#i could have done something with her hair

[moonstruckme]

Who's That Girl AU

cw: modern au, sexual harassment mention

roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

It’s not unusual for Remus to hear Sirius’ voice before Sirius even enters the flat. Now, yours has only joined it. 

“I was only trying to be nice,” you say as the door opens. 

Sirius ushers you through first, each of you carrying paper bags in both hands. “We can’t have every bloke in London showing up at our flat because you want to be nice.” 

“It’s not that I want to, I just feel like it’s normal!” 

James throws Remus a look, pausing the film they’ve only just begun in favor of live entertainment. “Bickering already?” he asks. “I know it’s bound to happen between flatmates, but Sirius, mate, she’s only been here two days.” 

“It’s not my fault.” Sirius discards your bags by the end of the couch, flopping down. “This home can only harbor one whore at a time. It’s flat policy!” 

“When did we make that policy?” James asks Remus. 

Remus shrugs. 

“Well, that’s sexist,” you say. 

“How?” Sirius challenges. 

“I…I’m not sure.” You set down your bags next to where Sirius did. “But it is, somehow. I’ll figure it out.”

Finally, Remus’ curiosity wins out over his determination not to encourage Sirius. With great reluctance, he asks, “What happened?”  

Sirius waves to you. “This one tried bringing two different men home. Two!” 

James looks to you with wide eyes, Remus to Sirius with narrowed ones. 

“That’s not fair,” you say, arms crossing as you sit at the end of the couch. “All I wanted was to get shampoo.” 

“Then please.” Sirius gestures with a flourish. “Demonstrate for us all how it played out.” 

You roll your eyes. “Seriously?” 

At this, Sirius cracks a smile. Remus groans. 

“That’s me, babe,” Sirius says smugly. 

Your brow furrows for a second before you realize what you’ve done. Your eyes roll again. “Whatever, fine. So, we were leaving Boots—” 

“No. Start from the tube.” 

Your mouth twists as though you’ve tasted something bad. “That one’s embarrassing.” 

“Then maybe you’ll learn from it.” 

“Oi.” Remus gives Sirius a firm nudge. He says to you, “You don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to.” 

You really do look embarrassed, but you soften some at Remus’ tone. Take a breath. “No, it’s fine. So we were on the train—” 

“The tube,” Sirius cuts in. 

“Do you want to tell it?” you nearly snap. 

James snickers into his palm. Sirius holds up both hands in a gesture of surrender, nodding for you to continue. 

“We were on the tube, and I look up to see this guy staring at me. He smiled and said he liked my hair.” 

“And you smiled back at him,” Sirius supplies. “That’s important.” 

“Fine, sure.” You pull your legs in, folding your arms over them. “I smiled back at him, and I said thank you, right? Because he gave me a compliment.” 

James hisses through his teeth. “Nothing,” he says when you look at him. “Keep going.” 

You’re beginning to look wary. “Anyway, then the guy started talking to me, asking where I was from and how I liked London and stuff, and somehow it escalated into him telling me…basically saying what he’d like to do to me.” Your mouth gets that distasteful twist again. “It was pretty vulgar.” 

“Aw, babe.” James’ expression is pained. “I’m sorry.” 

“Wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t encourage him,” Sirius tsks. 

Remus thwacks him on the arm. “Let her talk.” 

“Yeah,” James chimes in, “and where were you during all this? A gentleman would have stepped in.” 

“I did step in!” Sirius defends himself. “I got us the hell off the tube before that wanker could start publicly assaulting her.” 

“I do appreciate that,” you say weakly. 

“Thank you. If it weren’t for me, she—oi!” James crawls over Remus to begin wrestling Sirius, both of them laughing while trying to appear angry. 

You press your lips together, clearly trying to suppress a smile. Remus wants to warn you not to encourage them, but by the glitter of mirth in your eyes it might be a wasted effort. 

“Alright,” James says once he has Sirius trapped with James’ hand covering his mouth, “go on, lovely. You said there were two incidents. You can tell the second one without interruptions.” 

“Thanks,” you say, grinning. “So the second thing was that as we were leaving Boots, after getting all my stuff, this guy held the door open for us. I said thank you and we left, but then when we were about to get back on the tube the same guy came up to us. He asked for my number and seemed confused when I said no, because I guess he thought we had a connection or something?” 

Sirius is struggling against James, who’s fighting to keep a straight face as he keeps the other boy pinned down. Remus feels earnestly bad for you. It’s clear you’re confused about where these interactions went wrong. 

“Did you smile at him, also?” Remus asks. 

You think for a moment. “I guess I probably did.” 

“Oh.” James sounds pitying. “Why would you—eugh!” He lets go of Sirius quickly. “Did you just lick my hand?” 

Sirius shoves him off, fixing his hair. “Don’t fucking muzzle me, you brute.” 

“Nasty prat.” James wipes his palm on his shirtfront.

“Love, why do you keep smiling at people?” Remus asks.

“Exactly!” Sirius throws up his hands. “That is the question of the day.” 

“I don’t know.” You frown, defensive. “Because I’m pleasant?” 

“Awe.” James slings an arm around your shoulders, using the other to pat your cheek. You look as though you’d rather not be touched with the hand recently infected by Sirius’ spit, but you’re too nice to say so. “You’re just an innocent little country mouse, aren’t you? You can’t smile at people here like that, babe.” 

Your frown softens confusedly. “Why not?” 

“Because when you do, people think you’re trying to be extra friendly with them. Like you’re singling them out or something.” 

“Seriously?” 

Remus pins Sirius with a glare just as he opens his mouth. 

“So, no smiling at anyone?” you go on.

“No chatting either,” Sirius tells you sternly. 

“There are exceptions,” says Remus, “but generally people tend to prefer going about their own business. Starting conversations with strangers on the tube or at Boots isn’t really…done.” 

You look perturbed by this news. James laughs, giving your cheek another fond pat. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll be alright,” he assures you. “You’ll figure it out in time. For now, just don’t give anyone the flat number, okay? Don’t need any unexpected visitors.” 

“That’s right.” Sirius nods firmly. “There’s already one whore in this flat. Those are the rules.” 

“Not a whore,” you remind him. 

“Where are these rules?” James wants to know. “I need to make sure there are no others I need to know about.”

[flipthepaige]

driver, roll up the partition, please!

includes. SMUT 18+, paige bueckers x fem! reader. public setting still somewhat private, oral, drunk and nasty, little bit of sub paige, praise and begging, grinding, makeup smudging, just all over each other…

about. after your girlfriend gets drafted number one overall, neither of you have the patience to wait until the afterparty. surely the driver won’t mind if paige celebrates a little early… right?

ju speaks. incase you didn’t know, i am @ohbueckers :) mama had to make a whole new blog, but she’s back! this is a bit of filth but i haven’t wrote any good smut in so long so i poured it all out here lol. p gets drafted in less than a month, let’s cope the right way, amen!

“Driver, roll up the partition, please!”

She says it all politely, like her lips aren’t as red as a cherry and swollen, like your hands haven’t untucked and found their way up under her dress shirt, nails scraping over the ridges of her abs, like she hasn’t been grinding against you for the last two blocks, all while tasting like champagne and every bad decision you were always going to make tonight. Your leg is hiked up over her lap, and she’s been kissing you like she doesn’t give a damn that the limo is still moving, that you’re supposed to be on your way to the afterparty, that there’s a whole world outside this car waiting to celebrate her—number one overall, finally Dallas’ rookie.

The second she stood up, walked across that stage, and held up that jersey, she was already thinking about getting back to you. And when she did, when she came striding over, still grinning like a kid on Christmas, the most anticipated person in the room but still just your girl, she grabbed you like she needed proof this was real.

Her arms slid around your waist, pulling you in like she was scared someone might try to take you from her. You smiled up at her, and expressed how proud you were, of course. Her lips brushed your forehead, and she made sure you heard the six words that followed, whispering into your hair, “couldn’t have done it without you.”

This time, your mouth is on her neck before she even finishes her sentence, nipping and sucking at her skin, breathing in her Valentino like you can pick apart every ingredient in it. Too eager for manners, and way too far gone to care, you don’t even hear the driver’s muttered response, not even the hum of the partition sliding up and clicking into place. No more audience. No more distractions. Just you and her. Atleast for a couple more miles.

And Paige? Back like she never left, like she needed that barrier up before she could really lose herself in you. “Ain’t even gon’ take ya time with it?” she teases, smiling as her hands slide down, find the swell of your ass, squeeze like she’s been dying to do it all night. “Fuck, y’so impatient,” she mutters, tilting her head back just enough to let you work, and when you bite down just right, she shivers, the pads of her fingers tightening against your shoulder for some sense of stability.

“Mhm?” You grin against her throat, licking over the marks you just left. “You wanna do something about it?”

Paige groans, large hands already pushing the fabric of your dress up over your hips. The amount of need in her movements is overwhelming, because she’s been too good the entire night. She’s been sitting pretty at that table, shaking hands, doing interviews, feeling your eyes on her and knowing she couldn’t do shit about it. Not yet.

And now she’s got you all to herself.

Paige never does anything halfway, and that includes kissing you like she’s trying to ruin you. Your tongues move all sloppy, the sounds even nastier than the kiss, and you swear you hear the music get louder, vibrating against every corner of the vehicle, the driver clearly trying to drown out the obscene sounds of Paige Bueckers losing it in the backseat. But fuck, you’re not quiet either.

You let two of her fingers push your panties to the side, gasping as they run through your slick. You grip onto her tighter as Paige hoists you fully into her lap, straddling her leg as she whispers filth into your ear.

Big hands, rough from years of handles, crossovers, midrange shots that got her here, but gentle where they need to be—slipping between your thighs, spreading you open like she already knows what she’s gonna find.

Her fingers are slipping through the mess you’ve already made for her, slow at first, just to get you going, because she knows how much you want it, because she likes making you wait. But then you whimper, and it hypnotizes her to do exactly what you wanted her to do.

Paige is fast, but she’s precise despite being intoxicated, two fingers sinking inside you like your pussy was made for her. Your breath catches, body jerking forward, head tipping back against the seat, but she keeps you secure, pressing down on your stomach. “That’s it,” she urges, free hand gripping your thigh, keeping you open for her. “Lemme hear it, baby.”

“Mfmph, there.” Your fingers wrap around her wrist while hers curl just right, pressing against that spot that has your thighs shaking, your back arching from her chest. The blonde watches you intently, her pupils blown, lips slick and kiss swollen, owning every reaction like it’s another trophy for her collection. “Right there, P” you drag out.

The music gets louder, and you can’t even make out the lyrics, just the beat of something that never falls low. You’re sure you’d have some remorse for the driver if you weren’t about three drinks in and a little fucked out, but you can’t find it, because Paige wants all of it. Every sound, every plea, every desperate, breathless, “Paige, please.”

And, oh, do you give it to her.

Paige groans at the way you say her name, like she can feel it straight between her legs, like it’s fueling her. Her fingers keep working you open, hitting every spot like she knows your body better than her own, because truthfully, she does. She’s mapped you out a hundred times before, but never like this, never this drunk, never with the high of being number one mixing with the high of you.

“That’s my girl,” she praises, watching the way her fingers disappear in and out with half-lidded eyes, bottom lip caught between her teeth. “Look so pretty takin’ it, baby. Knew you would.”

You tremble, a moan breaking past your lips, and Paige just grins, like she’s putting on another show, something like the one she just left from. But this one? This one is just for her.

“Almost there?”

You nod frantically, nails digging at her wrist, trying to keep yourself together—but fuck is it hard when she’s all over you like this. She speeds up just a little, the wet sounds of her digits working you over and making your cheeks burn, but Paige loves it. She leans in, licks up the side of your neck, tasting the wreckage.

“Paige,” you pant, eyes fluttering.

“Say it again,” she rasps, her forehead pressed to the side of yours now, her fingers still moving, hips subtly grinding against nothing, like she’s as desperate as you are.

“Paige,” you whimper, and you wish you could say it was voluntary. “I—”

You don’t even get the chance to finish, because Paige presses down on your stomach again, just right, and your whole body reacts—clenching around her fingers, thighs twitching like she just stole every bit of your sanity. You really think she might’ve. Maybe she’s been taking from you this entire night—the air in your lungs, the thoughts from your head, the control you thought you had.

“Yeah, I know,” she talks you through it, lips brushing against your temple, her fingers still working, still curling inside you, playing you like a highlight reel. “Go ‘head, ma. Give it to me.”

Your release crashes into you, body locking up before breaking apart, your moan swallowed by Paige’s mouth as she kisses all of it out of you, eating up every last sound like she needs it, like she wants it dripping down her chin. Her fingers never stop moving, making sure you know she did this to you.

She pulls away with a bite of your lip, savoring the remnants of her own name on your tongue, and for a second, you think she’ll let you breathe, let you come down from the high she just sent you to.

But then she shifts against you the same way she’d been doing all night, grinds her hips up into nothing, and you feel it.

Paige Bueckers, all six feet of her, usually so composed, the one who calls the shots in bed and most of the time out of it—is crumbling for you now, fists gripping at the leather seat like she’s barely holding on.

Your fingers slide down slowly at the realization, popping open her belt, then her slacks, pushing them down just enough to expose the waistband of her boxers.

All you need is five minutes.

So you move. Drop to your knees right between hers, push her legs wider as you settle between them, dragging your palms up her thighs when she breathes out your name in her gravelly Minnesota accent. You let your nails creep up under her shirt, scratching lightly against her lower stomach. Too much teasing for the blonde, not enough mouth.

Paige growls, actually growls, and before you can blink, she grabs your wrist, pressing your hand right over her, rolling her hips into your palm. “Ain’t in the mood for allat,” she mumbles, jaw clenched, pupils dilated. “You know what the fuck I want, baby. Stop stallin’.”

You listen.

Partly because she’s just had the biggest night of her life, the kind of night people dream about. Winning a National Championship just a few weeks prior to getting your name called first for the draft, becoming the face of a franchise, name solidified in history. She worked her ass off for it too, and tonight? Tonight, she made it.

So you listen. You don’t stall, and you swear you hear the music get louder again—like the driver knows exactly what’s about to happen.

The minute you start mouthing at her, you can feel her muscles jump under your lips. Paige inhales, one hand sliding to the back of your neck, rubbing at your skin. The limo rocks slightly, the bass from the speakers rattling through your ribcage, but none of that matters. The only thing you care about is the way Paige is falling apart in your mouth.

She tries to hold out, tries to keep it together, but the way her thighs twitch when your tongue moves just right? The way she shudders when you suck?

“Fuck,” she groans finally, head tipping back, body lunging upward on instinct.

And she loses it.

Because Paige has never been one to sit back and just take it.

Her hips start moving, rolling into your mouth, and you let her, let her use you, let her chase what she needs because you need it too—the way she sounds, the way she tastes, the way her legs start to tremble, thighs pressing against your cheeks and smudging your makeup because she can’t help it.

She’s ruined and a little helpless, mumbling half formed curses and praises that don’t even make sense. You swear you could come again just by listening. “Been needin’ you all night. Keep doin’ that.”

She rides it out while your tongue works in circles, fingers digging into her thighs to keep her there even though she can’t be still, her body shaking along with her hands that can’t decide whether to pull you closer or push you away.

You flatten your tongue, holding her down a little rougher when she bucks up against your mouth. She’s so close, right there, her body trying to outrun her own orgasm, but you don’t stop.

“Please—please, baby—feels s’good,” she whines, her fingers tugging at your hair just the way she knows you love, hips stuttering, moans guttural. “Just like that—don’t stop, don’t—”

She chokes on her next breath, her body breaking just like yours did, just like she’s so deserving of.

And when she finally slumps back against the seat, spent, her chest still heaving, her thumb lazily stroking over your cheek, she grins down at you, tired, satisfied, definitely not ready for the whatever afterparty diorama is waiting for her like a coronation.

“Yeah,” she breathes, licking her lips as she pulls you back up into her lap, kissing you like she could go another round, tongue sweeping into your mouth to taste herself.

“Number one pick, baby,” she slurs. “How that sound?”

Like trouble. Like a whole dynasty in the making. Like she’s already on top of the world, and somehow, that ain’t high enough.

You giggle, pressing her cheeks between your fingers as you peck at her lips. “Fucking great. How’s it feel?”

“Feel like I could do this all night,” she mumbles, hips rocking up into you, her need reigniting just like that. She masks it as a slight shift, but you know better. “What about you? Think you got another one in you?”

Like she even needs to ask.

[navybrat817]

Behind Closed Doors

Pairing: Local Figure!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky didn't have a great day, so you help him unwind.

Word Count: Over 1.2k

Warnings: Established relationship, implied sex, light fluff, swearing, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Inspired by an ask from @yenzys-lucky-charm, so I'm also submitting this for her Cranky, Grumpy, Stabby! Oh, My! Challenge (🗡️ A: Smoothing out the crease in Cranky’s frown while straddling their lap B: Cranky character melts, pulling them in for a kiss). ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky tossed his jacket away and loosened his tie the moment the front door shut. In public, he had to maintain an image of confidence and controlled passion, carefully toeing the line between showing too much or too little emotion on the issues at hand. When things didn’t go his way, he couldn’t lash out or show defeat. Behind closed doors, he could allow himself to be a bit cranky. He didn’t have to put on a show.

With you, he didn’t have to put on a show either.

“Go sit, and I’ll make you a drink.” It wasn’t a suggestion. He didn’t drink often, but it was a rough day and you sensed that he needed one. If the drink wasn’t enough to help him unwind, you were sure you could think of something else.

Bucky kicked his shoes off before he took a seat and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The Town Hall meeting should've gone off without a hitch, but Nick just had to show up and run his mouth.” His hands curled into fists when he grumbled, “Fucker.”

Bucky was never a fan of Nick Fowler. The man had a way with words and had experience, he’d give him that, but the guy wasn’t trustworthy. Too many secrets, too many people in his pocket. Some would say Bucky wasn’t trustworthy either since he was also a local figure, but he cared about his town and only wanted the best for everyone who lived there. He couldn’t say the same for Nick since he was only out for power and would step on anyone to gain it.

“It was rocky at times,” you said carefully, pouring him a glass of whiskey. Being overly optimistic would’ve been an insult, and he valued honesty since it was sometimes difficult to know who was telling the truth in his line of work. “But it ended on a high note.”

“He still proposed to cut funding for the library, and people agreed with him. It’s struggling as it is, and it needs the money,” he muttered, his steel eyes softening when you brought his drink over. “I swear he only proposed to cut funding to piss me off.”

Education was important to Bucky. The library, in particular, held a special place in his heart. It strived to create a welcoming and inclusive environment for the community, offering free resources to all. More than that, it was a space where history was preserved, and where people could feel valued and respected. It brought people together.

“And it’s working,” you pointed out, running your fingers through his soft caramel hair once you sat down and earning a sigh in response. “I know it’s easier said than done, but try not to let him get under your skin.”

Nick getting under Bucky’s skin meant he was losing, and Bucky wasn’t a man who lost.

“I’m trying,” he promised, taking another large sip and drawing your attention when he licked a drop from his lips.

You had to blink so you wouldn’t let his sexiness distract you from making him feel better. “Don’t forget, you have a fundraiser right around the corner,” you reminded him. There were people who would love to make a contribution to one of his passion projects, including the library.

His shoulders relaxed the more you played with his hair. “That’s true.”

“And listen, if I could get away with it, I’d wear my ‘I READ BANNED BOOKS’ shirt when I attend just to make you happy,” you teased.

That got a chuckle out of him. “That shirt got my attention.”

Going to that Town Hall meeting was one of the best decisions you ever made. “If you think that got your attention, wait until you see the dress I’m wearing.”

Closing his eyes with a groan, you had no doubt he was imagining it. He had an amazing suit picked out and you got something to not only match but something to drive him wild. “As long as John doesn’t show up and hit on you,” he tried to joke, but there was an edge to his voice.

As if the meeting wasn’t enough to put your man in a bad mood, bumping into John Walker after was the icing on the cake. If there was someone Bucky couldn’t stand more than Nick, it was John. The arrogant public worker rubbed him the wrong way, demanding respect and trust when he hadn’t earned it.

“We both know he wouldn’t stand a chance,” you said. Gorgeous looks aside, Bucky had you hooked from the beginning because of who he was. No one else could compare.

“If he tries anything…” Bucky could cut men down with a mere look, but people like Nick and John liked to push.

Taking the glass from his hand and setting it aside, you slowly straddled him. “You’re still cranky.”

“I’m not trying to be,” he whispered, resting his hands on your hips. Of course, he wasn’t. He wasn’t the kind of man who liked to dwell in any unpleasant headspace or emotions.

“I know. You had a rough day, and you have every right to be cranky. But I also know that the smile I love is in there somewhere,” you smiled. Bringing your hands to his face, you smoothed out the creases in his frown. His body went lax beneath yours when you did it again. “I just need to find it… Ah! There it is.”

Something you loved about Bucky was that he smiled in different ways before his mouth moved. He did it with his eyes, something so warm and loving that only you could see. Some days you heard it in his voice, in the tone he used and the words he chose. Even the way his body relaxed with you was a smile, happiness blooming from his core.

And Bucky was smiling when he pulled you in for a kiss.

Your heart tried to beat right out of your chest when he hooked an arm around your waist and pulled you closer. Tasting the whiskey when his tongue slipped past your lips, you moaned. The kiss was full of hunger, eager to take what you were willing to give. There was a hint of desperation, like he was trying to use your mouth to chase his bad mood away. Above all, it was vulnerable, a side of himself he trusted you enough to show.

“You’re too good to me, sweetheart,” he whispered, rolling his hips up and making you moan again. “But I’m still a little cranky.”

“Is that right?” you smiled, rocking your hips teasingly just because you could. Making the powerful man hard made you feel powerful. “Are you proposing that I do something about that?”

The fingers on your waist flexed. “I’ll make it worth your while if you do.”

“Promises, promises,” you teased.

“I keep my promises,” he pointed out. In a world of liars and cheats, Bucky was a man of his word.

“That’s true.” You pretended to think about it when he thrust his hips up with a small growl, heating up your core more. “Okay, fine. Rest back so I can make the crankiness go away.”

And knowing Bucky, he’d make sure you felt nothing but bliss, too, before the night was over.

I know, lovlies, I don't need more AUs, but I would give him everything and more. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[slutoru1207]

Invincible!Mark x reader imagine

dating a civilian

The meeting had been dragging on for too long, and Mark was already exhausted. Missions, responsibilities, the weight of being Invincible—it was all piling up. But when Eve made her comment, all of that faded into the background.

