#i know it was almost a week ago but still

[melwnst]

────── ⋆⋅☆ COLD SWEAT, ROBERT ‘BOB’ REYNOLDS

summary. Valentina decides to punish you and cuts the heating in the tower leading Bob to seek warmth in your arms.

⭑.ᐟwrote this like a week ago and forgot to post it so… surprise!? He’s so precious kill me now. Interact and send requests if u have any:)

word count. 1,1k

Read ☆ ⋅ ⋆ part two here

my masterlist

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Valentina is evil. That’s all you can tell yourself while your teeth collide, your body shivers and your heart feels like it’s about to give out.

The moment you woke up, you knew something was wrong. You’ve never been able to sleep without the heating on, so when you woke up cold, lips and fingers about to turn blue, the chatter of the others complaining, the floor as cold as ice, you knew it wasn’t an ordinary loss of heating, it had to be her.

You spend the day with the others, curled up in blankets, sweats covering your whole body, mountain of socks on your feet, and yet you’re still freezing.

It’s not even winter yet- but being high in the sky doesn’t help. the wind outside makes the tower almost shake, the sound of its screams gives you chills.

Bob’s telling stories to keep you occupied, to keep your mind away from remembering how cold you are. Alexei’s making dad jokes that are so bad you have a headache coming. John complains about how much Bob talks, or really complains about everything that’s wrong with today.

Ava and Yelena are nowhere to be found, maybe in their rooms, while Bucky paces around the living room, trying not to go psycho mode on Valentina because frankly, there’s not much he can do anyway.

You eat the hot dinner all together although no one speaks, probably because everyone’s pissed, and still fighting the cold atmosphere.

When bed time comes around and everyone retracts to their rooms the cold is still there. It’s still hanging in the air, teeth still collide with each other, your body almost sweats because of all the clothes hanging on your body.

It’s not a surprise that you can’t sleep.

You can’t even think.

You just pray that her little scheme will stop because you’re not sure you can go another day like this. No amount of hot showers or hot chocolates will help you not lose your mind.

You close your eyes- trying to think of the good. But your mind can only wander to the bad. The fighting, the battles, the fears.

It’s about to go to the one memory you’re trying to forget the most before there’s a light knock on the door making you almost jump out of bed.

You’re not sure why, but you can feel him. You know exactly who’s standing behind that door.

It’s Bob.

You swing the door open, only to find him standing in his black sweats, the hood covering his head, his hands warming each other in front of him.

His demeanor’s different. He doesn’t look so nervous, or shy. He looks so-normal. Which none of you really do more often than not.

‘Can’t sleep?’ You question, moving slightly to let him in.

You rub your eyes with fatigue as he sits on your bed like he belongs there.

‘It’s impossible. I can’t believe they haven’t fixed it yet.’ He takes off the hood, while you pace across the room.

‘She won’t. She won’t until the thinks we’ve suffered enough. I swear that woman is the devil.’ You complain running a hand through your hair, frustrated.

‘Hey, maybe by morning. You never know.’ He shakes his head.

‘Well you’re always the optimistic one.’ You let out a little laugh, and Bob follows.

You decide to lay down next to him. He’s still sitting, he’s turning a little so he can get a good look at you.

You know this isn’t the right moment. You’re basically dying, but you can’t help your eyes from wandering. He’s always looked good, but the black sweats and hoodie are enough to make your mind go wild, your stomach flutter. You wish you had someone to hold, to maybe make it go away. Or maybe make it better at least.

That’s when you see him shiver, his lips are a weird shade of purple, or blue you’re not sure. You think maybe tonight’s your chance to seize the opportunity. Maybe in the morning it’ll be awkward but surely this is the right time.

‘It’s a bit warmer here.’ He speaks up before you have the chance to, and you’re taken aback.

‘I’ve been dying the whole day, am I like, super dramatic?’ You realize out loud.

‘Maybe just a little.’ He jokes.

Your laugh echoes in his ears and he swears it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

He smiles while he stares.

Usually you might feel too small, awkward and suddenly shy, but the moment he stares, you stare back.

You stare back until eventually you get the courage to ask.

‘Do you want to stay here tonight? Since you think it’s warmer, I wouldn’t want you die from the cold out there.’

Before Bob can even think of forming an answer, you drag yourself to lay under the covers. When you’re safe under them, you pat the bed, the covers on his side in your hand as if to tell him to get under them. His heart beats out of his chest. His hands aren’t so cold anymore, they’re sweaty.

They’re sweaty but he tells himself there’s no use saying no. He’d be stupid to- because he needs the warmth, and so do you.

So he doesn’t answer, instead he just lays down next to you. He gets under the covers, and he’s not sure what to do. If he holds you, he’s afraid he might break, or you might hear how fast his heart is beating. He if doesn’t, he’s afraid he’ll just shake through the cold the entire night.

‘Can I?’ His thoughts are interrupted when you slide closer to him, asking for permission to rest your head on his chest.

Instinctively, his arms are around you in seconds, the covers, the blankets shielding you from the cold.

‘This is nice.’ He speaks up surprising himself. Maybe the cold is getting to his head, maybe he’s a completely different person tonight.

‘It is, yeah.’ You look up at him only to find him already looking down at you.

‘Do you think you can sleep like this?’ You ask because it’s warmer suddenly. You know if you try to close your eyes right now, you might just fall asleep in seconds because he’s there, and because he’s helping.

‘I think so. You?’

You nod your head but don’t answer because you already feel yourself slipping into a slumber.

Your body’s heating up, your hands don’t tremble anymore, your lips are returning to their normal pink-ish color, the only thing going backwards is your heartbeat. Because although you can hear Bob’s going through the roof, you’re pretty sure yours isn’t doing any better.

‘Thank you.’ Is the last thing you hear him say before your brain finally shuts off.

You hope the next step in your courage will be to tell him how you really feel.

Maybe you’ll wake up all sweaty in the morning, but for now, this was worth it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

taglist: @tinas111 @bluemerakis @blossomingorchids @l0v33-rey @mostlymarvelgirl @that-stanford-girlie @sunnyteume @bohoooitsme @beelzebzb (comment to be added!)

[pittsick]

SAY THAT AGAIN.

summary: Spencer is known to talk a lot, always spluttering facts and analysis to people. Everyone always gets annoyed at him for that, except you, who thinks it’s so hot of him. So what happens when you start to flirt shamelessly with Spencer and tell him to use that mouth between your legs?

pairing: spencer reid x afab coworker.

cw: +18. mdni. 1.4k words. praise. submissive spencer. soft dom reader. oral sex (reader receiving). workplace setting. semi-public. light hair pulling. soft mocking & teasing. dirty-talking.

taglist: @blastzachilles @lvve-talks @jordiemeow @strfallz @222col @soulxinxthexsky @diyasgarden @jinxedbambi @lexiiscorect @religionlost @bluestrd @jclolz22 @magicalmiserybore @destinedtobegigi @fwaist @talsorchard @lovefaist @shahabaqsa0310 @prismozo @jesuistrestriste

The bullpen was always a little too loud on Fridays. Even with the weight of the week dragging on everyone’s shoulders, the team still found ways to stir up banter between case files. You were on your third coffee and second round of edits to your victimology when Spencer started talking again.

"Actually, there’s a statistically significant link between victims who are last seen leaving bars alone and offenders who grew up in households with substance abuse. It’s often a subconscious association—they target vulnerability they recognize from childhood experiences."

You didn’t even look up from your computer screen. You didn’t have to. You could see him in your periphery, perched on the corner of your desk like he always did when he felt like talking but didn’t want to be annoying.

Everyone else groaned.

"Reid," Morgan said without looking up. "No one's trying to psychoanalyze the bar scene, man."

JJ gave him a tired smile. "Maybe just let us finish the file first?"

But you? You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning. Because while everyone else rolled their eyes at Spencer’s endless supply of facts, you were quietly, wildly obsessed.

You liked the way he talked. Not just the cadence, fast and breathless, but the certainty in it. The pure, unfiltered excitement he had about things most people barely noticed. It made your brain light up.

It also didn’t hurt that he was cute as hell, with his tie always slightly crooked and his curls getting messier as the week went on. You’d had a crush on him since your third day at the BAU. That was eight months ago, and somehow you were still holding it together.

Sort of.

"Keep going, Reid," you said casually, eyes still on the screen. "You were saying something about behavioral mimicry?" Spencer froze, blinking like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly.

Then he leaned in, voice lower now, almost conspiratorial. "Right—uh, yes. Behavioral mimicry. So there’s this phenomenon where serial offenders, especially disorganized ones, subconsciously recreate aspects of their own trauma. So if, say, they were abandoned at a train station, they might pick their victims from transit centers or leave the bodies there as a symbol of—"

You looked up slowly, smiling as your eyes locked on his. "God, that mouth of yours."

His lips parted. "What?"

You tilted your head. "Nothing. I just like hearing you talk."

His brows pulled together, confused. You watched the blush crawl up his neck and knew exactly what you were doing. "Actually, most people find it annoying," he said, a little too fast.

You stood up, brushing against his knee as you moved to grab another file. "I’m not most people." He swallowed hard.

By the end of the day, he was visibly short-circuiting.

You weren’t mean about it. Just a little flirty. Soft touches on his arm when you passed by. Compliments about his tie, his lecture from the week before, the way he’d handled the victim’s family. Spencer, being Spencer, didn’t know what to do with it.

It wasn’t until the two of you ended up alone in the briefing room, long after the others had left, that he finally broke. You were leaning against the table, flipping through photos, when he hovered near the door.

"You, uh… you keep complimenting me today," he said quietly. You looked up with an amused smile. "Is that so weird?"

He ran a hand through his curls. "Kind of? Yes? I mean, not—uh—not in a bad way. I just—"

You dropped the photos and stepped closer. He stopped talking immediately. You looked up at him—he was taller—and reached to tug lightly at the knot of his tie. "You want me to stop?" you asked.

His eyes flicked to your mouth, then back up. "No."

"Good." You pulled him in by the tie and kissed him.

He made the softest, most surprised sound, mouth moving eagerly under yours. Your hands slid into his hair, tugging gently. He melted into it. You pulled back slightly, grinning at how he was acting. Almost like a puppy.

"You ever kissed someone who wanted to shut you up and hear you talk at the same time?" you murmured. He looked wrecked already. "I… I don’t know."

"Well," you whispered, brushing your lips over his again. "I’ve thought about that mouth between my legs more times than I can count. So maybe it’s time you give me a little demonstration, Dr. Reid."

He blinked, stunned. "Y-You want me to—"

"Use that brain and that mouth," you said. "Be a good boy for me, yeah?"

You didn’t even make it out of Quantico.

You pulled him into one of the unused consult rooms, the door locked behind you. There was a couch along the back wall, and it was just big enough. The room smelled like dry-erase markers and stale coffee, but all you could focus on was Spencer kneeling in front of you, hands shaking slightly as you guided him.

You sat back, thighs spread, skirt pushed up.

"Take your time," you said softly. "But I want you to look at me the whole time, okay?" He nodded, so eager it almost broke your heart.

And then he leaned in.

His hands rested on your thighs like he didn’t know what to do with them, until you grabbed one and laced your fingers through it. "Start with kissing," you said. "Everywhere. Take it slow."

And he did. Lips brushing your inner thigh, trailing higher, then back down again. He paused at the waistband of your underwear, kissing right through it, a little tremble running through him.

"You're doing so good," you murmured, stroking his curls. "Don’t be shy."

He licked his lips, eyes wide as he hooked his fingers into the fabric and tugged gently. You lifted your hips to help him, watching as he pushed them down and stared like he’d never seen anything so perfect.

"You smell so good," he whispered, blushing immediately after he said it.

You laughed softly, brushing his hair back. "Do I, now? Why don’t you show me how much you like the smell?"

Spencer lowered his head.

The first drag of his tongue was cautious—gentle, exploratory. He moaned, actually moaned, into you, like the taste had short-circuited his brain. He licked again, slower this time, then circled your clit with delicate, deliberate pressure with the pad of his tongue. Taking his time with you were his last meal on Earth.

"Just like that," you breathed. "Yes, Spencer—just like that. God, you’re so good at this."

The praise made him whimper.

You kept a hand in his hair, guiding him when he needed it. He settled into a rhythm quickly, a little desperate, his tongue working you open like he was memorizing every reaction. When you gasped, he did it again. When your thighs tensed, he moaned against you.

"Such a quick learner," you said, voice breathy. "No wonder you finished multiple PhDs before thirty."

His groan vibrated against your clit. You tugged his hair gently. He looked up at you, mouth glistening, pupils blown wide. "You like when I talk about how smart you are while you eat me out?" He nodded, dizzy.

"I knew it. God, Spencer, you’re a mess down there. So eager. You could lecture me on criminal psychology while making me cum, couldn’t you?"

"I-I could try," he mumbled, voice muffled against your thigh. You smiled, pulling him back in.

He sucked your clit this time, tentative at first, then harder when you moaned. You let your head fall back against the wall, hips grinding against his mouth, hands gripping his curls with just enough pressure to let him know you were in charge.

"Don’t stop," you whispered. "I’m close. Be a good boy and keep going—make me cum, boy genius."

He moaned like it was his name.

You came hard, thighs clenching around his face, his tongue working you through it with unrelenting devotion. He didn’t stop until you pulled him back by the hair, gently, catching your breath. His mouth was red and shiny, chin soaked.

"You okay?" you asked, brushing his hair from his face.

He nodded quickly. "Yes. Very okay." You pulled him up onto the couch with you and kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips. He melted into it again, arms winding around you like he never wanted to leave. "Spencer," you said between kisses, "if you want to do that again sometime… just start talking."

He grinned shyly, breathless. "I usually can’t stop."

"Exactly," you whispered, nipping his lower lip. "That’s what makes you so good at it."

[eraserbread]

hi, how are you? I hope you take requests rnnn

how about nanami with a pregnant wife who has a bit of a baby brain? and she's feeling so bad about the whole thing bc of hormones + insecurities, so he comforts, reassures an makes it all better

more of my wife guy!nanami ✧

→ f!reader, est relationship, pregnancy, slight angst, mostly fluff

"happy anniversary, baby." you're smiling, leaning over kento's frame at the dinner table. he's resting his chin in his palm. luxe spread of meats and vegetables on his plate. after your terrible first trimester, you can finally cook for him again, though he doesn't expect it.

"what's this?" his light eyes flit to the white gift bag you're setting next to the meal he shrugged off moments ago.

"it's nothing, really." you watch as he opens it, hands crossed behind your back when you walk to your awaiting seat. he pulls out a box, and inside the box is a small, gold heart locket. he shoots you a look.

"dear, this is endearing for sure, but-

"open the locket."

so, he does, and inside is a picture of him a few years younger. on the other side, you two are pressed together. kento's stoic, pressing a kiss to your cheek as you smile for the camera. his eyes soften.

"how thoughtful." you can't read him right now, but there is a smile in his eye only you could recognize. "I don't know exactly how thrilled I am with the idea of wearing a locket, but it is a beautiful ornament."

"mm, don't worry i will be taking and wearing it. you have everything you need, the only gift I can give is... experience, I guess. babies, marriage."

"and that's all i need, hm." he nods for your hand, hanging the locket over your fingers when you give it to him. "but, baby, i'd be much more receiving if it was actually our anniversary."

"w-what do you mean, it's june." you're turning over your shoulder to the calender kept on the refrigerator. it's june... you married him in-

"july. we got married late july."

you falter for a moment, eyes going blank, brows knitting together. kento watches along, familiar with these bouts you work yourself into during pregnancy. it's almost... cute, dare he say. like a confused puppy, though you feel like shit.

"fuck."

"no need to work yourself up; it's okay." ken's rushing in for damage control, knowing the faintest sparks of emotion could do you in for an entire week. he doesn't want to make you feel bad, and he loves the gift. in fact, "the locket is perfect. can't wait to see you wearing nothing but it."

that makes you laugh—almost. it's not enough. you can feel the overwhelmed tears starting to brew in the corners of your eyes. you hide your face in outstretched hands.

and kento is standing up at once, heart beating a little quicker in his chest as he reaches to comfort you. "don't feel bad, you know I never care about transactional things like this."

"that doesn't make it better." at the sound of his sweet, comforting tone, you're crying. finally. he's wrapping big arms around your shoulders, palms flattening over your jutting belly. against his figure, you're swaying like the breeze. he's so warm.

but your mind is on fire, you can't live it down.

"no, i know that because it's just after your birthday... god, what is wrong with me?"

"shh... it's okay. I promise you I do not care. the locket is so beautiful, and I'm so happy you're still thinking about yourself. anniversary or not, it's extremely thoughtful." he kisses the top of your head, sighing into your hair. "hey, I love you. it doesn't matter; nothing matters."

"i know you don't care, but i feel like an idiot." you sniffle, hiccuping softly as he kisses you again... and again. he's so perfect.

"you're so sweet." another kiss to the head, "when you're forgetful. it always gives me reason to help you."

"you're shameless."

"mhm." he laughs. it's light, but it's there—lost in your hair. "shake it off, you'll upset my daughter."

[kissandtellus]

Warning, Bite Risk: Ch. 3

ೃ⁀➷ Synopsis: MC goes back to work, leaving Hybrid!Caleb alone for the longest time yet. Caleb shows not only who he truly was in the past, but now, he shows how far he’s willing to go for her.

ೃ⁀➷ Warnings: Caleb is PATHETIC in the best way possible, mentions of PTSD, Slight Yandere behavior, stalking to some extent, possesive/obsessive behavior.

Tags: @mcdepressed290 , @seventeen-x , @rorel1a , @skylarkse

A few weeks pass, Caleb slowly starts to come around to the idea of living in a home where he is loved and cherished. But there is one enemy that he absolutely hates.

And that’s MC leaving for work.

Caleb follows her around the house like a puppy as she gets ready, and his tail is wagging like crazy. It's hard to believe that just a few weeks ago he had been hesitant and nervous to even move. He's excited, but there is a hint of unease.

"What time are you going to be home today?" He asks, a hint of worry in his voice. The question makes her pause, and she realizes what's bugging him.

Before, when she would try to leave the house, Caleb has always had to follow. He's usually very well-behaved, but today she can see some of his old habits coming through. He follows her like a shadow, and he seems like he's ready to make a dash to follow her.

She takes his hand gently, stopping him as he paces back and forth. She keeps her fingers interlocked with his as she speaks. "I'll be home around six. I'm going to pick up dinner, okay?"

Caleb looks down at their conjoined hands and pulls away, clearing his throat. This would be the first time she’d be gone for so long since she rescued him from the shelter.

