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softtdaisy · 2 days ago

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love is an easy dance / Aaron Hotchner

summary. just you and Hotch celebrating your engagement and how much you love each other

words count. 2 517

what to expect. honestly nothing but love, this is just sweet

a/n. this is heavily inspired by the wedding episode in Dharma & Greg he looked so soft and cute and i thought Hotch deserved his moment too

Aaron Hotchner series masterlist | criminal minds masterlist | F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

“Oh my god, I feel like I have to congratulate you again.”

You heard Penelope's high-pitched tone in your back right before she wrapped her arms around you. Her chin fell on your shoulder, like it did the other times she came for a hug. You cuddled your head against hers in a laugh, appreciating this new wave of love.

She had done that four or five times already through the evening. You could blame the alcohol for her very tactile and affectionate behavior. But it would be underestimating Penelope’s capacity to show her love and her happiness for you. And that was without counting the regular congratulations she gave you through the past weeks.

You still blame the alcohol for some of the things -plurals- she said tonight. You weren’t sure how many times she threatened to run away with you if Hotch wasn’t looking.

Hotch, who looked at you both with a sweet smile on his face. No words could explain the wholesome feeling he had tonight, watching his now-fiancée receiving so much love from the team. It felt as though you were an integral part of their group. And you were part of this family. His family.

Penelope grabbed your hand, the one you had put on top of hers, to look at your ring again. “Aaron, you really outdid yourself with this one.”

You smiled, seeing his cheeks take on a pink tone. You two were the only ones to know the story behind the engagement ring you had been wearing for a month already.

For your anniversary, Hotch offered you a trip to London. No professional engagement, no kid—even though you both missed Jack—just the two of you celebrating your love. And during a walk in town, you noticed the ring in a store. You couldn’t explain it; you weren’t even a jewelry expert. You just saw it in the shop window and felt like it was made for you. But you didn’t tell Hotch until late at night, lying in his arms in the hotel bed.

“I think I love this ring more than I love you right now,” you remember laughing. Both for your joke and for his kisses down your neck.

You mostly remember the next hour spent with Hotch doing his best to make sure you would always love him more. And that man truly had more than one trick up his sleeve to make you fall in love with him again. And again. And, oh god, again.

Yet, this ring stayed on his mind the whole night, and he had to convince you to look at it the next day “so I can know who’s my opponent in your heart.” You loved the way he said that, with his hand in yours, something natural and casual.

You’ve seen Hotch come back from the field broken and sad so many times that you sometimes forgot that Aaron was still there. A good, funny, and amazing man that was the sun in your life even in your darkest days.

Next thing, you went to see the ring. A ring that actually cost way too much for a casual buy. A ring that turned out to be an engagement ring—information you missed the first time.

You knew Aaron was the love of your life, the man you wanted to be with for the rest of your days. Yet, you’ve never talked about getting engaged. You knew enough about his first marriage to not pressure him into another one.

So you laughed about it, saying something about trying to trap him into marrying you and how he ruined your little game. And for you, the joke was over there.

Little did you know that Hotch never forgot about the ring, also feeling like it was made for you. And that he spent multiple months using his friend in London, Miss Emily Prentiss herself, to get the perfect ring for the woman he loved. Asking her to check the ring, sending rings of yours to get the good measure. Going back to London by himself, just to buy the ring himself.

One night, after a romantic Friday night together, the ring was around your finger, and the name Hotchner was soon to be yours.

And tonight, everyone was at Rossi’s house to celebrate your engagement.

“Who thought Hotch could be a romantic?” Derek joked, which caused your fiancé to roll his eyes at the remark—one he knew he kind of deserved. And you had to fight hard to not answer that you did. They had no idea how full of surprises this man could be.

Penelope moved from behind your back to stand next to you. “What do you know about romanticism, Derek Morgan?”

This simple question started a whole debate between Penelope and Derek about love and little attention. Mostly based on teasing each other, but that wasn’t a surprise with them. After meeting them, you had to ask Hotch about their relationship, to which he replied with a shrug and an “I’m not sure I can’t tell you much because I’m not even sure I know much.”

You followed their conversation like a tennis game at first.

And you would probably have kept doing that for a good moment if you didn’t feel a hand grabbing yours, softly. No matter how many hands you could shake tonight, even with your eyes closed, nothing could ever feel like Hotch’s.

His hands weren’t the softest—you blamed his work for this. But there was something about the roughness of his skin, the width of his fingers that could cover your hand so easily, the feeling against your skin of the small scars and other marks caused by life in general, or the tenderness he always put in his touch when it was you. Aaron had always been nothing but tender with you.

Especially now, with his fingers intertwined with yours and his thumb caressing the back of your hand so casually, while his little steps guided you away from the conversation and into Rossi’s garden.

“Are you kidnapping me, Aaron Hotchner?” You asked with a tone that was meant to be serious. But the smile you couldn’t take away from your face tonight was ruining the whole pretense.

Or maybe not. Because Aaron simply replied with the very same tone, one he used for work. One that you heard from him on the phone when he answered with his simple—but very hot—“Hotchner.” One of the many things that convinced you to take his last name.

“Yes, that’s my plan.” He said “Any problem with that?”

“None.”

Aaron turned his head slightly, enough to look at you. And the smile he gave you was just as big and sincere as the one you offered him. In these moments, you couldn’t deny JJ’s words when she said that it felt like love was invented to describe people like you.

You didn’t go far in the backyard. Enough to be alone without anyone seeing you; most of the curtains were pulled anyway. Enough to still hear the music and some of the voices from outside. Enough to have your own bubble, not too far from your friends.

“Good,” Aaron finally replied. He stood in front of you, and you took a moment to appreciate the view of the man you would marry one day.

Hotch was in a suit almost every single day for work. You knew that a part of his brain associated some ties to the awful cases he was on while wearing them. And more than that, the simple thought of wearing a suit—even if he looked absolutely gorgeous in them, your desire knew about that—was linked so tightly with his job that he couldn’t bring himself to wear one tonight.

Yet, he wanted to look good for you. Something Aaron wasn’t speaking about much but that he gave you some snippets of was his fear of not being enough for you. His age, his look, and his attitude sometimes when his job was killing him and he didn’t have the heart to pretend he was fine—something you’ve never expected from him anyway. You had learned that part of the reason he was scared of proposing to you was that he felt like he would trap you in a wedding you didn’t want with a man who wasn't worthy of your love.

It was an everyday challenge to remind him that you wouldn’t change him in any way.

And so, because of his looks and suits problems—not that you would call that a problem personally—he had a hard time choosing what to wear tonight. He settled on a dark blue shirt with two buttons opened that showed a glimpse of his collarbone and the sleeves rolled up on his forearms—you guessed it was some kind of gift for you and your obsession with his arms. And some dark pants that you bought not long ago after his body changed.

But to be honest, he could have come in his pajamas, and Aaron Hotchner would still be the most handsome man in the room to you.

You brought a hand to his neck, caressing his skin, and used it as a shelf to move closer to him and kiss him softly on the lips. You didn’t kiss him enough tonight.

“I had some very persuasive arguments otherwise,” he added against your lips.

He took a step back, only for his hands to glide down your back. Inviting you to a secret dance only for the two of you. One you didn’t have to share with the others this time.

“Oh, you did, Prosecutor Hotchner?” You replied, your fingers playing with his short hair.

“I haven’t heard that in a long time.” He laughed, being pushed back to decades ago for a second. “But yes, yes I did.”

But Aaron didn’t give any. Because you didn’t need to hear any of them, you would follow your man to the end of the world just for the sake of seeing the beautiful smile on his face. The BAU was hard on him, and you could honestly count on the fingers of one hand the number of nights he came home with a relaxed expression. Not looking exhausted and, well, broken.

So to see such a happy expression on him was…relieving. And a good reminder why you loved Aaron so much. Not that you didn’t love the unit chief, but you loved the man underneath more.

When you started dating, you laughed that you felt like falling in love more and more every day with him. “I’m scared of the day you’ll stop loving me more,” he had replied with a soft smile—again a glimpse of his fear, even if this one was mostly a joke.

“I love you,” you said in a whisper tonight. Looking at Aaron. The way the moonlight was reflecting in his eyes, how he looked so magical tonight. “Still more and more every single day.”

“That’s funny,” he replied, kissing your forehead softly. “I had the exact same thought right now.” He kept giving you kisses, from your temple to your cheek and down to your lips. Tracing a love path on your face.

You got closer to him, cuddling your face in the crook of his neck. Closing your eyes to appreciate his soft and very masculine perfume and the feeling of his hands traveling on your back. And for a moment, you forgot everything. The party, the people inside waiting for you. Yesterday and tomorrow.

All that mattered was Aaron. All that will always matter was him.

You felt him move his head, his hair caressing your skin in a soft movement, before his mouth reached your ear. “Promise me that we will always keep loving each other more every day.”

You waited a second or two, just the moment for your heart to embrace this promise. None of you had any doubt about this. But it was different hearing Aaron ask you for the same thing that was a permanent thought in your head. Reminding you he felt just the same.

But then, after these two seconds—or maybe three—you slowly cup his face between your hands, your thumb softly caressing his cheeks. Before moving your face closer to rub your nose against him.

“I promise to always love you more every day for the rest of my life, Aaron Hotchner,” you whispered against his lips.

Sharing a kiss. A simple and brief kiss. That you interrupted to say, “But you kind of ruined the surprise of my wedding vows, you realized that?”

“I plead guilty,” he laughed, his hand meeting your neck so he could keep your face against his to make the kiss last.

And this time you weren’t the one interrupting it.

“Will the two lovebirds honor us with their company?” you heard Rossi say from the opening window in your back.

You jumped at his voice but quickly joined Aaron’s laugh, who cuddled you harder against him like he was trying to protect you. And he was doing that very well, with his muscular arms tight around you.

His lips met your temples again for a quick kiss before you said, “I think our guests are waiting for us.”

“Remind me why we didn’t celebrate it alone, only the two of us.” Aaron asked, taking your hand to walk to the door. This became such a natural habit, to walk together with your hands tied, that you felt empty when his palm wasn’t pressed against yours.

“Because they are our family.”

And you couldn’t even imagine what these simple words meant for him.

The team was his family; that was for sure. Brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts for Jack—sometimes they were even sons and daughters to him when they needed to be. And Hotch would be lying if he said he appreciated feeling like a father to them from time to time.

But for you to consider them like your family too—and he knew for sure that the team had adopted you as an active member too—was…something else. Even if he had no doubt that you were the one already. These simple words kept confirming that he wasn’t on the wrong path in choosing you as his wife and a stepmother for Jack.

As an answer to that, Aaron stopped you midway. With your hand still in his, he pulled you against him one last time. The surprise made you trip and fall against his lap in a laugh that resonated in the silent garden.

His other hand on your neck kept you against him when he whispered, “I love you,” in the most sincere and honest tone you probably ever heard from him. Like it was a need for him to say it, right here and right now.

But at this point, and he couldn’t care less about sounding like a hopeless romantic, Aaron felt the need to share his love with you every moment you were next to him. And hopefully, you would be by his side for a very long time.

Tag List: @kiwriteswords @monzabee @raysmayhem-72 @kajjaka @pastelpinkflowerlife @winyourheartemma (if you want to be in it, ask me and I’ll be happy to add you x)

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pukefactory · 3 days ago

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could we maybe get ena with a reader thats just... really chill and openly affectionate/loving with her? both pre and during a relationship with her?? idk if you've seen this one meme that goes something like "me doing whatever my goth gf tells me to do" with this guy sat in the middle of what looks like a summoning circle or w/e but thats been me with ena lately ghjdsgmds-- like okie dokie whatever you say gorgeous <333

•☽────✧˖°˖ LOSE YOUR HEART ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring Salesperson ENA X A Very Calm And Affectionate Reader

★ Character(s): Salesperson ENA (ENA: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ You don’t flinch when ENA bites into a piece of “Toast of Knowledge” and starts foaming at the mouth. You just pat her on the back like, “Good girl, get that enlightenment,” while everyone else screams. She blinks at you, spittle on her chin, eyes wide and alight with glitching devotion. “Do I look possessed?” “Yeah,” you say, brushing the crumbs off her. “Stunning.” She nearly combusts.

☆ When ENA starts going off about market value and decision funnels, most people nod politely and phase out. You nod enthusiastically and keep her talking. You lean forward with an unshakeable gaze, propping your chin on your palm as if she’s serenading you. “Wait wait, go back—what was that about vertical segmentation?” She glitches mid-sentence. Reboots. Coughs out a heartsick “You’re listening?” Always. With her, you always listen.

☆ She once had a mini breakdown after getting stuck in a loop in the Lonely Door, ranting, crying, threatening to strangle the Genie with a tax invoice, and you, unfazed, just walked up and gently cupped her cheeks. “You’re doing amazing, sweetie.” She went completely silent. Her Meanie side twitched like it’d short-circuited. She walked into the wrong room five times after that.

☆ Before dating, you followed her around like a very calm duckling. Not in a creepy way—just always there. Helping her pin her cap back on when it blew off. Holding her suspenders out so she could slip into them easier. Letting her poke at your aura with her weird hand because “your vibes are off-specification.” “Yeah, I get that a lot,” you said, sipping tea. “You’re welcome to recalibrate me, though.” Her heart did a little lurch before Meanie screamed.

☆ You never question her cryptic, sometimes chaotic orders. “Stand very still while I throw this cheese at the moon.” “Of course, darling.” “Lick this coin. It might be cursed.” “No problem, my love.” “Put your foot in this puddle and don’t ask why.” You’re already halfway in, smiling at her like she’s the only god you’ve ever prayed to. She says she’s never felt more powerful. Or more in love.

☆ The first time you casually called her “gorgeous,” she stopped mid-sentence and stared at you like you’d just introduced a new word into her codebase. “Was that…meant for me?” “Mhm. Want me to say it again?” “…No. Wait. Yes. Wait—don’t. Actually—” You did. You called her beautiful, radiant, ineffable. She dropped her megaphone and forgot how to use her legs. You caught her with ease, murmuring, “There she goes, the love of my life.”

☆ When she had a full-on manic episode mid-quest, jumping on a table and yelling out a number of obscenities—you just clapped from the side. “That’s my girlfriend! Get ‘em, babe!” Your encouragement only made her louder. Louder and worse. And she said she’s never felt more supported.

☆ Post-relationship, ENA sometimes tries to pick fights just to see if you’ll react. “You FOOL! You DINGDONG! You SATIN-FLAVOURED SIMP!” You wrap her in a hug mid-rant and kiss the side of her glitched-out face. “I love you.” “…I was trying to instigate conflict.” “You’re adorable when you’re mad.” She shorted out like a toaster in a bathtub.

☆ When ENA’s darker forms emerge—green-cracked face, leaking blood, shaky limbs—everyone assumes you’d run. Instead, you just step in closer. You wipe her face with a soft cloth, steady her broken body against yours. “I’m not scared of you, baby,” you whisper. “You can fall apart all you want.” She claws at your shirt like a lifeline, stammering with both voices, “Please don’t go—I’m not charming right now—!” You kiss her cracked forehead. “You don’t have to be.”

☆ She once stared at you for ten full minutes while you folded laundry. No chaos, no meltdown, just this wide-eyed reverence. Finally, in a very small voice: “…How do you stay so calm?” You shrugged. “I’ve got you. Why wouldn’t I be?” She went quiet. The next day, she came back with a hundred stolen coupons, a box of frogs, and a locket with your picture in it. “THIS IS LOVE,” she declared. And you nodded. “Okie dokie, whatever you say, gorgeous.”

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finchyclarkemd · 3 days ago

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Things you don’t remember

~Angst/fluff~

The first time you see him, he's leaning against the hospital doorframe like he’s holding up the whole damn world with one shoulder. He doesn’t speak right away. Just stares.

You study him, trying to place the dark circles under his eyes, the tired set of his jaw, the way his hands stay clenched at his sides like he’s holding something back- grief, maybe. Or worse: hope.

The nurse clears her throat behind him. “Mr. Clarke… she’s awake.”

He walks in like the floor might shatter beneath him.

“You don’t remember me,” he says, voice rough.

You blink. The name sounds vaguely familiar, but so does your own, and neither comes with a face. You try to find something in his eyes that stirs recognition, some warmth or flicker of home, but there’s just… blank space.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Should I?”

He exhales, and it’s the saddest sound you’ve ever heard. Like a man mourning something still alive.

“I’m George,” he says. “George Clarke. I-” He swallows. “We were engaged.”

Your breath catches. You glance down at your hands instinctively, searching for a ring. It’s not there. Of course it’s not. You don't even remember what love feels like. But when he steps closer, voice low, he says your name like a secret only he knows. Like someone who’s said it a thousand times, through laughter, through tears, through every version of you that you've forgotten. And in that moment, though your mind doesn't recognise him- your heart clenches like maybe, just maybe, it still does.

You stare at George like maybe if you look long enough, something will click into place. It doesn’t.

“I don’t feel anything,” you say quietly, and immediately regret the words. His expression doesn’t change, but something in his posture does, like he’s been punched in the chest but refuses to fall.

He nods once, like he’s been preparing for this.

“That’s okay,” he says. “I didn’t come here expecting a miracle.”

You look down at the blanket on your lap, fingers fidgeting with the edge. “Then why did you come?”

He hesitates. Then: “Because I made you a promise. And you don’t remember it, but I do.”

Your eyes lift slowly. “What promise?”

George steps closer, then pulls a small, weathered notebook from his coat pocket. It’s old, edges frayed, the pages inside bent and loved. He holds it out to you, but doesn’t let go when you take it.

“You told me,” he says, voice like gravel, “if anything ever happened to you, if you ever forgot, you wanted me to bring this. You said it had the truth in it. Not just facts, but... the way things felt.”

You gently tug it free from his hand. On the front, in your own handwriting, are the words: “Just in case.”

You open it.

Page one is a sketch of a coffee mug. His, you think. The caption underneath reads: He drinks it black and complains every time, but won’t admit he likes it that way.

Page two is a scribbled quote: "I think I could love him forever. Maybe I already do."

You look up at him. His jaw is tight, eyes unreadable.

“How long were we together?” you ask.

He swallows. “Four years.”

“And I don’t remember any of it?”

“No.” His voice is barely audible now. “But I do. Every day.”

You flip through the pages- doodles, ticket stubs, half-finished thoughts. Every one of them proof that something real existed between you. That it wasn’t just his memory holding you here. It was yours, too, tucked into paper and ink.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asks. “I won’t push. But I’ll stay as long as you let me.”

You look at him, and even though your mind is still a fog, there’s something grounding about his presence. Like gravity, pulling you toward something you don’t understand but maybe want to.

You nod.

“Stay.”

George visits the hospital every day. He doesn’t bring flowers or balloons like the others. Instead, he brings pieces of the life you used to share. The first day, it’s a playlist.

“Your favourite songs,” he says, setting his phone gently on your bedside table. “You said music made you feel things faster than memory ever could.”

You don’t say anything. But when he leaves, you press play. By the third song, your chest aches with a feeling you can’t name.

The next day, he brings your cat.

“He hated me at first,” he admits as the nurse raises an eyebrow, “but I bribed him with tuna and dignity.”

The cat, Garfield, is unimpressed by the sterile room but curls instantly into your lap like he knows exactly where he belongs. Like he knows you. And maybe, for a moment, you believe you know you, too.

Each day, George brings another puzzle piece.

A Polaroid of the two of you at a winter market, noses red, hot chocolate in hand.

A chipped ceramic mug with your initials and a tiny heart carved in the bottom.

