the face. His hands loose their grip at Tommy's shirt, smoothing to palm him through the cotton.

"About that engine.."

Tommy's smile is wide enough to crinkle his eyes in that way Buck loves, with joy etched in the creases.

"I wanna help you, if you'll let me. We could make it work. Together."

Tommy's eyes glisten. His smile breaks into a grin. "I'd like to try that."

buck probably called tommy every chance he got when they were together. driving home from work and stuck in traffic, it’s time to call tommy and tell him about his shift. late night in bed and he’s struggling to fall asleep without him, tommy’s soft voice will lull him to sleep from the other side of the phone. both on shift and the calls had been particularly slow, he will go and sit on the roof with tommy on loud speaker and they will just talk about anything and everything.

and when buck finds out that eddie is thinking about moving back to texas, tommy is the only person who he wants to talk to about it. so he finally gives in and calls. and of course, tommy will answer.

[magical-reid]

The Rings We Keep Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!FBI!Reader

Genre: fluff

Content warnings: none

Word count: 2.2K

Part 1

Two months had passed since the case ended, your team was spending more and more time assisting the BAU with their cases, and you were still adjusting to being known as Mrs. Reid. The BAU’s teasing had mostly subsided, but Penelope couldn’t help herself, sending you daily texts with variations of “How’s married life treating you, sugarplum?”

Spencer, of course, was blissfully oblivious to half the jokes. You envied his ability to compartmentalize. For you, the line between personal and professional felt increasingly blurred—especially when you came home to find him sitting on your couch, flipping through one of your dog-eared mystery novels like he belonged there.

“Hey,” you greeted, setting your go-bag on the floor.

“Hey,” he replied without looking up. “Your landlord called earlier. The leak in your bathroom should be fixed tomorrow.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, thanks?”

Spencer finally glanced up, his expression innocent. “It’s easier if they call me. You don’t always answer your phone.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Easier, huh?”

He shrugged. “Legally, I’m your emergency contact. Makes sense.”

Your chest tightened a mix of irritation and something warmer that you weren’t ready to name. Spencer had a way of making the most unconventional things seem logical—like casually fixing your plumbing situation as if it were just another bullet point on his to-do list.

You crossed the room, plopping onto the couch beside him. “You know this is weird, right?”

“What is?”

“This,” you gestured between the two of you. “Being married but… not married.”

Spencer tilted his head, considering your words. “It’s unconventional, sure. But it’s not weird. We work well together.”

“That’s not exactly the foundation of a marriage,” you pointed out, though your tone lacked bite. “Shouldn’t we—I don’t know—try to figure out what this actually is?”

Spencer’s brow furrowed. “You mean, like dating?”

The word hung in the air between you, heavy and full of possibility.

“Maybe,” you said, feeling your cheeks warm. “I mean, it might help. Get to know each other outside of work. Outside of… whatever this is.”

Spencer nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. “That’s logical. We could schedule something.”

“Schedule?” You laughed, the sound half nervous, half amused. “Spence, you don’t schedule a date. You just… go.”

His lips quirked in a small, sheepish smile. “Right. Of course.”

The First Date

Three days later, you found yourself sitting across from Spencer at a cozy little café near the library. He’d insisted on picking the place, and you hadn’t protested—it was quiet, intimate, and felt like him.

“I, um, wasn’t sure what you liked, so I ordered a variety,” Spencer said, gesturing to the spread of pastries between you. “There’s a 73% chance one of these is your favorite.”

You bit back a smile, reaching for a chocolate croissant. “Good guess.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, and you realized he’d been nervous—an unusual look for someone so confident in every other aspect of his life.

“So,” you began, tearing off a piece of croissant. “Do we talk about work, or is that off-limits?”

Spencer shook his head. “It’s not off-limits, but we could talk about other things. Like… hobbies.”

“Hobbies,” you repeated, amused. “You mean like your extensive knowledge of obscure trivia?”

“Or your knack for solving puzzles,” he countered, a rare teasing tone in his voice.

You laughed, the sound drawing a faint smile from him. For the first time, the awkwardness began to fade, replaced by something warmer—something that felt almost like normalcy.

Navigating New Territory

Over the next few weeks, your dynamic shifted in subtle but undeniable ways. Spencer started leaving his favorite books on your nightstand, claiming they were “better than the ones you usually read.” You, in turn, introduced him to your guilty pleasure TV shows, relishing the way he tried (and failed) to resist getting invested in the drama.

But it wasn’t all smooth sailing.

One evening, as you cooked dinner together—a rare occurrence, considering your busy schedules—Spencer reached for the salt just as you turned to grab a spoon. The collision was minor, but it left you both frozen, faces inches apart.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, stepping back quickly.

Spencer’s cheeks flushed. “No, it was my fault.”

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken tension. You busied yourself stirring the sauce, your mind racing. Was this what it felt like to be in a real marriage? The constant push and pull of closeness and uncertainty?

“I’ve been reading about communication in relationships,” Spencer said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

You raised an eyebrow. “Of course you have.”

“It says physical proximity is important,” he continued, his tone serious. “Small gestures, like holding hands, can build intimacy.”

You stared at him, torn between exasperation and affection. “Spence, are you saying we should hold hands more?”

He nodded, his expression earnest. “It might help.”

You sighed, setting down the spoon. “Alright. Let’s try it.”

Tentatively, you reached for his hand, lacing your fingers together. His skin was warm, his grip firm but careful.

“How’s this?” you asked, half-joking.

Spencer’s gaze met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you.

“Good,” he said softly. “It’s… good.”

A Step Forward

One night, after a particularly grueling case, you found yourself leaning against Spencer on the couch, too tired to care about boundaries. His arm was draped around your shoulders, and you realized with a start that it felt… nice. Comforting.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low.

“Yeah,” you murmured, closing your eyes. “Just tired.”

He didn’t move, didn’t press for more. Instead, he simply held you, his presence steady and reassuring.

In that moment, you realized something had shifted—not just between you, but within you. This wasn’t just a marriage of convenience anymore. It was becoming something real, something worth fighting for.

And as you drifted off to sleep, Spencer’s voice echoed softly in your mind.

“I’ve got you.”

You believed him.

The Unspoken Shift

It was late one night when the shift finally happened when everything you and Spencer had been tiptoeing around finally came to a head. The case had been grueling—intense, dangerous—but in the end, the team had solved it. The adrenaline had faded, leaving an unfamiliar silence in its wake.

You were sitting on the couch in your small apartment, your mind still racing from the day’s events. You’d barely had time to think about anything beyond work in the past few weeks, but now, with the threat neutralized, everything came rushing back.

Spencer, on the other hand, seemed completely unaffected by the chaos. He was curled up in the armchair across from you, his laptop open in front of him, but his eyes weren’t on the screen. He kept glancing over at you, his face unreadable, as if there was something he wanted to say but didn’t know how to say it.

It was in moments like this that you found yourself wondering what this was between you—this odd marriage of convenience that had slowly morphed into something you couldn’t quite define.

We work well together, Spencer had said once, so casually that it hadn’t quite clicked at the time. Now, though, as you caught him looking at you again—this time with a sort of tenderness that made your heart skip a beat—you wondered if he meant more than just work.

You shifted on the couch, trying to distract yourself. You couldn’t allow yourself to think too deeply, not with everything that was still unresolved. But Spencer’s voice cut through the silence.

"Y/N, I... I think I need to apologize."

You froze, unsure if you had heard him correctly. "Apologize? For what?"

He hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keys of his laptop, but he didn’t look at the screen. Instead, his gaze lingered on you, serious and a little vulnerable. "For... for how distant I’ve been. I know I’ve been focused on the cases and... well, on myself too much." His lips tightened, as if he regretted the words before they even left his mouth. "I’ve been pushing you away without even realizing it. And I’m sorry."

You blinked, taken aback by his honesty. Spencer was never one to admit when he was wrong. He was always so logical, so composed. But tonight, something was different. There was a rawness in his voice that made your chest tighten, and you realized with a jolt that maybe you had been pushing him away too.

"You haven’t been distant, Spence," you said softly. "You’ve just been... you." The words felt heavier than you intended, but it was the truth. Spencer had always been focused, and driven, and even when he was there, he seemed so far away, locked in his own world.

"I know," he said, his voice low. "But that’s not an excuse. I—I should have been there more for you. You’ve been doing this alone, and that’s not fair."

You stared at him, processing what he had just said. Spencer Reid, always so sure of his intelligence and his work, was admitting—without words—that he wasn’t sure how to be a partner in this unconventional marriage. And as much as you wanted to brush it off, you couldn’t. You had been struggling with the same doubts.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” you said quietly, motioning between the two of you. “This whole… marriage thing. It’s not what I expected, either. But that doesn’t mean I’m not trying.”

Spencer’s eyes softened, his expression vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before. “I know you are,” he said. “And that’s why I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t know what this is, but... I don’t want to lose it.”

There was a long pause as you both let the words settle. You felt the weight of everything that had been building up—the awkward moments, the shared glances, the near-kisses that you’d both avoided. But in that moment, you realized something: you didn’t want to keep avoiding it.

“I don’t want to lose it either,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Spencer inhaled deeply, his hand moving hesitantly toward yours. When his fingers brushed against yours, your pulse quickened. The touch was gentle, uncertain—but it felt like a promise, one you hadn’t even realized you were waiting for. The space between you seemed to shrink as if the universe itself was holding its breath.

"I think I—" Spencer started, but the words hung in the air, unspoken, because neither of you could say them aloud just yet. Instead, you reached for him.

You moved slowly, carefully, but when your lips met his, it wasn’t cautious. It wasn’t calculated. It was everything that had been building between you for the past two months. It was vulnerability and longing and the quiet admission that you couldn’t keep pretending anymore.

His lips were warm, soft, and he didn’t pull away, as if he was afraid you might disappear if he did. The kiss was tentative at first, but it deepened as you both leaned into it, the world around you fading until it was just the two of you. And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, you felt right. Not because the kiss had solved everything, but because in that moment, you finally felt seen.

When you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, both of you breathing heavily. Spencer’s hands were still lightly touching your arms, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them, but you didn’t want him to move. You didn’t want to break this moment of rawness between you.

“I... I’ve wanted that for a while,” Spencer said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, your heart racing. “I think I have too.”

For a moment, you simply stayed there, sitting together, breathing in the same air. You didn’t need to talk, didn’t need to say anything more. Everything had shifted, in a way that felt both terrifying and liberating at the same time.

You were no longer just coworkers. You weren’t just a married couple in name. In that kiss, you had taken the first step into something more. Something real.

And for the first time, you believed Spencer when he said he didn’t want to lose this.

The Quiet Moments After

The days after your first kiss were a mix of confusion and excitement. There was still tension between the work you did and the lives you were building together, but somehow it felt more manageable now. You and Spencer began finding ways to open up to each other—slowly, carefully, but with more and more honesty.

You would catch Spencer looking at you with that same soft expression as if he was still trying to figure out the person sitting beside him, but there was no hesitation anymore. No pulling away.

He didn’t say much, but his actions spoke volumes. Whether it was bringing you your favorite coffee when he knew you were having a rough day or simply sitting beside you on the couch, his presence had started to mean more. And with each passing moment, each new shared experience, you felt your connection deepening.

Maybe this wasn’t the marriage you had expected. But maybe, just maybe, it was the one you needed.

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

Hi! I’ve been loving your starfire x reader x nightwing series so far

Can I request them with a reader who loves books, you can choose whatever genre interest you but maybe they catch reader reading a romance book

Even if you don’t decide to write this I just wanna say how much I love your writing!!

Yandere dick x reader x yandere kory

The library was your sanctuary—a quiet refuge where you could disappear into the pages of a book, leaving the world behind. Today, you had picked up a romance novel, and it had you captivated. The story unfolded in a flurry of passion and forbidden attraction, drawing you in deeper with each turn of the page. The characters, locked in a whirlwind of desire, stirred something within you, and as you read, your cheeks flushed with heat. It was just a book—but the emotions felt so real.

The silence of the room was broken by a voice, familiar and teasing.

“Really?” Dick’s voice drifted into the stillness. You startled, glancing up to find him standing in the doorway, an almost knowing grin on his lips. “I didn’t take you for someone into this kind of thing.”

You slammed the book shut, heart racing, face burning. “It’s nothing,” you muttered, trying to shrug it off, but your blush betrayed you.

Dick moved toward you, stepping into the room with that predatory grace only he possessed. His smirk deepened as he looked at the book you’d hastily closed. “No need to hide it,” he said, his voice low, casual, but his eyes sparkled with mischief. “What part did you get to? The good part?”

Before you could respond, the door creaked again, and Kory’s voice entered with a lilting warmth. “What’s going on?” Her eyes flicked from you to Dick, sensing something was off. She stepped inside, her gaze fixing on the book still in your hands. “I see we’re reading something interesting,” she said, her voice full of playful curiosity.

Dick grinned, eyes never leaving you. “Caught our little bookworm in the act,” he said, almost smug in his amusement. “Didn’t know you were into these kinds of.... passions.”

Kory moved closer, her smile warm but her eyes narrowed with possessiveness. “What’s the book about, darling?” she asked, her voice inviting but laced with something deeper, a quiet intensity.

You hesitated, glancing between them. They weren’t asking about the book, not really. You tried to keep your tone neutral. “It’s just a romance novel,” you mumbled, but the weight of their gazes made it impossible to pretend.

“Mm,” Dick hummed, stepping a little closer, his voice taking on a darker edge. “It’s not just a romance, though, is it?” His eyes lingered on you, hungry with curiosity. “You’re reading about something else, aren’t you?” he asked, his tone soft yet sharp, as if he already knew the answer.

Kory’s hand moved to your shoulder, her touch light but commanding. “What do you imagine when you read those words?” she asked, her voice a soft caress, but underneath, there was something darker. “What do you desire when you close your eyes and think of it?”

Your breath hitched. You wanted to lie, to push them away, but the way they looked at you made it impossible to ignore what they already knew. You were lost in their gaze, trapped by their certainty.

Dick smirked, leaning closer, his presence suddenly filling the space around you. “Let me guess,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, but this time, the intent was different—darker. “You’re imagining the hero taking charge, aren’t you? Making everything about them? Hmm? ”

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you couldn’t find the words to deny it. But you didn’t need to speak. Dick already knew. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek, his smile like a secret only the three of you shared. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re picturing us, aren’t you? Us, instead of those characters. What would it feel like if it were us?”

Kory’s touch was gentle, but her fingers were insistent as they brushed over your chin, guiding your face to hers. “You don’t have to be ashamed,” she murmured. Her voice was softer now, but it held a possessive edge. “We can show you something real, something better than any story could give you.”

