#i have nothing against Fiona but

[as-rare-as-trees]

Me, working on an actual "serious" artpiece: ahah I'll just mess around, sketch and leave it unclean and messy

Also me, working on a meme artpiece: well, I shall do a fully rendered colored piece, or else

[writingsforwhatever]

Summers were never supposed to hurt this much (q.hughesxreader) Part 1

summary: irrevocably in love with quinn hughes

genre: it doesn't matter

a/n: I'm afraid friends to lovers trope will always get me so here i am writing again. HEY IM BACK. ALSO I used Belly as her nickname because THIS IS HEAVILY INSPIRED by 'The summer I turned pretty'

~

The boat rocked gently as she leaned over the edge, her fingers skimming the cold water of the lake. It was the same lake they had grown up on, summers spent barefoot and sunburned, racing across the docks, yelling over who got the best seat in the Hughes family’s old motorboat.

She sighed and tilted her head back, staring up at the stars, which burned so bright they made the rest of the world feel impossibly small. For a fleeting moment, she let herself remember what it was like to be that little girl, Luke’s inseparable shadow, always tagging along with his brothers but always watching Quinn. He’d been everything: her childhood hero, her first heartbreak, and her now unspoken unrequited love.

The boat was alive with laughter and the occasional splash of water as the group lounged lazily in the late afternoon sun. It was one of those perfect Michigan summer days, the ones they’d spent their whole lives chasing.

Despite hearing the familiar sounds of her childhood, the crackle of the firepit in the Hughes' backyard, the pop of beer cans opening, and the unmistakable sound of Trevor Zegras telling a story too dramatic to be true floating through the air, today felt off. It wasn’t just the humidity or the lack of wind.

This summer was different.

Quinn Hughes had brought a girl home.

Her name was Fiona. She was tall and sun-kissed, with perfect white teeth and a laugh that sounded like it belonged in a movie. She fit effortlessly into the group, the way Belly had always assumed she did. But Fiona didn’t have to try. She wasn’t the girl who’d been climbing trees with Luke since they were seven or getting into splash wars with Quinn when he wasn’t busy pretending she didn’t exist. She wasn’t Luke’s best friend, or, worse, like a little sister to Quinn.

No, Fiona was the girl Quinn couldn’t stop smiling at this summer.

And it was killing her.

She sat cross-legged near the bow, her oversized hoodie pulled snug over her swimsuit. She traced the edge of her drink can absentmindedly, tuning out most of the conversation swirling around her.

It wasn’t supposed to bother her, not like this. She’d spent years mastering the art of pretending she didn’t care. Even when her heart had broken at fifteen, watching Quinn kiss some girl at a party, she’d buried it under layers of distractions . She’d survived those summers by convincing herself that Quinn didn’t see her that way and never would.

“Hey Belly, you good?” Luke asked, nudging her leg with his foot. He was sprawled out on the deck beside her, sunglasses sliding down his nose, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

She blinked, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I’m good. Just tired, I guess.”

“You’re always tired,” Trevor chimed in from the driver’s seat, his signature cocky smirk firmly in place. “Or bored. Or both. Should we entertain you, princess?”

“Please don’t,” she deadpanned, chucking a pretzel at him. It hit him square in the chest, and Alex barked out a laugh.

“Easy there, Z,” Alex said, leaning back against the cooler. “She’ll throw you in the lake next.”

“She has thrown him in the lake before,” Luke added, grinning. “You deserved it, too.”

Trevor threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. But I’m just saying, She's been weird lately. What gives?”

“Nothing gives,” She muttered, rolling her eyes. Her gaze flickered, just for a moment, to Quinn and the girl sitting beside him.

“Alright, alright, back off,” Cole said, throwing an arm around her shoulders protectively. “Belly's just sick of us idiots. And honestly? Fair.”

She relaxed a little, leaning into Cole’s familiar warmth. “Thanks, Coley. At least someone’s on my side.”

This summer was supposed to be like all the others: easy, light, and uninterrupted, with her secretly pining for her best friend's oldest brother. But everything felt different now. Quinn was leaving soon, the draft was just around the corner, and with it came the fear that everything was about to change.

Her thoughts were once again interrupted as she heard Jack screaming.

“Trevor, I swear to God, if you cannonball one more time—” Jack's voice rang out across the boat as Trevor launched himself off the side, sending a massive splash in every direction.

Sitting on one of the boat's cushions with her knees pulled to her chest, she couldn’t help but laugh as Jack staggered back, water dripping from his hair and soaking through his t-shirt. He glared at Trevor, who surfaced from the water, grinning like he'd just won an Olympic medal.

“Lighten up, Jackie boy!” Trevor shouted, shaking water out of his hair.

“Jackie boy?” Jack muttered darkly, grabbing a nearby water gun and aiming it with precision. Before Trevor could react, he was drenched again.

“Can you two stop for five minutes?” Quinn’s exasperated voice cut in, holding a cooler full of drinks. He looked like he’d spent the entire day trying to keep the group from imploding, a role he’d always begrudgingly taken on as the eldest Hughes.

“That’s rich coming from the guy who takes five years to pick a movie,” Jack shot back, grabbing a towel and attempting to dry off.

“Or five years to ask a girl out,” Trevor added with a wink, earning a round of laughter from the group except for Belly, who stayed silent.

It wasn’t just the joke that got to her. It was the way Quinn barely reacted, offering only a small smile before dropping the cooler and walking over to where Fiona stood, her sundress fluttering in the breeze. It got her thinking if this was an inside joke she didn’t learn to catch.

Jack flopped onto the chair next to her, still muttering about Trevor. He glanced at her, his irritation giving way to concern. “You good, Bells? You’ve been quiet. And not like, Luke just said something stupid quiet. Like… actual quiet.”

“I’m fine,” She said automatically, picking at a loose thread on her hoodie.

Jack narrowed his eyes. “Bullshit. You don’t get to lie to me. You’re either mad at Luke or…” His voice trailed off as his gaze shifted to where Quinn and Fiona were now standing, laughing softly about something.

“Oh,” he said simply, his eyebrows lifting slightly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she snapped, heat rising to her cheeks.

“Nothing,” Jack said innocently, leaning back in his chair. “Just… makes sense, is all.”

“What makes sense?” she demanded, hating how defensive she sounded.

Jack sighed, smiling, his usual playful demeanor giving way to something softer. “Nothing, Bells."

She looked at him skeptically, but before she could say anything, Luke appeared, dripping wet and holding a half-empty water gun. “Jack, you’re up. Trevor’s got a death wish and I need backup.”

Jack hesitated, glancing between her and Luke. Finally, he stood, patting her shoulder as he passed. “Don’t let it ruin your day, okay?”

Jack was right. This summer was supposed to be all about her and Luke before they went off to college.

~

The bonfire crackled and popped as the group settled into their usual spots, the glow dancing off their faces. It was one of those perfect summer nights where the air was crisp but not cold, the stars blanketing the sky, and the laughter around the fire felt like it could wash away any worries.

Belly sat between Luke and Alex, her legs tucked under a blanket she’d dragged out of the boathouse. The smell of marshmallows and charred wood filled the air as Trevor dramatically told some wild story about a supposed run-in with a celebrity.

“And then,” Trevor said, his hands gesturing wildly, “she looked me right in the eye and said, ‘You, sir, are not tall enough to sit in this section.’”

“You made that up,” Cole interrupted, grinning as he toasted a marshmallow.

“No, I didn’t,” Trevor shot back. “Right, Jack? Back me up here!”

Jack groaned, shaking his head. “You’re on your own with this one, Z. No way am I vouching for you.”

Laughter rippled through the group, but she was barely paying attention. She stole a glance toward Quinn, who was seated across the fire with Fiona. They were sharing a blanket, and Fiona leaned into him as he murmured something in her ear. Her chest tightened as she looked away, focusing intently on the stick in her hand.

“You okay?” Luke’s voice was quiet beside her.

She startled slightly, turning to face him. His expression was soft, his brows furrowed with concern.

“Yeah,” she said quickly, forcing a smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Luke gave her a look, the kind he reserved for when he was calling her out on her nonsense. “You’ve been weird all day.”

“I’m not weird,” she said, poking the fire with her stick.

“You are,” he insisted, his voice low enough that no one else could hear. “Come on, Bells. What’s up? You’re never this quiet during one of Z’s stories. Usually, you’re jeering him the loudest.”

She hesitated, the words stuck in her throat. She’d always been able to talk to Luke about anything, school, family, the future. But this? This wasn’t something she could admit to anyone, not even him, and especially him.

"I guess I'm just scared." She could feel the weight of his gaze.

Luke frowned, leaning closer. "Of what?"

“Everything changing,” she admitted, half heartedly lying. Her voice barely audible over the crackling fire. She glanced at him, her eyes reflecting a vulnerability she sometimes showed. “We’re all going to college soon. You and Trevor are going to be off doing your thing, Jack’s already basically a superstar, and Quinn…” She trailed off, her chest tightening at the thought. “I don’t know, Luke. It feels like everything’s going to be different this summer, and I’m not ready for it.”

Luke was quiet for a moment, letting her words settle between them. Then he tilted his head, offering a small smile. “Belly, nothing’s gonna change between us. With all of us. You know that, right? You and me? We’re solid. Always have been, always will be.”

She smiled faintly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s not just us, though, Luke. It’s… everyone. I mean, the draft of Quinn this year, of you guys possibly moving to other states. Doesn’t it feel different already?”

Luke followed her gaze to the group around the fire, where Jack and Trevor were bickering over the last marshmallow, Cole was making some sarcastic remark towards Alex, and Quinn was sitting with Fiona, their heads close together as they talk.

“Okay,” Luke said, turning back to her. “I get it. Stuff’s changing. But it’s not all bad, you know? We’re still us. We’ll still have summers here, bonfires and boats and all the stupid stuff we do. It’s not like we’re all gonna forget about each other.”

“I know,” she said, sighing. “I just… I don’t want to lose this.”

“You won’t,” Luke said firmly, nudging her again. “I won’t let it happen. And if anyone tries to ruin our summers, I’ll throw them in the lake.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in her chest easing slightly. “You’re really committed to that lake throwing thing, huh?”

“Absolutely,” Luke said, grinning. “It’s my signature move.”

“Thanks, Luke,” she said softly, leaning her head against his shoulder for a moment.

“Anytime,” he said, his tone lighter now. “Just remember, I’ve got your back. No matter what.”

She pushed aside the pang of jealousy as Quinn’s laugh drifted across the fire and let herself be comforted by Luke’s presence. Because if nothing else, at least she still had Luke.

~

The morning sun filtered through the trees as she, Cole, and Alex climbed into the old Hughes’ SUV, eager to head to the little shop in town. The guys had somehow lost the coin toss the night before, and Belly had volunteered to join them.

“Hey, we’re getting grape,” Cole called out, holding up a two-liter bottle like it was a trophy.

“No one likes grape soda, you psychopath!” Alex shot back.

Belly rolled her eyes with a grin, tuning them out as she grabbed a few bags of chips and tossed them into the basket.

“Let me guess,” a voice said behind her, warm and amused. “You’re the referee for these two?”

She turned, startled, to see a guy standing a few feet away, leaning casually against the counter. He had sun-kissed blonde hair that looked like it had been bleached by endless days in the water and striking blue eyes that practically sparkled in the morning light.

Belly blinked, momentarily thrown off by how effortlessly good-looking he was. “Uh, yeah,” she managed, holding up the basket. “It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.”

He grinned. “I feel your pain. I’ve got two younger brothers. Chaos every day.”

“Tell me about it,” She said, relaxing a little. “I’m Belly, by the way.”

“Finn,” he said, extending a hand. His palm was warm and calloused, and she found herself holding on just a second too long before letting go. “You up here for the summer?”

“Yeah,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Staying at a lake house with some… friends.”

Finn raised an eyebrow, his smile teasing but before he could respond, Cole and Alex appeared, both carrying armfuls of snacks.

“Bells, we’re set,” Alex announced, barely glancing at Finn as he dumped the snacks onto the counter.

Finn’s gaze shifted to the guys, then back to her, his smile never wavering. “So, are you a local?”

“Sort of,” Belly said. “I’ve been coming here every summer since I was a kid.”

Finn chuckled. “Weird, I don’t remember seeing you. It’s a small town, outsiders kind of stand out, you know?"

“Fair enough,” she said, smiling despite herself.

Belly stepped up, placing her basket on the counter as well. She watched as he began ringing up the items, his bright blue eyes flicked up to her every so often.

“So, my cousin Jeremy is actually throwing a party this Friday night,” Finn said, breaking the silence between them. His voice was casual, but there was an undertone of something else, something she couldn’t quite decipher. “Nothing too crazy. Just a little house party.”

She blinked at him, a bit taken aback. “A house party?”

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly. “It’d be cool if you came. I mean, no pressure, of course.

This is it, she thought. You’ve got one shot to say yes to something like this—to actually make this summer memorable, instead of spending it sulking and pining over Quinn Hughes, like you always do. Don’t mess it up.

Belly swallowed, Finn is really handsome.

Suddenly feeling warmer than the summer heat outside. “Uh… yeah, okay. I’ll come.” She could feel the blush creeping up her neck, her cheeks burning as she smiled.

Finn’s grin widened at her answer. “Awesome. I’ll send you the details. It’s at this place by the lake.” He scribbled something down on a piece of paper and slid it across the counter. “Here’s the address. The party starts around 8, but no rush. Just come whenever.”

Belly took the paper, her fingers brushing against his, and she could’ve sworn she felt a spark. Her heart was pounding, and the thought of going to this party and seeing Finn there made her stomach do flip-flops.

She never thought it was unfair that Luke didn’t know about her feelings for his brother. It was just easier that way. It was better this way, better for him, better for everyone.

Belly often tried to convince herself it was just a phase. A fleeting crush that would fade with time, like the seasons. but it never did. After all, she and Quinn didn’t see much of each other once summer ended. Quinn was always gone or caught up with his other friends.

But Jack, Jack was a different story. She likes to think Jack was too smart for his own good, even though she liked to pretend he was as oblivious as the rest of them. The way he could see right through her, though, was unnerving. Sometimes, she wondered how much easier it would be if she just let herself fall for Jack instead, or maybe even Luke. Luke, with the years of friendship they shared, a foundation so deep-rooted that it felt like solid ground beneath her feet. It would be simple with Luke. Safe. No grasping at something that could never be.

But even so, her heart still ached for Quinn.

No matter how much sense it made to move on, it had always been him, and it always would be.

~

The wooden stairs creaked softly beneath her feet. She paused at the top of the stairs, her hand hovering over the railing. She smoothed her dress for what felt like the hundredth time, the faint scent of her perfume calming her nerves or at least she hoped it would.

It's just a party. It’s not a big deal, she told herself, but the thought of walking into the living room where the boys were sprawled out made her pulse quicken. She knows she will never hear the end of this.

With a deep breath, she walked in the open space of the living room. She spotted Trevor and Cole first, lounging on the couch, controllers in hand, facing her direction while Quinn, Jack, and Luke sat on the couch with their backs to her. The boys barely noticed her at first, too focused on the game.

But then Trevor looked up.

His face lit up with a grin, and he let out a dramatic whistle. “Damn, Bells! You cleaned up nice!” he hollered, dropping his controller and leaning back with an exaggerated smirk. “What’s the occasion? Hot date?”

Belly felt her cheeks flame as all eyes turned to her. “Shut up, Trevor,” she muttered, fiddling with the strap of her purse.

“Oh, don’t be shy,” Trevor teased, wagging his eyebrows. “Looks like someone's getting laid tonight.”

“Trevor! Oh my god.” Belly yelped, her face burning as the boys erupted into laughter.

She shot him a glare before quickly turning to Luke. “Anyway, Luke, I’m heading out.”

Luke turned to her fully, pausing the game. His face lighting up with the realization. “Oh, right! I forgot you have a date tonight. With that guy from the store, yeah?”

Jack’s head snapped up. “Store guy?”

“Yeah,” Cole chimed in, leaning forward with a knowing grin. “When we went to the shop earlier. What was his name again? Finn, right?”

At the mention of Finn’s name, Quinn spoke up, his gaze locking onto her. “Who the hell is Finn?” he asked, his tone sharper than she’d expected.

Something about the way he said it made her stomach twist. It wasn’t anger or concern. it was something else entirely. Almost like disbelief, as he didn’t believe someone would ask her out.

Before she could find her voice, Cole spoke up, his tone lighter, as if trying to diffuse the tension. “I can drive you if you want, Bells. No problem.”

“No thanks,” Belly said quickly, giving him a polite smile. “I’m okay. It’s very near here so it’s fine.”

That did it. Now everyone was looking at her. Trevor, Jack, Cole, and especially Quinn. His gaze was intense, searching her face for something she couldn’t quite place.

“You don’t even know this guy?” Quinn asked, his voice quieter but no less pointed.

The room fell into an even heavier silence. The awkwardness was palpable, and Belly’s chest tightened. She didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything.

Finally, Jack cleared his throat, cutting through the tension. “Just… get home safe, alright? If you need anything, call Luke. Or me. Or anyone.”

Belly’s lips curved into a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Jack,” she said softly. Her gaze flickered back to Quinn for a fleeting moment, but his expression was unreadable.

“Be safe!” Trevor called after her as she headed toward the door. “And if he turns out to be a loser, you know I’m always available.”

“Yeah, not in this lifetime, Z,” she shot back, rolling her eyes but unable to suppress a smile.

As the door clicked shut behind her, she let out a shaky breath. She tried not to think about Quinn’s gazes thrown at her way or where the fuck could Fiona be and why isn't she with her boyfriend.

Because tonight wasn’t about him. It couldn’t be.

~

The music was loud enough to feel in her chest, a pulsing rhythm that made the entire house seem alive. She made her way through the crowd, her nerves buzzing. She spotted Finn almost immediately. He was impossible to miss. His golden blond hair catching the light like he’d stepped out of a sun-drenched daydream.

“You made it,” he said, his blue eyes locking onto hers.

“I did,” she replied, returning his smile.

Finn didn’t waste time. He introduced her to his friends and to his cousin, Jeremy. A tan Greek god who surfs in Hawaii, sometimes. They were a bit older but nice and before she knew it, she was laughing at their jokes and sipping a drink Finn handed her.

For the first time in forever, she felt 18. Wanted. Like she belonged. This, she thought, was what it felt like to be the girl someone chose. Not like the boys in high school who either ignored her or treated her like a joke. Finn wasn’t like them. He was attentive, charming, and kind.

But there was something else.

When Finn leaned in and whispered, “Want to head upstairs? It’s too loud down here,” She hesitated. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears and for a moment, Jack’s words echoed in her mind: Call us if you need anything. But she brushed the thought away. She wasn’t that kid anymore. She didn’t need anyone to take care of her.

Upstairs, the noise dulled to a muffled thump. Finn led her into a bedroom, closing the door behind them. He guided her to sit on the edge of the bed, his hands gentle but insistent.

“You’re so pretty, Belly,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

When he kissed her, it was everything she’d imagined it would be, soft, tender, intoxicating. But it quickly grew more intense. His hands slid up her thighs, his touch burning through her skin in a way that didn’t feel right. The warmth in her chest twisted into something cold.

She froze, her breath catching. Something about it didn’t sit right, and that unease deepened with every passing second.

“Finn,” she said softly, pulling back.

He didn’t stop, his lips trailing down her neck as his hands gripped her tighter.

“Stop,” she said, louder this time, her voice trembling.

Finn leaned back just enough to look at her, his expression twisting with frustration. “What? Seriously?” he asked, his tone dripping with disbelief. “I thought this is what you wanted. You came up here with me, didn’t you?”

Belly’s heart pounded. “I said stop.”

But Finn didn’t move away. Instead, he laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. You’re just another tease, aren’t you? You act like you’re into it, then pull this?”

Her stomach turned at the words, anger bubbling up alongside her fear. She scrambled off the bed, keeping her distance.

“I’m leaving,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside her.

Finn’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “Whatever,” he spat, turning his back on her. “Waste of my fucking time.”

Belly didn’t wait for him to say anything else. She bolted from the room, her legs shaking as she made her way down the stairs and out of the house. The cool night air hit her like a slap, grounding her. She fumbled for her phone, her fingers trembling as she dialed a number.

Luke picked up on the third ring. “Belly? What’s wrong?”

Her voice broke as she spoke. “Can you come get me?”

The car was heavy with silence, the air thick and suffocating. Belly sat rigidly in her seat, staring out the window, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as though trying to keep her emotions from spilling out. She couldn’t bear to look at Luke. She couldn’t bear to look at anything.

Luke’s eyes darted to her every few seconds, his knuckles tight around the steering wheel. His voice broke through the stillness, low and trembling. "Belly," he said softly, but the worry in his tone hit like a hammer. "Please. Tell me what happened. Where is Finn? Did someone… Did someone do to something you? Because I swear to God, I’ll kill them."

Her throat closed, the words she needed stuck behind a wall of tears. She shook her head weakly, her voice barely audible. "Luke, please… Just drive. I just want to go home. Please."

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as his grip on the wheel faltered. "Belly, I—"

"Luke," she interrupted, her voice breaking, "just drive. I’m begging you."

He exhaled sharply, his frustration and helplessness palpable, but he obeyed, focusing his attention on the road. The silence in the car was unbearable, but Belly couldn’t bring herself to break it. She could feel the weight of Luke’s concern pressing against her, and it only made her feel worse.

As they pulled into the garage, Belly barely waited for the car to come to a full stop before bolting out, her tears blurring her vision. She stumbled through the door, her breath hitching, and froze when she entered the living room.

The living room was like how she left it earlier, full. Quinn was sitting close to Fiona on the couch, Trevor and Alex sprawled lazily nearby, Jack leaning back in the armchair with a slice of pizza in hand and Cole probably sleeping in the guest room. They were all watching a movie, the quiet hum of the TV the only sound until she entered.

One by one, their eyes turned to her.

"Belly?" Jack’s voice sliced through the tension like a blade. He sat up abruptly, his face a mask of confusion and alarm. "What the fuck happened? Why are you crying?"

Trevor’s reaction was instant. He stood, his voice softer but no less urgent. "Bells? What’s wrong?"

Her cheeks burned under their stares. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and foolish all at once. The tears came harder now, and her voice failed her completely. She couldn’t explain. Couldn’t face their questions.

Instead, she turned on her heel and ran upstairs, her heart pounding in her chest as she slammed the door behind her.

She collapsed onto her bed, the sobs breaking free as she buried her face into the pillow. The muffled sounds of the living room faded as the tears poured out, soaking the fabric beneath her.

Her mind spiraled, the weight of the night pressing down on her like a crushing wave. Of course it wasn’t real. Of course Finn didn’t like her, not in the way she’d foolishly believed, even for a moment. Her chest tightened as the truth settled like a stone in her stomach. She’d been nothing more than a convenience to him, another girl he could charm into submission.

Her tears came faster, hotter. She thought about how she’d been so determined to forget about Quinn. She’d convinced herself she could move on, that she could prove to herself, to him, that she didn’t want him anymore. But all that resolve had led her to Finn, and Finn… he’d been a nightmare disguised as a dream.

She hated herself for falling for it, for believing even for a second that someone like Finn could actually like her. Not the way she wanted to be liked. Not for real.

Finn was supposed to be different. He was supposed to be a step forward, a reminder that the world was full of possibilities, that she could find someone who would make her feel worthy and wanted without Quinn lingering in the background of her mind.

Now, humiliation added a fresh sting to her pain. Quinn had been right. She doesn't even know the guy.

And once again, Quinn Hughes had won.

N/A: I wanna add here flashbacks from childhood and also Q is a little weird, no? LOL

[theapangea]

Bruised

Characters: Lip Gallagher x reader, Fiona, Ian, Debbie, V

Summary/ Request: How do you think lip would react if fwb that they've known each other forever ends up coming to the house in the middle of the night in the middle of winter with sleep shorts and a tank top with socks, covered in bruises

Words: 1.5k

Warnings: Parent abuse, physically abuse

A/N: PROTECTIVE LIP AHHHHH!!!! I just love him and know he'd protect reader at ALL COST! All mistakes are mine as I am sometimes too lazy to proof read but I hope you enjoy!! Let me know what you think!! <3

You are in a daze.