A dog-eared copy of Jane Eyre with sarcastic notes scribbled in the margins.

“We used to argue about whether Rochester deserved redemption,” he says one evening. “You said he didn’t. I said he was just a man who made mistakes.”

You pause, gaze drifting over his face.

“And now?” you ask softly.

George smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Now I think maybe we both were right.”

You start to ask more questions. Not big ones. Just quiet, everyday things.

“How did we meet?” “At a bookshop. You made fun of my Hemingway pick. I pretended not to care.”

“What was our first fight?” “You were convinced I didn’t like your cooking. I was just scared I’d mess things up if I admitted I did.”

“What did I say when I told you I loved you?” George looks down at his hands. “You didn’t say it. You wrote it. On a napkin. Slid it across the table like a secret.”

You feel the echo of it, just a tremor, but it’s there.

One afternoon, as the sun spills gold across the hospital floor, George sits beside you, close but not touching. His hand hovers near yours, respectful of the distance between the past and the now.

“Do you ever… resent me for forgetting?” you ask quietly.

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Never. Losing you once was enough. I’d rather have the pieces than nothing at all.”

Your throat tightens. And then, for the first time, you reach for his hand. Not because you remember. But because something inside you wants to.

It happens on a Tuesday. The sky is grey, the kind of heavy-clouded quiet that feels like it’s waiting for something. You and George sit on a bench just outside the hospital’s rehab wing. It’s your first real time outdoors since the accident. Everything feels too sharp. The air, the light, the smell of wet pavement.

George unwraps a sandwich but doesn’t eat it. He’s watching you again. He always does when you’re not looking. Like if he stares hard enough, he can will your memories back. You don’t mind. You’re starting to look at him, too.

He says something about a coffee shop you both used to visit Cedar’s describes it with the kind of affection that feels like a prayer: mismatched chairs, cinnamon in the air, the table by the window you always stole because you liked the light. You blink. Your fingers tighten around the Styrofoam cup in your hands. The cold coffee sloshes.

“Wait,” you say, voice suddenly thin.

George freezes. “What?”

You close your eyes. There’s something. Cinnamon. Wood polish. A squeaky chair. A sound. Your laugh? His. A moment: his hand brushing yours across a chipped table. The curve of his smile when he looked at you like you were the only thing that made sense.

“I remember… that table,” you whisper. “Just for a second. You… you spilled something. I think it was tea? I made fun of you.”

He doesn’t speak. You open your eyes and see the look on his face, pure disbelief, breaking slowly into something softer, something wild with hope.

His voice is hushed. “You always made fun of me when I spilled tea. You said I held the cup like it owed me money.”

You let out a breathy laugh, startled by the sound of it. There’s no full scene. No name. No clarity. Just a flicker. A sensation. But it’s yours. And it’s real.

You glance at him. “It was chamomile.”

George nods once. His throat moves like he’s swallowing something sharp.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling like a man who’s been holding his breath for weeks. “It was.”

You don’t reach for him this time. But you lean just slightly in his direction. And that’s enough, for now.

It’s raining again. A cold, slanting drizzle that turns the sidewalks into mirrors and blurs the world into greyscale. You’re back in the hospital lounge, curled under a too-thin blanket, flipping through the memory notebook George gave you. You’ve read the same five pages for days now, waiting for something else to surface.

He stands at the window, arms folded, jaw tight. Silent. You can feel the storm in him before he says a word.

“George?”

He doesn’t turn around.

You set the notebook down, uneasy. “Is something wrong?”

He laughs, but it’s brittle. “Wrong? No. Not at all. I’m just watching it rain on the day that should’ve been our wedding anniversary. So, no… nothing’s wrong.”

The words land like stones in your chest.

You sit up, slowly. “I didn’t know…”

“I know,” he says sharply, then softens. “Of course you didn’t. That’s the point, isn’t it?”

He finally turns. His eyes are tired. Not angry. Just… tired. The kind of tired that lives in the bones.

“I’ve been trying not to say this,” he murmurs. “I’ve told myself over and over that it’s selfish, that you’ve been through enough. But it’s killing me, watching you look at me like I’m a stranger.”

You flinch. Not because of his tone, but because he’s right.

“I never wanted to make you feel like-”

“Like I don’t exist anymore?” he finishes. “Like the last four years of my life evaporated the moment your head hit the dashboard?”

You look down at your hands. Shame rises hot in your throat.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

George exhales, dragging his hand through his hair. “I’m not mad at you,” he says, quieter now. “God, I’m not. I’m mad at fate, or the universe, or the idiot who ran that red light. I just… I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending this doesn’t hurt.”

You meet his gaze. And for the first time, you really see it. The cracks behind his calm, the way love and grief have been eating him alive in silence.

“I remember chamomile tea,” you say suddenly. “And the cinnamon. And you… smiling at me, that way you do.”

His breath catches.

“I know it��s not much,” you add. “But it’s something, isn’t it?”

He walks over slowly, kneels in front of your chair like you might disappear if he moves too fast.

“It’s everything,” he says.

And then, for the first time, you reach for him. Not out of obligation, or guilt, or the faint echo of who you were, but because you want to. And maybe that’s the beginning of a new memory.

Spring comes softly. It creeps in through the windows of your new apartment. Smells like rain on warm pavement and the hint of lilacs blooming somewhere unseen. The air hums with quiet promise.

George is in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in deep concentration over an omelet that’s probably going to fall apart. He still can’t cook. You’ve confirmed that much.

You lean against the doorway, watching him with a warmth you can’t explain. Or maybe you can. You just don’t have all the pieces yet.

“I remember something new,” you say.

He freezes. Slowly turns.

“Oh?” he says carefully. Hope flickers in his eyes, but it’s guarded now. He’s learned not to expect too much. You walk over to the table, where a familiar mug waits. Chipped. Painted blue. You pick it up.

“You used to bring me tea in this,” you say. “You’d pretend you didn’t know which one I liked, but you always got it right.”

George says nothing for a long moment.

Then he smiles. Not the broken, uncertain kind you saw in the hospital, but something real. Full. Alive.

“I never forgot you,” he says softly. “Not even for a second.”

You take the mug in both hands. It feels like yours again. Like home.

“I think…” you pause, feeling your heartbeat rise. “I think I want to fall in love with you. All over again. From the beginning.”

George crosses the room in two steps, but he doesn’t rush. He touches your face gently, like you’re fragile porcelain. Like you’re sacred.

“You don’t have to fall,” he whispers. “You can choose me. Every day. I’ll do the same.”

You nod.

“I choose you.”

And that’s the truth of it, in the end: The memories may come back. They may not. But love isn’t always something you remember. Sometimes, it’s something you decide to build, again. Together.

——————————————————————————————————

First time writing again in a while! I hope you enjoyed! I will try and post a little more now university has finished.

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@themdera

@tyna-19

@smzyyx

#george clarke fics #george clarke fluff #george clarke angst #george clarke x reader #george clarke #arthur hill #arthur frederick #harrylewis #willne #w2s #james marriott #harry lewis #uk youtubers #wroetoshaw

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wcnderlnds · 1 day ago

Text

one of us ★ choi seung-hyun (t.o.p)

・❥・ summary: going back home and having to accept that this wouldn't work with seunghyun was breaking your heart and seunghyun's. so, he takes things into his own hands unable to handle the loneliness anymore. ・❥・word count: 2.7k ・❥・warnings: 18+. mdni. unprotected p in v, choking, swearing. angst. mentions of blackmail. ・❥・ authors note: ...i really tried to not make this smut but.. here we are.

PART ONE | PART TWO

Seunghyun was having one of the worst weeks of his life. The days that had passed since you left felt empty, like there was a constant dark cloud hanging above his head and this week it had decided to pour. Brandi had threatened to expose their very brief sex life if he didn’t pay her to keep quiet. Not wanting another scandal on his name, he paid her off but the weight of the situation lingered on him. He didn’t need this. He couldn’t handle this. Not on top of everything else. So, once again, he decided to lock himself away from the world where no prying eyes could be in his business. After Bali — after meeting you, actually — he had started to feel better. He had felt peace for the first time in a long time but now he was back to square one.

He picked up his phone, his hands shaking as he went to open your messages then saw the last few. Oh, he’d forgot.

Earlier in the week you’d text him telling him you were going for coffee with some guy. It was fine — you and him weren’t together but he couldn’t stop the jealousy from rising and had lashed out at you. Now he knew exactly how you felt when you saw Brandi. It was like a kick to the gut, like someone was inside his chest punching at his heart like a punching bag.

He tossed his phone onto the table, his hands running over his face. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t sit here and be miserable. There was only one thing that he knew would make him feel better.

You.

Meanwhile on your side of the world, things hadn’t been great. That day you’d got back from Seoul, you’d cried. Leaving Seunghyun knowing that you couldn’t be with him left a hole in your heart. Ever since Bali, you hadn’t been able to get him out of your thoughts. Maybe if you’d just stayed and not overreacted and changed your flight, that time with him might have convinced him that you could make this work. The heart wants what it wants and, right now, your heart wanted him. Even after the coffee date with that guy, you hadn’t thought about Seunghyun the whole time. You imagined him sitting in front of you, drinking his black coffee, telling some stupid joke. God, you missed him. But, he wasn’t even talking to you now. You had told him about your date in full transparency and he had lost it. He wasn’t cruel, he was just upset. It had been how you’d felt when you’d found out about Brandi.

It was another lonely day for you, aching to reach out and text him but would he even reply? Did he even want to talk to you now? The thought of not having Seunghyun in your life in some kind of way made your heart clench. You wouldn’t force him to talk, though. He’d come to you when and if he wanted to. You may have only spent short amounts of time together but you knew him so well already. Bali had forced you both to bare your souls to each other, express the deepest, darkest secrets you kept hidden. Sharing something like that with someone made it very easy to know the type of person they were.

You just prayed and hoped that he would reach out. Sooner rather than later.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“You’ve got to me fucking kidding me?” Seunghyun groaned, raking a hand through his already messy dark hair. There was no way his luggage had got lost. It was as if everything in the universe was against him.

His decision to catch a flight had purely been on impulse. He wanted to see you, he needed to see you so he’d haphazardly thrown some clothes into a suitcase – which had now been lost – and hopped on the next flight to you. There really had been no thought behind it. There was the very high possibility that you didn’t even want to see him after how he’d acted but he was willing to take that risk just to get a glimpse of your face. It had been a long three weeks without you. This was why it couldn’t work.

But, maybe - just maybe - he was starting to rethink that.

The cab ride to your place made him nervous. His leg bouncing in place, a sign of how anxious he was feeling. This could go horrible for him. That would just be the icing on the cake of a horrible week. Seunghyun had tried so hard to stay positive, keep his mind on all the good things in his life but it seemed like things constantly fucked him over. He never had good luck. His whole life there was always something there ready to strike to tear him down when he was finally happy.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t even realise the cab had pulled up to your apartment complex. He paid the driver then, looking at his phone to make sure he had the right address, made his way up to your apartment.

With a shaky fist, he knocked on your door, stuffing his hands in his hoodie as he waited very impatiently for you to answer.

The knock sounded out through your apartment, startling you. You weren’t expecting any visitors. It was 8pm, it was too late for any of your family members to visit and the rest of your friends were out. It was a Friday night; you were sulking in the confines of your apartment. You waited, thinking you might ignore it until you heard another knock. Whoever it was, was very persistent. So, you got up, making your way over to the door.

“Seunghyun?!” You gasped as you came face to face with him.

He looked sad, defeated. “Hey.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I needed to see you.”

You stepped aside, letting him come in. “I… you were the last person I expected to see.”

The silence lingered between you as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Were you glad to see him? Absolutely but you didn’t know what to say to him. He had to be the first one to talk right now. “So…”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I-I was jealous and I lashed out at you. I shouldn’t have. I have no claim on you but it fucking killed me to know you were going out with someone that wasn’t mean. I had no right to be jealous but… you have this hold on me. I can’t stop thinking about you every single second of the day. I’ve had a terrible week and I needed to see you,” he rushed his words out knowing they were a jumbled mess but he had to say everything that was on his mind before he chickened out.

His words hit you hard but you couldn’t form a coherent thought to reply with. Instead, you walked into the kitchen, Seunghyun trailing behind you. “You want a drink? I have water or I can make coffee. It might take a while bu-”

Seunghyun cut you off. “Look at me.”

But, you couldn’t bring yourself to as you rummaged around to find the coffee. Seunghyun’s hand gently wrapped around your wrist, stopping your movements. He tugged you towards him. You looked everywhere but at him, your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn’t do this. If you couldn’t have him in the way you wanted him, you couldn’t let yourself look at him because the second you met those gorgeous brown eyes of his, you knew you’d cave.

“I can’t,” you spoke quietly.

Seunghyun brought his finger to your chin, tilting it up so you had no choice but to look at him. “Talk to me.”

“You make this so hard. I’m so crazy about you but I can’t have you. You’ve made it clear that this wouldn’t work and I can’t keep lying to myself. Everytime you’re near, I feel like I’m losing my mind. All I want to do is hold you and kiss you and tell you how much I care about you but… I can’t because you’re not mine.” Your words were full of emotion, hitting him straight in his heart.

He didn’t know what to say to show you how much you meant to him but he knew what he could do.

Closing the distance between you, his lips met yours. The kiss was gentle at first, his lips barely brushing against yours until he felt your lips moving back against his. That was the signal he needed, his hands moving to grab your hips, pulling your flush against him. His lips moved eagerly against yours while he moved to push your body against one of the counters. It was you who deepened the kiss, catching him off guard while he was moving you and pushing your tongue into his mouth. He groaned as your tongue met his, dancing that familiar dance you’d done so many times back in Bali. After a few minutes, he tore his lips from yours, trailing them down to your neck. He sucked at the skin there, his tongue tracing out afterwards, pulling back to admire the red mark he had left there. He felt his cock twitch in his jeans, feeling a sense of pride that he’d left his mark on you. Now, everyone would know that you were his… even if you technically weren’t. Not yet.

“Jump,” he whispered against your skin. You obliged, jumping up onto the counter. Seunghyun pulled you to the edge, your hips flush against his. He grinded against you so you could feel his hardening length rubbing against your core. “This is what you do to me. Every single time I see you. I can’t get enough of you.”

His lips found yours once again, moving with desperation this time. His hand gripped the back of your neck, holding you in place as he devoured your mouth. He would never tire of kissing you. It might just be his favourite hobby at this point. His fingers found their way inside your shorts, skipping any kind of teasing and dipping immediately inside your panties. He groaned against your lips as he slid his fingers between your folds, feeling how wet you already were for him.

“Always so wet for me, huh, baby?” He dipped a finger inside you, setting a fast, steady pace at the get go. “Tell me what you want.”

You moaned when he pushed another finger inside you, pumping them in and out of you at a rapid pace. Words were hard at the moment, nothing running through your mind but the thought of his fingers fucking you within an inch of your life.

“Use your words,” he said, tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“Fuck, Seunghyun. You, I want you. Fuck me, please.”

Your begging was more than enough for him. He tore himself away from you momentarily to unzip his jeans, pulling his cock out. He pumped himself a few times, watching as you scrambled to pull your own clothes off. Once you were bare to him, he found your hips again, his fingers digging into your skin with enough force to leave bruises but you didn’t care. All you cared about was feeling him inside you once again. He ran the head of his cock along your folds, coating himself in your slick. The tip caught on your clit making you shudder, your legs wrapping around his waist, urging him forward. He guided himself to your entrance, pushing in to the hilt. Both of you let out loud moans, Seunghyun taking a moment to savour the feeling of being inside you again.

He withdrew until only the tip was inside then surged forward again. His hips snapped into you at a furious, desperate pace, pulling your hips into every thrust. Your hands had pulled his hoodie off by now, trailing under the white shirt he was wearing to feel the hard planes of his chest. He shivered at the feeling of your fingers on his skin, never able to get enough of this. “You’re taking me so well, baby. Always so good for me.”

One of his hands moved under your shirt, his eyes rolling back when he realised you weren’t even wearing a bra. He squeezed one of your breasts, his thumb brushing over your nipple. His hips thrust harder, the groans falling from his lips more frequently now. The sound of his skin slapping against yours echoed through the kitchen, Seunghyun never letting up in the way he was pounding into you.

“I’m so close,” you panted, head falling forward onto his chest. He wasn’t having that. He needed you to look at him when you came. His hand wrapped around your throat, moving your head so you were looking at him. He squeezed a little, just enough to send a thrill through you.

“Nuh-uh, I want you to look at me when I make you cum. I can tell you’re close. Are you going to be a good girl and come for me?”

It was the way his deep voice rumbled, the huskiness of it making you dizzy. Your hips tried to match his thrusts, desperate for your release. “Touch yourself for me.”

As if you were going to disobey him so your fingers found your clit, rubbing fast circles against it. You were right there on the edge, your walls clamping down around him. “Seunghyun! I’m gonna come.”

“Me too, baby. Give it to me. Now.”

His commanding voice was your undoing. A cry of his name fell from your lips as your orgasm crashed over you harder than it ever had. Maybe it was the way his hand was wrapped around your throat, or the way he was pounding into you like a man possessed. Either way, you were a moaning mess. Seunghyun’s thrusts grew erratic and, before he knew it, his own orgasm hit him. He thrust into you one last time, stilling as his release coated your insides. His groan of your name was the most incredible sound you’d ever heard, enough to almost make you come again.

His head fell to your shoulders, panting as he tried to catch his breath back. The room was silent, the air charged as you both came down from your highs. When he finally came back to his senses, he looked up at you, brushing some hair out of your face that had fallen during your passionate lovemaking.

“I am yours,” he whispered. “And, you’re mine.”

He kissed you softly, pouring all his feelings into the kiss. It was reluctantly that he pulled out, grabbing some kitchen roll from the counter to clean you up, gently rubbing your thighs. He helped you down from the counter, your legs shaky.

“...you want that coffee now?”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Not much had really been said after the encounter in the kitchen, mostly drinking the coffee in silence. But, now, you were laid in your bed in Seunghyun’s arms, your head laying on his bare chest.

“Did you mean it?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Huh?” He glanced down at you.

“When you said I was yours and you were mine?”

“...yeah, I did.”

“And what does that mean exactly?” You asked, trying not to get your hopes up but you couldn’t help it. There had been something different about that moment in the kitchen. The way he had been so desperate, the way he had looked at you – it had felt meaningful. He ran his fingers through your hair, looking up at the ceiling as he gathered his thoughts. This was the moment. It was make or break.

He let out a shaky exhale, the vulnerability of his words more evident than ever. “It means… that I want to make this work. I want to try. If you do.”

“I do,” you answered without hesitation. “I really do.”

“Then, it’s you and me, Y/N. We’ll figure this out, okay? We’ll make it work.”