Your pulse quickened. You wanted to say something, to tell them that you weren’t like those characters in the book. But their gaze was unwavering, their words wrapping around you like vines. They were pulling you in, and you didn’t know how to escape.

“You’ve been reading these scenes because you want them,” Dick said, his voice now deliberate, dripping with certainty. “You want to feel that passion. That heat. It’s not just the book that excites you. It’s what you wish could happen.” His lips quirked as he closed the distance, his presence heavy with intent.

Kory’s hand slipped down your arm, her touch deliberate and possessive. “We can give you everything you’ve been reading about,” she said, her voice low but commanding. “We can make it real.”

You couldn’t move. The weight of their words, the way they held you in their gaze, made it impossible to escape. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

Dick’s hand brushed over your wrist, sending a shiver down your spine. “You don’t need the book anymore,” he said, his voice a soft command. “You’ve already imagined it—us—together. Now let us show you how real it can be.”

Kory’s touch was gentle, but her grip was firm as she cupped your chin, her fingers brushing your skin in a possessive caress. “We’re what you need, beloved,” she said, her tone soft but unmistakable. “And we will give it to you. We are your reality now.”

A quiet, impossible tension swelled in the room. You could feel it, in every glance, every touch, the undeniable certainty in the air between the three of you. You were theirs, whether you liked it or not.

“Let us be your passion,” Dick murmured, his voice low, yet warm with promise. “We’ll show you how to burn with desire. With us, you’ll know that what you read in books doesn’t compare to what we’ll make real.”

Kory’s fingers tightened around your chin, pulling you toward her, and for a moment, you saw a quiet, dangerous promise in her gaze. “We will be your passion,” she repeated softly, her voice almost a lullaby, but with the promise of something far more intense. “And you will never look at a book the same way again.”

The words left you breathless, as they leaned in closer, and the room seemed to fade into the background. The world outside was gone—the only thing left was the undeniable heat of their touch, the certainty of their desire, and the knowledge that you were about to be theirs in every way.

(A/n: they don't love them like I love them 🙌)

[ihrthoney]

you know me

pairings: arkham knight!jason todd x f!reader

warnings: fluff! some mentions of what happened to him in the asylum

word count: 1.9k

an: i hope you guys like it 😅 part 1

Jason had told you he would disappear for a few days, he said he would explain when he came back and until then to quit your job and not leave your house. Before leaving, he gave you a device and told you he would beep it three times to signal you that he was outside of your apartment. 

The night he held you was the only time he had let you so close to him. When you parted to wash your face, he made it clear he wanted to keep a distance between you two. Whenever you walked towards him he would take a step backwards, it stung but you can understand why, the mark on his face was a sign that whatever happened to him was bad. 

The last thing he told you before returning to the shadows was to start packing. Your mind told you he wasn’t the same and that you should be asking questions instead of blindly following him. Yet, the only thing you’ve ever wanted for the past few years was him. Nothing was going to stop you from following him, not even him. 

-

Meanwhile, Jason was at a loss on what to do. Seeing you brought back fond and awful memories. His memory was tainted with the bad things that have happened to him, his childhood, the in-between and the after. But you, you were like a firefly in the quiet meadow, a temporary relief before the world burned around him.

He had been questioning what he should do with you, where his feelings for you still lie. As of right now, he just wants to keep you safe. There’s a battle in his mind, he can’t decide whether he’s happy that you stayed and waited for him or if he should call you foolish for not getting out of Gotham, for putting yourself in danger. The former thought is winning, his heart thumps at the thought of still being remembered as Jason and not the failed robin.

Memories of your time together flash in his mind as he makes his way back to your place; he recognizes the apartment, it’s the one you two planned to move into. You were the one thing he wouldn’t let anyone touch, not then and definitely not now. He can’t ever be the person you so wholly loved but he wants to be someone you can learn to love. 

There are a lot of risks with that, you’d be a constant target, he’d have to either go with you anytime you went in public or simply have whatever you wanted delivered by someone else. The life you had before will be no more, he’s selfish but he hopes you don’t mind.

-

It’s about 3am in the morning when you hear the device beep, you respond back with the code he gave you then go to your window to open it for him (you have a feeling he could open it just fine.)

The night he was in your apartment, he was in all black clothes, now he’s in front of you covered head to toe in thick armor. The suit makes your window seem so fragile, the living room looks much smaller too. 

He clicks his helmet off and gently sets it on the floor, “Are you ready to go?” You can’t tell whether it’s a question or a statement but by the way he’s looking at you, you’re going to guess he’s telling you. 

“Am I allowed to ask where?” He follows you as you check the place for any belongings you may have missed, his heavy footsteps follow you, even in the armor he’s quiet. “A safehouse. Somewhere outside of the city.” After making your rounds, sad you two couldn’t occupy the space, you turn to face him, “Will you be there too?”

The question catches him off-guard, unused to being thought of. Despite the hardness to his eyes, how tense his posture is, the way he speaks to you was like before, gentle and soft. Under all the pain, he was a sweet boy.

To you, he will always be your sweet boy.

“Of course.”

-

Given the time, you fell asleep in the car, waking up in your bed but a different room. It takes a bit to remember the events that have happened. Moving the blankets off of you, you make your way around the safehouse. The layout is similar to your old apartment, it’s comforting but makes you question how he was able to find a place with the same format. 

A click of a door makes you turn and you see Jason in the clothes you saw him in the night he visited you, “I got you some food, we should talk.” 

He places down multiple containers with different food’s inside and a large cup of coffee from your favorite cafe. He remembered. Jason makes his way to sit across from you, a breakfast serving only for one so you ask to which he replies that he already ate. 

Still, like before, you offer him a plate of a little bit of everything in case he’s hungry again or lying about his eating habits. You’re careful to not treat him like nothing happened but not as a stranger either, it’s a strange middle you’re still trying to understand.

“We’ll talk after you eat.” He doesn’t touch the food you offered him but you hope the thought reaches him all the same. There’s a part of you that hopes your boyfriend is still there considering that you were tucked in bed in a new change of clothes, but he keeps you more than an arm’s length away. 

It should be uncomfortable, the way he watches you eat, the man before you is bigger, face sharper, still handsome. His eyes never left you even as you moved to put any leftovers away. Grabbing him a glass of water, you sat in front of him once again. 

“What would you like to know first?” As quick as the movement was, you saw the way his gaze flickered to the side then back up, “Anything you’re comfortable with telling me.”

The ache in his chest comes back, you were his sweetness, you still are and it hurts him to be near you. You were all he dreamed about, amongst other things, when he was trapped in that wing. Words can't explain how relieved he was that the Joker could not touch you or taint your image, you were so dear to him. 

“I followed.. him.. to Arkham’s Asylum, specifically an abandoned wing.” His beautiful eyes no longer looked into your own, instead focusing on the way your fingers fidget, “For almost two years I was tortured.. tied to a chair, hung up by the arms.. I know you saw the scar. There are things I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say out loud… I just wanted him to kill me.”

There’s a pause before he continues, “For months I waited for Batman, I refused to believe he forgot about me, that he replaced me but when I saw that picture.” Silence envelopes the room, it’s thick and he doesn’t say anything for a while, you also knew better than to say anything about how bad Batman’s grief actually was.

Your hand moves to hold his, to comfort him in any way but you’re afraid to push him into silence, but your hesitation is for naught as he grabs your hand and interlinks your fingers together, quietly he says, “I dreamt of you.” The words make you move your gaze from your intertwined hands to his eyes. 

“I missed you so much, yn.” His voice cracks and he looks away, Jason tries to pull his hand from yours but you squeeze them tighter together, “I thought about you every single day, Jace. Not a second went by when I wasn’t thinking of you.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, “I’m not the same person.” Quickly you replied, standing up from the chair and moving to his side of the table, “I don’t expect you to be, but that doesn’t change how I feel about you.” It seems to be the wrong answer as he stands from the chair and creates space between you two, arms crossing against his chest, “It should! I can’t- We can’t be together, there’s no point!”

It’s a lie, he’s lying, he can’t accept that you love him like it’s easy, like his whole existence isn’t filthy. This was bad, he shouldn't have seen you, “I’m not sorry that I love you, I never will be. I don’t care that you’ve changed, you are still the most important person to me! I will do anything for you.” Your voice is soft but stern, you need him to hear you. 

As much as you want to, you don’t approach him, you’re just happy he opened up to you at all. There’s obviously more than happened to him, more than just physical abuse. You have to be smart and careful not to treat him like he’s fragile because your Jason is anything but. He’s the strongest person you know and you’re here to help him feel loved and supported. 

Blue eyes analyze your body language, watching your chest move, the way your fingers slightly shake, “Why.. Why do you still love me?” His knees give out and he falls to the floor, you’re quick to move towards him in case he falls completely, so you opt to sit just a couple steps away. 

“How can I not love you? Even if you hadn’t come back I would have still loved you. You are my lifeline Jason.” You’ve never been a liar, not once had he ever doubted you, even now, as different as he looks you still followed his every word. Not once did you care to think he would have poisoned your food or this safehouse itself could have been a trap; Yet you followed him anyway. Why?

“You can’t possibly look at me and still love it.” Jason can barely stand to look at his own reflection, it’s starting to frustrate him that you supposedly see past the scars and accept him. It can’t be that easy, it shouldn’t be.

He doesn’t realize he said the last thing out loud, “Loving you is the easiest thing in the world, Jaybee.” A scoff falls from his lips at the nickname, and if you didn’t know him any better you would’ve missed the teeny tiny smile that appeared on his lips. 

“Whatever is running through that head of yours, I’m going to need you to tell me, okay? Maybe not now, or tomorrow or even the day after that but I’m always going to be here for you in any way that I can. I have all the time in the world with you around, I promised you then and I promise you now, I will always be right by your side.” 

The ache in his chest is back, he feels his heart beating so fast, without thinking much he reaches towards you and holds you to his chest like the night he first saw you again. Only this time he cradled your body so close to his own, you were sideways which meant you got to hear the pounding of his heart. His hands weaved through your hair and if you felt his tears drip onto your hair you ignored it. 

You can learn to love him just as you did before. 

© ihrthoney. reblogs & feedback are greatly appreciated𑁤

taglist for those who commented :) @fanficwritersworld @jasonsbaby @princessesgarden @anime-potato-san @ravensandmysterae

[pricegouge]

Eirēnē

price x reader one shot

cw: femme, soldier reader. implied fit body type. pegging. slight spit kink. mild angst but a happy ending. MDNI

"Oh, big stretch." It's playfully patronizing; an affected air to hide the undercurrent of genuine pride. John's always liked watching you push your limits, but raw affection has no place here in his bed - always kept carefully at bay, dropped with his tac gear by the door, or maybe even further back, in the field, when he ducked his helmet against yours with a quiet 'well done, love,' barely audible over the din of exfil, ripped away in the impending whorl of hele blades. 

He praises you here as well, but never as an equal. You're a plaything when he's got you pinned under him. He toys with you the way you imagine he's toyed with cute little things all his life. John doesn't strike you as a bully by any means, but you've seen first hand how he can turn a compliment into a debasement by simply dropping his pitch a few octaves. It leaves you unmoored, dragged in and out of your arousal by self-conscious turns which he soothes with sweet kisses and gentle touches.

They sting worse than the words.

He's got his thumb against the seam of you now, pushing at the tender skin where it is indeed stretched wide around his cock. He's overconfident when he mouths off about how good it must feel, but his eyes betray him as they always do: reverent, tender, yes. And envious.

It took you months to see it. As a rule, by the time he got like this, you were already too fucked out to notice. You fear you never would have, had this slippery slope you'd both found yourselves on not started declining further by the day. You might slip more often, but he's bigger. Falls harder.

It's the vulnerability that tips you off. 

'You're only ever satisfied when you're taking my cock, aren't you darlin'?' it began, a mocking smirk pressed against your lips as you pouted about being given nothing but his fingers. 'That feel good, love?' he'd ask, palm grinding into your sex as he fucked you shallowly, watching himself disappear within your body. Then 'tell me how good I make you feel,' turned into, 'tell me how good it feels,' while 'need me to fix it?' became, 'fuck, sweetheart, please.'

Now you watch him back, entranced by the way he cannot look away from where your bodies meet. It's early yet. He has all his faculties. Still, his gaze is anchored to the stretch of your cunt. "You could cum like this, couldn't you?" he asks, thumb tracing up to your clit. "So full I don't even have to work for it. Just stuff you up and press this button, eh?"

You nod but he's not looking. His thumb pushes against you cruelly as punishment for your perceived silence. "Yes," you hiss and he hums, eyes bright with mischief.

"Show me, then," he says casually, rocking himself that final centimeter deeper as he starts playing with your clit exactly the way you like it. You bear it in stillness and silence for as long as you can, but the quiet sigh he eventually earns himself is like a floodgate. Once your mouth is open, jaw relaxed, your soft noises continue, and then your hips are canting just enough to work against his rhythm. You don't last long enough to test your theory that night, not when John stays as buried deep as he can get, rocking shallowly into you just so he can feel the head of his cock drag under his palm where he keeps it pressed into the soft flesh of your belly. It's vulnerable, makes you feel field dressed, gralloched. 

His own tummy jumps when you palm him there in turn, his cock twitching within you as he groans like he's been gutshot, falls limp over you just the same.

You find out days later that you can make him a desperate, gasping mess by just leaving teeth marks there, working him in your fist while you hide your bite among the soft hair of his underbelly, the most defenseless part of him - too low for his vest to cover; mobility at the cost of exposure. But he trusts you here, holds you close after the first few flutters of his panic settle. His cum stripes your chin when your free hand palms his heavy sac, one finger settling lower, along the seam of him. 

John does not ask you. You wonder sometimes if it would be a bridge too far, playing into the role more than he is comfortable with. Then, John being comfortable with any of this is a stretch, as evident in the tension of his brow when you finally get him on his back, the sweat pooling in the hollow of his throat when you work your second finger in alongside the first. You think it's more than he can take, but he outright whimpers when you go to pull back and you can't help but laugh when he wraps a strong leg around your waist to hold you close, his voice like gravel in a cement mixer when he chokes out a quiet, 'don't you dare.'

Don't laugh, don't stop - you're unsure so do neither as you settle yourself deeper within him, fingers probing, just exploring. Taking your time.

The toy he'd bought you - ostensibly - is bigger than he is. Will sit deep within him, proportionate to how he fits inside you. You're not worried it will please him, but it's hard not to be at least a little jealous of his big hands when your fingers can't reach deep enough to do anything but press fluttery pulses against his prostate, only make him tense and sweat when you want to make him cry and beg. It's an instinct that grows with each passing minute, John's impatience - and ability to articulate it - damn near hurting your pride.

He wants to be made vulnerable, has entrusted you alone with the task, though you can do little more than tease him on your own.

But you've always been resourceful. Learned from the best.