He's quiet for a moment, and then softly speaks, "Is it... is it a big mission?" She can hear the small hint of fear in his voice, and it's hard to tell if it's for his safety, or hers.

He seems unwilling to leave her side, and his body tenses when she lets go of his hand. His ears lower, as if he doesn't want to leave her, and his tail slows to a gentle wag.

He looks up at her, and she can see his eyes are wide and pleading. "Can I... help in any way?" His voice is soft, and his expression is so soft.

He is starting to look like a lost little puppy again. It's hard to tell if he's acting or if this is sincere. Whatever the reason, she has to be strong. He can't follow her right now, and she can't miss this event.

"I'm sorry, Caleb." She speaks quietly, her eyes pleading for him to understand.

MC grabs her keys and wallet. “Alright Caleb, be good okay? There’s some food in the fridge. I’ll be back!” And then she’s gone, leaving the Malinois Hybrid in the apartment alone.

Caleb looks out the door with a look of longing, almost like he’s waiting for her to return. But finally, he slumps and goes into the living room. He settles in on the couch, and closes his eyes.

MC’s apartment suddenly seems so very… quiet. No one is moving around, or making a sound, and it’s odd. It’s been so long since he’s experienced true silence.

He’s a bit restless, and he can feel the anxiety building in his stomach.

Fighting Wanderers was exhausting, but when MC had a partner as skilled and talented as Xavier, it made a world of difference. They rode the subway home, both Hunters still trying to catch their breaths.

The mission had taken way longer than either of them had expected. MC felt a weird feeling bubble in her gut. She hadn’t really left the Hybrid with any way to communicate with her.

But back at the apartment, Caleb was twitching and pacing with anxiety.

Caleb paces around the small, crowded apartment, his slippers are making a faint click-clacking noise against the tile. His head is spinning, and all he can think about is how worried he is. It doesn't help when he looks out the window and sees that the sun is setting. She should've been back at six. She should've been back hours ago.

He makes a quick decision, and opens the window. He can wait, but he won't wait here. Not when he has no way of knowing what's going on.

Caleb drops out the window and onto the ground below. Luckily the apartment is on the ground floor.

He looks around, and then begins to stalk down the street, keeping to the shadows. His gaze darts from side to side, scanning his surroundings. His mind is focused on the task at hand, his heart pounding and his hands trembling slightly. He seems slightly on-edge, ready for *anything. *

His ears twitch as he runs through the city. He takes long, graceful strides, keeping to the shadows. He's focused, and clearly has somewhere specific in mind.

When he gets closer to the main city center, he leaps up to a fire escape, barely making a noise as he lands. He is careful and quick, trying to keep a low profile.

He has to hurry. He can't lose more time, and she might need him.

When he gets to his destination, he crouches down. He's in a spot where he has a pretty good view of the street, and he can see anyone coming and going.

He scans the crowd, looking for any sight of her or her group of companions. He has to be patient, but his heart is racing.

What if she's hurt?

What if she's in danger?

He bites his lip, feeling helpless with not knowing anything.

A couple of minutes later, MC turns onto the street with Tara and Xavier. The group is chatting casually, and MC feels much more relaxed than earlier. She notices a familiar shape perched atop of a roof, but it soon disappears out of view before she can see who it is.

She sighs, shaking her head with a bit of a smile, not bothering to tell either Xavier or Tara about it. Caleb has been on her mind the entire night, and she wonders how he’s been.

Caleb notices MC, and his heart soars at the sight of her. But when he jumps down, and gets closer, he can see her companions and immediately feels jealous.

Not about Tara so much but a male.

A male that isn’t Caleb.

His hands shake as he forces himself to take a deep breath. He is clearly unhappy, and his voice is almost a growl, though he's trying to sound calm.

"You told me you were going alone." He says, and his voice is low and rough. He looks like he's in a dangerous state of mind right now. "You lied to me."

He steps closer, getting in her personal space. He’s clearly frustrated, and his voice is low and dark. "You don't get to just lie to me. You don't get to just leave me."* He’s glaring at her companions, his eyes narrowing.

"You should've let me come with him," he mumbles. "I-I could've protected you, from them.”

"Caleb, calm down." Tara says firmly, stepping forward. She's clearly trying to diffuse the situation. She was there when MC adopted Caleb, and in the Hybrid’s eyes, she was an enemy, trying to keep HIS MC away.

He snaps his head towards her, his eyes flaring with anger.

He’s not going to listen to her.

"Stay out of this," he snarls, and his gaze flicks back to MC. "Are you trying to prove a point?" He snaps, "Trying to prove that you don't need me?"

MC swallows the lump in her throat. His eyes are not soft and pleading like they are when he’s begging for a piece of steak. They are predatory almost. “Caleb, let’s go home-“

He grabs her wrist a little too roughly, and steps even closer into her space. His face is mere inches from hers. "I would do *anything* for you. And this is how you treat me?" He asks, trying to keep his voice from breaking. "I thought you were in danger, and the entire time you were out having fun?”

“I just got back from a mission with Xavier. Tara met us so we could go pick up lunch.” Her voice is even toned. She knew Hybrids could get very territorial. But she hadn’t expected Caleb to escape her apartment and track her down. “We’re going home Caleb. Now.”

Caleb’s chest heaves, and his eyes are wild and frightened. He pulls her closer, pressing his body against hers. He breathes heavily, and his grip tightens around her wrist.

His voice is low now, and almost pleading. "I need to keep you safe. If-if I can’t do that I… I don’t know what I’d do without you. Please, don’t send me-" He swallows, and glances between her and her friends. His eyes plead with her to listen, to understand.

MC sighs and rubs his back in slow, comforting circles. She can physically feel him shaking under her touch like a leaf. “I’m not sending you back to the Farspace Fleet. I promise…”

Caleb seems to relax under her touch, and his breathing slows down a little. He closes his eyes, and presses his face into the crook of her neck, his body relaxing. His voice is quiet, and full of gratitude.

“I… I’m sorry.” He says, feeling foolish now. He had come all this way, and had made a fool of himself in front of her friends.

He hesitates for a moment before adding, "I just... thought I lost you."

MC excuses herself from her friends and coworkers. While Tara brushes the whole thing off, Xavier watches the two disappear into the crowd, his gaze calculating.

The walk back to the apartment is quiet, save for the hustling and bustling of the city around them.

Caleb clings to her arm like a lifeline, even with his height, he buries his face in her shoulder like a scolded dog, tail tucked between his legs.

He walks along beside her wordlessly, still looking nervous. The fact that he looks so upset and guilty is hard to ignore.

He hesitates, but eventually speaks, his voice soft and unsure. “Are you... are you mad at me?” He sounds almost scared to hear to her answer, like he’s afraid that she will be.

He seems to realize how he’s being too much by being so clingy. His ears immediately flatten, his eyes lower, and he leans away from her slightly before stopping.

He slowly looks up at her, his expression unreadable. He hesitates, and then he takes her hand, curling his fingers around hers.

He speaks very softly, his voice tentative. “Please... don't be mad.”

He sounds like a little kid asking for permission to stay up late. His eyes are full of uncertainty.

MC takes in a deep breath before speaking. “Caleb, I care for you. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. But….” She chews on her bottom lip.

Was she in too far?

Was this a bad idea from the beginning?

"But... what? I just-"

Caleb pauses, and his hand tightens around hers. His voice is suddenly filled with sadness.

"I can't live without you," He whispers. "Everything has changed so much... I don't want you to leave me."

He doesn't look like a K-9 military Hybrid right now. He looks so incredibly fearful, and vulnerable. It's like he's afraid to let her see him like this, and he can barely meet her eyes.

He drops to his knees in the middle of the street and wraps his arms around her waist, burying his face into her stomach as he lets out an onslaught of pleads

He seems desperate, his voice choked with emotion.

"MC, please," He practically begs. "I'll do anything for you, just... don't leave me. Don't leave me alone again."

He's so focused on her that he doesn't seem to care that they're out in the open, or that people are staring at them.

He tightens his arms around her waist, and he speaks again, his voice hoarse with desperation. "I love you."

MC’s eyes open wide. In the few weeks they had been living together, they had grown close. Caleb was incredibly doting and attached to her, but she had to wonder… was this because of some sort of animal instinct that Hybrids had?

That’s what her friends told her every single time she went out without him, and was met with his worried antics when she returned

“Are you just saying that because you think you have to?” MC asks, slowly pulling away from him.

His eyes widen in shock, like he can’t believe what she’s saying. His eyes search her face, almost desperately.

“N-no!” He exclaims, shaking his head wildly. “I would n-never lie to you.” He seems desperate to convince her, and he sounds a bit upset that she would even ask such a thing

He hesitates, and looks down. “Why… why do you think that? Have I done something to upset you?” He asks in a small voice.

MC swallows the lump in her throat before grabbing his elbow to help him stand. “Caleb you can’t…love me. You barely know me. You don’t have to…to say that because you think I’ll leave you or mistreat you.”

Caleb hesitates, and he looks at her with wide eyes. "But I do know you. I know you like sweet coffee in the mornings, and you like wearing comfortable clothes, with your hair in a ponytail. I know you hate it when people call you ‘Pipsqueak.’ Besides me….” His gaze drops as he says it.

"I know you're kind, and sweet. And strong, and brave. A-and I like that... about you. So, I have to... I have to tell the truth when I say I love you."

MC stiffens her jaw, her eyes dart around to all of the people staring at them. “Caleb please. Let’s…let’s go home…”

He hesitates, but his face falls when he hears the tone of her voice.

"Yes ma'am." He mutters in response, and moves away from her, his ears lowering. He looks like a scolded puppy, and he doesn't seem to know what to do.

He keeps his head low as they walk, and it's clear that he wants to say something. His gaze keeps flickering to her, and his eyes are pleading with her to listen to him, but he stays silent.

The night is quiet when they return.

MC closes herself up in her bedroom as soon as they get home. Caleb is so anxious, whining, clawing at her door desperately.

Caleb whines and scratches at the door, his voice anxious and pleading. "Please, let me in? Please."

He doesn't seem to care that he's literally whimpering at her door like an abused little puppy. He needs to be in there with her.

His voice lowers to almost a whisper as he scratches once again. "Please... I don't want to be alone." He sounds so broken right now.

MC presses her back to the opposite side of the door, sliding down with her face in her hands.

She feels so bad for Caleb, she can’t bear to hear him whine and cry.

She has no idea what horrors he’s seen. She knows that’s why he’s clinging to her so desperately. But it’s not healthy for either of them.

Caleb's voice is strained, like he's about to start crying again. He keeps repeating himself, his voice getting more and more upset.

"MC, please... I won't say it again. I just... I don't want to be alone," and then there's silence, like he can't manage to voice it anymore.

Eventually, after a minute of complete silence, she can hear the sound of a dull thump against the door. He is lying on the floor, curled up into a small ball. His ears press against his head, and his tail is tucked between his legs.

"P...please." He begs softly, his voice now a small, broken whisper.

He sounds like a scared little kid, curled up into a tiny, shivering ball against the door. There's no sign of the tough, confident military K-9 Hybrid left in him. No sign of the cold, emotionless Hybrid soldier that he once was on the battlefield. That persona seems to have disappeared completely.

"I'm... I'm scared." He murmurs, his voice barely audible.

MC can’t take it anymore. She throws open the door and Caleb is on her in a second.

Caleb is quick to grab her, his limbs wrapping protectively around her. He's shaking, and he buries his face in her neck, desperately trying to calm himself.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry." He says, his voice quiet and trembling. He doesn't seem to care that he is probably scaring her. Right now, he just wants to be reassured that she won't leave him again.

He trembles against her, and he takes hold of her like she's his only lifeline.

MC finally lifts her arms to wrap around him, scratching at the base of his neck. “Shhh…I told you I wasn’t going anywhere….”

He nuzzles her neck, breathing in her scent and pressing his body against hers as if he's trying to soak up all of her warmth.

"I'm sorry," he says again, and his voice is still trembling. His hands are still gripping her like a lifeline, and his tail is curled around her waist.

"I'm just... I'm scared," he says again, and his voice is so small and fragile.

"I don't want to lose you."

<-Previous Chapter Next Chapter->

[moondustbaby]

Room For You Too

ceo!Rafe x pregnant nanny/gf!Reader

a/n: based on this request! 💌

summary: At six months pregnant, you and Rafe are deep in nursery prep—but when Mason starts feeling a little left out, it breaks your heart. With gentle words and quiet reassurance, you remind him that your love has only grown—and there’s more than enough room in your heart for both your babies.

⸻

You don’t think you’ll ever forget the way Mason’s face lit up when you told him he was going to be a big brother.

He’d gasped so loud Rafe thought he was choking, then immediately launched into a list of everything he could teach the baby—how to tie shoes, how to draw a stegosaurus, how to ask for extra dessert without sounding suspicious.

That was three months ago.

Now you’re six months along, belly round and unmistakable, and the three of you are knee-deep in the world of bassinets and baby monitors and crib sheets that all come in shades of sage or mustard.

Mason is still excited. Mostly.

Except today.

Today, something feels… off.

⸻

You’re standing in the middle of the nursery—formerly Rafe’s office, now stripped of its bookshelves and leather furniture. The walls are half-painted a soft, buttery cream. There are sample swatches scattered on the floor, tiny onesies folded on the dresser, and a stack of unopened Amazon boxes by the door.

“Okay,” Rafe says, tapping his phone. “We’ve got the crib delivery set for Thursday, the mobile’s arriving tomorrow, and the glider’s backordered but they said two weeks.”

“Perfect,” you say, turning to hold up two onesies. “Stars or moons?”

“Which one is softer?”

“You didn’t even look.”

He grins, walking over to rest his hands on your belly. “I like whatever you like.”

You roll your eyes but kiss him anyway.

Mason stands by the doorway, quiet. Too quiet.

He’s holding a stuffed dinosaur, the one he’s had since he was four. His hair is messy from his nap, and he’s still in pajama pants even though it’s almost lunchtime.

“Hey, Mase,” you call gently. “Want to help us pick where the changing table goes?”

He shrugs. “I guess.”

You pause, exchanging a glance with Rafe.

Mason walks into the room slowly, eyes flicking over the tiny clothes and diaper packs like he’s not sure what to make of it anymore.

He stops beside the bassinet box and pokes it with his foot.

“Is this where she’s gonna sleep?”

“Yeah,” Rafe says softly. “Right here.”

Mason doesn’t say anything. He just sits down on the floor, cross-legged, arms curled around his dinosaur.

⸻

You don’t bring it up until later.

You’re in the kitchen putting away groceries when Rafe leans in behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“He’s quiet today,” he says softly.

You nod. “I noticed.”

“I think it’s hitting him.”

“What is?”

Rafe’s voice drops. “That this is real. That it’s happening.”

You turn in his arms, resting your hands on his chest. “He was so excited at first.”

“He still is,” Rafe says. “But he’s seven. Everything feels bigger when you’re seven.”

Your heart twists. “Do you think he feels left out?”

“I think he doesn’t know what to feel. He’s never had to share us before.”

You nod slowly.

And then, because the thought alone breaks something deep in your chest, you say, “I don’t want him to feel like he’s being replaced.”

“He won’t,” Rafe says firmly. “We won’t let him.”

⸻

You find him in his room later, curled up on his bed with his dinosaur tucked under his chin. His iPad is off. His light’s dim. He’s not crying, but there’s something in his eyes that makes you want to sit down and cry for him.

“Hey, bud,” you say gently. “Can I come in?”

He shrugs.

You sit on the edge of the bed and wait. He stays quiet.

“I noticed you seemed a little down today.”

Mason picks at the edge of his blanket. “I’m fine.”

You reach for his hand. “You can tell me if something’s bothering you. I promise I’ll listen.”

He swallows, eyes still on the blanket. “You and Dad are really excited about the baby.”

“Yeah,” you say softly. “We are.”

“And the baby’s gonna have their own room. And toys. And clothes. And bottles. And special blankets.”

You nod.

“And you’re gonna read her stories. And take care of her. And stay up with her. And you already rub your belly when she kicks like she’s your favorite.”

The words hit hard. They’re not mean. Just honest. Seven-year-old honest. The kind that lands deep.

You squeeze his hand. “Mason, do you… do you think I’m not gonna have time for you anymore?”

He doesn’t answer, but his eyes fill just a little.

“Oh, baby,” you whisper. “No. No, no, no.”

You wrap your arms around him, pulling him into your chest. He goes without fighting it, sniffling once into your shoulder.

“You are my first baby,” you whisper. “You are the one who made me fall in love with bedtime routines and superhero puzzles and dinosaur facts I didn’t know existed. You’re the one who taught me how to be a parent.”

His voice is small. “But she’s gonna call you Mommy.”

You nod. “And I love that. But I love being your mommy too. Whether you say it out loud or not, you’re my boy. You’ll always be my boy.”

He squeezes tighter. “Promise?”

“Forever promise.”

Rafe appears in the doorway a few minutes later. You’re still curled around Mason, stroking his hair.

“Mase,” Rafe says gently. “Can I join?”

Mason nods, eyes still wet.

Rafe crosses the room and sits on the other side of him, pulling them both into his arms.

“Being a big brother is a lot,” Rafe says softly. “And it’s okay to feel weird about it. Or even sad sometimes.”

Mason sniffles. “I don’t want her to take my place.”

“You don’t have a place,” Rafe says. “You are the place. You’re the center of this family. Always.”

You kiss the top of his head. “There’s so much love in this house, Mason. Enough for you, and for her, and for every moment after this. You’re not losing anything. You’re gaining someone who’s going to look up to you and love you like crazy.”

He wipes his eyes on his sleeve. “She better not try to steal my dinosaur.”

You and Rafe both laugh. “We’ll make sure she knows the rules,” Rafe says. “No stealing dinosaurs, no touching your Legos, and no fighting for couch space when Finding Nemo is on.”

Mason smiles a little. “Okay.”

⸻

That night, he insists on helping you fold the baby clothes. He picks out which ones go in which drawer. He tapes his own drawing—one of the three of you holding hands with a big smiley baby floating in a bubble—above the changing table.

“Can we hang this up so she sees it first thing?” he asks.

You nod, trying not to cry again. “She’s going to love it.”

“She’s gonna love you,” Rafe says, kissing the top of Mason’s head. “Just like we do.”

Mason grins. “I’m gonna be the best big brother.”

You smile at him through tears. “You already are.”