And, when he said that, you believed him. It wasn’t going to be easy – long distance relationships never were but you knew that if you both put your all into it, this could really be something special.

taglist (ask to be added): @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @berfgrimm @loveesiren @justsisse @sherrayyyyy @aizshallnotbefound @fleabagspurplewife @gemzyy @bettelaboure @gdinthehouseee @breakmeoff @babyrvis @flymetothexmoon @forevervibezzzz1 @ttturnitup @szonyix6277 @riddlerloveb0t @youlikeex @str8t2video

#choi seunghyun x reader #t.o.p x reader #choi seunghyun #choi seunghyun smut #bigbang x reader #my fics

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soeyekonic · 16 hours ago

Text

— ✩♬ ₊˚. comfortable ⭑ D.A

˚⟡˖⋆ synopsis on a rainy sunday wrapped in hoodies, shared cereal, and slow kisses, you and daniela find comfort, not in grand gestures, but in the quiet kind of love that feels like home.

disclaimers: daniela avanzini x fem!reader. this was a request and i hope i did justice to it 😣 all fluff. just all cutesy and domestic yk?? i wanted to get this out quickly before i forgot so i didnt proofread…my apologies if there are typos or grammar mistakes 🥀😣

currently playing: comfortable - h.e.r

rain taps gently on the windows, slow and persistent like a song on repeat. outside, the world is gray and blurred — trees bending slightly in the breeze, puddles forming like little mirrors on the sidewalk. inside, the appartement is warm, quiet, dimly lit by a soft lamp in the corner and the flickering glow of the tv, which is playing some 2000s rom-com you’ve both seen at least ten times.

you aren’t really watching it.

daniela is stretched across the couch, one leg over yours, body tucked into your side like a puzzle piece. she’s wearing your hoodie — that soft brown one she always steals — and a pair of loose shorts that have seen better days. her hair is unbrushed, wild curls spiraling freely over her shoulders and down her back. she hasn’t bothered with makeup, not even lipgloss. and still, somehow, she’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

you’re half-draped in a knit blanket, shared between you like a truce. her toes are cold where they press against your thigh, but you don’t mind.

you haven’t moved in a while. neither of you seems inclined to.

“baby,” she murmurs, not looking up from her phone. “is it bad that i want cereal for dinner?”

you tilt your head lazily, looking down at her. “you had cereal for breakfast.”

“and lunch,” she adds, grinning as she locks her phone and tosses it onto the coffee table.

you raise an eyebrow. “at least let me make you something real.”

“but your pasta involves actual effort,” she pouts, nestling further into your side. “and i’d have to sit up.”

you smirk and shift your arm around her waist, pulling her in until your chests are pressed together. “you’re getting lazy.”

“i’m getting comfortable,” she corrects, nuzzling her nose against your shoulder.

the word lingers in the air. comfortable. it sounds exactly like what you have. not just in this moment, but in every way.

you run your fingers through her curls, detangling slowly and gently like you’ve done a hundred times before.

“i like you like this,” you say.

“messy?”

“real.”

daniela hums, eyes fluttering closed under your touch. “you used to only see me when i was all done up. hair flat-ironed, makeup perfect, some overly coordinated outfit.”

“you looked like you walked out of a fashion editorial.”

“i was terrified of not being enough,” she says softly. “of you seeing me and thinking, ‘oh. never mind.’”

you pause your fingers in her hair.

“dani,” you say, heart clenching a little. “that could never happen.”

“i know that now,” she murmurs. “but back then… i was trying so hard. and now we’re here. i’m in a hoodie that smells like you, my curls are a mess, and i haven’t worn real pants in three days.”

you laugh gently, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“and i’m more in love with you now than i ever was back then.”

her breath catches, barely. she looks up, meets your eyes. there’s something unspoken in the look — something soft and grateful and full of quiet wonder.

she leans in, pressing her lips to yours. it’s not a kiss filled with heat or urgency — it’s slow, sweet, unhurried. like she has all the time in the world to love you.

when she pulls away, she rests her forehead against yours.

“i don’t think i’ve ever felt this safe before,” she whispers. “like i can just be. and you’ll still be here.”

you close your eyes, letting her words sink in like sunlight through skin. “i will. always.”

there’s a long pause as you just breathe together. the movie keeps playing in the background, unnoticed. outside, thunder rumbles low and distant.

eventually, daniela sits up, stretching her arms over her head, hoodie riding up slightly. she yawns, blinking blearily.

“okay,” she announces. “i’m going to attempt to make cereal. i will brave the kitchen for the love of honey nut cheerios.”

you reach for her hand. “let me come with you. you need a spotter in case you trip over your own socks.”

she looks down at the offending avocado socks and gasps. “rude! these are limited edition.”

you both shuffle to the kitchen, barefoot and drowsy. the lights are still off, and the pale late afternoon gray seeps through the windows like soft smoke. daniela opens the cabinet, pulls out the cereal box, and hands it to you like it’s a sacred ritual.

while she gets the milk, you start lining up two bowls side by side — but she nudges you with her hip.

“no, no. one bowl,” she says. “we’re doing this romantic movie style.”

you grin. “lady and the tramp but with cereal.”

she gasps. “we should make that a tradition. every sunday. one bowl, shared spoon, pajamas optional.”

“optional?” you glance at her oversized hoodie and bare legs. “that implies you own actual clothes.”

she shrugs dramatically. “not when i live with you. your wardrobe is my wardrobe now. i’m basically a very cute, well-dressed parasite.”

you nudge her lightly with your hip. “you’re lucky i like you.”

“mmhm,” she says, spinning in a slow, sleepy circle before curling back into you, bowl in hand. “you love me.”

you kiss her temple. “that too.”

back on the couch, you curl up again — the two of you tangled together, sharing bites between soft laughter and quiet sighs. the storm outside grows louder, the wind brushing against the windows like a lullaby. daniela rests her head on your shoulder again, chewing slowly.

“isn’t it wild,” she says after a moment, “how easy this feels?”

“what do you mean?”

“i spent so much of my life thinking love had to be hard. like… passion and pain and drama. like the more it hurt, the more it meant something.”

you nod, understanding. you’ve both had those relationships. the kind where you confused chaos for connection.

“and then i met you,” she continues. “and it’s just… slow. and quiet. and soft. and right. it feels like home.”

you don’t know what to say to that, except: “you’re my home too.”

daniela turns the spoon in her hand thoughtfully. “i want to grow old with you. just like this. sunday rain and cereal. hoodies and quiet kisses. all of it.”

“you will,” you say. “i’m not going anywhere.”

she smiles. you can see it, even without looking.

then, softly, almost shyly: “marry me someday?”

your heart skips. “what?”

daniela shrugs one shoulder, not looking directly at you. “i mean, not today. but yeah. i want it to be you.”

you set the cereal bowl down and gently tilt her face toward yours.

“it’s going to be me,” you say. “every time. every lifetime.”

daniela kisses you again — not because it’s dramatic or perfect, but because it’s natural. easy. because she wants to. because you’re hers.

later, as the storm outside quiets and the light shifts to soft evening gold, you both drift into a nap, still curled on the couch. the bowl forgotten. the tv still playing.

and the world — messy, loud, overwhelming — feels very far away.

here, in this little apartment filled with rain and love and avocado socks, there’s only you and her. and it’s enough. it’s more than enough.

it’s comfortable.

a/n: i fear it’s getting easier to write fluff. i kinda like it now

#soeyekonic #katseye #katseye x reader #daniela avanzini katseye #daniela avanzini x reader #daniela avanzini #katseye angst #katseye fluff #daniela avanzini x female reader #katseye daniela #daniela katseye #daniela icons #katseye fic #katseye imagines #katseye smau #sophia katseye #megan skiendiel #megan katseye

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saltnsugarbear · 11 hours ago

Note

i see you’ve tentatively opened ur inbox for bob requests lmaoo, may i TIMIDLY request a fox that flips the whole “bob has a breakdown reader comes to help” narrative? ITS A GOOD NARRATIVE but there’s soooo many fics of that, give us some protective bob! some bob with emotional weight!!

shyly putting this on the Robert Reynolds x reader tags doorstep

thank you for the idea, my love! I wanted to see how I felt writing for Bob and if I could find his voice in myself,,,,, I wanted to contribute and I want to give him kisses so thank you thank you <3

I went a bit,,,, idk not like a meltdown but I wanted Bob to be the one that had hope and whimsy!!! Bob is the one to banish the doubt and sadness!!! I feel unsure about this piece and if I like it but here you go Bob enjoyers <3

word count: 1.8k

content warnings: gender neutral reader, 🍃 smoking to cope with existence/trauma/thoughts, reader and Walker have a non-descript past, post Thunderbolts*, existential dread,

side note: did you guys know Bob might have photokinensis (control/production of light) which is pretty cool idk also he dropped out of high school and his addiction started in middle school :( his wiki made me sad

Bob takes care of you in little ways. Quiet ways.

You've learned that he loves quietly. He does your laundry, folds your clothes neatly, and puts them away. He knows your coffee order better than his own, what meals you prefer depending on the restaurant when the team orders out. Bob knows it's easier for you to fall asleep around the team than by yourself, and despite warnings from Walker, how violently you could wake up.

That's how the team first found out Bob could... Well... Glow, for lack of a better description.

Bob's photokinesis was jarring for the whole group. Ava and Yelena whispered softly as they put away blankets while Walker and Bucky picked up leftover trash, snacks, and dishes. Alexei was the only other person asleep on the other side of the couch, so Bob was left hovering near where you rest. No one was paying attention to his silent turmoil, not wanting to turn on the lights in the room and risking a disgruntled group of half-awake Avengerz but not wanting to risk catching an elbow to the stomach like Alexei had earlier that week.

He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts he hadn't noticed that Ava and Yelena had stopped talking. Bob didn't notice the soft glow even as your brows scrunched together, and you grumbled an annoyed "Walker.."

"What?" He chirped defensively, not bothering to look in your direction as he stacked cups in a bowl.

"Turn off the light," you complain, burrowing further into your blanket.

"What ligh-" Walker cuts himself off when he looks over.

Bob misses the way that the girls glance to Walker, who looks to Bucky. None of them had seen Bob display any other powers after the Void's fit over New York. So the soft glow emitting from the man's skin gave them pause, unsure if they should intervene or stay silent. Finally, after a few minutes of staring and your quiet grumbling, Walker makes a choice.

"Bobby-" The sharpness of John's voice makes Bob startle, a bright flash of light blinding him before the room is dark again.

"What the hell," you grumble, finally opening your eyes, officially awake after that. "Why are you yelling at him?"

"I didn't yell-" Walker starts.

"You raised your voice."

"I did not raise-"

"And you know he doesn't like when you call him Bobby." You tack on.

"I know, I forgot." John huffs, glancing at Bob. "Sorry, kid."

"It's fine.." Bob assures him passively, tangling his fingers together as his softly drags a nail over his skin. "I- I didn't turn on the lights, though?"

"You were the light." Ava says bluntly, and Yelena can't help but nod.

"You were glowing, Bob." She says it the same way she would tell him that he was wearing a grey sweater or he had done the dishes.

"I.. I was?" He asks, glancing at each of his housemates for confirmation. Ava huffs with an endeared roll of her eyes while Yelena nods solemnly again. Bucky and John look the most put-off but the revelation, so Bob is unsure if he should be alarmed or not.

"Next time you decide to glow, Bob," You start collecting your blanket as you prepare to get up. "Do it when I'm awake. And when I have sunglasses on, in case you decide to blind Johnny again."

"O-Okay.." He nods, shuffling back so you can stand up.

"Thanks, bub," you say softly, nudging him with your shoulder as you pass. He hums shortly, watching as you make your way down the hall.

The rest of the supers watch Bob quietly before Yelena speaks up.

"We will be talking about this tomorrow.." An easy dismissal that the others agree on, different noises and hums from them. Bob nods, shifting as he watches everyone else clear up. Ava sighs quietly and gives him a pitying look.

"We're not upset, Bob, just surprised. Go get ready for bed." The reassurance settles something in his stomach. He feels like he's can let out a breath again. Bob carries those words with him when he climbs into bed.

Not upset. Just surprised.

Bob can live with that.

Being in an apartment full of people in different stages of recovery from varying substances can be... Stifling, for when you want to let loose. You, Ava, and Bucky all made a vote to keep any form of alcohol or drug stronger than Tylenol out of the house. For the sake of the remaining Avengerz. The three of you also agreed your votes counted as more, as the people least affected by the ban, when the other four tried to argue against it. Not that Bob had much reason to fight it. It was for the better, really.

Except, you didn't realize how horribly this plan backfired until you wanted to smoke or have a glass of wine after an annoying day with Valentina or reading a particularly gruesome article. Or dealing with the most recent, Sam's copyright lawsuit.

As such, your only options were drinking in the dark of your bedroom or standing on the balcony and smoking. The latter is the more appealing, letting you watch the streets with a level of detachment you only got when you were high. The rest of the team had dispersed to their separate night activities, watching TV or sparring or training.

So, you're surprised when you hear the door open behind you. You turn to look out of reflex, and your curiosity peaks when you spot Bob in the doorway. He sniffs softly, and you remember the joint between your fingers.

"Oh, fuck-" You scramble to put out the joint, stubbing it out against the railing. "Sorry."

"It's fine, never really liked pot.." He laughs softly. Bob watches silently as you tuck it away in a small tin and shove it back into your pocket. "What are you, uh.. What are you doing out here?"

"Needed some quiet to... Well..." You sigh. "Like you guys and everything but.."

You let out a deep breath, leaning against the railing heavily. Bob nods behind you, taking a few steps closer to where you stand. He took the stubbing of the joint as the silent invitation it was to stay out with you.

"Alexei is a little loud... Ava and Walker are always fighting." Bob shares quietly.

"Not fighting," You muse before you look back at him. "Maybe bickering?"

"Bickering.." Bob agrees quietly, nodding a little. You hum before turning back to the city lights.

"C'mere," you call him over, glancing back at him when you don't hear him move. "I'm not gonna let you fall."

The assurance makes Bob's stomach twist with an emotion he can't name but is finding himself familiar with the longer he's a part of the team. He muses over it long enough that eventually you hold your hand out to him, not bothering to turn to him. Bob tugs at the cuff of his sleeve before putting his wrist in your grasp.

He doesn't miss the huff you let out, but it follows as you gently tug him closer to the railing. He can feel a flush making its way to his face when you cradle his forearm against your side like a football. Your hold on his arm is gentle but firm, keeping him in place beside you.

"Those people will never know what we go through..." You say quietly, watching people jay-walk, honk their horns at one another, and pass each other in fleeting steps.

"Isn't that the point?" Bob asks, keeping his eyes on the buildings, watching people walk the halls and live their lives. You make a noise beside him, contemplating it silently. You dwell on it for a few minutes before you speak up again.

"Do you ever... Regret signing up for that Sentry serum shit?" You ask Bob softly, eyes tracing the cars as they wind around the city. Bob hums softly, tilting his head this way and that as he thought.

"I wouldn't have met you guys... Probably still doing meth and signing spinning... So this is probably better?" He says it like it's a question, and then he nods. "I don't think I regret it."

You nod, letting that sit in the air, wishing you could cling to that feeling he had. You can't find it in yourself tonight, grabbing around for something that isn't there.

"Do you regret yours?" Bob asks in turn. You turn it over in your mind for a couple of minutes, listening to the city noise.

"I was a kid..." You tell him. "I didn't know... I didn't-"

You cut yourself off, letting out a breath. "I'd stop myself if I could go back."

"Then you wouldn't be here, and we wouldn't be here.." Bob protests quietly.

"You guys could still do this without me," you counter, crossing your arms over the railing. "Be the New Avengerz... Deal with Valentina, play dress up every now and then..."

"Who would fix Walker's shield?" Bob asks quietly, and you can't help but scoff. It's not a mean scoff, more of a huff of exasperation and fondness for the man.

"He can still fight crime with a taco," you tell him. "Sometimes the doubt and the pain is just...."

"All consuming," He fills in. You nod. It's the only way to describe it on nights like tonight.

"Guess you would know something about that." You sigh, having forgotten who you were talking to. He shrugs beside you, making a sound of indifference.

"It's not always like that." Bob reminds you. "Like a wave or- or Ava. It comes and goes."

The comparison makes you snort, ducking your head to hide your grin. Bob sees it, though, adopting a small smile of his own.

"You guys made it better, though."

"Even Walker?" You muse. That keeps Bob quiet for a moment.

"Not always, but... It has to be better than dealing with it alone?"

You hum softly, mulling over his words. Apply them to the pit gnawing at your stomach and climbing at your throat.

"It eventually goes away... Even if it's just for an hour or a month." Bob says. "Like the seasons..."

His words settle over you like a blanket, soothing the doubts in your brain.

"You should become a therapist," you tell him. Your words surprise a laugh out of Bob. You sigh softly, feeling the light buzz behind your eyes.

You lean against him but just enough that if he pulled away, you wouldn't fall over. Instead, Bob finds the pressure comforting. The feeling of his arm cradled against your body and your weight beside him fills Bob with an overwhelming sense of peace. He doesn't even release he's leaning against you as well.

You hum quietly, taking the small victory of him pushing against you. He's warm, even through his sweater, and it bleeds into your own being, taking that warmth and holding in your chest as you look at the city. There's a soft glow in your periphery, and you can't help but grin.

"You're glowing again."

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transformersxreader · 11 hours ago

Text

(🚧 WIP) (Platonic)Yandere TFONE Various x Child Cybertronian Reader

-(Y/n) birth was one to remember. the primes feeling a deep pulse through their sparks, following the direction where they felt the pulse grow stronger.

A space pod had a faint glow, the primes gather to see the pod open to reveal a small sparkling sleeping soundly a bright blue glow coming from its core.

“What does this mean?”

“I feel a strong power within my spark, do you feel it too?”

One prime places a finger gently on the sparkling chess a strong power flows through him shocking him, a force pushes him gliding on the floor. Surprised on how much power he felt. The primes look back to the sparkling who made a cute laughing peep.

“Are you alright Alpha trion?!”

Alpha trion lifts his hand signaling that he was okay, walking hesitant to the pod looking down at the sparkling.

“This little one has great potential to go far.”

The others primes look at each other nodding,

“We all will lead this little one to a path of greatness.”

One prime carefully lifts the sparkling, who didn’t struggle but continues to rest.

“What will named them?”

The room grew quiet, the sparkling made a loud peep their sparking starts to glow bright making the room sparkle like the vast space. The primes in the room smile.

“We shall call you young (Y/n).”

\_____________________________________________/

Here are some visual on what (Y/n) looks like more further into the story, y’all can choose your own color scheme ✨

I feel a little embarrassed about how long I’ve been gone, you know how adult life gets, but I’m okay 👍 just lost my way forgot how fun is the write again

Thanks for reading 😊✨

#transformers #cybertronian (y/n)#transformers one #transformers x reader #x cybertronian reader #x reader #tfone the primes #tf one #tfone alpha trion #yandere transformers #platonic reader

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stoic613 · 2 days ago

Text

/Flawless/

Pairing:~Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The VoidxFem/Reader~

Warnings:Fluff,Strong language,18+,DV

Chapter 1/?

“Are you sure about this?” You asked yelena hesitantly. She rolled her eyes once again obviously tired from having you constantly ask

“yes of course, how many times do I have to tell you. I only trust you to do this before they take him tomorrow.Besides I have a feeling you guys will get along” you didn’t respond and continued to walk down the halls of the avengers tower heading towards bobs room.

Yelena had asked if you can draw blood for his labs since you were the only doctor she trusts. She wanted Bob to feel comfortable before he had to be taken to a room full of doctors and scientists. Unfortunately valentina hired these people to run tests and see the abilities that bob can do. As if seeing what happened in New York wasn’t enough

Yelena also didn’t want to admit it but you both had also slowly became friends throughout the months you’ve been here. You’ve briefly met the rest of the avengers while patching them up after missions, all except for Bob.

The only thing you knew was the incident that occurred six months ago, oh and apparently he’s also an awkward shy guy. You weren’t nervous because of the “void” and would never judge him for it but because you felt like you weren’t the right person for this.

As you both approached the door you can hear music coming from the other side. Yelena takes a deep breath and knocks on it. “Bob? Can I come in?” Yelena says and it took a couple of seconds before the music stopped and the door slowly opens, Bob peeks his head out.