"Mark, I just don’t get it," Eve said, crossing her arms. "You’re risking too much by being with a civilian. You know that, right? She can’t keep up with you. She can’t fight. She’s vulnerable."

Mark’s jaw clenched. He slowly turned to face her, his usual easygoing expression hardening into something unreadable.

"You think I don’t know that?" His voice was quieter than usual, but firm. The room went still.

Eve hesitated. "I just mean… You live in different worlds. What happens if she gets hurt because of you? Or worse? You should be with someone who understands what it means to be a hero."

Mark let out a sharp breath, his fists clenching at his sides. "You don’t get to decide that for me, Eve. I love her. And yeah, she doesn’t have powers, but that doesn’t mean she’s weak. She’s stronger than you think."

"Mark—"

"No," he cut her off. "She takes care of me. After every fight, every mission, every time I come home half-dead, she’s the one who patches me up. She’s the one who holds me when I feel like I’m falling apart. She makes me want to be better, not just as Invincible, but as a person. And you think she’s not enough just because she doesn’t have powers? That’s bullshit."

Eve frowned, clearly taken aback by the force behind his words. "I just… I worry about you."

"Then trust me to make my own choices," Mark said, his voice softer but no less determined. "I know what I’m doing. And I’m not going to let anyone make me doubt that."

The room was silent. No one else dared to speak. Mark exhaled slowly, shaking his head before turning away, ready to leave. "I’m done here."

When he got home that night, he didn’t say anything at first—he just wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, breathing you in. You could feel the tension in his body, the weight of the conversation still lingering on his shoulders.

"Mark? What’s wrong?"

He buried his face in your neck, his voice a little rough. "Nothing. Just… I love you."

You smiled softly, running your fingers through his hair. "I love you too. Always."

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze full of determination and something fiercer—something protective. "No one gets to tell me that I shouldn’t be with you. No one."

And you knew, without a doubt, that he meant every word.

[chrissssssmut]

Can you do the seven half-sisters thing again? With him going into the army before college, changing his appearance (becoming more handsome and looking more like a grown man), height and posture, even his voice , which was no longer that voice of a teenager

Bad Brother, Worst Sisters

Yandere w/ Smut

Yandere Ryujin, Lisa, Jo Yuri, Kazuha, Choerry, Rei and Miyeon x Male Reader

AN: Last story for this week! I haven't slept if anyone's wondering hahaha, I was too busy trying to finish this. This story was done by me but i was helped by a dear friend of mine.

Enjoy this one! I will be sleeping now hahaha XD

(God this lineup is so goated tbh)

The announcement of your enlistment was met with indifference. Your step-sisters barely reacted.

Ryujin was slouched on the couch, scrolling through her phone. She barely spared you a glance. “Cool. Have fun in boot camp or whatever.”

Lisa chuckled, twirling a strand of her hair. “Gonna get all buff, huh? Maybe you’ll actually become useful.”

Jo Yuri shrugged. “It’s not like you had a choice. Every guy has to go.”

Kazuha tilted her head, expression blank. “When do you leave?”

You sighed. “Tomorrow morning.”

Choerry smiled, but there was no warmth. “Well, don’t die or anything.”

Rei simply nodded. Miyeon muttered a quick “Good luck.”

That was it. No tears, no sentimental goodbyes—just a few passive comments before they returned to whatever they were doing.

It wasn’t surprising. You had always been more of an outsider in the family. Your step-sisters never went out of their way to be cruel, but they weren’t exactly warm either. They lived in their own little world, and you were just... there.

You left without looking back.

Months of grueling training changed you. When you stepped through the front door, the air in the house felt different.

Silence.

Then—

Ryujin appeared first. She stopped in her tracks, eyes scanning you up and down. Her usual lazy smirk was gone. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out.

Lisa leaned against the kitchen counter, her fingers gripping a glass of water so tightly it might crack. “Holy shit.”

Jo Yuri tilted her head, brows furrowing. “No way… that’s you?”

Kazuha stepped forward cautiously. “Your voice…” she murmured, as if hearing it felt unreal.

Rei swallowed, her gaze locked onto your face. “You look so… different.”

Miyeon placed a hand on her chest, a slow smile spreading on her lips. “You’ve grown into such a fine man, haven’t you?”

Choerry bit her lip, her gaze dark and unreadable. “And we just let you leave looking like that?”

You laughed awkwardly, setting your duffel bag down. “Well, yeah. It’s still me.”

But their stares didn’t waver. They were studying you—absorbing every inch of the new you.

That first night back, you could feel their eyes on you. Whenever you moved around the house, they were there. Watching. Observing. If you passed by the living room, one of them would be lounging nearby, pretending to be on their phone. If you went into the kitchen, you’d suddenly feel a presence behind you, too close for comfort.

The air was thick with something unspoken. Their casual indifference was gone, replaced with something else entirely.

At first, their behavior seemed harmless.

Lisa, who used to tease you relentlessly, started making excuses to be close. “You work out now, huh?” she mused, hands gliding over your arms. “I wonder how strong you’ve gotten.”

Ryujin, usually distant, started dropping into your room unannounced. She’d sit on your bed, stretching, acting like she belonged there. “I’m just bored,” she’d say. But the way her eyes lingered on you said otherwise.

Jo Yuri was the worst. She had always been a little playful, but now? Her touches lingered too long. Her words were too sweet. “You missed us, didn’t you? I can tell.”

Kazuha started bringing you snacks, feeding you piece by piece with her fingers. “Eat up. You need to keep your strength.” She always insisted on watching you eat, her fingers grazing your lips whenever she fed you.

Rei always found ways to touch you. A hand on your wrist. A brush against your neck. “You’re warmer now.”

Miyeon and Choerry started arguing over who got to sit next to you at dinner. It was eerie, how quickly things shifted. Miyeon would pull your chair closer to hers, wrapping her arm around your shoulders, whispering things too soft for the others to hear. Choerry, on the other hand, had a more aggressive approach—cutting your food for you, feeding you like a child, her smile twitching whenever someone interrupted.

The nights were the worst. You started locking your door. It didn’t help. Some nights, you swore you heard the doorknob turning. Other nights, you could hear soft whispers right outside your room. Once, you woke up to find your window slightly open, even though you were certain you had locked it.

The suffocation became unbearable. You told your parents, but they dismissed it. “They’re just happy you’re home.”

So you made the decision. You moved out.

The day you left, their reactions were… unsettling.

Lisa stood by the door, arms crossed, but her nails dug into her skin. “You’re seriously leaving?”

Ryujin scoffed. “Tch. Whatever.” But her eyes burned with something dangerous.

Jo Yuri stepped close, whispering, “You’ll come back. You always will.”

Kazuha simply stared, her grip tightening on the edge of your shirt before she let go.

Rei smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Enjoy your freedom while it lasts.”

Miyeon kissed your cheek. “We’ll be waiting.”

Choerry didn’t say a word. She just watched you walk away.

Life in your apartment was peaceful. You could finally breathe. But something felt wrong. No messages, no calls. No sign of them at all.

Until one night.

You unlocked your door after a long day at college. The lights were on.

And Lisa was sitting on your couch, waiting.

She smiled. “Hey, baby bro. Long time no see.”

Your stomach twisted. “Lisa? How did you get in?”

She stretched, making herself comfortable. “What kind of sister would I be if I didn’t have a spare key?”

What the hell?

You exhaled. “Alright, you visited. Now leave.”

Lisa pouted. “That’s not how you treat family, is it?”

Still, you sighed and decided to make dinner. Maybe if you played along, she’d leave faster.

You were halfway through preparing food when—

A hand covered your mouth.

Darkness.

When you woke up, your wrists were tied to your steel desk. The dim glow of your bedside lamp cast eerie shadows on the walls.

Lisa sat across from you, smiling. “You really shouldn’t have left, baby brother.”

Anger flared through you. “Lisa, what the hell is this?! Let me go!”

The door creaked open.

Six figures stepped inside, their eyes gleaming.

Miyeon smiled sweetly. “You really thought you could leave your family behind?”

Ryujin scoffed. “Dumbass.”

Choerry giggled, tracing a finger along your wrist. “You’re ours. No matter what.”

The air felt thick, suffocating, as the seven of them closed in around you. Your breath hitched when fingers—soft, lingering, possessive—brushed against your skin. One by one, they reached for you, tracing slow patterns over your arms, your chest, your throat. Every touch was deliberate. Every gaze was heavy with something dark, something dangerous.

"You shouldn't have left," Miyeon whispered, her lips ghosting near your ear.

"Bad boys need to be punished," Ryujin added, nails lightly scraping down your forearm.

Lisa’s fingers trailed along your jaw, tilting your head up to meet her smirk. "You really thought we'd just let you go?"

Jo Yuri exhaled a soft laugh, her hands pressing against your shoulders, keeping you in place. "You belong to us, baby brother."

Kazuha was quiet, but her grip on your wrist tightened, her touch possessive, unyielding. Rei leaned in next, her breath warm against your cheek. "Even if we’re siblings… it doesn’t change a thing."

Choerry giggled, her fingers brushing down your chest, teasing. "And tonight, we’ll finally make sure you understand that.”

As they slowly had their way with you—fingertips teasing the hem of your shirt, lips brushing against your skin, teeth grazing your earlobe—you felt your body tense, heat crawling up your spine. Every touch was deliberate, every action meant to remind you that resistance was futile.

Lisa chuckled against your neck, pressing a kiss just below your jaw. “Look at you… pretending you don’t like this.”

Ryujin’s fingers lazily traced down your chest, her smirk dark. “Your body’s shaking. Is it fear… or excitement?”

Jo Yuri giggled, hands gliding over your shoulders, her grip tightening when you flinched. “You can’t run, baby brother. Not from us.”

Then, Kazuha moved in. Unlike the others, she didn’t tease or hesitate. Her hands slid up to your face, her touch firm, claiming. Before you could protest, she pulled you in—her lips crashing against yours in a deep, breath-stealing kiss.

You tried to recoil, tried to move away, but it was impossible. Your wrists were still bound to the table, leaving you trapped as she kissed you like she had all the time in the world. Her tongue parted your lips effortlessly, tasting you, owning you.

Rei sighed, watching with dark amusement. “So unfair, Kazuha… You got to him first.”

Choerry leaned in closer, her voice sickly sweet. “Don’t worry… We have all night.”

Kazuha’s hands were everywhere—trailing down your arms, gripping your waist, pressing into your skin like she wanted to memorize every inch of you. Yet, her lips never once left yours, moving with a slow, deliberate hunger that made your head spin.

Without breaking the kiss, her fingers deftly unbuttoned your shirt, parting the fabric with agonizing slowness. A shiver ran through you as cool air met your skin, but the warmth of her touch quickly followed, tracing along your torso. Then, her fingers drifted lower, playing with the belt of your jeans, teasing, testing.

The others didn’t move. They simply watched.

Ryujin leaned back with a smirk, arms crossed as her eyes drank in your struggle. “Getting shy now? That’s cute.”

Lisa tilted her head, amusement flickering in her gaze. “Don’t fight it. You knew this was coming.”

Miyeon exhaled softly, eyes dark with something unreadable. “He looks so perfect like this… vulnerable.”

Jo Yuri giggled, resting her chin on her palm. “I wonder how long he’ll last before he stops pretending to resist.”

You squirmed, wrists still bound, but Kazuha held you firm—lips pressing harder, fingers tightening. You were completely at their mercy.

And they knew it.

You tore your lips away from Kazuha’s, chest heaving as anger boiled inside you. “You sick freaks—let me go! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Your voice echoed through the room, raw with fury, but the only response was soft, amused laughter.

Lisa leaned back, smirking. “Aww, he’s mad. Isn’t that adorable?”

Jo Yuri tilted her head, lips curling into a grin. “So feisty. I love it when he tries to act tough.”

Ryujin rolled her eyes, arms crossed. “He still doesn’t get it, does he?”

Your wrists strained against the bindings, but it was useless. No matter how much you fought, you were trapped. And they knew it.

Kazuha wiped her lips with the back of her hand, her eyes gleaming. “That wasn’t very nice of you,” she murmured, disappointed.

Before you could snap back, a sharp pain exploded through your arm.

You gasped. One of them—Miyeon, you realized too late—had tightened her grip around your wrist, her nails digging in, deeper and deeper, until the skin broke. Blood welled up beneath her fingers, and you let out a sharp, involuntary yelp.

Miyeon’s expression didn’t change. She simply leaned in, her voice deceptively soft. “If you do that again, little brother…” Her nails pressed in even harder, making you wince. “…we’re going to make it so much worse for you.”

Lisa smirked as she pulled out a small knife, the dim light reflecting off the sharp edge. Without hesitation, she pressed the cool blade against your skin, dragging it slowly, tracing little patterns with deliberate care.

At first, it was just a faint sting. Then the pain deepened, sharp and burning. You gritted your teeth, a muffled groan escaping before a hand suddenly clamped over your mouth.

“Shhh, be good,” Rei whispered against your ear, her breath warm. “No screaming. We can’t have that, can we?”

Your body tensed as Kazuha returned, her lips crashing onto yours with a hunger that left no room for escape. She kissed you deeper this time, her fingers trailing down your bare chest, nails grazing over fresh wounds.

Meanwhile, the others moved with unsettling coordination. Hands tugged at your belt, unfastening it with ease. The rustling of fabric sent a chill down your spine.

Then, with one swift motion, your pants and boxers were yanked down, leaving you completely exposed.

Lisa chuckled, pressing the tip of the blade teasingly against your thigh. “Now, let’s see how much more fun we can have.”

Lisa and Jo Yuri, leaned in, their breaths warm against your exposed skin. Without hesitation, their tongues met at your length, gliding over it in slow, deliberate motions as they shared every inch between them. Lisa’s touch was playful, teasing, while Jo Yuri moved slower, savoring every reaction you gave.

Meanwhile, Kazuha kept her lips firmly pressed against yours, refusing to let you pull away. Her fingers tangled in your hair, holding you in place as she deepened the kiss, her tongue claiming yours with dominance. Her eyes burned with something dangerous, something possessive.

"Don’t even think about running, baby brother," she whispered against your lips, her voice laced with amusement. "You were made for us—so just accept it."

Kazuha slowly pulled away, a satisfied smirk on her lips as she licked the taste of you off her mouth. "I shouldn’t be the only one having fun, right?" she murmured, her fingers trailing down your chest before stepping back, giving the others their turn.

Rei wasted no time. She grabbed your face and crashed her lips against yours, far rougher and more demanding than Kazuha had been. Her nails raked down your skin, leaving faint red marks in their wake, as if she wanted to carve her presence into you. Her tongue forced its way past your lips, claiming you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

Meanwhile, from the corner of your eye, you saw Kazuha slipping off her undergarments. She settled onto the chair across from you, spreading her legs ever so slightly, her fingers disappearing between them. Her breathing grew heavier, her lips parting in pleasure, yet her gaze never left yours.

"Don’t look away," she purred, biting down on her lower lip as her movements became more deliberate. "I want to see what you and Rei are doing."

As Rei kept her lips locked onto yours, her tongue exploring with a hunger that matched Kazuha’s burning gaze, Lisa and Jo Yuri continued sharing your length, their mouths working in tandem. Desperation clawed at you as you tried once more to break free, but before you could even shift, Ryujin, Miyeon, and Choerry’s hands were on you—firm, unrelenting.

"Ah, ah… where do you think you're going?" Miyeon cooed, pressing down harder, her nails digging into your wrists.

Ryujin smirked, tightening her grip. "You’re staying right here, baby brother."

Choerry giggled, her eyes glinting with excitement. "Guess it’s our turn now."

With that, Lisa and Jo Yuri pulled away, leaving a wet trail along your skin as Choerry and Ryujin took their place. Their mouths were impossibly warmer, tongues needier, eager to devour you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, suffocating—and yet, their eyes told you the worst was still yet to come.

Ryujin let the tip rest against her tongue for a moment, eyes flickering up to meet yours before she gave a slow, deliberate slap against it, her smirk sending a shiver straight down your spine. "Sensitive, aren't you?" she teased, her voice laced with amusement.

Meanwhile, Choerry was far less patient, her lips sealing around you with a desperate kind of hunger, as if she couldn’t get enough—as if this was her last chance to have you. Every movement, every flick of her tongue, sent heat pooling in your stomach, your body betraying you no matter how much you tried to fight it.

Within seconds, Miyeon’s fingers wrapped around your length, her touch slow and deliberate, using the slickness left behind by Ryujin and Choerry’s mouths. A shiver ran through you as she stroked you with an almost practiced ease, her grip just tight enough to keep you on edge.

She leaned in, her breath warm against your ear as she whispered, "You’ve always been ours. Since the very beginning. Fighting it won’t save you... it’ll only make things harder—for you." Her voice dripped with amusement, her pace never faltering, as if daring you to resist.

Your body tensed, every nerve on edge as Miyeon’s hand continued its merciless rhythm. You bit your lip, trying to suppress the inevitable, but the overwhelming sight before you made it impossible. Kazuha’s fingers worked between her thighs, her breathy moans mixing with the wet sounds of Miyeon’s strokes. Your other step-sisters were tangled in each other, their lips meeting in desperate, hungry kisses. The ones holding you down only tightened their grips, making sure you had nowhere to run, nowhere to escape.

"M-Mi… Miyeon, please—" your voice cracked, a mix of shame and desperation spilling from your lips.

Miyeon chuckled, her fingers never slowing, twisting just enough to make your hips jerk involuntarily. "Please, what?" she teased, her warm breath tickling your ear. Miyeon chuckled, her fingers never slowing, twisting just enough to make your hips jerk involuntarily. "Gonna cum?" she taunted, her warm breath tickling your ear. "Go on, don’t hold back. It’s not like you can stop it anyway."

As the pressure built deep inside you, your breath hitched, your body betraying you. Just as you were about to tip over the edge, Ryujin yanked Miyeon away. Before you could even react, Lisa seized your face, forcing your gaze to meet hers. "Go on, baby brother," Lisa purred, her grip tightening as her lips brushed against your ear. "Make a mess, and we’ll make you regret it. Be good for us—hold it in."

You bit down on your lip, forcing yourself to hold it in—not out of defiance, but because you were too weak to endure whatever punishment they had in store. The sting of your wounds still burned, fresh blood trickling down your skin. But despite your restraint, a small drop of release spilled from your length. Rei noticed instantly, her eyes gleaming with something dark. With a slow, deliberate motion, she swiped it up with her finger—then brought it to her lips, tasting you with a satisfied hum. Rei’s lips curled into a smirk as she sucked the remnants off her finger, her gaze never leaving yours.

“Hm… even when you're trying to behave, your body still betrays you,” she purred, tilting her head. “Didn’t Lisa tell you to hold it in, baby brother?”

Her eyes darkened with something wicked, something dangerous. “Looks like you need to be taught a little more discipline.”

"I won’t be a bad brother anymore… I swear," you pleaded, desperation lacing your voice. "I’ll go back to the house… just please, let me go."

Choerry cupped your face with both hands, her grip firm, her touch almost affectionate as she tilted your head forward. "Shh, don’t fight it," she whispered, guiding you closer to Kazuha’s glistening heat.

Kazuha’s breath hitched, her fingers digging into the table as she trembled on the edge of release. "Be good for us," she murmured, her eyes glazed with pleasure. "Take all of me… just like a good little brother should."

As Kazuha neared her release, she tangled her fingers in your hair, yanking you closer until your face was pressed against her soaked heat. A shuddering gasp escaped her lips before turning into a breathy, desperate moan.

“Fuckk—! T-Take it all… don’t you fucking dare pull away,” she whimpered, her thighs trembling as she rode out her high.

Her essence spilled over you, warm and relentless, coating your skin as the other sisters watched with dark delight. Laughter and whispers filled the air, their hungry gazes drinking in the sight of you—helpless, drenched, and completely theirs.

Kazuha’s grip was ruthless as she seized your face again, shoving you back onto the cold floor. Your wrists throbbed, skin raw from the restraints digging in, but none of them cared. Rei crouched beside you, her fingers trailing over the angry red marks with a mocking pout.

‘This is what happens to bad brothers,’ she murmured, voice dripping with sickly sweetness. ‘You should’ve known better.’

You tried to scream for help, but before the sound could escape, Jo Yuri was already pressing a strip of tape over your lips. She smiled, tilting her head as she traced a finger along your cheek.

‘Good boys stay quiet,’ she whispered, her voice dripping with amusement.

Jo Yuri, though reveling in the punishment they were putting you through, was growing impatient—eager to claim her reward. Wasting no time, she rushed toward you, lowering herself onto your length with a slow, deliberate motion. At first, she moved cautiously, savoring the sensation, but it didn’t take long before her pace quickened, her hunger becoming undeniable.

"Fuck, you feel so good,” Jo Yuri moaned, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

Your mind and body were already betraying you, blurring the lines between resistance and surrender. No matter how much you wanted to fight it, the pleasure was overpowering—forcing you to forget, even for a moment, that these seven had turned your own apartment into a prison. And now, lost in the heat of the moment, you couldn’t ignore the way one of your sisters wrapped around you so perfectly.

Ryujin and Miyeon knelt beside you, their gazes dark with possession as they claimed ownership over you. Ryujin’s fingers traced along your jaw before gripping it tightly, forcing you to meet her eyes.

‘You’re ours now,’ she murmured, her voice laced with dangerous sweetness. ‘If you even think about disobeying, we’ll make your life a living hell.’

Miyeon leaned in, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, ‘And you won’t tell a single soul about what happened here. Not unless you want things to get even worse.’

All the while, Jo Yuri shifted her position, moving back in front of you without ever slowing her relentless pace, her eyes locked onto yours with a dangerous gleam.

Lisa scoffed, her grip tightening as she leaned in closer. ‘You’ll never have a girlfriend,’ she said, her voice dripping with possessiveness. ‘If you ever want to be with someone, it should be with us—your step-sisters. Only us. No one else.’

She smiled, but there was nothing sweet about it. ‘Any other woman who tries to take you away? She won’t live to see another day.’

Jo Yuri then quickened her pace, sensing just how close you were. This time, there was no holding back—it was inevitable. A wicked smile curled on her lips as she turned to the others.

‘He’s about to cum,’ she announced, her voice laced with excitement.