Your frail body shakes as the sudden flashbacks of yelling and pushing and crying continue to play in your head. Trying to understand, to comprehend what in the hell just happened. Thinking a million thoughts yet completely nothing at all. Your head aches, the shooting pressure builds, beating against your skull. 

The snow crunches under your steps, soaking through your socks as you stumble to keep yourself up right. The icy wind causes you to tremble more than the horrors of the night. Barely able to keep your eyes open wide enough to see where you are going. 

Having no particular destination in mind but here you are standing outside Lip Gallagher’s house, knocking on the door in the middle of the night, begging to be let in. 

Lip has been the person you’ve leaned on for almost every bullshit thing that has happened in your life, understanding each other on a deeper level. It was only recently that your relationship with Lip became sexual but your connection was much more than that. And unfortunately neither of you have the guts to make it anything more than just friends who sleep together.

Your knocking rapidly increases, quickly becoming impatient until you hear the lock on the other side click and the porch light turn on. Coming face to face with his older sister Fiona who’s look of annoyance quickly washes over with concern, brows furrowing, mouth open in shock as she stares at your fragile body, wearing only a cotton tank top, small boxer shorts and socks shielding you from the cold. Your exposed skin is covered in purple bruises, deepening in color with every second that you tremble in front of her. 

Immediately snatching one of the jackets off the hook behind her and wrapping it around your shoulders as she pulls you inside. Goosebumps lining your skin as the warm, inside air circles around you. The pain is no longer from the cold but from the aching bruises. 

And while your world has been turned upside down, a happy boy on the next street over is fighting a huge grin as he walks back home.

The extra skip in Lip’s step was from the wonderful night he just spent with Karen, mainly the sex part. Their relationship has become more positive and Lip hopes that they are finally going to make it more official, like boyfriend/ girlfriend official, no one else on the side.

But...becoming official with Karen means that he will no longer get to see you...at all. Karen is hugely jealous of your relationship with Lip. The inside jokes, the constant hanging out, the connection that she sees that you two are obviously oblivious to. And the only way that she agreed to making things official with Lip is that he will have to cut off all ties with you.

Lip is feeling torn, picking between you and Karen should be so easy for him but these past couple of months, especially when you add sex into the equation, makes him question everything. He lets out one more deep breath, the fog floating in front of him as he knows that tomorrow he will finally have to tell you that you can’t be friends anymore. Knowing that the outcome is going to be disastrous.

Skipping every other skip as he jogs up the stairs of the back porch, a curious thought enters his mind as he notices all the lights shining into the darkness of the night and the door unlocked as he jiggles the handle. Walking into the warm kitchen, unwrapping his scarf and shrugging off his jacket, dismissing the items onto the table until some unknown later time.

The commotion from the front end of the house travels around his body as he stumbles to kick off his boots, catching himself on the wall by the stairs to stop himself from falling over. Peaking around the corner, trying to understand the roaring chaos that fills that Gallagher house tonight. 

Ian comes down the stairs, his hand placed on his forehand and the other holds a phone tightly to his ear. Practically arguing with the person on the other line, speaking some details about a house over on Gilmore Street.

Gilmore Street…that’s where you live. 

Lip’s interest suddenly peaked, his face asking a plain question towards his younger brother…what the hell is going on here?

But Ian waves him off, continuing on his story on how the police need to check on the house now and how something really fucked up happened. 

Lip stands there dumbfounded, trying to figure out this super confusing situation that he just walked into. His attention floats elsewhere as the two women in the next room talking abruptly loud. If he didn't know Fiona and V personally, then he would think hat they are arguing. Walking closer to the dining room but not actually in the room itself, Lip watches their interaction. 

Their movements are elaborate and complex. Fiona runs fingers through her hair, tossing it to one side, passing the hard floor beneath her. The conversation between them is making no sense to Lip, something about having to wait until tomorrow and trying to solve some problem. 

Lip stands still, his mind trying to piece the puzzle together from the small details that he has been given. But how could he, when it feels like everyone is talking in code. Like it's some top secret event that he can't know anything about.

Feeling something graze his side, bringing him back to reality to see Debbie walk between the two women towards the living room. In her hands a mug with steam coming from it. Walking quickly to the couch where she hands the mug to a girl. Lip following Debbie's same movements to get a better look at who's in his house. Eyes wide when it see that it's you...

A confused look freezes on his face as he studies your body. Your shaky hands reach out towards the mug as the warm contains seeping through the glass cup through your body. Your eyes fixated in front of you, as if the small girl standing in front of you isn’t actually there. Your chest heaving rapidly, breathing heavily through your nose. Knees bruised, shaking together. 

It is as if the dam that keeps the water of emotions behind a strong wall suddenly shatters. The instant fire spreads through Lip’s body as he sees your weak state. The walls of decorum crumble as his hands turn into fist and his jaw locks. The blood making his face bright red, moving quickly to your side, his knees hitting into the wooden floors hard as he practically pushes Debbie out of the way so he is kneeling in front of you.

“WHAT HAPPENED?” Lip voice breaks through the chaos of the house as he holds onto your shoulders, shaking slightly but your gaze would shift to meet his, “What happened, tell me!” He whines, the pain mixed with anger driving his actions.

“Don’t yell at her dummy.” Fiona shouts as she comes over, grabbing Lip off the floor so they are face to face.

“What the fuck is going on?” The spit spewing from his mouth, his hand signaling towards you and why you are bruised and bleeding and hurt. Why you? Why you?

“We don’t know. Your little girlfriend just showed up here like 10 minutes ago.” V crosses her arms behind Fiona. 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Lip quickly remarks, the comment would have stung you more if you can actually concentrate but tonight is not the night for you to be dwelling over how Lip Gallagher feels about you. 

Your soft voice speaks his name.

Lip coming to you again, “Hey,” Lip’s kind eyes are on you, his touch now gentle as his heart aches. 

Eyes shaking as they meet him, glossing over as a tear slips down your cheek. But you struggle to get any words out.

“Just tell me what happened?” His hand on your cheek, wiping away the tears, “Please tell me.”

Gulping hard, your trembling body making the liquid in your mug move, hesitating as you say, “My dad."

“He got out?” 

“From where?” Debbie asks.

Lip groans, hate having to explain further, “Prison. Shut up.” Debbie rolls her eyes, obviously annoyed.

“Th-this morning.” The words feel like cotton balls in your mouth.

“He did this to you?” Standing up immediately, “I’m gonna kill that motherfucker. Get the bat Ian.” He points towards his brother who instantly follows his orders.

The tears start flowing now, the snob leaking from your nose. Your body collapsing as the abuse of the night finally settles in causing you lose yourself.

“Lip.” Deb pulls Lip's attention back to you.

“She needs you right now buddy. You can beat the son-of-a-bitch up tomorrow.” Fiona patting his back before leaving the room.

And he knew Fiona was right. He didn't need to be this guy who beat the shit out of some low-life, that isn't going to make him a hero to you. Lip needs to be here for you now, comfort you, take care of you. Be the man that you need.

He realized why you came over to his house, looking for him at your darkest moment. Understanding that you and him can spend hours together without saying a word. Be closer, more intimate then sex with Karen will ever be. It was always going to be you, he was always going to pick you.