At first he looks at Yelena but when he does you take the time to really look at him. You kind of knew how he looked but now that you’re close you start to admire his dimples and cute brown hair.

He noticed it wasn’t just yelena and him, as his eyes turned to you he took a quick breath and it was almost like he froze. You thought maybe you startled him and didn’t want you to be there so you gave him a warm smile

“Hi Bob, my names y/n. It’s nice to finally meet you”

It was like he was physically struck from how beautiful you are and your smile. He felt his neck and face start to warm up meaning everyone else can clearly see he was blushing.

“h-hi” he looks down at the floor fiddling with his sweater. Yelena looks between the two of you, taken aback by the interaction and scoffs.

“Okay, no time for this. Come on y/n” she pushes through the door and bob. You follow after her and noticed how tall he was by how much you had to tilt you head up to make eye contact with him as you slowly walk by.

He finally looked at you and gave you a small smile. This made your heart flutter and you suddenly forgot why you were there in the first place.

As you walked further into the room you start to look around. The bed hasn’t been made but let’s be honest none of us do that, and his desk full of books scattered around and some even on the floor.

You heard yelena speaking to bob explaining why you were here. Suddenly her phone goes off and she sighs “I have to take this, I’ll be back but you can get started y/n”

You didn’t acknowledge her as she left the room because you were still intrigued how his set up was. As you look to another part of his room you gasped.

Bob was admiring you but flinched a bit not expecting you to react that way. He saw you quickly walk to a desk that had his collectibles.

“Oh my god” you picked up a figurine so shocked to be seeing this in person.

“How did you get this? I fought an arm and a leg to get these and still lost the checkout war”

Bob’s eyebrows raised, he wasn’t expecting you to know about these collectibles. He walked towards you and picked up the figurine next to you

“I-uh had these old ones from before I can remember but the team gifted me a new set as well” he said shyly and looked at you again “you know Star Wars?” He asked quietly, his chest grew warm knowing you both had something in common.

You furrowed your eyebrows “of course I do, I love Star Wars. I’ve been trying to get this set for years until it sold out and heard it was never going to be restocked again. I also heard it’s rare to own these and even the resellers will put me in debt-”

You stopped talking once you caught yourself rambling, your cheeks start to warm up from embarrassment but he didn’t seem to mind it one bit.

He was actually enjoying it considering the small smile that formed on his face.

“Oh my god you both are such nerds, I leave for 5 minutes and nothing has been done” you both step back from each other not noticing how much closer you both had gotten from the conversation.

Yelena stands at the door with her arms crossed clearly unamused. You smiled sheepishly and put the figurine back carefully.

“right, sorry I got distracted” You cleared your throat and walked to get your suitcase to start setting up.

“Um bob is it okay if we move a desk next to your bed?”

He quickly nodded his head, excited to finally help out with something. You were ready to start moving the desk but Bob picked up the whole thing with ease, you forgot he was the sentry but seeing it in person was different.

You blushed until you saw yelena staring at you with her eyebrow raised and a knowing smile.

You smiled and mouthed “shut up” to her. “Is right here okay?” Bob asked worried he might’ve done something wrong somehow

“It’s perfect, thank you. You can sit on the bed while I get this set up” you say and pulled out a total of five blood tubes along with things to sterilize the desk and your hands.

The more things you pulled from the case the more Bob starts to visibly get nervous. Yelena places a hand on his shoulder to calm him.

“It’s okay, I brought her here because I trust her. Tomorrow you won’t have to do this in front of everyone and with a stranger”.

You sat down putting gloves on giving him a smile to reassure him. “I promise I won’t hurt you, I’ve been doing this for years so I’ve had far enough practice but it’ll be just a pinch. If you really don’t want to do this it’s okay, I can pack up again but I can’t guarantee that they won’t try tomorrow too”

Yelena was about to protest but you gave her a stern look that stopped her. You wanted him to willingly choose you to do this. His hands were playing at the ends of his sweater until he nodded his head.

“O-okay, I want you to do it”

You felt relieved “great, can you pull up your sleeves for me please”

He was still a little hesitant but as he pulled up his sleeves you can see why. Small scars scattered on his arms almost like they came from a whip, and your heart started beating faster.

You purposely made it seem like there was nothing to even look at but your heart dropped to your stomach, hurting for him. Meanwhile Bob was afraid you’d laugh at him or call him weak but it never came

He squeezed his eyes shut refusing to watch but he never felt a pinch. He realized maybe he was being dramatic because it didn’t hurt at all.

“Okay, all done” you smiled at him while wrapping the spot you poked in medical tape “you did great, I’ve had grown men cry like babies over this”

Yelena rubbed bobs back looking proud of him. “So he won’t need to do this again tomorrow right?”

You shook your head, “I confirmed with Valentina that this is the only time it’ll be done so we’re in the clear. Tomorrow the checklist is just him testing his powers with objects along with some special equipment”

“You’re-You’re going to be there tomorrow?” Bob asked with high hopes

“Yes, I’m going to be monitoring behind the scenes but you’ll be able to see me. At least you’ll have a familiar face there” you say as you got done putting your things back in the case.

Bob felt more relaxed now thinking about tomorrow’s events. He was happy he was going to be seeing you again even though he’ll never admit it.

Yelena opens the door holding it open for you so you guys can leave him alone. Bob being the gentleman walks with you to escort you guys out

“Once all goes well tomorrow is it okay if I come back and admire your figurines that I’ll never be able to own and pretend not to hate you for it?” You say jokingly in a low tone

He snorts “yes of course, I wouldn’t mind that at all” he says as he watches you walk out the door, both of you not looking away from each other still clearly not paying any mind to yelena.

After a long second of never ending eye contact, yelena slams the door closed knocking you out of your trance when you weren’t able to see Bob anymore.

You and her look at each other “you guys sicken me”

Your mouth drops “what did I do??”

“Oh please, anyone with eyes and a brain can see the puppy eyes you two were giving each other” you blushed at her comment not even bothering to deny it

“See? You’re even blushing just thinking about it” she points at you accusingly

You both start slowly walking away from the door down to the hall. “I have to admit, he was so cute too”

yelena sighs

“Hey you were the one that said we would get along”

“Ya ya, got along a little too well but whatever”

Your voices now fading, while Bob was leaned against the door hearing the whole conversation. He couldn’t believe what he had just heard and now even in the dark you can see how hard he’s blushing and how fast his heart was beating.

____________________________________________________

Next day-

You’ve been at the lab almost all day helping prepare for when Bob comes down. He should be coming in the next 5-10 minutes

You kept pacing and double checking the checklist making sure everything was perfect but really you were nervous to see him again.

You don’t know what this feeling was but it made your chest feel fuzzy, right when you were going to triple check the list you heard a door open.

You quickly looked up and it was in fact Bob, he immediately spotted you despite everyone in there wearing the same white coats.

You both smiled at each other and you were ready to walk over to greet him but was stopped by someone.

“Hey” Dr.Russell held you back with his hand on your shoulder. “You need to stay back here and start getting things set up”

You nod your head, a little disappointed you won’t talk to Bob but you waved your hand to him and he waved back as they handed him clothes to change into.

He soon came out in hospital pajamas reminding him of the past but he knew as long as you were there he would be fine.

You seemed to be on the computers in a room with clear windows facing where Bob would be. He wanted to go to you but it seemed like all these doctors were never going to let that happen.

As you were looking at the monitors you see them start to restrain Bob in strong straps against a chair. Your eyes furrow in confusion and Bob looking nervous more than ever

“Hey Dr.Russell this wasn’t apart of the-” you were cut off by Dr.Russell slamming the door and locking you in. You stood up immediately ran to the door trying to open it. “Hey, open this door now!”

You look back to another doctor that was in the room with you. “You! What the hell is going on? What are they doing to him” you say demanding answers

“This is exactly what they said would happen if you found out” he said while sitting down with his feet on the table looking so comfortable

Meanwhile you were livid, Bob is trying to look at you for help. He starts to think if maybe you were apart of this and that hurts him

“Y/n?”

You whip your head to look at him and run to the window. “Bob! Bob I don’t know what’s happening, I’m so sorry”

“All right start with phase one” Dr.Russell

Phase one? Then you see someone inject something into him making bob scream in agony

“Stop!” You scream “Leave him alone!” Tears start streaming down your face. You feel helpless as they start to inject him with more needles. You start to frantically look around the room and ran to grab a chair.

With all your force you swing the chair at the window, although it did nothing you repeatedly do this not caring how much strength you were wasting until a small crack was heard.

Before you can even continue someone grabbed a fist full of your hair and pulled you back. You screamed from the pain making Bob look at you

His eyes were starting to glow now “Let her go! Don’t hurt her please” you can hear the tension of the restraints as he pulled to get out

The person pulling your hair then threw you to the ground knocking the air out of you.

Half of bobs body was starting to be covered in black, the void was taking over but the other half was still trying to fight it

The doctor who threw you started walking towards you and you tried to get up

“P-please don’t do this. Just let him go!”

He let out a low laugh that sent chills through your spine. Before you can even get up to your knees he kicks you down. You couldn’t breathe from the impact but that didn’t stop him.

He continued to kick you multiple times, you tried taking a deep breath ready for the next hit but it never came. Your eyes were still closed but you felt a sudden shift in the air

You squint your eyes open afraid of what you might see and sure enough the doctor was no longer there. Just his shadow painted on the floor

You gasped knowing what this meant. “Oh no no no no” you scrambled from the floor grunting at the pain you were in to see what had happened on the other side.

Multiple shadows painted across the room, you see the rest of the of them starting to scream and run for their lives until they vanish.

Your eyes turn to bob, it was like the black shadow started to consume one side of his arm and up to his neck but that’s where it stopped. The rest was still bob but you can see he wasn’t there anymore with the way his eyes glowed and how he held himself.

He didn’t stop until every last one of them was gone and for a moment everything was quiet. Until his head slowly turned to look at you

“Oh shit” you stepped backwards, your blood went cold and it dawned to you that this other side of him might look at you as a threat

Small steps then turned into you running to the locker room that connected to the room you were locked in. You ran to a dark corner knowing that the only way out was the way you came in.

You can tell by the way you were breathing you were almost on the verge of a panic attack. There was nothing you can do to defend yourself.

Minutes went by and your breathing calmed a bit as it grew eerily quiet, you had hope he was able to gain control but that went out the window when you saw his silhouette by the lockers.

You gasped and covered your mouth but it was too late.

“You can’t save him” a low but powerful voice was heard

“Bob” tears were streaming down your face “I’m so sorry they did this to you. Please just come back” you felt frozen in place. All you could do was just watch as he came closer

“Your ‘Bob’ isn’t here, he wasn’t able to save you. He was too weak” the void now standing in front of you

You scrunched back in fear afraid of being a shadow next

“If I knew what they were planning this never would have happened. Please, just stop and let him come back”

You looked at him and he smirked. He let out a low quick laugh and brought his hand that wasn’t covered in void up to touch your cheek.

You turned your head and squeezed your eyes shut

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll never hurt you” he says and you didn’t dare to look again

You felt his soft warm hand press against your cheek and you held your breath waiting to vanish.

Nothing came and as you opened your eyes you were somewhere different.

No bob, no void, no locker room. You look around and realization started to set in. You recognized the ugly beat up apartment.

Your body felt cold and you went pale, a door slammed shut and instincts kicked in. Quickly you went to your old bedroom and hid yourself in the closet

“Y/n, where the hell are you. I told you not to cook this nasty shit” the person slurred their words clearly drunk again

You slid down the wall and your hands covered your ears “this isn’t real, this isn’t real” you whispered to yourself, rocking back and forth

“Where the fuck are you huh?! Come out before I find you, and it won’t be good”

The footsteps were starting to get closer and your body felt numb. Numb but at the same time like 100 needles were poking your skin

The door was kicked down and you flinched, you knew what was coming next because this was just a dark memory you were reliving.

The closet door opened and there was no time for you to react as you were pulled by the hair getting dragged out. You screamed clawing at the persons hand trying to get them to let go.

“You thought you could hide huh, pathetic” he looked at you in disgust and slapped you.

“You stupid bitch, you never listen. This is why no one will ever love you”

You take one last look of your ex-boyfriend before he hits you again knocking you unconscious.

____________________________________________________

You gasped loudly and sat up. It took your eyes a second to adjust to the darkness of the room and you look down to see yourself in a hospital gown along with ivs sticking out of you.

You rubbed your eyes trying to grasp what’s around you until you heard light snoring. You can see yelena sleeping on the chair in the corner and next to you was a desk full of flowers.

You didn’t have the strength to wake her up and reached out to the bouquet of flowers. You can see some were starting to die and the others looked fresh. Your eyes furrowed to the small card beside it. You grabbed it and the only thing it had on it was ‘~B’

Your heart tugged and immediately knew it was from Bob. You sighed in relief knowing he must be okay and when you went to put the card back you made eye contact with yelena.

You yelped and put your hand on your chest. “Don’t do that! That scared the hell out of me” you say and yelena stands up

“You’re the one that scared the hell out of us, how are you feeling?” She asks and now sat on the corner of the bed handing you a water

“Thank you” your throat was itching for water, especially with the way your voice sounded

She patiently waited for you to be done to answer her question. You cleared your throat now feeling better “I feel sore but fine. Where’s Bob? Is he okay? What happened?”

“Relax, one of the security guards ran telling us what happened and we found you both unconscious in the locker room. Bob woke up not too long after but he didn’t remember anything and kept insisting to watch what happened through the security cameras”

Your eyes started to water from guilt as she continued

“supposedly Valentina had no clue what these people were going to do to him but me and the team think differently. This is something we’re going to investigate under the table but other than that bob has been visiting you everyday since, hence the flowers. Oh and you just have bruising all over your body, no broken bones”

You didn’t really know what to say to all of that, none of this felt real.

“How—how long have I been asleep for?”

“4 days I think, I don’t know I lost count” she says trying to light up the mood

Unfortunately tears started streaming down your face and quiet sobs were heard as your head fell into your hands

“I’m- sorry, I’m s-so sorry. I really didn’t know what these people we’re going to-to do” you sobbed harder

Yelena shifted closer and pulled your head to her shoulder. “I believe you, we all do. The cameras showed us everything and bob was even able to remember after a day or two so he vouched for you”.

You realized that meant he also remembered and saw your memory.

Yelena awkwardly patted your back “There. There”

You snorted at her actions, “you absolutely suck at comforting”

—————————————————————————————

You were back on your feet the day after you woke up, although it wasn’t suggested you should. As the week went by you buried yourself in work not speaking to anyone except for when they came by after missions to get patched up. All except for bob.

He noticed he hasn’t seen you and that you were purposely avoiding him. It was confirmed when you both had seen each other in a hall and you quickly turned on your heels and walked the other way.

He made it his mission to at least apologize because you probably blame him for this whole thing

Throughout the week he’s been asking everyone when they usually stop by your office to get patched up. He even memorized your office hours to try and get you there but everytime he did, you weren’t there.

“She’s been staying at her office either late or early morning. Safe bet is to just go to her room” Bucky says while cleaning his metal arm on the table

“O-okay, thanks again” He stood awkwardly by the door fiddling with his fingers.

“Why all this trouble to talk to her? You like her or something?” Bucky says as if those words were so easy to say. Like it meant nothing but to bob it was everything

He didn’t say anything and his face turned red while he avoided eye contact.

“Uh-no! No, I don’t- li-like her. I just need um to get my blood drawn again! Yes that’s what I need. That’s exactly what I need” Bob says like he just found the greatest excuse ever but Bucky didn’t fall for it

Bucky smirked not saying anything and went back to his arm “sure, have fun” and bob scurried out the room embarrassed. Now all he had to do was wait until it was late to visit you.

12:32 am

You closed the door to your room checking the time and sighed. You had been at the office all day patching people up but not the avengers, apparently they went out on a mission.

You wondered if bob did too, you were hurt how you couldn’t speak to him. Even if you tried the words just got stuck in your throat

You took a warm shower and changed into pajama shorts with a big t-shirt. As you were ready to go to bed there was a light knock at your door.

You would’ve thought it was your imagination but it happened again. “What the” you walked over and slightly opened the door.

You gasped as you made eye contact with Bob and your first reaction was to shut the door but he stopped it with his hand.

“W-wait! I’m injured and I need you to patch me up please” he says not making eye contact. You stopped trying to force the door closed and looked at him shocked

“They made you go on the mission? Oh my god come in” you opened the door and pulled him in by the arm

“You can sit on my bed, where are you hurt?” You asked while you frantically got some supplies

Bob sat on the edge of the bed not really thinking this far ahead. “Uh-my side? Yes, my side” he was biting his lips

You were scared how bad it might be so you went up to him. “Okay take off your shirt, hurry I don’t know how bad it is. We can’t waste another second”

Bob looked mortified “w-wait do I ha-have to? I-”

“Yes bob! I need to know if it’s a bullet wound or knife or anything” you say as you reach for the ends of his sweater

His hands were also there but stayed put not making it easy for you to help take off his sweater.

“Bob, please. I’m scared and helping you would make me less scared” he squeezed his eyes shut and sighed knowing he was screwed. He took off his sweater and the shirt that was underneath

There was a moment of silence and bob was getting worried.

“Bob?” You asked

“Mmh?” He responded still not opening his eyes

“Where’s your wound?” You say carefully and then you connected the dots

You gasped “did you lie to me? How could you?”

“W-well it was the only way I can get you to talk to-to me. I’m sorry” he said ashamed and his head hung low.

There was silence, he felt the bed dip as you sat down next to him

“I-” you were about to start explaining but he cut you off

“You never came back to admire the figurines” he said in a low hurt tone

You sighed now feeling guilty and you reached to hold his hand. “Bob I haven’t been able to talk to you because this whole mess was my fault. If I had known or dug a little deeper maybe I could’ve caught something that seemed off but it’s like I led you into a trap” your eyes were watering and you continued

“I was also embarrassed, yelena said you ended up remembering everything and that meant my m-memory as well” there was a few tears falling down and you were fully facing your body to him.

He didn’t say anything for a second and turns to adjust himself facing you too. “It wasn’t your fault y/n. I’m the one who can’t control myself. Yelena told me we shouldn’t blame ourselves. I’m just glad you’re safe, and uh I-I think what stopped the void was y-you”

You looked at him confused and he continues. “I-I feel calm with you around and I think it’s the same for h-him” he looks down and sees your intertwined hands

You didn’t say anything, you were shocked but no words came out.

His free hand slowly went to your cheek and hovered there for a second like he was debating on doing it. He hesitantly wiped away the tears that were stuck there

“Who was that guy if you don’t mind me asking?” Knowing who he was referring to

“My ex, it was a long time ago yet he’s still wandering around free. Apparently there wasn’t strong evidence against him and he was bailed out”

Bobs eyes glowed and his hand started squeezing yours now. “Ow” you say and confused at what you just saw.

He shut his eyes and shook his head “I’m-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to h-hurt you. I’m s-sorry” he opened his eyes and they were back to normal making you worried

“Bob, what’s wrong?” Your free hand cupped his cheek making him look at you

He gulps “sometimes he gets in my head, it’s almost like intrusive thoughts but worse. Almost like he takes over for a split-second”

You nodded understanding “it’s okay, if you want we can start practicing how to control it whenever you want this week”

He blushed “ye-yeah, I’d like that. Thank- thank you”

Your hand was still on his cheek and you were admiring his eyes then nose and your eyes eventually trailed to his lips. Until they trailed further down and you forgot he was shirtless.