Without hesitation, she lifted herself off you, replacing the sensation with the warmth of her mouth. The rest of your sisters watched hungrily, biting their lips, tongues teasingly sticking out as they eagerly waited for your release.

It only took a few strokes before pleasure crashed over you. Your body tensed, and despite the tape sealing your lips, a desperate, muffled moan escaped—

‘Mmmph—! Haaah…!’

Your climax spilled onto their expectant faces, their delighted giggles filling the room as they licked away every drop, satisfied with their claimed prize.

The sisters, now satisfied with their work, slowly removed the restraints from your wrists and peeled the tape from your mouth. But it didn’t matter—you were too weak to move, your body completely drained.

As you lay there, trying to catch your breath, one of them leaned in with a smug smile.

‘We’ll be moving in tomorrow,’ Miyeon announced casually, as if it were already decided. ‘So make sure no one else comes here. This place belongs to us now—just like you do.

The sisters slipped back into their clothes, their satisfied smiles lingering as they slowly made their way out of your apartment. But Ryujin stayed behind, her eyes locked onto your exhausted form.

She crouched beside you, brushing a few strands of hair from your face before whispering, ‘There’ll be more moments like this… whether you like it or not.’

Pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, her hand trailed downward, fingers wrapping around your sensitive length. She gave it a slow, teasing stroke, her smirk widening.

She watched you with a wicked glint in her eyes, savoring the way your body twitched under her touch.

‘Come on,’ she coaxed, her voice sultry and commanding. ‘Be a good boy and cum for me—right now.’

She pumped faster, her thumb teasing over your most sensitive spot, determined to wring out every last drop. ‘I don’t have all night,’ she whispered against your ear. ‘So give me everything before I go… unless you want the others to join in.’

With one last stroke, she pushed you over the edge, a satisfied smirk on her lips as she finally pulled away. Without another word, she stood up, adjusted her clothes, and walked out—leaving you panting, drained, and completely at their mercy.

As the last of your step-sisters walked out, the apartment fell silent, save for the lingering scent of them in the air. Your body was sore, your wrists still red from where they had bound you, yet the worst part wasn’t the pain—it was the realization that this wasn’t over.

They had made that clear.

Tomorrow, they would return. Tomorrow, they would move in. Tomorrow, your life would no longer be your own.

You lay there, staring at the ceiling, your mind racing. Could you escape? Call for help? But even as the thoughts formed, you knew the truth—there was no running from them. They had already decided. You belonged to them.

And deep down, despite everything, your body shivered at the thought.

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

Coffee and Journals

.・゜✭・. Spencer Reid x F!Reader .・゜✭・.

Summary: You step out of your comfort zone and meet a guy in a coffee shop who you somehow befriend, and end up in the theaters with him translating a Russian film.

A/N: omg this one is so cuteee, I love it lmk your thots<3

BYR(b4 u Reid): use of y/n, mentions of anxiety, readers never had a bf, inexperienced reader & Spencer, can be season 1 & 2 Spencer | none <- [warnings]

It started with a trip to the coffee shop.

You weren’t supposed to be there, at least, not alone. You didn't go places alone. That was just how… things were. But it was a new year, and you were tired of every year being the same.

No new friends, no love interests, no new experiences.

You knew, deep down, that you couldn't keep living like this. The loneliness was starting to feel like a weight pressing down on you, making everything dull.

So, here you were, Ordering a drink at the register, by yourself. God, was your voice shaking?

“Um, can I get a-a regular iced latte?” You asked, trying not to sound as nervous as you felt. The cashier nodded, you paid, and that was it.

It was such a small thing ordering coffee, and you’ve done it a lot of times just this time you didn’t have the comfort of a friend right beside you. You were all alone.

You felt proud, proud that you left your home, came to the café alone, and now you were going to enjoy it at the shop.

You picked a small table, hands gripping your journal as you sat down, waiting for your order to be called. The café was a little too busy for comfort. Too many eyes, not on you, you knew that, but… it felt like they were.

You took a deep breath, opening your journal.

Do I look weird?

No, no. There were plenty of people doing the same thing. You weren’t standing out.

After a few moments your drink was finally called, you stood up, going to grab it, only to find there was two.

The man beside you just looked at you unsure of which one was his and which one was yours.

“Oh- um, I’m not sure which is which.” He said, glancing between the two drinks. You looked at him, then at the cups, trying to find anything that could differentiate them. Nothing.

“Uh, excuse me, which one is the iced coffee?” You asked the barista. “They both are.” She answered flatly, like it was the dumbest question she’d ever heard. Your stomach twisted immediately.

Great, now I sound stupid.

“Which one has non-dairy milk?” The guy asked

The barista sighed, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know, maybe that one.” She pointed to the cup on the right.

You and the guy exchanged a look.

“Um… I guess I’ll just take this one.” You mumbled, grabbing the drink you had originally reached for. You don’t have any dairy problems, and didn’t care for the kind of milk used so it wasn’t too much of a problem.

You can hear the guy sigh as you walked away.

You sat down, watching him talk to the barista, clearly trying to get his order fixed. You couldn’t blame him for being frustrated.

You refocused on your journal, writing down your thoughts about stepping out of your comfort zone. About how weird it felt. How anxious you still were, and how you hoped this wouldn’t be another failed attempt at trying to change.

“Hi, I’m sorry, but do you mind if I have a seat?”

You looked up.

It was the non-dairy guy.

Your first instinct was to say no. You didn’t want anyone sitting with you. This was already too much social interaction for one day.

Or you could just leave, but if you let yourself retreat, wouldn’t that be losing? Wouldn’t you end up right back where you started, lying in bed tonight, frustrated with yourself for failing at something as simple as existing in a public space ?

“Of course.” You said instead, nodding toward the empty chair.

He gave you a polite smile and sat down. You stole a glance at him. Tall, kind of lanky, brown hair, sharp features, hazel eyes. He didn’t seem much older than you.

You tried to focus on your journal again, but it was hard with someone new in front of you.

“You know, an iced coffee isn’t something I normally get.” He said suddenly

You blinked, looking up.

He was talking to you.

“I usually just get a regular hot coffee.” He continued, like this was a totally normal thing to say to a stranger. “Today I wanted something different. And, well… you saw how that went.”

You let out an awkward little laugh, like the ones you give people when you aren’t sure what to say.

Is he crazy? Why is he talking to me?

“I get it.” You said after a pause. “I don’t usually get coffee on my own, and the one time I do, my coffee gets mixed with yours, and then the barista has a shitty attitude.”

That was relatable, right? That made sense?

Stop overthinking.

He smiled. “I’m Spencer Reid.”

First and last name, who does that?

“I’m y/n.” You said, giving him a small smile in return

you didn't give him your last name, it felt too formal, you guys also didn't shake hands which relieved you because those were always so awkward for you.

Almost all physical touch was awkward with you.

“I'll let you get back to work.” He said, pulling a book out of his bag.

“It’s not really work.” You admitted, which shocked you because you were trying to continue this conversation. “Just journaling.”

He glanced up again, nodding slightly. “Studies show that journaling can improve working memory, reduce stress, and even strengthen the immune system,” he said. “James Pennebaker, a psychologist at the University of Texas, found that expressive writing helps people process traumatic events by organizing thoughts and emotions, which can lead to improved mental health and reduced anxiety.”

You stared at him.

“Yeah… That’s kind of why I’m trying it.” You said, giving a small smile.

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “How do you know all that?” He just shrugged as if it was nothing “I read alot.”

“That’s cool.”

“Really?” He smiled a little. “A lot of my friends think I’m crazy, and that I should be spending more time doing other things.”

You shook your head. Well… okay, you did think he was a little crazy. But only because he could start a conversation so easily. You couldn’t imagine doing that.

“Not crazy, I think it’s fascinating your brain is able to retain all that information.”

The two of you settled into silence after that. You wrote, he read. You noticed he was flying through pages at an insane speed.

Curiosity got the better of you.

“How are you reading so fast?” You blurted out.

He looked up. “I can read 20,000 words a minute.”

Your eyes widened. “Are you lying?”

He laughed. “No. I uh… I have an IQ of 187, so I think that helps a lot with my reading abilities.”

“That’s like a superpower.”

“Some would say it’s the lamest one to have been given.” He joked, you shrugged. “Maybe. But I think it’s cool.”

And, honestly?

You were surprised by yourself.

A simple conversation. With a stranger.

A man, even.

ʚɞ

Over the next few months, you found yourself at the coffee shop at least three times a week. And almost every time, Spencer was there too.

At first, it felt like a coincidence, like an unspoken routine you both had fallen into without realizing. But eventually, he started waving you over when he spotted you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he gestured to the empty seat across from him. And, recently, you had started doing the same for him.

You’d sit together, sometimes in silence, sometimes talking about what you were reading, new movies, or random events happening around town. It felt… easy.

“How’s journaling been?” Spencer asked as he took a sip of his coffee and looked at you.

You glanced up from your book. “Oh, it’s been really good. It actually helps a lot more than I thought it would.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “Yeah, it helped me a lot too.”

“You journal?”

He shrugged, shifting slightly in his seat. “I used to. Not as much anymore, but when I have the time, I try. I think it’s a good outlet, especially for people who struggle with intrusive thoughts, or high stress levels.”

“You think only people who struggle journal?” You questioned

“Not necessarily.” He said, tilting his head slightly. “I mean, anyone can journal. But research suggests that people who journal regularly are often those who need a way to process their thoughts. It can help regulate emotions by engaging the prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain responsible for rational thinking. That’s why it’s often recommended for anxiety, PTSD, and even problem solving.”

You nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. “Yeah… I think it’s helped me a lot with my anxiety.”

You weren’t sure why you would say it, you never really talk about what you struggle with but somehow with Spencer it felt safe.

You looked up at him, Spencer’s eyes had softened, his expression shifting from analytical to something gentler. “That’s good.” He said sincerely. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

You let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “I think it’s obvious. I mean, I’m constantly fidgeting, can’t make eye contact, let alone hold a conversation with people.” You say as you look down at your hands

He shook his head. “You don’t seem that way with me.” His brows furrowed slightly.

“Well, yeah. Not anymore.” You admitted “When we first met and you asked to have a seat, I wanted so badly to say no, and even get up and leave.”

His mouth parted slightly before he quickly recovered. “Really?”

You nodded. “Yeah. But I had to let you because if I hadn’t, I would’ve felt like I lost that day, and definitely would’ve felt horrible about it. But… thankfully I did.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, processing your words. Then, the corners of his lips lifted into a small genuine smile. “I’m glad, glad that you let me sit with you.”

“I’m glad too.”

It felt strange, strange in a way that made your chest feel light and unfamiliar warmth settle in your stomach. Having someone new to talk to, someone who, despite barely knowing you, felt like they had been in your life forever.

Spencer made things easy. Talking to him didn’t feel like a struggle, like you had to overthink every word before you said it. He listened. He never made you feel awkward or unsure.

Somehow, being around him made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you were figuring yourself out.

Both of your coffees were nearly empty now, the melted ice clinking softly against the cup. It meant this little hangout, or whatever you can call it, was coming to an end. And you didn’t want it to.

Spencer shifted slightly in his seat, his fingers tapping lightly against his cup before he cleared his throat.

“Um, Y/n.” He said, voice softer than usual. You looked up at him, giving him a small, curious smile. “Yeah?”

He hesitated for half a second, then pushed his hair behind his ear, a habit you noticed. “There’s this old film playing at the theaters. It’s not far from here. I was wondering if you’d like to go?” He paused, glancing down at his hands before quickly adding “It’s in Russian, though, so if you’d like, I can translate it for you.”

“Russian?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, his lips twitching up slightly. “Yeah. If you don’t want to, that’s fine, I just- I thought it would be nice.” He said as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back a smile. “I’ve never seen a Russian film before, but I do like the theaters. And if you’re offering to translate, I’d love to go.”

Spencer let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing like he had been holding it in without realizing. “Yeah?” His voice was lighter, hopeful.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

His lips parted, like he was about to say something else, but he just nodded quickly instead. “Alright. Um. I can pick you up? If you’re comfortable with that, of course.”

You could see the way he was watching you carefully, waiting for any sign of hesitation. But there wasn’t any. Not with him.

“No, yeah, I’m fine with that.” You said, a soft warmth settling in your chest.

Spencer’s fingers tapped against the table before he spoke again. “Can I-uh-can I have your number? Just so we can communicate better.”

You smiled, reaching for your phone. “Yeah.”

ʚɞ

Spencer arrived at exactly 8:00 p.m, right on time. When you opened the door, he stood there with his hands in his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels before offering a small, shy smile.

“Hi.” He said softly

“Hi.” You echoed, feeling your pulse quicken.

You both walk towards his car, and to your surprise he opened the door for you. It was a small gesture, but it made something warm settle in your chest.

Was he just being polite, or did it mean something more? You didn’t want to overthink it, didn’t want to confuse kindness for something else.

At the theaters, Spencer insisted on paying for your ticket. When you offered to cover snacks instead, he shook his head. “No, really, it’s fine.” He said, handing over his card before you could argue.

“Okay, well, now we have to go somewhere else after this. My treat.” You said, crossing your arms.

He tilted his head, considering for a moment. “We could get ice cream after?” He suggested.

You smiled. “That sounds nice.”

As the movie started, Spencer leaned in slightly, quietly translating the dialogue for you. At first, it was just a whisper here and there, but soon he got really into it, his voice subtly changing to mimic different characters, his hands gesturing slightly as he explained a scene.

You let out a small laugh.

“What?” He asked, turning to you with a small smile.

You shrugged, grinning. “You’re so good at translating. And getting into character, it’s honestly amazing.”

His expression shifted, something like pride flashing in his eyes before he looked down for a second, almost bashful. “Oh. Thank you.” He said, meeting your gaze again.

You hadn’t realized how close the two of you had leaned in until the moment. His hazel eyes held yours, the sounds of the movie fading into the background. Your breath hitched, and you quickly shifted in your seat, breaking the moment.

Spencer cleared his throat softly before returning to translating, but you could tell he’d noticed it too.

When the movie ended, you tossed the empty popcorn bucket and drinks into the trash bin. “So how’d you like the movie?” Spencer asked as you both walked towards the exit.

“It was really good, I didn’t expect to like it as much as I did.” You truthfully answered.

Spencer smiled, as he opened the door for you to exit the building. “They play foreign films here once a month. I’d be happy to come with you again. We could watch together.”

“I’d love that, it’ll be really fun.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I love films, and translating stuff.”

“I could tell.” You teased, giggling softly.

He glanced at you, something hesitant in his expression. “Still up for that ice cream?”

“Are you?” You asked. “If you don’t want to, it’s okay.”

“No-no I want to.” He assured you quickly. “I just wasn’t sure if you still wanted to.”

“I do.”

He nodded, a relieved smile tugging at his lips. “Perfect. I can leave the car parked, and we can walk to one?”

“That sounds good.”

As the two of you walked side by side down the sidewalk, you glanced up at him. “Do you usually go to these movies alone?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Sometimes my friends join, but most times, it’s just me.”

That made you frown slightly. You didn’t understand how someone like him, someone so interesting, so kind, could go alone so often.

“Well, now you won’t have to.” You said looking up at him. He turned his head to you, a flicker of something soft in his expression. His stomach fluttered at your words.

As you both walked, your hand brushed against his. Instinctively, you pulled it back, quickly intertwining your fingers together in front of you. “Sorry.” You murmured.

Spencer shook his head. “No, it’s fine.”

You nodded, slowly letting your hands fall back to your sides. He noticed the way you kept fidgeting.

“You don’t have to be nervous.” He said.

You blinked. “Hmm?”

He glanced at you, his brows slightly furrowed in thought. “I can tell you’re nervous.”

Your stomach tightened slightly. “How?”

“Little things.” He said simply. “Like biting your lip, looking around a lot, touching the hem of your shirt.” He pointed out each thing, and you hadn’t even realized you were doing them.

“Oh.” You laughed softly, a little embarrassed. “I just- I don’t know. This is the first time I’ve ever gone out with someone who isn’t my friend.”

Spencer tilted his head, his lips twitching up slightly. “Oh? I thought we were friends.” He teased.

Your eyes widened slightly. “No-no, we are friends! I just meant my other friends.” You rushed to explain.

He chuckled. “I know what you meant. It’s okay.”

Then, he stopped walking.

You took a few more steps before realizing and turned to face him. “What?”

He shook his head, his gaze fixed on you with something unreadable.

You frowned. “What?” You asked again, playfully nudging his shoulder.

Spencer let out a small laugh, but then his expression grew more serious. “I like hanging out with you.” He admitted. His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful.

“And I don’t want to scare you, but… the little time we’ve spent together, at the café, and now today watching this movie, it’s made me just want to be around you more.”

Your breath caught in your throat. No one has ever said something like that to you before.

Your heart pounded as you swallowed, suddenly unsure of what to say. “Oh. That’s…nice.”

Spencer’s lips pressed together, and you could tell he was waiting for something more, something deeper. And you wanted to say more, you really did. But fear gripped you.

“Spencer, I-i feel a lot of things right now.” You admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I feel nervous, scared, excited, happy- I can really go on. But I’ve never had a male friend before, never been in a relationship, and what am I saying? I could be misinterpreting this whole situation, you meant as a friend right? Like- you don’t mean romantically want to be around me more?” You were rambling, your words spilling out before you could stop them.

Your face was flushed, ears burning.

Spencer took a small step closer.

Your breath hitched.

“I’d like to get to know you better.” He said carefully, his voice steady. “And… see where we go.”

His hand found your elbow, gently squeezing it, his touch was warm and reassuring.

Your lips parted slightly. “Really? With me?”

It felt unreal.

Unreal that anyone could possibly see you in a romantic way, no one ever has.

Spencer nodded “With you.”

You exhaled, your heart racing. “I’ve never, I’ve never been in a situation like this. No ones ever wanted something with me before.”

“Well…I do.” He gave you a small, soft smile.

Your hands trembled slightly as you rubbed your face. Your chest felt tight, and your mind raced with thoughts you couldn’t untangle.

“Spencer, you don’t understand.” You whispered, your voice barely holding steady. “I don’t know how to be with someone. I don’t know what people do when they’re getting to know each other, I don’t- I don’t know.” Your words tumbled out, laced with panic, with doubt.

Spencer took another step closer to you, his expression soft but steady. “You do.” He said gently “We do it all the time. Every time we sit together in the café, every time we talk, every time we share something about ourselves, that’s us getting to know each other.”

You swallowed, looking at him, searching for some kind of reassurance in his face. He seemed so sure of what he was saying, so certain.

“But I don’t know what I’m doing.” You admitted, your voice cracking. “I could mess it up.”

Spencer shook his head, his eyes never leaving yours. “Y/n, I’ve never been in a relationship either.” His voice was soft but unwavering. “I don’t have all the answers, I know just as much as you do. But that’s okay. We can figure it out together.”

Your breath hitched as you stared at him. He meant it, every word. There was no hesitation, no doubt in his voice.

“All we have to do.” He continued “is keep doing what we’ve been doing. Spending time together, learning more about each other. And when we’re both ready, we’ll navigate whatever comes next. There’s no pressure, no expectations… just us.”

Something inside you shifted, something warm, something terrifying, something new.

You looked into his eyes, trying to believe in what he was saying. In him.

“Okay.” You whispered

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, his shoulders relaxing just slightly, as if he’d been waiting for that answer.

“Okay.” He echoed, as if sealing the moment between you.

For a few seconds, neither of you moved. The streetlights cast a soft glow around you, the distant hum of the city filling the silence. Then, without thinking, Spencer reached out, not hesitantly, not awkwardly, just gently, and let his fingers brush against yours.

It wasn’t a grand gesture. It wasn’t overwhelming. It was just enough. . .

hope you guys enjoyed this one <3

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~ also if you guys want to be tagged in all of my SR fics just lmk and I would love to ~

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[ssa-dado]

Aaron's Speech

Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader Genre: whump, prepare your tissues kind of whump. hurt to comfort? what's comfort anyways? Summary: Aaron was certain he knew what love was - until Haley died. He loves you. But he still loves her, too. Warnings: clear signs of deep depression, PTSD, trauma, self-neglet, survivor's guilt, grief, mentions of 5×01 and 5×09 Please please please do not interact with this fic if you struggle with any of these. Word Count: 3.9k Dado's Corner: I... I don't know. It's a lot. Grab your tissues. This might be the most heart-wrenching thing I've ever written… and honestly, I’m a little scared of my own brain for managing to hallucinate this. I went back and forth on whether to post it because it just felt too much... :)))) I ended up adding a little extra at the end (something fluffy & domestic) just to take the edge off. But it’s still bittersweet. More bitter than sweet.

masterlist(s)

Plato wrote, "I mean to propose that each of us in turn, going left to right, shall make a speech in honor of Love."

Aaron wasn’t sure how to make sense of the fact that the very job that had stripped him down to nothing was also the reason he could still touch you like this.

That the same job that had taken… her, that had nearly taken his son - was also the reason he could still slip under the covers with you and lose himself just enough to relieve the stress of your days.

It wasn’t intimacy, not really.

Not in the way it was meant to be.

It was a release, a fleeting reprieve from the thoughts that never stopped, from the memories that threatened to drown him if he let them sit too long.

Sometimes, it was rough - driven by nothing but the desperate need to feel something, anything. Other times, it was slower, gentler.

But one thing never changed - he always kept his shirt on.

A week ago, it had been long sleeves. The scars were only on his torso, but for a long time, that hadn’t mattered. He had fought the urge to cover everything, to disappear beneath the fabric.

He felt dirty. He was dirty.

Didn’t want to see them. Didn’t want you to see them.

The only times you had were when he had no choice - when he was too weak, too drained to tend to them himself.

Then came the day he finally found the courage to face his reflection in the mirror. When he told you he could handle it now - that he had to - you hadn’t argued. You had only pressed a soft kiss to his lips before watching him disappear into the bathroom. You didn’t say a word. You trusted him. Had to trust him.

And when he came back, you kissed him again.

You still did. Every time.

Even today.

It had become a ritual – an ineffable I’m proud of you, a way to be close without needing to be there physically. Because even if you weren’t, your mind always went there.

You hoped he applied the medication carefully.

Hoped that, in tending to himself, he showed the same meticulous care he gave to you - the way he would sit you in a warm bath, wash your hair, run his hands over your skin with a gentleness so at odds with how he treated himself.

He gave you devotion. You wished he gave himself even half of it.