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: this one got me. mason’s big feelings, reader’s heart absolutely breaking, and rafe coming in with the most dad-level wisdom?? i’m a mess. i love this little family 🥹

♥️ lani

𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉:

@maybankslover @lolabunnyworldss @drewstarkeyspecs @superlegend216 @bonjourjiminie @rafesbabygirlx

[aeniiverse]

FLIRTING SHOULDN’T BE THIS LOUD

Synopsis — You never meant to fall for Giselle. In fact, you were pretty sure she was just a walking fire hazard with a soft spot for chaos, gas station snacks, and frog memes. But somewhere between her fake serenades, vintage bike crashes, and wildly public declarations of love, you find yourself kind of…maybe…very much down bad.

Contains — fluff, Excessive use of pet names, Cringe levels may spike during public serenades, Unhinged romance energy, Slight injury risk due to rental bike chaos, Characters are dangerously down bad, No emotional preparedness for frog hoodie proposals

WORD COUNT — 2.2k

A/N — Hi! Okay so like disappeared for a while, and might for a longer while idk TT

The universe had a funny way of choosing its favorites.

You noticed this most when you were sitting two rows behind Giselle in class, watching her laugh at something stupid her friend said while the entire room tilted slightly in her direction like even gravity was kind of into her.

She was the kind of girl who got away with saying things like “I didn’t study but I still got an A” without anyone punching her. The kind of girl who showed up to school late, with coffee in one hand and an apology you somehow forgave before she even said it. Teachers liked her. People liked her. Even the vending machine liked her. it once spat out two KitKats when she only paid for one.

You didn’t dislike her, of course. You just didn’t get her.

And that was exactly what drove Giselle insane.

Because Giselle, reigning champion of chaotic charm and queen of unintentional thirst traps on her Instagram story, had been flirting with you for the past three weeks.

Or! she thought she was flirting. You, apparently, were just “really nice” and “maybe a little dense” according to Ningning, who had been keeping track of Giselle’s tragic attempts in a Notes app titled “Giselle vs the Brick Wall (Y/N).”

Today was no different.

You were at your locker, calmly placing your textbooks in by size and subject like the mild perfectionist you were, when Giselle swooped in like a dramatic tornado of vanilla perfume and chaos.

“Y/N!” she greeted you like she hadn’t seen you literally forty-five minutes ago in bio. “Crazy question. Be honest, if I were a frog, would you still think I’m hot?”

You blinked. “I mean. I guess you’d be a pretty frog?”

She clutched her chest like you’d proposed. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You gave her a polite smile. “You’re welcome?”

Giselle, in her brain, was batting a thousand. Compliment? Secured. Heart rate? Elevated. Eye contact? Brief but memorable.

You, in your brain, were wondering whether you remembered to submit that chem assignment.

“Anyway,” she leaned against the locker next to yours, clearly not planning to leave, “I was thinking. Saturday. We should hang out. Just the two of us. Like a date but, you know, casual. Unless you want it to be a date. No pressure. Total pressure. Whatever you want.”

You shut your locker, thoughtful. “Oh. Are you trying to do the introvert adoption thing?”

“The what?”

“You know. That thing popular people do when they adopt a quiet friend so they can feel mysterious by association.”

Giselle stared at you, dumbfounded. “You think I’m trying to adopt you?”

You shrugged. “I mean, if you want to interview a few other quiet candidates, I totally get it. There’s this girl in calculus who doesn’t even talk to the teacher—”

“No, no, no. Y/N.” Giselle laughed, then immediately tried to recover. “I’m not trying to make you my emotional support introvert. I’m literally asking you out.”

“Oh.”

A beat of silence. You stared at her. She stared back. Giselle was mentally shaking you by the shoulders.

You tilted your head. “Like, out out?”

Giselle almost slammed her head into your locker. “YES. Like… date. Romance. I bring you flowers and pretend I don’t stalk your Instagram every night kind of ‘out.’”

“Oh.” You paused again. “Do you want to see my cat?”

Giselle opened her mouth. Closed it. Took a breath. “...Is that a yes?”

“I think so,” you said.

Giselle walked away grinning so wide she nearly tripped over her own feet. Meanwhile, you stood there still trying to process whether the interaction meant you now had plans Saturday or if she just really, really liked frogs.

You met again at the cafe downtown, the one with the weird chairs and overpriced drinks that Giselle insisted was “aesthetic.” She got there first, naturally, in a cropped hoodie and cargo pants that should’ve looked lazy but instead looked like a Pinterest board. You arrived in your “nicest” hoodie, which you’d pulled out of the laundry bin and sniffed twice before deciding it didn’t smell that bad.

She greeted you with a grin and a wave like you hadn’t just seen each other yesterday. “Hey! You came!”

“You told me to,” you said, confused.

“I know,” she said, leaning her cheek against her palm. “Just didn’t expect it to work.”

You stared at the menu, pretending not to notice how she was definitely looking at you and not the options. “So… what are we doing here?”

“Getting coffee?” she offered.

“Right, right.” You nodded seriously. “Is this, like, a coffee coffee hangout or a flirty coffee hangout?”

Giselle choked on air. “I—what—Y/N, this is the date.”

“Ohhhh.”

“You forgot?”

“No!” You looked guilty. “I just thought maybe you changed your mind. Or maybe it was a social experiment. You seem like someone who’d do that.”

Giselle dropped her face onto the table. “Oh my God. I’m going to lose my mind.”

You reached for your wallet, unaware that you were unintentionally stepping on her heart every five seconds. “Well, I’m still here. So. That’s good, right?”

Giselle straightened, grinning with the slightly unhinged energy of someone whose crush just called her a frog and then invited her to meet their cat. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You blinked. “You think I’m cute?”

“I’m literally on a date with you.”

“Oh,” you said, then paused. “Do you want to see a video of my cat chasing a laser pointer?”

Giselle nodded wordlessly, completely whipped, as you showed her a six-second clip of your chonky tabby skidding across hardwood. She cooed. “I love him. I would die for him. I’d go to war.”

“Please don’t,” you said seriously. “He wouldn’t survive without me.”

Giselle wanted to scream. Mostly because you said that with the kind of sincere expression that made her chest do weird gymnastics.

Later, as you two walked back toward campus, she slowed her steps, shoving her hands in her pockets and bumping your shoulder lightly.

“So,” she said casually, “was this a successful introvert adoption?”

You squinted at her. “Giselle.”

“Yeah?”

“I think I like you back now.”

She stopped walking.

“I mean,” you continued, “I’m not great at this stuff, but I think I do. Like, when you asked me if I’d still think you were hot as a frog, I got flustered and went home and made a pros and cons list about dating you.”

Giselle stared. “What was on it?”

“Pro: Very pretty. Con: Slightly unhinged.”

She laughed, loud and bright, and threw an arm around your shoulders. “That’s fair. I’ll take it.”

And you, oblivious no more, smiled like the sun had finally risen just for you.

You weren’t sure how it happened, but by the following week, you were officially Giselle’s girlfriend.

The news spread fast.

You didn’t post about it, of course. You didn’t even tell anyone. But it didn’t matter. Somehow the entire school knew. Ningning gave you a thumbs up in the hallway. Karina winked at you and whispered, “Nice catch.” Even the calculus girl, the one who didn’t speak, gave you a very solemn nod when you passed her in the library.

Apparently, dating Giselle meant inheriting her social reach like some kind of chaotic royalty.

And Giselle? Giselle was thriving.

She held your hand in the cafeteria. She texted you in all caps even when you were sitting right across from her. She started using dumb pet names like “muffin” and “my emotional support genius.” She posted blurry selfies of you with captions like “look at my baby being smart” even when the photo was just you blinking at a worksheet.

Still, it was… nice. Unexpectedly, annoyingly, stomach-flippingly nice.

Especially the way she’d look at you like she couldn’t believe her luck. Like she’d won some grand prize just by making you laugh. Like she was trying not to smile too hard whenever you called her “Giselle” instead of “oh hey, you.”

Your second date was on a Friday.

You expected coffee again. Maybe a movie. Something normal.

What you got was a very dramatic text message at 2 p.m. that said: “Clear your schedule. I’m taking you on a romantic adventure. Pack snacks.”

You replied, “Are we robbing a bank?”

She said, “Maybe.”

So naturally, you showed up at the park with a water bottle, some chips, and a vague sense of concern.

What you found was Giselle, standing next to two very beat-up rental bikes with a bouquet of gas station flowers and a pair of sunglasses that looked like they were stolen from a cartoon villain.

You stared at her. “We’re biking?”

“Yes,” she said proudly. “It’s romantic.”

“These bikes look like they were forged in the 80s.”

She patted one. “Vintage. Aesthetic. Shut up.”

You didn’t shut up. Not even when she nearly fell off hers trying to impress you by riding one-handed. Not even when she tried to race you and hit a trash can. Not even when she made you pull over because “there was a ladybug and it felt symbolic.”

By the time you reached the top of the hill overlooking the lake, she was panting dramatically, clutching her chest like she’d just climbed Everest.

You handed her a chip. She took it solemnly.

“This was worth it,” she said between breaths. “If I die right here, bury me in this hoodie.”

“Do you even know how to ride a bike properly?” you asked.

She gestured vaguely. “Mostly. In theory. Look, not all of us had stable childhoods with weekend park outings and safety helmets.”

You snorted. “I used to ride mine in circles in the driveway and pretend I was escaping the law.”

She blinked at you. “Okay, that’s hotter than it should be.”

You rolled your eyes and tossed a chip at her. She caught it in her mouth and grinned like a dog who just learned a new trick.

After the sun started to dip, you sat side by side on the grass, sipping from your water bottle while she plucked petals off one of the flowers and dramatically asked, “Do you love me? Do you love me not?”

“You skipped five petals in a row.”

“I’m manifesting,” she said. “Let me have this.”

You looked at her, really looked at her messy hair from the wind, scuffed shoes from biking too fast, flower petals on her lap, and a sparkle in her eyes like she’d never been more sure of anything than the fact that she wanted to be here with you.

“You know,” you said slowly, “I think I like you more now that I know how uncoordinated you are.”

She gasped. “You like me for my flaws?”

“I like you despite your sunglasses.”

“I’ll take it.”

The next Monday, she took things to a new level.

You were minding your business in the hallway, waiting for class, when you heard the distinct opening notes of an Ed Sheeran song.

Your soul left your body.

Because there was Giselle standing at the end of the hallway with a portable speaker, an unbuttoned uniform jacket, and a microphone made out of a water bottle. Her friends stood behind her like backup dancers. Ningning was holding cue cards. One of them said, “SHE’S IN LOVE WITH YOU, DUMMY.”

You stood frozen.

Giselle launched into a dramatically off-key rendition of “Perfect.” She sang to you. She pointed at you. She dramatically fell to her knees and whispered into the mic, “This is for you, baby.”

You wanted to crawl inside a locker and disappear forever.

“Why are you like this?” you asked once she jogged up to you, breathless and smiling like she’d just won a talent show.

“Because you’re mine now,” she said simply. “And I wanted everyone to know.”

“I think the janitor knows.”

“Good. I want him to come to our wedding.”

You groaned, dragging her away by the sleeve, while everyone around you clapped and cheered like they’d just witnessed a public proposal.

Later that day, you were sitting together under the tree near the track field, your legs pressed against hers and your head tipped onto her shoulder. The world around you was loud, but she was quiet for once. just idly playing with the hem of your sleeve, occasionally bumping your knee with hers like she couldn’t stand to not touch you.

“Hey,” she said softly.

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m, like. Really down bad.”

You turned to look at her. “That’s not news.”

She looked fake offended. “Okay, rude. I was trying to have a moment.”

You smiled, letting your fingers drift to hers. “Have your moment.”

She squeezed your hand. “You make me soft. I hate it.”

“No you don’t.”

“Okay, I don’t. But don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation.”

You leaned in, kissing her on the cheek so quickly she barely had time to register it. She froze.

“…Did you just kiss me?”

“I did,” you said casually.

“I’m gonna scream.”

“You’re already screaming.”

She covered her face. “Ugh. I knew dating you would be dangerous. You’re turning me into a blushing loser.”

You rested your head back on her shoulder. “It’s mutual.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything.

Then she whispered, “So, hypothetically, if I asked you to wear matching frog hoodies, would that be pushing it?”

You didn’t even flinch. “What color?”

Giselle beamed.

Maybe the universe really did have a favorite.

But this time, it was you.

[mytherapyisreading14]

The Professor Effect

Summary: You were always one of the best students - until you got a new professor. Now you're often distracted and your grades are dropping. He notices and decides to confront you.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Smut (18+ MDNI)

Warnings: dirty talk, kissing, making out, praise kink, fingering, oral sex, spanking, orgasm denial, unprotected sex (stay safe pls), dom!spencer (pls let me know if I forgot something)

Word Count: 4,2k

It's Monday morning, 8:15 a.m. The air in the lecture hall is fresh. The windows are still open, even though it's noticeably colder outside. Autumn has begun, and the first leaves are already falling from the trees. You're sitting in your usual seat in the second row, right by the window.

You're prepared, as always. Criminology is more than just a subject for you. It's your thing. And yes, you're good at it. One of the best, according to your professor. But you simply have a good memory, and it's easy for you to find the connections. You love what you do.

Professor Hartmann is a great professor. Old-fashioned, but smart. And strict. He challenges his students, never going easy on you. You respect him and like his teaching style. But a few weeks ago, in one of his lectures, he said that he is soon retiring because of health reasons. The announcement came unexpected.

Since then, no one knows who will replace him. No information, no photo, no name – just an email from the student council with the vague sentence “We're looking forward to a fresh, modern perspective in the Criminology department." And then... he enters the room.

You don't know whether you notice his voice or his face first. Maybe both at the same time. "Good morning. I'm Dr. Spencer Reid. I'm excited to be exploring criminology with you starting this semester - with an eye on the reality out there,” he says when he comes in.

He's tall, slim, with an almost outrageously casual elegance. Shirt, dark brown blazer, sleeves slightly rolled up. His hair is messy and curly. And his eyes... those eyes. You can't look away. Your heart is beating faster. What the hell is wrong with you? You usually never get distracted, especially not because of a man.

You’re one of the students who always writes everything down, who thinks along, analyzes, asks critical questions. But at this moment? You have no idea what he's saying. Something about the history of profiling, you think. Or is it forensic psychology? You look at your notebook. Empty. Your pen lies there. Untouched.

As he explains the semester's outline, your gaze keeps wandering to him. Not just because he's handsome - that's almost beside the point. It's the way he moves, the way he speaks. The way he treats the topics as if they were alive. As if he weren't just teaching them, but understanding them on a whole other level. He's smart. And not just "I have a doctorate" smart.

And you? You sit there, as if hypnotized. Completely distracted. Your mind is racing. You don't know what to do. The semester hasn't even really started yet, and you know you're in trouble.

-

Since that first Monday, something has changed. You still arrive on time, sit in your usual seat, prepared and yet it happens every time. As soon as he enters the room, your mind is blank. Not blank-blank, but full – with the wrong thoughts.

His lecture on perpetrator typologies? Fascinating. His explanations of psychological casework at BAU? Impressive. You want to listen, you want to think along, but all you do is look at him. The way he walks around the room. The way he sometimes speaks too fast because his mind is apparently faster than his words.

He's a genius. Not in that exhausting way, but in the way that fascinates and leaves you speechless. And he's not even arrogant about it – just completely absorbed in what he's doing.

You're lost in your thoughts. More and more often, you find yourself watching his hands as he writes something down. Or how his voice changes when he talks about difficult cases. It’s more quiet, more serious, with an expression you only have when you've seen things you'll never fully forget.

You understand the content but there's this discrepancy between knowledge and performance now. You don't lose track. You trade it for thoughts that have nothing to do with the class but rather with him. In the third week, you're unprepared for the first time. It's not a disaster, but you haven't finished reading the case study. And you hate it.

You hate not being able to concentrate as much anymore. Not being properly prepared. But you've been too busy trying to explain to yourself what's actually going on with you and how to get yourself back on track.

-

It’s another Monday morning and the room fills with nervous murmuring. Spencer is standing at the front of the desk, handing out the marked exams. You don't even want to know what grade you got. The subject actually suited you. You knew the answers - at least until you looked up for a moment and saw him roll up the sleeves from his shirt. That was enough to completely distract you.

You wait, trying not to let on, but your gaze keeps wandering to him. You're trying really hard to ignore him. But it's not working. As he places your exam on your desk, he gives you a quick nod. You can barely look at him. When you glance at the grade, the infatuation immediately disappears.

You understand the material. You used to be the best. But lately, your mind seems to be more focused on your professor than on studying. You shove the papers into your bag and are about to head for the door when you hear your name. You freeze. His voice hits you like an electric shock. You slowly turn around.

"We need to talk about your exam. Let's say around 3 p.m in my office?” he asks. You feel hot. Not from fear but because your mind immediately runs through a thousand scenarios. You nod. "Yeah, sure," you mumble, trying to hide your blush. "Fine," he says and smiles before he goes back to his papers.

-

Now you're standing in front of the building. Third floor, left corridor. Room 3.17. His office. It's 2:56 p.m. You arrived way too early, hiding in the library for ten minutes, but now you're here. You take a deep breath and try to stay calm. Your heart isn't cooperating. This is just a conversation. Maybe he wants feedback. Maybe it was just a bad exam. Maybe he's noticed how you look at him in every lecture - then you have a problem.

You push your hair back from your face and knock. "Come in." You press the handle and step inside. He's standing at the window, just turning around. Shirt, sleeves rolled up. And oh god, he’s wearing glasses. Your brain is on strike. "Hello," you say. Or do you think that? No, you're really saying it. Luckily, your voice sounds more stable than you feel.

He nods at you. "It's great to have you here. Please sit down." You take a seat, put down your bag, and try not to appear nervous. He sits down and folds his hands. "I wanted to talk to you about your exam," he begins calmly. "You were one of Professor Hartmann's strongest students. According to him, your contributions were precise and analytical. He specifically praised you." You nod.

"That's why your grade surprised me," he says. "The analysis was superficial. And I wouldn't have expected those mistakes from you." You want to say something. An explanation. But your mouth remains dry. So you just nod. Then he asks, "Is there anything going on in your life that distracts you from studying?" You look at him. A moment too long. Your lips part. But what are you trying to say?

That he’s the reason? That your head is chaos every time he enters the room? You swallow. "It's nothing bad," you say quietly. He raises an eyebrow, tilts his head. He's analyzing you. Reading you. "Good," he says. "Then let's change that. I think there's more to you than this grade shows." His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer. You nod and try to avoid his eyes. Sitting here, alone with him, in his office - it makes you nervous.