When you do pull away, John's hole tightens around your fingers so hard you imagine you would be unable to escape if not for the copious amounts of lube you'd used while working him open. He doesn't pout the way you would have, his frustration instead leaving him with a strangely bull-like huff. You shush him anyway, soothing the emptiness with two thumbs quickly hooking into his rim, testing his stretch with a quiet, disapproving hum.

"I don't know, cap. Don't think you're ready for this cock."

John's neck flexes when he tilts his head back, the thick cords on full display when he swallows heavily, jumping past the strain in his throat. "Oh, fuck you."

"Not tonight," you counter absently, sinking your thumbs to the knuckle just to watch his hole try to wink around them. When you remove them completely, you drag slick trails of lube through the coarse hair there. "It's these little fingers of mine," you pout, wiggling them at him illustratively. "Not gonna cut it, I fear. Be a doll and open yourself up for me, hm?"

He looks like he has something to say to that, but it gets caught behind his teeth and to your surprise he only rolls, gets his knees up under his hips so he can kneel before you, brace most of his weight on his left hand which he plants firmly on the bed. You don't comment on the practiced ease with which he reaches back and coats his fingers in the sticky lube which drips from his hole, nor the way his breath catches when his fingers do. Whatever this is, this practiced confidence, this was never intended for you and you're loathe to have taken it from him.

You're more loathe he's kept it from you at all, but you stay just as silent as him.

John works efficiently, doesn't even take enough time to let the pleasure build. You think about guiding his hands but falter, too scared to take too much control. Instead you keep his cheeks spread for him, warm extra slick between your fingers before letting it slip from your grip, watch as it slips into his greedy hole. You want to tell him how good he looks, but you don't want to embarrass him, either, and your words die in your throat, dry and brittle, because John is not usually so quiet as this during sex and if he needs the silence, you will not be the one to break it.

He doesn't speak when he's decided he's stretched enough, either. Simply lays down on his belly with his legs stretched out between your own. You hum appreciatively, chance to ask if he's ready for you with a quick, assessing swipe of your finger across his loosened rim. With the muscle lax and unfurled, your digit catches and tugs, draws a low, startled grunt from him before he clears his throat and nods, voice thick when he says he is.

You remember the way his stomach tensed under your palm, the way he cradles the back of your head when you get his balls in your mouth, pressing the ring of your teeth closer. John does not ask for this, at least not verbally, but you know what he wants. John's never led you astray before, and he doesn't now, so long as you know what to look for. He does not want to be responsible for this, to tell you when he's ready. The added tension of it, your expectation that he make a decision at the one time he wasn't expecting to, it collects tangibly in the iron of his spine, the clench of your jaw. In the silence of the room, you hear the spiderweb break of the fragile gift he's given you and you still, coltish legs on too-thin ice. Misguided. Not a concept you've had to worry about since coming under John's captaincy. You've grown lax

"Tell me how good it feels."

And maybe it's okay that you've let him crumble, just a bit, because he shatters beautifully when he knows you'll keep him together.

John's voice is still tight when the head of your cock catches on his rim, the words pulled from him like tangled fishing line, each confession pulling clotted debris from the silt of his vitals. It's good, a stretch, he's full.

You can't help the cruel laugh that builds at that last, flex your hips down into his to sink incrementally deeper. "Not yet, you're not."

The quiet snarl is the only warning you get, John's palm reaching back to wrap around your hip with the same quick reflexes that have kept him whole so long. He rips back whatever control he's ceded with just as much ease as he pulls you into him, a rough grunt the only indication he gives of any potential discomfort from the sudden intrusion. Still, you lean against him heavily so he can't move you manually again, create a rhythm for himself that you haven't authorized. You don't let the doubt overcome you, know this is no less than the last desperate gasps of any bound animal. 

You settle him just the same, warm hands on his flank and soft reassurances, your low murmur spilled across his shoulder because he's far too tall for you to lean over properly. "Easy, baby. Give yourself a minute to adjust."

A dog that's slipped his muzzle, John still shows his teeth. "I can take it."

"Don't care what you can do," you counter, bearing more weight down on his back as you slip your free hand under his thick chest - a poor approximation of the way he effortlessly comforts you in this position, the tenderness he doesn't even mean to give. "Just care about what you want to do."

Though he remains unsettled, John's voice is less clipped now despite his words. "I want you to move."

Impertinence sits on your tongue - begging for it already? - but you know better than to test his patience when he's already got himself so wound up over nothing. He's a man unused to this position, figuratively and literally, and you take pity on the perceived bruising of his ego, even if it is self-inflicted. "I'll take care of you," you promise instead, and have to bite back the swell of pride in your chest when the tension of his back slackens incrementally.

"Know you will, love."

The first slow pump of your hips is shallow, experimental, your body acquainting itself with this new movement. John offers no encouragement, but you take his lack of objection for it anyway and gain confidence with each thrust, your strokes growing longer as you learn how to properly brace your weight. 

The harness you've chosen rests low on your hips, the base of your cock digging into your mons each time you bottom out within him. It's a low simmer of pleasure, not distracting enough to keep you from your main aim, but enough to get your hips snapping slightly into him, a rhythm you double down on when John's breath stilts and he shifts subtly, bracing himself to ensure your movements are well met. It's unnecessary - his bulk far too much for you to move with so little engagement - but appreciated all the more because of it.

"Feel good, John? You like having me so deep inside you?"

When he looks over his shoulder, you can see the pinpricks of sweat collecting on his temple. "Let you know when you fuck me proper."

You laugh catches in your throat, more a startled breath than true amusement. "Cheeky," you grumble, then shift up onto your knees and brace your feet over the backs of his calves, using your too-wide stance to your advantage when it means you can't hold your weight on your own. You sink further into the clutch of him, the base of your toy flush tight to his rim, and John swallows thickly, throat flexing. 

The angle is difficult to work but worth it, the way John's head hangs limp between his shoulders the only encouragement you need to plant your hands on the back of his tight waist and feel the way his abdomen flexes each time you let your weight drop back into him. You keep a steady pace even when he tries arching back up under you, inviting you deeper without speaking.

He didn't ask, but you knew.

You don't give him what he wants until he's biting back moans, his voice so low and shot you'd mistake them for the traffic outside if not for how acutely attuned you are to him, your pace quickening just to chase the harefooted pulse in his neck higher. 

When he bites your name out through clenched teeth, his breath condensing in the hairs of his forearm, you tell him to beg. 

"Shit… fuck." You see the muscles of his back bunch when he plants his hands under his shoulders, the tension in his spine when he debates bucking you off of him. And then you plant your feet under yourself, sacrifice depth for power on your next thrust and he whimpers, dropping back to the mattress with a reedy whine. 

You give him a few more, exact copies - the movement already imprinted on your mind like a ballroom basic (Quick learner. Lethal. Brutal. You'd read his reports on you) - and peter off you hear him choke off the next thin groan. 

"If you're not gonna beg for me, at least let me hear those pretty sounds." To prove your point, you grind in hard against him, hips angled to hit that spot that had earned you a whine to begin with. You chuckle when it works again, voice dripping with a cruelty you didn't know you were capable of when it came to your captain. "I've earned 'em, haven't I?"

Another noise bubbles in his throat, pops with a breathy huff. You slip away from him, snap back, and revel in the clench of his thick fist against the sheets. "Fuuuuck. Yeah, love. Just like that. Alright. You've earned it."

He's a veritable font after that, tongue loose and spilling every thought. You feel carbonated, fizzy and staticky, listening to each noise and bitten off praise tumble past his lips. You want to kiss him, get frustrated when you can't reach him. The hand around the column of his throat to arch him backwards surprises both of you, kiss forgotten as you pant against his lips, your glutes burning as you try to maintain your pace. Silent now, John's throat can do little more than flex weakly under your palm as his jaw works, swallowing the spit you want to drink from him. You can't help a whine of your own when the harness grinds too low, too hard, and you bunt your forehead against his cheek, spine sagging just slightly.

"'S'it good, love?"

He doesn't even sound like your captain anymore, voice too quiet, vulnerable. Sinking for a moment into that soft space with him. But when you open your eyes and see his own looking back at you, expectant and eager, you steel yourself again, lips feather light against his ear.

"So good, baby. Taking me so fucking well. Look pretty like this, John," you admit, rambling on over the whine it incites. "Should get you under me more often, hm? Let you take this cock the way I know you want?" He slinks back to the bed when you let him, your palm petting heavily along his spine as he slips away from you. He doesn't try to muffle his noises in the pillow this time, breaths heavy and high as you build your rhythm back up, ignoring the way the harness slips against your sweaty skin. 

With your hands braced against his waist again, it's easy to watch the stretch of his hole where he accepts you so greedily. Even now it glistens in the low light, hair matted with the generous amount of lube you'd plied him with. Your cock is skin-toned, natural, glistening as if with slick when you work it free of him. You make it as loud as you can manage when you spit on him, delighting in the way his hole winks around the tapered head of your cock when he flinches in embarrassment, making it worse by taking the base in hand and slapping the head against the wet of it until he can't take it anymore, reaching back to try and grab your hip again. 

You're ready for him this time, slap his hand away easily, an odd contrast to the way you coo filth at him, call him greedy and just to watch his hole clench down again, a futile attempt to keep you out. When you spit on him this time, a half-hearted bid to ensure he could still take you despite his tension, he groans unabashedly and flops back down, boneless.

"Whore," you chide, and slip back to the base in one steady move, filing the way your gamble makes him keen for later.

Despite his submission, rigidity coils low in John's spine as you work yourself deeper, the muscles under your hand pulling taut as he accepts you. It pools in your own as well, a baseline pleasure you've done all you can to ignore. Your thumbs trace his ilium, feel the tightness of his fascia. One palm pulls the meat of his cheek away to bare his hole to you and then that same thumb slips lower, past the seam of him, and presses softly against his rim. 

You accuse him of being greedy and bite back a smile as John accepts this new intrusion with a slack-jawed moan, drool pooling on the pillow beneath him. You tell him he's being so good for you when your first knuckle slips past his slack hole, but you don't think it even registers, given the fucked out look on his face, the tight pinch of pleasure between his brows. You keep praising him anyway as you begin to fuck him again, your words a low undertone to the high pitched grunts he emits each time you slam home. With your hook him, John can't help but work his hips against yours, aborted little thrusts which you allow because there's not much you can do to stop him, not when he's so far past listening and you're no match for the powerful contraction of his thick thighs. It's a struggle to stay atop him but you manage, pushing him back down as much as you're able with your palms planted on his flexing glutes. To his credit, he regains some sentience when his cock receives sufficient stimulation, tucking his arms up under his chest to better work down against the mattress, slurring vague encouragement through spit-slick lips.

"C'mon, sweetheart, give it to me, please - fuck."

"Need more?" you ask, unsure how you could even give him what he needs when you're on the verge of collapse, untested musculature flagging by the minute.

"Just like that. Shit -!"

He cuts off with a cry when your second thumb slips lower, prods threateningly at the tight ring of muscle you've already worked too loose. "Big stretch," you warn, but make it no further than your nailbed before he's cumming with bitten off shout, hips stuttering as if he can't decide if he wants to fuck down into the mattress or back onto you more. You take the choice from him, bearing down with enough force to work your mound against the base of the harness, taking the edge off your own pleasure with deep grinds that have John babbling beneath you.

In the silence that follows, you slip free of him gently, massaging his glutes as you lay your toy between them, just listening to his breathing even out. For a moment you think it won't, and you slink down to lay across his back again, chest pressed to the lax muscles there to give him the same kind of grounding weight you love so much from him. John just reaches back to sink lazy fingers along your scalp, though, a satisfied hum leaving him when you tip off him sideways to spoon up next to him. Between you, your cock bobs ungainly, an unwelcome intrusion that keeps you from clinging to him. He laughs when you huff in frustration, watches you with one eye open as you fiddle with the clasps until you're free. He's good enough to roll onto his side when you lay back down, welcoming you into his chest with a warmth you're not used to seeing post-coitus, and despite the easiness of his hold on you, it puts you on your back foot, sends you spiraling back into reality - to your place behind him in the field, never his equal. 

He mistakes your stiffness for dissatisfaction at first, his palm sliding down your front unprompted despite his obvious exhaustion, his whole body wrung out and relaxed. It fills you with pride that you were able to do that for him, but it's a sour sort of pride, a noxious gas which bubbles within you, has you pushing his hand away before he's even grazed the thatch of hair above your sex. John grumbles, peeks down past his nose to look you over. His free hand finds the nape of your neck when you avoid him, tilts your face for his inspection.

When he asks if you're broken, your throat constricts, the words like a mallet knocking your panic loose. Your voice falters, stuttering past a protest which you can't quite form. John frowns down at you and that insufferable feeling of disappointment, of having let him down yawns beneath your feet, your axis tilting you over the edge -.

"What's wrong, love?"

It's too quiet to be the voice he uses in the field, too soft to be that patronizing tone he adopts when he's got you underneath him. Closer to the quiet murmur he imparts on you when he drags you close before exfil, those secret words meant just for you, his softest soldier who needs the gentle touch. You shake your head, not trusting your voice, but he's not having it, dragging you closer so you've no choice but to hitch your leg up over his thigh, expose yourself to him fully.

"Can't fix it if you don't tell me," he reminds you, and even that aches - the knowledge he'd trusted you with all this, and he still has to keep you together. 

"It's nothing," you assert, desperate to let him enjoy his come down. "I'm just being silly."

John just squints at you, testing. When he moves your hips down against his own, he tracks the slight flinch in your expression with open interest. "Doesn't seem so silly, lovie."

You still his hands, ask him to stop with regret tinging your voice. "I'm sorry, it's just -. I just -."

"You what, sweetheart?"

"Oh, don't call me that," you blubber, floodgates opening despite your best effort. 

To his credit, John seems to take it in stride, pulling you into his chest and tucking you under his chin. His hands are heavy and warm on your back where they soothe along your spine. "Okay, no sweetheart. How 'bout lovie? Or honey? Or -?"

"John," you whine, pushing yourself away from him with a firm hand on his chest. "I can't take it anymore! You're so… so…"

"So what?"

"So sweet! And it hurts too much, knowing I can't keep it, and -."

"Can't keep it?" he mutters, but you're too wound up to listen, rattling on about not know what this is, spilling your heart out about how you keep blurring the lines. 

John silences you with a kiss, far too slow and sweet to have been listening to a single one of your concerns. When he pulls away he doesn't let you go far, keeping you in the tight ring of his embrace so he can pepper bittersweet kisses across your cheeks. "You were being silly, weren't you, love?" he starts, and chuckles meanly when you swat at him, trying to squirm away. "Easy. Listen to me, sweetheart, okay? It's important." He waits patiently for you to settle, heat boiling under your collar as you meet his eyes. "Do you think I'd have let you do all that if this were just casual? Hm?"