You hoped that every time you heard the water running, it was only to sterilize his hands - that he wasn’t standing over the sink, letting the antiseptic swirl down the drain, just enough to make it seem used, just enough to fool you. You knew he wasn’t stupid.

You had been more cautious ever since the day he caught you in the bathroom, turning the bottle over in your hands, checking for dents, for any proof that he was actually using it.

He hadn’t been angry. He understood. It wasn’t about distrust - not really.

If the roles were reversed, he knew he would have done the same.

…No, actually, he didn’t even need to imagine reversing them. He had checked. More than once. Because he wasn’t sure if he trusted himself anymore.

Because ever since he started tending to them on his own, he never let you see his scars again.

Maybe some subconscious part of him feared that if you did, you wouldn’t want him anymore.

Or maybe because he didn’t want to remind you - of what had happened to him, of the fear in your eyes, of the way your hands had trembled the first time they traced the edges of his pain.

Or maybe it wasn’t even about you.

Maybe he was afraid that if you saw them again, your mind would go back to the past, to the before, to all the things he lost…

…And, inevitably, to her.

Haley was only a problem because he made her one.

She was never a threat to you. You had never felt the need to compete with her because you understood something he probably never would: that a heart as vast as his had room for both of you.

That was simply part of loving him - even before everything that happened, even when they were just divorced - loving him meant sharing space in his heart with Haley.

And that was enough. More than enough. You never needed or wanted all of it.

He was the one who couldn’t reconcile it.

One true love.

It had been carved into him as a child, a belief so deeply rooted that no amount of logic could ever fully undo it. Sure, he could scoff at it now, call it outdated, tell himself he was too rational to believe in something so absolute.

But some lies told to us as children settle too deep to simply unlearn, and for Aaron, it was this: that love - true love - could only happen once.

And he hated that it had been her.

Not because he regretted loving her, but because it made him feel as though loving you somehow diminished that first love - or worse, that it made you her replacement.

You weren’t.

You were nothing like her. You were only you.

And yet, both of you had looked at him with the same kind of eyes - the kind that saw too much, worried too much.

And sometimes, despite himself, he wondered if that was why he fell in love with you.

Because of those eyes. To keep those eyes in his life.

But just as quickly as the thought came, so did the guilt. Not just because it wasn’t true, but because his mind had dared to go there at all.

…But if it had gone there, it meant some part of him believed it.

And he hated that.

Hated overanalyzing it.

Hated the way his own mind twisted something simple, something pure, into something that needed justification.

Hated that he had to dissect his love for you just to convince himself it was real, when he already knew it was.

Because it was real.

He hadn’t fallen in love with you because of anything you shared with her - he had fallen for you because of everything that made you you. Maybe he had even fallen harder once he realized that.

If Reid could see inside his head, he would have some scientific explanation for all of this. Something about neurochemistry.

He would tell him that guilt was irrational, that love was nothing more than a biological process designed to make humans bond, reproduce, and survive.

But that was what he hated most.

Not the surviving part. Not just the thought of contributing to the same human species that had created the kind of monsters he locked away every day.

Though, on the worst nights… maybe that too.

What he hated was the idea that it all boiled down to a few chemical formulas, a handful of C’s and O’s arranged on a page. That somewhere out there, a person could take one look at the sequence and know him, know the core of who he was.

Bullshit. That couldn't be possible.

Not when he wasn’t even sure he had a core anymore.

What was there to read?

Aaron had spent a lifetime believing love was what the poets described - the grand, the eternal, the tragic. Yet only… after everything that happened… had he begun to understand what they truly meant.

The Greek tragedies, the sonnets - some resonated so deeply now they ached, others felt so hollow he wondered how he’d ever admired them… how he had ever believed love could be so naïve.

Maybe, in the end, a few chemical bonds and molecular chains would have been simpler. Maybe they would have told him more about himself than poetry ever could.

How simple it was - that the tears he left on your skin, warm against your sternum as he pressed his face into you, could be reduced by science to nothing more than water and salt.

As if that could explain why he was crying.

As if it could account for the guilt gnawing at him, the shame of being allowed to break against you while your own tears slipped down your cheeks, unseen, as you stared at the ceiling.

As if it could break down the only closeness he could offer now - the desperate act of syncing his unsteady breaths to yours.

He just wanted to be your rock again.

Maybe science had a way to explain the guilt - the shame of falling apart in your arms, of letting you hold him, pull him closer, your fingers threading through strands of hair that hadn’t been this long in three years.

And then, the moment your hands unconsciously drifted too low - past the nape of his neck, following the path they once knew so well, tracing the lines of his back-

It wasn’t you touching him anymore.

But it was you. You were safe. You were here.

And still, his body jerked up.

It wasn’t fair.

No matter how much he wanted to surrender to your touch again, no matter how much he wished he could unlearn the fear, his body still braced for a blade instead of your hands.

Maybe science had a way to explain why.

Maybe it could name the way his body had learned to fear something it once - and still - craved more than anything.

Maybe there was a chemical formula that could define the way you both whispered "sorry" at the same time whenever it happened.

Maybe there was an equation, an angle, a perfect placement for the carbon bonds that could explain why, after flinching, after failing, he reached for your wrist. Why he brought it to his lips, pressed a kiss to the thundering pulse beneath your skin.

The skin was thinner there.

Maybe, if he kissed deep enough, his apology would sink into your bloodstream, carried by the oxygen in your blood, traveling through your veins until it reached your heart - so you’d know.

That he loved you.

He loved you, he loved you, he loved you.

And he needed you.

Needed your hands back on every inch of his skin - even on the places his mind dragged him back to, bleeding out on the carpet of his own living space, where he was assault-

“Aaron.”

“Hmm.”

“I want hot chocolate.” You shifted, sitting up on the bed, stretching your arms above your head. “And I need your help cutting the chocolate. Come on.”

Nothing still.

So you reached over, patted his head, ruffling his hair. “You know I never get the pieces small enough… get up.”

You didn’t even like chocolate that much.

But he did.

Aaron Hotchner, with his unreadable expressions and haunted eyes, had the biggest sweet tooth you had ever known.

It was one of the first things you noticed about him - the way he’d sneak sugar into his coffee when he thought no one was looking, the way he never turned down dessert, the way he’d order an extra pastry under the guise of “Jack will like this” when Jack wasn’t even there.

Hot chocolate was easy.

Because cutting chocolate into tiny, even pieces was something his hands could still do.

The day he finally handled a knife again without flinching, you had seized every possible excuse to make him keep doing it - to ease him back into muscle memory, to give his hands something to focus on. Just like now.

Him, and all of his ghosts, disappearing into the rhythm of slicing through a bar of fondant chocolate.

"See? When you cut it this small, the chocolate doesn’t fray. How do you do that?" You leaned in, watching him work. “Wait, was this your specialty back in SWAT?”

Nothing. Again.

God forbid anyone joke about his very secretive time in an all-men squad of alpha males, big guns, tactical gear, night vision-

“You want me to show you?”

You nodded.

You expected him to explain from where he stood, maybe demonstrate with another piece - but you hadn't expected him to step behind you. Once, maybe, but not now.

And yet, here he was.

Did not expect to feel his warmth again - his body against yours, his chest flush to your back, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, his huge hands slipping over yours, guiding them to the handle of the knife.

"It’s in the pressure," he said, curling his fingers around yours, adjusting your grip. "Too much, and it crumbles. Too little, and it slips. You want the blade to do the work."

Damn. It was so intimate, so familiar-

God, this felt like… like one of your first dates. Back when he was still - no.

You swallowed, pushed the thought away, and focused. Followed his movement, feeling the blade glide through the chocolate beneath your fingertips - clean, effortless - perfect.

Just like his.

"There," he murmured. "Like that." And then, a kiss to your hair. "You did good."

So did he. God, he did. And you were so proud of him.

So you picked up one of the pieces he had helped you cut, rolling it between your fingers before holding it out to him.

"Quality check."

You had never fought back tears so hard as when you felt it - the smallest huff of breath against your hair. A sound, barely there, but unmistakable.

The closest thing to a laugh you'd heard from him all day.

You would cut all the chocolate in the world if it meant hearing that sound again.

And maybe you would - because he could have easily taken the piece from your hand himself.

But he didn’t.

Instead, his lips ghosted over your fingertips, his tongue dragging over your skin far too slowly as he caught the chocolate - before his teeth closed down, just sharp enough to be obnoxious.

That stupid bite.

Familiar.

The same bite that always made you swat him away, roll your eyes, mutter his name in exasperation.

The same bite that caught your fingertips every single time you offered him one of your fries, because Aaron Hotchner - who pretended to be far too above it - always ordered a salad as a side, only to spend the whole meal subtly eyeing your plate.

He would never ask for one, of course. God forbid.

So you always caved, sighing as you picked up a fry and held it out toward him, fully intending to place it onto his plate like a normal person.

But he never let you.

Instead, he would catch your fingers midair, biting down - not hard, but enough to make you yelp, enough to make your head snap toward him, enough to make you curse his name loud enough that the people at the next table would turn to look.

And then - as if he hadn’t just eaten out of your damn fingers in public – he’d sit back, napkin in hand, dabbing the corner of his mouth.

“Shh,” he’d say. “We’re at a fancy place. Can’t you see there are no prices on your menu?”

Condescending. Smirking. Like he wasn’t the one causing all the drama.

The same insufferable piece of shit he had always been.

And maybe that’s why you didn’t swat him away this time.

Maybe that’s why you just stood there, breath caught in your throat, only managing to turn around and stare at the glimpse of a ghost you hadn’t expected to see.

You knew it was temporary, just a matter of time before the weight settled back over him. But still- still, for a moment, you just watched.

His kitchen was now so quiet you could hear the crisp snap of chocolate between his teeth, the exaggerated hum of approval he always did just to startle you, always holding eye contact, watching – waiting - like your reaction was more satisfying than the chocolate itself.

“What?” he asked, furrowing his brows.

Under the yellow glow of the kitchen lights, his eyes looked lighter - a softer brown, warm in a way you hadn’t seen in far too long. You could see the few flecks of green – a similar shade of the untouched, steamed bitter greens he always left on his plate at fancy restaurants.

Could you even tell him?

Could you say that, for just a second, he wasn’t trapped in his own head, and that alone made you want to cry?

Of course not.

So you just shook your head, swallowing the lump in your throat.

"Nothing," you murmured, turning back to the counter. "Just…. don't think you're getting more if you're gonna keep biting me."

“Then maybe you should stop feeding me like a child.” He huffed, leaned against the counter next to you, unbothered… almost – smug?

Hotchner humor. This must be Christmas.

"Oh, forgive me, Your Royal Highness, how would you prefer to be fed?"

"Well, if I had to suggest something…" he drawled, gaze dropping to your lips, "you could be more creative with it."

No way. You couldn’t believe it.

"Creative?"

He nodded. "Mhm."

No way.

You picked up half a piece of chocolate, pressed it between your lips - hesitated.

Maybe this was too much. Maybe the moment would crack, fragile as it was. Maybe you’d gone too far, been too reckless.

But still, you held his gaze, tilting your head ever so slightly, offering.

And waiting.

Before you even realized it, his lips were on yours, closing over the other half of the chocolate, pressing just enough to steal more than you had offered.

Asshole.

But God, did he take his time.

His tongue flickered over the chocolate, then back over you – unhurried - before he finally pulled away, his breath still so close you could almost taste the cocoa all over again. Wow.

“…Creative enough?” you managed.

Aaron slowly ran his tongue over his half-brown bottom lip. "It’s a start."

…A start.

Maybe it was. It felt like one.

Also because Aaron stayed close, studying your face, searching for something in your eyes.

If he found what he was looking for, he didn’t say. He just looked at you a moment longer and gave you one last smile.

A goodbye - not to you, but to your eyes, because in that moment, they looked too much like hers.

And maybe a part of him had always been waiting for this moment - when he could finally look into that gaze, your gaze, and know without hesitation that it wasn’t hers. That it had never been.

So he let go of the thought.

He reached past you, plucking another piece of chocolate from the cutting board and popping it into his mouth like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t just left something behind.

"You should finish cutting the rest," he said, unfazed by your exasperated "Aaron."

"Me?"

"You did well enough." He nodded, though you knew him well enough to catch the hint of teasing in his voice. "Besides, I should get the milk on the stove…. can’t have you burning it again."

You scoffed. "That was one time, and only because your stove is way too strong."

"You say that every time you cook here… which, if I’m counting correctly, is once a week."

"You’re exaggerating," you muttered, but you still reached for the knife, rolling your eyes as you started chopping again.

Silence.

Silence until Aaron turned toward you as he poured the milk into the pot.

"…Thank you for what you’re doing for me. I don’t say it enough… not out loud."

You glanced up, smiling. "It’s all you, Aaron. I’m not doing anything."

“Bullshit.” He turned, eyeing the cutting board. “You’re cutting the chocolate.”

Before you could respond, he reached over and plucked a piece from the pile, popping it into his mouth.

"Really?" you deadpanned.

He stole another.

"This one was uneven," he said, completely straight-faced.

And then another.

"Do you even want hot chocolate, or are you just here to rob me blind?"

Aaron smirked - and for once, it would have been so damn nice to just enjoy seeing his dimples - if only he hadn’t, completely unrepentantly, reached for yet another piece.

You swatted his hand before he could grab it. "Oh my God, you really are just here to rob me blind."

Defeated, Aaron turned back to the stove, deciding it was safer to keep his hands occupied. He stirred the milk with far more focus than necessary... so much so that you half-wondered if he was trying to churn it into cream.

Maybe if he just kept moving, he could resist the temptation of another impromptu quality check… hopefully.

Or maybe, it wasn’t about the chocolate at all.

"Do you really think you’re not doing anything?" he asked. His eyes were still on the pot, but the way he had slowed his stirring - no longer overcompensating, no longer distrac-

"You are," he continued, looking at you. "You’re here. You stayed. And that’s… that’s more than I knew how to ask for."

"You can ask, you know," you murmured. "You need to say the words, Aaron."

Someone else had told him the exact same words once.

And still, he hadn’t learned how to listen.

Maybe he never would.

Maybe it was just the way he was - stubborn in his silence, in his inability to believe he was allowed to need something, someone.

But still, he cared.

He cared in the way he stole more chocolate than he should have - not just because of his sweet tooth, but because he knew you didn’t like it that much. Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

Because he didn’t want the taste to overpower, didn’t want to make it too rich when he knew you’d only take a few sips before pushing your cup toward him, like you always did.

He cared in the way he let the chocolate sit on the stove just a little longer, thickening the way you preferred it.

In the way he never stopped you, even when you added far more cinnamon than he would have chosen for himself.

In the way he didn’t say a word.

Maybe he should. He needed to say the words. Maybe just start with some.

And so his grip tightened around the mug, the heat pressing into his palms, seeping into his skin.

He could feel it, the warmth.

He had never noticed before how much he liked the way it settled in his fingers, how it grounded him, how it made him feel… alive.

Like he was rediscovering - all over again - that if he held on too long, it would burn.

And it did.

Science might explain it as heat conduction - the transfer of thermal energy from the liquid to the ceramic, from the ceramic to his skin, exciting the molecules in his nerve endings until they fired signals to his brain, warning him of the impending risk of tissue damage.

A perfectly rational, biological response.

But not everything he felt could be charted in nerve endings and synapses, reduced to chemical reactions or evolutionary instinct.

Some things defied explanation.

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Aaron.”

Good luck to the scientists trying to reduce that to a handful of chemical bonds and neural pathways.

Maybe they could try.

They’d still get it wrong.

Ineffable.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

Phi's Corner: I’m sorry if this made you cry… as an apology, I’m sending each of you a piece of focaccia... let me know if you want it with or without olives.

[jassy2uall]

– Always You

Billie Eilish x fem! Reader

“You’ve always had a crush on your best friend Billie but could never find a way to tell her. You just didn’t think she felt the same or that you’d be the one. It’ll never be you, or will it?”

Warnings - lots of angst and jealousy (get some tissues guys)

————————————————————

You and Billie have been best friends since you were six years old. You’ve known her just as long as Zoe has, but unlike Zoe, your relationship with Billie is more complicated and more serious. You’ve always had a tiny crush on her, but you never told her. You were afraid of ruining the friendship, and even more afraid of rejection. So, you buried those feelings deep down, convincing yourself you’d forgotten about them.

But you hadn’t.

When Billie became famous, everything changed. Her rise to stardom only complicated the feelings you thought you’d moved past. Every time you saw her on stage or in the spotlight, it was like those buried emotions resurfaced, stronger than before. It even enraged you when you’d see her flirt with so many people, especially women. It was like a punch to the gut each time, the reality of her new world far removed from the one you two had built together.

You’d always been there for her through her past relationships, but you never liked anyone she dated. They weren’t good enough for her, you told yourself. You were the one who truly understood her, the one who’d been there through it all. You convinced yourself for years that you were all she needed, that you were good enough for her—you just couldn’t tell her that.

But then came Coachella. That day, your emotions reached a boiling point when you saw Billie being all flirty with Odessa and Quen. It was like you couldn’t hold it in any longer—the jealousy, the longing, the fear that maybe it would never be you. After watching her take turns kissing both of them, something inside you snapped. You’d seen enough. You ran off the stage, your heart pounding in your chest. You heard Zoe call out to you, her voice barely cutting through the blaring music, but you didn’t care. You just couldn’t be there anymore. Billie didn’t even notice. She was too caught up in the moment, dancing and enjoying herself, oblivious to the storm building inside you.

Would it even matter if she had noticed? Would she follow after you? The questions swirled in your mind as you pushed through the crowd, your thoughts racing faster than your legs could carry you. As much as you wanted to leave, it dawned on you that you had a ride with Billie and her friends, and they weren’t exactly in the mood to leave, unlike you. Even though it was dark outside, it was still early, and Coachella was far from over.

You pulled out your phone and quickly called a Lyft. Unfortunately, it was going to be 20 minutes until it arrived. You sighed in frustration. You were ready to get out of here. You kept hearing Billie shouting into the mic, her voice cutting through the noise of the crowd. The more you heard her talk, the more the tears fell, unbidden, down your face.

That’s when you saw a streak of brown hair approach you slowly. Your vision was blurry from the tears, but you recognized her—Claudia. She looked at you with concern, worry in her eyes.

“Are you okay?” She asked, gently placing her hand on your shoulder.

“I saw you run off stage. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, wiping your eyes and avoiding her gaze. You hoped she wouldn’t notice, but your voice betrayed you.

“I can clearly see you’re crying, Y/N. Zoe told Billie you ran off. She’s worried about you.”

Sure, she is, you thought bitterly. You forced a weak laugh, wiping your nose on your sleeve.

“She said she’s going to talk to you as soon as she’s done.”

That was it. You snapped. The frustration, the hurt, the years of suppressed feelings—everything came crashing down on you.

“Yeah, right!” You yelled, your voice cracking with raw emotion. “She doesn’t care about me or my feelings!” You stepped back, shaking your head. “I can’t do this anymore, Claudia. I just can’t.”

Claudia’s confusion deepened. “What do you mean?”

You paused for a moment, wiping your eyes. Were you actually going to tell her? You’d never told anyone except your sister, who pretty much knew before you did that you liked Billie. You took a deep breath, gathering your nerves.

“I like her, Claud,” you finally muttered, the words slipping out before you could even fully process them.

Claudia’s eyes widened, her drink falling to the ground as she stepped back, stunned. “You what?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I like her,” you repeated, your heart pounding. “Like, like her. For a while now,” you admitted, the weight of your confession heavy on your chest. “But I never told her because I didn’t think she’d feel the same, and I tried to forget about it, but I just can’t.”

The words kept tumbling out, and once you started, it felt like there was no stopping them. “She makes it so hard not to like her. Everything she does mesmerizes me. She’s so beautiful and kind, and she has the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen in my life. Every time I look into them, I wanna tell her how I feel, but I don’t. I didn’t want her to reject me or, worse, ruin our friendship. But I’m pretty sure after tonight, our friendship’s pretty much over. Because she doesn’t give a damn about me or how I feel, and if she does, she’s got a funny way of showing it.”

You wiped away more tears, your face flushed from the outburst.

Claudia stood there in stunned silence, her eyes softening as she watched you, tears threatening to fall from her own eyes, despite the alcohol still buzzing through her. She didn’t say anything for a moment, but you could see her processing what you had said. She reached out slowly, pulling you into a hug. You didn’t even realize how badly you needed it until she wrapped her arms around you.

“I never knew any of this,” she said into the crook of your neck. You could smell the alcohol on her, but you didn’t care. “And you’re wrong about one thing,” she pulled away slightly, looking at you seriously. “She does care about you.”

You didn’t want to believe her. You couldn’t. “No, she doesn’t. If she did—”

“She does, Y/N. All she ever talks about when she’s with me and Finneas is you—what you’re doing, what you guys are talking about. I’m telling you, you’re always on her mind.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “Then how come every time we’re together, she’s always focused on something else or someone else?”

“She’s busy, you know that.”

“Yeah, too busy for me, I see,” you said sadly.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed. You glanced at it: your Lyft was about to pull up.

“Enough about this, Claudia. I’m going back to the hotel to pack my things,” you said, taking a few steps toward the pick-up area.

“What? No!” she yelled, trying to pull you back.

“As I said, I can’t do this anymore. It’s never going to be me, Claud. And I’m done trying,” you told her firmly, walking toward the Lyft. Claudia didn’t follow you. She just stood there, her expression a mix of sadness and concern, watching you leave. You glanced back at her one last time before climbing into the backseat.

“If she really cares about me, like you say, then she’d be right here, talking to me, trying to stop me from leaving. But she’s not,” you said, gesturing toward the stage where Billie was performing.

“She’s not, is she?” you whispered to yourself, before shutting the door behind you and leaving Claudia standing there, as the car sped off toward the hotel.

[natsredbra]

A fractured line II

summary: All we did was kiss, on my grave I swear.

pairing: Natalie Scatorccio x fem!reader

warnings: smut in the beginning, mentions of SA (Travis and doomcoming), shrooms, knives, fighting, mentions of hetero sex (yes thats a warning), angsttttttt, our girl reader is dealing with situationship demons, ambiguous ending

a/n: fucking finally!! im so sorry if this disappoints any of you, i literally got the idea when i listened to a song. i do like this one better but unfortunately i needed some angst on this page its literally all porn, also not proofread we die like jackie

word count: 5k

taglist: @theprismyyy @priyajoyy @bbbexee

part 1

Natalie’s lips were cold against yours, but it didn’t stop you from capturing them feverishly. And as cliche as it sounds, you really haven’t felt this way before. You could tell yourself it was the shrooms, but that simply wasn’t the case.