Wrapping his arms around you as you sob deeper against his chest, shushing as he rocks you, "I've got you." Kissing the top of your head. The instantly relief coating your body.

~~~

Let me know what you think!! thank you for reading. I LOVE YOU!!!

[starboye]

starring: lip gallagher x male reader

request: top reader and lip gallagher?, I don't know they've been trying for a while to have their first time but they are always interrupted by one of Lip's brothers, Fiona even caught them kissing in their underwear once,Do you like biting and have a big thing for breasts?

warnings: smut, making out, caught

to say it was hard to get laid in the gallagher house would be an understatement it was borderline impossible, from everyone running in and out of the house to you and lip being interrupted every 5 minutes when you were trying to make out and get in the mood.

and it was the first time so you wanted it to be special but you couldn't 'get it on' as carl put when every 30 minutes you had a new brother bursting through the door to get something, it was either ian and mickey pushing through the door making out to or carl coming in to grab something of his own, calling you some joking names before walking out.

once before, you and lip were making out on his bed in nothing but your underwear when the house was quiet and empty, or so you thought because all of a sudden you heard the door open and turned to see a shocked fiona standing there, just as lip got up to explain the sight in front of her "i didn't see anything" she said slamming the door.

it killed the mood instantly and you just ended up making out for the day, but now you were sure you could have a good time, lip called each of his siblings and told them he needed the house to himself and although they were definitely annoyed at the request they agreed to stay out of the house for the day so you two could finally do it.

now nicely layed in lips bed with him over you, him kissing at your neck as you took care of his and yours clothes leaving you both nude, you take in the holy sight of lips beautiful body, cupping his cheeks to meet your eyes with his "don't look at me like that" he says, a hint of red brightening his cheeks as you give him a coy smile.

"like what" you ask kissing him "like you wanna fuck me" lip chuckles "but i do, really really bad" you coo in a sultry tone, you could feel lip get harder "and i know you want me too" you whisper in his ear, tapping your dick against his ass, he looks down at you with eyes you couldn't really decipher, they had want, desperation, lust fullness, happiness, and nervousness all at the same time.

"please" lip lowly says, embarrassed by his own desperateness for your cock as he hides his face in your neck "m'kay then" you smirk at his shyness and kiss his neck before putting some spit on your tip and rubbing against his hole, letting out a little whimper from him "can i go" you ask pulling his ass apart "mhm yeah" he says.

you slowly push into lips hole, earning a moan from his mouth as he holds onto you for comfort and without even realizing you make it all the way in, to enthralled in lips noises that your hips were moving on their own, lip gasps at the feeling of being so full of you, if he was being honest he dreamed of this every night when he was jerking of but he'd never actually tell you that.

"can i move" you ask holding his hips in place, lip nods shakily with labored breaths as you begin stretching him out slowly but surely, and if you had to admit you were strangely close to cumming already, it was like lip was trying to milk you for every drop of cum and you weren't totally against it "are you trying to make me cum faster" you ask choking back a moan "mgh" was all lip manged to let out making you smirk "naughty boy" you mutter.

hearing you call him a naughty boy lip bit down on your neck lightly leaving a mark which you were definitely not going to cover up in the morning, lip presses you down into the bed before finally lifting his head to look at you, without any words he begins fucking himself on your cock, letting out a whine at he feels his good spot get grazed by you tip over and over.

"yeah just like that m'close" you lowly coo caressing his sides and holding onto his hips to keep him going before throwing your head and filling him up, lips eyes widening with how your cock spurts your cum into him "so fucking full" lip whimpers falling onto your chest.

taglist:@mailmango@spermeboy@ghostking4m@gayaristocrat@addictedtomalepits@staarb0y@crispysoup318@its-ares@gargoylesworld09@kadenvatsune

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Handled.

You and Chibs have been walking the line for a little too long.

Pairing - Filip 'Chibs' Telford x Female Reader

Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol mention.

Word Count - 1.5k ish??

Author's Note - I can only apologise for the wild gif, but I saw it and couldn't not use it. this fic is based on this request!! thank you for this message my love - it sparked so many thoughts. I made chibs a little sweeter than I meant to, oops.

Masterlist. Inbox.

The wind whips through your hair as you speed down the road, sunlight beaming down and warming you both.

You have your helmet tightly strapped on your head, a gift from the man currently in front of you on the bike. He'd grumbled as he'd given it to you, mumbling something about someone has to keep you fuckin' safe and last thing we need is an injury to your pretty face.

It's a complicated relationship you have, to say the least. You're not together. No, Chibs is still technically married to Fiona, and he's not exactly the boyfriend type. You're not sure what you want, reluctant to commit to dating a member of the club and all of the danger that comes along with it.

So, you dance the line. The two of you flirt, laughing and touching. You get close, and then you pull away. You wonder if one day, he'll just crack. He knows that if he starts something, he'll have to finish it. He's not a man who works in halves.

Chibs occasionally takes a hand off the handlebars to squeeze your thigh, a silent communication. He's asking are you okay? And you're reaching forward to squeeze his in reply, answering yeah, I am.

Your arms are wrapped around his middle, safe and secure. You can feel the taut muscles of his back and shoulders through the leather jacket that you're pressed against. You know how big he is - tall and broad and unwavering in the face of danger. He's ruthless, and it turns you on. It probably shouldn't, but it does.

The next time he reaches back to squeeze your thigh, you graze your fingernails along the muscle of his before squeezing back much further up. You feel the tension instantly, his back tightening in front of you. You smirk and hold on again, acting like nothing happened.

He's curious, now. Testing the waters. He squeezes your leg again, firmly, and you squeeze back so high that your fingertips graze his bulge. His breath hitches, and you feel it. You grin.

He pinches your thigh this time, sharply. A warning.

One that you ignore. You dance your fingertips higher, lightly stroking across the tent in his jeans, nails scraping the denim. He hums, low and dangerous, vibrations rumbling through the both of you.

You return your hands to his torso, clinging on tightly as you curve around the bends, scenery flying by. You're back at the clubhouse before you know it, the journey as quick as the blink of an eye.

You act like nothing has happened as you get off the bike. You know the two of you have just crossed a line, moving from friendship to something more. You don't want to address it. So, you hang your helmet onto the handlebars and go to walk away, in desperate need of a drink.

A strong hand grabs your wrist, spinning you back around. You collide with a hard chest, a soft oof leaving you. Chibs looks you up and down slowly, gaze raking across your body and stopping at your mouth. He runs his tongue across his bottom lip before pulling you in closer, hands snaking around your back.

"Where do you think you're goin'?"

You take a deep breath and exhale it in a shudder.

"... Inside?"

"Nuh uh," he tuts, tracing patterns across your skin absentmindedly. "You don't get to pull a stunt like that and just walk away."

You decide to play clueless, hoping it'll get you off easier.

"A stunt like what?"

He pulls you in closer again, so your bodies are pressed against each other. No space between you.

"Oh, sweetheart. This innocent act might work on other people, but it doesn't work on me. I see right through ya."

You find a shred of confidence from somewhere, determined to make him sweat a little. You enjoy getting under his skin.

"And what do you see, Filip? Hmm?"

He smirks, mischievous and knowing.

"I see a strong, independent woman, who wants - no, sorry - needs, someone to put her in her place."

You raise your eyebrows at him, so he keeps going.

"You want to be broken apart and put back together again. You enjoy pushing my buttons, trying to get a rise from me, don't you? You think it's fun. But you've got no fuckin' idea about the things I want to do to you, honey. I'm not sure you want to know."

You're panting, now, your chest heaving with anticipation.

"Tell me," you whisper. "Tell me what you want to do to me. Please."

"Please? You wanna be polite now?"

You practically pout at him, big doe eyes begging him to just give in. But Filip Telford is nothing if not stubborn. He is, in fact, the most adamant person you've ever met.

"Chibs."

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"Don't be mean."

"Mean? This ain't mean, baby. You're just used to everyone being sweet to you because you're pretty."

You smile, now. That's a pleasant surprise.

"You think I'm pretty?"

He rolls his eyes at you, chuckling.

"I think you know that by now."

"It's just nice to hear you say it."

He leans forward, pressing his mouth to your ear.

"You know what? Yeah. Let's go inside."

Chibs grabs your hand and leads you with him, pulling you at a quick pace across the yard. When you reach the door, he pulls it open for you, gesturing for you to enter first. Ever the gentleman.

The clubhouse is empty, which makes a change. The minute you’re inside, you feel two hands on your hips, pushing your back into the bar.

“You really wanna know?”

His accent has got thicker, tone low and dangerous.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please. Tell me.”

“You’ll never look at me the same,” he begins, leaning down to speak right into your ear. “When you hear what I want to do to you.. the things I’ve thought about… you won’t be able to look me in the eye, sweetheart.”

You chuckle, tilting your head back to look at his face.

“I think you underestimate me a little, Chibs. Wait until you hear the things I’ve thought about in bed at night, when I can’t sleep.”

He presses a kiss into your neck, nipping at it gently. You groan at the contact, tilting your head to give him better access. One of his hands trails down your side, popping the button on your jeans with ease.

“Gonna take the edge off,” he murmurs, “and then fuck you the way you deserve when I get you home. Alright?”

You nod frantically, gripping onto his biceps to keep you upright. You rest your head against his chest, taking a deep breath to calm down.

“Chibs?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Will you kiss me?”

He smiles at you, all genuine and soft for a moment.

“Yeah, babe. I’ll kiss you. Been waiting for you to ask for a long time.”

He adds the last part quietly, as if he’s embarrassed to say it out loud. He leans down and presses his lips to yours, more tender than you were expecting. You hum in contentment, opening up to let him slip his tongue in. He tilts your head back, licking into your mouth all filthy and debauched.

One of his hands slips into the front of your jeans, tracing you over your underwear. You both groan at the action, lips still connected.

“Fuck, sweetheart. This all for me, hmm?”

You nod almost instantly, resting your head back on his chest. Chibs slips his hand under your waistband, gathering your slick before sliding a finger inside with ease.

“Knew you’d feel like this. Wet and warm and tight and fuckin’ perfect.”

You whine, winding your hips down to chase any friction he’ll give you.

“You’re filthy, darlin’. Letting me finger you in the clubhouse, huh? What if someone walks in, hmm? What if someone sees you like this?”

“Don’t care,” you choke out. “More, please.”

He chuckles darkly, slipping another finger in while rubbing at your clit in circles with his thumb. Your knees buckle, shaking as you grab onto him for dear life.

“I’ve got ya,” he’s murmuring into your ear, crooking his fingers. “I’ve always got ya.”

He speeds up his movements, leaning in to press open mouthed kisses down your neck. He nips you with his teeth occasionally, making you whine all high pitched and breathy. You know you’re gonna smell like cigarettes and gasoline for the foreseeable future.

“You’re close, aren’t ya? Can feel it, pretty girl. Give it to me.”

Chibs snakes his unoccupied hand around your back, holding you up as your legs shake. You fall over the edge, gasping into his chest as he mutters sweet nothings.

“There we go, atta girl. Good fuckin’ girl, hmm?”

You’re nodding, collapsing forwards against him. He pulls his hand from your jeans and instantly puts his fingers in his mouth, making your knees even weaker.

“Kiss me,” you whisper once again.

He obliges, softly connecting your lips. It’s gentle and careful and much more loving than you were expecting, but you’re not complaining. Not in the slightest.

“Now, darlin’. I’m gonna stick you back on that bike, take you home, and fuck you like you deserve. Okay?”

“Okay,” you grin at him, laughing when he chuckles.

You’d have to be insane to deny an offer like that.

@just-a-girl-who-wrytes

[entomologistt]

Reacting to you in a revealing outfit!

Featuring: Ganji Gupta, Demi Bourbon, Andrew Kreiss, Naib Subedar (separate)

Contains: slight suggestiveness (but nothing actually happens), fluff, kisses, pet names, match-like setting, Fem! reader

Ento note: Requested by Anon! Ty for this idea… I’m not over Ganji’s summer skin he’s so fine I need him NOW iwannabesaaaved

Ganji Gupta “Batter”

When the summer lineup was announced, it was to be himself, Norton, and Fiona as the S-tiers. What he wasn’t expecting was for you to walk up to the table in such a revealing summer swimsuit, complemented with other accessories.

You can’t see his eyes due to the sunglasses, but his jaw tightens as he turns away from you, tapping William awake. He leaned into him to whisper something, nudging the forward in the rib when he showed clear annoyance.

When the match starts, it’s you who takes the first kite. You do well enough until there are 2 ciphers left, finally knocked down and lifted off your knees. But before the hunter could place you into the chair, a water ball hits them square in the stomach, making them stumble back and you back on your feet.

A light of gold flashes behind you, and you recognize it as a late use of the excitement trait. Fully expecting to be knocked back down, a bell dings, but you’re still up. You’re shoved past a pallet, making you look back to see Ganji throwing it down. He limps after you, clutching his toned abdomen… that could only mean he took the hit for you.

William was nowhere to be seen. Ganji is determined to show off to you, harassing the hunter to keep you alive, and boy, does he come in for the clutch every time you think you’re done for. God, did he look fine doing it too; he even took the final hit for you for the last cipher to pop!

The hunter ends up surrendering, and you all return back. The first thing you’re met with when you open your eyes is Ganji’s chest, your eyes moving up to meet his hidden ones. “Thank you, Ganji, you really saved me…! You were amazing!” you say in appreciation, smiling sweetly as you lift your hand to take a hibiscus flower that was tucked in your hair, offering it to him.

“For you, Ganji!” ... He wanted to ask you about the costume—but the sweet gesture of offering him a flower and your praise was the thing that made his face heat up.

 

Demi Bourbon “Barmaid”

You walk up to the table, taking your seat. You tug at the straps of the top, adjusting whatever was necessary. Demi looks over your rather revealing outfit, her green eyes meeting yours, and her next action will depend on you.

If you’re self-conscious about it, she offers a gentle smile, affirming that you look good, that she’ll have your back. But if you’re staring at her, thanking her for her compliments bashfully, she gives you one of her famous winks, showering you with a more sweet compliments and playful teasing before the match begins.

During the match, Demi takes the first kite and does pretty well; it is her strong suit after all. But insolence and blink have it out for her, two bells dinging at once. She drinks the mysterious Dovlin, and the hunter loses sight of her—she immediately runs around the map to find you!

Since she’s a bit tipsy, she stumbles towards you, giggling as her arms snake around your shoulders, rubbing her cheek against yours. “Y/nnnnnn! My pretty girl!” she coos and giggles, swaying with you while you decode. “Are you proud of me, hun? This is the last cipher… Focus, darling.” “Demi…! Very proud! Now help me push the cipher!”

When the cipher pops, you were expecting to have to drag her to the gate, but she takes your hand, pulling you to it. While you’re decoding the gate door, she twirls one of her white strands of hair with her finger, leaning into you as she playfully bats her lashes at you. “Can I get a kiss from my beautiful girl?”

Please kiss her; you look so hot she wants to eat you up… When the gate opens, you gently cup her face with your latex gloves, and she practically melts in your hold. Her lashes flutter shut when your lips meet, a short but sweet kiss. When you two pull away, she shoots you a wink as you lick your lips, the taste of dovlin lingering on your glossy lips. “You’re very pretty too, Demi.”

 

Andrew Kreiss “Grave keeper”

A gasp leaves his lips when you take your spot beside him, but instead of sitting, you stay standing, leaning on the chair. Your outfit is filled with black lace, a gothic costume with pretty red roses. You were a part of a gothic vampire essence! Despite how much it showed, he genuinely thought you looked pretty in it.

“Hi Andrew!” The pale skin of his face immediately heats up, not realizing that he was staring at you. He immediately shrinks a bit and rips his gaze from you, whispering an apology.

Neither of you are first kite, nor do you get a heartbeat. You got a friendly hunter! Not only that, but it’s Red Church night! And you know how Andrew likes this setting as the night sky graces the environment, illuminated by candle lights and jack-o'-lanterns.

Finally, you found him in a corner, decoding a cipher, decoding away. You join him, a small smile on your face. You for him to talk to you first, to get comfortable, allowing him to simply enjoy your close presence. When the cipher was popped, there was silence between you both.

“You… Y-You look… Divine tonight, y/n,” he said softly, his red eyes meeting yours. Even if a lot was exposed, he saw past that, appreciating you... for you! Though, he did struggle a bit to keep his eyes on you, wanting to be respectful. “Thank you, my sweet Andrew.”

Since there’s not much to worry about, you two stay close together, enjoying each other’s presence while the other three were in the basement for some reason. Andrew followed you around in his shovel state, popping out halfway once you stopped, looking up at you curiously.

You crouched down, gently cupping his face in your lace gloves with a smile on your face. You brush some dirt from him, something you’ve grown used to. Leaning down, you press a soft kiss onto his forehead, making his breath hitch in his throat, his pale face becoming red once again, matching the blood red lipstick stain you left on his skin.

Naib Subedar “Mercenary”

When you take your seat beside him, you hum and tap the table in front of him, trying to get his attention. But he scoffs, keeping his arms crossed as he keeps his head lowered, hood over his eyes. “What?? No costume? I think you’ll like mine!” you cheer, but it doesn’t deter him from acting like… himself. You hum and push your plate of food to him, to which he accepts, giving you a nod of gratitude.

You take the first kite, but it doesn’t go so well. Whether you got terrorshocked on purpose or not, it doesn’t matter because the motherfuckin’ mercenary is on your team.

While you’re squirming on the chair, Naib suddenly slams into it from the power of his elbow pads, his arm over your head. The hunter had left, not needing to camp… Or they just got greedy after getting a terrorshock so early into the game.

His eyes lock onto yours, his brow furrowed as he took a sharp breath of air. “We gotta go; they’re sure to be back. Getting cocky 'cause you got terrorshocked,” he said in a low, hushed tone.

His strong hand takes the handle of the chair, ready to lift it off you until he pauses, looking down at your revealing costume, added with the angle he had of you as he loomed over your form.

Naib lifted the handle off of you, ripping the cuffs off before taking your wrist. He says nothing, dragging you along with him to safety as another survivor calls out that the hunter was on them. He takes you to a cipher, and when you decode with him, you realize he had missed many calibrations. He was actually on edge, worried about you. He definitely noticed your costume and stayed close to you for the rest of the game, practically your shadow, glaring daggers around the others.

[osamucide]

⊹ THE FIRST TASTE

LET IT BEGIN, HEAVEN CANNOT WAIT FOREVER . . . ft. Osamu Dazai

wc: ~3.6k

cw: NSFW CONTENT—MDNI (I BLOCK AGELESS+BLANK BLOGS), ada+masc!reader, reader has a tongue piercing, pet names (pretty boy and cutie for u), romantic and sexual tension, established flirtationship->new relationship?, a lil alcohol, making out, oral fixation/finger sucking, oral sex (Dazai receiving), cum eating (Dazai lol), patheticzai makes a spectacle of your shyness even though he can't just ask for what he wants good thing u have telepathy with him /j

reid: trade w my sweet friend @rossithepixie / @selfindulgentpixies who masterminded some beautiful osareid art for me <3 (if u havent seen it yet dw i will be reblogging it a million more times but also check out rossi's work neow cause he's super talented). thank you for trusting me with this rossi—it was such a blast to do a little lovesick dazai desperately chasing ur cute lil self into a corner (i listened to fiona apple's song with the same title a lot while i wrote this—is it obvious? lol). i hope u enjoy so much <3

It’s a cute little habit of yours. Unconscious, he knows, but that makes it no less cute. No less dangerous. 

Everyone notices you do it—Atsushi pointed out the jewelry poking from your mouth with awe when he first caught you fidgeting with it (“People can have piercings there? That’s so cool”)—but Osamu highly doubts anyone finds it nearly as charming, as endearing as he himself does. After all, he’s the one consistently wheeling over next to you on his chair to fold his arms under his chin on your desk and admire you unashamedly while you tie a loose end around a sentence in whatever report you’re writing before even thinking about turning your attention to him. 

So diligent. 

That’s another cute thing about you. You've been a star worker, really, since you started. In the months since you got hired, your reports have been nothing but thorough and on time; even your first steps into fieldwork as a detective have been spotless, practiced, as if you already know this work like the back of your hand. You’re personable yet serious, easygoing and dedicated all at the same time, continually proving your worth as a voice of reason and contribution around the meeting table as well as a supportive, kind, all-around more than pleasant coworker on and off of crime scenes. Not to mention, your ability’s nothing to scoff at.

You’re a true asset to the Armed Detective Agency. 

Which is why Kunikida’s glaring Osamu down again, threatening him silently with an HR department that unfortunately doesn’t exist—because, yes, you are for all intents and purposes perfect for this workplace and the blond man will simply not have you driven off by his partner’s insufferable tendencies. 

Even Kunikida’s wrath, however, is scarcely known to deter Osamu Dazai, and that is why, when he notices you doing it again—toying with the metal bar through your tongue in an absentminded display of your oh-so-coveted concentration on and application to your task, he scoots himself right over, rowing on his heels, brushing admonishing stares like he might dust off his shoulder and settling next to you, chin in his palm, feet knocking into yours beneath your desk. 

As expected, you don’t turn to him immediately. All the better. Gives him a few seconds more to admire you, your parted lips, the glint of the metal and your pretty teeth against the natural light streaming into the office on this lovely day, made all the lovelier by the vision of your adorable expression.

But when you do, it’s melt-worthy. 

“Hi, Osamu,” you mumble, turning your eyes to him and tucking your tongue back in to offer him that sweet but aware, workplace-appropriate smile that makes him grin even further. You’d have to be naive not to know he wants to strip you of that professionalism, but you make sure to give him time of day in only the most graceful way when you’re both at the office; for as charming as he is, and for as much as you must shyly admit you find him endearing just the same, you don’t turn a blind eye to his cunning nature. 

And like so many things, it’s a bit of a game that he enjoys—seeing what he can do to crack that competence of yours. 

But today he’s restless, so he punches low from the jump. 

“Hi, pretty boy,” he purrs, gaze searing into you. Signature. 

And just like he hopes, your brow raises and you look away, pursing your lips to mask your reaction to his antics. He usually toys with you a little longer before he brandishes the pet name he knows all too well gets your cheeks glowing pink in an instant—and that’s exactly what they do. Your coyness can’t hide that. 

“Eager today, are we?” you fill the silence with the lighthearted accusation, busying yourself on your keyboard so as to fight off the squirming you’re sensing will be futile to escape this afternoon.

“Yup.” When he pops the p, he nudges your ankle with his own. 

But in your busying, the tip of your tongue flicks out again, and Osamu’s seemingly-aimless display of fluster-inducing attention surges toward its goal, which he’s been contemplating for a few days now, actually: getting you out of this stuffy office (or the all-too public nearby bar you’ve started frequenting with him after hours, strictly as friends it seems—if friends tangle their fingers together after a few cocktails and then don’t make mention of it the next day, anyway) and into his dorm, which he actually tidied up because he calculated with most near-certainty there couldn’t possibly exist a world in which you’d turn down such an invitation. So he hopes, anyway. For as player as he acts, the way you make him feel sows seeds of doubt in him and his usual methods of seduction. You know full well how sincerely captivated he is by you… right? You must. You have to. 

“You know,” he continues, “I was wondering…” 

Mincing his words is never part of his plans. Unless, of course, it’ll draw a desired outcome closer than being direct will. But now, Osamu finds himself almost hesitating, with no prior inclination to do so; he’s wondering, not thinking, like he seems to do so much when you’re near him, and he doesn't know if you fully realize it, but you might have more control over… whatever this is between you than he does.

You tilt your head, still turned to your screen, as if it begins to occur to you. 

“...Drinks at my place?” he spits out—pointedly dropping the “double suicide?” intonation so it’s clear he’s serious—before he can give any more indication that he’s slipping.

When you look to him again, Osamu’s filled the space of his doubt with that low-lidded grin once more.

“Tonight?” 

“Tonight? Oh—” You clear your throat in a way that sounds oddly affirmative, as if you’re trying to keep it from bubbling out too soon. You’re so assured in everything else you do around here, so Osamu, ever the contrarian, regains his balance on the premise of your shyness. When you go to confirm, you’ve all but lost your teasing lilt. The flush on your face doesn’t miss him. “Yeah, that’d be nice, Osamu.” 

Nice. If he didn’t have an image to upkeep, he’d leap up and fistpump the air like a cartoon character. Perhaps, if he were more in tune with his hand-to-god emotions, he’d crumble to the floor in a ball wondering what the hell he’s getting himself into.

He doesn’t do this. He doesn’t clean his dorm, much less invite romantic prospects over to it. You’re new territory in the way he feels freshly determined not to mess up, so he keeps himself composed behind that smile. “When are you out of here?” 

“I can be out of here whenever you’re out of here,” you mumble, your lips pressed into a smirk you won’t let unfurl fully. He wishes you would. He’ll get you to. If he had it his way, he’d whisk you out of here now, clock be damned, and pop open that red dessert wine he picked up specifically for the event in which you would land on his uncomfortable little couch with your tongue lingering in, hopefully, closer proximity to his own. He’s seen you tipsy; you don’t suppress that air of sheepish enthrallment so much when you are, and he’s impatient for it. He needs more of you.

But it’s three in the afternoon, and Kunikida’s abruptly dragging Osamu by the collar of his shirt like a puppy on a leash to roll him back over to his own damn desk, muttering something about how if he had any decency he’d leave you the hell alone and if he wasn’t going to contribute anything of worth to the Agency’s productivity yield, the least he could do was not disturb those who are. 

This makes you chuckle fully as you shake your head. Osamu eats it up—and he doesn’t hide it, eyeing you with something most akin to yearning in his gaze. You have such an effortless knack for putting hearts in his eyes in a way he’s not used to. 

The rest of his shift dawdles by; as a way to pass the time, Osamu volunteers himself to run out and pick up the Thai takeout for those who will be clocking out later than he hopes he will. Kunikida so graciously (read: reluctantly and irritatedly) let him order on his card, so he claimed it as repayment; really, he needed to get out of his desk chair. 

He feels insane watching you play with that piercing of yours, his stack of unfinished reports (or, pre-construction paper planes) serving as no distraction. 

He delivers your spring rolls to you with a wink. He eats his pad thai and fools around on his desktop. He watches the sun streak down the window.

He actually considers getting some work done. It’s nearly torture.

He gets up to leave the second the clock strikes eight. If he was bad at focusing on work before, you’ve ruined him. 

The implication’s all too clear when you’re stepping into the evening air behind him. You don’t mind—it’s evident in your reserved but knowing smile, the one he so terribly wants to unravel. 

His place is threadbare, but cozy. You curl yourself up on one of the two couch cushions while Osamu sets two empty glasses and a bottle on the low table before you—he’s eager, too, for the wine; he’s aching to dispel both your timidity and his anxiety that it feeds. Maybe it’s just that he can’t seem to handle himself positively spiraling over you while you remain enchantingly reticent, quiet in the desire he knows flows between you both. Usually, he’s the one with all the self-control. Tonight he’s counting on you missing the tremble in his fingers as he pours. 