Clarity swells in you like ocean tide, briny and bitter where it creeps up your throat. You open your mouth to answer but close it just as fast, afraid of what might come spilling out. 

"Just casual," John scoffs, pulling you closer and saving you from further embarrassment when he tucks you back under his chin. "If I find out you've been casual with any of the other lads I'm going to be quite cross."

You want to tell him it would be his own fault, or lie just to teach him a lesson. Mostly, you want to be offended. Instead you just shake your head adamantly, lips dragging across the coarse hair of his chest. 

"Good girl," he rumbles, and must feel the clench of your cunt against his hip because his hand drags down to your rear, pulls you impossibly closer. "Now, let's drive those nasty thoughts out of your head, shall we?"

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

Sorry - Chapter 8

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Series Masterlist

Jon barely shifted the Mustang into park before jumping out and sprinting toward the house's front door. “Dom!” he called, frowning as the house was deathly quiet. Glancing back, he noticed her car was not parked out front, and his heart sank further. He then walked over to the garage door, his frown deepening as he noticed it empty too. 

Sighing. Jon pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Dom’s number, cursing as it went straight to voicemail “Fuck” he muttered, rubbing his hands over his face in frustration. “So fucking stupid.” 

He tried calling Dom two more times before calling her sister. 

“Hello?” 

“Muf–” 

“You fucked up.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Jon replied, trying to keep his temper in check. “I need to talk to her, she with you?” 

“Mmhm,” Desiree, replied as she looked over at her sister who was sitting on the couch, staring off into space. “I don’t think she wants to talk to you, Jon.” 

“Look, just put her on the pho–” 

“Yeah, I’m not going to do that.” Desiree stood from her seat on the couch and went into the kitchen. “Going back to your ex is crazy Jon! What were you thinking?!” 

“I didn’t go back to my damn ex! I just–” 

“You just what? Went over there to chill?” She scoffed  “Just give her time. She’ll come  to you when she’s ready.” Desiree didn’t give him a chance to respond before she hung up the phone. 

“FUCK!” Jon yelled out and threw his phone down on the table. 

DominiqueWalkerr_

liked by jonathanfatu, uceyjucey and 800,000 others

DominiqueWalkerr_: felt cute, definitely gonna delete later 💋

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jonathanfatu: 😘 😮‍💨❤️

user: i miss jimmy with naomi!

↪user: YESS! was just talking about that on twitter! THEY complemented each other!

↪ jonathanfatu: don't do that! Take this shit outta my fiance's comments.

Friday Afternoon

Dominique stayed with her sister for the rest of the week. In her mind, she and Jon were over. There was nothing he could do to fix this. He ran back to his ex again ain't no way she was just going back to him. While she was in the wrong for not being honest about her stance on marriage he was even more wrong. 

Dominque let out an audible groan as she made her way into the arena that was hosting Friday Night Smackdown. She had tried every excuse in the book to get the day off, but it was short notice and they would have nobody to fill in for her. 

“Now whose ass do I have to beat for putting a frown on that pretty face.” Dominque stopped walking at the sound of a very familiar voice. She had a wide smile on her face as she made eye contact with Dave and walked closer to him. 

“Dave?! What are you doing here?” She said, giggling as he pulled her into a hug and lifted her off her feet.”

Dave Bautista looked like he hadn’t aged a day. Before Jon, Dave was the one Dominique thought she was going to marry. But after he left the WWE in 2014, their relationship couldn’t handle the distance. Their split was amicable,  with both of them being extremely civil with each other.  But as Dominique stood there in front of the first man she ever loved, she couldn’t help but think this was a sign. Maybe Dave was the one she was supposed to be with. 

“Y’all in my neck of the woods. Of course, I had to come by and see Hunter.” He said answering her question. “And you.” He muttered the last part, as his eyes did a sweep over her, she didn’t miss the way his stare locked on her bare ring ringer before meeting her eyes again. They stood there staring at each other before they both burst into laughter. 

“Whatever Dave.” She said as she rolled her eyes. 

“I had to try, I mean imagine my surprise when I found out you were engaged to little Jonathan Fatu. You know I used to hang out with his pops and uncles back in the day.” 

“You make it seem like you’re so old Dave,” Dominique said, rolling her eyes with a chuckle.

“I'm 53 years old Dee. I think that's pretty old.” They both laughed. 

“Oh fuck” Josh whispered, his eyes bugging out his head and she saw Dominique and Dave fucking Bautista talking. “Oh shit Uce… this ain’t good.” He said looking over to Joe who seemed very disinterested.  “Go interrupt them” 

“What?” Joe snorted, raising an eyebrow at Josh  Why me?” 

Josh sucked his teeth. “Cause ain’t you like friends with him or something.”  Joe let out a huff and began to walk towards Dave and Dominique but Jon stepped in front of him. 

“Um hello, you two don’t know how to answer a phone?” 

“Oh, uh..” Josh trailed off as his eyes flickered behind Jon. Jon frowned and turned around to see what Josh was looking at and his heart dropped into his stomach. 

“What the fuck?” He whispered as he watched Dave lean down and hug Dominique. his voice thick with disbelief as he watched Dominique respond to Dave's hug. Jon couldn’t tear his eyes away from Dominique’s face. The way she looked at Dave—it wasn’t just a friendly exchange. It was something else, something that made Jon’s chest tighten in ways he hadn’t expected. He could feel his pulse quickening, the jealousy crawling up his throat, even as his mind tried to catch up with what was happening.

“Jon…” Josh said hesitantly, but Jon wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. His eyes were locked on Dominique and Dave, his body tense with a mix of frustration, helplessness, and raw jealousy. “Aye man, relax.. They could just be catching up.” 

Josh and Joe shared a look before returning their attention to Jon who was glaring at Dave and Dominique. “Uce, do not go over there and start shit… Be level-headed. That’s Hunter’s boy… we don’t need no shit coming our way.” Joe warned. Jon sucked in a deep breath and gave Joe a curt nod before walking over to Dominique and Dave. 

Jon clenched his jaw tight as he made his way over to the pair. He cleared his throat as he got closer, causing Dom and Dave to look over in his direction. Dave looked between the of them before excusing himself. “Can I talk to you?” Jon asked her, his voice coming off more hostile and rough than he intended. 

“Jon..” Dominique trailed off with a sigh, her shoulder sagging as she turned her attention to him. “I don’t wanna fight with you.” 

"I don't want to fight either," Jon said, his tone softening slightly. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself. “I’m sorry. I just - You gotta know I wasn’t on no disrespectful shit Dom. I wasn’t even thinking... I was going to my mom’s and I just…” He trailed off with a shrug. “I shouldn’t have went in. I should have come back home to you.” 

“But you didn’t. Like honestly I’m at fault here too right? I mean I wasn’t honest about my stance on marriage but I have and would never do the shit that you did. Give that girl your number. Foul as fuck. And I forgave you for the whole Trinity situation the first time but now… I can’t” 

“I know I messed up,” Jon repeated, trying to keep his voice steady, but now refusing to make eye contact with her. “But, Dom, I didn’t go to Trinity for some… rebound or whatever you’re thinking. I just needed to clear my head. But that kiss.” He stopped himself, his eyes going wide as he looked over at her. He watched as Dominque inhaled a sharp breath and narrowed her eyes at him. 

“What kiss?” Dominique asked, he heart now pounding in her chest. 

“Dominique, please. I– she kissed me but I pushed her away immediately.” He tried to reach out and grab her hand but she shook her head and backed away from him. 

“Sure, okay,” She said as she rolled her eyes, not believing a word he said... “Here I was, just telling Dave that I was gonna swallow my pride and apologize to you and you out here running back to your ex?!” 

“I wish you stop saying that shit.” he hissed. “Ain’t nobody running back to Trin.” By now. Josh and Joe had walked closer to them ready to separate the couple.  Dominique snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. 

“So if you’re not running back to her what are you doing then?! You got drunk and went to her. You left our home and went to her and then your standing here telling me you kissed her?!” Dominique scoffed as she started backing away from Jon. “Nah, you got it. It’s obvious that you wanna still be with Trinity so i’m not gonna stop you. Go feel the glow or whatever.” 

Josh coughed out a laugh whiched cause Jon and Joe to glare over at him. 

“Dominique wait! Just listent to me.” Jon called out as he started following her down the hall. “I want you. I want to be with you! I wanna work this out.” 

Dominique suddenly stopped, causing him to almost bump into to her. She turend on her heels and glared at him. “I wanted to work this out too. But.. I can’t.. Not after you just told me you kissed her.”  Dominique shook her head and turned around again to walk away from Jon only to bump into someone. Once she seen who it was, she wasn’t able to hold back her emotions anymore. 

Dominique watched as Trinity gasped and looked past her to look at Jon, and that’s when Dominique lost it. Dominique's fist connected with Trinity's jaw before anyone could react. The sound of the impact echoed through the hallway, followed by a collective gasp from the onlookers. Trinity stumbled backward, her hand flying to her face in shock.

“Oh shit!” Josh called out, him and Joe rushing foward to try to stop the fight along with Jon. 

“Dominique!” Jon called out, grabbing her by her waist and pulling her away from Trinity before she could land another hit. “Stop.. Chill baby.” 

Dominique wrangled her way out of Jon’s grasp and before she could stop herself, she slapped him in his face. “I swear to god... I’m done. Stay the hell away from me!” She hastily wiped away the tears that were now coming down her eyes, she gave him one more heartbroken glance before walking away. 

Authors Note: huh... i mean y'all did say Dom was gonna drive Jon into the arms of another woman 😬

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[alwayssassydreamer]

Just My Type

A/N: next installment for my song prompt challenge

If I'm just being honest I'd rather be alone with you tonight You're just my type Yeah you play nice But you've got a little bit of death in your eyes

Warnings: none

Characters: Ace x GnReader

The night was quiet, the kind of stillness that only the sea could hold. Soft waves lapped at the side of the ship, and the gentle sway felt like a lullaby for everyone else who was asleep below deck. But not you. Not Ace.

You leaned against the railing, letting the wind play with your hair as you stared into the black horizon. You didn’t need to look over to know he was there, leaning back on his arms a few feet away, his expression somewhere between guarded and curious. Even when he was smiling, you had noticed that Ace had a certain darkness in his eyes, a little flicker of something lost, something hidden. It was like a part of him was forever out of reach — but damn if it didn’t make you want to try.

Eventually, he looked over, catching your gaze, and there it was again, that glint in his eyes — intense and wild, yet somehow quiet, like a storm just waiting to break. You should’ve been wary. You knew he was dangerous in his own way, not just because he was a pirate, but because he could make you forget all the reasons you shouldn’t let yourself get close.

“You’ve got that look again,” he murmured, his voice a low, teasing drawl.

“Oh?” you asked, a smirk playing on your lips as you turned to him, feigning innocence. “And what look would that be?”

He chuckled, tilting his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. “Like you’re trying to figure me out.”

You shrugged, leaning back against the railing.

“Maybe I am. You’re a mystery, Portgas D. Ace,” you said, your tone light but truthful. “You’ve got this… spark, but there’s something darker too. Something that keeps you holding back.”

Ace looked away, his jaw tightening slightly, and for a second, you thought you might have pushed him too far. But then he let out a soft breath, his shoulders relaxing as he looked back at you, that faint, almost challenging smirk returning.

“And what if I said the same about you? I see it in your eyes too, you know. You play nice, but there’s something… dangerous about you. You've got a little bit of death in your eyes”

The air between you seemed to thicken, and you felt a rush of heat, but not from the cool night air. His words, the way he looked at you, as if he saw right through all your defenses — it left you feeling exposed, caught.

“So what if there is?” you challenged softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He took a step closer, close enough that you could see every detail of his face, the faint lines of his freckles, the intensity in his gaze.

“I like it,” he said simply, his voice low, rough. “I’m not looking for easy or safe.”

You felt a thrill run down your spine, a nervous, electric thrill that only he could stir in you. It would be so easy to step back, to keep your guard up — but then, here in the dark, with him looking at you like that, you didn’t want to.

“And if I’m being honest,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, “I’d rather be alone with you tonight.”

His smirk softened into something more genuine, almost vulnerable, and he reached up to brush a strand over hair behind your ear, his hand lingering, his touch warm against your skin.

“Then stay,” he whispered, his voice carrying a rawness that left you breathless.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned in, letting your lips brush against his in a kiss that was slow, hesitant at first, but then grew deeper, more intense. His hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer, and for a moment, it was like nothing else in the world existed — just you, Ace, and the unspoken promises held in the way he touched you.

When you finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the cool night air. His eyes were dark, intense, but softened by something vulnerable, something he usually kept buried.

“You’re just my type,” he whispered, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “A little dangerous, a little wild. And maybe, just maybe, exactly what I need.”

You let out a soft laugh, your hand finding his, your fingers intertwining.

“Then let’s see where this goes,” you replied, your heart pounding in your chest.

And as you stayed there, wrapped in each other’s warmth, you knew that this was the beginning of something beautifully reckless, a dangerous pull that neither of you could resist — even if it meant a little bit of death in your eyes.

[littlelamy]

Request hehe: Maybe Reader has some trust issues due to past cheating etc. So she is constantly doubting If Rafe is doing something behind her back and it’s damaging their relationship/Rafe is feeling very offended that she could ever think that and leaves very upset. So some self-sabotage on her part.

a/n: thank you so much for requesting!! 💗 pngs from @saizun

the tension in the room was as palpable as the crisp autumn air seeping through the edges of rafe's window. you stood by the edge of the bed, arms crossed, while rafe paced near the door, his brows furrowed and lips drawn tight. it wasn’t the first time you’d found yourself in this situation—accusations hanging in the air like a storm cloud.

“i just don’t get why you think i’m lying to you,” rafe finally said, running a hand through his messy blond hair. his voice was raw, teetering between frustration and sadness. “what did i do this time?”

the pang of guilt that shot through you was immediate, but it was quickly overshadowed by the relentless doubt that had been gnawing at you for weeks.

“i don’t know, rafe,” you muttered, staring down at your hands. “you’re just… too good to be true sometimes. i mean, look at you.” you gestured vaguely at his tall, athletic frame, the way he looked even in a simple t-shirt and jeans. “how do i know you’re not out there talking to someone else? everyone likes you.”

he stopped pacing, standing still for a moment as your words sank in.

“you think just because people like me, i’d cheat on you?” his voice was quiet, but it carried a weight that made you wince.

“it’s not like that—”

“then what is it like, y/n?” he interrupted, his tone sharp now. he stepped closer, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours. “because this isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation. you keep accusing me of something i’m not doing, and it’s…” he exhaled shakily, taking a step back. “it’s killing me, honestly.”

the tears you’d been holding back began to sting your eyes. you hated how this always ended—with you feeling like the villain and rafe looking at you like you’d just run over his dog.