For a moment it is quiet and you are about to say that you should leave now when he speaks up again. "You know, it's not hard to see that you were a little... distracted." Your heart races and your eyes widen. Oh no. You know you've just given too much away. "Don't worry," he continues. "I understand. Thoughts sometimes take on a life of their own. Especially when you're sitting across from someone so... fascinating."

Fascinating. The word echoes in your head. You feel like he knows exactly what he's doing. And you have no idea how you'll ever get out of this. He leans back and looks at you, a small smile on his lips, while you almost feel like he's secretly wondering how much longer you'll last without blushing with embarrassment.

He raises an eyebrow, as if trying to read you - as if he's already read you. "Or did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice?" Your heart skips a beat. Heat crawls up your neck. Too late. Your eyes give you away and he sees it. He continues leaning back ever so slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. It’s a slow, calculated move, as if he’s savoring the moment, stretching it out.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, how he’s doing it. And you have no idea how you’ll escape this, or if you even want to. He watches you as though he’s already playing a game you don’t know the rules to. His lips curl slightly, a hint of something almost teasing. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you. "I wonder..." His voice lowers and he leans closer to you, "What exactly occupies that pretty little head of yours... to the point where you almost forget how obvious it all is."

He lets the words hang in the air, like a challenge or a threat. And as you hold your breath, you realize: you’ve already lost. The only question is whether you’ll admit it - or if he’ll make you. Your breath hitches, barely audible, but it’s enough. His eyes flicker. He looks pleased. Not surprised. Like he was expecting it, like he was hoping for it. 

You try to speak, to say something, but you can’t get a word out. He stands up, walks around his desk and comes closer to you. You can smell the faint trace of coffe and books. You blink once and suddenly he’s in your space, hovering just at the edge of touch, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. He doesn’t touch you, that would make it too easy.

“I think,” he says slowly, every word deliberate, “you like pretending you still have control.” His gaze drops for the briefest second and when it meets yours again, it’s different. Full of lust and desire. “But you gave that up the second you lied to me.” You feel your heart beating faster and faster.

He leans in, mouth near your ear now. “The question, sweetheart, isn’t whether I noticed,” his breath is warm, intoxicating, “it’s what I’ll do now that I have.” Something inside you unravels. His lips linger against your ear, resting there like he belongs there, like he’s earned the right to touch you this way. And maybe he has. Maybe that’s the most dangerous part: how natural it feels now, to have him this close, this deep under your skin.

You exhale shakily as his hand trails lower, fingertips ghosting along your thigh, teasing, never quite where you want them, where you need them. Your hips shift instinctively, seeking more, but he only smirks, dragging his mouth down your neck, each kiss deliberate, maddening. "Still holding on?" he murmurs, voice rough, lips brushing just below your collarbone.

You want to challenge him. Tell him he hasn't won. That you're still in control. But the words never make it past your lips. Because his hand finally slides exactly where you need him, and your body arches into his like it was made for this moment. A quiet curse slips from your mouth, caught somewhere between surrender and desire, and he drinks in the sound like it's a reward.

He looks up at you, eyes half-lidded and burning. "Say it. Say you want this." And you do - god, you do -but your pride clings to silence even as your body betrays you, trembling beneath his touch. He leans in again, this time pressing his lips to yours, his breath uneven, his control clearly thinning.

“Why don’t you get up and lock the door for me, sweetheart?” he asks and that’s the moment you give in. You've dreamed about it so often, so why not take the chance and make it come true? Besides, you're too much turned on right now to leave. It’s wrong, you know that - he’s your professor after all - but you don’t care. You want him. You need him.

So you get up and quickly lock his door. When you turn back to him, he's leaning against his desk, grinning. "See, it wasn't that hard to listen to me, was it?” he says and motions for you to come closer. Your heart has never beat as fast as it does now and when you feel his lips on yours again, you could swear that it is bursting with excitement.

He doesn't stop kissing you, even as he shifts, fitting his body more fully against yours, like he's been waiting for this moment far longer than he'd ever admit. His hand slides behind your knee, lifting your leg to wrap around his hip, guiding you into him with aching precision. The friction alone draws a gasp from your lips-and his in return. "You feel that?" he growls softly, teeth grazing your jaw. "That's what you do to me."

There's no space left between you now and you cling to him, hands roaming, greedy, nails dragging under his shirt and down his back just enough to make him hiss through his teeth. Then he moves, a slow roll of his hips that sets every nerve in your body alight. It's maddening, torturous. “Oh god, Professor. I - I need more.” He slides his hand up your thigh slowly, stopping where you need him the most.

“Then beg for it,” he says. “What?” you ask, confused. “You heard me. Beg for it. Beg me to touch you, to fuck you, to ruin you,” he says and smirks. “I’m not going to beg,” you say, annoyed that he’s not giving you what you want so bad. “Then I won't fuck you, it's that simple. And I don’t think you want that, do you?” he asks you and pushes against you. You can feel how hard he is and it drives you crazy.

“I hate you,” you hiss out, grinding against him in order to release some friction. He grabs your hips and holds them still before leaning down to whisper in your ear. “No, you don’t. And now, be good girl and beg. If you keep making this difficult there won’t be much time left for me to fuck you and that would be such a shame, considering I wanted to take my time to worship you like you deserve it,” he says.

You didn’t think it was possible, but these words turn you on even more. You need him, now, everywhere. You push your pride aside and look up to him through your lashes, roaming your hands over his chest and opening the first buttons of his shirt while maintaining eye contact. “Please, Professor. I need you to touch me. I need you to fuck me. Please make me come on your cock,” you say and he looks pleased.

“See, that was not hard, was it?” he asks but you ignore him. He presses his lips to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your throat - anywhere he can reach. "You're mine now," he breathes, hips grinding more against you, slower, enough to leave you trembling. "Every inch of you,” he says before he finally slips his hand up your skirt again, grazing your clit through your panties. You shiver.

His hand tugs at your panties before he pulls them to the side, sliding a finger through your folds. “Now look at that. You’re already soaked,” he says with a smirk and slips a finger inside you, while his thumb circles your clit. You moan out loud and his other hand covers your mouth immediately. “Shh, sweetheart. You have to keep quiet for me if you don’t want us to get caught,” he says.

The thought makes you clench around his finger and he chuckles. “Interesting. You like the idea of getting caught, don’t you?” he asks and pushes another finger in. You bite down on your lip in order to stay quiet because he is right - you don’t want to get caught. Not here, not now. But the thought definitely turns you on. “Answer me,” he says, pumping his fingers faster. “Y-yes, I - I do.”

Your legs begin to shake and you hold onto his arms in order to still stand up straight. He notices your struggle and lifts you up so you sit on his desk. He finally takes your panties off, stuffing them in his pocket. You spread your legs wider for him and he looks pleased at the sight in front of him. “Please fuck me, Professor. I need you so bad,” you whine but he shakes his head.

“Not yet. I have to taste you first,” he says and leans down, his head disappearing between your thighs. He wraps his arms around your thighs to keep you close to him before he leans forward and places a kiss on your cunt. You can feel his breath on you and reach for his hair, pulling him closer against you. Then his tongue finally makes contact with your cunt, flicking over your clit first. You gasp out loudly, tugging at his soft, brown curls and looking down to him.

Seeing your Professor down on his knees, between your thighs is a sight you will never forget. He eats you out like he wants to draw every last sound out of you. And he does. When he finally starts to push his tongue into you, he drinks all your whimpers and moans in like they're fuel, like they prove something, and in the way he watches you, you realize that this isn't just about lust. This is control. Intimacy. A claiming.

He adds his fingers again and the pleasure becomes too much. Your toes are curling and you can feel your orgasm approaching. Spencer can tell that you’re close too. He sucks at your clit again and your mind goes blank. But then he suddenly pulls back. You pant and give him an angry look. “What are you doing? I was close,” you breath out, already fucked out. “I know. But I decided I’m not letting you come yet,” he says.

“Asshole,” you hiss through gritted theeth and he shakes his head in disappointment. “That's no way to talk to your professor. It looks to me like I need to give you a lesson in respect,” he says. “I -“ you begin but he already pulls you from the table before turning you around and bending you over it. He pulls down your skirt in one quick motion before his hand roams over your ass.

You turn around to look at him, to snap at him, to tell him you hate him for doing that but you can’t because his hand is coming down onto your ass, spanking you. You didn’t expect that but it turns you on immensely. “Count and take your punishment like a good girl,” he says. “O -one,” you breath out and feel a wave of excitement washing through you. He was really not lying when he said he’s making all your dreams come true. Because as much as you hate to admit it, this is what you dreamed about too.

His hand comes down again and you feel the sharp pain again. But it feels good. You didn’t think it’s even possible but every minute with him turns you on even more. You push against him to show him you want more, feeling his hard cock again. “Oh you are enjoying this, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he asks and you nod. His hand comes down again and you continue counting. After ten strikes he decides that you have enough.

“That’s it, you took it like a good girl for me,” he says and leans down to kiss your neck gently. It’s a sweet, caring moment and it makes you feel safe with him. However, you’re still turned on, especially after he punished you like this. “Will you fuck me now?” you ask him eagerly and he laughs. “Of course, sweetheart. You think I don’t want to feel your pretty pussy wrapped around my cock?” he says and begins to open his pants.

When he finally pulls out his cock your eyes widen. He is big, way bigger than you always expected. He strokes his cock a few times and you watch him with a hungry look in your eyes. If you weren't so turned on right now, you'd be embarrassed about how much you want him, need him. But you don’t care, who blames you? He's hot and smart, the perfect combination.

He comes closer and finally slides his cock through your folds, hitting your clit and teasing you yet again. “Just - just fuck me already,” you hiss out through gritted teeth. When he stops you quickly add a “Please, Professor” and he praises you. “Good girl, that’s what I wanted to hear.” Then he finally pushes in.

It feels even better than you expected. You can’t help but moan out his name loudly. “Shh, quiet sweetheart,” he reminds you and you nod. He’s right. You don’t want anyone to find out or worse, get interrupted right now. Not now, when you finally have him.

He starts to pound into you and your eyes roll back in pleasure. The sensation of him inside you drives you crazy. Low groans fell from Spencer's lips when one of his hands moved to your clit, rubbing rough circles. The way you move with him, the way your body responds, open and aching and utterly undone - that's your surrender.

And he feels it. You can tell in the way he growls your name like it's sacred. “You look so good like this, completely fucked out by your Professor,” he says and his pace falters, deepens, roughens. The rhythm between you spirals into something frantic, raw-beautiful in its chaos. The kind of connection that blurs the line between pleasure and need. Between dominance and devotion.

When he hits the right spot over and over again and trails his hand down to circle your clit, you completely lose it. You clench around him and he knows you’re close. He almost feels bad for what he’s about to do. He pushes deeper, increasing his pace until he’s close too. But instead of making you two come together, he pulls out. “What the fuck are you -“ you start but he shifts, pulling you up from his desk to push you on your knees. “Open,” he says and you obey, taking his cock in your mouth to swallow his cum.

You think he has something else planned for you, convinced he still wants to make you come but when he finished and starts to put himself together again you give him a questioning look. “What are you doing?” you ask him. “As you can see, we’re done, sweetheart. I’m putting myself back together. My office hours start soon. You have to leave now,” he simply says and sits down at his desk. “Are you fucking serious?” you ask furiously. “I didn’t even come,” you say.

“Only good girls - good students - get to come. And you haven't been that lately. Show me you're getting better, focus on your exams, get a better grade the next time and you'll get what you deserve,” he says with a smirk on his face and you are so angry, so frustrated that you can’t get a word out for about a minute. Then you have an idea.

He’s not playing fair, but you can do that too. “I can just report you, you know,” you say. You never plan to do that, but he doesn’t need to know that. He looks up and laughs before getting up from his chair, walking around his desk and slowly approaching you again. Your whole body is shaking with anger, frustration and pleasure. “You can, but you won’t,” he says with a grin on his face.

"Oh yeah, and how do you know that?" you ask him defiantly. “Because these lips long for me," he says and unexpectedly pushes a finger inside you again. You tremble. Oh god, he just knows you too well. “And in order for these lips to get what they want, these lips,” he says and traces his finger over your lips. “have to stay quiet.”

[withwritersblock]

Oh! Darling pt. 7

~ Oh! Darling by The Beatles~

Author's Note: first post of my queued up writings for the next few months :) Summary: Quinn starts to plan his proposal during the summer at the lakehouse Word count: 4,932 Masterlist

May 

He’s been standing in the jewelry store for almost an hour. His brothers were standing beside him starting to lose patience. Luke was leaning against the wall staring at his phone; completely unengaged in the moment. Jack was pointing at different rings to try and speed up the process for Quinn.

Nothing was perfect for him. He needed it to be exactly what Y/N must have been picturing for years. He has yet to decide on how he was going to propose. He was still so focused on the importance of the ring.

“Dude, they’re starting to look the same. Can you pick one already so we can get food,” Jack begged as he smashed his fingertip against the glass. Quinn pressed his lips together as he leaned away from the glass. A huff of air left his lips as he shook his head. 

“I need to pick one or else I’ll never propose and she’ll leave me,” he expressed as he met the gaze of the woman behind the counter.

Luke let out a sudden laugh as he instantly shoved his phone back into his pocket. “If that was the case, she would’ve left you about four years ago,” 

“And we would never have our beautiful niece,” Jack chimed in as he pointed towards Luke before pointing to Quinn. 

Quinn shook his head glancing between his brothers. “Thank you for your time,” Quinn offered to the person behind the counter as he began walking backwards out of the jewelry shop. Luke let out a huff of air as he instantly followed after him. Jack scoffed while he spun on his heel as started following them. 

“You realize you just wasted an hour of our lives right?” Jack let out jokingly as he bumped into Quinn’s arm. 

“I’ve got all of these reference photos that Riley sent me but nothing in the store looked like them,” he said softly. “I just want it to be perfect for her,”

“I think anything will be perfect for her at this point,” Luke teased as he adjusted the brace on his arm. “But seriously dude, why do you care so much? You two have been together since the Ice Age and you have a kid together. What’s the big deal?”

“Isn’t she the one that told you to wait?” Jack chimed in awkwardly running his hand along his shoulder.

“She is the one that didn’t want to get engaged right away, which I totally understood but according to Riley; she’s ready. Which could totally mean that if I don’t do it quick enough she’ll leave me and take my beautiful daughter with her and I’ll–”

“He’s spiraling,” Luke expressed.

“I’m not spiraling,” Quinn let out with a laugh. “I just feel like she deserves a perfect proposal with a perfect wedding with our daughter being the flower girl because–okay maybe I’m spiraling.” Quinn stopped dead in his tracks as he stared ahead. He took a shaky breath.

“You know she’ll say yes–”

“I know that!” Quinn interrupted Jack as he laughed. “Just because I know the answer doesn’t mean that she doesn’t deserve a great ring with a great proposal,” Quinn continued as he walked quickly towards their car. He rounded the car towards the driver side of the car. 

He pulled the door open instantly and climbed into the driver seat. Jack opened the door for Luke before he started to climb into the front passenger seat. Luke climbed in the backseat, a dramatic groan leaving his lips. 

Quinn looked down towards his phone as he stared towards his lockscreen. It was a screenshot from the broadcast that his mom had sent him a few weeks ago. 

Since it was one of the last games in the season, Y/N brought along Ellie to the games and took her down to the glass. Ellie had giant headphones on her head while standing at the glass. Y/N and Ellie’s hands were touching the glass and Quinn was holding his hand to the glass. Y/N’s smile was so wide and Ellie was giggling.

He had no idea that the broadcast would focus on that moment but he was even more glad to have a memory of that exact moment.

Suddenly, his phone flashed with Y/N calling him. His eyes widened while he cleared his throat. He brought the phone towards his ear as he glanced towards Jack. “Hey baby,” he let out as he reached towards the seatbelt.

“Hi honey, your parents and I are wondering where the hell you three disappeared to. And we are in desperate need of dinner so please hurry back,” she expressed with a soft laugh leaving her lips. Quinn smiled widely as he buckled his seatbelt while reaching for the gear shift. 

“We had to run a few errands but we are on our way back. We’ll be ready for dinner when we get back. Don’t you worry,” Quinn said with a shaky breath. 

“You better be, my love. You know how I get–” she began.

“Oh baby, I know. We’ll be back soon, I promise,” he offered with a giggle.

“Good, I love you,” she said quietly.

“I love you too,” he let out before he hung up quickly. He began to drive back to the lakehouse. Quinn dropped his phone into the cup holder as he glanced towards Jack. “Did I sound normal–like I wasn’t ring shopping for her or anything?” Quinn asked.

“Dude, shut up,” Luke said while laughing.

Quinn nodded while he turned up the volume on the stereo in the car. “Right, right,” he muttered before he took another deep breath. “I’ve got to give Riley a call,” he said as he began pressing buttons on the Carplay device. Jack spun around to met Luke’s gaze, almost as a secret attempt to make fun of Quinn.

It did not take long for Riley to answer, Quinn let out a sigh of relief. “Hey Ri,” Quinn let out as he pulled up to a red light. 

“Did you pick one out?” she asked softly without even saying hello. He let out a nervous laugh.

“None of them were the right ones,” he said quietly. Riley let out a dramatic sigh. “I showed the lady each photo you sent me and she didn’t have anything close to what Y/N would love. I don’t know what to do,” he explained while tapping his hands against the steering wheel.

“So find someone that’ll make her the perfect ring,” Riley said as if it was the most obvious thing of all time. Quinn furrowed his eyebrows as he tilted his head back against the headrest.

“That’s going to cost like thousands of dollars,” Quinn said while shaking his head.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t have the money for it, Quinton,” Riley said through a giggle. Jack and Luke laughed along with her.

He rolled his eyes playfully, “I mean we share a bank account, she would get suspicious if all that money came out at one time,” 

“Well how were you trying to buy a ring in the first place?” Jack asked.

“What he said,” Riley chimed in over the phone.

“With my credit card, you can’t pay someone to do custom work like that on a credit card. I would have to find a way to make up an excuse for that money to be taken out of the account,” he explained. 

“I’m sure you’ll figure out pretty boy. I need to go, you better do it soon because I don’t think I can hold a secret much longer.” she said before she hung up the phone. Quinn shook his head while laughing as he took a right turn down the street that led to their lake house. 

“Give me a quote and I’ll pay for it but you pay me back the second she says yes,” Jack said with a grin. 