“Kunikida’s such a hardass, isn’t he?” he muses while he tucks a glass into your hand and draws himself up onto the couch, facing you, leaving a respectful but still considerably involved distance between you. Your knee almost touches his. “Berating me for something as little as asking such a cutie to come over for drinks. It’d be more criminal not to, I think.” 

You chuckle at his dramatics, taking a sip. It’s sweet, red. You remind him, “We are coworkers, Osamu.” 

He cocks his head, drinking deeper than you do, with a thoughtful look on his gorgeous face. He hums and reminds you, “We’re not just coworkers.” 

Your chuckle becomes a giggle—one less dubious than the short, amused headshakes you save for the office—and with your next question, he knows he’s pulling you in. You’ve been dancing around each other long enough; he’s warm, trying not to overflow when you speak—you finally sound ready to acknowledge what’s been turning him into a mess for you when you hum and press skittishly. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging. 

“What else are we then, hm?” 

Your bashfulness reads so seamlessly as effortless wooing—he wonders if you’re so purely humble, or actually a mastermind of coquetry. The way you keep yourself veiled, thinly enough to keep him pining for more of you but staunchly too so that he constantly doubts whether the cat or the mouse has the upper hand, turns him to mush—absolute pathetic mush—and he answers a question with a question. You’ve got him going against all sorts of personal philosophy. 

“What else do you wanna be?” 

The answer gets lost between shifting hands, closing space, conversation and jokes that relax further and further as you both stabilize into one another over the following hour or so. A couple more glasses of wine are poured, drank, tasted—at some point in the blackening night you end up astride his lap in the dim lamplight with your glass in triumphant hand, tucking his hair behind his ear while he cups your face, simpers out another remark that makes you blush and wave him away; Osamu looks at you with something you can only construe through your buzz as pure want. Coming down from laughter that screws your eyes shut—he’s never short on humor, which is one of the things you think you love—love? about him, you say it aloud, tell him you do in fact love that about him and if he was all pure want a moment before, now he’s pure shock. 

But he plays it off in his way; you watch the intricate way he takes no more than a half-second to collect himself, just tipsy enough to get snagged on the words love that about you that the half-second seems a feature-length film to you—one you would watch over, over, over again. 

Osamu slides four fingers on one side of your jaw, thumb on the other—holding your chin gently but firmly in place so he can bore like fire into you.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asks, half sincere, half flirtatious. Your gaze scatters momentarily beneath his; you take a second, copy his recovery.  

You hesitate before you say, “I think I have some idea,” fully sincere, fully flirtatious. When you pinch your bottom lip between your teeth—not an unconscious habit but an intentional move in this game—he thinks this is what middle school boys must feel like the first time they get close to their crush. It sickens him so sweetly, like he’s swallowed a lump of sugar. He wants more. 

Your breath coils around his between your noses, between your mouths. The wine in your glass sloshes and settles.  

“Can I tell you what drives me crazy?” he breathes. 

You nod like you’ve been waiting lifetimes to know. 

He answers not with words but a touch to your lip—a stroke back and forth that leaves you parting for him. He leaves feather-light fingerprints on the sharp of your front teeth, pushing, slowly, forward until the hot muscle in your mouth cradles his thumb and he’s touching that devil-sent piercing of yours, the ball all at once cool and warm as it twirls to evade him.

“This,” he whispers, chasing the metal back and forth. “This drives me crazy.” 

You don’t respond with anything but suction, a soft bob of your head like you understand, and a hmm.

Osamu thinks he might implode beneath you. 

His attention has hardly ever felt so streamlined as when you search his face, circle his thumb, wet it for him to retract and drag down your chin while you draw your brow together like you miss it—his eyes are all yours, wide and waiting and holding the answers to all the questions drifting around, surrounding both of you. 

The kiss is searing as he pulls you into him—or, hardly has to, rather, as your eyes flutter shut and you lean to meet him, five of your fingers matching his grip but on his shoulder while you suffocate that mingled breath so it becomes mingled spit, mingled tongues. He worms himself past your lips, into you—he almost moans when the tip of his own tongue brushes across the jewelry sitting on the pad of your tongue like a pearl in an oyster. He’s finally cracking you open. It makes him smile wickedly into you. 

Your arms locking around his neck leave him rolling into you hotly, asking for you with anything but words which escape him again now—so uncharacteristic, but he’s lucky you’re both too entangled to notice, for words aren’t necessary right now; he’s ushering your wine glass out of your hand, setting his, too, onto the table so you can wind your fingers in his hair and tug, prompting the sweetest gasps that you echo back into him while he guides your hips across him. The fervor either of you holds is indistinguishable from the other; you grind, he grips you, the harder he grips you the harder you grind and vice versa until he’s biting down the column of your neck toward absolution. 

He mutters your name through an umph; you pick his lips back up the second he goes for air, and he goes for your tongue. When you pull back to observe him, mirroring you in kiss-puffiness and staccato breath, he’s wild between your eyes and your lips. 

“That’s all for you,” he tells you when he grabs your wrist and guides you to palm his cock before you hit him with another question for the ages—one that will not receive a verbal answer but a noise from his throat he swears he’s never heard himself make before.

“Wanna feel it?” 

God, has he ever wanted anything more in his life? The erection he’s built up just from kissing you, moving you against him, is all the evidence either of you need. 

Regardless, Osamu’s nodding fervently, chocolate locks swaying. 

So, you take your turn kissing down him until you’re pooled at his feet, between his knees, with devoted fingers undoing the button on his pants; the task at hand, so sweetly and circularly, has your tongue poking out in concentration as you work his waistband down. Osamu twitches at the sight—he doesn’t mean to mutter you’re so fucking adorable but he does, he does. It’s your turn to grin wickedly as you take his cock out, your turn to tease with your thumb on his drooling tip, your turn to explore with your mouth. 

You’ve had the reins all this time, really—from the first day you sat at your desk, making that attentive face. He must be the luckiest sucker in the world to have ended up here, with your shining eyes watching him fall apart as your honeyed lips guide him toward sweet devastation. 

The first stripe you lick up his underside sends Osamu’s head flying back, jaw falling slack on the end of a breathy “fuck!”

And he feels every stride of your tongue piercing when you wrap your lips around his tip and swirl. 

The sounds you draw from Osamu’s open mouth are like song; diligent in this task as you are every other one, it’s hardly a minute before he’s tangling his fingers in your hair, crooning your name between broken praises that come naturally as you hold him, lick him, look up at him with eyes that he thinks could turn him to stone—if only you had been evil, that is, but realistically, you can’t be anything other than an angel. 

“Pretty boy, you—” 

At that name, you groan. Take him further. 

And through how good it feels, he laughs. 

“Oh, you like that? Huh?” He could pull you off him if he wanted a response, but you’re too heavenly to interrupt—anyway, he already knows how you feel about pretty boy. 

You hum around him—another sensation that sends him reeling with oh, god on his lips. 

“That’s it… Feels s’good on me. Unh—yeah, like that…” 

Indirectivity and grandeur has always been something Osamu considers himself a professional in—everything you do throws him for a loop and the way you bob up and down does him no favors. He whines in the way he does when he’s already going to finish all too quickly, but the fact that it’s you bringing him to his end—his cute coworker he’s been pining after since your first day on the job, the one that’s inspired such foreign feelings of wonder in his long-gone-cold heart—has him unreservedly bucking his hips into your mouth as you rake your nails down his thighs, ardent in this undertaking, bobbing frantically like all you’ve ever wanted was to have him noisy and messy underneath you like this. 

“‘m gonna—oh, fuck!” 

But he doesn’t have to tell you; you feel him, spasming on your tongue against the otherworldly friction your jewelry provides—his true downfall, that thing, and the image of you formed around it—you pursue his climax like a predator pursuing prey, pulling away to give him that false sense of security as you rise to your feet, pounce back over him and kiss him so intensely while you handle him, jerk him to orgasm between your bodies; Osamu’s hoarse, aching as he humps the hole you make with your fist and chants yes, yes, yes, please! into your mouth, tasting metal, never wanting it to leave.

He settles into soft panting as you draw your fingers up; he’s beginning to speak— “You’re so—” but you’re cutting him off so he can suck your fingers, taste himself and the way you’ve shattered him so beautifully. And he does, he laps like a man possessed, obsessed with the flavor of himself if only it’s leaving your skin, before you let him continue. “You’re incredible. You and that piercing.” 

You huff out a laugh, but it’s true. He’s convinced you’re a dream in every sense of the word—how did he get so lucky, no—how did the earth get so lucky to have you dropped upon it, right here in Yokohama, doing such scandalous things with that godly mouth of yours? 

“I try,” you quip with a half-shrug, smiling softly, kissing him just so. 

“Do you, now?” Osamu Dazai, who so often loses those good things before he can really grasp them, takes note of another new sensation—unwavering resolve, in the amorous sense—and concludes that if he can help it, this dream will not slip away so quickly. He can’t possibly send you back up to heaven.

He grabs your hips, pulls you onto him. 

Everything you are—all hard working, handsome face, sweet disposition, and tongue ring—he’s wanted it for so long; it would be nonsensical, a tragedy, to let the same evening air you stumbled in on steal you away again.

This is a dilemma he doesn’t have a solution to; not immediately. 

But he speaks anyway, smirking and toying with the button on your pants, overwhelming your frame to put your back to the cushions—turn you into a mess for him.

“Your turn, pretty boy.” 

[wondrluv]

୨୧ just what you needed ; pb5

➪ summary: your winter break had a handful of friend drama that you were sure was just caused by your overthinking, but nonetheless, paige knows exactly what you need to be cheered up

➪ warnings: none !

➪ word count: 1.6k

➪ emma's notes: idk what to say except i hope you enjoy !

© wondrluv ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

Being an introvert, making friends has always been hard for you. Which is why you were always content with the few friends you did have, having them was enough for you, you never needed anything more than them. 

Your friends proved to be a distraction from the fact that you had a hard time making friends in the first place, they made you seem like you were the most outgoing, extroverted person they had ever met, and they made you feel somewhat normal about it, specifically.

You had met Fiona earlier in the semester, she was a transfer student from Ohio who simply just wanted to be closer to home. The two of you had gotten along really well, bonding over similar interests and the random things you two had always seemed to find yourselves talking about. 

But recently, with being away from most of your friends due to winter break, your overthinking capabilities seemed to work overtime, reading into every single thing they did or didn’t do. You had always told yourself that that had been one of your biggest flaws and that that was the thing you needed to work on.

You pushed the thoughts out of your head, snapping back to the present where you were sitting in your dorm room reading a book. It was the first week back in Connecticut since break had ended, and you were settling in as well as you could have with how much your mind was reeling. 

Before you could send yourself down another spiral of self-deprecating thoughts, a knock on the door pulled your attention, slipping your bookmark into your book and placing it on your desk, making your way over to the door. 

You opened the door, you couldn’t have been more thankful to see who was standing on the other side of it. Paige was there, grocery bag and duffle bag in hand, and a wide smile on her lips, “Hey ma, how’s my favorite girl doing?”

You mustered up a small smile, leaning your head against the edge of the door as you stepped aside to let her in, “Could be worse, could be better.”

She was quick to step past you, throwing her duffle bag on the ground and setting the grocery bag on your bed. When she turned to face you again, her face instantly softened, you looked exhausted. “C’mere,” her voice murmured, opening her arms for you and watching you with a sharp gaze.

You couldn’t help how fast it took you to walk into her arms, wrapping your arms around her torso, grip tight. You buried your head into her chest, trying to stop the emotions that rushed through you from coming out. The tears that threatened to spill over were kept in my how tight you squeezed your eyes shut, determined not to let Paige find out what had happened, at least not yet. 

“Missed you.” Her voice was gentle as she spoke, something you were positive only you were accustomed to.

“Missed you more.”

You felt the vibrations of her light chuckle against your head, subconsciously tightening your arms around her in response. She pulled away anyway, moving to cup your face with her hands, leaning her forehead against yours. 

And for a few minutes, the two of you just stood like that. Paige takes in every detail of your face; your freckles, the slight bags under your eyes accompanied by the growing dark circles, the dimmed spark in your eyes, the lines on your forehead, the soft pink tint to your cheeks.

“So, what’s going on?”

Your eyes widened almost comically, only pulling away slightly to look her in the face, “What? Nothing wrong, what do you mean?”

You knew she saw right through your defensive demeanor, moving her hands down to yours, encircling your wrists, and rubbing small circles on the insides of them. She raised an eyebrow, her lips slightly downturned at your deflection, “I know you well enough to know that something is bothering you, y/n/n.”

The groan you let out echoed through your dorm, “I hate how well you know me.”

Paige smirked as she watched you bite your lip somewhat anxiously, intertwining her fingers with yours and bringing the other hand up to tilt your chin to look at her, “And I love how well I know you.” She cocked her head to the side slightly, looking you up and down before speaking again, “C’mon, spill it, ma.”

Once again, hesitancy cluttered your mind, stopping you from speaking. Maybe you should keep your thoughts to yourself, you have always been one to overshare and that includes your overthinking abilities. This could all just be a simple misunderstanding and you could be reading too much into it and- 

“Baby, talk to me. Please.” Paige’s slight pleading voice broke your trance, and you stared at her, looking into her eyes that shone with worry and protectiveness.

“It’s just friend drama… I guess.” You muttered, trying to take the simple route out of this conversation. But you should’ve known better when your girlfriend’s hand dropped to your waist to pull you closer.

Her frown grew at the short phrase, trying to get more out of you, “You sure that’s it?”

You sighed, fully prepared to know that this was going to be a much longer conversation than you had hoped for. You rested your forehead against her chest, closing your eyes as her hand came up to tangle in your head, scratching at your scalp as you spoke, “Technically I wasn’t lying, it is friend drama.”

“Must be more serious friend drama than what I’m used to hearing about, I take it?” Her chin rested on your head, continuing her previous actions. 

“Involves me.”

She hummed quietly, “I assumed that, ma. What happened?”

“Remember Fiona, the transfer student?”

You felt her nod, taking the motion as the cue to continue, “I introduced her to my friends and we were all having a good time and hanging out and whatnot. But recently, I just- I think she’s been ignoring me. I’m probably reading too much into this, it’s stupid. Forget I said anything.”

Thoughts of being a burden enveloped you, trying to back out of the conversation again. You always read too much into things, that’s what your parents had told you. Read too much into people’s actions and what they said, could never just settle on a simple meaning. 

“Don’t- don’t do that. Talk to me. I’m not going to judge you, I’m here for you, even if that means fighting your little realities you got going on up there.”

Her words earned a chuckle out of you, you could feel the tension in your shoulders ease and your mind became a little less overwhelmed. When you looked back up at her, she smiled at you, signaling for you to go on.

As you talked you could feel her grip on your hair tighten slightly when you would mention something particularly frustrating about the situation, or something that had upset you. You could feel the small circles Paige drew on your lower back with her thumb from when she had casually slipped her hand under your shirt to rest it there.

She listened intently to everything you said, keeping her fingers moving through your hair with the occasional head scratch. She didn’t speak, not until she was sure you were done talking and had exhausted yourself from the small rant you had gone on. 

You blinked slowly once you finished, letting out a small breath of relief, your brain felt less crowded and cluttered now, and all you could think about was cuddling up with Paige and letting her take care of you. 

With what little energy you had left, you looked up at her, catching her gaze immediately. You could see the way her face softened once her eyes locked on yours, giving you a soft smile, “How about we order some food and watch a movie?”

She always knew exactly what you needed, so you nodded, allowing her to lead you back to your bed as she handed you the grocery bag she had placed there earlier. When you opened the bag, you couldn’t help but grin at all of your favorite candy and your favorite drink she had in there. Looking over at her, you watched as she placed an order for what you could only assume was your guilty pleasure restaurant, her brow furrowed in concentration. 

You leaned over, kissing her cheek before settling into her side, navigating your TV to the streaming platform that had your favorite movie, missing the way her lips replicated your smile as she glanced at you. 

ﾟ+*:୨୧:*﹤

The food was taking longer than you would like it to and you were all for letting it show, a pout on your face as you watched your favorite movie. And Paige, of course, was finding this amusing as always, laughing every time she would look over at you. 

“Baby stop pouting, it’ll be here soon.”

“Not soon enough.”

She rolled her eyes at your level of impatience, drawing you closer into her, arm wrapping around your waist to do so. She placed a kiss on the top of your head, she murmured, “You doing okay?”

“Better than before.” You replied, and it was the truth. While you weren’t completely back to your usual sarcastic self you were close to getting there and it was because of her and how she always seemed to know what you needed to feel better.

PB5 MASTERLIST ; WBB MASTERLIST

TAGLIST ; NAVIGATION

[livelaughloveluffy]

yearning - monkey d. luffy

a/n: currently in the mood to yearn tonight... its probably the fiona apple playing in the background as inspo to write.. anywho!! i wanted to start a new series about reader's pov of falling for the boys because i seriously just need to gush about how much i love and adore and want these men 😭😭😭 so i hope you guys enjoy this!!

nothing but fluff here 💗

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it was absolutely impossible to not be drawn to the captain of the straw hat pirates. luffy simply radiated joy and kindness, and while he can be extremely straight-forward, trusting to a fault, and at times naive, his pure love and affection for those around him is so plainly addicting to be around.

since the very first time your eyes were graced with the sight of the raven-haired boy's wide smile, your heart couldn't help but just melt and the overwhelming feeling of willing to do anything to never see it leave his face utterly consumed you.

•♡•

when the captain had asked you to join his on his journey to become the king of the pirates, you were initially shocked. what had he seen in you to view you as valuable enough to need in his crew?

it was not unknown that luffy could have some questionable taste at time, not hesitating to invite animals, zombies, or other strange creature to join the straw hats with the same wide smile he had shown you.. that's just who he was.

but nothing quelled those doubts as instantly as his wholehearted smile when he called your name.

•♡•

it was just after breakfast, a bright and sunny day on the thousand sunny, you stood outside the kitchen leaning against the wall overlooking the deck. luffy, usopp, and chopper had run out of the kitchen just 10 minutes prior, clearly in a hurry to go back to whatever fun shenanigans they had planned for the day full of travel on the open ocean.

the three laughing and chasing each other in circles on the small deck. the captain throwing his head back laughing, watching as his body began to lean with him as well, making him fall to the floor. and now his laugh can finally reach your ears, as the raven-haired boy's now trapped in a laughing fit, finding his fall absolutely hilarious.

you didn't notice the smile grow on your face, but the blonde-haired chef who had just stepped out for his post-breakfast cigarette did.

"he's definitely something special... don't you think?" sanji gently murmured, with a sly smile itching at the edge of his lips.

the blush on your cheeks didn't go unnoticed by the chef when you looked at him with wide eyes, before responding with a meek nod and a small whispered "yeah... he really is.."

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tags ♡: @dindjarins1ut ; want to join the taglist? click here!!

a/n: i was listening to "i want you to love me" on repeat in case you were wondering 😭😭 and you most definitely can tell 💀

a/n: enjoyed this fic? here's my masterlist!!

[kadwrites]

my mother's daughter | T.S

previous part | next part

or check out the series masterlist

summary ; you and your mother get into a heated argument

warnings ; arranged marriage!trope , angst , mommy issues?, fluff, soft!tommy , your mother is kinda annoying , ada is a girls girl idk

a/n ; i don't know what to think of this part ??

-

your nostrils flared as you stride through the venue's corridors to the room your family had booked to get ready in.

madeline and fiona walk behind you, too nervous to say anything. tommy stayed behind, too many important people were there , he couldn't just disappear yet.

you open the door and there she is, celest and her daughters around her, you lift your dress and crouch

"what did she do?" you drop the dress and hold her face in your hands , looking at her. her eyes red and her lips quivering

"it's okay..."

"no it's fucking not."

"why are you here? you should be with the guests!"

your face twitches and your sister grips your hands whispering "no no no."

your nieces hold their breath as they stare at eachother. the room is tense , the air feels scarce

you turn around, your chest is heaving with angry, shallow breaths "what the fuck is wrong with ya mum?"

she closes the door behind her, fearing someone will hear. someone was hearing all of this, madeline and fiona were behind the door.

"what are you on about , young lady?" she speaks sternly

"and ya 'ave the fucking nerve to act angry?" you walk closer, moments from the day she told you about the marriage flashing in your head "look at what ya did to 'er!"

"she wanted to wear my necklace!" she raised her voice

"who cares? it's just a necklace!" you raise your voice too

"i do! it was meant for you, not her" she points at your sister "she got her own engagement party and her own wedding when she married that twat."

"i don't fucking want it mum, i don't want the fucking necklace." your teeth grind against eachother "i don't want anything from ya."

"how dare you...." she points her finger at you now

"no mum, no ya don't get to play this fucking card anymore" your voice cracks "why couldn't ya just let us be fucking happy for once mum? why did ya 'ave to do this?" your eyes fill with tears "right when i started being happy again? when i accepted everything? you do this"

"you're acting like i ruined your party!"

"ya made my sister cry!" you point at celest "she's been the one that's comforting me, taking care of me when ya were too busy playing the role of the self righteous mother." you take a step back , pointing at celest "she will wear whatever the fuck she wants,"

your mother puts a hand on her chest "how could you speak to me like that?"

"how could ya be so selfish mum?"

"selfish?" she chuckles bitterly "you wouldn't be here without me..." she points at the door behind her "this place? you wouldn't have even dreamt of seeing without me, that dress? you wouldn't have even touched without me, nothing here would be even a reality with me."

your jaw clenches and you just stare at her, in disbelief.

you just walk out, your feet leading you to god knows where,

your mother glares at celest before turning but stopping in her tracks, seeing tommy at the door.

"girls, would ya please take your mother out? maybe take 'er to the ladies room yeah? let 'er wash 'er face." he stares at your mother while he speaks, and your nieces scurry out with their own mother

"excuse me." your mother tries to leave but he blocks her way again

"get back in here."

she turns, staring back at him

"ya will listen to me , and ya will listen carefully." he speaks in a monotone voice "ya will go to your daughter, and ya will apologize and ya will fucking behave for the rest of the night."

"what?" her brows are furrowed, she's offended

"and if ya even think of pulling a stunt like that on our wedding day, i will drag ya out of it kicking and screaming if i 'ave to." he doesn't falter or even respond to what she said

"this is a family matter, it doesn't concern you."

"she is my family," he gets closer to her "ya do not want to test me , elizabeth. ya know what im capable of."

"what are you going to do thomas? kill me?" she asks with a bitter hiss

"ya arranged this whole thing so i can protect your daughter did ya not? , that's what im fucking doing" he doesn't even dignify her protests "ya will act like a happy mother, ya will not embarrass me or my fiancée , ya will not cause a fucking scene in my engagement, do ya hear?"

she doesn't speak, just looking at him

"i said do ya fucking hear me, elizabeth?"

"yes."

"good."

you somehow found your way outside, to the garden, you sat on the marble steps. wiping off your tears as they continued to flow.

you see someone sit beside you in your peripheral vision, and you both don't talk for a minute.

"ya shouldn't cry tonight , it might bring bad luck, might curse your marriage." the person next to you spoke and you turn to see her

you recognize the features , you recognize the attitude.

"yeah well, it might as well be cursed." you look back at the beautiful rose garden, thinking maybe the sight of something beautiful will soothe the pain

"what's making ya cry then?" ada lights a cigarette, offering you one. you wave your hand, not wanting one.

"my mother" you say with a sigh, tears blurring the sight before you

"what 'appened ?"

"we had a fight about a stupid necklace" you look down, you see your tears landing on floor "i love 'er , but it's so hard for me to like 'er. it's so hard to just be around 'er"

"does she do this often ? making ya cry?"

"i guess the same way all mothers do" you speak softly, as you look at her

"why are ya letting 'er do that to ya?" she says with a raised brow "tommy says ya got fire in ya"

"well it's 'er fire that lit mine" you chuckle "it feels like i'm so much like 'er and yet we are nothing alike"

"ya 'ave two choices" she exhales the cloud of smoke as she motions with her cigarette "ya either let 'er win, let 'er make ya cry one more time or ya go and enjoy your fucking engagement party that ya spent days planning"

before you get to answer you hear a set of footsteps that are heading towards you, and when you look over your shoulder it's none other than your husband-to-be , standing there , his eyes drifting between you and his sister

you stand, looking at him, and you can't help the tear that runs down your face again

ada looks at the both of you, almost amused at how soft her brother seems, and he looks at her "would ya fucking mind?"

she puts her hands up, surrendering before walking off , still smiling in amusement

"ya can't cry today"

"bad luck aye?"

"that" he nods "and ya'll ruin your fucking makeup."

you chuckle, wiping off your tears "i'm sorry...".

he's never seen you like this, and nothing could've prepared him for how tight his chest would feel when he looked at you and saw those eyes of yours red and wet, your cheeks almost stained with tears and your voice filled with misery

"for what?" he asks softly , his body moves on its own, his thumb wipes away the tears

"for leaving alone with the guests" you sniffle a little bit, "for crying too"

"nothing for ya to apologize for."

you take a deep breath and fix any stray hairs, you smooth down your dress "we should go back"


"look at me." he puts his hands on your shoulders and speaks with a small smile "say 'i will not let my mummy make me cry tonight' "

you raise a brow "no"

"say it now come on"

"i will not let my mummy make me cry tonight" you give him a tight lipped smile "happy?"

"very." he let's you loop your arms with his as you go back to the party.

the rest of the evening went smoothly , the guests were happy, and you were too. tommy kept your mother away from you. and you didn't even notice. celest laughed and drank with you and your friends, your dad and your brothers were having the time of their lives.

"i want to propose a toast, to the two lovely groom and bride to be. i wish you all the happiness" a guest, you recognized as a business partner of tommy's

you smiled and your champagne flute went up, and so did tommy's. and then your mother got up, holding her own flute , and your smile faltered.

tommy grasped your hand under the table , and you just glanced at him before looking back at your mother