“it’s not about you,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “it’s about me. i’ve been through this before, rafe. i’ve trusted someone before, and they… they betrayed me.”

“and i’m paying for what someone else did?” his voice cracked, and he shook his head in disbelief. “do you even hear yourself?”

you stayed silent, your chest tightening with every second that passed.

rafe let out a bitter laugh, running his hands over his face. “do you really think i’m that kind of person? that after everything we’ve been through, i’d just—what? throw it all away for someone else?”

“i don’t know!” you blurted out, tears finally spilling over. “i don’t know what to believe anymore. i want to trust you, rafe, but it’s so hard. every time you’re late, every time you get a text and don’t tell me who it’s from, my mind goes to the worst place.”

“that’s not fair,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “you don’t even give me the benefit of the doubt. you don’t even try to trust me.”

you wiped at your tears angrily, hating how vulnerable you felt. “maybe i don’t know how,” you admitted, your voice breaking.

rafe stared at you for a long moment, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he fought to keep his composure.

“i can’t do this,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

your heart sank. “what do you mean?”

“i can’t keep proving myself to you when i’ve done nothing wrong,” he said, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “i love you, y/n. i love you so much it hurts, but this?” he gestured between the two of you. “this is tearing me apart.”

you took a step toward him, panic rising in your chest. “rafe, please. i’m sorry. i’ll work on it, i promise. just don’t… don’t leave.”

but he shook his head, his expression a mixture of sadness and resolve. “i need some time to think,” he said, his voice trembling. “i can’t keep feeling like i’m not enough for you when i’ve given you everything i have.”

he turned and walked out the door, leaving you standing there in stunned silence. the sound of the front door closing echoed through the house, and you collapsed onto the bed, sobbing into your hands.

you had pushed him away. the one person who had always been there for you, who had loved you despite your flaws, was gone—and it was your fault.

the days that followed were a blur. you went through the motions of life, but everything felt hollow without rafe. he didn’t call, didn’t text, and the silence was deafening. you wanted to reach out, to beg for his forgiveness, but every time you picked up your phone, the shame stopped you.

instead, you spent your time reflecting on the mess you’d made. you thought about the way you’d let your past dictate your present, how you’d let your insecurities poison something good.

you thought about rafe’s face the last time you saw him—the hurt in his eyes, the way his voice broke when he said he loved you.

you loved him too. you always had. but you’d let your fear overshadow that love, and now you were paying the price.

a week later, you found yourself standing outside rafe’s house, your heart pounding in your chest. you’d rehearsed what you wanted to say a million times, but now that you were here, your mind was blank.

taking a deep breath, you knocked on the door.

it opened a moment later, and there he was—rafe, looking as handsome as ever despite the tiredness in his eyes.

“y/n,” he said, his voice soft but guarded.

“hi,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “can i come in?”

he hesitated for a moment before stepping aside to let you in. you walked into the living room, the familiar space feeling foreign without the warmth you were used to.

“i’m sorry for just showing up,” you said, turning to face him. “i just… i needed to see you.”

he nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. “what do you want, y/n?”

“i want to fix this,” you said, your voice trembling. “i want to fix us.”

rafe let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “you can’t just say that and expect everything to go back to normal.”

“i know,” you said quickly. “i know i’ve hurt you, and i hate myself for it. but i’ve spent the last week thinking about everything, and i realized… i’ve been so unfair to you, rafe. i let my past ruin what we had, and i’m so sorry.”

he looked at you, his expression unreadable. “do you even trust me?”

“yes,” you said without hesitation. “or… i want to. i know i’ve given you every reason to think i don’t, but i do, rafe. i trust you more than anyone. i’m just scared. scared of losing you, scared of getting hurt again.”

“you’re not the only one who’s scared,” he said, his voice softening. “do you know how it feels to love someone who’s always waiting for you to screw up? to feel like no matter what you do, it’s never going to be enough?”

tears welled up in your eyes, and you stepped closer to him. “i’m so sorry, rafe,” you whispered. “i never meant to make you feel that way. you are enough—more than enough. and i don’t want to lose you because i couldn’t get out of my own head.”

he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “i don’t know, y/n. i don’t know if i can keep doing this.”

“please,” you said, your voice breaking. “i’ll do better. i’ll prove to you that i can be better, that i can trust you the way you deserve to be trusted.”

he studied your face, his blue eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt.

“i love you,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “but this has to change. i can’t keep living like this.”

“it will,” you promised, stepping closer and taking his hands in yours. “i’ll change. i’ll prove to you that i can be better.”

he sighed but didn’t pull away from you. “this is your last chance, y/n,” he said quietly. “i mean it.”

“i won’t waste it,” you promised, looking up at him.

for a moment, there was nothing but silence between you, the tension thick and heavy. then, slowly, rafe’s hands moved to cup your face.

“don’t make me regret this,” he murmured, his voice soft and raw.

“i won’t,” you whispered, your breath hitching as he leaned down.

his lips met yours in a kiss that was both desperate and tender, a silent promise of forgiveness and hope. you clung to him, pouring every ounce of your love and regret into the kiss, vowing to yourself that this time, you would get it right.

when he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed.

“i love you, baby,” he said again, his voice steady this time.

“i love you too,” you whispered, your heart swelling with both relief and determination.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl l @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

[daisylolezzi]

wanna know whats so perfectly and endlessly exciting about fantasies? i can have them anywhere about anyone af any time.

i can be at work, in an important meeting with the ceo on a project, keeping professional and on topic while my mind wanders to how his old hands would feel fondling my breasts and sliding inappropriately up my inner thigh until his fingertips brush against the soft damp cotton of my panties, how his breath would feel on my cheek as he whispers that he only hired me because he wanted to stare at my tits all day, how his heavy body would feel keeping me pressed down over his desk while he slowly fills me with his thick cock...

i could be in a shop buying groceries and feel a chill go down my spine as i wonder how it would feel for a random man to press up behind me, grope my ass and my tits from behind, breathe against my neck that i should stay quiet and make this easy for him as his hand lifts my skirt, pulls my panties aside and shoves two fingers inside my cunt, fingerfucking me against the shelves until im tight and gushing and shaking as my wetness slides down my thighs, until i gasp as i cum, and he disappears as i buckle and slowly sink to my knees to catch my breath...

i can be at a pride event with all my lesbian friends, flipping off passing men and holding the hands of other women around me, as my thoughts flood with tingling accuracy at images of those same men getting fed up of my callous arrogance, charging the parade, grabbing me and my lesbian friends by our hair, throwing us to the ground and showing us what it really feels like to have the priviledge of society behind you.... shoving our legs apart and slamming into our obviously still virgin gold star cunts with their hard throbbing cocks, ignoring our screams in protest just like everyone else at the parade ignores us, laughing and fucking our wombs hard and deep as everyone who was once celebrating our lesbian pride is now cheering for the men raping us into the concrete street, our tits (and "unintentionally wet" pussies) on full display for these men to stuff and cum into over and over, taking advantage of our prideful lack of clothing to give us exactly what we were asking for...

i could be walking down my street just for some air and feel my body tremble with the anticipation of a random stranger running up behind me, tackling me to the curb and fucking me hard and fast because he just had to use me, needed to get off and i was the most available cunt for him to stuff...

i could be in a session with my therapist to work through my daddy issues and trauma, trying not to grind into the couch im sitting on as i picture him moving to sit beside me, whisper that he's here to help me overcome the difficult thoughts im dealing with, telling me as his fingers gently rub my nipples over my shirt that my trauma is the only reason i 'think' im a lesbian, promising as his other hand gently parts my thighs to rub my pussy and clit over my jeans that he can fix me and make me a good girl again, whispering as he kisses my neck to lay back, relax, dont think about it too much until eventually hes ontop of me, panting and moaning into my ear as he gets off, softly and slowly raping me for the first time of many...

and i can do this all day, without anyone ever knowing any better. these are just a small handful of all the ones i have 🤭🥴

[starkeyslibrary]

FALLING OUT OF FRAME | Part 3

pairing: you x drew starkey

The night Drew came back from his so-called “night out with the boys”, the tension was thick in the apartment. The sound of the front door creaking open felt like a bomb going off. You had been sitting on the couch for the last hour, alternatives between staring at your phone and looking out the window, hoping that something – anything – would make the ache in your chest fade. But the pain only deepened, and as the door clicked closed behind him, your stomach churned in a mix for dread and anger.

Drew walked in, his usual confident stride slowing when he saw you sitting there. There was a slight hesitation in his step, a quiet sign that he knew something was off. His eyes immediately darted to you, a mix of concern and something else that you couldn’t quite read. But the moment he stepped further into the room, your frustration broke free.

You didn’t even give him a chance to greet you, the words spilling out before he could say a word. “You’re late,” you said, your voice flat but filled with an edge he hadn’t heard in a long time.

Drew stopped in his tracks, glancing at his watch. “I told you, it was just a night out with the guys. Nothing big.” He said, his tone light, almost too casual. But you saw right through it. His words didn’t feel genuine anymore. You had heard the excuses before, and they were getting old.

You stood up, not wanting to be so passive about it anymore. “A night out with the guys? Really? That’s what you’re going with?” The bitterness in your voice caught you off guard, but there was no going back now.

Drew looked taken aback by the sharpness in your voice. “What’s going on, y/n?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “You’ve been acting strange ever since you saw those photos.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, unable to contain the words that had been bubbling up inside for days. “Yeah, I saw the photos, Drew. You and Odessa. Out in public again. Walking around like everything is fine. What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He opened his mouth to explain, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“No. Don’t you dare try to explain it away. I’m not stupid. I can see exactly what’s going on.” You could feel the anger rising in your chest, a mix of hurt and frustration that you couldn’t keep bottled up any longer. “You’re out with her, looking all cozy, like she’s the one you want. Not me. And I just … I don’t get it. You told me it was all fake, just for the cameras, but I can’t keep pretending that I believe you.”

Drew’s face hardened, and the disappointment in his eyes stung more than anything. He took a deep breath, clearly trying to keep his cool, but you saw the tension in his jaw, the way his hands clenched into fists.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re making something out of nothing. It’s just part of the job, I swear. She’s just a co-star, and this is all for publicity. You know that. I thought you understood that.”

“Understand?” you laughed bitterly, but the sound came out more like a sob. “You think I understand? You think I’m supposed to just sit here and watch you with her while pretending like everything is fine? No, Drew. I can’t do that. I can’t keep pretending that this isn’t hurting me. That I’m not losing you, piece by piece.”

Drew stepped closer to you, his expression softening as if trying to reach you, but you were too far gone. Too far past the point of no return.

“I’m trying okay?” His voice cracked slightly, and for a moment, you thought he was being honest, but it didn’t change anything. “I’m trying to make this work, but this whole thing is a mess. I never wanted it to be like this.”

You shook your head, feeling the sting of his words like a slap across your face. “Make it work? How do you expect me to trust you when I see you out there with her, smiling like nothing’s wrong? How do you expect me to keep believing you when I know that every word you’ve said about us was just...  just a lie?”

Drew’s face darkened at your accusation, his voice rising as the frustration that had been simmering inside him for days boiled over. “I’m not lying to you, Y/N! I never wanted this to happen either, but this is the way things are right now. I’m doing what I have to do, for both of us.”

“For both of us?” you scoffed, the tears that had been building in your eyes finally breaking free. “This is for you, Drew. It’s always been for you. For your career, for your image. And I’m just supposed to sit here and be okay with it? You’re asking me to pretend like I’m okay with being second to her, to everything you’re doing for the cameras. You know what, Drew? I can’t do that anymore. I’m done pretending.”

There was a long, tense silence between you, both of you staring at each other as if trying to make sense of the chaos you had created. Drew ran a hand through his hair, his expression pained but you were beyond caring. You had tried so hard to hold on, to believe him and in what you had, but every day felt like a betrayal.

You stepped back, your voice barely a whisper. “I can’t trust you anymore, Drew. Not after everything. You’ve lied to me over and over, and I don’t even know who you are anymore. I’m not going to keep living in this lie, this lie that both of you have created for the world.”

Drew looked like he was about to say something, but instead, he just closed his eyes, the weight of your words crashing over him. He didn’t speak for a long moment, and for the first time, you realized he was just as lost as you were. But that didn’t change the fact it was too late.

Without another word, you grabbed your jacket, your heart pounding in your chest. You didn’t know where you were going, but you couldn’t stay in that apartment with him. Not like this. You needed space, you needed to breathe.

You walked the streets aimlessly, tears still wet on your cheeks as the cold air bit at your skin. Every step felt like a weight, each one dragging you further from the man you thought you knew. The city lights flickered in the distance, but they did nothing to brighten the darkness in your heart.

You didn’t even know how far you had walked until you found yourself standing in front of a quiet park by the water. The silence felt both comforting and unbearable, as if the world around you had completely disappeared. You collapsed onto a bench, hugging your arms to your chest to stave off the cold, but it did little to ease the storm inside of you.

The moments from earlier replayed in your mind – the fight, Drew’s words, your own pain – and all you could do was sit there and feel the weight of it all.

That’s when the flash of camera lights caught your attention.

At first, you didn’t react, too numb to care about the photographers who had followed you. But then, the flashes intensified. You wiped your face quickly, but it didn’t stop them. The tears you had tried to hide were now on full display, and you felt like your privacy, your pain was being exposed to the world.

“Y/N! Over here! A little smile for us!” A photographer called out, but you couldn’t. You didn’t have the strength to smile, not when everything felt so broken.

Your heart thudded in your chest as more flashes went off, capturing the raw emotion on your face – the hurt, the betrayal, the confusion. You could hear their voices, the jarring sound of camera clicks, as they shouted for you to look at the camera. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t bring yourself to perform for them. Not anymore.

You turned away, trying to escape their prying eyes, but you knew it was futile. The pictures will be everywhere tomorrow. The world would see you in this vulnerable state, and it felt like another punch to the gut.

You couldn’t stop the tears now. You couldn’t stop the feeling of being exposed, of being broke, of being so utterly alone in a world that seemed to move on without you.

A/N: please don’t hate me LOL😭

TAGLIST: @princesspeach124 @idiotussupremus @eitaababe @13tter @drewsephrry @drewstarkeyzwhore @cooper8224 @maybankslover @elyseesarchive @ietss @esquivelbianca @josephandrewstarkey @willowpains @wtfdudesblog @purplerose291

[the-winter-spider]

Invisible | Part 18

Bucky x reader AU

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: Fluff???