“Wait, are you being serious?” he asked as he pulled into his parking spot in the driveway. Instantly putting the car into park as he shifted his body towards Jack. Luke unbuckled his seatbelt as he pushed the door open but kept his gaze on Quinn.

“Yes, I mean if you are so hung up on the ring needing to be perfect. Then I’ll pay for it and then you pay me back with interest so she won’t get suspicious,” Jack offered as he rested his hand on Quinn’s shoulder.

“Thank you, thank you, Jack. You seriously have no idea how much these means to me.” Quinn said as he awkwardly reached towards Jack and pulled him into a hug. 

“Of course man. I don’t want her to leave you,” he said while laughing. Quinn rolled his eyes before he started climbing out of the car. Luke was soon to follow with Jack. 

“How do you think I feel?” Quinn joked as he jogged towards the door.

~~~

It was well after the dinner and everyone was sprailed out in the living room. Quinn’s parents were cuddled up next to one another on one of the couches. While Jack and Luke were sitting on the floor of the living room with their backs pressed against the couches.

Quinn, Ellie, and Y/N were sitting on the other couch. Ellie was laying on Quinn’s chest, her face rested in his neck; completely dead asleep. Y/N was sitting beside him as his arm was around her shoulder. She snuggled against his side. Slowly, she ran her hand along Ellie’s back. 

The movie on the screen was a new romance movie that Ellen had been dying to watch. All of the boys groaned at the idea, they were not in the mood for it at first. But We Live in Time was actually better than they thought and everyone was highly invested in it.

Quinn turned his head and pressed his lips to the top of Y/N’s head before he looked back towards the screen. “I’m going to put her to bed,” he whispered towards her. Y/N leaned away and nodded, she took in a deep breath while glancing towards him. Their eyes connected and she stood up with him.

“I’ll come with you,” she whispered as Quinn slowly stood up. He nodded slowly as he walked delicately around Luke and Jack. 

“You guys are going to miss the ending of the movie,” Jack said as his voice cracked. 

“We’ll watch the ending later,” Y/N whispered as she delicately tapped Jack’s good shoulder.

“Are you guys going to bed?” Luke questioned as he tossed his head back. 

“We will have a screaming baby awake in like six hours. I need sleep,” Quinn whispered loudly as he carefully started walking backwards towards the room that has been converted into Ellie’s nursery for the summer. 

“Good night, love you guys!” Y/N whispered loudly as she followed after Quinn.

“When did they become eighty years old?” Luke let out jokingly.

“They’re parents now, let them go,” Ellen teased as she looked back towards the TV screen. “You’ll understand eventually,” 

Luke and Jack met each other’s eyes and rolled their eyes before they instantly returned their gaze back towards the movie.

Quinn and Y/N rounded the corner into the bedroom. Y/N leaned against the doorway as she watched Quinn carefully rest her in the crib. His eyes widened as Ellie stirred and rolled onto her stomach. Quinn gripped the edge of the crib as we waited for Ellie to wake up. After several seconds he leaned back and took several quiet steps away from it.

He met Y/N’s gaze as a soft smile formed to his lips. He walked directly up towards her, resting one of his hands onto her hip. Instantly, he leaned towards her and pressed his lips against hers. She hummed against his lips as she rested her hand onto his chest. He raised his other hand up and took a hold of her cheek. He glided his thumb along her skin. 

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers as he pulled his lips away from hers. “Let’s go to bed,” she whispered while running her hand down his chest. He smirked as he stepped back as he held his hand towards her. She smiled softly as she rested her hands in his. “I mean it, Quinny,” she said teasingly.

“Oh I know, baby,” he whispered while raising his eyebrows teasingly. He pulled her towards him with a giggle falling from her lips. She took fast steps with him towards their room. 

It only took a few seconds for them to round the corner into their bedroom. Quinn let go of her hand as she pressed her back against the wall beside the door. Delicately, he shut the door beside them. He twisted the lock as he reached towards her and took a hold of her waist. He kissed her urgently as he pulled her towards him.

She rested her hands onto his chest and reluctantly pushed him away from her. He pulled away, a pout falling onto his lips. “We are going to bed,” she said while stepping away from him. 

She took fast steps towards the bed and instantly collapsed onto the mattress. She leaned back onto her hands as she met his eyes. He was fighting off a grin as he took a few steps towards her. 

“Are you sure? I’m not really tired,” he said quietly as he crossed his arms over his chest. She nodded as she teasingly bit her bottom lip. He smirked as he took a few more steps towards the bed. 

He reached down and took a hold of her legs and lifted them up, slowly parting her legs in the process. He glided his hands teasingly down her legs as their eyes remained connected in the process. Her entire body erupted in goosebumps as her vision went blurry for a second. She collapsed flat on her back while her eyes shut as she took in a sudden breath.

He carefully began to climb on top of her while she wrapped her legs around his waist. Quinn rested his arms on either side of her head. He bumped his nose against hers teasingly.

“Quinn,” she mumbled as she rested her hands onto the base of his neck. He hummed before he leaned down and kissed her lips softly. “Whatever you’re thinking–stop,” she mumbled between kisses. 

He pulled back, looking down towards her with a smirk toying his lips. “Why?” he asked softly as he leaned down pressing his lips against hers urgently again.

“We are not having sex with your family in this house,” she muttered as she delicately glided her finger along his jawline. He leaned down and kissed her softly. Her lips parted as she allowed him to deepen the kiss. Their tongues connected instantly. They stayed in that position for a while as they simply enjoyed the moment. 

“Hasn’t stopped us before,” he mumbled before he leaned down and pressed his lips against her jawline.

“Quinn,” she scolded with a sudden intake of breath. He smirked as he began to kiss her neck. “Quinn, they are still awake,” she whispered as she glided her fingers through his hair, tugging the strands slightly. He hummed against her skin. He raised his hand up and took a hold of her chin and turned her head to the side giving himself more access. 

A small smile formed to her lips as she ran her hand along the base of his neck. His pace slowed as he ran his hand along her side. He kissed the skin beneath her ear one more time before he pulled back. 

“You’re right. You’re always right,” he mumbled as he rolled onto his back. She giggled as she rolled onto her side and watched him begin to climb under the comforters. She quickly followed after his movements. He instantly laid the blanket low on his frame.

Quickly, he held his arms out towards her. She instantly rested her head onto his chest as he wrapped his arm around her. “I know, it gets annoying, right?” she expressed teasingly. She glided her hands along his chest. He leaned down and pressed his lips against the top of her head. 

“Never,” he whispered with a small smile on his lips.

“Such a liar,” she teased as she tapped her finger against his collarbone.

“I’m the annoying one,” he mumbled as he ran his hand down her back slowly. 

She fought off a smirk as she took in a deep breath, “Yeah, you are,” she teased. He let out a sudden laugh as he tickled her lower back in retaliation. 

June

Quinn’s phone started vibrating in his pocket. He jolted up from the patio chair. “I’ll be right back,” Quinn expressed towards his family, meeting Jack’s gaze for a second before he began walking into the house. He brought the phone towards his ear and let out, “Hello?” as he shut the door behind him.

“Hi Quinn Hughes?” the man said on the other end of the phone. 

“Uh yes, this is he,” he expressed as he looked through the window. He saw Luke tossing Ellie into the air. Quinn smiled to himself as he dropped his gaze to the floor. 

“We’ve got two versions of the ring for you, sir. We would like for you to come down to Detroit to pick the right one,”

“Oh yeah, absolutely. Is tomorrow okay? I don’t think I can get to Detroit before you guys close tonight,” Quinn said with a grin on his lips. He looked back towards his family outside. His gaze landed on Y/N, she was laughing loudly as she watched Luke carry Ellie on his back; as if he was a plane. 

“That’s perfect, we’ll see you then Mr. Hughes,” they said before hanging up the phone. Quinn smiled to himself as he slowly brought the phone away from his ear. He carefully put it back into his pocket as he walked back outside. He smiled towards Y/N as he made his way back towards her. 

“Are you alright?” she asked as she reached her hand around his shoulder. Slowly, she began to twist small pieces of his hair between her fingers.

“Yeah, I’m good. I need to take a drive to Detroit tomorrow for some errands,” he announced. 

“Oh good, me too. I have to stop at a friend’s new apartment and drop off a few things,” his mom said while resting her coffee on the small coffee table. Quinn’s eyes widened as he nodded. 

“Why don’t we make it a family thing?” his dad offered. He could feel Y/N perk up beside him at the idea. 

“How about you and Mom, just come along?” Quinn countered back as he shifted awkwardly beside Y/N. He avoided her gaze as he looked towards Jack. He cleared his throat as he nodded.

“Yeah, I was hoping to spend the day with my niece since Lukey’s been hogging her for the last few days,” Jack explained as he pointed towards Luke with Ellie now held to his side. Y/N continued to run her fingers through the ends of Quinn’s hair. 

“I’ve got some cleaning to do here, so maybe that'll be good,” Y/N offered quietly while turning her gaze solely towards Quinn. He turned his head to the side, meeting her gaze and nodding slowly. His gaze dipped towards her lips for a second before he took a much needed deep breath. He could feel his heart rate slowing down.

“You sure?” he asked her softly, secretly hoping that she would stand firm on her decision. She nodded encouragingly.

“Absolutely, no offense honey, but if your brothers are offering to babysit and you are going out of town for a few hours; I will happily take that time to myself,” she said with a soft laugh.

“Doesn’t come up very often, especially when you have more kids, you have to savor it.” Ellen expressed. Quinn’s eyes widened as he stared towards his mom in disbelief. 

“If–If…” Quinn and Y/N sat up straighter as they said it both at the same time. They all started laughing. 

“Okay, fine if you have more kids, you have to savor it now,” Ellen said through a giggle. 

“Oh trust me, I will,” Y/N said as she tapped her hand against Quinn’s thigh, “What errands do you need to run?” she asked while running her thumb along the fabric of his shorts.

He cleared his throat, while avoiding her gaze. “I’ve got a suit tailor appointment in Detroit,” he said quickly on the spot. 

“What about your guy back home?” she asked somewhat suspiciously. 

“He wanted me to get new measurements for when I come back for training camp,” he said. Jack nodded along, almost encouragingly. 

“Yeah, he’s gone up a size,” Jack teased. Quinn’s mouth fell open as an abrupt laugh left his lips.

“Shut up,” he said while flipping off Jack before he sunk deeper into Y/N’s small embrace.

~~~

They had been on the road for almost an hour and his parents were chatting away about anything and everything. They were laughing loudly but Quinn’s heart was slamming hard against his chest. He kept glancing down towards the radio screen, seeing the song close out before it was ready to play the next one in the queue. 

“Quinny, you’re awfully quiet. Are you alright?” his mom asked as she tapped her hand against his shoulder gently. He blinked rapidly as he glanced towards his mom for a second before looking back towards the road. 

“Yeah–I’m good. Just thinking,” he mumbled as they continued down the expressway. 

“What about?” his father chimed in from the backseat. 

Quinn remained silent for a second before he took a deep breath. “I needed to come to Detroit to pick up the ring I got custom made for Y/N,” he explained, almost regrettably. His mother gasped excitedly as he watched his father grin widely in the backset.

“Oh my god!” his mother let out happily.

“I don’t know when or how yet, but I needed to get the ring figured out first so that’s why I needed to come to Detroit today.” he explained as he switched lanes to prepare for the exit. 

“But it’s finally happening after–”

“I know, Mom, you guys have to pretend you don’t know anything. Jack and Luke both know but I still want it to be a surprise for her so do your best to keep it a secret, please,” he explained with a nervous laugh leaving his lips. 

“Luke’s been keeping it a secret? Wow, I’m shocked,” his dad chirped from the backseat while Quinn pulled off on the exit. The three of them laughed while shaking their heads.

“Why do you think he’s been with Elliana since we got here this summer? She’s the only one that he can blab secrets to without Y/N finding out,” Quinn jokes. 

For the rest of the ride, his mom would offer different plans on what to do for the proposal. Some were intimate moments, in their backyard or in their living room back in Vanvoucer. Other options were an extravagant nearly broadway-like performance that made Quinn nearly gag at the idea of it. 

Quinn and Y/N have been together for so long and know nearly every single detail about one another. They’ve grown together, practically have become one. But the one thing that Quinn couldn’t figure out is how she would want this moment to be. 

If Quinn proposed right when he started with the Canucks, he knew that she would’ve wanted something extravagant and beautiful. If he proposed before Ellie was born then the proposal would have been something nonchalant and lowkey.

But now they were in a whole new life together. Practically married with a kid already. He didn’t know if she would want something dramatic or flashy. But he knows that she would still want a proposal. But hearing his mother’s options felt like throwing darts at a dart board and purposely hitting the wall beside it.

“I’ve got no idea what she’ll want. Nothing seems right, I’m just going to find the right moment,” 

“Did I ever tell you how I proposed to your mother?” Jim asked with a grin on his lips. Without waiting for an answer Jim started explaining in detail about how he asked Ellen to marry him. It was a long yet cute story that led to their lives together now. Quinn had arrived outside of his mom’s friend’s place about ten minutes into the story but Quinn still listened intently. 

He was always intrigued with stories about his parents' past or anyone’s pasts really. He loves listening to stories about anything. 

“Alright enough yapping, let’s let Quinn get to his appointment,” Ellen offered as she started climbing out of the car. 

Jim reached his hand forward and rested it onto Quinn’s shoulder. “Good luck, Son,” he offered as he climbed out of the car.

“I don’t need it,” Quinn offered softly. Jim simply laughed as he climbed out of the car. His parents walked towards the lobby of the apartment complex, spinning around to look back towards the car. Quinn took a deep breath before he adjusted the GPS and began to drive to the jeweler’s store. It was only two miles away, it worked out perfectly for them.

Before he knew it, he was walking into the custom jewelry shop. He was taking deep breaths as he stepped into the suspiciously dark space. He stepped deeper into the shop, towards the register in the back. As Quinn walked deeper into the store the lights automatically flickered on. 

“Hi there, are you Quinn?” the man said in the back by the register. He was older, he was balding, but still had a rim of white hair that lined an inch above his ear. Quinn forced a smile and nodded.

“Yes sir, I am,” he offered as he continued towards him.

“Amazing, I’ve got two options for you in the back. I’ll be right back with them both,” he offered as he took a hold of a wooden cane and began to walk to the back of the store. Quinn nodded as he awkwardly shoved his hands into his pockets. His eyes danced around the store, looking at each individual diamond and ring collections behind glass that could only be unlocked with a key.

It took several minutes before he returned with two tiny satin bags that could only hold rings. Quinn smiled softly as he walked closer to the counter. 

“Okay, hopefully these are up to your standards,” he offered as he carefully placed the small bags onto the glass table. Quickly took the rings out and placed them onto the glass. “You can pick them up and examine them as you like,” the man continued while he rested his cane against the wall.

Quinn nodded as he took up the one on the left. It was nearly an exact replica to one of the photos that Riley had sent him. But something in him told him it was an immediate no. He couldn’t picture her wearing it. It was somewhat bulky and it did not feel right. He instantly put it back down took a hold of the other one.

A small smile formed to his lips as he instantly could tell the three diamonds that were small yet still an instant eye catcher. “This one is perfect,” Quinn said while meeting the man’s gaze.

“You’ve barely looked at it,” he said with a soft laugh.

“It’s perfect, it’s like everything in one. Exactly what I think she’ll love. Thank you so much.” Quinn said as he watched the man place the ring in a ring box and drop it into a plastic bag; almost as if it was thousands of dollars worth of diamonds. Quinn’s eyes widened while he watched the movements.

“Alright, you remember the estimate I gave you?” he offered as he looked up and met Quinn’s gaze. Quinn nodded as he handed over the card that Jack gave him this morning. Jack promised to pay for it to not raise suspicion. Quinn had enough savings that Y/N probably wouldn’t pay too much attention to the money leaving their account.

He couldn’t risk it. Jack was more than willing to share, because it wouldn’t even be a dent in his own savings.

“You don’t want to know the final total?” the man asked suspiciously. 

“I’ve been saving, it’s okay. Thank you for this, truly,” Quinn offered.

The man simply smiled politely as he finished the transaction and handed the plastic bag back towards Quinn with the card as well.

“Have a good day,” the man said as he retreated to the back of the store. Quinn frowned for a second before he continued to walk out of the shop. 

He thought that the second he got the ring, his body would relax. Yet it was the complete opposite. His body felt more tingly and his breathing was still uneven. He took a deep breath as he unlocked his car and instantly sat in the driver seat. He locked the car as he pulled the ring box from the bag. He clicked it open and stared at it again.

He took a deep breath as a small smile fell on his lips as he tried to picture the ring on her finger. It looked perfect.

[rhiannonsknife]

Okay this might be long I apologise. But I’ve been really into tattoos lately, like both getting them myself but also designing and doing it on other people

sooooo, I was thinking a Nat(?) x tattooist!reader. Like maybe they were together before the crash and r was one of the first/only person who visited her after they came back

and I’m thinking like a few years later, early twenties maybe. They’re in r’s apartment, Nat pretty much lives there too. And one night they drink a little or something, and Nat asks r to tattoo her

I’m not sure what but maybe something silly like a couples tattoo or something. Maybe a sentence in r’s handwriting?

I don’t know I think it could be cute

I’m not sure which emojis are already used cause your anon list is so big now. Maybe 🦢 if it’s not taken?

── IS IT SHOWING OFF MY BRAND NEW LOWER BACK TATTOO?

— warnings: post-rescue nat. smoking. some slightly suggestive content. friends to lovers. i changed up the lore of your request a little, i hope you don’t mind 🦢 anon!

it’s late again; past midnight, probably. you stopped checking the clock ages ago, at least when nat is around. time doesn’t quite stop, it loses shape, becomes irrelevant in her presence.

the two of you are camped on the hardwood floor of your apartment, backs leaning against the couch, legs outstretched and toes brushing beneath a shared blanket that neither of you bothered pulling over your laps. the windows are cracked open, letting in just enough of the summer night air to keep the smoke from hanging too heavy in the room.

nat takes the joint from your fingers. “this is…a solid six,” she mutters after a long drag, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. “maybe a seven”

you raise a brow. “six?”

“still tastes like the shit you used to roll in high school,” she passes it back, fingers brushing yours.

you snort, tapping ash into a chipped mug. “you loved that shit in high school!”

“i loved you in high school. different bar.” nat elbows you, glancing up from beneath the messy fringe of her newly-bleached bangs.

her roots are already creeping back, the blonde a little too bright and yellow still. a few weeks ago, nat showed up on your doorstep with a box of bleach and zero instructions, told you to “fix it” and you’d spent the better part of the evening in your bathroom, gloves on, both of you giggling like teenagers again.

it felt familiar, standing behind her in that tiny space, rinsing bleach from her hair while she blinked up at you in the mirror. it felt like before: before the crash and the funerals. before the grief of thinking you had lost her found a permanent home between your ribs for 19 whole months.