The redness started from his chest all the way up to his face making it known he was blushing hardcore. His body was built and your intrusive thoughts told you to touch him.

You blushed at the thought and focused your eyes on him but he was already looking at you. Both of you said nothing but there was nothing to be said, your eyes did all the talking

It was like he was being lured in as his face inched forward, it was small and subtle but he was waiting for you to lean back.

Instead you slowly started to move your face closer showing him this is what you wanted too. You felt each others warm breath meaning your lips were almost slightly touching until yelena opened your door.

“Hey y/n we’re back can you- AH!”

You and bob pulled back from each other fast and screamed back at yelena

“AH!” Your hand went over your heart, you felt like a heart attack was coming. Bob tried covering himself with his sweater but it was too late.

She points at both of you, “OH.MY.GOD. I KNEW IT HA”

You and bob looked at each other sheepishly, knowing you two were never going to live this down.

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Hey yall! If you read this far thank you for reading my first bob fanfic (and hopefully enjoyed it) I know have a lot of things to work on for my writing style so please bear with me :p I’m debating on making a chapter 2 but I’d also love feedback from you guys. Thank you <3

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karikarasuno · 3 days ago

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part eleven | part twelve | part thirteen

making law blush is a difficult task. he doesn't blush. it's not his thing. it's never been his thing. he expects most things, so catching him off guard is quite the task. yet you try and try. often times failing. but there have been a few occasions where his cheeks have burned. where he's looked in the mirror and saw an unfamiliar stain of red creeping across his cheeks.

the first time it happened was when you drunkenly stripped for him. it was cute at first. the way you tugged sloppily at your own clothes. he didn't think you would actually be able to pull off your top after your arm caught in the sleeve. he laughed. but his laughter died quickly when you finally tugged the fabric over your head and revealed a red lacy bra. law has never been the biggest fan of red. until you kicked off your pants. matching underwear. red. somehow and suddenly red became law's favorite color.

that was until he looked in the mirror after tucking you in and faced himself. the red on his cheeks matched the red that adorned your body.

the second time was at cora's apartment. it was his turn to host family dinner. you were obviously invited. your attendance was actually a requirement per cora's insistence. he said having you around made law less irritable. law didn't agree, but he extended the invitation anyway.

you were just about to sit down beside him after having gotten up for a third time because you forgot to grab a napkin. but before you sat down at the table where his entire family was already seated you grabbed his jaw and lightly, casually said "you have something on your face."

law felt his nose scrunch up in distaste. "what is it?"

and instead of answering you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "a kiss, but i got it for you."

law's mom giggled. he heard it but he had a hard time registering it. not with the loud, overwhelming sound of blood rushing to his cheeks. you smiled to yourself. satisfied. smug. meanwhile law's mind buffered. he felt dumb. and law was far from dumb.

but this time. his blush is a slow burn. one that stemmed from annoyance more than anything else. it's your lotion. you bought it over the weekend when you went shopping with the girls. it's an unassuming bottle. one that he thought was normal until he saw you apply it under the bright lights of the bathroom.

"why are you shimmering?" he says, eyes tracking the way your hand massages the lotion into your shoulder.

"huh?" you're watching a video on your phone, so you use your knuckle to pause it before turning your undivided attention to him.

"your skin," he says slowly, "there's glitter on it."

"oh yeah! isn't it fun?" you twist your arms to watch as the light catches your glittery skin. law doesn't know about fun. what law sees is a problem. especially if that glitter likes to transfer.

and it does. everywhere. the first time he notices it on his black tshirt. he stepped outside to grab the mail and when he looked down he realized he too was shimmering. it's on the pillowcases. the sheets. the blanket you use on the couch. just fucking everywhere.

"do you have to use that lotion every night?" he asks one evening before bed as he watches you apply it to your legs.

"yes, my love, i do. makes me feel pretty," you respond, placing your foot on his thigh as you massage the moisture into your calf.

"i promise, you're equally as pretty without it." he's staring at the way your hands follow the curve of your legs. trailing your fingers from your ankle to your knee. you know how easy he is to distract. but he won't fall for it this time. not when he's seriously concerned with the fact that he might be ingesting the stupid glitter.

“oh don’t be a grouch,” you laugh, swapping one leg for the other. “it just makes me feel girly and sexy.”

“you’re always sexy,” he says, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. he feels the way your muscle twitches beneath his lips.

“you’re never not sexy,” he continues, trailing two more kisses up your thigh.

“stop trying to butter me up,” you complain breathily. your hands have already found his shoulders and if you really meant what you said you’d push him away. but the closer he gets to your center the more you open up to him.

“come here,” he groans when his nose nuzzles your crotch. and in an instant law is on his back and you’re sitting on his face. he doesn’t bother removing your underwear. doesn’t push them to the side either. he flattens his tongue against the fabric that covers you. and he licks until your hips twitch in his grip.

you grind against his tongue when it meets your clit, pressing down harder for the sake of friction. he groans and it’s starts in his chest. gets caught in his throat when he begins to taste you through your panties. the cotton is sticking to you, molding against the contours of your lips.

“you gonna keep teasing me or are you gonna do something?” you look down at him, eyes locking where he’s caught between your thighs. and this is a view he enjoys. he indulges in.

he slips a finger into the side of your underwear and pulls the wet fabric away from your cunt. his fingers barely graze you and you flinch from sensitivity.

“and what do you suppose i do?” he asks, a smirk playing on his lips as he gazes up at you. and he knows after all this time that the back and forth turns you on. you ask him not to tease you, but every time he does you’re wetter than before. his knuckle traces your slit. slow. agonizing.

“you could move my stupid underwear out of the way,” you rise slightly onto your knees, “and kiss me.”

his tongue drags along his lower lip. “ask me nicely.”

“will you kiss me?” you ask and he hooks his finger around the fabric and pulls it out of the way. fully exposing you to him. and he’s dying to tilt his head up and taste you. dying to lick into you. but he doesn’t.

not until you “say please.”

“law,” you laugh incredulously because he never makes you beg. it’s not really something he needs to hear. but tonight it’s what he wants. and he wants you to give it to him.

“come on, pretty,” he breathes, kissing the crease right beside your cunt. “say it for me.”

you tense up above him. and your chest is rising heavily with each breath you take. your nipples hard and poking the fabric of his t-shirt. your favorite one to wear to bed.

“will you please kiss me?” your voice pitches up when you ask. dripping with need. with desperation. “please, baby, please kiss me.”

there’s no restraint left in him. no urge to tease or delay. his lips wrap around your clit and he sucks it into his mouth. you cry out when he flicks his tongue against it. whine when his lips leave your clit and he drags his tongue to your entrance. your upper body tilts forward. your hand jumps out to grasp the headboard and the other cards through his hair.

you tug on him when his tongue slips inside of you. he moans at the pressure it applies to his scalp. he can’t help it. you only hurt him when you feel good. when you can’t control how good he’s making you feel.

law’s dick leaks where it’s caught in his sweatpants and his hand moves to grip himself without thought.

“ah, that’s it,” you moan when he flattens his tongue so you can ride him. your hips roll with urgency against his face. and he matches your motions every time he strokes his cock. faster when you grind harder. slower when your hips draw back.

it’s hard for him to watch you the way he wants when his eyes keep closing from the pleasure of being used by you. so unashamed. without care.

“need you to come,” he mumbles into your pussy. his other hand manages to slip beneath your thighs, two fingers parting your folds so he can focus on you. feel you better as you rut into his mouth.

“keep doing that and i will,” you respond. and there’s a pleasant amusement in your voice. one that sends tingles down his spine and he shoves his hand in his pants, fisting his cock as he you work yourself to orgasm on his face. thighs straddling his cheeks and muffling your noises from his ears.

and when you come, the sounds are distant. your moans are playing right above him but all he can focus on is the way your entire body seizes over his head. how your fingers tighten in his hair. and when the pain blossoms across his scalp, he finishes in the palm of his hand. it shocks him. the strength of his orgasm. it catches him off guard.

you body finally relaxes as you sit on his chest. his own endorphins are still wracking through him. his abs tense once more and the feeling of a cramp erupts in his side.

“shit, get off,” he hisses, slapping the side of your thigh. when you’re off he rolls onto his side, his free and clean hand massaging at the space below his ribcage.

he feels your eyes drag down his body and when he looks at you, you’re grinning. flushed and delirious. “did you get a cramp after you came?”

he glances down to the mess in his other hand. and his head falls back onto the mattress. “i don’t wanna talk about it.”

you laugh. freely. joyfully. without shame. and when law’s no longer in pain. he laughs along side you. kisses you. touches you all over again.

the next morning law is so satiated he doesn’t remember the glitter. he doesn’t give a shit about the glitter. he doesn’t even notice the glitter on his neck and cheek until he’s at work and changing into a fresh set of scrubs in the bathroom. the bathroom light is harsh, but when he shifts in front of the mirror he sees the the way it shimmers across his skin. and funnily enough, instead of the annoyance he expects to feel, his dick hardens. and a blush, real and true, erupts across his face.

#this idea came to me randomly the other day and I felt like it was fitting for him #neighbor!law au #law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law

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tinyshyteacup · 2 days ago

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Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @dixonsbridexx @yikes-myguy @blackwidownat2814 @euqsia @lliteratii @imadisneyprincessiswear @satata @smashleywow @misspendragonsworld @captain-shannon-becker @i-doutt-it

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TW: cussing, angry early seasons Daryl, angst, nationwide destruction, descriptions of walkers (Zombies) , firearms, Shane is creepy (and maybe slightly ooc ?), mentions of past abuse.

Part 5

Dead Weight - Part 6

The forest floor was a mosaic of decay and rebirth, leaves crunching beneath Daryl's boots as he tracked what might be nothing more than a fading hope.

Three weeks Sophia had been missing. Three weeks in these woods teeming with walkers. Logic said the girl was dead, but Daryl Dixon had never much cared for logic.

The ravine appeared suddenly, a steep drop hidden by overgrown brush. Daryl paused at its edge, squinting down into the murky water below. Something caught his eye—a flash of fabric against the muddy bank.

The search for Carol's daughter had become his personal mission. Rick had the group, Shane had his guns, and Daryl—Daryl had this.

He made his careful way down, crossbow held ready. Years of hunting had taught him to move silent as a ghost through these woods, each step calculated.

The object became clearer as he approached—a doll, half-buried in mud. Sophia's doll.

"Well, I'll be damned," he muttered, crouching to retrieve it.

She'd been here.

Maybe passed through recently.

He tucked the filthy doll into his belt and scanned the area for more signs, finding partial footprints heading east.

The climb back up was treacherous, loose soil giving way under his boots. Halfway up, a root he'd grabbed for support snapped, sending him tumbling backward.

The world spun in violent flashes—sky, earth, trees—until a white-hot pain exploded through his side.

Daryl gasped, the impact stealing his breath. He lay stunned at the bottom of the ravine, the crossbow beside him, one of his own arrows protruding from his side.

Blood bloomed around the shaft, soaking his shirt.

"Son of a bitch," he wheezed.

For several minutes, Daryl lay still, fighting to remain conscious as waves of agony radiated from his side. Blood soaked his shirt, warm and sticky against his skin. With trembling fingers, he explored the wound, cursing again when he felt the shaft of the bolt protruding from his flesh.

Darkness edged his vision. He fought against it, forcing himself to tear strips from his shirtsleeve to secure the wound.

His fingers felt clumsy, too large for the task.

"Look at you," a familiar voice drawled. "Bleedin' out in the dirt like some wounded animal."

Daryl's head snapped up, vision swimming. There, perched on a fallen log, was Merle—looking exactly as he had the last time Daryl had seen him, before they'd left him handcuffed to an Atlanta rooftop.

"Yer not real," Daryl grunted, turning back to his wound.

"Real enough to see what a sorry sight my baby brother's become," Merle laughed, the sound harsh in the quiet forest.

"Out here playin' hero for a bunch of people who don't give two shits about you."

"You forgot about good ol' Merle,"

"They left me there to die, and you just fell right in line with 'em." Merle snarled, his face twisting with contempt.

"Tried real hard to find you bro" Daryl muttered vision blurring.

"Tracked you through half of Atlanta."

"They ain't never gonna see you as one of them," Merle continued, leaning forward. "Rick, Shane, all them others—they're just usin' you. First chance they get, they'll leave you behind, scrape you off there heels like you was dog shit."

Daryl tried to stand, legs wobbly beneath him. The ravine wall loomed impossibly high now.

"Look at you," Merle sneered. "Can't even get yerself up a little hill. What happened to you, Darylina? You used to be tough."

"Shut the hell up," Daryl growled.

"What you doin' out here anyway?" Merle circled around him, boots leaving no imprint on the forest floor. "Searchin' for some little lost girl? Got a thung for little girls now ?"

Daryl ignored him, focusing instead on reaching the doll. He crawled the few feet to where it lay, snatching it up with a triumphant grunt. "Found somethin'," he muttered to himself.

"Oh, a dolly!" Merle's voice dripped with mockery. "That'll make everythin' better. Maybe that mousy little mother will give you a gold star. Or maybe you hopin' for somethin' else? A little kiss on the cheek?"

"Ain't like that," Daryl growled, tucking the doll into his belt.

"Sure it ain't." Merle squatted down beside him, face inches from Daryl's.

"You always was soft. Daddy saw it. I saw it. Now you runnin' around playin' hero for folks who wouldn't piss on you if you was on fire."

"Shut up," Daryl muttered, gritting his teeth as he managed to get to his knees. Fresh blood pulsed from the wound with the movement.

The arrow snapped with a crack that sent fresh pain spiraling through Daryl's body. He doubled over, forehead pressed to the cool earth as he fought to remain conscious.

"Know what I think?" Merle continued, unaffected by Daryl's suffering.

"I think you gettin' sweet on that foreign girl."

Daryl's head shot up, eyes narrowed. "Don't."

"Hit a nerve, did I?" Merle's grin widened.

"Baby brother gone and got himself a crush. How cute. She know you piss yourself when it thunders? know about them scars on y'back? About how you cried like a little bitch when Daddy took his belt to you?"

"Shut up," Daryl snarled, louder this time.

"She's outta your league, Darylina. Woman like that wouldn't look twice at trash like you. Not unless she desperate. And even with the world gone to shit, she ain't that desperate."

Daryl grabbed a nearby stick, using it to lever himself up to standing. Pain tore through him, but rage provided its own kind of anesthetic. "Don't know nothin' about her."

"I know she's educated. Got that fancy accent. Probably never had to hunt her own dinner or sleep in a car 'cause Daddy was on a bender and locked her out." Merle circled him again, predatory.

"What you think's gonna happen? She gonna fall for your charm? Your sparklin' conversation?"

Daryl began the arduous task of climbing back up the ravine, each movement sending fresh agony through his wounded side. He refused to look at Merle, refused to engage.

But Merle wasn't done. "I seen how you watch her. All puppy-dog eyes when you think nobody's lookin'. It's embarrassin'. A Dixon man pinin' after some woman who thinks she's better than him."

"Ain't like that," Daryl grunted, fingers digging into the earth as he pulled himself up another foot.

"Oh no? Then why ain't you made a move? 'Cause you know, deep down, that she'd laugh in your face." Merle appeared above him on the slope, looking down with contempt. "Or worse, she'd look at you with pity. Poor damaged Darylina."

The climb was excruciating. Twice Daryl nearly lost his grip, sending small avalanches of dirt and stones cascading down the ravine.

Sweat poured down his face, mixing with the grime and blood. But he kept going, one painful inch at a time.

"Y'know what's real pathetic?" Merle continued, always just a few feet ahead. "You lettin' yourself get sweet on a girl who's got her eye on that cop. Big fella, looks like he could snap you in half."

"She hates Shane," Daryl spat before he could stop himself.

Merle's laughter echoed through the trees. "Oh ho! Listen to you, defendin' her honor! She tell you that, did she? Sharin' her secrets with dirty ol' Daryl? Or maybe you just seein' what you wanna see."

Daryl reached the top of the ravine at last, collapsing onto his back, chest heaving as he stared up at the patches of sky visible through the canopy. The bolt in his side sent fresh waves of agony with each breath.

Merle's face appeared above him, blocking the light. "You know what's gonna happen, don't you? Even if you find that little girl. Even if they throw you a damn parade. She still ain't gonna want nothin' to do with you. 'Cause girls like that don't end up with folks like us."

"She ain't like that," Daryl repeated, but the conviction in his voice had wavered.

"She's probably back at that farm right now, battin' her eyes at Officer Friendly or his partner. Hell, maybe even that damned Asian kid."

"His name's Glen," Daryl muttered.

"Oh, excuse me! Glen." Merle's voice was acid.

Daryl forced himself to sit up, ignoring the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him. "You're wrong. 'bout 'em."

"Am I?" Merle crouched down, eyes boring into Daryl's. "Then why you out here alone, little brother? Where's your new family when you bleedin' out in the dirt?"

The question hit harder than Daryl wanted to admit. He looked away, focusing instead on tearing a strip from his shirt to secure around his middle, staunching the worst of the bleeding.

"Face it," Merle continued, relentless. "She looks at you and all she sees is some dumb redneck who's good for huntin' and not much else. You think she'd be interested if she knew the truth? If she saw how weak you really are?"

"Don't matter what she thinks," Daryl mumbled, but the words felt hollow.

"Sure don't. 'Cause you too scared." Merle's voice softened to a dangerous purr. "You ain't never gonna have her, little brother. Best you accept that now."

Daryl turned his head, but Merle was gone—if he'd ever been there at all. In his place was only empty forest, the wind rustling through leaves. He touched the doll still tucked in his belt, a reminder of why he'd come out here.

But Daryl pushed on, trying to outpace not just the physical pain, but the deeper wound Merle's words had inflicted.

Because the worst part—the part that made his chest ache worse than the arrow in his side—was that broken piece of him that said his brother might be right.

About who he was.

About what he deserved.

The sun hangs high above Hershel’s farmhouse, warm but not yet oppressive. The fields are quiet, a breeze tugging at the grass in lazy waves. A few birds sing—rare music these days.

Most of the group is out tracking through the woods. Rick. Shane. Daryl.

You stayed behind.

Carl sits cross-legged in the dirt, a few pebbles and sticks scattered in front of him.

You kneel across from him, your hands dusted with dry earth, your sleeves rolled up.

“This one can be the fort,” you say, tapping a flat rock with a smile. “And this one’s the lookout tower.”

Carl’s face lights up—not with wild joy, but with something close.

You see the boy he was before.

It’s in the way he leans forward, as he moves one of the sticks like it’s a soldier.

“And that’s where the walkers come in,” he grins, dragging a pebble along a line in the dirt like it’s sneaking up on a camp.

You gasp, playing along. “Oh no, not again! Not the lookout tower!”

The two of you burst into quiet laughter—soft and low, like you’re both pretending the world outside your little circle doesn't exist.

Behind you, from the porch, Carol folds laundry, watching with something like longing in her eyes. Dale sits beside her in a sagging lawn chair, hat low over his brow.

“That girl,” Dale murmurs, “she’s a soft touch. Would spoil that kid if he asked.”

Carol lays another shirt in the basket. Her lips purse.

“She’s good with him,” she murmurs softly to Dale, not taking her eyes off you.

“She’s good with all of us.”

There’s a pause. Then Dale hums.

“Even Daryl?” Dale asks, half-serious.

Carol folds another towel, her voice a whisper. “Especially Daryl ... He just doesn’t know it yet.”