She was the first to pull away. It might’ve felt like torture but you did need to breathe.

She also had no right looking this beautiful. To look at you, while being this beautiful.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-“ You started, but were soon cut off by her own lips this time.

She kissed you like you were all she’s been looking for her entire life, cupping your face and straddling you on the cold ground. Your fingers tangled in your hair as you let her lips explore you.

They traveled down to your jaw, your neck and collarbone which was showing right above the neckline of your dress.

It all felt like you were in slow motion, maybe she felt it too. Coming back up to your lips, she pressed a searing kiss against them.

“I want you so bad.” Natalie whispered, sending a wave of heat between your thighs.

“Please let me have you.” She said with a burgeoning excitement. How could you ever say no to that? To her?

The small nod you gave was more than enough for her to continue, slowly dragging the straps of your dress down. Her slender fingers burned against your skin as they mapped it out, relishing the warm feeling of you. Her lips also continued their path in sync with her hands, growing needier by the minute.

You were hyper aware of it all - her body pressed against yours, it was as if your entire being mingled with hers.

Moving her hips down just slightly, she straddled just one of your thighs insted, tailing a hand up your leg until she reached the already ridden up hem.

“Can I?” Natalie asked almost shyly, one tone you’d yet to hear from her.

“Please.” You coaxed out, her hand pushing your panties to the side before you could even finish.

Once her skin made contact with your bare core you were done for. Resting her forehead against yours, letting her plump lips brush against your cheek in a soft reassurance before nudging your hole with her middle finger.

Once she does push it inside you, she acts as if she can feel it too. Her hips jerked against your body, digit moving simultaneously. Her movements were a bit unsure, but she soon found a spot that made you writhe in pleasure. Adding another finger, she circled your clit too, sending shockwaves down your spine.

You’d never been touched this way before. Never felt like someone wanted to touch you simply to make you feel good, and not get something in return. In this moment, it was as if her sole purpose was to please you, and rest assured herself, grinding down on the ridge of your thigh.

Not trusting your hands anymore, you propped yourself up on one elbow, the other arm sneaking around Natalie’s neck. She embraced it right away, placing a soft hand where your shoulders meet, as if grounding you.

“Does that feel good?” She whispered against your lips, nudging your nose with her own.

“Feels amazing, Nat.” You answered, pure desire laced in your tone. Seems to urge her on too, as her movements against you get noticably frenzied, chasing her climax along with you. Brushing your lips against hers, the two of you came soon enough, swallowing each other’s moans and whimpers. It was in this moment that you felt truly content, something you haven’t felt in a long time.

Plopping back down onto the dirt, Nat collapsed atop of you, nuzzling her head into your chest.

“That was - amazing. You’re really amazing.” The girl slurred out.

“You’re really shitfaced!” You retorted with a laugh, the breeze making your damp thighs feel slightly cold

“No but you are! You’ve got those eyes and - and the hair and boobs.” She listed, holding up her fingers and counting on them.

The whole exchange made you throw a cackling fit, your arms tightening around her. This is what people meant when they called sex intimate, then. The intimacy may not only exist in the act itself, though it certainly was there - but also before and after. In fact, the buildup and post orgasm bliss may have actually been better.

Natalie felt that way too. She had her fair share of fucking, but never making love. It was different, even though she always argued it wouldn’t be, and you both felt it.

Right now, she just let herself listen to your heartbeat, no pressure, no worries or chaos, just for tonight—

“Help!”

You two heard in the distance. Immediately jolting upwards, you exchanged a skeptical glance. But your moms didn’t raise pussies.

Nat and you soon got up, running towards the sound that overtime became more pronounced.

Approaching it more, you could finally identify Jackie’s voice screaming, coming from the cabin.

“That good, huh?” You joked as the two of you bolted inside.

Grasping the handle, Natalie unlocked the door that the girl was trapped behind.

There she was, staring at you with wide, guilty eyes. Normally, you would’ve blinded her for messing with what’s yours. But could you even do that? Especially when you did the exact same thing? Shitfaced philosophy was really working as Jackie gawked between Nat and you, with an admittedly shameful look. Of course you weren’t sure, but from what you heard you presumed this was, in fact, her first time.

But apparently she was in some kind of hurry. it was funny what these mere mushrooms could do. The interaction was quite ephemeral, yet to you it seemed as the longest awkward moment you’d had to face, ever.

“Are you okay?” Nat asked, tuning to look at you

“I’m free! Natalie I’m a free being! And so is Jackie…” You started, both of you presuming her hurried state was a symptom of the high.

“Yes you are honey.” Nat said, stifling a laugh.

“Dude I’m a whole person!

“Yeah, you are a whole.” She replied with a stupid lovesick smile on her face

“I’m a hole!” You giggled along with her about your wrong interpretation of her words.

“We should see where she was headed, yeah?” Nat said, and you reluctantly did follow

Catching up to the aforementioned girl was quite easy, seeing as Natalie and you were fast, and on a nice amount of the forest-provided ecstasy. With asking Jackie questions came cryptic answers, however your light and playful demeanor lessened more and more with her serious one.

It went dead as soon as you heard sketchy sounds in the distance. They became as obvious as ever as you approached them, and getting to a clearing you saw something you thought you were tripping abo- oh, it’s real!

Your very ex was tied to some kind of fucking altar? With Lottie right next to him? And Shauna’s knife to his throat?

God help your delirium, Jackie and Natalie rushed over and helped him right away. You felt like a coward, only being able to watch in horror and shock. But then again, it wasn’t everyday that you see a boy strapped down to- whatever that is and covered in numerous lipstick marks, that were not in fact Jackie’s.

She did take the liberty of taking him back, Nat being the one to handle you. She took your clammy hand onto hers and lead you back to the lake for some peace and quiet, which you immensely needed.

"So that was something, huh?" Nat broke the silence, sitting beside you.

"If that's what you wanna call it." You deadpanned, your high wearing off.

"You did good. Back there. You did your best." Natalie spoke lowly, trying to make you feel better. She always did that, not just to you, to everyone. She wasn't as cheerful about it as say Jackie, but she did her best, and it almost always hit the spot. Not quite this time though.

"There was so much more I could've done." You whispered back, not turning your head to look at her. Still, you could feel her own eyes burning holes to the side of your face.

"Hey, don't do that! You were terrified, dude."

"And you weren't?" You questioned, a bit agitated. Not at her, at yourself.

The question was followed by a long silence, both of you gazing towards the woods and the water. The majestic moonlight illuminated the place, making the lake's contents sparkle before you.

Maybe, just maybe, if you were on a field trip with your friends from back home, sneaking in booze and huddling up to him her on the drive home, you’d think this place was beautiful.

"Everyone was so scared of you," She scoffed "I never was. I mean you were a girl, just like the rest of us. Trying to get through all that shit - high school, family, whatever...I get that." Nat said, making you smile a little

"That night, when Travis broke up with me, you said that were were two sides of the same coin. I wasn't sure what you meant until tonight." You replied

Yeah, now you knew exactly what she meant. Both of you were just young, putting out a tough exterior - one that everyone recognized you by - simply to protect yourselves. Maybe the reason you avoided Natalie wasn't because of how different you are, but how similar she actually was to you. Maybe you didn't wanna accept that.

"I don't regret what happened tonight, by the way." She said, sounding almost afraid to voice it.

"Me either." You whispered, finally locking your eyes onto hers.

It was as if she didn't have the physical strength to hold back, leaning in to kiss you seconds after you looked at her. Moving a bit closer, her touch got increasingly more hungry.

Oh well, a second round can't hurt.

------------------------------------------------

The early morning light distributed through the forest, slowly awaking you from your slumber. Raising your head, you couldn't ignore the dull ache in your neck - likely from sleeping on the ground. A few feet away from you, you could see your reflection in the shore of the infamous lake. Your hair was quite messy as you tried to shake all of the sand out of it - or at least most. The dress you wore was draped lazily over your hip, your almost bare body covered in dirt.

That's when it hit you, everything that happened last night. And I mean, everything, in detail.

"You’re awake." A soft, familiar voice that belonged to Natalie called out

"Unfortunately." You muttered, rubbing your face with your hands. Sure, you did have a thing for the dramatics, but this time you kind of meant it.

Natalie snorted before responding, "I got you some clothes." She said, and only then you noticed she was already changed.

"I'll rinse off first." You answered, standing up and leveling with her before walking over to the water.

You took careful steps, dipping your toes inside though it was quite frigid. Nat moved over closer to you, stripping bare of her pants.

"Just jump in." She said teasingly as you gave her a faux eyeroll. Though to her surprise, you did just dive right in, keeping your head under for a few seconds until some dirt was out of your ear.

The blonde sat at the shore, her legs intertwining with the water as she drew up her sleeves and leaned back on her hands. Swiftly swimming over you laid your wet head of hair on top of her thigh, looking up at her through your eyelashes.

"That was a shit show." She spoke up, breaking the silence

"Not all of it!" You called out, playfully smacking her arm with the back of your hand, earning a soft giggle from her.

"No, not all of it. I did like some parts." She said with a smirk

You just snorted, gazing up at her.

"You know, when all this is over and we get back home, I'm taking you out on a proper cheesy date." Nat stated, leaving zero room for argument.

"I'd love that." You replied, nuzzling your face into her.

"You know that really cliche moment in the movies when the lead finally realizes they're into someone and wants to - take care of them, or whatever?" The girl spoke up above you

"Yeah?"

"I feel like this might be it for me." She said, followed by a short silence

"I like how you make me feel so much lighter. Like I'm carrying a bunch of weight on my shoulders and you just take it away." You said quietly.

She didn't need to respond for you to know how much those words meant to her, or how she's felt it with you herself.

All the exhaustion was finally getting to you, as well as the hangover. You groaned in pain softly, and she took the hint, running the pads of her fingers through your hair.

"Maybe you should check in with him." She said. God why did she have to be so kind and well meaning? This was a conversation you were not looking forward to in the slightest, and it made you groan quite a bit louder.

"What if we just stayed here all day? We can be lazy and make out!" You proposed, climbing back up to straddle her thighs, your arms encircling her neck, wetting the fabric of her shirt.

"Yeah, for a little. But at some point we need to go back, there's so much shit to do." Nat responded, giving you a tender look.

"Dude why? They were the ones that went fucking insane!"

"Maybe so, but still. They'll be on our asses if we don't." She spoke with a bit of annoyance.

Surely though, you could not forget the makeout session that was meant to take place. Leaning in, you pressed your cold lips onto hers, making her hand fly and ball in your hair, pulling you in closer. It sure would be an eventful morning.

Finally being done with your...seemingly favorite stress relief method, you both did get dry and dressed, dreading what was to come. With a deep breath, Nat's warm hand found yours, taking it as she led you back to camp.

At this moment, you were hyperaware of all your surroundings. Her skin on yours, as your own clung to your clothes, your damp locks wetting the area of your neck. The quiet hum of the wind traveling through the dainty leaves, making the inevitable silence that much more bareable.

“It’s gonna be fine. They’re the ones that should feel shitty.” She just always knew exactly what to say.

You gave her a reassuring smile - that was mostly meant for yourself, and turned the corner, walking up to the cabin.

See, you expected many things. You expected a dirty look, maybe a concerned or a guilty one. Maybe you expected to be teased for the very obvious post-hookup flush in your face. You expected Nat to be made fun of for all the marks coating her neck. What you didn’t expect was to see the entire group in both awe and terror, gathered all together.

All together, around the one and only Lottie, pulling a knife out of a bear’s neck. So in the grand scheme of things, no one even noticed you walk up.

Natalie instinctivly pulled you closer, remembering your fairly negative feelings towards certain things, such as guts and gore.

“Oh - now you come back? We’ve been looking for you all morning!” Taissa called out to you two once she spotted you.

“Is that seriously what’s on your mind right now?” You asked in slight disbelief.

“Yes! We had no fucking idea where the gun was!” An agitated Mari yelled.

“It’s by the door.” Natalie said with a bit of a mocking tone, making you snort once you saw the other girl’s dumbfounded expression.

“Okay, who cares? The bear is dead, no one’s hurt and we have food!” Akilah stated.

“Absolutley. No point in talking about it now.” Coach said in what you presumed to be a bored tone. Not like you could blame him.

“Just drag it to the back, we’ll cut it up later.” Shauna muttered as a couple girls took the liberty to do so.

“I’ll go take a walk, I need to clear my head.” You told Nat, giving her hand a soft squeeze

“Take your time. I’ll be around.” She responded, scanning the place a little before giving the corner of your mouth a bit of a sarcastic, fast kiss, which earned her a small eyeroll.

Walking out to the back, barely twenty feet away, you ran into the very person responsible for your inner turmoil this sunny morning. Before turning and running away, Natalie’s voice rang in your head. And for fucks sake, you wanted her to think highly of you, even for something benign as this.

“Travis? You okay?” You incquired with a gentle approach. Or at least, as gentle as possible.

“I’m fine.” He responded hastly, though his current demeanor said otherwise.

“Need help with that?” You tried yet again, pointing to the cold, wet rag he rubbed against the bruised skin of his neck.

“No.”

Despite his refusal, with a sigh you slowly reached for it anyhow. The boy had a skeptical look on his face before letting go and fall into your own hand.

In a soft motion you soothed the sensitive area, making him slightly wince.

“So…Jackie?” You asked tenatatively

“Excuse me? Natalie?!” He shot back, raising his eyebrows up to his forehead.

Your own followed suit as you raised your eyes, looking into his. As soon as they locked on them the both of you broke into a small laughing fit as you still worked on him.

“Guess we finally got laid huh?” He spoke again.

“Hey! That was not my fault, you were the one who couldn’t get it up.” You retorted, though your words had no real heat to them.

“I was…nervous.” Travis replied, a faint red hue on his cheeks.

“You couldn’t tell me that before I shoved your flacid dick in my mouth?” You questioned in a mock flat tone, finally letting the rag drop back to the makeshift table.

The boy chuckled again, brushing his hair back with his fingers.

“I’ll uh- I’ll go look for Javi.” He declared, rubbing his eyes quite agressively.

“What? He’s not here?” You proclaimed, crossing your arms over your chest as your brows knitted together.

“No he- I guess he ran away last night?” Travis said, and you could sense his anguish though he tried to hide it.

“Should I come with you or-“

“It’s fine. I need to clear my head anyway. It was nice talking to you though.” He conveyed with a tight-lipped smile before rushing away, leaving you a bit dumbfounded.

And honestly yes, it was nice talking to him. You could only go so long before going insane with all the awkward tension, neither of you needed that out there. Who knows, he might actually be your friend while you battled with your raging bicuriousity.

It was a nice day, though a colder one. Walking through the quiet woods, many things were on your mind. First and foremost, you thought all about how tough it'll be once winter gets here, and it was right around the corner.

Then you realized just how fucking thirsty you are, seeing as the last thing you drank was the so called berry wine the night before. Your finally dry hair moved in rhythm with the wind that unapologetically ruffled it as it went, making you a tad dizzy too. The sleep depravation didn't help either - if it was a possibility you'd do multiple questionable things for a Tylenol and some coffee, or at least tea that doesn't taste like piss.

"What are you doing out here?" A skeptical, slightly frightened Jackie called out, you hadn't even noticed her.

“I don’t know? Walking around…you?” You inquired, taking a seat next to her, letting your back rest against one of the trees.

“Same, I guess. Look, about last night-“ She started before you cut her off.

“No, it’s fine, really…It’s not like we were still together or anything. “ You replied, waving a hand in dismissal.

“Really?” The girl asked in obvious disbelief.

“Really. I mean we’ve got enough shit to worry about, relationship drama isn’t it.” You said in a flat tone, eyes scanning her face.

“Yeah, fair…but I don’t think you really need to worry about a relationship anyway.” Jackie said in a teasing done dripping with implication.

“What?”

“I just meant with Nat and everything-“ She sputtered, until realizing you were less then amused.

“Is there a problem with that?” You barked, the question coming out rougher then you intended.

“No! No, I’m just saying, she’s pretty much smitten. And it figures you wouldn’t be mad at me if you were this good with her.” Jackie said matter-of-factly, making a shiver run down your spine.

“Well why wouldn’t we be good?” You asked, mockingly accentuating the word.

“I just thought because- y’know, her and Travis?” She asked as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Wha- what about Travis and her?” You questioned, sitting up straighter

“Oh, you didn’t know?”

No, no you didn’t fucking know.

“They hooked up or something. Uh- Van saw them, when they were supposed to be out hunting. I thought she told you that” Jackie quivered, trying to gauge your reaction.

“Right…when’d this happen?” You asked breathlessly. Truly, it felt like there was no air left in the world.

“A couple days ago.” She replied, unsure.

Hearing that made made your eyes burn with unshed tears and your throat close up. You never felt quite this way before, and you absolutley despised it. Your mind ran with all the possible images and scenarios involuntarily, making your head spin. At this point you were spiraling, entirely in war with yourself. How could you ever let her get this close? Better yet, how the fuck did the only person you were actually into betray you this way?

Here she was, making you matching head pieces and dancing with you oh so intimately at that party - and what? To get in your pants? To use you, just like she’d been used. Do hurt people hurt people?

“Are you okay?” Jackie asked, careful of her tone and expression.

“I’m fine. Whatever, she’d have sex with anyone who gave her the attention her father didn’t” You hissed, leaving Jackie speechles with her jaw hitting the floor.

And god, as much as she hurt you, you felt rueful as soon as the words left your mouth. Usually, you’d never regret saying something like that about a person who dared cross you, but she was different. Just so fucking different, it scared you to no end. She had an inexplainable effect on you.

“I need to go.” You said, hurrying off before the girl could respond.

Your feet carried you as your mind ran. Without realizing it, you’d walked back to the cabin, not even bothering to stop the hot tears from spilling over your eyes. Only when you reached the back of the place, where you left Travis a little over an hour ago, you realized where you were.

The thing is though, you most definitely didn’t feel like socializing with anyone at this point, so you attempted to make your way back towards the deeper woods - or even the ever famous lake.

However unfortunately for you, luck wasn’t on your side. Just as you turned around to walk back, you faced a familiar person, and the very cause of these complicated emotions.

“Y/N, hey, I was looking for you-“ Natalie approached, walking closer.

“Are you crying?” She asked, already moving to embrace you softly, a slight look of hurt and confusion gracing her face when you pushed her away.

You didn’t need trust yourself to speak as you wiped your eyes, taking a deep breath to ground yourself.

Only then, she realized what this was about.

“Y/N” She whispered, sounding somewhat desperate 

“How could you do that?” You shot back as the water dried on your face.

“We only kissed I-“

“You knew about everything that went down!” You yelled out, not paying much mind to her words

“We only kissed.” She tried again, this time sounding more assertive. Still as desperate. 

“What kind of a fucking excuse is that?!”

“I- please, you have to listen to me, it was a dumb mistake!” Natalie continued, her own eyes watering up

“Natalie I was miserable when we broke up, you saw it! Gosh, you- you’re fucking unbelievable. I just - I thought we were friends! And anyway, I’d never expect you to do that!” You drawled out, your voice shaky. 

“You can’t deny that you and I are so much more then friends.” Nat sobbed, locking your teary eyes with her own.

“That’s what I thought last night too.” You mumbled. 

“No, I promise - it’s still there! I still feel it. Christ, I love you! I fell in love with you in a matter of weeks! Do you even realize the effect that you have on me?! That you always had on me?” She bawled, at this point yelling for the whole world to hear. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was your forgiveness. 

“Oh God, Natalie you don’t love me, you don’t even know me!” You hissed.

“What the fuck? I’ve known you for years! Look, I know that you hate when guys tell you what to wear, I know that the coffee you drink is practically milk and you throw half of it away before every practice, I know you like having red nails. But the darker ones, you once said you felt cheap if they were neon or whatever. I also know what kind of music you listen to because you annoyingly always insisted to play it. And I can bet you know little things like that about me too but the thing is, I’ve grown to fucking love every single one of them this past month. And I am so fucking sorry about what I did.” Natalie explained. She sounded truly miserable, letting her own tears fall freely.

And you were stunned to hear it. At this point, there was so much emotion plastered across her face, you even debated believing her. But the truth is, you weren’t even sure you believed they didn’t hook up, so how could you believe anything else she said? Then again - why would she try so hard to convince you otherwise if she didn’t at least care?

Still, thinking about it made your insides churn and all you knew is that you couldn’t be around her. Your pride may have had a large impact on all of it too. Softly shaking your head, you walked away, not sparing her another glance. If you did, you’d stay back, and you couldn’t afford that right now. 

All the betrayal, anger, sadness and frustration mixed inside your head into a dangerous cocktail. Retrieving the cheap, half drunken whiskey bottle you disappeared into the woods, settling down on the clearing that brought back many memories from the prior night.

You chugged it down like your life depended on it, though it did little to to ease your anguish. And anyway, the burn in your throat was a momentary distraction.

In the grand scheme of things, this seemed awfully unimportant. So what if you feel like you've known this girl in your last life? So what if she was the only person to properly watch out for you? So what if all your walls crumbled down as soon as she sent something as little as a soft smile your way? So what if you fell in fucking love in five weeks, right? It's not like you could lose something you never actually had. Right now, she's both the closest and the farthest she'd ever been from you. To you. This girl managed to reinvent you, only to kick you back down this way.

You cursed the day you let yourself be yourself in front of her, The day she was born a little, too. There were simply so many things you wanted to do and say, yet you found yourself unable to move a muscle. At this point, you weren't even sure whether you were being dramatic or not. You just knew you wanted this feeling to end

Little did you know, back at the cabin Natalie was crashing out. She was going around, poking and asking who the fuck had the nerve do say this to you. Deep down, she knew she was in the wrong - and that there was no taking back what happened. She knew that the trust you reluctantly put in her was long gone, and it was as if she grieved it.

Yet to this day, the only thing Nat wanted was to feel closer to you. To understand and and be there for you. She was so convinced that there wasn't a universe in which you would want her the same way she wanted you, and all the disdain got in and over her head, making her do something she knew she'd regret.

Out of spite, she kissed him. Out of spite, she hurt you. Out of spite, she ruined it. Because that it what she does, under it all, there is a divine, kind person, sadly covered up by a thick layer acting as rough protection.