“you’re such a little shit,” you mutter, handing her the joint.

“mhm,” she hums, leaning against the couch. “you’re just mad i have taste now.”

now.

now things are almost like they used to be, a soft return to old habit. anything that happened before the crash is some long forgotten, locked-up chapter that you still think about frequently but wouldn’t dare to bring up. nat has got enough on her trauma loaded plate and you’ve always assumed dragging pre-incident memories into the light wouldn’t help.

so, your memories stay buried: the party. the spin-the-bottle. the kiss and how nat touched you as if she might have done it sober, too.

“y’know,” she says. “i think i like it here.”

you glance at her sideways. “in my crumbling one-bedroom?”

nat exhales, flicking more ash into the same mug. “yeah. kinda feels like home.”

hearing those words from her catches you off guard. for months, no, years now, you’ve been trying to be that for her; somewhere, steady, somewhere safe. and even though you never said it out loud, you’d always wanted her to feel like she could land here, with you. you just never thought she actually did.

your fingers brushing nat’s once more when you reach for the joint again and bring it to your mouth. then, so casually it almost doesn’t register, she says: “do you still have your tattoo kit?”

your head turns. “…yeah?”

her eyes are still trained on the ceiling and the drifting smoke. “you ever think about giving me one?”

“you mean like…right now?”

her shoulders rise in a shrug. “why not?”

“are you high?”

“little bit.”

“you’re gonna regret that.”

“only if you fuck it up.”

you laugh, shaking your head.

“c’mon!” nat says, nudging your foot beneath the blanket.

you roll your eyes, standing. “alright. let’s do this before you change your mind.”

the tattoo kit is tucked beneath the bathroom sink, zippered into a worn black pouch. you carry it into the living room, where nat has already pulled off her top and tossed it over the back of a chair.

the sight of her topless doesn’t usually send you reeling. you’ve seen nat shirtless countless times: hot mornings, locker rooms, sleepovers back in high school when she’d sneak through your bedroom window at 2 am because she couldn’t sleep at her place…still, it feels different now.

perhaps it’s the haze, or the fact that she’s already turning, back bared and ready for you to tattoo it.

or maybe it’s just that you remember. not just the party. not just the kiss. not just the press of her lips on yours, the feeling of her hand at your waist.

everything after: the slow way she returned, piece by piece, to this version of herself. to you.

nineteen months, you thought you’d lost your best friend. now she’s here again, more than she was before, and somehow nothing has been said about what has shifted between you.

you notice it. you collect it. tiny details you never paid attention to back then now bloom in your memory like smoke rings still curling towards your ceiling: the brush of her hand when she reached for the bleach. the flash of silver at her chest, twin barbells glinting in the bathroom light as you tried not to stare. her scent when she crawls into bed with you. the taste of her spit on the joint before you bring it to your lips.

you’re building a whole archive of her, just in case.

nat already has tattoos: there’s a jagged line of symbols on her forearm, another piece stitched over her ribs that she once said “just felt right” and one bigger tattoo spanning her upper thigh you’ve never seen fully, though you’ve caught glimpses when she pads around your apartment in her underwear. then, there’s that dumb one on the inside of her lip, the “bite me” scrawled from a night out and a bet you should’ve known she’d win.

“where?” you ask, crouching beside her.

nat doesn’t turn around, only lifts a hand and taps the space between her shoulder blades. “here”

you nod, clicking open the case. “and what am i putting on you?”

“surprise me.”

“nat…”

“something small,” she says helpfully. “nothing stupid! just…i don’t know! something that feels like yours.”

so you snap on the gloves and try to steady your hands. it’s not the work itself that’s hard, it’s the trust nat puts in you to leave a permanent mark on her.

you focus on the familiar movement, sketching it lightly onto the skin of her back with fingers that won’t stop trembling, no matter how steady you try to make them. mercifully, or too high to notice, nat doesn’t ask what it is.

“you’re quiet,” she points out, her head tilted to the side as she smokes the last bit of the joint. “should i be worried?”

“no,” you murmur. “just trying not to fuck up.”

even with her back turned to you, you hear the smile in her voice. “you won’t. you’re good with your hands.”

you pause, needle hovering an inch above skin, suddenly not breathing. she doesn’t turn around, only takes another slow drag and exhales, smoke rising above her head.

“okay,” you say. “you’re gonna feel a little-”

“stabbing,” nat finishes. this time she does turn, lips twitching. “yeah. i remember.”

“then relax.”

the machine buzzes to life and you begin, the needle breaking skin in short, precise strokes. with one palm pressing against her skin to keep her in position, and your legs bracket hers where she’s sitting (still half-naked), you’re impossibly close to her.

you try not to think about the proximity as you work. not about the piercings, a flash of silver when her shirt rides up, or how your knuckles keep brushing the soft skin just beside them. not about the fact that she sleeps in your bed now, half the week, limbs tangled in your sheets. sometimes she wears a shirt. sometimes she doesn’t. and whether she notices the way you notice or just doesn’t care, you’ve never found the nerve to ask.

to keep the memories at bay, you try focusing on other things instead: the shimmer of sweat at the nape of nat’s neck, the faint freckles scattered across her spine.

even that backfires.

now all your brain can do is wonder what would happen if you leaned in and kissed her right there, soothing the stinging sensation of the needle.

you don’t, of course.

you finish the linework, wipe down the ink and wrap the fresh tattoo, smooth and professional, as if your hands haven’t been shaking since you first touched nat’s skin.

this is where you should step back, say it’s done and offer her the mirror. let her go.

your hand lingers, though, on skin still warm to the touch.

without thinking, you lean forward and press a kiss above the tattoo.

nat shudders.

her breath catches and doesn’t settle again. the pain’s over, the needle quiet, and you’ve barely touched her at all. still her body is reacting.

at first, she doesn’t move or speak: she just sits there, back turned to you, as if movement could ruin this.

when she does shift, it’s silent, afraid to break whatever is holding your moment suspended. nat’s eyes flick down to your mouth, then back up again, seeing if you’ll look away.

you meet her gaze and hold it, your heart hammering somewhere deep in your chest. her hand lifts, fingertips brushing against the hem of your shirt.

still, you hesitate. still, she waits.

it’s unbearable, that tiny space between you, so close her breath is warming your cheek, waiting for you to move.

and then, finally, gravity wins out over whatever instinct has been trying to keep you apart and you kiss her. it’s nothing like the party, not clumsy and drunk or full of laughter: this is months of restraint unraveling in an instant.

her lips are dry from smoke, soft despite it and her hands come up, curling into the fabric of your shirt (unlike nat, you are wearing one still).

you tilt into her, heat flashing beneath your skin.

her knees part to make room for you between them and the kiss deepens. her fingers slip to the back of your neck, thumb brushing along your jaw, and shivers run through your entire body.

nat makes a soft sound and pulls you closer, as if that single reaction was all she needed. you taste weed on her tongue. salt. her.

you taste her.

“fuck,” nat whispers, her tongue slipping past your lips before you can come up with anything to say in return.

she leans in again, kissing you harder now. following the pull of her body as she leans into you, you shift until there’s nowhere else for her to go but back; her spine arching, pressed flush to the cushions, your weight settling over her.

her hands slide up, trailing over your jaw, your neck, pulling you closer.

then nat tenses. her breath catches sharply and a pained sound leaves her. “shit,” she gasps, jerking back with a wince. “fuck- fuck!”

you pull away instantly, heart hammering. “what? did i-”

“back,” she winces, reaching a hand around to hover near the fresh wrap. “just- bad angle. forgot about the tattoo.”

you chuckle, collapsing beside her.

nat groans, draping an arm over her face. “you had to stab me and seduce me? fucking cruel!”

“seduce?” you echo. “who says anything about seducing you?”

she peeks at you from under her arm, deadpan. “you kissed my spine!”

“you asked for something that felt like mine!”

that shuts her up. her mouth opens like she might say protest, but no words come out.

“…so,” she does say eventually. “what if i wanted another one?”

you glance at her, the corners of your mouth twitching. “we’ll see how this one heals”

nat hums at that before she pushes herself upright and shifts closer, knees pressing into the couch as she climbs into your lap. grinning now, nat tucks her hair behind her ear, eyes never leaving yours. “i wasn’t talking about the tattoo,” she says.

— a/n: needless to say i don’t know shit about tattooing! i tried to write it in a way that leaves the design/motive up to your imagination, so this probably isn’t the most accurate portrayal, sorry in advance to any real tattoo artists out there! 😭

[satrs]

Requested by anon ↳ ❝ [..."how would each lads guy react if you come up to them and adjust their collar saying "You got no one to do this for you?" ] ¡! ❞

✎ A/N;LUVVVV THIS NONNIE!!! MY GOSHHHH OK SO LISTENNNNN

"You got no one to do this for you?"

-‘๑’-

Okay so XAVIER will be confused at first, saying smt along the lines of "..No...? Do I... need to?", but will take it for grated from that point onward.

When he's at your place getting dressed in his work attire, he'll walk up to you with his collar undone, blankly staring at you until you repeat your service from the first time.

You're not even safe when your in the shower, he'll half scare you to death as he slides the curtain open, standing before you like a lost puppy.

That's it. You're his personal collar adjuster now. But don't be mad at him when he bursts into the room while you're sleeping, craning his head to your level as he watches you fiddle your hands on his collar with that grumpy expression on your face!

You've done this upon yourself!

ZAYNE The moment your fingers touch his collar, Zayne stiffens.

His muscles tense, like he’s about to pull away on reflex. He'll spurt out something like "What the hell are you doing?" is sooo embarrassed.

He'll probably want to return the favor somehow. He'll watch you put on your hunter gear, eyes scanning for something to help you out with.

It'll be so forced and obvious that he wants to pay you back for that small gesture you offered him, that you almost regret doing it in the first place.

"Oh here, your hair-tie."

"Zayne, my hair is already tied up."

"Wait. Did you drink enough water? Ate enough?"

"Sighh. Zayne, we literally just had breakfast together."

RAFAYEL is insufferable. In capital letters. Bold. Underlined.

There's a fat grin plastered on his face and you just know you'll never hear the end of it ever again.

He lets you do your thing, standing completely still, but you can feel his stare boring into you. Intense, amused, obnoxious. He tries—tries— to cover his flustered expression with that damn smirk, but the way his ears tint the faintest pink gives him away.

"Hm. So attentive, should I be flattered?"

He'll also bring it up any chance he gets, especially when your mad at him.

"Oh yeah? you're mad? But didn't you adjust my collar the other day?"

"Rafayel, that was two weeks ago."

He shrugs, completely unbothered. "And? Still happened."

Arghhh, he’s so childish.

Now SYLUS... my god.

He's so ridiculously smooth with it, quick to turn the tables on you.

"Hm, you're offering?" he'll edge you into a corner, loosening his tie again on purpose. "Because if you are, you can take care of more than just my tie."

His voice is smooth, honeyed, but there's a wicked glint in his crimson eyes— one that tells you he’s already enjoying this way too much.

He dips his head, his voice turning hushed, silky-smooth. "So? Gonna fix me up again, darling? Or would you rather..." His fingers brush just under your chin, tilting your face up ever so slightly. "...let me keep coming undone for you?"

Oh he lovesss teasing you.

CALEB's heart will skips a beat. He'll fall in love all over again.

After you've fixed his tie and maybe even placed the hat onto the colonel's heads, you're met with his awestruck expression, heart-eyes staring you down with an agape mouth.

No snarky remarks, no smirk, nothing. Just his empty faces staring holes into you.

"U-uhhhhh..."

"Caleb you have to go, you're five minutes late already."

"Uh-huh."

He's still stuck, as if his mind short-circuited (it probably did).

©︎𝙎𝘼𝙏𝙍𝙎 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

[tmpestuous]

the other side

summary: the avengers rescue their newest recruit from hydra: you.

pairing: bucky x (future)avenger!reader

warnings: canon level violence, mentions of torture by hydra all throughout, mentions of death/murder, nightmares, guilt, trauma, angst, but bucky is a sweetheart who the world doesn’t deserve

word count: 4.5k

a/n: going baaaack in time for this one with the start of phoenix’s journey with the avengers. i’ve had this unfinished for a while and have finally completed it (: there will be a second part to this, but this can definitely still be read as a standalone; i hope you enjoy <3 

phoenix & the winter soldier masterlist

Fuck.

The pounding in your head could equate to being repeatedly hit with a hammer. Only your reality was much worse.

The man currently smashing your head into the pavement was one you’d rarely seen. He seemed to be in control of the entire organization currently holding you captive, immediately ordering around operatives and seeing the employees fall to his will. 

He came once every other week. His name was unbeknownst to you, just like many things since the moment you’d stepped foot in this makeshift prison. The source of his anger was also a mystery, as you were dragged from your ‘room’ (if you could even call it that), shoved in that dreaded chair in front of dozens of people speaking in Russian, with an IV lodged in your arm and an irate man staring at you with disgust.

“Why have we not tried putting words in her brain yet?” The man spat at the operative to his left, seemingly a scientist.

“Unfortunately, none of our methods have worked. We do not have a record of how Dr. Zola managed to do so with our Soldat—”

“You mean to tell me we have no one as smart as a scientist from fucking 70 years ago?”

The scientist shook his head promptly. “I’m afraid not, sir.”

He grunted. “And the serum?”

“The enhancement serum was a success, but only on our current subject here. The others have not seemed to respond to it very well. She seems to be our strongest soldier. She is in top condition, save for an incident at the beginning of her treatment,” he rambled, the man looking at him as if he’d answered the question wrong. “The control serum is also effective, sir. We have currently extended its effectiveness to around seven hours, but we have not tested it in the field.”

“Why not?” The man spat once more, his tone filled with disgust.

“While attempting to suppress her memories, it seems that the serum wipes her memories almost entirely, which sometimes included our direct orders. We cannot send her out to the field if she cannot provide us with a mission report. She also resists when we attempt to subdue her—”

And that’s how you ended up snatched out of the chair, thrown on the floor, with your nose taking the brunt of the force from your head being smashed over and over.

“Not as fucking strong as they claim, hm?” The man snarled as he leaned over you, then swiftly stood up, ordering the men to get started on sending you on the field.

You met the chair yet again, your arm reintroduced to the IV, all while your head thumped like a heartbeat and blood rushed out of your nose. 

A plea sat on your tongue, though it never came out. And soon enough, that moment joined all of the other memories you were forced to lose.

There was no way for you to tell how long you’d been here, a repetitive cycle every time you woke up that you were utterly unaware of. It left you drained, not knowing who you were, where you were, anything.

You counted your luck when you were left alone for over a week. Starving for sure and a broken nose to add to it, but you’d choose it over waking up with a lack of recollection.

After the thirteenth day of solitude, soldiers would come in and take you back to the chair every day for a little over another week. They argued with the scientists about injecting you with the serum, claiming they needed you for a mission. 

“The феникс is needed for an operation,” they always said.

Somehow the scientists always convinced them otherwise, instead giving you hydration and vitamins to account for the lack of food in your system. One of them always looked at you with pain in his eyes, seemingly an apology for everything that’s happened. Not like you remembered much of it anyway.

Two days after that, you noticed that the same scientist was gone. Dead, you presumed. 

Six days later, some of the scientists had come in and taken your vitals again, your questions falling on deaf ears as they’d never come into your ‘room’ before. Once they’d finished, they silently gestured to the guards and exited. 

“On your feet,” one of them spat towards you, pulling you to stand by your wrists before tying them together. He and one other guard led you to a room with a group of girls, ages varying from teen to maybe middle-aged.

“Stay here, феникс,” a soldier said, untying the rope from your wrists, hearing that same nickname again. “We will come back for you. It’s a big day.”

A big day. Couldn’t mean anything positive for you. 

“Phoenix,” a slightly older woman said to you after the soldier left.

“What?” You questioned, your voice a lot more hoarse than you thought it’d be.

“That is what they call you. Us. But you are their favorite.”

You nodded, not exactly having much to say. The word sounded similar to its English translation, but you never thought much of it. The reason for the name was unknown to you, but knowing what Hydra was capable of, it probably meant no good. They’d call you it so often, you didn’t even know if they knew your name. The one piece of identity you at least were able to hold on to. It seemed so miniscule, but it kept you from losing yourself entirely.

After what seemed to be a few hours, the soldiers started to gather all of the girls and women in the room. From what you could hear, they were being dragged down the hall. Almost every one of them begged to be left alone, promises of good behavior to avoid whatever fate they were about to meet. The pleas fell out of reach of your hearing, silent as a door slammed far away. 

As the guards were finishing rounding everyone up, there was the sound of rapid gunfire from the opposite end of the floor.

“What the hell was that?” One of the guards asked, quickly turning around and aiming his rifle at the empty hallway.

“Doesn’t sound good,” another one muttered. “We need to hurry it up.”

You noticed they looked more than uncertain as you analyzed their expressions, both of them putting their guard up with their weapons. There were only two women left beside you, but the thought of taking all of you to wherever they needed to was now an afterthought.

They listened, and as you all heard a few more rounds of gunfire, they rushed out of the room. You quickly got up and grabbed the door before it could seal shut, looking out into the hallway as the guards turned the corner sharply. 

“Do you think someone is here to save us?” One of the women behind you asked softly. 

“I never get my hopes up,” the other woman responded. She was the one who translated for you earlier. “What do you think, феникс?”

You immediately turned back around to look at her, your foot in the doorway to keep the door open. “Don’t call me that,” you said, no clear tone of aggravation in your voice, but not a kind one either. Turning your attention back to the hallway, you listened for motion. “I can’t tell what’s going on, maybe we should move.”

“Are you crazy?” The first woman asked. You couldn’t see her expression, but something told you there was fear all over her face. “They’ll kill us. You’re the only one with any skill here.”

“I don’t know what skills I have to begin with.”

From what the scientists and guards had argued about, you knew they had trained you in combat. You weren’t confident about any moves you may have had in your repertoire without the help from the serum. It seemed as though it was second nature while under their control, but what good are you without it? There weren’t many signs telling you to take the risk of trying.

“What if it’s the Avengers?” The first woman spoke up again.

“The Avengers…” you said, the name sounding familiar.

“Earth’s mightiest heroes,” the second woman added. “Two or three of them have Hydra history.”