"i want to propose a toast as well," your mother smiled, looking at you. "to my lovely daughter and tommy, i wish you both a happy long life and a bright future, cheers!"

you smiled and sipped your drink, and tommy never took his eyes off your mother

"i think i might just lose my mind and go fight 'er again." you whisper into tommy's ear, your hand on his shoulder, the other hand in his, he holds your waist as you two dance "or stab 'er with a spoon... i don't know."

he chuckled and you glared at him again "i'm glad ya find my misery amusing."

"it's less your misery and more your angry face" he murmured

you scoff and you look away, trying very hard to not smile

"ya look beautiful" his voice wasn't playful, and his eyes were soft on you.

suddenly you were hyperaware of his touch on your waist, his hand gripping yours.

you look at him again,"thank you" your smile gives you away "ya look good too, ya always do"

"i do?" he raised a brow and an amused smirk replaced his smile

"ya don't 'ave a mirror in your mansion?"

-

taglist ; @tardisloverz , @optimisticsandwichgladiator , @theshelbyslimited , @illuminwtesz , @goldensunflowe-r , @gruffle1 , @warrior-of-justice , @mgdixon , @babayaga67 , @goblinjnr , @justaproudslytherpuff , @budugu, @twlegit , @amberpanda99 , @aesthetic0cherryblossom , @capswife , @lets-turn-and-burn , @affabletimelady , @edencherries , @globetrotter28 , @eg-dr3amer3 , @sadroses98 , @fairytale07 , @hakudaru , @swordofawriter, @esposadomd , @blogforficslol

[icyg4l]

Should You Shoot Your Shot?

hello beautiful people! i have been so busy with school & honestly, i haven’t been feeling up to par. i have some ideas drafted up but i would like to hear some suggestions from you guys. i am gonna turn my ask box on again! i would like to hear more than just fs readings though. also, i will continue with my halloween themed tarot series! look out for two drops in one day, my lovelies. if you would like to book a reading with me, go to my very first pinned post. thank you! :) without further ado, please select the pile that you are drawn to!

top left-to-bottom right: (1-4)

pile one: you are a strong soldier, my love. i feel like the person you're interested in has a lot of suitors and because of that, it will be hard to fully capture their attention. i feel like you need to soften your approach. if you're the type to post thirst traps or to post obvious subliminal, this person will overlook you. i honestly think that your best bet is to act unbothered. in your case, being laidback will work great in your case. also, I keep hearing "come harder just because". what I am getting from this is that you need to be more creative with the way that you shoot your shot. you may be surprised at who you may attract.

cards used: ace of flags, the high priestess, five of flags, elder of pentacles.

extras: butterfly shrimp. princess fiona. it's my d*ck in a box! christmas carols. new video game record. papa's pizzeria. shuffle the deck. gardener. fast-paced. fish hooks (2010).

pile two: i can tell that you have a type, pile two. you're the loving, nurturing type. you probably spoil your lovers with gifts and affection. however, you need to know when to pull back when you aren't receiving what you want. in your situation, you should go for it. shoot your shot! however, there is nothing wrong with wanting to take some initiative. however, based on your past experiences, you should try not to go all out this time. take your time. in the past, you could have been ghosted frequently or taken advantage of. you need to assert your boundaries. you are the prize, babe. go in with the attitude that this is not someone you need, but rather someone that you'd like to keep you company. if they want you, then they'd show you that through reciprocated action. remember that.

cards used: ace of lanterns, three of chalices, nine of flags, child of chalices, queen of lanterns, four of flags, child of flags, the house mother.

extras: wasted liquor. "spectacular". popular by demi lovato. hair in the wind. focusing on myself. self-worth. "sweetpea". diamonds dancing. parental issues. abandonment wounds.

pile three: baby, you don't have no business being romantically involved with anyone at this time. i heard the phrase "emotional turmoil". you recently could have gone through a drastic change in your life, specifically more to do with a loss (breakup, loss of a family member, job loss, etc). right now, there is a focus on your time of healing. you need to build up your spiritual endurance. if you are ready to give up on yourself, how can you give to others properly? if you decide to go and deal with this person, you won't be satisfied. this reminds me of a child getting attached to a toy and then ends up getting attached to another because it's newer. that's not healthy. people's emotions are not to be toyed with, pile three. it's possible that your gut issues will intensify if you decide to go against the grain and deal with this person. it's not worth it, babe. just wait your turn.

cards used: death, the star, the castle, queen of chalices, four of chalices, child of lanterns, the moon, eight of lanterns.

extras: sweet potato fries. count your blessings. paint the perfect picture. saweetie. 2000s photos. overly-emotional. comfort foods. sock-it-to-me cake. foreplay. rush. high rise.

pile four: pile four, it looks really good for you. not only should you shoot your shot, but there is a high chance of you connecting with this person on a spiritual level. therefore, this will actually result in something serious. i feel that this is a divinely orchestrated union. it's possible that you two could have mutual connections. it's possible that you could have been in the same place at the same time as them (red string theory hahaaa). i feel like your spirit guides are waiting for you to initiate the conversation. it's time to make shit happen. send the dm/message. it'll all be worth it. this is your time to shine, lovely.

cards used: eight of plants, the brujx, three of chalices, the grande dame.

extras: rose. sade listener. hijab. sweat. forty five degrees. kisses down low. i love the color pink. long legs. picky eater. choosey lover. secure attachment style. papa grande.

[teslasucks37]

hi tess! i hope you're having a good day!! could you possibly write dilf charlie hcs? or a fic, whichever you want. i know you're very busy, take your time. thank you!!

CW: NSFW under the cut (MDNI), afab!Reader (Use of “Miss”, feminine clothing, She/Her pronouns, and afab genitalia), Dilf!Charlie, YoungDad!Charlie (He’s his actual current age the reader is just young), Size Kink, Breeding Kink, Degredation 🤤🤤🤤

A/N: Holy moly! 3k+ words 😨 Didn’t have the courage to do a larger age gap cause they aren’t really my thing so a 5 year difference is a lot for me guys pls don’t bully me 😭

DILF!Charlie x Reader

Dilf Hcs!!!

Charlie hated the types of parents that showed up to these kinds of events.

Wasp moms who loved their sons a little too much, PTA nutjobs who only cared about looking good to other parents, deadbeat dads who would show up a little too happy to be there.

He was often one of the few, if not the only, dads who would show up to family events.

But he was really only here for Fiona.

The sweetest little girl ever, blonde hair half tied up in a little ponytail he’d done himself that morning, glanced at him from across the room and waved wildly.

She smiled that adorable gap toothed smile, waddling over to him and wrapping her arms around his leg.

“Hey, Fi.” He grinned, ruffling the hair on the top of her head lightly as he handed her the metal tin that he’d come to drop off in the first place. “I brought your treats for the bake sale, sorry I’m a little late.”

“It’s okay, Daddy!” She nuzzled her face into his leg, waving over a woman he hadn’t seen before.

Of course he hadn’t seen a lot of the adults there before, considering it was near the beginning of a new school year.

But this woman, he would have noticed her.

Her shoes tapped against the tile, her long colorful skirt flowing around her legs as she walked.

Charlie straightened his suit, brushing off any potential dust on his dress pants.

A cute blouse covered her torso, the long sleeves belling out at her wrists.

She looked young for a teacher, he supposed he shouldn’t judge.

He was pretty young to be a dad.

“Hi, Fiona! Who’s this?” You asked, more to the man than her.

He was a fancy looking man adorned in a suit, young and broad shouldered, handing a little girl you cared for deeply a tiny tin.

It was a very endearing sight.

He stuck out his hand immediately, probably used to speaking with headstrong businessmen considering the suit he was wearing than a barely-graduated kindergarten teacher.

You softly took his hand, shaking it as Fiona refused to move from his leg. “Hi, Miss Smith!”

“I’m Charlie-” He stopped himself, probably realizing that his name meant nothing to you. “Fiona’s dad.”

“Oh!” You exclaimed in recognition. “I’m her teacher. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Charlie’s eyebrows raised. “You have?”

You nodded, pressing a hand into Fiona’s back to guide her toward her spot at the table to lay out her treats.

“She gushes about you all the time.”

Fiona waddled over to her spot, opening the tin and staring at the frosted cookies.

“Wow, those look so nice. How did you manage that in time?” You glanced at Charlie, who looked a little guilty.

“Between you and me, I bought them 15 minutes ago.” He whispered to you, leaning closer, but not too close. “Don’t tell the other parents, though, they’d eat me alive.”

You snickered, covering your mouth with your hand.

Charlie grinned at your laugh, that he’d managed to make that happen.

“Hey, Fiona, those aren’t for us.” You suddenly spoke out in teacher mode, walking over to the kid and placing a hand on her back.

“But they look so good.” She pouted, her hand covering over the tin. “Can’t I have one? Just one?”

Your lips pressed together at her pleading. “I think I have some cash…” You fumbled through the pockets in your skirt in search of your wallet.

“Oh, please, no. I’ll pay for it.” Charlie interjected, pulling his wallet out of his pocket and slipping a dollar into the box. “Besides, this money is for classroom supplies. Don’t those come directly from your pocket already?”

You sighed with a grin, before nodding, watching as Fiona grabbed a cookie with small hands and took a bite.

Her face lit up, then rushed away to go talk to her friends.

You chuckled, walking back to Charlie, who didn’t seem to be leaving anytime soon.

“You look pretty young to be a teacher.” He spoke softly, without the cadence people commonly used when children were listening.

Like it was just the two of you.

“Yeah, I just graduated so this is my first year. I’ll be 23 in a few months.” You rambled, not meaning to spill so much personal information to one of your student’s parent’s, but he was just so easy to talk to.

So easy, that you easily stepped over a line. “You seem pretty young to be a dad.”

Then your eyes went wide. “I’m sorry, that’s not appropriate, I shouldn’t have-“

“No, it’s fine.” Charlie grinned, crossing his arms. “I’m turning 27 in two weeks.”

He couldn’t believe it, you were about the age he was when Fiona was born.

A lot could change in 5 years.

Your face flushed, unable to make eye contact with him any longer. “Well, happy early birthday.”

He nodded his head in thanks, before looking down at his watch and mumbling something resembling a curse word.

“If you have somewhere to be, it’s alright.” You whispered. “I won’t let the other parents know.”

“Um, would you like to go out sometime?” He whispered back, taking you completely off guard.

Reasons why you shouldn’t raced through your head.

He was the parent of one of your students, nearly 5 years older than you, he had a kid, maybe he was married.

But the pleading look in his eye made you bite your lip and nod.

He grabbed a pen from his wallet, scribbling his number onto your hand, and he was off.

You stared at the place where he had once been, just trying to process what you had done.

He was surprised when you actually texted him.

Charlie took you to a fancy restaurant, much too fancy for your attire you’d chosen for the night.

You were clad in cute tennis shoes you’d newly bought for a special occasion, gray semi-translucent thigh high stockings, a short gray pleated skirt with a sparkly belt, and a black crop top with a slight v neckline that showed off your assets a bit more than you realized.

Makeup that tried to not do too much, while still feeling like you, along with lots of jewelry adorned you.

You were living on a teacher salary, so your wardrobe didn’t have many fancy things in it.

He’d said he’d wanted it to be a surprise, but maybe he could have given you a bit more of a heads up.

But his face when you walked through the door made every worry about your outfit disappear.

Charlie’s nearly choked on his water, somewhat surprised you’d even showed up.

He was dressed down from the first time you saw him, now in a black button up with the sleeves rolled up just below his elbows, showing off his forearms.

His longer hair was pushed back slightly, styled nice and neat, despite a few stray curls poking out.

Nice dress pants paired with nice dress shoes, a nice watch.

“So, what do you do for work?” You began awkwardly, feeling significantly out of place amongst the much older and much richer customers that were currently there.

Charlie’s hands fidgeted above the table, obviously embarrassed about the answer. “I’m, um… I’m actually a streamer.”

“Really? I would have thought you had some 9 to 5 with the suit you had on when we met.” You spoke, more surprised than anything.

“Yeah, I had a meeting to go to after that. I ended up being a little late cause I was supposed to leave earlier than I did.” He joked, just seeming relieved you didn’t think his job was stupid.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” You apologized, guilt ridden for taking up so much of his time.

He just grinned. “It’s alright. It was worth it.”

Those two small sentences made your face feel hot, causing you to grab your water to cool off.

He was attractive, no doubt about it, but he was nearly 5 years older than you with a kid.

But he was just so…

Charlie…

The two of you ordered and moved on to more in depth conversation.

Charlie took a sip from his water glass. “Fiona’s mom and me… We had different ideas on how to raise her, so it didn’t really work out.”

You nodded empathetically. “Is that who she’s with now?”

He nodded. “Should be with her all night.” He mumbled before taking another sip of his water with a grin.

And that offhand detail changed the course of the entire night.

You hadn’t meant to go home with him on the first date, you’d actually swore to yourself that you wouldn’t.

But he just looked so fucking good.

And after he’d dropped the hint that the house was empty, you just couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

You let him drive you to his place, let him place his hand on the small of your back, let him lead you inside, let him lead you upstairs to his bedroom, let him kiss you.

And god did he know how to kiss, tongue brushing against your lips like he owned them, before brushing against your tongue like he owned that too.

You’d never been with a man that wasn’t your age.

He was so much more experienced, refined, better.

Charlie was large, or maybe you were just short.

When your hands slid down his shirt undoing the buttons, he chuckled against your lips.

“So eager~” His voice rumbled above you, like a predator finally catching his prey.

Charlie’s hands slid down to his belt as you continued to unbutton his shirt.

Toeing off his shoes with reckless abandon and pulling the rest of his clothes off, he didn’t even bother to take off your shoes before he threw you on your back onto his bed.

You could feel his hot breath on your face, his thick cock hanging heavy between his legs as he crawled over you with his hands pressed against your thighs.

You squirmed beneath him, hands reaching for his arms, desperate for some kind of friction.

“Hold still, baby, let me take care of you…” He mumbled, moving his hand under your skirt to pull your panties to the side, before placing his hand on the back of your thigh again.

You grinned at his words, feeling his tip prod your hot entrance.

“You want me?” His tone was teasing, but also making sure you really wanted this.

“Yes!” You whimpered, moving your hips against the leaking head of his cock, never more sure of anything in your whole life.

His mouth changed to an open mouthed grin as he sunk inside you, slowly, carefully.

He could feel how he was stretching you out, the little whimpers you were letting out as he rocked in and out, gauging your reaction all the while.

You loved how he cared for you, was so considerate, not like men your age.

But you needed him to stop being considerate and fuck you like a slut.

So you whined, gripping his arm and moving your hips as much as you could against his grip.

“Yeah, you want me to move?” He pressed a kiss to your hand that passed by his face, experimentally thrusting hard, earning a gasp from between your lips. “You want me to pound this tight little pussy of yours?”

Fuck…

You felt your walls flutter around him, making him smirk with bared teeth.

And then he really started, his hips pounding against you with his iron grip on your thighs, pressing them into your chest and folding you in half.

The breaths you managed to take in were shallow, quickly fucked out by his cock.

His hands lifted from your skin to travel under your shirt, skillfully pulling it up and unhooking your bra with one hand before pulling it out from under you. “Fuck… So pretty.”

You moaned at his compliment, his dick hitting way too deep for you to possibly speak out any kind of tangible thank you.

Charlie leaned closer to hit deeper, one hand landing beside you to prop him up while the other groped your tits.

His body was so big and strong, towering over your small frame, his hand almost able to fit both your breasts in one palm.

His groans were like fucking music, grunts and panting falling from his lips so easily.

You wondered if he’d fucked his ex-wife like this, primal and hard.

Gravity brought him down inside you and the pounding against your skin brought him back up to do it over and over, his heavy balls slapping against your skin.

You wondered how long it had been since he’d emptied them.

He must be a busy man, but he’d taken time out of his days to go to the bake sale, ask you out, actually go out with you, and now he was fucking you.

You grinned at the thought, lifting your chin up slightly to urge him down wordlessly, and he followed you, chased your lips until both of your moans were echoing past your lips, hot and heavy with need.

His hand on your tits slid down between you to unzip your skirt, you feeling him do it in one swift motion without leaving from your lips once.

The fabric was pulled out from under you, then his hand moved to circle your clit, making your back arch up against him and your head fall back from his lips onto the mattress.

“Yeah?” He asked teasingly as he increased the pressure just enough, knowing exactly what he was doing to you. “Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum like a good little slut for me?”

You shivered, feeling your cunt tighten around him, your hips and thighs shaking wildly in his grasp.

He sat up so he could see all of you, never stopping his hips or fingers for a second.

“Fuck, fuck, Charlieeee~ Aaahhh!” Your voice wavered as the tension inside you peaked, your cunt pulsing around him as he slowed his thrusts, but not stopping as your cum squirted out onto his skin and his sheets.

“Oh, fuck…” He sighed in awe, admiring how you trembled beneath him, your hips bucking against him even after your orgasm like an animal in heat, begging him to continue, to keep fucking you hard.

So he did, reaching so deep he could feel the slight push back of your cervix, making you practically scream for him with a wild smile on your face.

And he just kept hitting it over and over and over, making you see stars, completely overstimulated by his cock.

Feeling completely invaded, overwhelmed by this hunk of a man that fucked you better than anyone else ever had, made your brain turn to complete soup.

The sight must have been fucking immaculate.

Charlie fucking your tiny body in your pretty little date outfit, your shoes, thigh highs, panties, and shirt still on.

Both of your thighs dripping with your squirt, the smell of cum and sex and the slapping of his skin against yours

He never would have guessed, you being a teacher and all, that you’d be such a fucking whore for him.

His fingers continued to swirl against your clit, small circles mixed with big ones, light mixed with hard pressure, like he knew just what to do to make you lose your mind.

Charlie’s other hand lifted to your waist, pulling you into him so he could hit impossibly deep with inhumane speed.

You could feel his hips begin to sputter uncontrollably.

“Say you want it, angel. Say you want my cum.” Charlie whispered, like it was a private thought that he just couldn’t stop himself from saying aloud.

But you wanted it. You really wanted it.

You wanted him to claim you, fill you up like a fucking cumdump, use you until you broke.

“I do! I do~ I want it~”

That sentence coming from your mouth alone nearly broke him.

He imagined what you’d look like, swelled up with his child, so young, as young as he was, but such the perfect wife for him.

So wonderful, perfect to raise two kids with him always there to care for you.

“Fuck…”

But he had to tear his mind away from that fantasy.

He had you now, and that was all that mattered.

And the way you were looking at him, hazy eyed, fucked out, completely at his whim, that was more than enough to make his balls tighten and bust his hot load deep inside you.

His frantic thrusting, his haphazard finger movements, his warm seed spilling into you, everything came crashing down as a stronger, yet quieter orgasm took over your brain.

It felt like your body went numb, like you were passing out as you came around his big twitching cock.

Your eyes fluttered as you heard Charlie’s groans, slightly whiny and far off, like through a thick haze as the fullness left you.

Your chest heaved in effort, your legs falling to the side as they were moved for you, your shoes and socks coming off along with the shirt you’d forgotten you were wearing.

His strong arms lifted you up, rolling your soaked panties down your legs and tossing them onto the floor, before tucking you into his bed.

You saw through your misty gaze Charlie walking into his bathroom and coming back with a towel, wiping off your soaked thighs before placing it on your folds to soak up any remnants of fluid leaking out of you.

He practically collapsed onto the mattress, turning off the lamp right next to his bed lazily.

You rolled onto his chest, groaning with effort, which made Charlie chuckle.

“I take it you had fun?” He asked with a grin that you couldn’t see in the dark, but heard in his voice.

“Mhm~” You mumbled out, too exhausted to do anything else.

But suddenly you heard the front door open downstairs.

“Daddy! I’m home!”

Your eyes went wide, your own hands shooting up to cover your mouth.

Charlie’s eyes went wide as well, pulling the blanket up to cover your frame as tiny feet walked up the steps and opened the door just a crack.

The slight light from the hallway made just his side of the bed visible.

“Hey, Fi. I’m pretty exhausted from work, so do you think you could be a big girl and put yourself to bed tonight?” Charlie pleaded as nonchalantly as he could, wishing he’d locked the door before he had gotten distracted.

“Yeah, I can. Night night, Daddy!” She whispered the last sentence, closing the door slowly, probably mimicking what Charlie did for her so many times.

“Night, Fi!”

Once the footsteps receded, you let out a soft snort.

“Oh… My God.” Charlie whispered, covering his embarrassed grin with a hand.

You pulled the blanket back down, snuggling against his chest and giggling into his warm skin. “That was too close.”

“Yeah… We probably shouldn’t let her catch on…” He spoke softly, now all too aware of another presence in the house.

You nodded, wondering exactly what it would mean for your relationship, your career.

But you were only on your first year.

You and Charlie would figure it out.

And in fact, as the two of you drifted off to sleep together, he promised to himself that you would figure it out.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 2 - Hell to Raise

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: I also love putting men named Sam in the middle of places where they're third wheeling like crazy and full of regrets. Enjoy!

Chapter Title from Sleep to Dream by Fiona Apple

Word Count: 10.9k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Against his will, Bucky crashes your dinner with Sam. Contains usual tags.

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff

Chapter 1 - Chapter 3

Read on A03!

“Where are we going.”

“I don’t know.”

Bucky frowned. “What do you mean, you don’t know. You’re driving, Sam, you should know-“

“I’m using the GPS, genius.” Sam snapped. “I just punched in the address she gave me-“

“She gave you? I thought you were choosing where we were going-“

“Don’t know why you did, cause I never said I was-“

“You said you were getting dinner with her-“

“And we are-“

“How do you know we’re going to get dinner?” Bucky crossed his arms, glaring at Sam in the dim light of the car. “Maybe we’re going to her apartment, or a warehouse, or a damn club or something-“

Sam snorted. “We are not going to a club, you paranoid asshole. She ain’t exactly the club type.”

“Her file would suggest otherwise-“

“Her file is her on paper. You know better than anyone that people aren’t always as they appear on paper.”

Sam raised his brows, shooting Bucky a smug got you there look, and Bucky’s frown deepened to a scowl. He did know that. He still didn’t fucking trust this. Any of this. 

He’d spent all day trying to find a way to go back on his agreement. He’d sent Sam a dozen texts about how he’d be more useful out in the field—filled with examples about how he knew Hydra and how they operated better than any computer, hated them more than any person, and had a tendency to throw himself in the line of fire that Sam called stupid but Bucky called helpful when fighting monsters—only to have almost all of them ignored. 

The only response he’d gotten had been two hours ago, and it hadn’t been the calling it all off text he’d hoped for.

Sam Wilson

B ready when i get there

wear a nice shirt

Bucky had glared at the message for about ten minutes. He didn’t want to wear a nice shirt for this stupid dinner. He didn’t want to go to this stupid dinner. It was a waste of his time, and it was a waste of his body. He was meant to be a weapon, not a shield. This was, if anything, a Captain America job. Righteously protecting someone who probably didn’t deserve it.

He was the destroyer, not the protector. If Sam wasn’t being so stubborn, the asshole would’ve realized that Bucky’s body should be used as the gun or the fist, and nothing else.

But Sam wasn’t going to cave to that. And the only reason Bucky hadn’t locked his door and ignored Sam when he shouted from the hall for him to get moving—apparently they were, somehow, already going to be late—was because he knew that he had to do this.

That was the other thing he’d done all day. Found reason after reason that he needed to at least meet Her. He’d read Her file five times, failed to crack Hydra’s code after nine attempts, and studied her apartment and office layouts until they were branded onto his brain. 

And Bucky didn’t trust anyone to handle the properly. To handle Her, and whatever She was hiding, with the appropriate vigilance. And that wasn’t because he was paranoid, it was because none of this made sense, and Bucky wasn’t blinded by some previous care like Sam was. He’d be able to see through cracks and facades Sam couldn’t. He was trained to find them.

And he knew they were there.

Because nothing about Her made sense.

Her history had odd holes and tears that seemed sown and patched and pieced together with gauze instead of glue. Covered so that Bucky couldn’t figure out what was being hidden, but not done well enough for him to not notice that something was off. 

She was a community college dropout, and She ran the Stark Foundation. Her parents were both dead, but that didn’t track either because She’d never been in foster care. Her entire childhood seemed like it had been taken out of some picture book instead of lived. She was so beautiful Bucky had been forced to tape over Her photo, and he was a little worried he wouldn’t be able to breathe if he saw Her in person. 

Everything about Her seemed designed. Fabricated. Made.

It stirred a strange feeling in Bucky’s gut that had pulled at him in Romania, before the whole accords mess. It had tugged him before the snap, and every time he’d spoken to John Walker, and it was made of years of knowing what wrong felt like. When something was unjust or important, but he didn’t have the power or strength to change or alter it because he was only Bucky.

He’d never known how to really change anything at all. 

Another stupid reason for him to do Sam this favor. If She really was up to something—if that gut tug was what Bucky thought it was, and the unjust thing was how She might be manipulating Sam or working with Hydra—this would be a shot to try. To make further amends, only with a name he hadn’t put on his list because he hadn’t known it before yesterday. 

And he wouldn’t tell Sam, but he’d tried to remember Her. To see if She was lost in the fog of Hydra, to push the mauled and weakened pieces of the Soldat to the top of his head and test if he remembered Her.

He hadn’t. Neither Bucky nor the Soldat—in more fogged memories Bucky usually was more than okay with smothering—had any sort of recollection of that name before Sam said it, and if She was Hydra and this was a ruse, it was a well-crafted one, and She was going to be a clever, careful woman. 

She seemed like She could be, if Her file and how Sam had spoken of Her were any indication. She didn’t seem like some sort of docile creature, and when Bucky had peeled back the tape over Her picture one last time—checking that She was still there, still beautiful—that strange thing was still shifting and humming around behind Her eyes. It still seemed dangerous.

And that was another thing that clashed about Her file. If it had been presented to Bucky without a photo or explanation, he would’ve pinned Her in his head as sweet, a little shallow, and bright like a crystal on a chandelier. 

Grabbing the glow from a candle and casting it out with color. More decoration than person, and happy with it. A history of moving up the ladder with soft smiles and innocent words, good but in the way that was easy. Non-complex.

Good because they’d never known real pain—not the kind of pain that haunted Bucky, with blood and iron and an infection over his heart—so good had never needed to be a struggle.

And he didn’t know why She wasn’t that. Why She was someone Sam spoke so highly of, when by all logical conclusions she should be a spoiled brat or entitled little girl.

Bucky didn’t like not knowing something. Not being able to work out this puzzle, and being stuck in a loop of that gut feeling. Having to trust Sam, but Sam trusted Her, and Bucky didn’t believe a single thing about Her. He could see that there were massive gashes and stains on whatever painting She’d turned herself into, and it set his spine rigid and his head on edge.