The only thing she was now sure of was how much she would try to make it up to you. Natalie would do anything if it granted her the feeling of her lips pressing yours, just once more.

[pb5luvr]

i think it would be cute if you wrote a little something about paige’s reaction when azzi gets her braids done (like they were on the cruise) or just stuff about paige being extra obsessed with azzi when she gets them done

surprise

a/n: this is such a cute idea thank you for the request!!

3rd POV

the morning sun hits paige’s face causing her to wake from her slumber. she stretched her arms expecting to be met with azzi sleeping beside her but she was instead met with an empty space. azzi had already gotten up and was in their shared bathroom brushing her teeth. she was wearing a comfy, beige matching set and had her hair in its natural state.

azzi was excited for today. she had a surprise planned for paige that she had to hurry and get to.

“azzi” paige called out from the bed. azzi replied by peeking her head out the door, toothbrush in mouth

“why are you up so early” paige asked confused

azzi spit the toothpaste in the sink and rinsed her mouth out before she replied “i have a thing today”

“a thing?” paige replied with confusion rubbed on her face, “what do you mean a thing?”

azzi walked over to paige, leaned down, brushed a piece of hair out of paige’s face, kissed her forehead and said, “just something, i’ve gotta go”

“wait az-“ paige started to protest before she was cut off

“bye i love you!” azzi called as she walked out of the room and shut the door with a click

what could azzi possibly be doing?

paige continued on with her day, though. she brushed her teeth, got dressed, ate breakfast, played fortnite. you know, the usual. of course, she sent azzi texts all day asking if her whereabouts

azzi 💗

hi baby

where are you?

azzi?

helloooooo

answer please

read 11:36 am

read. at least she wasn’t dead, right? paige began to get frustrated. azzi had been gone for hours and paige had no idea where she was. was she cheating? no, she couldn’t be. maybe? who knows.

2pm rolled around and paige got so bored to the point where she pulled out her homework and seriously started doing it. just as paige was about to text azzi one last time, the door opened slowly.

azzi walks in the apartment with a smile on her face and her hair freshly braided, goddess braids. paige’s favorite.

“hi babe!” azzi said excitedly as she saw paige

paige, on the other hand, just stared. a look of annoyance filled her face meanwhile a smirk on her face gave the opposite impression.

“so” paige started, “you left early this morning and didn’t text me all day because you were getting your hair braided?”

“i told you i had a thing” azzi protested with a smile on her face

“i can’t believe you” paige replied as she looked back at her work

“what?” azzi said, suddenly concerned, “you don’t like it?”

“obviously i like it” paige smirked looking back at azzi. “c’mere” she said as she gestured at azzi

azzi walked over to paige and wrapped her arms around her neck, paige’s arms made their way around azzi’s waist.

“mmm you look so beautiful baby” paige murmured as she looked at azzi with pure adoration

“thank you” azzi responded as she brought their lips to a sweet, lingering kiss

suddenly, azzi let out a quiet chuckle

“what” paige asked confusedly, a smirk still plastered on her face

“i can’t believe you’re actually doing your homework” azzi said sarcastically

“shut up” paige laughed, “waiting for you made me bored”

azzi only responded with another laugh. if this is what makes paige start taking school seriously, she would definitely be surprising her again.

[81pastrys]

Teary Eyes

Summary— Mila watched the race live and Oscar was staying strong for her until he couldn’t

Warnings— Australian Grand Prix 2025

A/N— IM SO SO SORRY

The home Grand Prix? It was not grand at all. Mila was having fun with her aunts in the paddock. Dancing to music, seeing fans, and overall fun while the cars raced in wet conditions. All she knew was that her daddy was in second and he was doing good.

Suddenly the vibes in the garage shifted from winning a 1-2 anticipation to panic and anxiety. When Hattie gasped and panicked Mila panicked, looking around for why everyone was so reactive.

Her little eyes glazed over when she saw the orange line with Pia next to it, dropping significantly down the list. “No, daddy, no!!” She squealed, adding to the panic of everyone else. She didn’t understand much, but when a colored line dropped it usually meant they were out.

Hattie tried distracting Oscars little girl while she also tried making sure it wasn’t a crash. When he was beached on grass for skimming gravel and wet track they watched intently. Mila was holding back tears. She knew how much the race meant to him.

“Is he okay?” She asked her aunt. “Look aunt Hattie look!” She said loudly, noticing Oscar join back on track. Hattie rubbed Mila’s tummy comfortingly, she knew Oscar wouldn’t be happy.

What was once a race for first, has now turned to a race for points at all. Mila was watching now, annoyed if someone interrupted her. A mechanic standing in the way would get a cute ‘move!’ For blocking the screen of her view.

When all was said and done, he ended up P9. “LaLa won the race Mila!” Hattie tried to put on a happy face. “Daddy got 9th.” She said returning a stray strand of hair behind Mila’s ear. Mila watched the tv still, annoyed at her aunt for interrupting.

Oscar was on the screen, he did not look happy but sad and distraught. Mila could sense his feelings through the screen. Her lip quivered as she looked to her aunt. If Hattie knew anything right now, it was that Oscar should not have to deal with his little girl upset about his result.

“Hey, daddy made it through the race.” She smiled at her niece. “Look at uncle LaLa, he gets a big trophy for the team.” Hattie said pointing at the podium. The words affected Mila’s attitude, because she was right. Oscar had finished the race, and Lando was getting a trophy for the team.

Mila anticipated for Oscar to come through the garage and it seems he was anticipating seeing her too. As soon as he could get free of a few talks and medias, he was sprinting to the garage. He looked around and spotted her. Still by Hattie like he asked her to be.

He picked her up and squeezed her tightly. She reciprocated the hug, her little arms squeezing his neck with promise. Hattie gave her brother a weak smile. Oscar refused to let go of Mila for the duration of the day.

“Are you ready to leave darling?” He asked her when she had rested her head in the crook of his neck. His trainer was going over something, the last thing he had for the day. “When Mr. Kim is done we can go okay?”

She looked at him in the eyes and nodded. Kim finished whatever it was he was going over and they packed up to leave. Mila sat patiently on the bench in his driver room as he gathered his things. “Daddy, I think you did good in the race.” Mila said quietly. She knew he wasn’t feeling the best about the race, that’s all he had talked about after.

Oscar looked over to her and saw her hesitant eyes, he had been talking down on himself the entire time he held her. He smiled at her, holding in his tears. He crouched in front of her and kissed her forehead. “Thank you angel.” He said quietly.

They drove to his childhood family home and she fell asleep on the way. He unbuckled her car seat and carefully transported her inside and to his bed. He returned to the main room and cried in his mums arms.

“I know, it’s okay baby.” Nicole cooed. She hugged her son and comforted him. “There’s always another one, it’s okay.” She held his face that was red and wiped his tears. His sisters decided not to say anything but stay their distance. They knew how excited he was to have a chance at winning.

His sisters suddenly joined the conversation with distracting coos to someone much shorter. Oscar quickly wiped his face from the tears and leaned on the counter facing away. The little feet padded over and Oscar couldn’t help letting another tear slip out.

“Daddy I can’t sleep.” Mila whined, not knowing she interrupted something. Oscar took a deep sigh before looking at her and crouching down. “What’s wrong daddy?” She whispered now concerned.

“Nothing angel, let’s go back to bed.” His voice gravelly and nasally from crying. He takes her hand and walks her back to his old room. He tucks her in and kisses her head.

“Cuddles daddy.” She said in the dark of the room. He never says no to her, a weakness he’s adapted to. Even in his vulnerable state. He kicks his shoes off and gets under the covers next to her, pulling her closer to him as she turns over and cuddles into his chest. He rubs her back as she drifts off again.

again I apologize, I will be crying myself to sleep after this thank you.

Taglist: @il0vereadingstuff

[bitchinbarzal]

Unsent Texts | M Barzal

summary: syd steals mat’s phone to uncover how your break up really made him feel.

-

You weren’t supposed to be thinking about Mat tonight.

You were supposed to be having a normal, drama-free dinner with your best friend, Sydney.

But the universe had other plans.

Because somehow, in the middle of drinks and half-finished appetizers, Sydney accidentally unlocked Mat’s phone. And now? Now you’re staring at hundreds of unsent messages—all of them to you.

It had been months since you and Mat ended things. At first, it was unbearable—learning to sleep alone, getting used to waking up without hearing his voice, forcing yourself to unlearn the way you fit so easily into his life. But you did it. You moved on. At least, that’s what you told yourself. You didn’t check his Instagram anymore. You didn’t avoid places you knew he’d be. When people mentioned his name, you smiled politely, like it didn’t twist something deep in your chest.

And you definitely, definitely didn’t still have a note in your phone filled with messages you were too afraid to send.

But it was there. Just sitting in your drafts, filled with late-night thoughts and regrets:

• I miss you.

• I saw your post-game interview today. You looked tired. Are you okay?

• I hate that I still think about you this much.

You could delete it. You should delete it. But you never did.

Sydney had mentioned casually earlier in the night that Mat was at their house before she left to meet you. It wasn’t unusual—he was always around since Matt and him were practically attached at the hip. You brushed it off at the time, convincing yourself it didn’t matter.

But now, here you were, holding his phone in your hands. Because he had left it at the Martin’s house, and Sydney—being Sydney—grabbed it, meaning to bring it back to him later.

And now you’re staring at your name on his screen.

And a message.

“I keep typing these, but I never send them. I don’t even know if you’d want to hear from me. But I miss you.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Y/N?” Sydney says softly.

You don’t answer.

You just scroll.

Because it’s not just one message.

It’s dozens.

No—hundreds.

Unsent texts, stretching back months.

• I saw something today that reminded me of you. I wanted to tell you but… I didn’t know if I should.

• I don’t even know why I’m typing this. Maybe just to pretend like you’re still here.

• I miss your laugh. I fucking hate that I miss your laugh.

• I hate that I let this happen.

Your chest tightens. Because you had done the exact same thing. You had unsent messages too—ones you never dared to send, ones you forced yourself to delete because you thought Mat had already moved on.

But he hadn’t. Not even close.

“Y/N,” Sydney says again, more serious this time. “What are you gonna do?”

You shake your head, gripping the phone tighter. “I don’t know.”

Because there was only one real option.

You could pretend you never saw this. Put the phone down, walk away, let the past stay buried.

Or You could type a message of your own.

And this time, hit send.

Before you can make a decision, the restaurant door swings open.

And suddenly, there he is.

Mat.

Wearing a hoodie, damp hair from the cold, looking like he rushed here the second he realized his phone was missing. His eyes lock onto you immediately. Then flick down.

To his phone.

In your hand.

And you watch it happen—the realization, the panic, the sharp inhale when he realizes exactly what you’ve seen.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

Sydney coughs awkwardly. “I think that’s my cue to leave.”

But neither of you even notice her get up.

Because Mat’s eyes are locked on yours, his whole chest rising and falling like he’s bracing for impact.

And then—quietly, hesitantly—he asks, “Did you read them?”

Your throat is dry. You can barely breathe.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I did.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw. He swallows hard, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was gonna delete them,” he admits. “I just… never could.”

You exhale shakily. “Neither could I.”

His gaze snaps to yours, wide. Disbelieving.

And suddenly, the air between you is charged with something new. Something unfinished. Something that, for the first time in a long time, feels like hope.

The restaurant feels smaller now. Like the walls are pressing in, like the air is thinner, like you might suffocate under the weight of everything you never said.

Mat stares at you, his jaw clenched, his hands curled into fists at his sides like he’s afraid if he moves too fast, you’ll disappear.

And maybe he’s right.

Maybe you should disappear.

Maybe you should walk away right now and leave him with nothing but his own regrets, the same way he left you.

But you don’t.

Instead, you whisper, “Why didn’t you ever send them?”

Mat exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “Because I was a coward.”

You blink, not expecting him to say it so bluntly.

“I thought about you every day,” he continues, voice low, hoarse. “Every fucking day, Y/N. But I convinced myself you were better off without me.”

Your throat tightens. “And now?”

His lips part, but he hesitates. “Now…” His gaze drops, flickering to the phone in your hands. “Now I just want to know if you ever thought about me too.”

You inhale slowly. “I did.”

His head snaps up.

“Mat…” Your fingers tighten around the phone. “I never stopped thinking about you.”

His face crumples—like he wasn’t expecting you to say it, like he’s spent months convincing himself you had moved on completely.

And maybe you had tried. Maybe you had told yourself that he was just a chapter in your life, that you had turned the page. But standing here, seeing the desperation in his eyes, knowing that he never stopped thinking about you either?

That changes everything.

“Do you still love me?” The words are out before you can stop them.

Mat inhales sharply.

Then, quietly, without hesitation—

“Yes.”

Your breath catches.

His voice is raw, almost broken. “I never stopped.”

You swallow hard, hands shaking. “Then why did we let this happen?”

Mat exhales, stepping closer, his fingers twitching at his sides like he wants to reach for you but isn’t sure if he’s allowed.

“Because I was stupid,” he admits. “Because I thought I had all the time in the world to fix it. But then you were gone, and—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “I didn’t know how to get you back.”

You stare at him, your pulse pounding.

“And now?” you whisper.

Mat’s throat bobs. “Now I’m standing here, praying that I haven’t lost you for good.”

You don’t overthink it. You don’t let fear win this time.

Instead, you take a shaky breath—and hit send.

Mat’s phone vibrates in your hands, and when he looks down at the screen, his breath catches.

Because there, sitting in his messages, is the first text you’ve sent him in months.

“Come home.”

He looks up at you, eyes wide, glassy, disbelieving.

“Are you sure?” he whispers.

You nod.

And then, before either of you can think twice, Mat pulls you into his arms, gripping you like he’s afraid you might disappear.

And this time, You’re not going anywhere.

[lilangelbud]

“Shh, it’s okay if you cry,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, yet laced with something darker, something hungry. His large hand smoothed over her trembling thigh, the touch both gentle and unyielding. “It’ll hurt less if you just relax.”

She sobbed, her body freezing under his weight, her hands clawing weakly at the sheets beneath her. “Please, no—I don’t want this,” she choked out, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. Her voice was small, fragile, like a child’s, and it only seemed to make him grip her tighter, his fingers digging into her soft flesh.

“You don’t have to want it,” he replied, his breath hot against her ear. “You just have to take it.” His other hand slid between her legs, forcing them apart despite her feeble resistance. She gasped, a strangled sound caught in her throat, as he leaned back slightly to admire her trembling form. “Look at you,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. “So pure. So perfect. And all mine.”

She shook her head, her hair splayed out beneath her like a dark halo. “Please, Daddy, I’m scared—”

“I know, baby,” he cooed, his thumb brushing over her lower lip. “But Daddy’s here. I’ll take care of you. You just have to trust me.”

---

Earlier that evening, she had been sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, her homework spread out in front of her. The light from the lamp cast a warm glow over her, and she chewed on the end of her pen, deep in thought. He had been watching her from the doorway, unnoticed, his eyes tracing the curve of her neck, the way her lips pursed as she concentrated. She was so innocent, so unaware of the effect she had on him.

“You’re going to strain your eyes,” he said finally, stepping into the room. She looked up, startled, and quickly gathered her papers into a neat stack.

“I’m almost done,” she replied, smiling shyly. “Just one more problem.”

He sat down on the couch beside her, close enough that his knee brushed against her arm. “You work too hard,” he said, his voice soft. “Always studying, always worrying. Why don’t you take a break for once?”

She laughed, a light, melodic sound that made his chest tighten. “If I don’t study, I’ll fail. And then what?”

“Then I’ll take care of you,” he said without hesitation. His hand reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. His fingertips lingered against her cheek, and she froze, her breath catching in her throat.

“Daddy…” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Shh,” he murmured, leaning in closer. “You’re so beautiful, you know that? So pure. So untouched.” His hand slid down to her shoulder, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “It’s not fair, really. The world doesn’t deserve you.”

She blinked up at him, her eyes wide and uncertain. “What are you talking about?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. “I’ve waited so long,” he whispered, his voice low and rough. “I’ve been so patient. But I can’t wait anymore.”

Her heart was pounding in her chest, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. “Wait, what are you—”

Before she could finish, he grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her to her feet. She stumbled, her eyes wide with fear as he dragged her toward the stairs. “Daddy, stop! You’re scaring me!”

“It’s okay to be scared,” he said, his voice calm, almost soothing. “But you’ll see. I know what’s best for you. I always have.”

He led her to his bedroom, her protests growing weaker as she realized the futility of resisting. He shut the door behind them, the click of the lock echoing in the silence. She stood in the center of the room, her arms wrapped around herself, her whole body shaking.

“Take off your clothes,” he said, his voice firm.

She shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. “No, please, I don’t want to—”

“You don’t have a choice,” he replied, stepping closer. His hands moved to the hem of her shirt, pulling it up and over her head. She gasped, clutching at her chest, but he was already reaching for the button of her jeans. “Let me see you,” he murmured, his voice husky with desire. “All of you.”

She tried to squirm away, but his grip was ironclad. He stripped her until she was bare before him, her body trembling like a leaf in the wind. He stepped back, his eyes roving over her, taking in every inch of her exposed skin. “Perfect,” he whispered, more to himself than to her. “So perfect.”

“Daddy, please,” she whimpered, her hands moving to cover herself. “I don’t want this.”

“You don’t have to want it,” he said again, his voice hardening. “You just have to take it.”

He pushed her down onto the bed, his weight pinning her in place. She struggled beneath him, but he was too strong, his hands easily restraining her. “Shh,” he soothed, his lips brushing against her ear. “It’s okay if you cry. It’ll be over soon.”

---

Now, as he positioned himself between her legs, she could feel the heat of him pressing against her most intimate place. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears streaming down her face as he leaned down, his lips brushing against her cheek.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Do you understand that? I’ve always loved you.”

She shook her head, a sob escaping her lips. “This isn’t love.”

“It is,” he insisted, his hand gripping her thigh. “You’ll see. You’ll understand.”

And then he thrust into her, the pain sharp and searing, tearing through her like a knife. She screamed, her body arching off the bed, but he didn’t stop. He kept moving, each thrust deeper, more forceful until she was certain she would break.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice strained with pleasure. “It’s okay if you cry. Daddy’s here.”

[misguidedasgardian]

AMOR VINCINT OMNIA VI.

VI. Thesis

MASTERLIST

Summary: There was no such thing as settling 

Warnings: Use of she/her pronouns, reader has hair, Ancient Rome AU accuracies and inaccuracies, arranged marriages, age difference (Marcus is late forties reader is 20), cursing, we are shorter than Marcucs, reader is touch starved, depression, angst, reader is lonely, life threatening disease, gladiator fights, animal slaughtering for ritualistic purposes, MIGHT MISS SOME WARNINGS

Notes: Ufff another chapter of which i had scenes written before the prologue! uuhhh

“Ubi tu Gaius, Ego Gaia”, if she was acting, it was very convincing, you thought. As you looked at your mother and you could see, clear as day, the adoration lurking in her eyes.

Perhaps she did like him at least, he was a handsome man, his hair already painted a bit white though, but now you understood where Lucius got his looks. 

Speaking of Lucius, you felt his gaze on you, but you tried to ignore it.

His villa was the greatest and most lavish thing you have ever seen, tall walls and ample spaces, everywhere you looked there was gold, golden statues, marble pillars painted with gold, lavish pools with the most beautiful mosaics you had seen. 

A huge garden, where you stood now, the smell of various flowers hit your senses.

It was customary that the ceremony was done in your mother’s villa, in the Palatine HIll, but… this was her second marriage, and he was Consus Licinio Craso, so, things were… different, they differed from tradition altogether. . 

As you gazed on those who had gathered there, all of Rome, mostly, you were saddened to not see Publio, he had also left, his mission took him North, northern still across the sea to Britannia, even norther, to the border with Caledonia. 

You couldn’t wait for him to return to hear about his stories, you were sure they were going to be great. 

But now you were being drawn to the present by the squealing of the sacrificed pigs.

Why did you always find yourself witnessing that?

Three times in less than a year, including your own in your own wedding.

You took a long breath, the metallic smell of blood reaching even you, standing at the side.

Oh Marcus

He had been gone for four weeks, missed the whole betrothal and wedding, and signing of contracts and all. 

With your friend gone to really witness the “afters” of her wedding, you were really beginning to think it wasn’t a big deal to begin with, it was only a signed paper, which you could undo, so… the theatrical of it all started to bore you.

You stifled a whimper as you looked down in shame

You were becoming a cynic

You were becoming something dark, that you didn’t want to be

You wondered where that sweet girl was, the one who had woken up one morning happy that the sun was shining, and was optimistic about her future, about her arranged marriage, you wondered where she was.

You wondered what she’d think, to look at herself now, crying everyday, alone, so alone.

She’d be terrified of what the future held for her.

“Run”, you’d tell her, “get in a Trirreme for Alexandria, go live in a small farm in the edge of the Nile, raise goats or something, do not fall in love unless they fall in love with you first”

“FELICITER!”, everyone cheered and you had no choice but to pretend you had said it too, and to start clapping. 

As the lavish feast started, you stayed in the garden, trying not to gaze at Lucius with a beautiful young woman dangling from his strong arm. He had been betrothed, which had been a long time coming, you wondered how it didn’t happen sooner, and then you remembered he had been aiming for you for years.

Years

And it all had come to this, you thought as you gazed upon your mother and Consus, speaking inside with senators, he was your new stepfather, your paterfamilias, if you hadn't married Marcus first of course. 

Your mother relinquished all her rights on you to him, you were his, Marcus’ if you divorced him, you wouldn’t get nothing, you couldn’t be your own person, you’d be dependent on him even if you wanted to marry somebody else.

You should have said something when you knew, to protest, to question, but you trusted your mother and she trusted him, so…

It seemed like there was no way out for you. 

You took a seat in a stone bench by one of the fountains, letting the sun fall around you, leaving you in darkness. You’ve come to like the dark though, in this weeks,  it shielded you, you felt like you could put down your mask, especially in crowded events like this, you could stop pretending that everything was fine.

But nothing could be hidden from your mother, who took a seat right by your side.

“Your guests will miss the honored woman”, you mumbled

“They can wait”, she whispered. “How have you taken Marcus’ absence?”. she asked, and you cringed at the name, because she always called him Acacius, calling him by his first name would be an act of familiarity you thought only belonged to you.