Racking your brain, you remembered the guards exclaiming about a mission with ‘the Avengers.’ A few pictures of people, but they were hyper focused on two. One with a shield, one with a metal arm. The one with the metal arm was the one they wanted—“needed” you to kill. 

They called him all sorts of names, but the one that stood out to you was soldat. Soldier. The only one you could somewhat make out. They’d referred to you as a soldier a few times, though you couldn’t feel far from it. You’d wondered if he had made it out, escaped. Something you’ve been dreaming of, longer than your memory allowed you to recall.

Your thoughts were cut off as you heard one of the guards making his way back, swiftly closing the door and sitting back on the floor.

The two women next to you shrunk inwards in fear, prompting you to look around for anything useful to arm yourself with. You trusted that you weren’t entirely useless, and the less people they harmed, the better the world was. Seeing an old, rusty crowbar, you reached and grabbed it, hiding it behind you as the guard opened the door and looked directly at you.

“Ready for your first real mission, феникс?” He said, a distressed look on his face. “Get up and follow me.” 

You did as told, still hiding the crowbar behind you. As he turned his back, you swung as hard as you could. After grimacing at the wound left in the man’s head as he dropped to the floor, you threw the crowbar aside, turning to the women still on the floor.

“Let’s go,” you ordered them softly, grabbing the guard’s rifle and handgun before exiting the room.

You handed the older woman the handgun before pointing the rifle, walking slowly to the intersection of the hallway. Peeking into the adjacent hallway, you saw nothing for a few heartbeats until a shield made its way down and back the hall parallel to your position.

Your hearing then picked up footsteps coming towards you from behind, the woman beside you turning and shooting a guard before he (or you) had the chance to retaliate. 

“Holy shit,” the youngest woman said. 

“Think we’ve got company,” you heard another woman say from down the hall. Was your hearing always this fucking detailed?

Looking back down the intersected hallway, you saw them. Captain America. Black Widow.The Avengers were actually here. Turning back quickly, you looked at the women again.

“Find the other girls,” you told them. “I’m gonna get us out of here.”

“And how should we find them? And how can we leave you by yourself?” The older woman asked, a concerned expression etched onto her face.

“I’m their favorite, you said it yourself,” you spoke softly rather than confidently. “Trust me on this one.”

They both nodded as they made their way down the corridor to your right, not before taking the fallen guard’s weapons as well.

There was a plan in the back of your mind, an escape. It was so close, but there was an inadmissible ache in your chest. Your freedom meant nothing if you left everyone else to suffer, to die. You couldn’t live with yourself if that were the case.

Once the women were gone, you moved to face them. Instinctively, you aimed your rifle, but neither of them moved into a defensive position. Their stares felt pitiful, but your grip on the rifle didn’t falter.

“We found her,” the redhead said, her hand on her ear. “Second floor, east wing.”

They were looking for you. Remaining somewhat unsure of their motives, you still didn’t drop your weapon, taking a step back each time they stepped toward you.

“We’re not gonna hurt you,” you heard the man say. Captain America. He looked a lot taller than in the pictures you were shown. “We’re here to help.”

“How are you gonna do that?” Your voice came out a lot shakier than intended.

“We’re gonna get you out of here,” the redhead spoke again, placing her hand on her chest. “I’m Natasha. This is Steve. Our friends Sam and Bucky are in the building too.”

They stepped toward you again, taking a few more when they realized you didn’t retreat. Lowering your rifle, you didn’t even realize you had tears in your eyes. “Just me?”

Their expressions turned into ones of confusion. 

“You said you found me,” you elaborated. “To whoever you were talking to. I’m not the only one here.”

“Who else is here?” Steve asked. “Did they test on other people?”

“Y-yeah, other girls,” you wiped your eyes before the tears fell. “I sent two of them to go find the rest—you really thought it was only me in here? Aren’t you guys supposed to be the smart ones?”

Natasha chuckled. “She’s got a point.”

“Our intel was incomplete,” Steve retorted. “What’s your name?” After responding, Steve nodded. “Okay, Y/N, let’s find the girls and get you all out of here. Where are the girls now?”

You led them down the corridor where you’d sent the other two women. A couple of Hydra agents had found you, Natasha and Steve standing in front of you immediately as the chaos ensued.

Fighting was a lot easier than you anticipated it to be, feeling like muscle memory almost, even if your moves weren’t perfect. You used the butt of the rifle to hit most of the guards, not wanting to kill anyone. Even if they deserved it. 

Your stamina was also clearly enhanced by whatever they injected into you. Steve and Natasha took note of it, sharing silent exchanges that they were unaware you had noticed. They still protected you by taking the brunt of the combat, your inexperience loud and clear from having your brain toyed with so often. 

It had been roughly 45 minutes of fighting off guards and inspecting rooms before finally finding the girls, only there was no chance of saving them.

The two women from earlier had found you again, accompanied by a man you found out was Sam as Natasha mentioned earlier. Tear-filled eyes, drenched cheeks, and rapid breaths. Rambles of death and blood and fear for their own lives, apologizing profusely as if they’d failed to save everyone.

“They’re all gone?” Your voice barely above a whisper. 

They nodded in shame, still crying with no signs of stopping. You looked toward the door as they said it was best not to see the destruction. Their hands gripped your shoulder in an attempt to stop you from going into the room, but you pushed through anyway. Bodies were scattered on the floor, some on top of each other. A single bullet hole in each of their heads, the crimson pool flooding beneath them making you feel sick.

“We have to go,” Sam said urgently to Natasha and Steve. “Got movement from out east, they called in backup. Bucky’s got the jet ready to go.”

Your feet felt like they were glued to the ground. You couldn’t look away from the massacre in front of you, studying it like an obligation. Thinking back to the guard telling you it was a ‘big day.’

They were going to kill all of them. All of them except you. They probably were gonna have you kill them yourself.

Steve pulled you out of your trance with a bit of force on his end, the tears falling down your face uncontrollably. The first memory you could keep that would haunt you forever. 

Walking to the jet as one of three women left, you also couldn’t stop crying. The other women were as distraught as you, but the guilt wasn’t the same. 

“But you are their favorite.”

You couldn’t get the words to stop repeating in your head, accompanied by the insolent migraine from tears mixed with dehydration. Their guilt came from surviving, and yours did, too. But you were always going to survive, while they got lucky. Hydra wanted you alive. Hydra wanted them dead with the rest of the girls. A shared survivor’s guilt separated by the politics of who was useful to their agenda.

Once you all made it to the jet, you saw him. He was unmistakable, leaving you to stop in your tracks while everyone continued. He made eye contact with you and sighed, almost like he knew of a possible conflict.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, making the rest of the team turn around. 

“I know,” you said softly. You had no idea why you felt so small, but you also couldn’t bring yourself to move.

“You have nothing to worry about, Y/N,” Natasha said. “You’re safe. We’ll get the three of you back to our headquarters and find your families.” 

After a nod and a deep breath, you boarded the jet. You could feel Bucky’s eyes on you before he took a seat next to Sam.

You didn’t have it in your heart to say you weren’t sure if you had a family to go back to, but something about the look in Natasha’s eyes when she said it told you she knew already. 

Sitting back in your seat, you closed your eyes and counted your graces.

Feeling a hand on your shoulder, you woke up with a startle. Natasha looked down at you, a friendly smile on her face. You looked to see everyone leaving the jet, Bucky giving you a quick glance before heading out.

“We’re here,” Natasha pulled your attention back to her. 

After you stood, you followed Natasha off the jet. You saw the big ‘A’ for Avengers outside of the building, workers scattered around the hangar. Doctors tried to assess you, but Natasha assured them you were okay as she led you inside.

Taking you to a conference room, you sat at the big table. Natasha sat next to you.

“You saved those women, you know,” she set a file on the table, one you didn’t realize she had in her hands. “We were able to track down their loved ones. Couldn’t have done that without you.”

You decided to play with your fingers instead of saying anything. You didn’t feel like a savior or a hero; it was hard to feel such a way when so many others got killed. Those women had saved themselves, they could have gotten killed any moment after you’d sent them off. 

“We couldn’t find—”

“I know,” you cut her off, clearing your throat. “I don’t remember much of them but I know they’re gone.” 

Looking down, Natasha nodded without a word, opening the folder in front of her. “We’re giving you a choice. We do need to deprogram you from Hydra’s training, however long that might take. But afterwards… You can stay here, train, and join our team. If you don’t want to do that, we can help you rejoin civilian life.”

“You don’t have to make that choice now,” Bucky said as he walked into the room, placing a glass of water in front of you. You immediately took a sip. “You just got out of a horrible place, and this job isn’t easy. Take your time.”

“You could’ve let me finish, Barnes,” Natasha glared at him before looking at you once more. “Until we get everything figured out, you can stay here in the residential wing. Tony’s set up a room for you.”

“Tony?”

“Iron Man,” Natasha corrected. “Sorry, I forgot you don’t know all of us by name yet. You’ll meet everyone soon enough, though. Bucky will show you to your room and we’ll reconvene tomorrow. Okay?”

You nodded once. “Thank you.”

Natasha left the room and you finished drinking your water, looking at Bucky as he grabbed the glass for you, a friendly half-smile on his face. You’d wondered if they sent him for a reason, seeing as he was the one with the most Hydra history. He didn’t seem like a big conversationalist, which was comforting. There wasn’t much for you to say after all. Questions still ran through your mind, however, with wonders of finding out more about the man you were now following down the hall and across to another building on the land.

After entering and making a left, Bucky walked to the final door on the left side of the hallway, turning to look back at you.

“You’ll have everything you need in here,” he said as opened the door to your bedroom, letting you inside though he didn’t enter himself. “Nat left a ton of clothes she thinks will fit. The kitchen and the common area are down the hall and to the left; the fridge is fully stocked. Sam usually likes to do all the cooking when Wanda doesn’t beat him to it.”

You let out a chuckle. Bucky wasn’t even trying to be funny, but he was glad you weren’t feeling uncomfortable.

“Thank you,” you turned back to him. He was still standing in the doorway. “I, um… I don’t know how to repay you guys for all of this.”

Bucky shook his head. “No payment needed. I know what you’re going through.”

“I know,” you fiddled with your fingers, thinking that your suspicions may have been correct. “I’m sorry about earlier. On the jet. They told me a lot about you. I think I didn’t know how to react to actually… seeing you.”

He shook his head once more, offering you another half-smile. “No hard feelings. I’m around if you need me. Make yourself comfortable.”

He closed the door behind him after you nodded in response, leaving you alone.

You finally took in the environment around you. This was the first time you were alone since this morning, but it was a complete 180 from the situation you had found yourself in at the start of the day. 

A full bed, an en-suite bathroom, a TV, and a desk. You couldn’t remember a time you had your own room in this way. Where you were kept in Hydra couldn’t be considered a room at all after seeing this in front of you. 

It was a lot, perhaps too overwhelming to process all that transpired in the last 14 hours. But you allowed yourself to.

You were safe. You escaped. You were free. 

First, you decided to shower. You stayed in there so long that the water went cold, but you were so relieved about being clean that you felt like you needed to savor it. After the water was too cold to tolerate anymore, you got dressed, putting on a t-shirt and sweats. All the clothes smelled like they had just been washed and dried. 

You avoided every mirror, not wanting to look at yourself and whatever state you were in. You thought it was best to sleep, carefully getting under the covers. It felt nice to have an actual bed, but the mattress was too soft and uncomfortable. You could feel some of your muscles cramping up. Sighing to yourself, you settled on lying on the floor. Your exhaustion caught up to you quickly, falling into your first deep slumber in forever.

Your body was adjusted to not eating for prolonged periods of time, so hunger cues weren’t in store for you. Bucky assumed as much, knocking on your door to bring you a bowl of Sam’s famous gumbo when he hadn’t seen you come out for a few hours. Listening intently through your door, he picked up on your breathing, which sounded more erratic than rhythmic. Opening the door, he saw you lying on the floor, understanding why right away. He also saw tears on your face as your face contorted in fear.

Knowing all the signs of a nightmare, Bucky anxiously knelt down after setting the bowl on the desk in your room, shaking you gently. “Hey, Y/N,” he spoke softly. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

He repeated the words he’d heard so many times. His own nightmares weren’t as bad as they used to be, but he still got them often. Bucky comforted you, releasing the tension from your shoulders until your eyes shot open, your fists immediately up in defense.

“Woah, it’s me, hey,” Bucky spoke softly, grabbing your wrists tightly enough to stop you, but softly enough not to hurt you. He rubbed them with his thumbs, still trying to soothe you. “You’re okay, you were just having a nightmare. You’re not in any danger anymore. You’re safe.” 

You looked up at Bucky, your expression unreadable to him as you were still catching your breath. He let go of your wrists before you sat up, wiping the tears off your face.

“I’m sorry,” you said in the same small voice you gave him outside of the jet. It made Bucky’s chest ache.

He barely knew you, but what Hydra did to people was something even he was unaware he could come back from. It felt like something worse than traumatizing, if that were even possible. He may not know much about your time there, as the information was little to none. Steve and Tony were still working on that. However, he knew more than anything that none of this could have been easy for you.

“You’ll never have anything to apologize for while you’re here,” he said sincerely, telling you the words he would tell a younger version of himself. “You’ve been through a lot, both mentally and physically. I’ve been there, and it’s not easy. But you’ll get better, day by day.”

All you did was look at him, a hint of gratitude in your eyes that only he would be able to make out. Instead of pushing you into a conversation, he got up and grabbed the bowl of gumbo with a spoon.

“I’m not sure if you’ll eat all of it, but I’m assuming you need to eat something,” he spoke lightly, his tone one of comfort as he passed you the bowl. 

Immediately digging in, it was like you had forgotten what it was like to eat. Bucky knew that feeling. He stayed with you until you ate about two-thirds of it, looking at him as he sat next to you on the floor, passing him the bowl with a look of guilt on your face.

“Sorry,” you shook your head. “It’s really good, I’m just kinda full.”

“Nothing to be ashamed about, I’m just glad you got something in your system. I’m sure everyone else will be too,” Bucky smiled at you, taking the bowl and standing. “Get some rest. Nat will probably wanna talk in the morning. My room’s right across the hall if you need me.”

“Will you be there?” You asked so softly, Bucky almost missed it.

“Tomorrow? Do you want me to be?” He asked, not wanting to assume. You nodded twice. “Okay, alright. I’ll be there.”

“Thank you,” you said, pulling your knees to your chest. “For everything.”

“Anytime,” he gave you one last smile before leaving the room.

Bucky knew you would be okay.

part two of this should come in the next few days… i’ve been obsessed with developing lore lately. i hope you enjoyed!

[twilightsumu]

drunk running | s. geto

chapter four: an ego thing

synopsis: the conversation between yn and suguru after the prologue.

warnings/genre: modern au, smau, cursing, yn's avoidant attachment is strong here, suguru gets a little mean, nanami and shoko are the friends you want after a "breakup", tw drake

a/n: i usually take a little longer to post but all of your interactions on this has made my heart soar. so here you go :) also i’m so sure geto would’ve been in his room listening to your spotify playlists because he misses you.

“i have been texting you,” you call out — your voice swims into his ears like a caress. and he hates how he wants to lean into it. feel it on his skin and pray that it stays there. 

but, suguru knew that you were texting him. just like he knows it’s you who’s behind him. even if you didn’t call out to him, he would have known from your footsteps alone. he strongly believes his ears picked up on your steps as soon as you left your apartment. 

his back is to you as he walks with his roommates to the college’s bar. he hears your roommates walking with you. shoko and nanami’s muffled conversation merging with the sound of gojo and haibara’s much louder conversation, the other students shuffling down the strip, and your steps. 

he feels a headache already forming and he should’ve just stayed home. like he was planning to. away from all the noise, away from gojo’s badgering, and the weak watered down beer. away from you. 

and even that thought causes an even bigger pang in his head because he knows that’s a lie. all he wants is to be with you. but, that is the problem. 

suguru keeps walking. trying to match his steps with his roommates who are just a few feet ahead of him. 

he feels your stare on his back and as much as he wants to turn back to look at you, he knows he can’t. not when it was so easy for you to turn your back and walk away from him.

“suguru,” you call out, a little louder this time. a strain in your voice, like you’re hiding an emotion that you don't want anyone to know that you feel. 

it has been two weeks since he saw you last. since he said those words that sit in the pit of his stomach and the words that made you feel like you were sinking — leaving suguru behind to get yourself to safety. 

two weeks since his lips and hands were on your body. since he allowed himself to look you in the eyes. hiding behind buildings and whatever told him it was safe from your line of vision. 

“i know,” he says back. his voice is void of emotion. he stops walking. and he hears the halt of your steps behind him. 

but his hands feel clammy and he feels his stomach sinking lower and lower. if it sinks any lower he may just splat onto the concrete in front of him. and then he’ll embarrass himself for the second time in front of you, giving you another chance to turn your back on him. 

he has yet to turn and face you. 

up ahead, his roommates are speed walking to the front door of the bar. so close, yet so far to where he is. nanami and shoko shimmy by him, sending you both worrying glances as they follow the rest of the students filing into the bar.

he almost wants to tell them that you don’t deserve their worrying glances. but that’ll be harsh. even to you. 

“so… why aren't you responding?” you try to mimic his monotone tone. trying to get the upper hand in this conversation before it turns into something like that night two weeks ago. 

he knows you. he knows you well enough to know that your brows are furrowed right now. your hands are most likely rubbing against your thighs and your tongue is tucked into the inside of your cheek. 

all the signs that you’re bothered, but you’d rather be a robot than allow your emotions to be on the tip of your tongue. letting them ache into every graceful movement you make. 

never allowing anyone, not even yourself — to hear them. feel them. see them. 

“i don't know,” his back is still towards you. his foot kicking at something in front of him. someone bumps into his shoulder as they hurry towards the bar. “why do you care?”

you suck in a breath and its mixed in with the sound of couple yelling about who cheated on who. 

“why wouldn't i care?” your voice is genuine and it kills him inside little. 

and he’s almost grateful for the power behind the shoulder check. it gave him some sense that this is real. 

“you walked out of my room after i told you i was in love with you,” and on cue, the image of you scurrying out of his room, your clothes in your hand, rushes into his head. 

he shakes his head a bit, as if he’s actually trying to shake the image out his head. have it litter on the ground along with the words that live on the tip of your tongue and your forced movements. 

“thought that was all that needed to be said,” he shrugs. the lines of his back muscles still tense. like they’re the ones holding on to everything suguru wants to say. everything suguru feels.  

he hears the click of your tongue and at that moment he is grateful for his profound knowledge of your movements. he didn’t need to turn around and face you to know what you were doing. 