A/N: I plan to fully wrap up everything so theres still a bit more parts left

Masterpost (links on mobile sucks lately ill add it later)

Sunday

The sun bathed the market in a warm, golden glow, making the world feel softer, almost dreamlike. The usual Sunday bustle of the vendors and the scent of fresh produce filled the air, as comforting as a favorite old song. You and Bucky had been here countless times before, always as part of the group. But today, it was just the two of you, and everything felt different—more intimate, more alive.

Bucky walked close to you, his hand brushing against yours with every step. Each accidental touch sent a little jolt through your chest, and you felt your heart thudding louder than the chatter around you. He hesitated for a moment, then reached out, his fingers sliding between yours. His palm was warm and sure, and the simple act of holding his hand felt monumental.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and filled with quiet concern, his eyes scanning your face like he was reading a map.

You met his gaze, your lips curving into a soft smile. “Yeah,” you murmured, squeezing his hand. “It’s just… different. Being here without everyone.”

Bucky’s lips quirked into a crooked smile, his thumb brushing lightly against yours. “Different’s not bad,” he said, his voice teasing but warm. “Besides, it’s nice not having Sam steal all the good fruit.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling out of you before you could stop it. “Okay, true. He always swoops in like a hawk.”

Bucky chuckled, his shoulders relaxing as he gently tugged you closer, weaving you both through the crowd. “Exactly. And Nat’s always dragging us to some random stall to buy things none of us actually need.”

“Like that time she bought Steve a giant ceramic rooster for his kitchen?” you said, grinning.

He grinned back, his laugh full and genuine. “And now it’s proudly on display in his living room because he doesn’t know how to tell her no.”

The shared memory eased the tension in your chest, and by the time you reached the book vendor—the one you always gravitated toward—you felt like you could breathe again. The stacks of worn novels and faded spines greeted you like old friends, their musty scent wrapping around you.

Bucky reached for a battered copy of Pride and Prejudice, flipping it open with exaggerated care. “So, how long before you lecture me about how I’m missing out by not reading this?”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a tattered edition of The Great Gatsby. “Only if you promise to stop pretending Hemingway is the only author worth reading.”

Bucky gasped dramatically, clutching his chest as if you’d just wounded him. “You wound me, darlin'. Hemingway’s got soul.”

“Hemingway’s got issues,” you countered, raising an eyebrow. “And you know it.”

He leaned closer, his lips quirking up. “Maybe I just like complicated characters. Keeps things interesting.”

His voice was soft, but the look in his eyes made your breath hitch. You stared at him for a moment, feeling like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you, standing there surrounded by forgotten stories and unspoken feelings.

“I’ll let you win this one,” you said finally, your voice a little shakier than you intended.

Bucky smirked, his expression all too knowing. “You’re letting me win? That’s new.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you shot back, grabbing the book from his hands and adding it to the pile you were carrying. “Now, come on. You’re buying me coffee for enduring this.”

As you walked back through the market, your bag of books swinging between you, Bucky leaned in close, his breath brushing against your ear. “I like this,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. “Just us.”

Your chest tightened, your heart swelling as you tilted your head up to look at him. His blue eyes were so open, so earnest, it made you feel like you could drown in them. “Me too,” you whispered, your voice barely carrying over the noise of the market.

Bucky smiled, that lopsided grin you’d loved for years, and tightened his grip on your hand. The moment felt suspended in time—like a chapter you never wanted to end.

The sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue across the city. You and Bucky were walking home from the farmers market, a bag of books swinging between you and a carton of fresh strawberries in his other hand. The day had been easy and light—filled with laughter and teasing—and for the first time in a long while, you felt like you could breathe.

“You know,” Bucky began, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, “I always knew you’d drag me into the book section first.”

You grinned, nudging him with your shoulder. “And yet, you came willingly. Admit it, you love it.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I love you. The books are just a bonus.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you quickly deflected with a playful roll of your eyes. “Flatterer.”

As you reached your apartment building, the playful banter slowed, replaced by a comfortable silence. Inside, the air was still, the faint hum of the fridge filling the background. You set the bag of books down on the counter and turned to find Bucky watching you, an unreadable expression on his face.

“What?” you asked, your voice soft.

He stepped closer, his fingers grazing your hand. “Can we talk?”

You swallowed, suddenly nervous, but you nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

“You’re mine right?” Bucky leaned against the counter, his hands gripping the edge.

“Am i?” You spoke softly.

He hesitated, his jaw working as if he were searching for the right words. Finally, he looked at you, his blue eyes steady but vulnerable. “I thought when we said we loved each other, it was kind of… set in stone. You know?”

You blinked, caught off guard, before letting out a small laugh. “Bucky, you’ve known me for how long? You should know I need reassurance or, like, a label or something.”

A grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he straightened, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you. “Okay, then,” he said, his voice low and warm. He reached out, his hand cradling your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. “Sweetheart, baby, babe—will you do me the greatest honor of my life and be mine? Officially?”

Your heart melted at the sincerity in his voice, the way his eyes searched yours with both hope and fear. You couldn’t help the wide smile that spread across your face as you nodded. “Yes, Buck. Of course.”

His grin was instant, bright and boyish, and before you could say another word, he scooped you up, spinning you around. You squealed, laughing uncontrollably as he peppered your face with kisses.

“So this is what it’s like to be with the Bucky Barnes,” you teased, breathless as he set you down.

He shook his head, his hands still firmly on your waist. “No,” he said, his voice soft and serious. “This isn’t what it’s like to be with Bucky Barnes. This is what it’s like to be with you. This is what it feels like to love you. And there’s nothing in the world like it.”

The weight of his words hit you square in the chest, and you reached up, cupping his face as you pressed your forehead against his. “You’re gonna make me cry, Buck.”

“Good,” he teased, brushing his nose against yours. “I’ve been crying over you for years.”

You giggled, swatting his chest lightly before pulling him into another kiss, this one slower, deeper, a promise lingering between you.

When you finally broke apart, he grinned again, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Hey, you wanna have a sleepover?”

You tilted your head, confused. “Bucky, we live together.”

“No, no,” he said, his grin widening. “I mean a sleepover in my room.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh, I guess I never thought about how this is gonna work. We literally live together.”

“Exactly,” he said, his tone teasing but sincere. “So, what do you say?”

You pretended to consider for a moment before nodding. “I would love to have a sleepover with you.”

He let out a triumphant little cheer, grabbing his keys. “Perfect. I’m gonna grab takeout, and then we’re having a movie marathon. Don’t move.”

You laughed as he kissed you quickly and darted toward the door. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, you let out a deep sigh, sinking onto the couch. Your phone buzzed, and you saw a text from Natasha.

Nat: So… spill.

You: Spill what?

Nat: Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you and Bucky are FINALLY together?!

You: Who told you? Did you spy on us?

Nat: ...... I know everything, duh. Now stop deflecting and give me details.

You hesitated for a moment, your thumbs hovering over the keyboard. Then, with a small smile, you replied.

You: It’s… good. Really good. He’s trying so hard, Nat. He’s being so sweet. He’s everything.

Nat: Of course he is. That man’s been in love with you for YEARS.

You: I know, but it’s still scary. What if we mess this up?

Nat: You won’t. Trust me. You’re both too stubborn to let that happen. Now, when are we hanging out? We missed Farmer Market Sundays, and I hate being away from everyone.

You: Friday, at the bar?

Nat: Perfect. I’ll see you then. And don’t worry. You’ve got this babe <3

You smiled, setting your phone down just as the door opened again, Bucky walking in with bags of takeout. His grin was wide, and his eyes sparkled as he held up the food triumphantly.

“Sleepover of the century starts now,” he declared.

And for the first time in years, everything felt truly right.

Wednesday

The café buzzed softly with life—muted chatter, the occasional clink of cups, and the hum of the espresso machine. Wanda sat across from you at a small table near the window, the sunlight catching the caramel streaks in her hair. She handed you your latte with a grin, her eyes twinkling with something knowing.

“You look… happy,” she teased, drawing out the word as she leaned forward on her elbows.

You ducked your head, the warmth in your cheeks impossible to hide. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

She tilted her head, her expression softening. “I’m really happy for you, you know. You and Bucky… it just makes sense.”

You smiled into your cup, taking a sip to mask the emotions her words stirred. “Thanks, Wanda. It’s just… weird, I guess. We’ve been friends for so long, and now it’s different.”

Wanda reached out, her hand warm over yours. “Different doesn’t mean bad. It means growth. And knowing you two, it’ll be beautiful.”

You nodded, her words comforting yet thought-provoking. “It’s just… scary, you know? What if we mess it up? What if this ruins everything?”

Wanda’s grip on your hand tightened slightly as she said your name "You’ve been dancing around each other for years. Do you really think you’re going to mess this up? You two have already been through the worst of it, and you’re still here. That’s not nothing.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “I guess you’re right.”

“I am,” she said with a playful grin. Then her expression shifted, a hint of something more serious flickering in her eyes. “But can I ask you something?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Of course.”

“Did you really not know about Natasha’s feelings towards Steve?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

Your stomach dropped slightly at the question. “No i didn’t, I feel like a horrible friend, a horrible person how could I have missed it? You knew?”

Wanda nodded, her gaze steady. “Yeah.”

“How long?”

She hesitated, fidgeting with the sleeve of her cup. “A while. Honestly, I don’t even know if I would have figured it out if she hadn’t told me. She’s always been good at hiding stuff like that.. She’s been holding onto it for a while now. Longer than anyone realises.”

The weight of her words settled over you, heavy and unspoken. “What am I supposed to do with that, Wanda?” you asked quietly. “I don’t want her to feel like she’s second best, like she doesn’t matter. She’s my best friend.”

Wanda’s gaze softened, her voice gentle but firm. “There’s nothing you can do. Just like no one could force you and Bucky together. It has to be something Natasha sorts out for herself. And Steve… he’ll move on, eventually. He’s stronger than people give him credit for.”

You let out a breath, your chest feeling tight. “I just hate that all of this is so messy. It feels like everything’s at risk.”

Wanda said your name, leaning forward and fixing you with her warm but steady gaze. “We’re too close, all of us, to let this ruin anything. We’ve been through worse. It might take time, but we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Her words were like a balm, soothing the ache in your chest. You reached out and squeezed her hand in thanks. “What would I do without you?”

Wanda grinned. “Probably spiral into chaos. Now, are you gonna finish that latte or let it go cold?”

You laughed softly, lifting the cup to your lips. “Point taken.”

The apartment smelled divine, the air rich with the aroma of garlic and fresh herbs as you stepped inside. The sight of Bucky in the kitchen made your heart skip a beat. He stood there in a fitted black t-shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal his strong forearms, wearing an apron you’d bought as a joke that said Kiss the Cook. He was stirring something in a pan, his brow furrowed in concentration.

He was humming softly to himself, stirring something in a pan, completely immersed in what he was doing.

“Wow,” you said, leaning against the doorway with a teasing smile. “What’s the occasion, Chef Barnes?”

Bucky turned, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “You, doll,” he said easily, leaning one hip against the counter. “Figured I’d whip up something special for my girl.”

His words made your cheeks flush, and you stepped closer. “You’re really setting the bar high here. You sure you’re not trying to win boyfriend of the year?”

“Trying?” he asked, his grin widening. “Sweetheart, I’m already the reigning champ.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips. “What’s on the menu, then?”

“Pasta,” he said, nodding toward the stove. “Made the sauce from scratch. None of that jarred stuff for you.”

Your heart swelled at the thoughtfulness of it all. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble, you know.”

Bucky shrugged, turning back to the stove. “You’re worth it.”

The simplicity of his statement, the sincerity in his voice, had your chest tightening. You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind and resting your cheek against his back. “Thank you,” you murmured.

He stilled for a moment, then set the spoon down and turned in your arms to face you. His hands found your waist, his thumbs brushing your sides. “Always,” he said softly, his blue eyes locking onto yours.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he teased, flashing you that charming, boyish grin as he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple. He turned off the stove, plating the pasta with a chef-like flourish, and set the dishes on the table. Pulling out a chair for you, he gestured grandly. “M’lady.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you sat. “Chivalry isn’t dead, huh?”

“Not when it comes to you,” he quipped, settling into the chair across from you.

For a moment, you just watched him, the warm glow of the kitchen light casting a golden halo around him. Your chest tightened with a sudden swell of emotion, a happiness so profound it was almost startling. “I haven’t felt like this in years,” you murmured, your voice soft and vulnerable. “This happy.”

Bucky’s smile softened, his blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart flutter. “You deserve the world, doll,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “There’s nothing else like this. Nothing else like you.”

The weight of his words settled over you, a warmth spreading through your chest that made your breath hitch. You reached across the table, your fingers finding his. “How do you do that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just… say the exact right thing?”

His grin was lopsided and endearing. “I’ve had years to practice,” he said, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

Dinner passed in a blur of laughter and lighthearted teasing, the conversation flowing as easily as it always had between you two—but now, there was an added layer of something deeper. Something that had been there all along but was finally allowed to flourish. Every glance he gave you, every fleeting touch, felt like a promise, unspoken but deeply felt.

When the plates were cleared, Bucky leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest as he studied you with a soft, thoughtful expression. “You know,” he said, his voice low and intimate, “this is my favorite version of us.”

You tilted your head, curiosity sparking in your eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Right here,” he said, gesturing between the two of you. “You, me, no walls, no pretending we’re just friends… It feels like this is how it was always supposed to be.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and you ducked your head slightly, smiling. “It does, doesn’t it?”

Bucky reached across the table, his hand cupping your chin gently, tilting your face back up to meet his gaze. His eyes searched yours, his voice soft but resolute. “I don’t know how I got lucky enough to have you, but I’m not gonna waste it.”

The sincerity in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re not the only lucky one, Buck,” you said, leaning into his touch. “We both are.”

After dinner, you moved to the couch, settling beside each other with your legs tangled. Bucky reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ve got sauce right… here,” he said, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.

“Smooth,” you teased, laughing softly.

“What can I say? I’m a gentleman.” His grin was playful, but the way his eyes lingered on yours sent a shiver down your spine. His lips quirked into a small smile, and he leaned forward, brushing a kiss across your knuckles. “Let me show you just how lucky I feel.”

Before you knew it, he was leaning in, and you met him halfway. The kiss started slow, his lips warm and soft against yours. But as the moments stretched, it deepened, his hand cupping the back of your head while his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer.

Your fingers found the hem of his shirt, your heart racing as you slipped your hands beneath the fabric, feeling the heat of his skin. He groaned softly against your lips, his body tensing under your touch.

But then, just as things started to heat up, he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours. His breaths were uneven, his hands gentle as they steadied you.

“Wait,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You blinked, your mind still foggy from the kiss. “What’s wrong?” you asked, searching his eyes.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he assured you, his thumb brushing your cheek. “I just… I want to do this right. With you. I don’t want to rush into anything, even though…” He trailed off, his gaze dropping to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “Even though I want this so bad. I want you so bad.”