“I’m fine”

“I’m glad”, she said, “Because I will be gone for a couple of months”, you looked back at her, alarmed. “We are going to Greece”, she whispered, with a soft smile and a strange shine in her eyes. “Consus fixed this Trirreme, with golden statues and luxury”, as she spoke, you were looking at her carefully, and you couldn’t believe that was your mother at all. You didn’t recognize her, you thought she didn’t care about all that. 

“For long?”, you asked

“Just a couple of months”, she whispered, she eyed you carefully, you nodded. Marcus’ departure had already left you heartbroken enough not to care much, and you had barely seen your mother since you married Marcus anyways.

They all leave

You wondered when Cecilia was going to come back from Sicily .

You missed her terribly. 

“I wish you have a great time, mother”, you whispered

“I’ll leave you to care for Rome”, she said as she would like you were a small child, you only nodded. she caressed the side of your face and your hair. “You have become a woman in this short months”, she admired, caressing your cheeks

Is misery the real barrier between a girl and a woman?

The night ended with little to less excitement for you.

And speaking of excitement…

The twin emperors of Rome were hosting their first games, in celebration of your mothers nuptials. It was set to be a great event, ten days filled with gladiator battles, performances of the greatest glories of Rome, for one, they were going to fill the Colosseum with water to reenact a naval battle.

It was going to be a great spectacle

And for the first time, your heart wasn’t in it.

As you sat there, next to your mother, watching the battles, the blood, the chariots that used to fill you with excitement, you felt little to nothing.

Maybe it was the line between girlhood or womanhood.

That nothing thrilled you anymore.

The spectacle was great, showcasing Rome’s might that still lingered after all the efforts of your grandfather. 

It was still bittersweet. 

You had been raised with whispers of the power and might of the blood that flowed through your veins and yet here you stood, alone, at this point you truly believed you were going to be alone forever.

As you were married now, seemed like you had turned invisible, the men that used to smile and you and talked to you barely gazed upon you, and well, their wives would draw small talk from you, but not completely engaging as your mother and you always kept a close circle, now you knew why, because of the emperors, but still, that meant you had few friends. 

So as everyone was watching the spectacle of gladiators killing each other, you looked at the people, all of them in the pulvinus, to those closest to it. All with wide smiles but your mother, her disgust for blood hidden in the small branches of lavender tangled around her fingers. 

“My sweet, you should come with us”, she offered after the spectacle was over, you looked at her expectantly, “you should come stay with us, in Consus’ villa”, she explained, grabbing onto your forearm, you just watched her silently, then, behind her in the pulvinus, you saw lucius, looking at you with a look that was hard to define 

“I prefer to retrieve myself to the comfort of my home”, you said quickly, you grabbed onto your mother’s hand and squeezed, “I’ll see you soon, mother”. 

You made sure to not come back to the Colosseum for the rest of the game, claiming you were feeling a bit unwell.

You missed what the entire city called the greatest fight they had ever seen. As regards the flooding and the boats included. 

But you had other things to occupy your mind. 

You had hired three painters, who were now drawing very graphic pictures of battles, myths across the walls of the triclinium and atrium, and then some more erotic scenes near your personal rooms and the bath room. 

With the height of spring on you it seemed like the most logical place to start, with arts, as you grew your garden slowly. 

You realize you found solace and contentment while making your villa a home, making it more beautiful, more lively, as if Marcus was not going to give you a family, at least you could spend the money on fixing your surroundings. 

He told you could do it anyways.

You had bought tapestries from Greece, as beautiful amphoras for the oils and grains, beautifully carved wood furniture from Nubia, the finest cottons you had seen from Alexandria, and you had made tunics for you, Thulia and Diana for the coming summer. 

From Alexandria you also had purchased scrolls, with ancient tales of Egypt and Carthage, they were all in Greek, but… you knew how to read it thankfully. 

You didn't even feel guilty when you bought yourself some nice jewelry. a beautiful bracelet of a snake slithering around your forearm.

You used to look at the Roman Eagle with admiration, owls seeking for wisdom and the mythical animal that had fed Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome itself, the wolves, with reverence.

But as you gazed on that golden snake you’d realise, It had its own qualities, it was sneaky, slithering about on the tall grass, quiet, with the ability of changing its skin, being born again as it were. You wore it everyday now. 

You received missives from your mother who was travelling through the islands of Greece, and you would enjoy her tales of beautiful sights. 

And you were not going to lie, for when you found yourself alone, in your cold room at night, you felt incredible jealousy.

That ship had been built for Lucius and you, he had said so himself, and yet, you laid there, alone, and your mother was aboard it, with her new husband that would take her with him in his journeys.

You didn’t care about the gold, about the boat, about the golden coins, but, you did care about… well… about being married to someone who actually wanted you.

With tumultuous thoughts and dark dreams you managed to actually wake up when the sun was on the horizon. 

And the days, turned to weeks, turned to a couple of months…. 

“I do not think this is a good idea”, you said, stifling a giggle, when you saw the work

 You were correcting one of the painters, who had drained one of the impluvium and was installing a beautiful mosaic 

“I did this to your image, domina”. the man explained, oh yes, he had immortalized you in tiny pieces of beautifully colored stones, the problem was that you were naked, and it was clearly you. “Nobody would tell”, he said lightly, “it’ll be a secret between you and me”, you only shook your head and let him keep to it. 

“Put more jasmines and laurels around it though, it might distract those who gaze upon it o the likeness to me”, you jested, and he chuckled, shaking his head but was determined to please you.

But again, as you started to find some kind of rhythm to your life… someone came and disrupted it.

You heard a commotion outside your villa’s gates, horses neighing, voices shouting, people complaining.

“A legionnaire had never crossed Roman’s gates in the last hundred years”, someone shouted, and if you weren’t in the atrium itself, you wouldn’t have heard any of it.  

And from a second to the nest, both the thick wooden doors of your home opened widely, you jumped where you stood as you truly believed they were going to kill you or something, but no.

“What’s wrong?”, you asked, alarmed, as the atrium, from one moment to the next, was filled with legionnaires, and medicus. Four soldiers carried Marcus himself who laid in a grabatum

It had happened quickly, you had received news from your husband himself that himself as his army had managed to cross the Mediterranean and reached Tarraco, a port in Hispania, and everything went well.

The letter was very formal, but you appreciated it nonetheless.

And now this… two months after

“The General has fallen ill my lady”, Quintus, his right hand man said, placing his arm across his chest in sign of respect towards you

“Is he going to be alright?”, you asked, concerned, you followed the soldiers to Marcus’ rooms, you reached it just when he was being placed gently in his bed

“The General started feeling unwell after we reached Tarraco”, he said, “he refused treatment, and the idea of returning, but three days ago, we had to put him in the first Trirreme back to Rome my lady, he caught a fever in the journey”

“Nobody cared for him in Terraco?”, you asked him, anger started bubbling inside of you

“We… couldn’t trust anybody with the health of the general”, he said carefully, you nodded, your eyes returning to his shaky form on the bed

“We had not managed to break the fever”, said a medicus, that wore some reduced version of the armor, he must have been the one who went with them to treat their wounds…. battle wounds

When you saw your husband there, his forehead sweaty and heavy breathing, is like everything your mother ever thought you came back to you.

You grabbed Diana who was passing by the arm a bit rougher, but this was not the time for pleasantries

“Go to the market, NOW, bring me ginger, chamomile and coriander if you find it”

“Yes Domina”, she said quickly, and ran to fulfill your command, understanding the emergency.

“Thulia!”, you called, and she was by your side in a minute, “bring me a bucket of fresh water, and some linens”, you commanded, she nodded and went quickly

“My lady…”, called the medicus with warning

“I know what I’m doing”, you said firmly.

Since the fresh water and linens arrived first, you wasted no time in sitting by Marcus’ side on the bed, you grabbed the linens, soaked them in water, and placed them all over his trembling body

“We tried that already”, said the old man impatiently

“So we gotta keep trying”, you insisted. You needed to lower his body temperature somehow. Diana came running back, giving you the herbs as she took deep accelerated breaths.

“Thank you”, you said, “the mortar”, you called, and for the first time alone, you prepared the tonic your mother had taught you to use for this sort of cases. 

Once ready, you ran to his side, grabbed the back of his head, made him lean in, and you made him drink your concoction. He frowned and fought it, even in his condition, the thing had a strong smell, and a strong taste as well, but you managed to slide it down his throat, and that is what mattered. 

And you dedicate yourself to care for your husband

Fear took a tight grip on you, was he going to die? The bare thought brought tears to your eyes. He was your husband, your mother’s dearest friend and ally, yes he wasn’t caring, but not because of it you wanted him to die.

You had prayed on your home’s altar for his safety, for his health and for his victories, clearly, you had not been heard. 

Hours passed by and you were stuck to his side, changing the rags over his foreheads. You took the liberty of raising his toga, touching his body. it was so odd, the first you had looked upon his naked legs, his intimacy only covered by his subligaria, and yet you did not wasted time to gaze, you touched his belly, and not only you found it hard, by his years of battle and training, but warm, unnaturally warm. 

You took a long breath feeling the air around you, the spring had made sure to warm the land so you wouldn't be traumatizing his body to much lower temperatures. You grabbed a wet rag and placed it on his belly.

He shuddered, but you needed to lower his temperature

And you had tried everything, now it all depended on him, and on the gods. You realised it was already the middle of the night by the time you ended your care. 

He was still burning, but you wanted to believe that he had lowered his temperature somehow. 

You didn’t even notice how everyone left you alone with him, but you didn’t care, as you tried to care for him as much as you could, with everything your mother had taught you. Many had called her a sorceress, accused her of poisoning men like your own uncle, but they didn’t understand. Not really. 

As sleep overtook you, you fell asleep on top of him, clinging onto him, hoping your body temperature would help to lower his. 

.

“You have to eat something domina”, Diana said softly, you nodded, waking up slowly, still hugging Marcus against you. But you separated from him, grabbing little fruit, bread and cheese that she was offering. You grabbed the pitch of water and tried to give it to Marcus, to your relief, he did drink something.

“Bring me more rags, more water”, you said, and Thulia was the one to bring those things to you. “Fetch the medicus”, you asked of them, and both went to find him their separate ways to make it faster. 

You grabbed a bowl and a rag, ready to start your care again for the morning, when he seemed to stir on his sleep. You watched him carefully, but he didn’t open his eyes, but he did open his mouth…

“Lucilla…”, you froze with the damped cloth in your hand, paralyzed, “... my love”, he whispered.

“Marcus?”, you called, but he was deep in lethargy, his eyes closed and his forehead frowned in anguish

“I love you… Lucilla”, he whined. “But I won't…anymore”

Your heart broke in a million pieces, just like the clay bowl you had in your hands that you dropped and fell to the floor. 

So he did prefer women to men, only that the woman he preferred was your mother. It was horrible the way everything seemed to fall into place. Now you understood so many things you wished you never understood. 

“Gods”, you whispered brokenly.

Luckily, the medicus entered the room.

“You have done great domina, he has almost returned to himself!”, he said, relieved, taking your palace by his side, “you should rest, my lady”, he said softly. 

You only nodded, leaving them alone, you walked the now beautiful corridors back to your own room, as tears fell uncontrollably down your cheeks. 

PCN: uuhh did you saw that coming?

I have re-ratched gladiator I and Lucilla seemed to now a thing or two about tonics, so I wanted to deepen into that.

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[empressdede]

Meant to be

" you deserve someone who will love you right mama, to love you wholly and completely. Let me love on you mama all I wanna do is love you."

From @isabella-2025

Zariah’s fingers trembled as she gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white as she forced herself to focus on the road. The night air was thick, the weight of her disappointment pressing heavy on her chest. The restaurant had been dimly lit, the air perfumed with expensive colognes and soft candlelight, yet she had sat alone.

Alone.

Waiting for Matthew.

She had checked her phone repeatedly, rereading their messages from earlier in the day. Can’t wait to see you tonight, baby. Those words had felt real. They had felt like a promise. But she had sat there, watching other couples enjoy their meals, listening to the low murmur of conversation around her, while her own reflection in the restaurant window looked back at her—exposed, humiliated.

He hadn’t called. He hadn’t texted.

And she couldn’t take it anymore.

She wasn’t going home. She wasn’t going to curl up in bed and cry herself to sleep, questioning what she had done wrong this time. No, she was driving straight to the one person who had always been there. The one person who had never made her feel small or insignificant.

Jonathan Fatu.

The glow from his porch light was the only warmth she felt when she pulled into his driveway. She didn’t even cut the engine before she was stepping out, her heels clicking against the pavement as she made her way to the door. She didn’t have to knock twice.

Jon stood there, a hoodie hanging loose over his broad shoulders, sweatpants slung low on his hips. His hair was slightly messy, his eyes heavy with exhaustion—probably from training—but the second he saw her face, everything about him shifted.

“Z, what’s wrong?” His voice was deep, gentle, but laced with something else. Concern.

She didn’t answer immediately. She couldn’t. Because the second she opened her mouth, she knew she would break.

Instead, she stepped inside, and Jon closed the door behind her.

She barely made it into the living room before she let out a sharp breath, shaking her head as she wrapped her arms around herself. “He didn’t show up, Jon. I waited, and he just… never came.” Her voice cracked, and she hated it, hated how small she sounded.

Jon’s jaw tightened. “Of course he didn’t, with his bitch ass.” The words were quiet, but the anger behind them was palpable.

Zariah let out a hollow laugh, running a hand down her face. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. I should be used to this by now.”

Jon exhaled sharply and moved closer. He wasn’t the kind of man to tiptoe around the truth, not with her. “Nah, Z. You shouldn’t have to be used to this. That ain’t love. That ain’t what you deserve.”

Her eyes flashed, emotions tumbling out before she could stop them. “Then what do I deserve, Jon? Because clearly, I keep getting it wrong.” Her voice was sharp, but underneath it was hurt, raw and aching. “I give him everything, and he still treats me like an afterthought. And the worst part? I keep making excuses for him. Every damn time.” She scoffed, shaking her head. “Maybe he got caught up with work. Maybe his phone died. Maybe—”

“Maybe he don’t give a fuck, Zariah.” Jon’s voice cut through hers, deep and low, but firm. “Maybe he just don’t care enough to put you first. You ever think about that?”

Her breath caught in her throat. She stared at him, her chest rising and falling with frustration. “Why would I want to think about that, Jon? Why would I want to accept that the man I love doesn’t care about me the way I care about him?”

Jon’s expression darkened, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Because it’s the truth.”

Zariah clenched her jaw, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “Then why does he keep me around? If he doesn’t care, why not just let me go?”

Jon ran a hand down his face, exhaling through his nose like he was trying to keep himself calm. “Because men like him? They know what they got. They just don’t give a damn until it’s gone. And you—” he gestured at her, his voice thick with frustration, “you keep waiting around, hoping he’ll wake up one day and realize your worth.”

Tears burned at the back of her eyes. “And what if I’m not worth anything, Jon?” she whispered.

His whole body went still.

The room was quiet, save for the sound of their breathing, heavy with emotion.

And then Jon moved. Slowly, deliberately. He closed the distance between them, his hands coming up to cup her face, his fingers brushing away the tears before they could fall. His touch was so gentle, so reverent, like she was something fragile—something precious.

“Don’t ever say that shit again,” he murmured. His voice was softer now, but there was an edge to it, a warning. “Don’t.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

“You deserve someone who will love you right, mama.” His thumb traced slow, lazy circles on her cheek. “To love you wholly and completely.” He exhaled sharply, his forehead pressing against hers. “Let me love on you, mama. All I wanna do is love you.”

Her breath hitched.

Jon’s hands slid down to her waist, his grip firm but not forceful. His body was warm, solid, grounding her.

“You don’t see it, do you?” he murmured. “How I look at you? How it kills me to see you cry over some man who don’t even realize what he’s got? Z, I been right here, wanting you. Waiting for you.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and Jon caught it with his thumb.

“You don’t mean that,” she whispered. But even as she said it, she knew it was a lie.

Jon huffed a low, humorless laugh. “I don’t mean that?” His fingers curled under her chin, tilting her face up to his. “Then tell me why I ain’t been able to look at another woman since the day I met you. Tell me why every time you call, I drop everything. Tell me why I been holding back for so long just so I wouldn’t cross a line you weren’t ready for.”

Her heart pounded so hard she swore he could hear it.

“Tell me you don’t feel this, too,” he whispered. “Look me in my eyes and tell me I’m wrong.”

She couldn’t.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

She had felt it for months—maybe even longer. The way her body reacted to him, the way she searched for him in every room, the way she felt safe with him in a way she never had with Matthew.

Jon didn’t wait for an answer. He leaned in, slow enough that she could stop him if she wanted to. But she didn’t.

And when his lips met hers, it wasn’t soft or hesitant. It was everything.

Raw.

Desperate.

It was years of unsaid words, of longing, of wanting but never taking.

Jon kissed her like he needed her to know—like he was pouring every unspoken word, every stolen glance, every sleepless night spent wishing she was his into that moment.

His hands gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him as he deepened the kiss. Zariah whimpered against his mouth, her fingers tangling in his hoodie, holding onto him like he was the only solid thing in her world.

Because maybe he was.

And maybe… just maybe, love had been standing right in front of her this entire time.

The heat between them was undeniable, years of suppressed emotions unraveling all at once. His lips moved against hers with a slow, deliberate hunger, each kiss telling her things he had never said out loud. I see you. I’ve always seen you.

Her fingers curled into his hoodie, gripping the fabric like it was the only thing keeping her upright. And maybe it was. Her knees felt weak, her body tingling with awareness as his warmth enveloped her.

Jon’s breath was ragged when he finally pulled away, but he didn’t let her go. His forehead rested against hers, his hands still firm on her waist as he tried to steady himself.

“Damn, Z,” he whispered, his voice thick, uneven. “You feel that?”

She swallowed hard, her lips still tingling from his kiss. “Yeah.”

Jon exhaled sharply, almost like he was frustrated. “Then why you still holdin’ back?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” His fingers slid up her sides, brushing over her ribs, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. “You scared.”

Her breath hitched. “Jon—”

“Nah, tell me I’m wrong,” he challenged softly, pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes. “Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you don’t want me.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.

Because again, he was right.

She was terrified. Terrified of how deep this went, how it had always been him. Jon had been her safe space, her rock, the one person she could always count on. If she admitted this—admitted them—everything changed.

Jon sighed, running a hand down his face like he was trying to hold himself back. “Fuck, Z. You don’t get it, do you?”

“Jon—”

“I love you.”

His second confession and her breath caught in her throat.

His voice was raw, desperate, like the words had been clawing their way out of him for years.

“I’ve loved you since the day I met you,” he confessed, his dark eyes burning into hers. “And I tried to be patient, I tried to respect your choices, but you sittin’ here tellin’ me you don’t know what you want when I know you feel this.” He shook his head, stepping even closer. “You know I’d never treat you like he does. You know I’d put you first every damn time. So why, Z? Why you still fightin’ this?”

Her heart was pounding so loud she swore he could hear it.

“Because if I let myself have you,” she whispered, “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to let you go.”

Jon stilled, his jaw clenching. “Then don’t.”

“Jon—”

“Stop sayin’ my name like it’s some excuse,” he muttered, his hands gripping her hips. “You came here tonight. To me. Not to him. You drove straight to my house when he broke your heart. You let me kiss you. So tell me, why you still tryna run from this?”

Tears welled in her eyes, the weight of her emotions pressing against her chest. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t.” His fingers flexed against her waist, his voice low and rough. “Unless you walk away right now.”

Zariah stared at him, her heart lodged in her throat.

Was she really going to keep pretending? Keep lying to herself?

Or was she finally going to let herself have him?

Slowly, she reached for him, her hands sliding up his chest before curling around the back of his neck. His skin was warm beneath her fingertips, his pulse steady, strong.

Jon sucked in a breath as she leaned in, her lips barely brushing his. “Say it again,” she whispered.

His hands tightened on her hips. “I love you.”

She kissed him.

And this time, she didn’t hold back.

Jon groaned low in his throat, like he had been waiting for this for too damn long. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her flush against his body as he deepened the kiss.

She whimpered as he walked her back toward the couch, his hands sliding up her sides, tracing the curves of her body with reverence. “You sure?” he murmured against her lips.

“Jon, if you stop, I swear to God—”

He chuckled, the sound low and rough as he pulled her down with him. “I got you, mama.”

And this time, she believed him.

I really liked this one🥺🫶🏾 hope you guys do as well.

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[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

sunshine personified

one-shot

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Sweetheart!Reader

Summary: Golden mornings and pressed flowers, whispered words between pages, laughter drifting through warm summer air. You talk, and Sam listens—always listens, always watches, always loves. Every little thing you do fills him with light, and by the end of the day, he’s sure of one thing: you are his sunshine.

Warnings: Absolute and utter tooth-rotting fluff, kissing, implied/mild reference of cunnilingus/oral, I believe that is all.

Word Count: 4,556

A/N: PHEW. That was too sweet (heh, get it? Hozier?) for me... seriously, I think I need to brush my teeth after writing and proofreading this because the gum-disease is real. I got the idea for this yesterday, and I know... believe me, guys, I KNOW I should be working on the final instalment of "exhibitionism", but I genuinely couldn't help myself. It's been a very fluffy day for me today, and I needed a break from all that intensity. So I started it and it ran all the way away from me. ALSO... how's everyone feeling about the three pic/gif layout? I don't know, I'm trying something new. If we wanna go back to just one gif, let me know. As always, if you feel like it, please give me your feedback. <3 Signing off, until the next one. All the love.

"'Cause my baby's sweet as can be She'd give me toothaches just from kissin' me

When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her"

Work Song - Hozier

The morning was slow, syrup-thick, stretching out in ribbons of gold that pooled across the sheets. Somewhere in the haze of waking, you registered the warmth beneath you—steady, unshifting, the rise and fall of breath beneath your cheek.

Sam.

You had fallen asleep against him again.

The realisation curled at the edges of your consciousness, soft and familiar, blooming like warmth in your chest. His sweater—because of course you were wearing one of his sweaters—smelled like cedarwood and coffee, the fabric slightly rumpled from sleep. You stirred, shifting slightly, and the broad, steady palm on your back flexed, fingers pressing idly against the dip of your spine.

There was a quiet chuckle—low, indulgent, so unmistakably him.

"Morning, Sweetheart."

His voice was warm and sleep-rough, that perfect blend of affectionate and teasing, still thick from the weight of rest. You hummed in response, nose scrunching against his chest as you tried to burrow back into the comfort of him.