So he’d kept pushing himself further, and further, and further, all of last night until he had a migraine, and the air of the world was suffocating. 

He’d spent the earliest hours of the morning—the light in his room gray and shifting through the blinds like prison bars—glaring at the ceiling and playing his silent, grounding game until every single nerve in his body felt like it maybe had the right to exist. 

His name was James Buchanan Barnes. His phone was dead, and his lamp was off. He liked the chirp of the birds outside his window, because it reminded him that there was life around him that he hadn’t broken, and there had never been birds in Russia. He hated that he’d had to cover all the mirrors again, because when the world got this weighted and painful he couldn’t stand to look at his reflection. He needed to sleep, because everyone kept saying it was good for him, but he wasn’t going to, so instead he needed some coffee. He wanted not to do this, because even if he had to, the whole point of wanting things was to know that they were possible, but not promised.

And Bucky fucking knew that. Another reason to keep the wanted part of the game was practicing the possible part. Things could be possible now. And Bucky never got what he wanted, so he was already very good at the not promised part.

It was why, in the car as they hit a point of no return—being too close to the end of the drive for Sam to ever agree to turn around and let Bucky go home—he didn’t expect any sort of relief as he gave one last protest.

“You could still hire a group of guards.” He grunted, narrowing his eyes at Sam in the dark. “You’d get a discount, if you use the Captain America thing.”

Sam snorted. “What kinda bodyguard company is givin’ discounts to Captain America-“

“You got a discount from a hotdog stand last week, this would be like that-“

“That was Carlos. I saved his cat once.”

Bucky frowned. “Since when are you saving cats-“

“Didn’t mean to. Just happened.” Sam shot him a wide, mocking grin. “I’m just that great of a hero, Buck. Lookin’ out for the everyman-“

“Every cat.”

“Animals are people too-“

“No, they’re not. They’re animals.”

“People are nothin’ more than beasts, man. You need to take one of your college courses on biology, think they might have missed some stuff back in your cinderblock shoe days-“

Bucky rolled his eyes. “We were poor, not street urchins. And,” he sat up a little straighter, grabbing the opportunity. “I’ll get the time to take that course, if you let me out of this-“

“Nah, I’m good. You’ll find the time yourself, Buck, it’s not like it’s a consuming gig. You’re just gonna have to sit in her office and make sure nobody gets murdered.”

Bucky scowled, sinking back down into his seat. “You’re the one who’s been on my ass about furthering my modern education.”

“Yeah, but that online college shit is a scam, man. I told you that-“

“I am not doing that veteran GED group. Stop suggesting it.”

“But the teacher is hot, Buck.” Sam wiggled his brows, and Bucky was going to punch the grin off his face. “Just your type.”

Bucky gave Sam a flat look. “What exactly do you think my type is, Sam.”

Sam paused, and Bucky regretted asking the question in a second as Sam’s smirk split into a shit-eating grin.

“Warm body, nice face optional?”

That was it. They were only going about 40, this wasn’t a highway, and Bucky had survived much worse than jumping out of Sam’s Jeep-

He froze, and pulled at the door handle again. It didn’t budge.

“Sam-“

“Child-lock.” Sam shrugged, his body far too casual in the seat for how he was almost certainly about to be stabbed. “Knew you’d try to jump ship, and we shook on this. You’re stuck here until I got this whole mess sorted out.”

Bucky blinked at him in disbelief. “We didn’t shake on it-“

“Yeah, but it’s about the principle-“

“Shut the fuck up-“

“Look, man. I need you for this. And if you break my door, you’re fixing it and paying me for emotional reparations.”

The glower on Bucky’s face didn’t waver, but he did stop pulling at the door. He had a feeling that, even if he did get out of the car before they reached the restaurant, Sam would still track him down and make him go through with this.

“I hate you,” he grumbled, and Sam only laughed.

“I hate you, too.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You never responded to my suggestion.”

“I saw all the texts. She’s got a job, she can’t just go on lockdown.” Sam frowned at the road. “Wouldn’t work anyway. She’d get around it somehow.”

“Get-“ Bucky shook his head, and added another thing to his list of facts about Her. Clever or slippery enough for Sam to be worried that she might, somehow, get out of a locked down and monitored Stark apartment. “Not that. I mean the group of guards. I’ve heard about this thing called Craigslist-“

Sam snorted. “We are not hiring bodyguards of fuckin’ Craigslist. Who the hell even told you about that-“

“Google. And if we’re not using that, there’s gotta be something else so I can focus on helping you, Sam.” Bucky sighed, running a gloved hand over his face. “I’ve told you, I’m not going to be good at this-“

“Yeah, you are.” Sam dismissed him with a shrug, his words flat and firm. “You got the whole brooding, stoic guard thing down. You’ll be great, Buck, you just gotta believe-“

“I’m not talking about guarding. I’m talking about your friend.” Bucky said Her name, and it sounded different than when Sam said it. Sam had said it like it was a name or a poem or something important. Bucky said it like it was a code-word, but to him, that’s all it really was. Needed to be. 

If he couldn’t get out of doing this, he’d probably have to learn to say it like a least a real name.

For now, he had bigger problems.

“I told you, Sam, I read the file. Just because you two are close or whatever, doesn’t mean we’ll be-“

“Damn, here I was thinkin’ you’d made her a friendship bracelet.”

“I don’t know what that is, but-“

Sam cut Bucky off with an almost offended expression. “How’d you not know what a friendship bracelet is-“

“Believe it or not, I’m still a little behind on the past eighty years-“

“But I played you that Taylor Swift song-“

“When?”

“In the car last month!”

“I wasn’t paying attention.” Bucky shrugged, narrowing his eyes. “And I’m being serious, Sam. If she tries to make me her butler or something, I’m out-“

Sam waved him off, his voice flat. “She’s not gonna make you her butler. That’s not who she is.“

Bucky sat up in his seat, watching Sam carefully. Another opening, this one for more information. “How’d you know who she is, anyway? You never told me how you got into a crowd of New York socialites. Doesn’t really seem like you, buddy-“

“Don’t call me buddy.” Sam muttered, frowning at the road. “And she’s not a- It’s complicated. But she’s not like that, I promise.”

“You sound sure-“

“I am sure.” That was a snap. Sam had snapped. It was serious. “She’s a good person, Bucky. One of the best I know, she’s just got a complicated past.” Sam gave him a side-eye, and Bucky did not fucking appreciate it. “Not like you’d know anything about that, though.”

He scowled. “It’s not the same-“

“No, but it’s more similar than you think-“

“You gonna tell me how-“

“No.” Sam shrugged. “Not my place. But she’s more than that file, and I’m just tryin’ not to let my one of my best friends die at the hands of Hydra, Buck. You don’t need to love her, you just need to keep us from attending another damn funeral.”

Bucky’s hands curled into fists as he glowered out the window.

He hated when Sam was right.

“I thought I was your best friend.”

“Aw.” Sam smirked at him. “You jealous? Gonna wear a friendship bracelet if I make it for you?”

“I still don’t know what those are,” he muttered, and Sam hummed.

“They’re like, letters and beads. Don’t really know, I’ve just seen them online. And you don’t have anything to worry about-“

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I’m not worried-“

“Yeah, because I’m reassuring you.” Sam grinned at him. “You’re my best friend, Buck. She’s more like the sister I never had.”

Bucky paused. He hadn’t seen Sam hit his head, but he still needed to check.

“You have a sister, Sam. I’ve met her. Sarah.”

He kept his words slow, cautious, and Sam just scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“I know that, man. That’s why I said she’s the sister I never had. Sarah is nice to me.” 

Bucky grunted as Sam turned into a small, clean parking garage, and added another fact. She might be mean. Not a bitch, and likely not cruel—at least on the surface—because Sam’s tolerance for truly bad people seemed to start and end with Bucky, although Sam would insist that Bucky wasn’t a bad person.

And he wasn’t right now. But he knew he had been. And he knew that he had the capacity for it.

And everything had still been off about Her past, so it was another thing to keep an eye on Her about. She was beautiful, Sam liked Her—enough to compare her to Sarah, which was higher praise than Bucky had thought She’d be offered—but nothing about Her made sense, and She might be mean.

Bucky scanned around the mostly empty garage, placing about five, fancier cars, at least seven cameras, and not a single flickering light or abandoned piece of trash on the pavement. There was a glowing, smooth and golden sign over the entrance to the restaurant, which meant they wouldn’t have to go outside at all. There was jazz playing over a speaker from inside that wasn’t horrible. He could see the velvety, rich colored furniture through the glass doors, and the carpet had those weird, fancy swirl pattens. The only people besides himself and Sam were a woman standing near the entrance—wearing an obvious uniform—and a security guard who was fidgeting with his belt.

No threats.

“This the place?”

“Seems like it.” Sam muttered, shaking his head as he looked around them with a frown. “Motherfucker.”

Bucky blinked. Everything was fine, as far as he could see. The unsettling gut instinct was dormant, and this place looked fancy, which meant it would have good security. But Sam looked tense, almost stressed, and his was sitting too tall in his seat as he grabbed his phone and started swipe at the screen with a glower, so something was off-

“She always does this,” Sam muttered, glaring at the restaurant. “And I never- This one is on me, I should’ve checked the damn address-“

“Sam-“ 

Bucky’s slow words were cut off by Sam grabbing his bag from the backseat, shifting through it with a scowl. “I’m gonna kick her ass,” he muttered. “Gonna tell Happy she’s been stealing papers from the office-“

“Stealing papers-“

“They’re her papers. She won’t get in trouble. She can’t. She freakin’ runs that place.” Sam scowled between his bag and the phone, angled on his lap where Bucky couldn’t see the screen. “Shit, Bucky, how many credit cards you got on you-“ 

Bucky frowned. “I don’t have a credit card, Sam. I barely have a social security number-“ 

“Cash then. You got cash?” 

“Why would we need cash-“

Sam grunted Her name, dropping his head back on the seat with a long groan. “She’s tryin’ to kill me. Need to start vetting these places-“

“Sam.” Bucky hissed, making his voice firm. “Are you going to actually tell me what the fuck is happening?”

Sam sighed, and passed Bucky his phone without a word. Bucky scanned over the screen with a tight frown, and it was just a menu. Italian food, which Sam usually liked, and a lot of different options, and-

Bucky’s grip on the phone tightened, and he felt his eyes widen as he turned to stare at Sam.

“That had to be a misprint.”

“It’s not.” Sam muttered, glaring at the roof of the car. “For her, it’s actually on the cheaper side.”

“This,” Bucky pointed to the phone, shaking his head. “Is not fucking cheap, Sam-“

Sam shrugged. “For a Stark associate it is-“

“It’s insane, that’s what it is-“

“I know that, Bucky, but-“ Sam ran a hand over his face, his words slightly muffled by the gesture. “Hell, man, this is what she does.”

“What, pick a place so fucking expensive it’s going to make us bankrupt-“

“Yeah, so we can’t pay.”

Bucky paused, frowning back to the phone, then Sam. “What.”

“You saw those prices, man, ain’t no way we could afford that-“

“I’m got that, I’m asking what you mean so we can’t pay-“

“Means what it means.” Sam shrugged. “Since she made it in the big game, she always choses somewhere stupid fuckin’ fancy to meet so I have to let her pay for everything. It’s real annoying.”

Bucky frowned, and couldn’t really find a place for that fact to fit into his internal log about Her. He didn’t even know what he would be logging. Annoying to Sam, even if they’re friends. ‘Made it’ in the big game, which Sam didn’t say the way Bucky thought he would. Doesn’t like making Sam pay for things, even if he wants to, which would imply some sort of antagonistic virtue Bucky didn’t have a name for.

“Least we managed to get here first.” Sam muttered, tugging his phone back from Bucky’s grip and flicking to what looked like his contacts. “Fuckin’ finally.”

“What-“ Bucky looked back around the empty lot, then to Sam. “I thought we were late?”

“Nah, I just wanted to beat her-“

“Beat her- You dragged me out the door like the world was ending-“

“She’s always insanely early, Buck. Didn’t wanna make her wait for your geriatric ass.” 

“You make me wait all the time-“

“You scare me less.” Sam sighed, lowering his voice slightly. “And she’s already gonna kill me. Don’t need to give her more reasons.”

Bucky frowned. “What’d you mean, more reasons-“

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I am worried about it. I wasn’t, but then you said not to-“

“So don’t.” Sam frowned at his phone. “We probably don’t got a lot of time, but if I call her before she-“

Sam’s words dropped off as loud, distant music filled the garage, and their heads both shot up on instinct. Headlights turned the corner, a very normal, boring looking car moved past them into one of the spots—further from the exit, parallel to where Sam had parked the, and closer to the restaurant itself—before the headlights dropped off.

The music kept playing. Really fucking loud, to the point that Bucky could almost feel the bass roll in his own chest, even as he was in Sam’s car and far down the lot. 

That was Her. The driver of the deafening car. Her face was shrouded slightly in shadows, her head was slightly tipped back, and Bucky could mostly only see her side-profile, but that was Her.

Bucky had spent enough time last night staring at and memorizing Her picture to know it was her.

And even if he hadn’t, the way Sam sighed and dropped his phone back into his lap was a dead giveaway. 

“Damn it.” He muttered, and Bucky grunted, mostly just focused on Her in the car.

She wasn’t getting out. Just sitting in the driver’s seat, Her hands tapping on the wheel. Her head was either bowed down in a motion like she was praying, or she was a hunchback, but it was hard to tell through the tinted windows. 

“She religious?” He asked, keeping his voice flat, and Sam frowned at him. 

“I don’t know, man. That important to you?”

“No.” Bucky muttered, his eyes still trained on Her. “What the hell is she doing.”

“Uh, wait-” Sam paused, angling his head slightly. “Ah. Song’s not over.”

Bucky ripped his gaze away from Her half-silhouette—She’d leaned slightly forward, and he’d been able to see the slope of Her nose and shape of Her lips, but one of his rules was supposed to be don’t look for too long—and frowned at Sam.

“What.”

“She’s gonna finish the song,” Sam waved a hand vaguely over Bucky’s body, towards where She was still unmovingly parked. “But I know this one, looks like we caught it at the beginning. Gonna be a minute.”

“A minute?”

“Yeah.” Sam shrugged, shifting in his seat. Like he was getting comfortable. “You don’t wanna interrupt her, Buck, she’ll reign blood and murder or somethin’.”

Bucky glanced back to where Her car, curling his hands into slightly fists. “What’d you mean, or something.”

“Don’t know. Haven’t tested it since I made the mistake myself.” Sam shot him a sharp look. “I’m warnin’ you, man. You don’t wanna do it.”

He very much did. Bucky didn’t even want to be here, let alone wait for this lady to finish up Her loud, long, impossibly fast-paced and disruptive music so they could have food at the stupid expensive restaurant She’d chosen, so that Bucky could spend a portion of his life protecting Her beautiful ass- 

He assumed it was beautiful. He’d never seen it, but something about Her photo and the almost revenant way Sam had spoken of Her—like She was more wrathful god than breakable, mortal woman—made his imagination run wild and picture Her as beautiful in every possible way, but that didn’t matter. He’d told Sam he wouldn’t be Her butler, and he’d meant it. This was a damn favor, and She should be respecting that, and he didn’t care if Sam called him an old grump for this, he wasn’t going to wait around. The sooner they got started, the sooner they could be done.

“She made us come here.” Bucky muttered, scowling out the window, and Sam shrugged in his periphery.

“Technically, I made us come here-“

“Shut up. You know this song?”

“Think I do, yeah-“

“How long is it?”

“I don’t know, do I look like Spotify to you-“

Bucky flipped him off, not looking aware from where She still wasn’t getting out of the car.

He put his hand on the door handle, and gave Sam a firm, expectant look.

Sam sighed. “Bucky, I tellin’ you-“

“And I heard you. Open the door.”

“You’re gonna regret it-“

“I have bigger regrets.”

Sam smirked slightly. “You takin’ a philosophy course too?”

“Door, Sam.” Bucky grunted. “Now.”

“Alright.” Sam rolled his eyes, and reached for a button that better remove the child locks, or Bucky would break the window. “Your funeral, man.”

Bucky heard the click of the door, pushed it open before Sam had even leaned back and stomped out of the car. 

He didn’t have time for this. He didn’t want to do this. The music was so damn loud, and this was so fucking stupid, and it might be another thing to do. but She was still the reason Sam wasn’t letting him really help—really be fucking useful—so Bucky would not sit around as if he was waiting for Her goddamn permission to move. 

He banged a fist on the window when he reached her, She jumped in her seat, and looked up at him with wide eyes through the glass. 

Bucky’s tongue caught in his throat. He’d been ready to spit words about hurrying Her ass up, but they were gone. Turned to dust and wind as their eyes met. Sam had been right. It was his funeral.

There was nothing about Her that was obviously worrying or terrifying, but Her grip tightened on the wheel, then Her eyes narrowed, and Bucky felt… odd. Frozen. Not in the cold, stasis way Hydra had trapped him, but like he was being hung up on some sort of wall. Like a piece of art She was analyzing as they stared at each other through the glass, as Her eyes pierced and carved right into his soul. 

Then She rolled down the window, and Bucky had to drag his every bit of will and resolve together to keep his face set and angry. 

She was more beautiful in person. By far the most beautiful person Bucky had ever seen, quickly rivaling most everything else for the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Rocketing past sunsets in Wakanda and the view from the top of mountains where he’d felt amazingly small and human. Clashing with the night sky in the coldest parts of the world that few men dared to tread, but where Bucky had spent long days and nights, watching the stars shift and pass above him and glow off the snow. In front of him, Her beauty was that same impossible and strange and inhuman kind from the photo, where every divet and crook and bump on Her face looked as if it had been purposefully placed there. Bucky’s mind was already flipping back to his enhanced by Hydra to be extra beautiful for some reason theory, but his head moving slower than normal, because most of what he was able to do right now was hold Her gaze. 

Her eyes weren’t blank. They seemed to be painted over or covered with something, like a firm layer of ice over whatever was trapped inside Her that she didn’t want Bucky  to see. Her entire face seemed have that same element, like She was wearing an invisible mask that made Her seem more like a canvas than a person. She held Herself too tall, too still, like a statue. 

She was younger than he’d thought She’d be. In the photo, something in Her eyes had made him think She’d seen longest and harshest and darkest corners of the world—whether she’d been running from them or sought them out—and that would’ve required time. That combined with being a CEO made him put her in a margin of at least being around Sam’s age, but She wasn’t. 

He couldn’t tell how old She was. He couldn’t tell most things about Her, and that spurred his body into tension, because that wasn’t normal. 

Nothing about Her seemed normal. Not quite artificial, not quite human, but something in-between that tugged at Bucky’s gut and told him to stay alert. To be careful, because something about this was wrong.

He added a rapid fire list of things to his log about Her, as they glared at each other and he forced himself to get his shit together—this was exactly why he couldn’t look at Her too long, She was dangerous just by existing even if She wasn’t Hydra, and Bucky couldn’t afford distractions—so that he could finally do what he’d come for, and snap at Her over the music, still blaring in the background.

Her car wasn’t expensive, but the tires weren’t muddied, so She didn’t drive often, or She cleaned it frequently. It was likely the former, because the interior of the car was filled with trash. Her nails were neat, but not painted, and Her hair was done to stay out of Her face. Despite choosing the fancy restaurant, She was not dressed up for the occasion. She didn’t have any weapons that he could see, and her hands were gripping the wheel with white knuckles. She was making no movement to turn down the music, only watching Bucky with a silent challenge. Daring him to move first, and confident She would lose whatever game they were playing. She sat too tall not to be, and watched him with a dry boredom that could be taken for anger. 

Her eyes seemed to be brimming and boiling over with that thing, even as the veil remained, and Her breathing and heartbeat were casual. 

She was not threatened by Bucky leaning against Her car, glowering at Her and scanning over her face. She was either incredibly confident, or had no idea who he was.

She should know who he was. His hair was longer again, so he was more recognizable, and if She worked at the Stark Foundation she’d likely be expected to keep up with the news.

She seemed like someone who would keep up with the news.

She still wasn’t reacting to Bucky.

And he caved first.

“Turn your music down.” He grunted, and She raised Her brows, but still didn’t speak as She leaned back without breaking their eye contact. 

The music turned off.

Bucky didn’t know why Sam had been so worried about him. That had been easy-

“Why are you here?”

Bucky blinked. She had a distinctive voice. It would be easy to memorize, once he got Her speech pattern.

“Dinner.“ He grunted, forcing himself to hold Her gaze. “You know who I-“

She gave him a flat look. It felt like it pressed right up against his ribs. “Of course I know who you are, I own a phone with internet access. Why are you here.”

He scowled. “I already told you, dinner. Sam invited me.”

Her eyes narrowed, and there was a long silence as She watched him, before something flashed in Her eyes, right through the strange mask, and the expression on Her face shifted. 

Bucky still couldn’t read it.

But it didn’t seem good.

“Where is he.” Her words were neutral. Cool. It felt like a trap, but whatever shit Sam was about to get he probably deserved, so Bucky nodded his head back to the car.

“Hiding.“

She sat higher in Her seat, glaring past Bucky to where Sam was likely watching them. 

Bucky couldn’t be sure.

He was finding it hard to look away from Her to check.

“Fucking pussy.” She muttered under Her breath, before raising her voice to a shout. “Samuel, get the fuck out here!”

Bucky added another thing to his log. She could be very loud—Her voice echoing around the garage like a haunting, furious choir—and incredibly angry. 

He highlighted that last point as She scoffed and stood out of the car, pushed right past Bucky with a second glance, and stormed across the lot. It was like watching a small bundle of fire and wind and fury rush through the world. She walked with a purpose.

Bucky would apprentice that, other any other circumstances.

Right now he was just a little worried for Sam’s safety.

Sam was grinning at Her, when Bucky came up behind them. It was his careful, charming, I’ve never done anything wrong in my life ever grin. 

They were in trouble.

“Hey,” he said Her name carefully, nodding to Bucky over her shoulder. “Looks like you finally met Bucky, I’ve always thought you two would get on great, you know-“

“Shut up.” She snapped—something different in Her voice then when She’d been speaking to Bucky—and Sam listened. Bucky needed to learn how to do that. “I told you I didn’t need him.”

“Yeah, but it’s Hydra-“

“It might not be. It might just be a fluke-“

Sam gave Her a pointed look. “I know you don’t think that, kid-“

“And I don’t need him.”She pushed on, Her voice rising over Sam’s as she pointed over her shoulder. To Bucky. “I told you no, Sam, I told you to fucking drop it-“

“And I didn’t, because you might be in danger,” Sam’s voice was firmer than before as he said Her name again, but it still didn’t match Her fury. “This is Hydra. I ain’t lettin’ you mess with your safety when it’s Hydra.”

She let out a dry laugh, and when Bucky shuffled at few feet to the side, he realized what was different. 

The veil had dropped. And under it, She was different. Almost raw and pure, but like the night sky. Visible, but unreadable. Forceful. Powerful.

And a realization very slowly started to creep over Bucky, rising into his head and falling to its place, shifting everything around him and making his jaw clench.

“I am not in that much danger-“

“You pretty fuckin’ obviously are-“

“Sam.” Bucky grunted, not bothering to hide the fury in his voice. “Did you ask her if she wanted my service?”

She snorted. “Service? Are you an escort-“

Bucky rolled his eyes, shooting Her a glare. “You can shut it, kid-“

“Don’t call me kid-“

“I’ll call you whatever I want, long as I’m the only thing keeping you alive. And you,” he glared back to Sam, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Caught in a fucking lie. “Answer my question or I slash your tires.”

Sam sighed, looking between She and Bucky wearily, and shook his head. “No. But it’s cause I knew you’d both say no-“

“I would’ve said yes to a rotating group.” She hissed. “And you know exactly why I said no, you dickhead-“

“And I think it’s a stupid reason,” Sam muttered Her name, giving her a pointed look Bucky didn’t understand. 

He didn’t understand most of what was going on. But this was more than his usual confusion. This felt personal, like everything was off kilter just to spite him. They were arguing in a weird, cryptic, half-code he couldn’t follow, and She’d said she didn’t want him. Didn’t want Bucky. Not a guard, period, but Bucky.

That should’ve been a relief. He could just leave, because he wasn’t about to force his presence on anyone, and this gave him a reason to tell Sam to shove his better on babysitting duty shit up his ass.

But it stirred something furious in his body. Bucky wasn’t a saint, but he was good at his job. He was effective. He would be able to keep Her safe better than any group guard, he just hadn’t wanted to. And She didn’t know him, not well enough to hate him. He would think it was the whole former Hydra assassin thing if She was afraid of him, but she wasn’t.

She just didn’t want Bucky.

And nobody wanted him. 

But for some reason that his body and mind were grabbing by the throat and running with, Bucky hated that. She had no right to dislike him, even if it was a reasonable conclusion. She had no right to think She’d just win this, that Hydra wouldn’t crush Her all the same as they crushed their other enemies.

And maybe She wasn’t an enemy to Hydra. Maybe She didn’t want Bucky around because She knew he’d catch onto whatever she was planning. Because he was a real threat to whatever game She was playing.

He wasn’t going to take the out. It was right there—shining and clear and leading him back into a routine and mundane life that was not good, but better than before—and he let it fade away.

She and Sam were still arguing, so Bucky crossed his arms and raised his voice. 

“Are we going to go inside.”

They both stared at him for a long second, and She spoke first. “What-“

“Inside.” He drawled, narrowing his eyes at Her. “It’s over there, under a roof. With the dinner Sam promised me.” 

She tilted Her head at him, and even with the mask off and the equally beautiful—but worryingly potent and loud—creature revealed beneath, Bucky could still see that secret. A layer just below this one, looking almost tucked away. Hidden.

He could see it because he knew it. He had one of those horrid layers too, trapped at the base of his skull.

But he never lied about it. 

And there was no way he was backing out now.

“You think we’re still doing dinner?” She asked, and Bucky shrugged.

“I’m still hungry. How about you, Sam. You want some spaghetti?”

Sam, for once in his life, looked stunned out of words. “Yeah. I’m, uh, I’m kinda starvin’. We can keep talking inside, but just remember, most restaurants have a no-murder policy.”

She shot Sam a glare. “I’m done talking. That,” She pointed to Bucky, and it was a little too much like being on the barrel end of a gun. “Isn’t happening.”

Sam opened his mouth, ready to protest, but Bucky had it covered. 

“You know,” he said Her name, and Her eyes snapped to his with an almost impressive glower. “I’d be offended, if I gave a shit about your opinion.”

Her lips tightened, but She didn’t waver. She didn’t really seem like the type to waver. “And that’s lovely for you, Barnes. Stay out of this.”

He shook his head. “My friend asked me for a favor, and we shook on it. I’m not gonna let your funeral be the reason I deal with Sam crying again.”

Sam’s expression of pure confusion waved slightly with a frown. “I wasn’t crying, Bucky, it was onions-“

“I am not going to die.” She cut off Sam with cool words, standing a little taller, like She was trying to tower over Bucky despite still looking up at him. “And I don’t know what Sam promised you to babysit me, but-“

“I wasn’t promised anything.” Bucky shrugged, keeping his voice flat and dry. “I’m doing it for the love of the job.”

There was a long silence as they glowered at each other—Bucky wondered, if he glared hard enough, if She’d just confess to everything and this would all end in one night—and it was cut only by Sam clearing his throat.

“So, uh,” he looked between Her and Bucky with a weary expression. “Dinner?”

She hummed, still not breaking the stare. “Fine. Sargent?”

He felt his jaw tick, something rearing its head deep in his gut, deeper than the instinct of strange, at how She said that. Mockingly sweet, right on the edge of a sneer, with beautiful pouting lips and an arrogance that made his whole body burn. 

“James is fine.” He grunted, and Her mouth curved into a smile. It was wolf-like, as if She was getting ready to pull him apart with only Her teeth and devour whatever piece of him She could find. 

If She tried to, he’d be ready. She might still be that strange kind of beautiful, but Bucky’s will wasn’t easily broken by something as simple as beautiful. 

So whatever She was up to, Bucky would stop it. 

He’d be right there, keeping that careful eye he’d promise Sam on Her, and everything would be under control.

Bucky could keep this under control. 

——————