The Greene family farm had become a temporary haven, though you knew better than to mistake it for safety. Nothing was safe anymore. Especially not today.

Andrea was on watch duty atop Dale's RV, rifle in hand. Voices raised in panic. Someone shouting about a walker approaching from the woods.

"I got it!" Andrea called, taking aim despite Dale's protests below her.

The shot rang out, clean and sharp in the afternoon air.

Then Rick's panicked voice "No! NO!"

Your blood turned to ice as they carried him in. Daryl - unconscious, blood-soaked, with a makeshift bandage hastily wrapped around his head.

A string of walker ears that he'd been wearing as a grotesque necklace now hung limp and gory from his belt. His crossbow was being carried by Glen, one of the bolts stained crimson.

"What happened?" you asked quietly.

Rick's face was grim. "He fell on his own arrow searching for Sophia. Then Andrea shot him."

"Is he-"

"Just grazed his temple," Hershel said, already examining the wound. "But the arrow wound in his side is concerning."

The next few hours passed in a blur. You lingered outside the bedroom door where Hershel worked, ignoring Shane's attempts to draw you away.

"Nothin' you can do for him right now," Shane said, his hand settling uncomfortably on your shoulder.

"Why don't you come help me check the perimeter?"

You shrugged off his touch. "I-I'm alright here"

Later, when Daryl was finally stable and resting, you slipped into his room. He was propped up against the pillows, shirtless except for the bandages wrapped around his torso. The bloody string of walker ears had been removed.

You settled into the chair beside him, pulling out the torn shirt you'd been meaning to repair. The repetitive motion of needle and thread had always calmed you, even before the world ended.

"Ain't ya got better things to do than watch me sleep?" His voice was rough with pain, those blue eyes narrowed at you.

"Probably," you replied, not looking up from your stitching. "But Glen and Maggie are making eyes at each other, Shane's being Shane, and Lori's giving me a headache."

A grunt was his only response, but you noticed the slight relaxation in his shoulders.

Daryl lay still on the bed, eyes closed but not sleeping. You could tell by the rhythm of his breathing, the occasional twitch of his fingers against the sheets.

He'd been lucky—twice.

The arrow had missed any vital organs when he'd fallen on it during his search for Sophia, and Andrea's bullet had only grazed his temple.

"Ya don't gotta do that," Daryl mumbled without opening his eyes, referring to your mending.

"I know," you replied simply, continuing your stitching. "But shirts are in short supply."

He grunted in response, shifting slightly and then wincing. The movement revealed the edge of older scars across his back— long-healed remnants of pain that had nothing to do with the apocalypse.

A soft knock at the door interrupted the silence. Carol peeked in, carrying a tray with a sandwich and a glass of water.

"I brought you something to eat," she said softly, her eyes full of maternal concern as she approached the bed.

Daryl's body tensed almost imperceptibly. "Ain't hungry."

"You need to keep your strength up," Carol insisted, setting the tray on the bedside table. "It was brave what you did out there, looking for Sophia."

"S'what anyone woulda done," he muttered, uncomfortable with the praise.

You continued sewing, your eyes focused on your work but your attention keenly tuned to the interaction unfolding beside you.

Carol's devotion to Daryl had grown steadily since he'd taken up the search for her daughter with such dedication.

Before Daryl could protest, she leaned down swiftly and moved to place a gentle kiss on his cheek.

His reaction was so subtle most would have missed it—a sharp intake of breath, a minute flinch away from the contact, a reflexive curling of his shoulders.

But you caught it.

A small flinch, a learned response.

Carol either didn't notice or chose to ignore it, although you suspected she noticed more then she let on.

"Get some rest," she said before quietly leaving the room.

The silence that followed felt heavier than before. You continued your methodical stitching for several more minutes, giving Daryl time to settle again.

His breathing had quickened during Carol's visit but was gradually returning to its normal rhythm.

When you finally spoke, your voice was casual.

"Parent or partner?"

Daryl's eyes snapped open. "The hell you talkin' about?"

Your hands still worked the needle through fabric, you didn't dare look up.

"That flinch."

A beat.

"Parent or partner?"

His face darkened instantly, shutters coming down behind his eyes. "Ain't none of yer damn business," he growled, pushing himself up on his elbows despite the pain it clearly caused him.

"Ya think you know somethin' about me 'cause we both survived the end of the world? We ain't friends. We ain't nothin'." His Southern drawl thickened with his anger.

"Just 'cause you lost yer country don't mean you get to go diggin' around in my past."

You didn't rise to the bait.

"Old boyfriend. Had a thing for backhanding me when he'd had too many beers."

Daryl snorted, but there was no humor in it. "Shoulda picked better then."

The barb stung, but you kept your face impassive. "Probably. But you don't always see the monsters until you're trapped with them."

"Ain't trapped now, are ya?" he sneered, plucking at his fingernail with agitation.

"Got plenty of options round here lookin' to warm yer bed. Shane's been eyein' ya like a damn steak. Why don't ya go see what he's got to offer?"

Daryl's mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. "In fact maybe ya should go tell yer sad stories to Officer Friendly. Shane seems real interested in whatever you're sellin'."

The barb was meant to wound, and it did. You knew he'd seen Shane's persistent attempts to get close to you—the unwanted touches, the suggestive comments that made your skin crawl.

"That's low," you said quietly.

Something flickered in his eyes—regret, maybe—but it was quickly buried beneath the familiar wall of hostility.

"Why don't ya just go?" He mumbled

You paused at the door, looking back at him. The evening light cast half his face in shadow, highlighting the fresh wound at his temple. Scowl in place, every part of him designed to keep people at a distance.

Daryl stared at the closed door long after you'd gone, the silence in the room now oppressive. He absently rubbed at the bandage on his head, fingers tracing down to the still-tender wound in his side where his own arrow had pierced him.

""Damn idiot," he muttered to the empty room.

He hadn't meant to lash out like that. Hadn't meant to bring up Shane, knowing how the man's aggressive advances made you uncomfortable. But the moment you'd asked that question—"Parent or partner?"—his walls had slammed up hard and fast.

No one was supposed to see through him like that.

The air is still, quiet in the way only rural places can be just before dark. Crickets have started to chirp, and the barn creaks faintly in the distance.

You step out of the farmhouse, arms folded tightly around your middle, your expression quiet but a little tired.

Your tent’s just a few paces away, your little sanctuary after another long day. But as you reach the steps, Shane calls out behind you.

“Hey, wait up.”

You stop, instinctively polite, offering him a small smile.

“Hey, I was just gonna—”

“I know,” he interrupts, swaggering forward. “Just thought maybe you didn’t wanna turn in alone tonight.”

You chuckle not from flirtation but from nerves.

“I’m okay, really. Thanks though.”

But Shane doesn’t stop.

He’s too close now. Close enough that you can smell the beer on his breath, the sweat from the heat of the day.

“C’mon, girl. Don’t act like you don’t know what’s going on here. You’re sweet, yeah, but your not dumb.”

He reaches for you—playfully at first—but it lingers. His fingers wrap tighter than necessary.

Your smile fades. “Shane, stop. I said I’m okay.”

He chuckles, low and cocky. “Just messin’. You’re too soft for your own good.”

He brushes his hand against your hip, too casual to be innocent. You flinch, try to step back, but he follows.

“Don’t,” you say again, firmer this time, your voice shaking slightly.

He laughs, head dipping and hands grasping.

A hard, clean sound that echoes in the quiet air like a firecracker.

You slapped him before you even realized you'd moved.

Shane freezes. His hand twitches at his side. And you look up at him—eyes wide, breath trembling.

You don’t realize that Daryl’s window is directly behind you, wide open to the porch.

Daryl had been, bristling with restlessness aince you'd left. His arm’s draped across his ribs, and his temple’s throbbing, but he’s alert. Watching. Always watching.

He’d heard the screen door creak.

Then voices.

Then your voice.

Too polite. Too damn gentle.

Then your tone changed. Firmer. More afraid.

When he heard the slap, he moved. He was at the window. One hand pressed to the sill, eyes narrowed to slits.

He saw you standing your ground, trembling but defiant.

And Shane—cocky, looming Shane—just standing there, jaw tight.

Daryl’s jaw flexes, nostrils flaring.

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters, half to himself, but the edge in his voice is pure venom.

He doesn’t even register the pain in his side as he grabs his shirt and heads for the door.

Shane sneers. "Uptight little bitc—" moving towards you with purpose.

You’re still blinking, when you hear the screen door slam open behind you.

Boots hit the steps with force.

“What the hell you think you’re doin’?” Daryl’s voice is a low snarl.

Shane stops mid-stride and turns, raising his hands. “Relax, Dixon. It was a joke.”

“Don't look funny.”

Daryl’s moving now, slow and deliberate, that wounded swagger still dangerous. He gets between you and Shane with one hard stare and a stiff shoulder.

Daryl doesn’t turn to look at you.

Not yet.

He stares Shane down until the other man shrugs and walks off, muttering to himself.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

Silence stretches between you.

But then—so quiet it’s barely audible—

“Saw 'im put hands on you.”

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dina-winchester · 11 hours ago

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The Things We Whisper in the Dark

Read part one here

Pairing: Dean x You

Warnings: Hurt, comfort, unresolved feelings, mentions of past heartbreak, tender intimacy (non-sexual), no use of Y/N

Summary: An emotional reunion || “You and me? We’re not done. Not even close.”

You weren’t expecting a knock.

It’s late. Not midnight, but close—one of those nights where the quiet settles too thick and the air feels like it’s holding its breath.

You open the door without thinking—without even asking who it is.

And then you freeze.

Dean.

You haven’t said his name out loud in years. Haven’t let yourself imagine what he might look like now. But there he is, standing on your porch, older but still familiar—like a song you haven’t heard in a decade and yet you somehow still remember all the words.

He doesn’t smile.

Just says your name. Soft. Like he’s afraid it might break.

Your heart stumbles.

You blink once. Then again. Like you’re not sure he’s real.

“Dean?”

He nods. Doesn’t smile.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, though your voice comes out smaller than you meant it to.

He shrugs. Looks down. “I was in the area,” he says, voice rougher now. Deeper. Like gravel worn by distance.

Liar.

There’s no way he just stumbled across your doorstep by accident. Not when you moved here on purpose. Not when you buried his memory under new routines and old regrets.

Enough time passed to build a whole new life. One without him. One where you stopped hoping his name might show up on your phone again—just once.

You never got a call. Never got a letter. Just silence. Thick and aching and final.

And yet—here he is.

Standing on your porch like the years haven’t passed. Like your heart didn’t break behind the gym that summer, when he said he had to go.

You don’t move at first. Just stare through the screen door, barefoot on the hardwood, holding a mug of coffee that suddenly feels too warm in your hands.

Your chest tightens. Your fingers curl tighter around the mug. “It’s really you.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, eyes scanning you like he’s trying to convince himself, too. “It’s me.”

You open the door slowly. Cautiously—like any sudden movement might spook him. Or maybe yourself.

The air between you fills with everything that was never said. Everything that’s been sitting untouched for years.

And then—he runs his fingers through his hair and you see it.

The ring.

Worn. Faded. But unmistakable. Familiar. Still on his right hand, like it never left.

You know every curve of that silver band. The same one you slid onto his finger all those years ago, your hands shaking, your heart breaking. Your throat full of goodbye as you whispered I love you like it might anchor him to you.

And maybe it did. Maybe it still does.

Because the ring’s still on his hand.

And no one keeps something that old unless it still means something.

Unless you still mean something.

Your eyes catch on it and don’t let go. “You kept it.”

He glances down at his hand, then back at you. “Of course I did.”

You swallow. “Why?”

Dean doesn’t answer right away. Just shifts his weight, thumb brushing the metal unconsciously. “Because you gave it to me,” he says finally. “And because I never stopped thinking about you.”

The words knock the breath out of you.

You remember how it felt to chase him down hallways. To kiss him in the dark. To fall asleep in his arms with the window cracked and his heartbeat under your cheek.

And even now—standing in the doorway with time between you like an ocean—it still feels like he’s yours.

“I thought you forgot,” you whisper.

He steps forward, just slightly. “Not even close.”

You stare, trying to memorize the lines time carved into him. The way his jaw looks tighter now. The way he carries something heavier in his shoulders, like whatever life he walked into wasn’t any kinder than the one he left.

You want to be angry. You want to ask why he never called.

But all that comes out is: “You look tired.”

Dean huffs a soft laugh. “Yeah. That’s fair.”

A beat of silence.

Then you move aside and open the door wider.

“You wanna come in?”

His eyes meet yours. And even after everything—he still looks at you like you’re the only thing he’s sure of.

“I do.”

He steps over the threshold slowly, like he’s not sure he’s allowed.

You close the door behind him.

For a second, the silence settles too deep—like neither of you knows what to do now that he’s here. He stands in the middle of your living room like it’s sacred ground, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, eyes drifting over everything.

You watch him take it all in. The books on the shelves. The lamp with the crooked shade. The throw blanket half-folded on the couch. Your life. The one you built without him.

He doesn’t say a word, but you see it in his face.

He’s picturing where he might’ve fit, if he’d stayed.

You clear your throat. “You want some coffee? I just made some, it’s still warm.”

Dean’s gaze snaps back to you, and for the first time, there’s a hint of something softer in it. “Yeah. Coffee sounds good.”

You nod and head toward the kitchen, the sound of your footsteps too loud against the hardwood. He follows, but slower—like he’s still deciding whether this is a dream.

You pour him a cup, hands steady even though your heart isn’t. When you pass it to him, your fingers brush his. Just barely. But it’s enough.

You both feel it—your eyes meet and the world stands still for a few moments.

He wraps his hands around the mug. Doesn’t drink. Just looks at you.

“You look good,” he says quietly.

Your breath catches, eyes never leaving his, “you look good, too. Tired, but good.”

That gets a small smile out of him. Faint. But real. “Yeah, well. You always saw right through me.”

You look away.

Part of you wants to ask everything—Where did you go? Why didn’t you call? What made you leave like that?—but the words pile up in your throat, too heavy to carry.

Instead, you take a seat at the kitchen table. Dean does the same, sitting across from you like he used to when he helped you study for midterms, always distracting you with terrible jokes and lingering glances.

He sets the coffee down without drinking it.

“I wanted to call you,” he continues, voice low. “I’d pick up the phone more times than I can count but tell myself not to. That I didn’t have the right.”

The words hang in the air. You want to scream, to cry, to forgive him all at once.

Instead, you just nod. “It hurt.”

“Yeah,” he admits quietly. “Me too.” His jaw flexes. He looks like he’s trying not to fall apart.

“I thought about you,” you say, before you can stop yourself. “All the time.”

Dean nods slowly. “I know. I hoped you did.”

You’re quiet for a long moment. The sound of the old fridge hums in the background, grounding you.

Finally, you ask, “So… what now? You show up, say all this, and then what?”

Dean hesitates. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I didn’t plan this far. Just knew I couldn’t keep pretending I was okay not knowing how you were.”

You exhale. “Well. I’m… here.”

He looks at you. “Yeah. You are.”

The room feels smaller somehow, like all the space between you has folded in on itself.

After a beat, you find yourself asking, almost without thinking, “Do you want to stay? Tonight… I mean.”

He meets your eyes, hope flickering there. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Later, the two of you lie tangled in the quiet dark of your bed, the world outside fading away.

His arm wraps around you, pulling you close.

You snuggle into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm as it rests gently over his heart, head tucked under his chin.

Your voice is just a whisper, soft but sure, “I’ve missed you.”

He presses his lips to the top of your head, his breath warm against your hair, “I’ve missed you too, sweetheart.”

The words settle between you like a promise, a new beginning whispered in the dark.

#dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester x female!reader #dean x you

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nijigasakilove · 1 day ago

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30 grown ass men vs 3 high schoolers. Who would win? 😂 Had forgot this was even an action series because we’d had so many wholesome episodes back to back. As usual, Cloverworks cooked today and I’m so proud of Nirei for coming into his own as a fighter. This felt like his coming out party.

Cool to see another part of town in Keisei street it looks so lively, almost like a Takeshita street in Harajuku. Too bad we couldn’t see more of it because of the dudes chasing Shizuka. Must be real tough guys to send all those dudes after one girl 🤦🏽‍♂️.

I loved Nirei and Suo’s training arc sm. Nirei’s come such a long way from the scared kid we saw in the KEEL arc. He might not have it all together yet, but he’s getting there and I’m so happy for him! It’s sweet how much of an impact Sakura has already had on the rest of the group and he doesn’t even know it.

It’s pretty dope Sakura and the boys may have just ended a longstanding beef between Furin and Roppo Ichiza now that they helped out Nakamura and his crew lol. Nakamura seems cool af and I feel like they could be older brother figures to a lot of the Bofurin gang!

Tsubaki pole dancing?!!! Hello???! Cloverworks really wanted to flex their muscles in this episode, nice mix of slice of life, wholesome and action. Exactly what makes wind breaker so good. I love this series and these boys sm. can’t wait for next ep.

#animangahive #animanga #animanga hive #anime #wind breaker #windbreaker anime #windbreaker #wbk #wbk manga #wbk spoilers #wbk sakura #wbk anime #wbk s2

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lilacedboy · 3 days ago

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The Unseen Link.03

Young Justice x GN! (Psychic/Meta) Reader

AN: Keeping these shorter I had free time today so double upload. pls be nice in the notes don't kill me pls. This part is mainly just reader growing into the team.

Word Count: 2.0k

ৎ୭︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ৎ୭‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿ৎ୭︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Five weeks later…

Mount Justice has begun to feel like something you never thought you'd find again: a home.

Your room is tucked in one of the quieter wings of the mountain — a space that once echoed with emptiness now, your room in Mount Justice doesn't feel like a bunker anymore.

It feels like you.

Soft string lights stretch lazily across the ceiling, casting a golden glow over the space. Mismatched furniture — a wide reading chair, a [F/C] throw blanket, a low vintage desk — gives it a quiet warmth. A hand-woven [F/C} rug sprawls across the floor, furnished with a bookshelf to help cure your endless curiosity. The smell of lavender and old books clings to the air.

Plants spill from pots on shelves, reaching toward the light. Some bloom in hues that don’t exist in catalogs — their petals formed from lingering fragments of memory you tucked gently into soil. Beside them, a gallery of photographs lines the wall. Moments frozen. Tangible memories.

You often sit cross-legged on your bed, an old Polaroid camera in hand, snapping candid shots of the team when they least expect it.

A photo of Wally mid-fall during training.

One of M’gann laughing, flour on her face from a baking accident.

A blurry but warm one of Kaldur meditating by the pool.

Even Superboy — scowling in the background of a group photo, but present.

They pretend to be annoyed. But no one takes the photos down.

ৎ୭︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ৎ୭‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿ৎ୭︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

You meet weekly with Black Canary in the quietest room of the mountain. No cameras. No questions. Just honesty.

She asks careful questions. You don’t always answer. But you try.

You talk about the experiments — how they used your power like a scalpel. How they made you forget yourself.

You tell her the hardest part isn’t what they did — it’s what you don’t know they did.

She listens. She simply just listens. Which honestly felt amazing.

You talk about Facility 13 — not in a linear way. It comes in fragments, like burned pages of a book you’re still piecing together. You talk about what it means to have your own mind rewritten, and worse — the minds of others used like clay under your fingers.

You describe your powers not as “abilities,” but as instincts. You don’t control memory — you navigate it. You don’t create hallucinations — you remind the world of things it forgot.

In your fourth session, she invites Martian Manhunter.

You’re wary at first.

But when he touches your mind, you let him in — just a little.