His words made your chest ache in the best way. You reached up, cradling his face in your hands. “Okay,” you whispered. “We’ll take our time.”

He smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You bit your lip, hesitating before asking, “Bucky… earlier, you said you haven’t been with anyone since that night in college. Is that true?”

His brows furrowed slightly, but he nodded. “Yeah, doll. It’s true. I wouldn’t lie to you. I may have been a jackass, but I’ve never lied to you.”

The vulnerability in his voice, the honesty in his gaze, made your stomach flip. “Me neither,” you admitted quietly.

Bucky blinked, his head tilting slightly. “Wait, what?”

“I haven’t been with anyone either,” you said, your cheeks burning. “Since that night. Dean was the first guy I kissed since then.”

His lips parted in surprise, his voice low as he repeated, “You kissed Dean?”

“Yeah,” you said, fiddling with a loose thread on the couch cushion. “But that’s it. Just a kiss.”

Bucky stared at you for a moment, then a slow, crooked smile spread across his face. “You know what that means, right?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He leaned in, his voice low and full of promise. “It means I’m gonna be the last guy you ever kiss.”

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding as his words sank in. “I hope so,” you whispered.

Bucky didn’t hesitate. He kissed you again, slow and deliberate, as if to seal the promise between you. His hands cradled your face, his lips moving against yours in a way that felt like forever and not long enough all at once.

Thursday

You sat at your desk, staring at your laptop screen, trying to focus on the manuscript in front of you. The office buzzed faintly with the hum of phones ringing and distant chatter, but it all faded into white noise when your phone vibrated. You glanced at it, seeing Sam’s name pop up with a new text.

Sam: Hey, Barnes tell you yet?

You frowned, your fingers hovering over the keyboard.

You: Tell me what?

Sam: That I’m gonna kick his ass at darts tomorrow night.

You giggled, rolling your eyes.

You: LOL. You wish.

Sam: Nah, I’m serious. The man’s been smug all week. Like he’s got some big secret or something.

Your stomach did a little flip as you typed your response.

You: …

Sam: Wait a minute. Oh my God. Is the big secret YOU?!

You: … Maybe.

Sam: FINALLY!!!!!!

Before you could even think of a response, your phone buzzed with an incoming call. You smiled, answering it with a dry, “Didn’t realize this was so urgent.”

Sam’s voice came through, teasing but warm. “Oh, it’s urgent, alright. I’ve been waiting for this since… I don’t know, forever?”

You laughed softly, leaning back in your chair. “I didn’t realize you were such a romantic.”

“I’m not,” Sam shot back, his voice laced with amusement. “I’m just tired of watching you and Barnes do this ridiculous will-they-won’t-they dance. Turns out, y’all finally figured it out.”

“Yeah, well…” You trailed off, biting your lip. “It’s… new, of course”

“New, huh?” Sam drawled. “New enough for him to be walking around like he’s king of the world, apparently. You should’ve seen him yesterday—man was smiling so much I thought his face was gonna break.”

The image made you laugh, your heart warming. “That’s… good to hear.”

Sam paused, his tone shifting slightly. “You’re happy though, right? I mean, you’ve been waiting for this.”

You hesitated for a moment before answering, “Yeah, I am. It feels… right. Scary, but right.”

Sam hummed in acknowledgment. “Good. That’s what matters.” There was a beat of silence before he added, “Hey, uh, so I talked to Steve.”

Your stomach tightened at the mention of his name. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s… Steve,” Sam said carefully. “You know how he is. Quiet, keeps everything close to the vest. But I know Friday night hit him hard.”

You sighed, guilt twisting in your chest. “I haven’t really talked to him since. I don’t even know what to say.”

“He’s just gonna need some time,” Sam said gently. “But listen to me—don’t write him off as a friend. Steve’s a good guy. He’ll come around.”

The idea of losing Steve made your throat tighten. “It hurts that you’d think I would. Sam, I—I feel like a horrible friend. How could I have not noticed before?”

Sam’s voice softened, laced with understanding. “Because you were blinded by your feelings for Bucky. Doesn’t make you a bad friend, just human.”

You closed your eyes, swallowing hard. “I hate that I hurt him.”

“I know,” Sam said. “But you can’t carry all the blame. Steve’s strong, and he’ll get through this. He just… he needs to process it on his own.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “Do you really think everything’s gonna be okay?”

Sam’s voice was confident, reassuring. “Yeah. You’ve got Bucky now, Steve’s got all of us, and we’ve been through worse. We’re too stubborn to let this group fall apart.”

That made you smile. “You’re annoyingly wise sometimes, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam replied smugly. “Now, I’ll see you tomorrow. First one who hangs up doesn’t have to buy the first round.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “That’s not fair—”

Click.

You stared at the phone, your smile lingering as you set it down. Somehow, Sam always knew how to make things feel just a little bit lighter.

The living room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the TV casting shadows across the walls. You and Bucky were sprawled on the couch, your legs tangled together as some classic action movie played in the background. It was one of those easy, quiet nights where the world outside seemed to fade away.

Bucky’s arm was draped casually over your shoulder, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your arm. Every now and then, you caught him glancing at you instead of the screen, his lips quirking into that small, soft smile you’d grown to love.

You shifted slightly, resting your head against his chest. “Hey,” you started softly, your voice cutting through the quiet. “Have you, um… seen or talked to Steve since… you know, last Friday?”

Bucky’s fingers paused for a moment before resuming their gentle motion. He let out a quiet sigh. “Yeah,” he said after a beat. “I saw him Wednesday when you were out with Wanda. He was on his way out, so it was real brief.”

“And?” you asked, tilting your head to look up at him.

He shrugged, his gaze still fixed on the TV. “He was fine. I mean, as fine as Steve gets, you know? He nodded at me, said hey, and that was about it.”

Your chest tightened, and you sank back against him, chewing on your bottom lip. “I’m nervous about tomorrow,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m excited to see everyone, but… I don’t want things to be weird.”

Bucky finally looked down at you, his brow furrowed. “Things are gonna be weird, doll,” he said, his voice steady but kind. “At least for a little while. But they’ll get better. It’s us, right? We always figure it out.”

You sighed, closing your eyes briefly. “I’ve just… never been in a situation like this before. I don’t know how to handle it. What if Steve doesn’t—what if things aren’t the same anymore?”

Bucky shifted, sitting up slightly so he could face you more fully. He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. “Steve’s not like that. You know him. He’s always been the solid one, the one who keeps us all together. If anyone can handle this, it’s him.”

You nodded, his words offering some comfort. “I hope you’re right.”

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table, interrupting the moment. You reached for it, noticing two new messages. One from Sam and the other from Steve. Your stomach fluttered nervously as you opened Sam’s text first.

Sam: I talked to Steve. You have nothing to worry about. He’ll always love you as a friend before anything else. Told him about you and Buck. Hope thats okay?

You exhaled slowly, relief flooding through you as you typed back a quick response.

You: Its okay...Thanks, Sam. I needed that.

Sam: I know you like the back of my hand girl

You snorted, Bucky glanced over, noticing the way your face relaxed. “What’s that?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

“Sam,” you replied. “He said he talked to Steve. Apparently, I have nothing to worry about.”

Bucky nodded, his lips quirking into a small smirk. “Told you.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but before you could respond, your attention shifted to Steve’s message. You opened it, your fingers trembling slightly.

Steve: Hey. Just wanted to check in. Are we okay?

Your heart ached at the simplicity of his question, the weight of everything unsaid behind it. You quickly typed a response.

You: To me? Always, Stevie. You?

His reply came almost instantly.

Steve: Always. Excited to see everyone tomorrow.

You: Me too. You sure?

There was a pause before his response came through.

Steve: I’m sure :)

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then, you added:

You: Thanks, Steve. For always being there. I hope you know I’m always here for you too…

His response was simple but sincere.

Steve: I know. And Always.

You stared at the screen for a long moment, the words settling in your chest like a comforting weight. Bucky shifted beside you, his hand slipping to your waist as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice warm and steady.

You nodded, leaning into him. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Just… thinking about tomorrow. How everything’s going to change.”

Bucky tightened his hold on you, his voice firm but gentle. “Not everything, doll. Some things don’t change.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling at the sincerity in his eyes. “Promise?”

His lips quirked into a soft smile. “Promise.”

As the movie played on in the background, you allowed yourself to sink into the comfort of the moment.

Friday

The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting soft stripes of gold across the room as you finished adjusting your blouse in the mirror. The weight of anticipation pressed lightly on your chest. Tonight would be your first time facing everyone as a couple—or whatever you and Bucky were now.

Leaning against the doorframe, Bucky sipped his coffee, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his hair sticking up from where he’d slept. He looked effortlessly handsome, the kind of sight you’d never get tired of. His easy smile, however, didn’t quite mask the tension in his eyes.

“Ready for tonight?” he asked, breaking the silence. His tone was casual, but there was a cautiousness to the way he looked at you.

You glanced at him in the mirror, smoothing your blouse once more. “I think so. Are you?”

He shrugged, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “As ready as I’ll ever be. They’re gonna give us so much shit.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “We deserve it.”

He stepped closer, his coffee forgotten on the dresser. His hands found your waist, turning you gently to face him. His touch was steady, grounding. He leaned down, brushing a kiss against your temple. “They’ll love us,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “They already do.”

For a moment, you stared up at him, your heart swelling. His confidence in this—in you, in both of you—was overwhelming in the best way. “You really think so?” you asked softly.

He nodded, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “Babe, they’ve been rooting for us longer than we’ve even known we were a ‘we.’ Trust me.”

You smiled, leaning into him, but your chest still felt tight. You couldn’t help but think of how tonight could be the start of something wonderful—or another complication in your already messy lives.

“Stop overthinking,” Bucky said, reading you like an open book. His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“That ‘I’m carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders’ look,” he teased, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Relax, sweetheart. It’s us.”

“It’s us,” you echoed, the words sinking in. “Okay, fine. You win.”

He grinned. “I always do.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “Cocky much?”

His grin turned devilish as his hands slid down to your hips, pulling you closer. “What can I say? You bring it out of me.”

Your heart skipped a beat as his lips met yours, soft and slow at first, like he was savoring the moment. But the kiss deepened quickly, his hands tightening around you as if he couldn’t stand the distance. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing against him as your breaths mingled.

He pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, his voice rough with want. “I just can’t keep my hands off you.”

You laughed softly, your forehead resting against his. “Remember, you’re the one who wanted to move slow.”

He chuckled, the sound low and addictive. “Don’t remind me. It’s torture.”

You leaned up, pressing another quick kiss to his lips before stepping back, smoothing your blouse again. “Good thing you’ve got that Bucky Barnes patience, huh?”

“Barely,” he admitted, his eyes still locked on you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

As you grabbed your bag, he reached out, brushing his fingers against yours. “I’ll see you at work?”

“Of course,” you replied, turning back to give him a smile. “We’re walking to the bar together after, right?”

Bucky nodded, his expression softening into something achingly tender. “I’m never leaving your side again, so yes. Always.”

Your chest tightened, his words resonating deeper than you expected. With one last smile, you stepped out the door, the warmth of his presence lingering with you all the way to work.

[nomie-11]

Liam Mairi x Reader - The Curse of Farsight

masterlist!

Migraines had become an integral part of Liam’s life since he developed his signet. His eyes hurt, his head hurt, and all the bright lights and small noises felt like knives twisting in his mind as he trudged down the hallway. 

Head throbbing, he just let his feet take him one step after another down the winding, narrow hallways of Fourth Wing First-Year dorms. He wanted to be in her arms, in her bed, as her cold hands ran over his back in soothing circles.

Liam’s vision blurred as he turned a corner, his breath shallow, each step an effort. The migraines were getting worse, more frequent as he trained his signet. The curse of farsight was something he hadn’t expected and hadn’t been able to fully escape. Yes, seeing far was a blessing in battle, but in everyday life it was a storm he couldn’t outrun. It was a constant, grinding pressure, leaving him dizzy and disoriented. 

But there was one place where the pain dulled. Over person who could ease the ache, even if just for a moment. 

He reached her door, the familiar weight of her presence pulling him in like a magnet. He knocked once, softly, and waited. A moment later, the door swung open, and there she stood—her eyes warm, her expression soft but worried when she saw him. 

“You’re here,” She sighed, stepping aside for him to come in. “You look terrible.” 

He grimaced a small smile, his hand squeezing hers as he shuffled in past her, shedding his layers of swords and leathers onto the floor quickly before flopping down onto her bed. “‘M sorry,” he said, words muffled by the covers. “Head’s killing me.” 

He sighed as, with a flick of her hand and a display of superior control of lesser magic, the blinds on the windows drew shut and the mage lights dimmed. 

He felt the mattress dip as she climbed in next to him, her cool hands from an ice wielding signet brushing the hairs from his forehead. 

“Didn’t we talk to Xaden about your head and maybe taking it easy in training for a little?” She murmured, fingernails dragging slow circles over his skin.

Liam let out a long, slow exhale, rolling onto his side to face her, his eyes bleary but full of gratitude. “Yeah, but I can’t. Need to keep up. Can’t just… stop.” He closed his eyes, wincing at the throb in his temple as he whispered, “But this—this helps.” He relaxed as her cool fingers traced gentle patterns along his jaw, down his neck, the chill of her touch dulling the sharp edge of his headache. 

After a few moments of silence, he rolled onto his back, then onto his stomach, pressing his face into her shoulder, his arm coming to drape around her waist. She stifled a laugh. “Liam, what are you doing?” she asked, voice laced with amusement. 

“Getting comfortable,” he murmured, voice muffled against her. “Hope you don’t mind if I just…” he shifted a little, laying completely on top of her with a satisfied sigh, his cheek resting against her shoulder. She could feel the warmth radiating from him as he nestled in, her own cold skin contrasting with his as if he were a living blanket. 

She smirked, giving a playful sigh of resignation. “Well, I guess I’m stuck here now,” she said, feigning exasperation as she brushed her fingers gently through his gorgeous blonde hair. She felt the chill of her hand sink deeper into his skin, soothing the heat pulsing at his temples, her touch melting him into a state of calm. 

Liam let out a small, contented groan, shifting slightly so that the flushed skin of his face rested on the cool skin of her exposed neck. “You’re like my own personal ice pack,” he murmured, pressing his forehead into the crook of her neck. “If I ever get a say in anything, I’m picking you to follow me everywhere.” 

She laughed softly, tracing her fingertips over his temples, gentle enough to quiet his ache. “I don’t think Xaden would approve of me being your portable headache remedy, but… I suppose he would have to make an exception.” 