You’re going to kill Sam. Captain America or not, he’s dead.

You’d told him no. You’d told him you’d be fine alone, because you know how to be. This was terrifying, maybe. You didn’t know what the hell was happening, certainly. You’d slept even worse than usual for the past two nights, your head spinning faster than you could keep up with as questions why, what did they know, what did they want, why you, why turned around in your head, absolutely.

But you’d be fine alone. It was probably an empty threat, and if it wasn’t, there wasn’t a single thing you have to offer Hydra. You don’t know any dark, secret information. You’ve never been a sole witness to any crime, or uncovered any conspiracy, and you’ve spent most of your life as nothing more than a bright accessory for people more important than you were.

And even after you became important yourself, it wasn’t as if you shifted the earth or rewrote political borders. You worked for a charity. You smiled for cameras and put on the show because you had to, then you curled right back up into your apartment with the Boy. 

Alone.

You could’ve been fine alone. Sam had said I’ll give you Bucky, to keep you safe, you’d very audibly and clearly told him you’d be fine, Sam, and he’d given in.

The sneaky fuck had just given in—which should have been suspicious, but you’d been too tired to care—and then brought his stupid super-solider friend to what was supposed to be a casual dinner, because he still sees you as a kid that needs protection.

You’d feel bad for Barnes, if he wasn’t spending the whole night staring at you with a scowl that felt unreasonably personal. Sam had told you once that it was just how he was, and that if you ever met him, you’d catch on quick that he’s really more bark than bite.

But Sam seems to have been full of shit.

Barnes seems like he’s all bite. Not because of the metal arm you can see peeking under a sleeve, or the broad, strong build of his body, or even the targeted glower on his face. 

It’s his voice. Low and commanding, well-suited to his overall face and stature, but firm. Unbreakable. Only low grunts and dry words and measured, careful contributions to your conversation with Sam, like he’s trying to test the water for poison, but still plans to drink it regardless of the result. 

He’s watching you the same way, and the bite there as well. In his eyes. Silver-blue and focused on yours, no matter who’s speaking. His attention seems to be threatening to swallow you whole. It feels as if you’re an army rather than one person, and Barnes is working out his best plan of attack. Boring into your heart and head, and then a little deeper. Looking for something you don’t understand, because all of you is on a platter for him to see.

The show had ended almost the moment you put together that Sam had pulled this shit. It wasn’t like you’d meant to do the show at all tonight—you never did the show around people that really knew you—but Barnes had caught you off guard and it had slipped over you on instinct alone. He’d interrupted your music and hurdled you quickly to a white-hot edge of off, now everything is off, and you’d been ready to make some very graphic threats when you’d looked up and seen Bucky Barnes glowering down at you, the words had died on your tongue.

He looked really human. Not like a phantom story or cautionary tale. Just a man.

A very handsome, angry man. 

You’d seen pictures of him before—museums, history classes, the general news—but none of it had done justice to how handsome he was. If you weren’t you—if you knew how to have fun and let go and be just the right amount of whatever you were made of—you would’ve smiled at him and introduced yourself.

But he threw you off. And asked you to turn down your music. 

And the show had been to easiest way to keep yourself together in fractured pieces. Then you seemed to have pissed him off just by speaking and thinking and feeling—understandable, but he didn’t know that—and any desire to try and salvage something had withered and died.

Now, the most important thing had to be finding a way out of or around this. Around Sam and his belief that you’re nothing more than a delicate little bird. 

Around Barnes, and his annoyingly attractive face. 

He’s sitting up straight, turning his head just enough to give the restaurant around you a sort of routine check, and you hadn’t missed the quick, assessing scan of every waiter that’s moved through the room. He’s gripping his fork like a blade. He’d taken the seat that faced all the exits. 

And he’s going to take this seriously.

Which was exactly what you hadn’t wanted. 

You’d been willing to take a detached guard. A guard that kept you alive because Sam was right, and Hydra was nothing to mess with—especially when you still don’t know what they want—but who wouldn’t report to him.

A guard that wouldn’t turn right around and tell Sam anything you didn’t want him to know, because Sam may be Captain America, but you were smart, acceptably attractive on surface, and rich. You could easily get a group of too-large, brooding, lonely men to flip and work for you rather than Sam. And even if they didn’t, you’d be able to find your way around them. You’d talk Happy and Sam into letting you choose the group, and pick out a selection that didn’t really care. That let you do whatever the hell you wanted. 

A group that would turn a blind eye to him. 

That was the big thing. You don’t want Sam knowing how bad it is. That the worst dangers aren’t in the shadows and stalking you through the city, they live your apartment and send a curling chill through your blood every they move. 

A random selection of men will keep their heads down and do only their explicit jobs, and long as you play your cards right.

Barnes will not be that easy.

He’s loyal to Sam. You don’t think bribery or extortion will work on his solemn, resolved everything. If he sees how horrid your life has become, he’ll snitch to Sam and you won’t even have time to cover the bruises or come up with a good lie. 

If he finds out that you’re trying to fix the Hydra thing yourself, he’ll shut you down. Probably grumble something about how you don’t know what you’re doing, and tell you to keep pretending everything is fine while he and Sam handle it.

Everything is very much not fine. And you trust Sam with your life, but you will not be useless. You can’t be useless. You can’t let someone else fix this for you, because they never have before. 

You have always clawed your way through everything alone, and it’s worked. You’ve surived. You’ve becoming whatever you needed to be in order to do what you had to do, and you already have two working theories, while Sam has a grand total of zero.

The likely one—the one that Sam will probably work out on his own—is that you’re not the target. You’re the path. The leverage or outlet of Hydra’s wrath on someone else. They have greatly overestimated your importance to the men who’d held and used you like you were a very pretty, shiny pair of cufflinks, and now you have to deal with this because you try not to even remember their names, let alone what secret information on Hydra they might have told you.

And it wasn’t like they’d ever actually told you anything. You’d been a chase, then a hunt, then a prize, then nothing at all. You don’t tell trophies about your secret fascist business dealings. That would require valuing their opinion, and you weren’t sure a single one of those assholes had believed you had opinions. 

Which had been by design.

But it still meant Hydra was going to be tracking you with the intent to hold you as a truly useless hostage, or trying to scare information out of you that you simply didn’t have. 

And that was the easier theory. The one that made you relax, because whatever you had to offer them was null, so you’d be fine. Hydra would either work out that using you to get to someone else—either for money or information—was pointless, and they’d be better off kidnapping a random rat and asking for ransom. People would probably come together to free the rat. The rat might have emotional community value, or a little rat family. You couldn’t be sure of the same for yourself. 

Nobody would trade anything for you. 

And if Hydra was really watching you, they would work that out themselves. 

But second theory wasn’t as easy. It was worrying, and haunting, and dangerous.

The second reason Hydra could be after you was because of you.

Because of the thing.

You don’t know how they’d know. You don’t know what they’d know, or what they’d plan to do, or why they’d care. 

Nobody knows. You’re always so careful to ensure nobody knows, because there’s really nothing to know, but you still don’t want to make yourself into even more of a prize or pretty little toy. If people knew, then you’d become even more of a vessel, more of a statue, more of a caged animal. You’re already barely a person. You don’t need another way to be alone in your own head as your body continues to mold and morph, to survive and please.

If the thing is what Hydra wants, they won’t be able to use you as a weapon unless they transfer the bond to one of their own. You can’t do anything without the bond. Without the bond, they’d just be kidnapping a random woman and asking her to perform miracles. 

And that’s the theory that means you will have to be careful. But it also means no one else is going to be able to handle this, no matter how many resources and contacts they have, because they couldn’t know to look in any of the right places. Places you’d purposefully kept hidden and contained, and that you’re not about to reveal now. 

So you’ll fix this yourself. Quickly, so Sam and Barnes can get back to things that matter more than you. 

All you need to do is get out of this whole Barnes situation, and you’ll be able to fix this. 

“You still workin’ on that community plan for the VA?” Sam asks, and his smile is wider than usual, almost plastered on his face. “Cause I got a few buddies down in DC who’d be willing to throw their weight behind it-“

You snort, raising your brows at him. “Since when do you have buddies in DC-“

“Since I became Captain America. Everyone wants a piece of America’s best patriot-“

“I think that might be an abuse of power.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “I’m tryin’ to abuse it in your favor, kid. You tell me to reach out, you’ll get endorsements so far up your ass you’ll be shitting them out until May.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I- That is not a saying-“

“Could be.”

“No, it really couldn’t-“

“You want the backing or not?”

You sigh, poking your food with the fancy, half-useless fork. “No. We wrapped that up last week, and I think if I try to add anything more to it I’ll get another call from the board about paperwork and going rogue.”

Sam frowns. “You can go rogue at a charity? What, you donating too many blankets?”

“No, I just have no respect for the precedent.” You shrug, leaning further back in your seat and crossing one leg under your body. “No work talk, Sam. You’ll get me in trouble.”

Sam gives you a disappointed look. “You broke into the office again?”

“Broke in implies that it’s not my office-“

“At the Stark Foundation.”

You pause, frowning at Barnes. He’s still staring at you, arms crossed and face unreadable, and his words hadn’t really sounded like a question, but you’re going to answer them anyway.

“Yeah.”

“How’d you end up with that?”

You blink. “With my job?”

Barnes gives you a tight nod and grunt, and you shrug.

“The old director died in the Blip. Tony offered me the role, I took it, and I still have it.”

“Why you?”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to find some sort of crack in his rough, firmly set expression that will tell you what exactly he wants to know.

“Why not me?” You snap, sitting a little taller, and Barnes blinks, but doesn’t back down.

“Don’t know,” he drawls. “Might be why I’m asking, kid.”

Your fingers dig slightly into the cloth of the table. “Well, James, I was just in the right place, at the right time, and it doesn’t really matter now, does it? I’m good at my job.”

Barnes just raises his brows. “And who’s told you that?”

“Everyone. For the past six years.”

“What about the old director?” He leans forward slightly, holding your gaze. “Where’d he head off, when everyone came back?”

You snort. “I’m pretty sure he just stayed in his coffin. He didn’t blip, he died.”

Barnes frowns. “But-“

“One of the many, many plane crashes that the Snap caused.” You hum. “Any other questions I can answer for you?”

“Yeah, actually.” Barnes says, and you’d been right. His voice is what’s telling you to be careful, because it’s rough and deep and almost sounds like a weapon of its own. “You know what type of security system your building has? I’ll need access to it.”

You scowl. “No.”

He gives you an almost taunting look. “No, you don’t know?”

“No, you’re not getting access to it. I said I’m not doing this, and I was serious-“

“Afraid that’s not really up to you, doll.”

Something prickles over your skin at how bored and flat his tone is, rooting around in your skull as you suddenly feel a little too small under his gaze. The same way you’ve felt for too much of your life. Not a person, too much of a person, better as only an accessory or art piece or oversaturated giggle and smile, better putting on the show and being the doll-

“Don’t call me that.” You snap, raising your chin as you hold his gaze, and his eyes narrow on yours, but he doesn’t say anything, so you push on. “I do not need a bodyguard, and I’m sure you’re not eager to do this either-“

“I made a promise-“

“And that’s amazing for you, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to break it. I’m sure Sam will recover from the emotional damage.”

“He won’t if you die.”

You roll your eyes. “I mean, yeah, but I haven’t died yet. Statistically, that means I might be unkillable-“

Barnes hisses your name, and it sounds strange when he says it. Not really like a name. Likely something either far more, or far less. “This is not a game. If Hydra really is after you, they aren’t going to be pulling punches or playing fair. You can get your group of rotating guards, or you can have someone who knows what the hell they’re doing.”

“You? I could have you?”

His blinks again. It seems to be the equivalent of a visceral reaction from him. “Unless Sam can find you another ex-Hydra super soldier, yeah, do you-“ He cuts himself off with another blink. “I’m what they’re offering. Take it.”

“Or leave it?”

“I didn’t say that.” he grunts, and you roll your eyes. “Take it.”

You’re running out of ways to get out of this. 

You’ll keep trying anyway.

“You know,” you drawl, spinning your fork between your fingers as you give Barnes a mockingly intrigued look. “I don’t think you count as ex-Hydra.”

He frown somehow deepens. “What.”

“Ex-Hydra implies a voluntary complicity to their actions.”

Two blinks. Progress. “Why are we talking about this.”

“Because,” you hum, and when you glance at Sam, you’d think he’s watching a tennis game the way his gaze is bouncing back and forth across the table. “If your pitch is that you’re ex-Hydra, and you’re not, then your pitch is invalid, and-“

Sam snaps your name, giving Barnes a strange look before turning back to you. “Stop tryin’ to Jedi mind-trick out of this. You’re gonna give poor Bucky a stroke before he even has a chance to save your ass.”

You scowl. “Nobody’s saving my ass, Sam. My ass is fine where it is-“

“I’m sure it is,” Barnes mutters, and you shoot him your most venomous glare.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean-“

“It means,” he sneers, and this time you get a nostril flare. He might be furious. “Like we’ve told you, Hydra isn’t going to play fair. It’s not going to matter how high profile or status you are, they’ll find you, and they’ll do what they want unless you stop being a stubborn fucking brat and let us help.”

You stare at him, the whole world suddenly a little too colorful. Bright. Loud. Hot. Everything in your body is burning and you don’t care that he’d swat you away like a fly, you’re going to launch across the table and strangle Barnes with your bare hands, because he doesn’t fucking know you, doesn’t have the right to speak down to you like you’re a child or little, dumb, naïve girl who doesn’t know that she is in danger. Who thinks she’s above danger, when you’re not above anything, you’re barely above yourself, you’re barely yourself at all and he doesn’t fucking know that, he doesn’t know you, he doesn’t know what you’ve done and who you are and just how stubborn of a problem you can be for his stoic, hot, brooding, angry-

Sam coughs, his tone slow and cautious as he speaks. “Bucky’s being a rude asshole, which we’ve talked about not doing, but,” he shoots Barnes a stern glare as he says your name. “He’s right. We can’t afford to get cocky here-“

You shoot Sam a cold glower. “I am not-“

“I know, just-“ He sighs. “I know you don’t want Barnes, but you’re takin’ him. And I’m not asking. It’s an order.”

You gape at him. “Are you fucking serious-“

“Yeah, I am.” Sam’s jaw clenches, but there’s still something apologetic in his gaze. “You can do this easy, where you let Barnes follow you around until I sort this shit out, or I can tell your board that their CEO is bein’ threatened by Hydra, and that as Captain America I’m puttin’ a detail on you to keep you safe.”

“Sam,” you hiss through your teeth, leaning over the table. “I am not a child. I will be fine-“

“I’m sure you will.” He shrugs. “Cause Bucky’s gonna be keeping an eye on you, and he can be a grumpy dick-“

Barnes grunts. “I can hear you-“

“But,” Sam only waves him off, not breaking his attention from you. “He’s the best damn guy I know. And this’ll be a whole lot easier if you at least pretend you’re not gonna try and give him the slip everyday.”

You scowl. You don’t think you will be able to get past Barnes. Or hide things from him. Or keep your lack of sleep and disastrous private life or anything at all from him. 

Including, maybe, the thing. And definitely him.

But there’s no way out of this. You’ve been back into a corner, and your usual two ways out—gnashing and clawing like a feral animal, or talking in circles under you make an opening to flee through—won’t work here. Sam knows you too well. Barnes is like a fucking rock, and you can’t confuse and annoy a rock into doing what you want.

“What would he do.”

Sam’s face splits into a wide smile at your mumble, and hate that he knows he’s won. 

“You’re gettin’ the best of the best,” he says your name with a far brighter tone than only seconds ago, gesturing to where Barnes is still rigid in his seat. “This model comes with a metal arm, an inside knowledge of Hydra, personalized sarcastic comments, and handsome face that could charm the evilest of bad guys-“

“Sam.” Barnes mutters, still watching you. If he doesn’t look away soon, he’s going to lose an eye to go with his arm. “Shut up.”

Sam doesn’t listen, and you don’t know what Barnes expected, but his glower deepens as Sam plows on. 

“He’ll be shipped right to your office, and spend his days makin’ sure you don’t become Hydra-meat-“

You wrinkle your nose. “Meat?”

“I’m goin’ off the cuff. They’re not all gonna be winners. He’ll start tomorrow.”

“I’ll be at your office.” Barnes mutters. “I want full badge access, and a blueprint. Let your security know I’ll be armed-“

“You let them know.” You snap. “Sam will give you Happy’s number, but I will have work to do-“

Barnes scoffs. “You can’t take five minutes to make sure you don’t get kidnapped-“

“I thought that’s what you were supposed to be doing.” You snap, shooting Sam a pointed look. “Am I going to be explaining his job to him the whole time?”

Two blinks. Nostril flare. 

Maybe by the end of this, you’ll get a full and obvious sneer. 

Sam just gives you a look like he’s disappointed in you, before Barnes can even snap or grunt anything, and the conversation moves on.

You’ve lost. Just for now, you’ve lost.

But you’ve been in worse situations, and you’ve found more difficult ways out. So when you leave the restaurant—you paid, and ignored Sam’s glare because after pulling this shit, he doesn’t have a single leg to stand on—and Barnes scans you over one last time, you don’t flinch.

He’s just a man. Just a person. He can roll up the sleeves of his jacket all he wants—as if he’s trying to remind you of the metal arm, when it hadn’t been all that well hidden in the first place and you really don’t care—and glower down at you as imposingly as he can manage, using that deep voice to ask more obviously leading and stiffly formal questions about your past that you dodge with ease, but at the end of it, he’s a person and you’re more. 

You won’t have to do the show here. Not the normal one. You won’t be able to be everything but you can be as much as you need to be

So you can be as much as you want. 

And it won’t matter what experience he has, what warnings or cautions or files Sam has given him, or how prepared he may think he is.

Barnes doesn’t know what the hell he’s getting into.

End Note: Enemies to lovers is my safe space for romance I fear. They're about to be so mean to each other (until they're not).

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[magical-reid]

Hidden in Plain Sight

Pairing: Lip Gallagher x Reader

Word Count: 1.3K

Summary: Lip who has always avoided comfort, begins to unravel emotionally after a quiet, intimate moment with a girl who brings calm into his chaotic life. As their secret relationship grows, the weight of hiding it becomes unbearable, leading to a moment of honesty that frees them both from the fear and tension of living in secrecy.

Lip Gallagher had never believed in the concept of comfort. In the Gallagher world, comfort was a luxury—one that didn’t exist in his universe. But then, she showed up. She was different. Calm in a way that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he could find a little peace.

It all started the night she led him into her bathroom for a bath. Lip had laughed at first. A bath? He was a Gallagher, for God’s sake. He didn’t do baths. He did survival, did self-reliance, did fighting through each day like it was the last. But she had her way of convincing him.

"You’ll love it," she had teased, running the water with a familiar ease, as if this was something he’d done his whole life.

"Seriously?" Lip had said, eyeing the oversized tub like it might swallow him whole. "You’re joking, right?"

"Nope. You need to relax, Lip. Trust me."

At first, it was awkward. He sat at the edge, arms crossed, trying to look like he was too cool for something this soft. But as the steam filled the room, as the lavender scent slowly settled around him, something inside him softened. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been carrying, how tight his body always was, until it began to unwind under the warm water.

"Alright, this isn't terrible," Lip muttered, looking over at her as she sat beside him, a knowing smile on her lips.

She leaned in closer, her voice almost a whisper. "See? You don’t always have to fight, Lip."

He chuckled, something between disbelief and real affection in his eyes. "It’s just... weird. But, yeah. I could get used to this."

And so began the unraveling of the walls Lip had carefully built around himself. That moment in the bathroom was only the beginning.

It had been weeks since that night. Things between them weren’t official, but everyone could feel the shift. Lip didn’t talk about it—hell, he barely let himself think about it—but there was no denying it: he was starting to care. More than he’d allowed himself to care for anything in a long time.

The secrecy, though, was killing him. It wasn’t about shame. He wasn’t ashamed of her. It was fear. Fear that if it came out—if the chaos of his family got wind of this—they’d tear it apart. Everyone had an opinion, and no one held back. And if it went wrong... He couldn’t bear to imagine it.

Still, he loved the thrill. The sneaking around. The stolen glances when no one was looking. The quiet moments when they’d slip into each other’s rooms before the sun came up.

One night, after an exhausting day full of Gallagher-family drama, they found themselves at yet another one of their infamous parties. Music blasting, people arguing, Fiona reigning over the madness like the queen she was. But Lip couldn't focus on any of that. His eyes kept finding her across the room—her quiet smile, the way she rolled her eyes at his brothers. He couldn't help it; he was drawn to her in ways that made him forget about everything else.

Debbie nudged her, breaking her from the trance. “What’s up with you? You’re blushing like crazy.”

She laughed nervously, trying to play it off. "Just hot in here."

But Lip, never one to let an opportunity pass, caught her eye from across the room. His smirk was obvious, and as he passed by, his fingers brushed the small of her back. The brief contact sent a jolt through her, making her heart race.

Debbie raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure there’s nothing else going on?”

She shifted uncomfortably, forcing a smile. “Just drop it.”

But Lip wasn’t done. He leaned against the kitchen counter, watching her with amusement. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her, and she knew he was enjoying every moment of this teasing.

Eventually, she couldn’t take it anymore. Excusing herself from Debbie and Kev, she slipped into the bathroom for a breather. But before she could close the door, Lip appeared, stepping into the pantry with a grin that made her pulse spike.

“Lip!” she hissed, looking over her shoulder. “Are you insane? Someone’s going to see us!”

“Nah,” he said, closing the door behind him. “I’ve been watching you all night. You drive me crazy.”

She rolled her eyes, trying to maintain some composure. “You’re the one who keeps staring.”

His smile widened, and before she could protest, he stepped closer, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. His touch was slow, deliberate, and it made her breath catch.

“Relax,” Lip murmured, his lips brushing against her temple. “I’m not going to do anything. Just wanted a minute with you.”

Before she could reply, the sound of someone calling his name from the kitchen broke the spell.

“Better get back before they send in a search party,” she said, her voice breathless.

Lip gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before stepping back. “Yeah, yeah. I’m going.”

She waited a few moments after he left before slipping out herself. The entire encounter had left her dizzy, conflicted. She was falling for him, but the fear of getting caught, of losing it all, was starting to suffocate her.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Later that night, someone suggested a round of Seven Minutes in Heaven. Her stomach sank. The thought of being locked in a tiny room with Ian of all people made her want to hide under the couch cushions. But when the bottle landed on Ian for her turn, she couldn’t hide her panic.

Lip’s jaw clenched. She could see it—how much he hated this, hated that their relationship was still a secret, hated that someone else was about to be close to her.

“Well, go on,” Fiona teased, not sensing the tension in the air.

Ian, ever the good sport, shrugged and held out his hand. “Guess we’re doing this.”

The bathroom door slammed shut behind them, and the awkwardness was immediate. They both stood there for a long moment, not quite sure what to say.

“So... you and Lip?” Ian asked, breaking the silence.

Her heart stuttered in her chest. “What?”

Ian smirked, clearly amused by her feigned ignorance. “Don’t play dumb. I’ve known for months. Lip’s not exactly subtle.”

Her face burned. “Does everyone know?”

“Nah,” Ian shrugged. “Just me. Maybe Fiona. But don’t worry, I won’t say anything. It’s kind of sweet, actually.”

“Sweet?” she echoed, confused.

“Yeah, sweet. In a Gallagher kind of way.”

Before she could respond, someone banged on the door. “Time’s up!”

She and Ian stumbled out of the bathroom, met by the chorus of teasing from the others. When her eyes met Lip’s, his expression was unreadable—though she could see the fire behind it.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

By the end of the night, the secrecy was weighing on her like a lead blanket. Sitting beside Lip on the couch, her hand resting on his knee beneath the blanket, she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Lip,” she whispered, leaning in closer to him.

He tilted his head, looking at her. “Yeah?”

“Let’s tell them.”

He frowned slightly, clearly surprised. “You sure?”

She nodded. “I’m tired of hiding. I don’t care what they think.”

Lip hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

With her heart pounding, she stood up, Lip following suit. Together, they faced the crowd of people. The music slowed, conversations dying as all eyes turned to them.

“We’ve been seeing each other,” she said, the words coming out faster than she intended.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then Fiona grinned widely. “Took you long enough.”

Carl’s voice rang out in the silence. “Wait! That means those marks on Lip’s neck—”

“Yep,” Debbie chimed in with a smirk, drawing a laugh from the others.

Her face turned bright red, but Lip just laughed, pulling her closer. “What can I say? She’s got good aim.”

The room erupted in laughter, and for the first time in months, she felt a sense of relief. No more hiding, no more pretending. This—this was real.

Lip pressed a kiss to her temple, whispering, “Told you it’d be fine.”

And for the first time in a long while, she knew he was right. The secret was out. And the thrill of hiding had nothing on the feeling of finally being real.

[otomehoneyybearr]

Kagari Amagase

The Dangerous Lynx Clumsily Seeks Affection

**Really quick, I want to make this note to show appreciation for the other amazing people who translated this story too! There’s one by Cirilla-fiona-riannon, Cosmowgyral, and Cheshireliam! They put a lot of effort into it and are great at what they do, so please check out their posts and show your support! Thank you!!🌹

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | His POV | Epilogue

Some time had passed since I visited Ruby with the owner, and today, the town was livelier than usual, bustling with energy. 

Emma: “Prince Kagari’s birthday?” 

Townswoman: “That's right! It’s become a tradition for the whole town to celebrate it.” 

Emma: “So that’s why it’s so lively today...” 

(I had no idea today was Prince Kagari’s birthday.) 

The townspeople seemed to be in high spirits, and the scent of dorayaki wafted from every direction. 

Townswoman: “You should also join in on the celebration.” 

Townswoman: “I’m sure Prince Kagari would be delighted if someone like his favorite were to celebrate with him”

The woman, whom I had become acquainted with after coming to Ruby, gave me a bright, innocent smile, gently encouraging me. 

Townswoman: “Come, come! If you’re having trouble picking a present, I can help you decide.” 

Emma: “Thank you, but since this is a special occasion, I’d like to think of something on my own.” 

(What’s going on? I feel like I’m being pressured somehow… or maybe it’s just my imagination?) 

Seemingly satisfied with my answer, the woman cheerfully wished me luck before walking away. 

(Setting aside whether or not I’m his.... ‘favorite’, Prince Kagari has helped me countless times since I came to Ruby.) 

(Now that I know it's his birthday, there’s no way I won’t celebrate!) 

(Alright...!) 

.... 

(...Huh, what’s with this long line!?) 

When I arrived at the castle with the present tucked in my bag, I was met with an overwhelming crowd of people in the square that had also come to celebrate the demon. 

(Swordsmen, nobles… and even commoners. There’s so many people here!) 

Then, I spotted a figure with striking red hair at the front of the line. 