And that’s enough to stagger him.

He flinches, eyes widening. “You... you see memory not as sequence but as structure. Architecture. Your psychic field is not shaped like a mind. It's shaped like a library.”

His voice lowers, awe threaded with unease. “You could reshape perception... without a single invasive thought.”

You look away. “That’s why it’s dangerous. And why I don’t use it unless I have to.”

He nods slowly — not in fear, but in respect.

“I’ve met telepaths. Empaths. Psychic architects. But I’ve never met a Remnant Weaver.”

And in your fifth session, she says: “Pain doesn’t make you weak. It just proves you survived.”

You believe her. Not entirely. But you’re learning to try.

ৎ୭︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ৎ୭‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿ৎ୭︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

While living on Mount Justice for just over a month now you’ve gotten the chance to bond with your teammates and understand them better.

Robin doesn’t talk much at first, but one night, he leaves a small memory stick on your desk labeled "Old Security Footage – Gotham Academy Fire." You know it’s his quiet way of saying: You didn’t hallucinate. It happened. I believe you.

Robin also has started slipping you small tech from time to time — old servers, scavenged encryptions. You don’t ask why. He just says, “Might help with your memory board project.”

Kid Flash bugs you with relentless energy, asking if you can “memory-scan” the answers to a pop quiz. When you refuse, he says, “Worth a shot,” and later brings you a smoothie in apology. “You like strawberry, right? I mean—probably, right?”

Kid Flash still pesters you, but now brings you weird candies from around the world and challenges you to photo scavenger hunts.

Miss Martian asks if you can see Martian memories. You try once — gently — and glimpse a red sky and a lullaby sung in a language that makes your bones ache. She cried a little, being overwhelmed with the feeling of homesickness . She hugs you almost immediately you can feel her start to cry into your shirt.

Miss Martian invites you to share minds again. You both explore a Martian childhood together one afternoon — but she lets you lead the way this time. She trusts you now.

Superboy doesn’t say much, but one day in the training room, he offers you a sparring glove without a word. You accept. His version of “you belong.”

Superboy watches you more than he speaks. But one night, you both sit in the gym long after training. No words. Just silence. A quiet understanding. Two people shaped in labs, made by force instead of choice.

When you finally say, “I used to wonder if I was even real,” he answers softly, “Still do.”

And neither of you feel alone anymore.

Artemis catches you taking a photo of her mid-stretch and glares. “Delete it.”

You do fairly quickly… not wanting to be on her bad side. But the next day, she hands you a much better, posed photo of herself with the note: “This one’s less ugly. Use it instead.”

Artemis lets you photograph her again — no notes this time. Just a smirk. She even frames one and puts it in her own room. It says more than she ever would out loud.

Aqualad checks in on you weekly. Not out of duty — out of respect. “Your insight is different,” he says once. “Like seeing from above and below at the same time.” It’s the most poetic thing anyone’s said about your powers.

ৎ୭︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ৎ୭‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿ৎ୭︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Eventually- You joined the team in training mainly consisting of simulations and team building exercises, but still even in training you got to show off just how versatile and an asset you can be.

For example last week:

The team is mid-mission in a VR sim: surrounded by LexCorp combat bots, shielded and unrelenting.

You press your hand to the ground.

The bots pause.

Then the world begins to melt.

Their sensors flicker. The sterile battlefield dissolves into a surreal ocean-scape — jellyfish floating midair, schools of fish darting through invisible currents, coral blooming through the walls.

They stagger, blinking in synthetic confusion.

And from behind them, you step forward.

Softly.

Calmly.

And say: “You were programmed to protect this place. But this place doesn’t exist anymore.” you remind them of a time when they didn’t exist to protect LexCorp — but to destroy it.

They hesitate.

Then turn on each other.

One by one, they tear themselves apart — not with violence, but like a dream ending mid-thought.

The sim ends.

“Okay,” Wally says, flat on his back. “That was... haunting. But also amazing.”

Robin whistles low. “Mental warfare without a single shot fired. That’s terrifying.”

You just dust off your hands. “They forgot what they were. I reminded them.”

ৎ୭︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ৎ୭‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿ৎ୭︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

That night, the mountain goes quiet.

Until the hangar doors hiss open.

Batman steps out, every movement precise. The shadows bend around him like armor.

The team gathers, alert.

“A LexCorp storage facility on the outskirts of Blüdhaven has gone dark,” he says. “Locals report hallucinations. Objects appearing where they shouldn’t. Time glitches. Memory spikes.”

You feel a cold crawl down your spine.

He continues. “This will be your first supervised field mission. [Y/N], you’re coming.”

A moment of silence.

Aqualad nods. “Understood.”

You glance at the camera hanging from your neck. The same one you’ve used since arriving. You load in a fresh cartridge of film.

Because even in chaos, some memories are meant to be kept.

The team disperses from the hangar slowly, the weight of Batman’s mission still lingering in the air like smoke.

Outside the bioship, the evening is unusually calm. The sky is brushed with that deep indigo just before full night, stars peeking through like scattered thoughts. The mountain’s launch pad hums quietly beneath your feet.

You sit cross-legged near the ramp, your camera resting in your lap. You’re carefully checking the film, adjusting the light settings, brushing dust from the lens.

“Seriously?” comes a familiar voice behind you. “You’re bringing that thing again?”

You glance up to see Wally, arms crossed and wearing his usual smug half-grin. He jerks his chin toward the camera.

“What if we get attacked by, like, a mind-eating wormhole? You gonna ask it to pose?”

You smirk, not rising to the bait. “If it’s photogenic.”

He groans, flopping down next to you with an exaggerated sigh. “You’re the only person I’ve met who preps for a mission like it’s a wedding shoot.”

“Memories fade,” you say softly, your thumb grazing the shutter button. “This helps me keep them still.”

Wally goes quiet for a second — a rare feat.

Then: “That’s… actually kind of deep. Gross. But deep.”

You raise the camera, snapping a quick photo of him mid-sulk.

“Hey!”

You smile. “That one’s going in the archive. ‘Kid Flash caught having a genuine emotion.’ Rare specimen.”

Robin wanders over, hands in his pockets. “I give it two minutes before he tries to eat the film.”

“I do not eat film,” Wally mutters.

Miss Martian floats down from above, curious. “What are we talking about?”

“[Y/N] and their camera obsession,” Robin replies. “Again.”

Aqualad joins them, arms folded but amused. Even Superboy is nearby, silent but listening.

You glance around at them — these strange, reckless, brilliant people.

And you quietly tuck the camera strap around your shoulder.

“Just making sure I don’t forget this,” you murmur. “Any of it.”

They don't tease you after that.

The bioship hums low as it prepares for launch, its sleek body bathed in the cold blue lights of the hangar. The team begins to board — checking gear, syncing comms, reviewing mission parameters on holographic readouts.

You hesitate just outside the ramp, one hand resting on the camera strap slung over your shoulder.

Your fingers twitch slightly. The nerves are quiet, but there — not panic, just that gnawing undercurrent of what if I mess this up?

“Hey.”

The voice is rough, blunt.

You glance over your shoulder. Superboy stands there, arms crossed, brows slightly furrowed — but not from anger. It’s a familiar expression on him now: his version of concern.

He doesn’t say anything for a second. Just stares at the ship, then back at you.

Finally, he mutters, “You okay?”

You give him a half-smile, honest but tired. “First real mission. New powers. Mild existential dread. You know, the usual.”

He huffs through his nose — his version of a laugh.

“I know what it’s like. Being the wildcard.” His voice is lower now. “Not knowing how the team sees you. Or how much of you is even you.”

That catches you off guard.

He looks away, jaw tight, like saying even that much was a lot. But then he continues.

“You’ve been through hell. So did I. Doesn’t mean we break. Just means we come out... different.”

You nod slowly.

Then he reaches into his jacket — pulls out something small, square.

It’s a photo.

One you took. Him, arms crossed, standing near the waterfall at Mount Justice. He’s not even looking at the camera — Miss Martian’s in the background laughing at something, Wally mid-sprint.

You stare.

“You dropped this last week,” he says, handing it back. “Figured you’d want it.”

You take it gently, the weight of it somehow heavier than it should be.

“You keep things still,” he says, gesturing to the photo. “Helps the rest of us remember we’re real.”

A pause.

Then: “You’ve got this.”

Before you can say anything, he turns and heads up the ramp.

You watch him go — and for the first time since Batman gave the briefing, you feel your hands steady.

You tuck the photo back into your coat pocket.

And follow.

TO BE CONTINUED…

#dc universe #dc x gn reader #dc x male reader #dc x female reader #young justice #young justice x reader

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scary-grace · 6 hours ago

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Enough to Go By (Chapter 27) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26

Chapter 27

It’s bizarre to be so close to All Might. He’s the object of so much of Tomura’s hatred, and you’ve laid your fair share of blame on him, too – the Number One hero, the strongest and the fastest, able to save everyone except the person who matters most to you. But that’s not who he is anymore. Right now he looks so thin and fragile that even your hatred could break him in half.

The words leave your mouth in a whisper. “What are you doing here?”

“Present Mic left you in the interrogation room to teach you a lesson. He was not authorized to do so. When we came to retrieve you, you were unconscious.” All Might coughs into a handkerchief. “There is an unusual amount of strain on your heart.”

You don’t want anyone thinking about that. “Is this some kind of good cop, bad cop thing?”

“No,” All Might says. All Might’s not a good liar. “If you choose to view it that way, perhaps. Your relationship with Present Mic is adversarial. I have hope that you can help me with something else.”

“With what?”

“You said something to Present Mic before he terminated the interview,” All Might says instead of answering you. “You appeared to take the blame for Shigaraki Tomura’s ascent as a villain. I’m interested in why you said that.”

You clam up. All Might doesn’t look worried. “You were unconscious for quite some time,” he says. “It gave me the opportunity to compile some research I’d been conducting. You see, it didn’t strike me as an accident that the first town Shigaraki destroyed when the war began was your hometown. The destruction was telegraphed enough in advance that most of the residents were able to evacuate, and I took the opportunity to interview them, to see if any of them could tell me something about you. The picture that emerged was similar to the one that emerged when I spoke to your friends, family, and coworkers, with one important difference. Nearly everyone in your hometown who spoke of you spoke another name in conjunction with yours.”

He sets a tablet down on the bed in front of you and presses play on a video. The woman speaking looks vaguely familiar to you. You don’t know why until you hear her voice, and realize with a jolt that she’s your preschool teacher.

“Oh, she and that Shimura boy were always together. You couldn’t separate them,” she’s saying. “I never saw a pair of students as close as those two.”

So it was obvious from the beginning, what you and Tenko were to each other. Someone prompts the interviewee from off-screen. “What was he like?” your teacher repeats. “A little emotional, but the sweetest boy you’ve ever seen. It was terrible, what happened to him.”

She keeps talking, you think, but All Might swipes to another video. This one is from a neighbor on your same block. “I saw them walk home together from school every day. They lived across the street from each other.”

All Might swipes again. Your kindergarten teacher, now. “�� worst case of puppy love I ever saw. Kids are all or nothing at that age, but things weren’t the best for either of them at home. They probably felt like it was them against the world. If what happened had happened to her instead of him, he’d have gone just as insane as she did.”

“We’ll return to that in a moment,” All Might says. He lifts the tablet out of your lap. “There are no official records of the fate that befell the Shimura family, and the memories of those who lived on the street are clouded. They do remember, however, how you reacted to what you found in the Shimuras’ home, and that allowed me to piece together a likely course of events. Everything points to Shimura Tenko’s quirk awakening unexpectedly, and the surprise combined with a child’s lack of control led to his family becoming casualties.”

He consults his folder. “The neighbors reported shouting from inside the house earlier that afternoon, and some stated that they could hear a child crying in the yard. Late-breaking quirks are known to activate in states of heightened emotion. It seemed likely to me that Tenko did not intend to kill his family members — and the reports from those who knew you both do not describe a child with an innate desire to harm others. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

You catch yourself nodding. “To me, this answers two of the questions that have been plaguing us with regard to a psychological profile of you,” All Might says. “How you first encountered Shigaraki, and why you would choose to side with him. And it bears out a theory that I have held for some time — that it is possible, in fact, necessary, to save Shigaraki Tomura.”

Your eyes well up before you can stop them. Your breathing hitches, and no matter how hard you dig your nails into your palms, it doesn’t help. You flip your left hand, sink your nails into the back of it, and pull hard, trying to ground yourself, but All Might snatches your hands away. “Please don’t hurt yourself,” he says anxiously. “You are not in trouble. You are among friends. I understand that this is likely the first time anyone has expressed the idea to you that Shigaraki can or should be saved —”

“Stop saying that!” Your voice cracks, shatters. “You don’t want to save him. You want to kill him, just like everyone else! I’m not going to help you hurt him! I don’t want anyone to hurt him ever again.”

Your heart rate is escalating. All Might is gesturing anxiously, trying to calm you down, but you talk over him, struggling to catch your breath. “You want to know why I made the bullets? That’s why! So the next time one of you tries, I can take away the only thing any of you care about! I’m not stupid. I know what you want to do! If you want to kill him, you’ll have to kill me, too!”

You regret the words the instant they leave your mouth. It’s a clue, the biggest one you’ve ever left, but All Might doesn’t react even slightly. He keeps your hands separated so you can’t scratch and speaks calmly. “Do you believe his current state is your fault because you couldn’t save him when you were children? If my research is correct, you tried harder than anyone else. While there’s no record of his disappearance, there’s a lengthy record of your efforts to find him in the form of police reports, school incident responses, and medical records. Your efforts didn’t cease until you were placed on a not insignificant dose of risperidone.”

That’s an antipsychotic. Your parents put you on an antipsychotic so you would stop looking for Tenko — and as if that wasn’t enough, they wiped your memory, too. Fury begins to bubble up within you. All Might keeps talking. “You were a child. It was not your job to rescue him. It was my job, and I failed him,” he says. Your chest goes tight. “I’m tired of failing him. I believe he can be saved, and so do you. Will you help me do it?”

“Why do you need me?” Your voice is hoarse. You can’t be fooled. You need to be careful. “I’m not a hero. I’m nobody.”

All Might shakes his head. “You know Shigaraki better than anyone else,” he says. He rises from his chair. “Get some rest, and think about what we’ve discussed. In spite of what some of my colleagues may have said, it’s not too late — for either of you.”

All Might is tricking you, or trying to trick you. You’re almost certain of it. There’s no reason why a hero would conclude that you could be saved, let alone that Tenko could, and there’s no way they’d ever ask you to help them save him. You’re a villain. There’s nothing redeemable about you at all in the eyes of heroes. You deserve to rot in Tartarus forever. Why is letting you die a step too far? Society’s made their decision about you; that’s why you’re here. You aren’t worth saving.

Except Midoriya Izuku saved you, didn’t he? And All Might took the time to learn about Tenko’s past through you, to see that he hasn’t always been the way he is now. Should you have spoken up more, explained how much of the boy you knew is still present within the person he is now? Maybe. As long as they aren’t trying to trick you. As long as it isn’t all a ploy by the heroes to learn as much as they can about Tenko. To make him easier for them to kill.

You don’t know what the right thing to do is. How is it that it was easier for you to choose to step into your role as Tenko’s sidekick than it is for you to try to save him? Was it because it was just you, because the only people you had to trust to do it were the same people you’ve always trusted — yourself, and your best friend?

But you’ve learned to trust other people, too. You trusted Kurogiri to protect Tenko along with you. You trusted Kazuo to tell you the truth, even when you didn’t want to hear it. You trusted Mitsuko and Ryuhei to help you, not to sell you out. You trusted the League, some of them more than others, into wanting some of the same things that you want. You even trusted a few members of the Meta Liberation Army, by the end. Trusting people hasn’t been a mistake. Yet.

Your heart is racing again. You can’t tell if it’s because something’s happening to Tenko or because your own anxiety is driving it onward, but you press your hand against your chest and try to take deep breaths. All Might left the call button on the bed. You can press it if something goes wrong. In the mean time, you need to calm down. And by the time someone else comes to talk to you, you need to have made a decision.

All Might comes to talk to you the next day, but he’s not alone. You don’t know who he brought, but they want to talk to you by themselves first, and All Might asks if that’s okay with you, like you have any kind of choice in the matter. You say yes. Of course you’re going to say yes. All Might leaves, and someone else slips in through the door. Someone you recognize. “Midoriya.”

Midoriya Izuku’s gaze is flat as he looks at you. “It’s Deku.”

“I’m not calling you useless,” you say.

“What I call myself is my business,” Midoriya says. “That’s my hero name. You’re a villain.”

“I still don’t call people useless,” you say. “Does using your real name feel like that much of an insult to you?”

Midoriya’s eyes flash, and in them, you see the echo of an anger you recognize, a moment before he forces it down. You recognize that, too. “You took away Kacchan’s quirk,” he says. “Why did you do that?”

“So he wouldn’t blast me in the face,” you say. Midoriya’s expression twists. “I was supposed to let him hurt me?”

“You were trying to take away Aizawa-sensei’s quirk, too. Why?” Midoriya asks. His voice pitches upwards, cracks, and you remember all at once — he’s just a kid. “You know what it’s like to be quirkless. How could you do that to someone?”

“Because I don’t think that being quirkless is the worst thing that can happen to someone,” you say. “It’s not even close to the worst thing that’s happened to me.”

Midoriya looks like he thinks you’re out of your mind. Like he can’t imagine why any quirkless person wouldn’t hate every second of their life. An impulse boils up within you, an impulse to twist the knife, but you crush it. You’re a villain, sure. You’re not that kind of villain. “Do you have other questions for me?”

“Why did you decide to be a villain?”

That one pulls you up short. “You can’t save people unless you understand them,” Midoriya says. He looks tired. Way too tired for a fifteen-year-old. His hands are laced with surgical scars. “I don’t understand Tenko. I’ve tried, and I can’t. But you do, so maybe if I understand you — and you understand him — maybe I can make him stop.”

Your stomach clenches, and it’s not just because you’ve heard someone else use Tenko’s real name. “You want to kill him.”

“No!” Midoriya visibly recoils from the idea. “I want this to stop. I want my friends to stop getting hurt. I want people to be able to go home, if there’s anything left of home. I just want this to be over fast, and killing Tenko won’t end it. Just like letting you die wouldn’t have.”

He looks at you, holds your gaze. “I want to make it stop, but there’s a right way to do it and a wrong way, and I want to do it the right way. So tell me why you became a villain.”

You want to tell him, but you also feel like this is above his grade level. Midoriya looks like he’s trying not to roll his eyes. “I know you guys are in love. I heard it.”

That strikes you as weird. “What do you mean, you heard it?”

“In One For All.”

You sit there with that for a second. “Tell me about what happened after I fell. Then I’ll tell you why I’m a villain.”

After you fell, Midoriya caught you. As soon as you were on the ground, heroes took you away, hid you from Tenko. Not that Tenko had a chance to look for you. He was taking critical hit after critical hit while the heroes tried to overwhelm Super-Regeneration and kill him, and according to Midoriya, something was wrong with him. “It didn’t make sense,” he says. “Based on what he’s able to do now, he should have crushed us. But it was like he was fighting himself.”

Your heart sinks. “We knew he’d gotten a bunch of quirks, and we knew one of them was probably All For One,” Midoriya continues. “I knew he wanted One For All, so I left the battlefield, hoping he’d chase me, and he did. When he tried to take it from me, we wound up in the world of One For All.”

“The world of One For All?”