“Good,” he replied with a faint, sleepy grin, his voice soft and warm. “Because I’m not going anywhere. You’re perfect just like this.” He shifted his weight just a little, wrapping himself around her even more tightly, his breathing slowing as the headache’s sharp pangs finally ebb away. 

As his breath evened out and his weight settled comfortably over her, she felt a smile tugging at her lips. The warmth he radiated felt like a gentle fire melting away her perpetual chill, and she knew—just as much as he needed her cold touch, she needed his warmth, here in the quiet safety of the darkness and silence of her room. 

-------

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

Taglist: @awkardnerd , @hannraumari , @minjix , @glaciuswduo , @wolfbc97 , @heeseungthel0ml

[buckiverse]

☆--- warnings: mdni, cat!xavier, needy xavier, mutal masturbation, handjob, nipple play

☆--- a/n: xavier's cock is specifically this hex code: #c97677 (pretty pink)

Being a veterinarian took work. Caring for animals all day was challenging enough but being responsible for Xavier after his…transformation was an entirely different story. Xavier wasn’t just any patient–he was a mix of feline grace and otherworldly intelligence hybrid. His calm demeanor and sharp awareness made him fascinating to work with, but the complexity of his transformation made it a work in progress.

So, when Xavier came into your home office complaining about back pains, your professional instincts struggled with the quiet worry that came with loving him. “Can you describe your symptoms?” you asked softly, glancing up from your desktop to meet his familiar, piercing gaze. The warmth in his eyes—a mix of affection and amusement—reminded you why this transformation was an adjustment.

Xavier tilted his head, a small smile playing at his lips as his tail flicked lazily behind him. “It’s not exactly pain, per se,” he said, his voice carrying that familiar soothing cadence. “More like… a dull ache that comes and goes. Especially when I stretch out after napping. Maybe you’ve been spoiling me too much,” he teased lightly, his gaze softening as it lingered on you. 

You jotted his symptoms in your notebook, a low sigh escaping your lips. “Maybe I have,” you added, your voice laced with quiet amusement. Rising from your chair, you nudged it toward the wall before turning back to Xavier, grabbing your stethoscope out of your bag.

“Want me to take a look?” you said, approaching him.

His legs spread open on the couch as he leaned forward, his hands pushing against the cushion, straightening his posture. “If you’re willing too, I don’t see why not,” he said, his head tilting slightly, his left ear perking up. 

“Take a deep breath. I’m going to check your heart rate first,” you instructed gently, resting a hand on Xavier’s shoulder. Your thumb began tracing small, soothing circles against his skin as you placed the stethoscope against his chest.

Your eyes closed as the steady rhythm of his heartbeat filled your ears. “It keeps getting faster,” you observed, your gaze dropping to him. Your eyes met his, a familiar warmth sparking between you. “Calm down for me,” you cooed, your tone soft.

“How could I,” Xavier began, his fluffy tail slowly swishing behind him, “when you’re so close to me?” he uttered as eyes studied you.

“Of course,” you said, kissing his lips with a gentle peck. His tail wrapped around you, urging you closer. “Sit down,” he whispered against your lips. He watched as you nodded silently, agreeing to his request. Making your move, you set your stethoscope on the cushion next to Xavier, placing your right knee on the couch and your hands on his shoulders. He waited patiently, observing you intently when you finally straddled his lap. 

His hand extended, stroking the skin of your cheek. “I missed you, honey,” he purred, his eyes softening as he admired the details of your face. 

“How? I was only gone a couple of hours,” you said, fully sitting on his lap. His eyes scanned your body before flickering back to meet yours. “Does it matter?” His hands held your hips, his thumb secretly sneaking under the fabric of your shirt, rubbing circles into your skin. “I always miss you,” he said.

His lips met yours gently, his hand cupping your cheek as if he were savoring your lips against his. The way his lips moved against yours sent warmth coursing through you, pulling you deeper.

You parted your lips slightly, his tongue running over your lips. When he slid his tongue into your mouth, you whimpered, your eyelids fluttering at the feeling of his tongue. “M-hm,” you moaned, your hips twitching into him. His hands caressed your back, pulling you flush against him. 

Your hands traveled up his chest, resting behind the softness of his ears. Your fingers stroked the fluff of his ear, tugging it ever so delicately. “Yeah…right there,” he breathed, his pupils blown wide, his cheeks flushed, his lips swollen from kissing you. He bit his lip, his brows furrowing and lips parting at the feeling of your hands. “By my ear,” he murmured, bringing your other hand up to his face, lapping at the skin on your wrist. 

“O-oh,” you stuttered, surprise evident in your reaction. You rolled your hips down into Xavier’s, gently caressing his ear. He placed your hand on his chest, observing you.

“Touch me…please,” he whimpered, guiding your hand down his abdomen to the bulge in his pants. You groped his length over his shorts, peeling the waistband down and revealing the tip of his cock. The head was pinkish-red, his slit leaking, begging to be touched. “You won’t make me beg, right?” he blurted, his hips jerking upwards. 

“So needy, aren’t you?” you teased, releasing his cock from his shorts completely. It sprung forward, resting against his abdominals. You drew spit in your mouth, taking on your fingers, lubricating his length. You wrapped your hands around him, studying him. You swiped your thumb over the slit, “Please… y/n,” he whimpered, his hips bucking into your hand. You bit your lip, stroking his cock. His head fell back onto the couch. The flush on his face added to the electricity building inside you. 

His hands found your breasts, caressing them over the fabric of your shirt. Working his hands under the fabric, the chills of his fingertips caused your nipples to harden. His pointer finger circled the nub before flicking it with his feline-like nails. Your breath hitched in your throat when the sharp scrape of his nails hit your nipples. “Fuck, d-do that again,” you mewled, your grip tightening around his cock. 

He tugged your nipple, sending a shiver down your spine. The dig of his nails against your nubs made you roll your hips against his muscular thighs. “Xav, m’ almost there,” you pleaded, your pussy pulsating around nothing. 

Your eyes met, and the snap of his cock into your hands intensified, causing you to tighten your grip. Your eyes glossed over when he tugged your sensitive nubs, and you felt the electricity of your orgasm wash over you. “m’ cumming, Xav’” you moaned, your thighs shaking on his stronger ones as your body fell forward onto his, your head landing on his shoulder.

Grounding yourself, you tugged his tail. Xavier's hips thrust into your hand again. “Honey,” he groaned out, his abdominals flexing as his cum squirted on your hand and his stomach. You raised your head from his shoulders, meeting his gaze, your grip on him finally releasing, and he kissed you sweetly, “I missed having my partner around,” he whispered.

[whump-imagines]

Stomach Flu

Buddie x reader

Wc: 1700 ish

You laid in bed trying desperately to fall asleep. Some kind of stomach flu had found you and was clearly trying to kill you. All night you’d been fighting blankets because you'd be hot and then freezing and then hot again. And when you'd thought maybe you'd gotten comfortable the nausea would hit.

The toilet was your new best friend. You’d spent a decent amount of time clinging to the bowl for dear life. It was worse than any bad night of drinking you had ever had.

So now you were momentarily a comfortable temperature and not as nauseous so you didn't dare move as you begged for sleep to come.

Next thing you know the bed is jostled aggressively as Buck jumps onto the mattress and asks, “You're still in bed?”

The sudden movement sends a jolt of pain through your skull and nearly causes you to puke. You launch yourself out of bed and into the bathroom. Falling to your knees, you empty the non-existent contents of your stomach.

Eddie is knelt beside you a moment later. He takes your hair in one hand and rubs your back with the other.

“Ugh. My best friend, we meet again,” you mumble into the toilet bowl.

“Again?” Eddie asks. “What do you mean again?”

Rolling your forehead across the arm supporting your head, you glance at him and notice Buck in the doorway. “Well this is like the thousandth time I've been here since yesterday. I think I'm dying.”

Eddie runs his hand over your head then presses the back of his hand to your forehead. “Baby, why didn't you call us?”

“You were working. I didn't think I needed help puking my guts out.”

“One of us could have come home,” Buck says. “Or we could have brought supplies home.”

“Supplies?”

“Soup, Tylenol, tissues, maybe…” Buck listed.

“I'd just puke it back up. Everything in comes right back out.”

“Alright, are you done for now? Do you want head back to bed?” Eddie asks.

“Moving makes me more nauseous. And my head hurts.”

“Have you had any water?” Eddie asks.

“Tried. Failed.” You lean back and the world spins. “This sucks.”

Eddie shifts you so you can relax back into him. “I bet. We're going to get you back into bed and get a bucket so you don't have to come lay on the floor in here anymore. Okay?”

“‘Kay.” You snuggle into him, enjoying his warmth.

Eddie manages to get up and lift you without too much jostling. “Can you go lay on the bed and I'll give her to you?” He asks Buck.

“Okay.” You hear the jingle of Buck’s belt and then the clank of it hitting the floor. Next, your set gently on the bed cuddled close to Buck, his arm your pillow.

“You're warm,” you announce and you press yourself even closer and move your head into his chest.

“I'll be back soon,” Eddie says. “Try to get some sleep if you can.”

You whine, not wanting him to leave. “Where are you going?”

“Back to the station. We need an IV kit, fluids, zofran, and probably Tylenol.”

“I don't want an IV.”

“Sweetheart, you're very dehydrated,” Eddie explains. “If you can't keep down water then you need the IV.”

You sigh. “Fine.”

Buck chuckles and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

Eddie leans over and kisses your head then a quick parting kiss to Buck’s lips. “Love you guys. I'll be quick.”

“We love you, too.” Buck says.

A minute later you hear Eddie’s keys jingle and then the front door open and close.

“Sorry I woke you like that earlier.”

You snort a laugh. “Not your fault, you didn't know.”

He runs his fingers up and down your side and shoulder in random patterns. “Try to sleep,” he suggests.

“Can you tell me a story?” you ask.

“What kind of story?”

“I don't care. It's just soothing to hear you talk,” you tell him. “Might help me sleep.”

He starts to tell you all about flamingos because he knows how much you love them. He explains everything from how they get their color to their migration patterns and before long you feel yourself sinking into a peaceful sleep.

You wake to the sounds of Buck and Eddie laughing. You can tell they’re trying to be quiet but the giggles are shaking you and the whole bed. “What's so funny?”

“Crap. Sorry, we didn't mean to wake you,” Buck says.

“It's fine. I need to pee anyway.” You shift to roll onto your back but end up leaned against Eddie. “You didn't tell me what was funny.”

“Just a dumb video on TikTok,” Eddie explains. “How're you feeling?”

You take a moment to consider your answer. Your head still hurts but not as much. You still have nausea but it's much more bearable. “Shitty, but kind of better.”

Buck rolls and then stands before offering you a hand. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” You reach over to take his hand, noticing the IV line for the first time. “I slept through that?”

“Bathroom,” Buck answers.

“Exhaustion will do that,” Eddie answers your second question.

Buck helps you up and your muscles protest the change in position. He wraps an arm around your waist as you sway slightly.

You take a deep breath and blow it out. “I'm good. Let's go.”

Eddie stands and grabs the bag of fluids you hadn't noticed hanging on a command hook on the wall.

All three of you head to the bathroom together and as you sit you look around. “I like this view of the bathroom much better than the other.”

“I prefer this, too,” Eddie says. “Especially the knowing you're not as dehydrated.”

“Yeah, you already look so much better than this morning,” Buck adds.

You slowly make your way back to the bed and as you're making yourself comfortable you catch a glimpse of the clock. “Holy crap! How is it almost 11?”

They both just chuckle. “That's what happens when you sleep for three hours,” Eddie explains.

“I think that's more sleep than I got total all night. Guess I needed a better pillow,” you laugh as you look at Buck.

“You could have had that all night if you'd called us. I'm going to go make you some soup,” Buck announces as he leaves the room.

“I'm not hungry.”

Eddie sits down beside you. “You have to try a few bites at least, okay?”

You pout at him. “I don't want to puke anymore.”

“You shouldn't. I gave you some zofran,” he tries to sooth you.

“Fine.” You roll your eyes “But you better have that bucket close by.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “It's on the floor right here, but you're not going to need it.”

“You're awfully optimistic given that I'm still nauseous.”

“You said you felt better,” he chastises. “Is it still as bad?”

Leaning back into him, you explain, “I said I feel shitty. Shitty is better than feeling like death. I'm less nauseous, but still nauseous.”

“I'm sorry you feel shitty,” he intertwines his fingers with yours and lifts it to kiss your knuckles. “The soup should help you feel less shitty. Hopefully you're just nauseous because you have nothing in your system. So just try a few bites, okay?”

Buck returns with a tray in his hands. “I have soup, the old fashioned chicken noodle just like you like. I also have saltine crackers, oyster crackers, sprite, and water.” He sets the tray in front of you and then leans in to kiss you.

You pull away quickly. “Don't kiss me. You'll catch this plague.”

“I'll risk it.”

You lift the spoon and drink a spoonful of the broth and then you pause, waiting for the nausea to get worse. When it doesn't, you continue slowly with more broth and then eventually the noodles and a couple crackers.

Eventually you manage to eat almost half the soup and a few sips of water before you set the spoon down. “I'm done. I can't handle any more right now.”

“That's fine. You ate way more than I expected,” Eddie says.

Buck takes the water and sprite off the tray and sets them on the bedside table before taking the rest away.

“Can I have my hand back yet?” You lift the hand with the IV line and give him your best pouty face.

He shakes his head. “No. I will unhook the fluids when that bag is gone but I want to keep the IV lock for now until we're sure you're going to keep all that down.”

You roll your eyes. “Fiiiiine.”

He laughs. “Do you want me to have to poke you again if you do puke more?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “No.”

“Thought so.” He boops your nose. “Glad to see you're feeling better.”

Buck returns and snuggles in beside you on the bed. “You want to pick a movie to nap through?”

You smiled and they both groaned. “Sleeping Beauty! Oh, wait, Enchanted… no, I actually want to be awake for that. Sleeping Beauty for sure.”

“Why do you make us watch princess movies when you know you're only going to watch ten minutes?” Buck complained.

“Because it's fun.” You shrugged. “Plus, then I get to dream I'm a princess.”

Buck raises an eyebrow. “Are you saying that if we switch to football as soon as you're asleep you're going to dream about that?”

“Probably.”

“Sleeping Beauty on one condition…” Eddie started.

“What?” you asked.

“Next time you get sick while we're at work, you call us immediately.”

“No,” you argued. “Because there won't be a next time. This is awful. I don't want a repeat.”

“Fine. If! If by some small chance it happens or if you just get the sniffles… you call.”

“Deal.”

Eddie gets the movie set up and you make yourself comfortable. This time you use Eddie as a body pillow and Buck drapes his arm over your waist.

The movie starts and you almost instantly feel yourself drifting. “Love you guys.” You mumble as you close your eyes.

They chorus an “I love you too,” as you fall into a dreamless slumber.