Even from afar, I could see Prince Kagari expressionlessly accepting an unending stream of congratulatory words and gifts. 

(He looks completely indifferent, like it has nothing to do with him. He doesn’t seem to be enjoying it at all.) 

I stood on my toes to get a better look when, suddenly, our eyes met. 

(...Prince Kagari was always quick to sense people’s gazes, so he probably noticed me.) 

(I might have been staring too much and distracted him.) 

I quickly averted my eyes and took refuge under a nearby cherry blossom tree. 

(Still, what should I do? With so many people here, it’ll be difficult to find a chance to give him my gift.) 

(I wanted to do it on his actual birthday, but maybe I should come back another day—wait, huh?) 

When I absentmindedly glanced back, Prince Kagari was no longer there. 

Instead, standing there was one of his aides. 

And strangely enough, despite the Demon himself no longer being there, people were still offering their wishes and gifts as if nothing happened. 

It was a strange sight. 

???: “You’re wide open, Princess.” 

(!?) 

I turned around at the sudden whisper in my ear, only to have my mouth covered by a hand. 

Before I could react, I was swiftly pulled into the shade of the tree, my back softly hitting against the rough bark. 

Emma: “Mmph...!” 

(When did Prince Kagari get behind me...!?) 

I struggled, but he effortlessly pinned me against the tree, bringing his face dangerously close. 

I thought my heart might stop. 

Kagari: “Will you promise to stay quiet?” 

I nodded eagerly, and finally, he removed his hand from my mouth. 

But the distance between us didn’t change, his arms still trapping me between him and the tree. 

(Calm down, Emma.) 

(Prince Kagari is probably just sticking close to avoid being seen by anyone.) 

I instinctively lower my voice, being careful not to let my breath reach him. 

Emma: “...Why are you here, Prince Kagari?” 

Kagari: “I saw you.” 

Emma: “Were you looking for me?” 

Kagari: “You had called for me.” 

(Is that how it looked to him…?) 

I felt both a sense of guilt and a strange fluttering in my chest.

Kagari: “If you were planning to wait in line, I’d advise against it.” 

Kagari: “That line won’t end until nightfall.” 

Emma: “It’s that long…?” 

Kagari: “Then there’s a banquet tonight that lasts until dawn.” 

(They really put their all into celebrating the entire day. But that's to be expected for someone as important as the Demon of Kogyoku.) 

Even while I was impressed by it all, Prince Kagari’s expression remained unreadable. 

He gazed at the never-ending line with a look so cold that made it hard to believe he was the one being celebrated. 

(I guess Prince Kagari isn’t interested in celebrating his own birthday.) 

(...What if he thinks I'm being a bother?) 

Kagari: “So, why are you here?” 

I instinctively looked away. 

Emma: “……Um……since so many people had gathered, I was just curious and…” 

(I can’t bring myself to say that I came to celebrate, too.) 

I shift my bag behind me, hiding the gift inside. 

Prince Kagari fell silent for a moment. 

The awkward silence stretches for so long that the distant noise of the town feels even farther away. 

(Did he see through me…?) 

However, instead of pressing the matter, he simply grabs my wrist. 

Kagari: “Princess, will you come with me?” 

Emma: “Huh? I… Prince Kagari?” 

Despite his words, he somewhat forcibly led me through the crowd, keeping us out of sight as we made our way toward the castle... 

Once inside, he tossed me into a room before returning with a large basket from somewhere. 

Kagari: “First, put this on.” 

Emma: “A...Hakama?” 

Kagari: “Then wrap this around your face.” 

Emma: “A scarf?” 

Kagari: “Finally, hangthis on your waist.” 

Emma: “…A sword!?” 

Kagari: “And tie your hair up.” 

Emma: “Um…?” 

(Why is he suddenly making me change clothes?) 

I tilt my head in confusion as I take the items he handed me, one after another. 

Then, Prince Kagari picks up the hakama and reaches for my clothes. 

Kagari: “If you don’t know how to put it on, I’ll help you.” 

Emma: “—No! I-I’ll do as much as I can on my own!” 

(I’m not sure what’s going on, but it should be fine, right...?) 

........

(—So, why is this happening...?)

Next

Please feel free to skip this part! I’ve been interested in occasionally doing translation notes, explaining some terminology that I think are a bit nuanced or have multiple translations. Sorry if it’s a bit wordy but hopefully it’s helpful if you ever run into words like these or just fun to read! ❤️

*Translation notes:

山猫: The literal translation of this is mountain cat; 山 (yama) - mountain, 猫 (neko) - cat. It’s often translated to wildcat; however, seeing the animal on Kagari’s motif, I think it’s possible that they are referring to a lynx (specifically a Euroasian lynx) but I might be wrong!

おひいさん: I’m preeetty sure his nickname for Emma “おひいさん” (o-hii-san) is just a derivative of おひいさま(o-hii-sama)….. which then derives from おひめさま (o-hime-sama) lol. The literal translation for all of this is princess, but, as Emma isnt a princess in the literal sense, it becomes nuanced to mean a lady with a pure heart, yet naive/ignorant to what’s going on in the world. (Hopefully that make sense 😭)

*From what I've seen, when “ああ” is used in manga, anime, game, etc.. more often than not, it means “yeah” or “yep”. It’s not really something said in everyday life, but more of a stylistic choice made to add charm to a character's dialogue.

Those are the only notes I could come up with off the top of my head, but, again, I hope it was helpful!!🌹

Next

▼・ᴥ・▼

[aperrywilliams]

Satellite Call. Part III: Now I'll Keep My Secret (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

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Author Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Words count for this part: 4.5k

Series summary: Your world crushes when Spencer is arrested. Between finding a way to get him out and keeping you afloat, there is something else you need to focus on, too. And even when you thought things couldn’t go worse, a tragedy makes you question if you can make it through.

Part III summary: You try to navigate between helping your husband to get out of jail and grasping the idea of having a baby. You don´t want to tell him yet, but every day gets harder and harder.

Series warnings: ANGST (with CAPS). 18+ (MDNI). Some heavy topics will be discussed and shown here. Prison arc, but mostly from Reader's perspective and Emily’s. More detailed under the cut.

Spencer lies to his wife. Drug consumption (against their will). Pregnancy symptoms. Spencer is in jail for more than three months. Hospital visits, doctor’s info dumping (not accurate). Alcohol consumption. Arguing. Strong language. A lot of crying. Emotional breakdowns. A car crash happens (as in the CM storyline). Character dies. More hospital things. Miscarriage. More angst. Depressing symptoms. Mourning. Self-doubt. Suicidal ideation, and almost consummated. Emily is everyone’s emotional support.

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

It's been a whole month, and still, there has been little progress in getting Spencer out of jail. It doesn't help that the team needs to keep working on other cases. Serial killers don’t stop because one of the BAU members is falsely accused of murder.

Emily has been doing her best to balance the workload without putting Spencer’s case aside, and you are grateful she is managing to keep things rolling and preventing the team from crushing. Honestly, this past month has been hard for everyone, especially you. And after discovering you were pregnant, it only got harder. There were days of thinking about how to process the news and then what you wanted to do. Finally, you decide you want to have the baby, although you won’t tell Spencer yet. You don’t want him to worry about another thing that isn’t to get out of jail.

“What does Fiona say about a new hearing?” You ask your husband in your regular weekly visit. 

“She doesn't think it can be arranged if there is no new evidence to justify a change in my status,” Spencer explains, a tired look on his face.

“But we can prove there was someone else in that room. There is a reasonable doubt about you committing the murder, right?” You try to reason.

“They will say it's my accomplice. I don't know; Fiona doesn't seem convinced,” Spencer adds and immediately tries to change the focus, seeing your disappointment. “It’s okay. We’ll figure out what else can be done. But now I want to know about you. Last week, you said you got a stomach bug. Are you feeling better?”

Indeed, on the day of your last visit, you had pretty bad morning sickness, and Spencer noticed your pale face. So you lied, saying it was a stomach bug.

“Yeah. Much better, actually.”

“You sure? It seemed serious. Maybe a doctor’s check would be a good idea.”

“Spence, I’m fine. Really. Nothing to worry about.”

You hate to lie this way to him, but seeing how worried he is because of a stomach bug, you don’t fathom how it would be for him knowing a baby is growing inside of you.

You leave him with the promise to get checked so your health doesn’t get worse. And it’s not a complete lie because you indeed have a doctor's appointment, but it’s for your first sonogram.

Although you have been feeling okay, you don’t think you can do this alone, so you ask Emily to go with you.

When Emily arrives at your apartment to pick you up and drive you to the hospital, she asks, “How are you feeling?”

“Weird.”

It is not as eloquent as you want it to be, but it is a good summary. Emily raises an eyebrow, seizing your response.

“A good weird or a bad weird?”

You purse your lips in thinking for a moment.

“A weird-weird,” you shrug, sitting at the barstool where you are drinking a mug of tea. “I mean, I know I’m growing a human being inside my body, but I can’t fully understand it yet. It doesn't feel real.”

Emily understands better than you think she does, but she won’t tell you that.

“So I should infer you’re not ready for today,” she assumes. And you nod in acknowledgment.

It’s not the ideal scenario. You haven’t told Spencer yet, and you don’t want to tell anyone else, so you ask Emily to keep the secret for a while.

The drive to the hospital is mostly silent. Emily doesn’t want to overwhelm you talking about Spencer’s case or anything stressful, so she lets the music fill the space.

In the waiting room, you can’t stop bouncing your leg. A treat you got from Spencer in all these years knowing each other.

Emily notices. “It’s going to be okay,” she assures you, with a comforting hand on your knee. You look at her and sigh.

“I hope so.”

A doctor peeks at the waiting room and spots you.

“Mrs. Reid? We are ready for you,” he announces with a warm smile.

Both you and Emily nod and follow him to the procedure room.

After all the protocol questions, he asks you to lie down on the gurney.

“We’ll do a check on the baby now,” the doctor explains as he applies the cold gel to your lower belly.

Emily can feel your nervousness even if you are good at masking it. Gently, she squeezes your hand in reassurance. You take a deep breath and brace for what’s coming next.

The monitor turns to life with the image of your womb. There is a tiny bubble beating there.

“There you go. Your baby is there. Let’s see. Shape and size as they have to be. Now let’s hear the heartbeats.” After switching some buttons, the room fills with fast tumps—your baby’s heartbeat. If there is any doubt about the reality of all of this, now it’s undeniable. Your eyes fill with tears, and you can’t stop them from falling.

“Emily-” you manage to say between sobs, and she clutches your hand harder to ground you.

“I know. It's beautiful.”

Spencer should be here, you think. Surely, he would have said a lot of facts about your baby's size and development at this point of pregnancy. And there is no doubt he would have cried as you are doing now.

“Everything looks fine. You need to keep taking your vitamins, try to avoid stressful situations, and eat properly. The baby needs all the nutrients you can provide. Book your next appointment for the next month,” the doctor instructs as he hands you copies of your sonogram and report.

The indications are very clear, but how do you explain to him that your world is anything but not stressful right now?

“Thank you. We’ll do that.” Emily answers for you, presumably knowing you want to argue about your current situation.

On the trip back to your apartment, as Emily drives, you can’t stop looking at the sonogram images. That tiny bubble is your little one. The heartbeat you heard at the doctor’s office is yours and Spencer's baby's.

“Will you tell him now?” Emily asks, already knowing what you are thinking about.

“I - I don’t think so. Not yet, at least.” You see how Emily’s brows furrow. “I will. Of course, I will. I just don’t think it's the time. Not when we don't have any progress to get him out.”

Emily doesn't agree with your decision, but she respects it. She also respects your wishes not to tell the team.

“You understand you can’t hide it forever, don’t you?” Emily points to your belly.

“Yes. I know.”

Besides keeping the news between you both, you agree with Emily on some adjustments to your routine. You are traveling with the team in some cases. Still, you don’t go to the field so often, staying in the precincts working on the geographical profile, something it doesn't pick too much attention knowing Spencer is who usually does that, and he can’t at the moment.

You visit Spencer whenever you have the chance, sometimes two times a week. There are days rougher than others. The lack of evidence to tie Scratch to Spencer’s case is frustrating, but you try to keep your spirit up for your husband’s sake and yours.

There is a very shitty one when you see Spencer’s face bruised. He tells you everything is fine, but how can you believe that when your husband has been beaten in jail and you couldn’t do anything to help him? Those days are the worst when, plus the impotence you feel, you wonder about whether it's a good idea to tell him about your pregnancy. But you don’t. Each time, you relent and leave with a heavy secret literally growing inside of you.

When Spencer is denied bail for the second time, you want to punch someone, anyone. Two months in jail, and it seems like an eternity.

That night, alone in your apartment, you let yourself cry to loosen some of the frustration. But when you feel a buzz in your belly, it is like a switch is pulled up, and you can’t help but stop sobbing. The foreign feeling has you with your hands on your lower stomach, wondering what the hell was that.

Maybe it’s your imagination. Your doctor said quickening happens around 16 to 20 weeks in pregnancy, but with first babies, it can be later. The math says it can be a possibility - you're in your 18th week - and the thought of that happening is enough to ground you in the present to focus. Your baby needs you the same as they need their father.

“Okay, let’s see. You tracked the bullet found for Matamoros’ police in the truck Spencer was driving, and it's tied to murders on the border?” Emily asks Penelope after she gathers the whole team in the conference room to debrief the latest findings in Spencer’s case.

“Wait. The police never mentioned fired guns being involved. Why are we knowing this now?” You ask Garcia for clarification.

“Because that was the only thing they didn’t include on their first report,” Garcia explains. “They updated it after we got Spencer transferred to American soil, and they didn't notify us. I found it because of a report from San Juan police linking Matamoros’ discovery with a new case of theirs,” she points to the screen when the comparison between bullets is shown.

“Then the gun is active. So is Scratch’s partner,” Rossi infers.

“When Garcia?” you rush to ask.

“This morning. I did the digging and called you immediately.” You look to Emily to make the decision you know is the obvious. Emily shakes her head.

“No, we’re not going to the border. We need more.”

“Emily, it’s our chance to get Scratch’s partner!” you argue. Luke backs you up.

“We don’t have anything else by now. We should go.”

Rossi speaks up. “It could be nothing. Emily is right. We need more to go after him.”

“What if we can’t get more than this?!” you stand from your seat. “It’s been two months, and it’s the first time we have something more than conjectures.”

“And if we don’t have anything else, we can screw this up and lose any chance to get him. You know that,” Emily tries to reason with you, but you only scoff in response.

“All of us want to get Spencer out of jail, but we need to be cautious.” This time, it is JJ who tries to de-escalate, but you’re already exasperated.

“Sure, since it's not your husband who is locked up in a dirty cell for a crime he didn't commit! You don’t know anything! You don't know how frustrating it is not to be able to help him and to fear every day that his life is in danger!” You’re yelling at this point. 

JJ doesn’t know what to say, and the team only looks at your outburst in silence. But Emily's firm voice calls out your name, and before she can lecture you, you huff and walk out of the room.

The bathroom is the only place you can come up to hide. Closing the door behind you, you start to pace, trying to think of a way to get out of your frustration. 

You want to cry. You want to scream.

You know the team has good intentions, and they’re right about being cautious. You’d say the same in other circumstances. But now? Without much thought and motivated by rage, you punch the wall with your fist.

The sharp feeling running from your fist to your hand and then your arm is enough to stop the rush in your head. A pained grunt escapes your lips. And then nothing, just the throb in your knuckles that brings you to reality.

“Fuck!”

Panting, you grab your injured hand with the other, and it's when you notice the bleeding. Your knuckles are bleeding. You don't know if it's the pain of the broken skin or the sadness of your heart, but with your back against the wall, you slide to the floor. Sitting with your arms around your knees, crying your eyes out.

At that moment, Emily gets in the bathroom and sees you on the floor. All the alarms start blaring in her head.

“Hey, hey. What happened?” she crouches and notices your hand. “Honey, you are injured. What did you do?”

“What can I do? Emily, what can I do?” you sob, and Emily engulfs you in a tight embrace.

“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

“I can’t - I don't -” you babble as Emily sways you gently in her arms. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“I can’t imagine how hard it is for you, but from all the people I have known in my life, there is no one that can do this but you. It’s okay. I promise it will be okay,” she whispers, trying to soothe your sobs. It works at some point. Your breathing is still shaken, but the tears subside. “Come on, we need to check your hand,” Emily says, helping you to get up.

She helps you clean off the blood and takes you to her office, not before calling an EMT to check your hand. There is no broken bone, just some torn skin and a nasty bruise. Emily asks for a check on your blood pressure and other vitals. You are pregnant, and she is worried. The EMT concludes that everything looks fine.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble after you are both left alone in Emily’s office.

“Don’t apologize. We understand.” 

And although you know they do, you are still sorry about losing your temper in the conference room.

“Even though it’s true stress and hormones are feasting at my expense, that doesn't justify my behavior.”

Emily scoffs. “You go too hard on yourself sometimes.”

Possibly, she’s right. But have you the luxury of not to?

Emily instructs Garcia to keep track of the San Juan case and compare any other piece of evidence besides the bullets' match. A new case arrives, and this time, Rossi will be in charge, flying to Tulsa with Tara, JJ, Luke, Matt, and Stephen.

“Why are you not going?” you ask Emily when everyone but her gets their go-bags and disappears on the elevator. You know why you won’t go, but Emily?

“I have more pressuring matters here,” she solemnly states. The frown on your face says you don’t understand what she refers to.

“About Spencer?” you guess, but Emily shakes her head.

“About another friend, who happens to be Spencer’s wife.” Before you ask what she means, Emily continues. “A very good friend of mine is having a hard time, and I’m sure we need to talk about it. Really talk about it.”

True to her word, Emily takes you to your apartment and stays with you all afternoon. You cook, eat, and talk. 

It's comforting to have a friend like Emily Prentiss. Sometimes you forget it because she is your boss too, but you can’t have asked for a better friend than her.

“Why didn't you tell me all these things before?” she asks after you recount some details of your emotional rollercoaster in the past weeks.

“What’s the point? I mean, you already have a lot on your plate trying to be my boss,” you joke to lighten the mood.

“Really? Is that your excuse?” Emily scoffs, knowing you’re deflecting. You shrug in resignation.

“The part of you having a lot on your plate is true, though.”

“Never is a lot when we are talking about our friends,” she reminds you. “Maybe I don’t always have the answers for everything, but at least I’m a good listener. You know that.”

Emily is right. She has been there for you since the beginning. When you joined the team a year later than her, Emily quickly became your best friend. She was the one who encouraged you to make a move on Spencer after you admitted having feelings for him. You’ll be grateful for it for the rest of your life.

Spending the afternoon talking to your friend and verbalizing what's bothering you makes you feel lighter at the end of the day and gives you a sense of normality amidst the chaos.

When you go to bed that night, you grab the picture of your last sonogram and contemplate it for a while. You’ll get another one next week. Rubbing your belly, you smile to yourself.

“Are you ready for another photo session? We are collecting all your pictures for when Daddy comes home. Will you pose for him in the next one?” You feel a buzz in your lower stomach, like the one you felt some days before. You are sure it's your baby this time. 

“Okay, then. I’ll take that as a yes,” you say, chuckling as your mind wanders to a particular moment.

-

You were at Rossi’s celebrating JJ’s second pregnancy announcement. You and Spencer were freshly married at the moment. At some point, Spencer approached you, seeing you were alone in a corner, nursing a beer. “Hey,” he said, kissing your cheek. “What’s a pretty lady like you doing here all by herself?” You chuckled at his attempt to flirt. “Spencer Reid, you already married me. You don't need to try to impress me, you know?” Spencer’s grin almost left you breathless. God, you were so madly in love. “I’ll never stop telling you how pretty and amazing you are. If you don’t like it, sue me." With his arm wrapped around your waist, he pulled you in for a kiss.  A burst of laughter drew you out of your moment. You turned to see the team joking around with the expecting parents. Spencer kept his arms around you, allowing your head to rest on his chest. "Do you think we’ll be like that someday?" you asked Spencer, watching Will and JJ with Henry, feeling their joy about another baby on the way. Spencer rested his chin on your shoulder. "I do. We’ll get there someday.”

-

Penelope’s intel pays off in some way. The bullet they are tracking could be tied to an older BAU case. The name Lindsey Vaughn rings louder as they can identify the gun she’s been using to kill men in the past months.

It's still too early to know where she is and how she’s connected to Scratch, though. But having a name is better than nothing.

With the current caseload and the leads for Spencer’s case, you don't have the heart to ask Emily to join you for your new sonogram appointment, so you decide to go alone.

When Dr. Alberts sees you coming in, he greets you with a smile.

“Mrs. Reid. It's good to see you. Please, take a seat on the gurney, please.”

New questions follow the routine ones: ‘Have you felt it kicking?’ ‘Have you had new cravings?’ ‘Have you considered having a C-section?’’

Of all the things he could have said, the one that leaves you reeling is, "Did you notice you're starting to show by now?" 

Damn. It’s still subtle, but it's clearly there. With everything happening around you, it wasn't a pressing concern. But now, it means you'll have to either find a way to hide it or tell everyone—including Spencer—that you're expecting a baby.

The second big news is the baby’s gender. Dr. Alberts asks you if you want to know, and despite your nervousness, you say yes.

“Okay, let’s take a look,” he murmurs as he moves the wand over your belly, concentrating on the monitor. “Yes, I can see it now—or rather, I can’t see it.” He turns to face you with a smile. “Congratulations, Mrs. Reid! You’re having a girl.”

A girl. You’re having a girl.

The first thought in your mind is how a daddy’s girl your baby will be. Knowing Spencer, she’ll have him wrapped around her little finger in no time.

You leave the doctor’s office with a warm feeling in your chest. Maybe it's time to let the world know. But first, Spencer. So you’ll wait for your visit at the end of the week.

That day, Milburn greets you the same way it has since your first visit, with grey walls and fluorescents tilting in the hall's ceilings. As always, you wait in the same booth while the inmates enter the room and take a seat in front of their respective visitors.

You wait for your husband, fiddling with your wedding ring, a thing you do when you are nervous. Just a couple of minutes later, Spencer walks in. When he spots you, a subtle smile appears on his face.

“Hi,” you murmur, returning him a curve up of your lips. 

“Hi, love,” he says, his voice low so only you can hear him.

“How are you?” You don’t expect things to be great in a place like this, but given the circumstances, you ask in the hope that nothing worse has happened.

“As good as it can be,” Spencer shrugs, and you can feel he’s holding back. “This week, there are no bruises, so it's good, right?” He gives you a tight-lip smile.

“Jesus Christ, Spencer,” you scold him because of his dark humor. You can’t blame him, though. You do the same all the time.

“I’m sorry. It wasn't my intention to upset you,” he apologizes. You shake your head.

”It’s okay. I know. It's just - God. If I could - I don’t know - kidnap you from here and keep you locked in a room until everything gets fixed, I would.”

Spencer’s eyes soften. He knows you are talking out of frustration and in an attempt to regain some control in a situation over which you have no control whatsoever.

“Too much time working with the BAU, honey,” Spencer scoffs jokingly. A chuckle escapes your lips at his remark.

“You should really be worried. The moment you get out of here, I’m going to confine you to the apartment permanently,” you warn. Spencer’s eyebrows furrow in fake confusion. “What? You are not the only one allowed to use witty remarks in this relationship, okay?”

Spencer can’t help but notice you look kind of different today. Actually, you have looked different in the past weeks. There is something in your skin, the way you talk, the glint in your eyes. Despite everything, you look beautiful and glowing. Spencer has always thought you’re the most beautiful woman in the world, but not being able to be with you in the past months has enhanced every detail he misses about you.

You raise an eyebrow when there is no response from Spencer. You notice him looking at you, lost in thought.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, calling his attention back to you.

“I miss you,” he blurts out. And your heart aches at the confession. A mutual feeling that only gets worse at night in the loneliness of your shared apartment, only bearable in the past months because you know there is a part of him growing inside of you.

“I miss you, too. More than you can even imagine.” 

You feel your heart pounding in your chest. It's time to tell him everything. But how can you even start?

“I promise. Things will be different. Once this ends, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

Sure. You already know things will be different, but not in the way Spencer is probably thinking. 

“Spence,” you start, “there is something we need to talk about.” Spencer looks at you, trying to read your expression. It is serious, almost solemn. It must be something important.

“Okay,” he says, more like a question than a statement. He knows you need time to collect your thoughts and choose your words, but the silence is killing him. And the anxiety betrays him. “If it's about the delay of my trial, Fiona already told me. It's not necessarily a bad thing.”

Every word rehearsed in your mind is long forgotten when you register what Spencer has said.

“What?”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrow at your question. “It isn’t what you are talking about?”

“Why are they delaying it? For how long?” That’s when Spencer realizes you were referring to another thing and that you didn’t even know what he was talking about at all. 

“I—uh. They decided to add a new charge.” He notices how your expression changes from confusion to horror. “Fiona says it's not uncommon in cases like this,” Spencer tries to explain, but you shake your head. 

“Why didn't you tell me? When did this happen?” 

“I’m sorry. I thought Emily had already told you. I got a notification two days ago.”

You definitely need to have a word with Emily about this. Why didn’t she tell you?

“But, baby. It's okay. We can see it as a way to buy time, you know? To get more evidence to exonerate me. Now that I can remember Lindsey in the room, we can go faster to link Scratch to all of this.”

To buy time? You can’t see it like it is. If anything, it means the baby will be here before even your husband's trial. It's stressful enough to think about the uncertainty of the circumstantial case Fiona is building, but now? With a new charge?

“Are you listening to me?” Spencer’s worried voice brings you back from your thoughts.

“Yeah. Yeah. It's just- I wasn't expecting something like that,” you tell him honestly.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have assumed you did know. But you wanted to talk about something. What is it?”

It's pointless to tell him now. It will put more pressure on him, and you are not ready either after this news.

Just then, the vibration of your smartwatch on your wrist distracts you from what you should or should not say to Spencer. You glance at the device. A text from Garcia reads: ‘We have a location.’

It's not time to discuss the subject right now. If Garcia has a location, maybe you can speed up everything to end this ordeal once and for all.

“I’m sorry. I need to go,” you tell Spencer, giving him an apologetic look.

Spencer’s eyes widen at your words.

“But - but you were - what happened?”

“I need to be at the BAU. There is an urgent case,” you lie, standing up from your seat. Spencer is confused, but he doesn’t pry. “I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?”

“Okay. Okay. Take care, okay?”

“I will,” you smile at him to ease his worry. You know Spencer is utterly confused right now, but you can’t tell him what’s going on. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

You barely hear his words before quickly leaving the room. It's incredible how, in one minute, you went into alert mode. You are not happy about leaving Spencer still in the dark, but maybe, if you are lucky, you will put an end to this limbo today.

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