“Where the vestiges of the past wielders live,” Midoriya says. You don’t know what to say to that. “Tenko was there, but it wasn’t just him. There was something else in there, like a shadow, and it was talking to him. Telling him you were dead and nothing mattered anymore.”

That breaks through the cloud of despair your failure’s left you suspended in. “I’m not dead.”

“I tried to say, but I can’t talk in that world yet,” Midoriya says. That makes as much sense to you as everything else Midoriya’s said so far, which is to say it doesn’t make any sense at all. “The shadow looked like it was Tenko’s, but it wasn’t him. It it kept trying to move without him. And then it moved him. Like he was a puppet or something. I was right there, but they weren’t fighting me anymore. They were fighting each other.”

Your chest goes tight, shortening your breath again. “Everybody had caught up to us by then,” Midoriya explains. “When I woke up, I knew it wasn’t Tenko fighting. I could see the shadow — Tomura. And I guess Tomura didn’t like how the fight was going, so he withdrew, and the rest of the army went with him. If he hadn’t —”

“It would have been the end of hero society,” All Might says from the door. “The end of Japan as we know it. We couldn’t defeat him. And since then —”

“We know which one of them is in control when a battle happens,” Midoriya breaks in. “You can tell when it’s Tomura because he’ll — hurt himself — while he’s fighting. We think it’s to stay in control of Tenko’s body, but we’re not sure. When it’s Tenko, he fights different. He destroyed the city where UA was, but we’d thought he was headed somewhere else, so the evacuations were still going on when they got there. The whole city fell apart from Decay, but none of the refugees died from it. He destroyed everything but them.”

“In short,” All Might says, “The alternate personality – Tomura – cares nothing for life. Tenko appears to.”

Of course he does. Tenko’s killed people — a lot of people — but he doesn’t kill indiscriminately. Thousands died in Deika City, but Tenko was defending himself, defending the League, defending you. The deaths of the Creature Rejection Clan were on Spinner’s behalf, the murder of Overhaul’s minion one piece of revenge for Magne. Tenko doesn’t take joy in killing people. Even when you played games as children, he just wanted to win. He never wanted the villain to die. All Might leaves the doorway and comes closer. “We need to know how the alternate self came to possess Tenko’s body. And if there’s any way to help Tenko regain control.”

“It’s really important,” Midoriya says earnestly. “If there’s anything that — um, are you crying?”

It’s kind of a dumb question. You’re absolutely crying — head in your hands, headache already building, struggling to breathe while your eyes stream and your nose runs. You know what’s happening here. “Tenko and Tomura are the same person,” you say. “The shadow is All For One.”

There’s a split second where Midoriya and All Might simply stare at you. Then they both start talking, talking over each other, trying to get you to explain. But there’s nothing to explain. It’s all so simple. You thought you’d saved Tenko by swapping out All For One, but it didn’t work. Some part of All For One escaped, or snuck through, or something — or maybe it’s your fault again, because All For One came back after you let yourself get captured and almost killed. Either way, you screwed up royally. You lost your best friend, again, and this time the only person who could have stopped it is the same person to blame. You.

It takes a while for you to calm down enough to speak, to remind yourself that it’s not over until both of you are dead, that as long as you’re both alive there’s a chance. Midoriya and All Might want to help Tenko. All Might seems to want to help you, too. You’re locked up here, unable to reach him, but the two of them could. And that means you need to tell them what they need to know to save your best friend.

It takes explaining. A lot of explaining. Neither of them are getting the details, but they pick up enough of the big picture to understand what you tried to do. Mostly. “All For One is still in prison. How could Tenko have been given the original quirk?”

“All For One has a copy, so the doctor could give the original to Tomura. They had extra copies of it, too. And a Nomu that could make copies of things,” you say. Midoriya scribbles something in a notebook. “I swapped the original for a copy.”

“Could the doctor have swapped it back for the original without your knowledge?” All Might asks. You shake your head. “How do you know?”

“I destroyed it.”

All Might coughs. “What?”

“You destroyed All For One,” Midoriya repeats. “How?”

“The quirk factor is in his hands. His palms. They had them on a slide. I tested them to make sure they weren’t copies and then I cut them up.” You’re not sure why they’re looking at you like that. They asked. “It was the only way I could think of.”

All Might nods briskly, but he still looks supremely creeped out. “Since you made the switch, and you were present during the entire process, what is your best guess as to what happened?”

“I think –” You can’t burst into tears again. You dig your nails into the back of your hand. “The imprint of Sensei’s personality was still there. It couldn’t take over unless Tomura let his guard down. Now it won’t go away, but it doesn’t have full control over him. Tomura is still there.”

“What if we cancel his quirks?” Midoriya asks. “That would get rid of All For One, and we’d win.”

“It won’t be so easy. Remember, his speed and strength were sharply increased even when Eraserhead canceled his quirks,” All Might cautions. “We’d be better off if we could simply target All For One. You said it’s in his hands?”

“If we can’t land a good hit on him, there’s no way we’d be able to cut both his hands off,” Midoriya says. You feel like you’re going to be sick. "Besides, he’s got that regeneration quirk now. If we cut them off they could grow back just like they were.”

“He had the quirk for several weeks before the attack,” All Might says, “and the takeover occurred at a moment when Tenko was vulnerable. What would it take for him to regain control on his own?”

You think you have an answer. You don’t want to say it. It’ll sound really self-serving, and you don’t need to, not when Midoriya’s in the process of getting there on his own. “We’ve noticed that Tenko’s more likely to be in control when members of the League are present. Which might be why All For One’s been sending them away when he’s not. As of the attack in Yokohama the only member of the League who’s still with Tenko is Spinner. All the others have been sent elsewhere, or — um —”

He glances at you, guilty and uncomfortable, and somehow you know what he’s trying not to say. “Was someone hurt?”

“Giran was killed,” All Might says. He looks like he feels bad. You feel worse. “By Endeavor, in the battle for Kyoto. Compress was badly injured during an ambush of Shiketsu High. It’s unclear if he’ll survive.”

You swallow hard. “What about Toga?”

“The PLF fighters we’ve captured indicated that Toga’s gone underground. We’re not sure why, or where she is currently. If we could contact her —”

“Twice has gone missing, too,” Midoriya interrupts. “Nobody’s seen him since the battle at your headquarters.”

“And Dabi?”

“We don’t know,” All Might says. “All For One may have sent him on a mission, or may have had him killed. He hasn’t been seen since Kyoto.”

The League is scattered, or dead. All For One wants Tomura to feel hopeless, to feel alone. Tomura can’t fight back against him because All For One’s taking away the things he fought for. If you can give him a reason to fight back again — “I think we have to,” Midoriya is saying to All Might. All Might nods. Then they both look at you. “What do you think?”

You think you missed something. “What?”

“If the problem is that All For One is taking away Tenko’s friends, we need to give them back,” Midoriya says. “And since you’re his oldest friend — and the only we have who isn’t, like, dying — we need to give him you.”

Your heart leaps into your throat, lodging there painfully. He can’t mean it. He can’t be thinking of letting you go. “Hiding you was an error,” All Might says. “If our theory is correct, your perceived loss cemented All For One’s control. If we are able to return you to Tenko’s side, and if you are able to help Tenko reassert control, then perhaps we can bring this to an end.”

“You mean — negotiate?” You want more than anything for them to let you go, but you can’t lie to them. “Even if he’s himself, there’s no guarantee he’ll do that.”

“No, but there is a chance. Which is more than we’ll have from All For One.”

You can’t argue with that. “It shouldn’t just be her,” Midoriya says quietly. “He needs all his friends. As many of them as we can get.”

Your heart is beginning to race. You recognize the feeling of your body speeding up to try to match Tenko’s needs and force yourself to take deep breaths, to lie still. The less energy you burn yourself, the more you’ll have to send. You wonder where he is. What’s happening to him. If he’s injured because of a fight with the heroes or if it’s because of something All For One has done to try to maintain control of him. He’s alone there. All For One’s gotten rid of everyone except Spinner — Spinner, who you were able to warn months ago that something might go wrong with the quirk transfer. Spinner, who definitely knows Tomura well enough to know when Tomura’s not in control. The plans All Might and Midoriya are making are a vague buzz in your ear. You need to let them know that it’s Spinner they have to get a message to, Spinner who will help them get you back to Tenko. You open your mouth to speak, but your chest feels tight, and spots fill your vision. Before you can say a word of warning, everything goes black.

<- Chapter 26

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#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x you #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #tenko shimura x reader #tenko shimura x you #shimura tenko x reader #shimura tenko x you #x reader #reader insert #man door hand hook car door #please hold

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a-killer-obsession · 15 hours ago

Text

Need [FTM!Killer x Kid]

Killer has a need, Kid helps.

CW: transmasc killer, pre-ts, degrading terms, rough sex, fingering, p in v sex, biting, blood

WC: 2.2k

Masterlist || A03

When Killer started on Testosterone, he knew there'd be some side effects. He'd heard about other trans men needing to jerk off all the time, but he didn't think it'd be that bad. He'd been presenting as a man for longer than most of the crew had known him, having had top surgery before the Kid Pirates were even formed - only Kid, Heat and Wire even knew he wasn't born with a dick. But it wasn't until Sabaody that he was finally able to start hormone therapy, and it'd only been a few months since then. He was thrilled with the way his muscles were already building, a small goatee starting to proudly grow and making him feel more like the man he knew he was born to be, but there were, in fact, side effects.

Namely, the one he'd been dreading. Killer had never been a very sexually charged person, and with his low confidence and anxiety around not having the equipment he was expected to have, he usually just solved any sexual frustration on his own. His periods had all but stopped since starting on T, but it seemed like when they did happen that they were always followed by a particularly heated ovulation. He was starting to feel like a bitch in heat the way he was craving dick, and this month was exceptionally bad. All the toys in his arsenal no longer seemed to be enough to satisfy him, and he felt like he couldn't concentrate on anything except the throbbing between his legs. He was thankful for his mask when he caught himself literally salivating over Kid working out on the deck - sweat dripping down his pale body, veins straining against thick muscle, thick thighs barely contained by his pants. It didn't help that Killer knew he had a nice thick cock too, they'd fooled around a few times when Killer was still in the closet. Not that Kid cared that Killer wasn't a woman, all Kid cared about was whether you had at least one hot hole for him to fuck.

Killer groaned in frustration as he tossed and turned in his bed, several orgasms in but still craving. He knew what he needed, knew it was just across the hall and more than willing, but he felt ashamed for wanting it. Images of Kid's muscular body swam around in his mind, followed by memories of Killer getting plowed by him, and his pussy clenched around nothing. Swearing and throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he gave in and unwillingly trudged across the hall to Kid's door, banging on it with a closed fist until he heard an annoyed grumble on the other side.

“The fuck you want?” Kid growled as he opened the door, immediately taken aback by Killer's disheveled appearance. His black and white polka-dot shirt had been straining on his growing form for a while, and now hung loosely from his shoulders, unbuttoned and revealing the sweaty, well sculpted torso beneath and the faint top surgery scars Killer usually hid. His jeans were unfastened, sash missing, and his socks and shoes had long been thrown off. His mask was on, but his hair was a mess, Kid could tell he'd been tossing and turning for a while. “You good?” Kid asked in a more concerned tone.

“No, I'm not good,” Killer huffed, pushing Kid backwards into the room and slamming the door behind him so he could speak freely, “I'm horny as fuck and I feel like I'm going to fucking explode if I don't get railed properly.”

Kid was a little speechless, he was never one to say no to a hot lay but Killer wasn't the type to ever ask for it. The few times they'd done the horizontal tango had been after significant persuasion from Kid, and not since Killer had come out.

“Are you gonna fuck me or not?” Killer growled, slipping out of his jeans before Kid could even answer. Kid could see the wet patch already staining Killer's briefs, and smell the pheromones coming off him. It made his dick twitch and his breath catch in his throat, and he forgot to say anything. “Oh for fucks sake,” Killer hissed, grabbing Kid's hand and shoving it down the front of his underwear, “stop acting like you're gonna say no and fuck me already, I’m going insane here.”

Killer's cunt was dripping as he held Kid's hand against it, grinding against it, his other hand gripping Kid's shoulder for support as he rubbed against Kid's fingers like it was just a toy, making desperate sounds Kid had never heard him make before. “Fuck, yer dripping Kil,” Kid groaned, curling his fingers to slip inside Killer, immediately able to sink two inside him and pumping him fast. Killer moaned and threw off his helmet, discarding it on the floor so he could grab Kid's hair and tilt his head to chew on his neck. His other hand slid down Kid's front, desperately seeking out the hard dick he knew he'd find and palming it through Kid's pants before slipping under the waistband to handle him properly. Kid’s free hand groped at Killer’s nice round ass, making him whine. He could hear how pathetically wet his cunt was, but he was too needy to be embarrassed.

Kid groaned as Killer squeezed his cock, making Kid swear under his breath before capturing Killer's mouth with his own and forcing his tongue into his mouth. Killer was more than willing to reciprocate, already close to cumming as Kid pushed a third finger inside him and curled them deliciously. It’d been years since they’d tasted each other and it only made Killer more desperate for more.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Killer pulled away from the kiss and sunk his nails into Kid's shoulders as his legs threated to clamp shut around Kid's hand. “I'm gonna, fuckkk,” he groaned as he came hard, almost collapsing as his legs shook. Kid made a feral growl as he pulled his hand from Killer's briefs, sucking the juices from his own digits as he locked eyes with the first mate, who made a small whine at the action. Kid pushed him backwards until his knees hit the bed and he fell back against it, Kid immediately yanking Killer's underwear off before stripping his own clothes, his needy erection bobbing as it was released.

“Fuck I missed the taste of that sweet cunt,” Kid purred as he climbed on top of Killer, “I bet its just as tight as I remember too.”

“Hurry up and find out,” Killer spat back, lifting his hips to grind his slippery cunt against Kid's erection.

“Needy slut,” Kid grunted, rutting against Killer a few times before lining himself up, “like a bitch in heat, take this cock then.”

Killer moaned and wrapped his legs around Kid as he was stretched by his girthy cock, filling Killer up quickly as Kid pushed straight to the hilt. Killer's eyes rolled back in satisfaction as he finally got what he was craving, and he pushed his heels against Kid's ass to beg him to move already. “Hold your fucking horses, fuck,” Kid complained, trying to get into a comfortable position. He lifted Killer's legs to rest over his shoulders then he dragged them upward and pushed forward, making Killer grunt as he was folded in half and Kid's dick reached impossibly deeper. “There you go,” Kid grinned, “now I can fuck you good and deep.”

Killer was about to make a snarky remark about how long it was taking but Kid forced the breath out of him with a heavy thrust as he started at a brutal pace, giving Killer no time to adjust or complain - exactly what Killer wanted. Kid didn't need to be a rocket scientist to know that Killer wasn't here for a gentle loving night, he was here for a hard fuck, so that's what Kid was gonna give him. “Oh fuck,” Killer groaned, “just like that, fuck.”

“That’s right, take it,” Kid grunted, gripping Killer’s thighs hard as he pumped him and the room filled with the wet squelches of Kid’s dick thrusting in and out of Killer’s greedy cunt. Killer gripped the sheets either side of him, balling them in his fists and untucking the edges of the sheets as he squirmed and groaned, the bed rocking and creaking with every hard thrust. “Fuck, your cunt is just as tight as it was,” Kid groaned, “bet it was just begging for my cock huh? Needy little slut, desperate for your captain’s cock.”

“Call me a slut one more time and I’ll bite it the fuck off,” Killer growled, reaching up and pulling Kid’s red locks, forcing his head to tilt. Kid growled and pulled Killer’s hair in return.

“I’d like to see you fucking try, slut,” Kid taunted. Killer growled and squeezed his thighs tight around Kid’s waist, flipping both of them so he was on top and sinking his teeth into Kid’s thick neck while he rode him. Kid’s nails dug into Killer’s back and drew blood, as did Killer’s teeth, dripping down Kid’s pale skin and staining the sheets beneath them. Kid pulled Killer’s hair hard until his head was forced away, and he captured Killer’s lips, tasting his own blood on his tongue as he sucked on it. He bit Killer’s lip and earned a deep growl in response. “You wanna play rough, let's play rough,” Kid snapped.

Pieces of metal flew at Killer, wrapping around his wrists and tugging his arms upwards, like he was hanging from a chain. “No fucking fair,” Killer grumbled as Kid slipped out of his cunt and climbed off the bed, standing behind Killer, his wild blonde hair running down his back, matting with the trails of blood from the marks Kid had made. Killer was on his knees on the bed, his back arched as his hands were held above him. Kid made a satisfied hum at Killer’s ass before kneeling on the bed behind him and forcing his cock back inside, Killer letting out a grunt at the action.

“You look good like this, Kil,” Kid teased, giving him a hard thrust, his painted fingers sinking into Killer’s hips, “maybe I’ll keep you bound in here more often, use you like a fleshlight whenever I want.” Killer wanted to complain at being treated like a doll, but his pussy was clenching at Kid’s dirty talk, and he pushed back to fuck himself on Kid’s dick. “Needy,” Kid commented, holding Killer’s hips tighter to stop him moving, making Killer whine. Kid pushed closer, holding Killer’s back against his chest, his mouth at Killer’s ear as he moved some of his blonde hair out of the way. “I’ll take good care of you baby,” Kid purred, nipping Killer’s ear, “you just sit pretty and take it.”

“I’m not pret- fuck,” Killer snapped as Kid bit into his neck and started fucking him hard again. His pelvis snapped against Killer’s ass with every thrust, reddening the skin and making Killer feel like he was being spanked. Kid’s hands ran up Killer’s front, pinching his sensitive nipples almost painfully, making Killer go brainless at the multiple angles of stimulation. The metal around his wrists released him as Kid’s teeth left his neck, leaving a bite mark to match the one he’d given Kid, and Kid pushed Killer’s head against the bedding with one hand while the other spanked him hard. Killer cried out, his orgasm close, and Kid brought down his hand again against his ass, leaving a bright red handprint.

“Fuck, I can feel you clenching around me Kil,” Kid groaned, “go on and cum for me, cum on your captain’s cock.”

Killer bit down on the sheets to muffle his scream as he came hard, gushing and saturating the front of Kid’s thighs and the sheets below. Kid worked him through it until Killer went boneless, before pulling out and jerking himself off over Killer’s ass, shooting ropes of cum over the red handprints. “F-fuckk,” Killer stuttered as he went limp against the sheets, finally sated and completely wiped out. Kid groaned and collapsed on his back next to him.

“Sorry for calling you a slut,” Kid mumbled, “and a bitch. Got sort of lost in it.”

“It’s fine,” Killer sighed, rolling to rest his head against Kid’s chest, “it was a good fuck anyway.”

“Mmm,” Kid agreed, “I missed you. It’s been a while”

“Yeah well,” Killer sighed, “it’s not just you, if that makes a difference. I haven’t fucked anyone.”

“For real?” Kid sat up, “you really haven’t gotten laid? Cos of… the change?”

“I just… haven’t felt confident,” Killer admitted, rolling away to hide his blush.

“Well, you can always come to me,” Kid laid back down and spooned him, getting some of his own cum on his tummy, “you’re my best mate Kil, you can always come to me, for anything.”

“I know Kid,” Killer pulled Kid’s arm to hold him a little tighter, “I know.”

“Don’t wait till you’re suffering next time, aye?” Kid laughed, “let me take care of you.”

“Okay,” Killer yawned, before pulling the blankets up over the two of them, too tired to clean up. It was already so late before he came in here. “Now shut the fuck up and go to sleep.”

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