"Y’know you’ve got a little something—" He paused, his thumb grazing along your cheek, featherlight, tracing the small indent pressed into your skin. His voice dipped, fond amusement laced through every syllable. "—right here. Cute."

You groaned, half-heartedly swatting at him as you rubbed at your face, but the damage was already done—he was grinning now. You didn’t even have to look up to know it. He had that look—the one he always got when he caught you soft and sleep-rumpled, still tangled in the remnants of dreams, your cheek creased from where you’d been pressed against him.

And God, he loved it.

Loved the way you always curled into him in your sleep, loved the way you reached for him without thinking. Loved that you always found your way back.

He shifted, the mattress dipping slightly as he propped himself up on one elbow. His hand—those big, careful hands—slid up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips lingering just a second longer than necessary.

"You drooled on me again," he mused, ever the menace, his grin widening when you gasped in outrage.

"I did not—!"

"Mhm." He nodded, all mock solemnity. "Right here. Think I might have to start charging rent for all the real estate you take up on my chest every night."

You shoved at him, but you were laughing now, and that was all that mattered.

He caught your wrist before you could retreat too far, tugging you effortlessly back into his orbit. His fingers were gentle, curling loosely around yours, his thumb tracing absent patterns over your knuckles.

"Don’t run off just yet," he murmured, quieter this time, softer. His voice was a slow, sweet thing, unspooling in the golden hush of morning.

And maybe it was the way the sunlight hit him just right, casting soft amber halos at the edges of his hair. Maybe it was the way his gaze never wavered, locked onto you like he was memorising every inch, every little sleep-creased detail. Or maybe it was just him—just Sam, looking at you like you were the best part of waking up.

Either way, you stayed.

Of course you stayed.

You let yourself sink back against him, let yourself be gathered up into his warmth as he exhaled slow and content. His hand found its way back to your spine, splaying firm and steady, right where it belonged.

And when you started yapping about the song stuck in your head—something about Hozier, something about a lyric you’d been turning over in your mind—he just smiled, dimples deep, and listened.

Because, God help him—he would listen to you talk about anything forever.

"Here—put it on."

Sam reached for your phone on the nightstand, fingers brushing over the worn book that had been resting there overnight—your latest read, pages softened from where you’d thumbed through them. He handed you the phone without taking his eyes off you, that lazy, morning-soft smile still tugging at his lips.

You blinked, momentarily distracted, still caught between the warmth of sleep and the weight of him beneath you.

"Which one?"

"The one that's already stuck in your head." He said it like it was obvious. Like it was the only answer.

So you pressed play.

The soft, aching pull of strings filled the space between you first, gentle and familiar, before the melody swelled—Hozier’s voice sinking through the room like honey dissolving into tea.

"I still watch you when you're groovin'..."

The moment it started, Sam closed his eyes and smiled.

Not just any smile. That smile. The slow, easy one that started deep—the kind that dimpled, the kind that wasn’t just on his lips but in the way his breath hitched, in the way his shoulders softened.

He let the first few lines roll through him, sinking back into the pillows, completely in it. And when he finally looked at you again, eyes half-lidded, warm like the first spill of sunlight over sheets, he murmured, "Oh, this is a good one."

Like you didn’t already know.

You grinned, shifting so you could stretch out next to him properly, one arm draped lazily over his chest.

"Alright, professor," you teased, voice still scratchy from sleep. "What do you think? What’s he saying?"

Sam huffed a laugh, rubbing a hand over his face before exhaling slow.

"It’s about movement, obviously—"

"Oh, wow, brilliant analysis, Sam. Stunning insight. Absolutely revelatory—"

"Shut up," he laughed, grinning even wider now, reaching out to poke at your side. You squirmed, swatting his hand away. "Just listen."

You did.

"You are a call to motion... There, all of you a verb in perfect view..."

Sam hummed low in his throat. "See that? The phrasing of it? He’s not just watching someone move—he’s saying they are movement. They’re the thing itself."

Your fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt, considering. "Like… a force of nature."

"Exactly." His fingers tapped absently against your hip, mind already unraveling the meaning. "He’s not describing them as graceful, or powerful, or fluid—he’s saying they’re all of it. He’s saying the way they move… moves him."

Your breath caught.

Because of course that’s what Sam took from it. Of course he understood.

"I can recall something that’s gone from me... When you move, honey, I’m put in awe of something so flawed and free..."

You sat up a little, brows knitting together as you chewed on that line. "That part always gets me. Like—why? Why ‘flawed and free’?"

Sam’s lips pressed together, thoughtful. His thumb traced slow, absent-minded circles against your arm as he considered.

"Because it’s human," he said finally, voice low, reverent. "Because perfection isn’t what moves people. It’s the cracks, the imperfections, the things that make someone real. That’s what sticks with you."

Your chest ached at that.

Because that was him. That was so Sam. Finding beauty in the messy, imperfect parts.

"Shake like the bough of a willow tree... You do it naturally..."

"God, the imagery," you sighed, your hand curling into his shirt like it would help you hold onto the feeling. "Willow trees don’t break, Sam. They bend."

His fingers stilled against your skin.

And for a second, he just looked at you. Like you’d just said something that shifted the whole earth beneath him.

His lips parted, like he was about to say something, but—

He didn’t.

Instead, he reached for you.

One sure, steady hand found its way to your jaw, tilting your face up as his thumb brushed your cheek, slow and deliberate. And before you could even think, before you could catch your breath, he kissed you.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Just deep, slow, and aching.

Like the song. Like he couldn’t help it. Like you moved him.

The kiss stretched long and slow, a sunrise in itself.

His lips moved against yours with aching patience, deep and sure, like he had all the time in the world—because he did. Because there was no rush, no urgency, just this moment, this warmth, this slow-drifting love.

The sunlight spilling through the window turned everything golden, brushing soft against your skin, catching in his hair, pooling over the sheets. It was thick like honey, wrapping around the two of you, holding you in its glow.

Warm. Sweet. Slow.

Sam’s hand—big, steady, reverent—cradled the back of your head, his thumb stroking lazy arcs along the curve of your cheekbone. He kissed you like you were something sacred, like he was memorising the way you felt beneath his mouth.

And God, you could’ve stayed there forever.

But then—

"Come on, or we’ll never get up," he murmured, lips still brushing against yours.

You huffed against him, reluctant.

Sam smiled. Not just with his mouth, but with his whole face—dimples deep, eyes soft with affection, his expression bathed in that early-morning glow.

Then, before you could protest, he sat up, stretching his long limbs, tugging you effortlessly with him.

"C’mon, Sweetheart."

He reached for your nightstand as he stood, grabbing the book you’d been reading the night before, his fingers curling around the worn cover like it was familiar. Then, without letting go of your hand, he led you out into the hall, the book tucked in one hand, your fingers laced through the other.

And that was how you made your way to the kitchen. Hand in hand, words and warmth between you.

The kitchen smelled like coffee and old wood, warm from the soft morning light filtering through the windows. The golden hues stretched long over the floorboards, catching on the vase of sunflowers sitting in the centre of the table.

You settled into your usual seat, curling your legs beneath you, thumbing idly through the book Sam had carried in. Soft pages, familiar creases, a world waiting between the covers.

Across the kitchen, Sam moved effortlessly, grabbing the coffee mugs, setting the pot to drip.

The quiet was comfortable. Soft radio static, birds beyond the window, the rhythmic shuffle of Sam moving around the space you shared.

You flipped to your bookmark—except…

You frowned, because it wasn’t a bookmark at all. Just a folded piece of paper, carefully tucked between the pages. Curious, you pulled it free. Unfolded it.

Your breath hitched.

Sam’s handwriting.

Small, slightly slanted, scrawled in blue ink that had settled deep into the fibres of the paper.

Sweetheart,

You fell asleep with the page open again. I figured I’d save your place before you lost it completely. But since I’m already writing, I might as well tell you something else. I love the way you read. Not just the books, but the world. The way you look at things, the way you take them apart and put them back together with wonder, with softness. The way you see me. I don’t know if I’ve ever been looked at the way you look at me. I don’t know if I’ve ever deserved it. But God, do I love you for it.

—Sam

You brushed your thumb over the words, tracing the ink, lingering on them, like touching them would help you absorb them completely. Warmth bloomed in your chest, soft and full and almost too much. And then, as you sat there, heart soaked in sunlight and love, Sam placed a coffee mug in front of you.

When you looked up, he was already smiling.

"I couldn’t help it," he murmured, dipping his head slightly, sheepish but unapologetic.

Your throat tightened.

"Sam."

That was all you could say. Just his name, just that, because there were too many things sitting heavy in your chest, too much feeling, too much warmth.

Sam’s gaze softened even more—like it was possible for him to look at you any softer. Then, gently, he reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered at your jaw, thumb brushing over the place his words had already touched.

He didn’t need you to say anything. He already knew.

"Drink your coffee," he said, voice low and fond. "Read a little."

He picked up his own mug, nodding toward the window, toward the golden morning stretching beyond it.

"I wanna go for a walk while it’s nice out."

Like it was nothing. Like this—slow mornings, coffee and notes tucked between book pages, easy affection and golden-hour love—was just what you did.

And really, it was.

Because he loved you. And he wanted you to know it.

Sam left you to read while he went to get dressed, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before disappearing down the hall.

You curled deeper into your chair, your fingers idly brushing over the edge of his note as you sipped the last of your coffee. The morning was still quiet, golden light spilling warm through the window, stretching in soft bands over the table, the sunflowers, the slow swirl of steam lifting from Sam's mug.

By the time Sam returned, sleeves pushed up, hair still a little sleep-mussed, he ruffled a hand through it and nodded toward the hall.

"You should get changed too, Sweetheart," he said, voice low, warm. "We should get going before it gets too hot out."

You hummed in agreement, slipping from your seat, setting your mug in the sink before making your way toward the bedroom.

And the moment you stepped inside, you noticed it. His sweater. Folded neatly on the bed. It hadn’t been there when you’d gotten up. He’d left it for you. On purpose.

A slow, deep warmth unfurled in your chest, soft and golden and so very Sam.

You picked it up, running your fingers over the thick fabric—worn soft, smelling like him, cedar and coffee and something you couldn’t quite name but always recognised as home.

So, of course, you put it on. It drowned you immediately, the sleeves falling well past your hands, the hem brushing against your thighs, the collar loose at your neck. Perfect. You pressed your nose into the fabric for a second, smiling, warmth thrumming through your bones.

And then—you remembered.

The flowers.

You stepped toward your nightstand, bending down to grab the book tucked beneath it—a well-loved copy of something you’d read a thousand times, pages softened with time, spine lined with creases.

You flipped it open carefully, fingers achingly gentle. And there they were. Buttercups, lavender sprigs, tiny forget-me-nots. Pressed flat, perfectly dried.

A fresh rush of warmth bloomed in your chest. This meant you could pick more while you were out.

But for now? For now, you had something else to do.

Stepping toward Sam’s nightstand, you reached for the book he’d left there—one of the thick classics he always lost himself in, pages dog-eared despite his careful nature. You flipped to his bookmark, fingers brushing over the paper before slipping your pressed flowers inside, tucking them right between the pages.

He’d find them later.

And when he did? He’d know. Because this—this was how you loved each other. Bookmarks and buttercups, coffee and handwritten notes. The quiet, careful things.

When you stepped back into the kitchen, Sam turned. And he froze. His lips parted slightly, brows flicking up, and oh. Oh.

That look.

That wrecked, undone, absolutely gone look. His eyes dragged over you slowly, taking in every inch, every soft fold of fabric drowning you, every too-long sleeve swallowing your hands.

He swallowed.

"Jesus, Sweetheart," he murmured, low and wrecked, voice like slow thunder before a storm. "You trying to kill me?"

You blinked at him, wide-eyed, innocent. "What?"

He exhaled sharply. Ran a hand over his jaw. And then, without warning, he was on you.

You barely had time to react before his hands were on you—one firm and broad against your back, the other sliding up to your jaw, thumb swiping slow beneath your eye.

And then he kissed you. Hard. Desperate. Deep. Tongue sweeping into your mouth, pulling a noise from you that he swallowed whole.

His grip tightened, fingers pressing into your back, like he was anchoring himself to you. The edge of the counter bit into your lower back, but you didn’t care—not when he was kissing you like this.

Like he couldn’t help himself. Like you wearing his sweater had flipped some switch in his brain. Like you had ruined him entirely.

You fisted your hands in his shirt, pulling him closer, tilting into him as his teeth nipped lightly at your lower lip, sucking it between his own before chasing it with his tongue.

God. God.

Sam kissed like he read—deep, slow, intentional. Like he needed to feel every letter, every syllable, every ache. And for a second, just a second, you thought—

Maybe we never go on that walk.

But then he pulled back, just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes—dark, warm, drowning in something so deep you swore you could fall in. His thumb swiped under your eye again, softer this time.

He swallowed, voice wrecked and low.

"I love when you wear my stuff," he murmured, and it wasn’t just words, it was a confession. A truth laid bare.

Your chest ached at it.

And then, just like that, he took a steady breath, eased back, though his hands lingered on you—like he couldn’t quite let go.

"Come on, Sweetheart," he murmured, still breathless, still looking at you like you’d done something irreparable to his heart. "Let’s go pick some flowers."

The morning air was crisp, but not cold, the kind of cool that would burn off by midday, leaving nothing but blue sky behind. The trees swayed slow and drowsy in the breeze, their leaves casting gentle shadows across the dirt path.

And you? You talked.

God, you talked.

About a dream you half-remembered from last night, about how you thought you saw a shooting star the other night but weren’t sure if it was just a plane. About the books on your nightstand you needed to finish, about the theories you had for the ending of one of them, about how you weren’t sure if you’d ever actually seen a real four-leaf clover before, but you were determined to find one someday.

And Sam?

He listened. Listened the way he always did. Fully, deeply, like there was nothing else in the world.

Because it wasn’t just the things you said—it was the way you said them. The way your eyes twinkled when you got excited, the way you sometimes didn’t even finish a thought, just barrelled headfirst into the next one, already lit up with something new. The way you gestured when you spoke, flitting between topics like a hummingbird, full of boundless, unstoppable energy.

And every now and then—you’d scamper off.

You’d veer slightly off the path, darting toward the tall grass and kneeling to gather a bunch of wildflowers that looked too perfect to leave behind.

Sam already knew why.

You wanted to press them. You wanted them frozen forever, just the way they were. And God, if that wasn’t the sweetest, most you thing.

After a while, things fell into a natural quiet. The kind of soft, comfortable silence that only existed between people who knew each other down to their bones.

You reached for more flowers, and without a word, Sam shifted the ones you’d already picked into his free hand.

Letting you keep going. Letting you gather all the pieces of beauty you wanted to hold onto.

He smiled to himself.

And then you started humming. Soft at first, just under your breath. A melody he recognised instantly.

Nobody’s Soldier.

A slow grin tugged at Sam’s lips. And before he could even stop himself, he joined in—singing, terribly, but still singing.

"If I tell you this is drowning, you'd tell me I'm walking on water."

You gasped, delighted, laughing as you glanced up at him. “Sam, you’re so off-key—”

"I know," he grinned, "but I’m committed now."

And you just shook your head, laughing, before launching back into the next verse, your voice clear and warm and lovely.

By the time the chorus came around, you were both singing. Him, off-key. You, beautiful.

Him, watching you. Completely, utterly, unconditionally in love.

When the song finally ended, you exhaled deeply, content, stretching your arms toward the sky.

"God, that song is so good," you sighed, brushing your fingers over the petals of a buttercup before gently plucking it.

Sam hummed, watching you, thoughtful.

"You ever think about that one line?" He asked, shifting his grip on your hand. “I don’t wanna choose between being a salesman or a soldier.”

You glanced up, intrigued. "Yeah? What about it?"

He exhaled slowly, eyes flicking toward the tree line as he turned the words over in his mind.

"It’s about choice. About… refusing to fit into someone else’s definition. Someone else’s idea of what you should be."

You blinked at him, then looked down at the flowers in your hand.

Pressed flowers. The ones you chose to keep, to freeze, to make last. Like pieces of a world that was constantly shifting, constantly moving too fast for anyone to hold onto.

And suddenly, you saw the parallel.

You smiled softly.

"You mean like how I keep trying to hold onto flowers?"

Sam huffed a laugh, tilting his head. "Maybe."

"But I don’t keep all of them," you pointed out, glancing at the wildflowers still standing untouched in the field. "Just the ones that feel right. Just the ones I love enough to want to keep."

Sam’s steps slowed. His fingers tightened slightly around yours.

Because, God.

That was so you. Choosing what to hold onto, what to keep, what to love.

Not because someone told you to. Not because you had to. Just because you wanted to.

And maybe, just maybe—that’s how you loved him, too. Just because you wanted to. Just because you looked at him, in all his flaws, in all his cracks, and still—you stayed.

Sam swallowed, lips parting slightly, eyes tracing your face in the golden light. But he didn’t say anything. Not yet. He just squeezed your hand. And you? You squeezed back. And together, with wildflowers in one hand and each other in the other, you walked on.

By the time you made it back, the air had begun to thicken with warmth, the kind that came with the promise of midday heat. The world outside had turned brighter, louder, more golden, but inside—inside was still soft.

Sam followed you to the bedroom, watching as you carefully spread parchment across the surface of the bed, delicately laying each flower across its surface. Lavender sprigs, daisies, baby's breath. Tiny pieces of nature, frozen in time.

And he helped. Of course he helped.

Handing you each bloom as you pressed them between the pages of your book, flattening them so the weight could do its job—like it had so many times before. The process was careful, deliberate, something sacred between you.

"Few weeks from now, these’ll be perfect," you murmured, smoothing a hand over the book’s cover before tucking it beneath your nightstand.

Sam just smiled.

Because you always said that. Every time, like it was the first time. Like it was magic. Like you never stopped being amazed that the world could give you something so beautiful, and let you keep it.

God, he loved you.

Lunch was simple—leftovers warmed up, easy conversation, sunshine spilling through the windows, pooling on the kitchen floor.

And, as always, you talked.

About how the colour yellow made you think of summer, how you liked the way baby’s breath dried out all delicate and airy, how you were thinking about collecting leaves too, because the reds and oranges always looked so pretty in scrapbooks.

And Sam? He just watched you. Watched you the way he always did—soft, steady, drinking in every part of you like it was the last time he’d ever get the chance.

Because the thing about you was, you weren’t just talking. You were feeling. You were seeing the world in colours, in textures, in meaning, and you weren’t just keeping it to yourself—you were giving it to him, too. Letting him into your world, into the way you saw things, into all the little pieces of beauty you chose to keep.

And God, you were beautiful.

Not just your face. Not just the curve of your smile, or the way your eyes brightened when you got excited. But all of you. The way you felt things so deeply. The way you never stopped collecting pieces of the world that made you happy. The way you spoke about the little things like they mattered—because to you, they did.

And Sam—Sam had never loved anything the way he loved you.

You were his Sweetheart. His sunshine. The only thing in the world he wanted to press between the pages of time and keep forever.

That night, when you both curled into bed, he didn’t want to sleep yet.

Not when he could touch you. Not when he could taste you. Not when he could spend the last moments of the day pressed between your thighs, dragging his tongue across your skin, pulling the softest, sweetest sounds from your lips.

Because the truth was, you were made of sunlight. Warmth and light, golden and soft.

And Sam had spent his whole life standing in the shadows. Drenched in cold, lost in dark places, hands stained with things he tried not to remember.

But you? You were a sunrise, an eclipse, a miracle. And he wanted to drown in you.

So he took his time. Let his hands map the length of you, broad and reverent, tracing slow circles into your skin as he kissed his way down, down, down—until his mouth was on you, and you were falling apart beneath him.

Your fingers knotted into his hair, pulling, breath catching, voice breaking on his name.

And Sam—Sam savoured it. Savoured every whimper, every stuttered inhale, every breathless plea. He soaked in your pleasure like it was liquid gold, like it was something divine.

Because, in truth?

It was. You were. And he would worship at the altar of you forever.

The night settled around you like a slow exhale, soft and warm, the air humming with the last remnants of the day. The bedroom was dim, lit only by the golden glow of the bedside lamp, throwing long shadows across the walls, casting everything in honey and hush.

Sam pulled you into his chest, the way he did every night. Like ritual, like devotion. Like he wouldn’t know how to sleep without you curled against him.

His arms wrapped firm and steady around you, one broad hand splayed across your back, thumb tracing slow, absent-minded circles through the fabric of his sweater—the same one you’d put on that morning, the same one you were still drowning in now.

His heartbeat was slow, solid.

And you—you were exactly where you belonged. You felt him shift slightly, reaching for his book on the nightstand.

"You still awake?" He murmured, voice low, all sleep-soft and sweet.

You hummed, nuzzling against his chest. "Mhm. Read to me."

He smiled, because of course you were. You always fell asleep to the sound of his voice, let yourself be lulled by the low, steady cadence of it, the weight of words spilling soft and slow into the dark.

So he cracked the book open—

And suddenly—

A handful of flowers tumbled out, scattering across his chest, landing in the mess of your hair where you lay against him.

Sam froze. Blinking, breath hitching slightly as his eyes tracked the tiny pieces of pressed perfection. Buttercups. Lavender sprigs. Forget-me-nots.

His chest went tight. And then—he felt you move. Felt you tip your head back against him, grinning up at him, wide-eyed, caught between excitement and mischief.

Sam let out a slow, breathless laugh.

God.

You were everything.

His throat worked around a swallow as he set the book aside, fingers grazing over the flowers, gathering a few between his fingertips. And then he was looking at you—really looking at you. Eyes tracing the golden glow along your cheekbones, the way your hair spread like a halo against him, the tiny little pressed petals caught in the strands.

He lifted one hand, tucking a piece of lavender behind your ear, thumb brushing the side of your face.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, so soft it was almost reverent. "You are sunshine personified."

Your breath caught.

Sam watched the way your expression softened, the way your fingers curled against his chest, the way you looked at him like he was something precious.

"I love you," he said.

And it wasn’t rushed.

It wasn’t fleeting. It was weighty, steady, deeply felt. It was the kind of thing that would linger in the marrow of your bones long after the words were gone.

Your lips parted, eyes gleaming, smile stretching slow and full and golden.

And when you whispered, "I love you too,"

Sam felt it everywhere.

@mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah @itshellfire @drakulana @nevercameraready <3