“well, you told me that you loved me,” a breeze pushes by, bringing the loud bass of the bar up ahead.

“big difference,” he hears the joke in your voice. he hears the tap of your left foot, impatient and commanding. 

your fake playful tone, the passiveness of your movements, as if this is okay. like you guys are two friends talking about the difference between yaga’s monday and thursday classes. 

something clicks in him and with the quickness of a cat who just heard its feeder go off, suguru turns to you.

right at that moment, the football team parades down the sidewalk that now feels too small and bumps into you, sending you a little closer. someone bumps into his shoulder too — saving him the step he was dreading to take back. 

“i dont think a conversation on the difference of the statements is productive,” he wants to cringe at the way he sounds. like he’s giving a presentation at a board meeting instead of talking to you, his friend. or whatever you may be to him at the moment. 

you take a deep breath, shutting your eyes in the process, and he wishes he thought of that. but this moment gives him time to assess you without the fear of your eyes colliding with his in the middle of this street. 

and there you stand, arms length away but it feels like you’re on the other side of campus. your hair pushed back behind your ears. your hands folded in front of you. your cheeks slightly tinged, but he’s sure that’s just from the breeze biting through the air. 

and his t-shirt on your body. like you’re mocking him. certain aspects of him having full access to you. even when he has to hide behind buildings to catch his breath when he sees you or hears a voice that is similar to yours. 

it isn’t fair. you can walk out and away from him. you could close your eyes and block him from your eyesight. you could pretend. pretend that what he feels is a solo activity.

“yeah. you're right.” your tone is final. like you’re sure suguru won’t be able to fight back if he decided to. “that is because you're not in love with me,” you shrug. 

suguru feels everything stop around him. the bodies pushing through, the smell of the cheap beer emitting from the bar and the feeling of his vibrating phone in his back pocket. 

“it was a heat of the moment thing. you said something you didn’t mean,” you finally open your eyes and throw your arms aimlessly above your head. like you’re waving off what you just said and trying to wave off the conversation that brought you guys to this point. 

your eyes on him, heavy and brimming with regret — suguru almost walks over to you. 

but the burning in his gut marks the moment useless and untouchable. he has to ball his hands into fists. just to give them something to do other than what they want to do — offer himself to you like a priest offers grain. 

and it feels like an eternity, but it was maybe only thirty seconds tops — suguru stares at you. 

like he’s trying to see you in a new light. one where he isn’t in love with you. one where he could pretend, like you. 

“just because it's hard for you to feel things, it doesn’t mean you get to dictate my feelings,” and suguru regrets it the minute it spills out his mouth. but he keeps his eyes narrowed towards you. he keeps his fists balled up. 

he ignores the flash of hurt that graces your features. you look unnerved, like someone finally told you something about yourself that you were unaware that others could notice. 

“what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” your voice is low, angry. your eyes narrowed too. that hurtful expression long gone, like it didn’t have time to even register on your pretty features. 

a mini war happening right here on main street. you automatically take the prize of the win — because no matter which way this battle waged, suguru would lose. he knew that. and for a reason unknown, he was okay with the odds. he had to be. 

“you're standing in front of me, in my shirt which i may add,” suguru starts, his voice just as low, just as angry. he ignores how much he’s coaching his voice into keeping this tone up. “and you want to as-“

you cut him off, “jesus, it was the first thing in my closet.” once again, you use your arm to brush off what’s being said.

as your arms are falling back to your side, a new wave of people walk around you both. ignoring the ball of tension you two are standing in. their loud laughs and happy conversations falling flat and cold right in front of you. 

“i’ll take it off my back right now and give it to you, if it's that important to you,” your hands are on the hem of the shirt, as if you're really about to shimmy it above your head and give it back. 

he almost wishes you would, just so that he could see your body. maybe make out if your heart is beating as much as his. 

but suguru knows you are just trying to find a way out of this. you're willing to physically strip instead of letting the emotions flow from you the way moans dance out of your mouth when you're together.

“its not about the fucking shirt, yn,” and he points index finger towards it. using it like a gun, hoping it gives him a leg up in this battle. 

you step back, as if his finger actually did damage. it made suguru feel gross.

“it's about you pretending,” he points his finger again, watching you track it with your narrowed eyes. another step back from him. “…or fighting this.” suguru uses his hands to point between the two of you. 

you stare back at him as if you're trying to read his mind and see what he's gathering.

and suguru has to take a break to gather his thoughts. gather evidence from before the night you walked away from him. before he let the ammo be heard all over the room. 

you have his favorite beer, which you hated, readily available for him in your room mini fridge. buying extra things just for him to have at your place as he did for you at his. 

the times you let him stay longer, even when it felt unfamiliar— like letting someone in wasn’t part of your playbook yet. but it was progress. the way you'd let him run his hands through your hair after sex, your cheek soft against the edge of his bed.

the times your eyes would find him in a lecture hall of three hundred students. your gaze finding him faster than gojo finds the sweet drawer in the pantry after a night of drinking.

“i know i am not the only one who caught feelings.” suguru’s voice is low and he ignores the fear creeping into your eyes and his voice.

“all those nights where you stood over and let me hold you after,” his voice cuts low. controlled. restrained.

“when you’ll leave your room just to see me for an hour,” suguru continues and he watches as you try to take a step back. like you need to lean on something. 

but suguru takes a step towards you. and as if your body knew where it belongs, you almost lean forward into his and the look on your face told him you didn't even realize it yourself. 

“i told you i loved you, and maybe i shouldn't have. but i did, and you walking away and pretending like all of this isn’t real doesn't make it less true.” suguru’s head starts to hurt so much, he thinks he needs to sit down for a minute.  

“i can't be the only person who feels like this yn. especially when we both fucking know you dont do this with any other guy you have hooked up with.”

“what the hell are you talking about? do you hear yourself?” your voice is quiet. but there's a bite to it that makes him shiver. and it's so obvious how badly you are trying to gather control. 

“loud and clear actually. did you hear me?”

you stare at him. your shoulders tense like you’re watching a horror movie and the killer is about to pop out a closet any minute now. 

“you could even pretend that you, yn ln a self proclaimed — no relationship girl just comes over to see me, no sex in involved isn't something that could maybe replicate wanting something more than just sex.” and with the way you tuck your lower lip in and your eyes fly down to your hands, suguru felt like he had your answer. 

“sorry, i got those messages mixed up. my bad,” he threw his hands up. 

“god,” you roll your eyes. but your arms creep up and wrap around yourself.

“we are friends,” you say. your voice does not have the previous bite. it’s soft. and almost questioning. confused. “that's it. that's all it was going to be and all it would ever be.” your voice falls off at the end. like you almost don't believe your own lie. 

“some fucking friend you are,” suguru scoffs, instantly regretting the words leaving. especially when he realizes how you stare up at him. like you thought your friendship would come out unscathed. 

he almost wishes the same. 

a bigger group of students are walking by. a few couples scattered into the crowd. hands being held tight and soft kisses on cheeks as they walk. suguru almost wants to plant his foot out and watch them trip so that they could physically feel what he’s feeling inside. 

“do you do these things with nanami?”

“you know i dont,” you shrug. you look away from him and he misses your eyes on him. but he likes that he could see how uncomfortable you’re getting. 

that usual bravado is gone. you look small. you look sorry. or maybe he wants you to be sorry.

but even then, he’ll rather you just be honest. at least with yourself.

“friends dont do whatever the fuck we do and you know that,” suguru says lowly and he wants to stop because the look in your eyes is scaring him. 

the emotion that you’ve tried your best to hide is finding a way to creep up. your fingers gripping on to your arms for life support. your eyes wide and your breathing shallow. 

your hair has fallen in front of your face and suguru feels his own hair waving on his back from the wind chilling between you two.

“why don’t you just let me in?” suguru's voice is small and he feels like he's trying to crawl out a hole and into your arms.

you shrug and heave out a sigh so long that it sounds like a song. and you look at him. 

your eyes finding his, like they always do. and he wants to reach for you. and hold your hand and maybe run his hands through your hair and then you could run yours through his.

he wants to ask you why is it so hard to realize that this is more than you wanted, but that could be a good thing? 

how did you know he was going to catch feelings first? 

what did you mean when you said ‘because i’m me’ when asked why you don't get into relationships? 

he knows you. and much to his dismay, you’re everything he wants. 

and why are your eyes brimming with wetness when he knows you would rather die than ever cry in front of a man? 

“i told you this wouldn't get serious,” you snap. finding some strength to finish out the battle with the dignity you think you have.

the quickness of your attitude change catches suguru off guard. “we both knew that,” you continued to stare at him. 

the students walking by are dwindling down. the street is a little more quiet, giving you both some room to breathe. to move. 

the moon is shining directly over you and suguru feels like this must have been a sick joke written just for him. 

even when you’re breaking his heart, you look gorgeous while doing it. mother nature blessing you with the most perfect backdrop. 

and that proves what suguru has been thinking since you called him out to him; anything revolving you is not fair. how everything falls in your lap and allows for you to walk out of it unharmed. safe. how the world paints pretty pictures for you while you're pulling his heart out of his chest.

suguru does not understand how you could pretend to be okay.

especially when he is hurting. and it’s not a pain he thinks will just grow out and blossom into something else. it’ll stay riddling in his bones slowly, like how your perfume stays laced in his bedsheets, even after laundry day. 

and yes he regrets it, but suguru geto did the things he thought would work out the best for him at the moment. sometimes the things that he feels work best for him. deflect and shut down. 

“i feel sorry for you,” his voice is cold. and he feels a sting in his eyes when you look up at him. your eyes wide and blown out, a slight quiver in your lip. 

he stays strong and ignores how he wants to swallow the words back up. ignores how he is concerned about what these words would do to you years later. ignores how he wants to grab you into the earth and shield you from the moonlight so that you wont looks so beautiful while he's trying to shut you out.

“have a nice night yn. try not to make more friends.” 

you turn away from him so quickly, before he could get a final look into your eyes that he is sure are brimming with tears. your legs push you forward, moving at a pace that he’s never seen them go. and he watches you go. almost wanting to follow you, but knowing he’ll be led to his ultimate heartbreak. knowing that you wouldn't let him.

taglist: @re-tired-succubus, @luvvcho, @iluvujt, @smolcooki33, @candy-s72, @starmapz, @shokosbunny, @emlient, @loveyislost, @whatismatildethinkingabout, @shibataimu, @11thlife02, @se-phi-roth, @frootloopscos, @risagichi, @sttaejoon-blog, @vampshxde, @corvid007, @marsavie, @vorfreudevortex

[loversrocktvgirl2]

my mini multiverse of madness…

Messy Hair!Steve Rogers x Reader Headcannons 

word count: 0.2k+

a/n - haven’t been feeling A+ terrific today, but y’all should get some new thunderbolts* hcs soon! until then, here’s this thing i wrote week ago

masterlist

Messy hair Steve Rogers is a damn GODSEND

It’s so fluffy and adorable and he looks so damn pretty it’s unreal 

You love running your hands through it, playing with it, just everything

Steve eventually starts to realize that you’re actually really into his messy hair look, and it actually helped his self esteem a bit. 

He gets self conscious whenever he’s not looking “clean” but knowing you find his other side attractive is both really amusing and really flattering to him.

He catches you staring sometimes, and he’ll smile and wink at you from across the room

Like c’mon man that’s so cute—

When he wakes up in the morning next to you—sometimes shirtless, sometimes not—with his slightly tousled hair, he’ll wait there until you wake up, and he sees you smile, and then he just holds you close to him until you both have to get up for the day.

He definitely leaves his hair messy more often

That being said, he still has his morning routine and he likes to look “clean” for events, and don’t get me wrong, you love the clean look, too.

It’s almost like the messy hair is a sign that he’s comfortable being with you when he’s not looking his best, and maybe that’s the part you love the most about it.

Other than the fact that it’s just so goddamn adorable 

taglist

@spaceycat @vidanand @xo-cench @raikan624 @yeehawgiddyup13

[maidragoste]

A part 2 to Worry? Maybe one where the reader and Frank take the boys on beach vacation after he is clean and sober form rehab and became an attending in the ED. The reader could also tell Frank she is pregnant with a baby girl…

Hi Anon, thank you so much for your request!. I'm so happy that someone is interested in Frank and this reader. I hope you like it, even if it's shorter than the first part.

As I always say, please don't hesitate to like, comment, and reblog. The interactions always motivate me to keep writing 🥰🥰💖💖

If you have any ideas, questions or headcanons you want to share, my inbox is always open 🤗💖

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

I hope you have a good reading!

You were sitting under the umbrella, watching with a smile as Frank played with the boys, pretending to be a sea monster while they splashed water at him, trying to scare him away. Minutes earlier, you were also playing with them until you started feeling dizzy while picking up Luke, your youngest son, so you decided to take a break.

Your eyes met your husband's blue ones. You knew he was worried about you, so much so that he almost canceled the beach trip, but you insisted that you were feeling fine because you didn't want to miss this day. You had planned it after Frank had completed another month clean, besides the kids were too excited and you didn't want to miss the opportunity to go to the beach, with Frank's job who knows when you'd have time to do it again? So this morning, you did your best to calm your nausea and tiredness. Carrying baby number three is really tiring you out. You still haven't told your husband about your pregnancy so he thinks you're just going to contrast the same thing Tanner had a week ago when he got infected by one of his schoolmates.

Frank must have seen something on your face because it's not even a minute before he calls the boys seriously and speaks to them briefly. You assume he's telling them not to get too carried away and to stay where you two can see them, before starting to trot over to you. He sits down next to you.

"Are you okay?" he asks, hugging you. You can't help but smile when his hand rests on your belly. Maybe he subconsciously knows? Or does he know but is waiting for you to tell him yourself?

"I'm fine," you assure him, placing a kiss on his shoulder.

“Are you sure? Your face is lacking color, and you're still tired,” your husband insists, worried. “We can go back to the beach another time. Your health is more important to me. We can stop by the hospital for a quick checkup.”

You decided to nip your husband's concern in the bud. You didn't want him to start running through the worst-case scenarios. Today was supposed to be a fun, relaxing day.

“Frank,” you placed your hand over the one he had on your belly. “It's nothing serious, baby three is just making me tired.”

Your husband's eyes widened in surprise, and a moment later, a big smile appeared on his face before he launched into your kiss. You could feel in his kiss all the infinite love he had for you and the family you were forming. You felt happy.

"Fuck, I love you," Frank said, breaking away from your lips and resting his forehead against yours. "I love you. I'm so lucky to have you and the boys, and now you're going to make me a father again. Thank you for giving me everything. Thank you for choosing me." As he continued, both his eyes and yours glazed over with emotion.

"I'll always choose you," you gave him a quick kiss. "I love you."

"I love you more," he declared, caressing your belly. "I hope it's a girl this time," he admitted, imagining a mini you following him everywhere.

“I can already see you having tea parties with her,” you smiled at the image of a little girl with your husband’s blue eyes asking for a tea party.

“I can’t wait,” he kissed your forehead, and hearing the children’s laughter, his eyes returned to the sea. “Do you think they’ll accept the idea of ​​being older siblings?”

“Let’s hope so.”

[b1eedthefreak]

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Blue Hair pt. 2 (pt. 1)

⌇daryl dixon x reader

⌇summary: three months after the breakup, the pain never dulled. you tried to move on. he never did. when alexandria breaks open with grief, and daryl is taken by negan, your world collapses.

⌇warnings: angst and spoilers for twd season 7!!

⌇word count: 1.9k

a/n thank you everyone who liked the first one!! for everyone who requested a second part, this is for you! i think this can be read as a stand alone fic, but it’d make more sense to read part 1 first!━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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The sun always rose over your little corner of Alexandria. The bakery sat quietly at the edge of the neighborhood, tucked beside a low brick wall, ivy curling up the side, flower boxes that had long since stopped blooming. The sign above the door had faded from red to almost pink in the late summer sun. You left it hanging anyway. You didn’t have the heart to take it down. You had started this place with your own hands, painted the walls, scrubbed the floors, turned it into a home for the part of yourself that still believed sweetness could survive in a world like this.

He used to stop by sometimes. Not to talk. Not to linger. Just to pass.

Daryl always came by early. Before the streets filled, before the day demanded too much of either of you. His boots would scrape softly across the pavement and pause in front of your window. He never looked for long. Just a quick glance, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to want more. And then he’d move on, eyes down, back tense like the morning wind had told him something he didn’t want to hear.

You always looked up. Even when you promised yourself you wouldn’t.

Sometimes your hands would be deep in dough, wrists covered in flour, hair tied up and out of your face with the same faded bandana he once stole and gave back to you tied around a wildflower. You told yourself he didn’t matter anymore. That the chapter had closed.

But when he walked by?

You’d always glance toward the glass.

Even if it cracked something deep in your chest every time.

You baked like you were still waiting for him. You filled trays with cinnamon biscuits and braided loaves, honey sweet cornbread and little apple tarts shaped like hearts. You pretended it was for Alexandria. For the children. For hope. But some nights you’d catch yourself icing a cake and realize you didn’t know who it was for. Just that the act of making something beautiful kept your hands from shaking.

You hadn’t spoken since the fight.

Three months ago.

He’d stood in your kitchen with his fists clenched, voice rough with pain and fear he didn’t know how to name. You asked him to open up. To let you in. To stop shutting you out like love was a war he didn’t think he deserved to survive.

He’d walked out that night without turning back. Without saying he loved you. Even though you knew he did.

He just didn’t know how to say it without bleeding.

And now… he passed by like a ghost most mornings. Quiet. Always early. Always before your heart was ready.

But he never came inside again.

And you never stopped looking.

—

You remembered the morning they left like it was etched into the bone.

Rick had called a run. Not a supply run, something else. Medical. Maggie wasn’t doing well, and they needed to get her help. Glenn was at her side. So was Rosita. Carl. Michonne. Even Daryl.

You weren’t on the list. But you brought them water anyway, offered Maggie a biscuit for the road, one she accepted with a tired but grateful smile.

You didn’t speak to Daryl. You stood off to the side as he packed a duffel into the truck bed. Your eyes met for a second.

It didn’t linger.

And then they were gone.

You stayed up most of that night, wiping down countertops that were already clean, sweeping corners that hadn’t seen dirt in weeks. You kept the bakery lights on longer than usual. Told yourself they’d be back by morning.

They always came back.

Except this time, they didn’t.

The next morning, Alexandria screamed.

You had just lit the oven, apron slung over one shoulder, when you heard the shouting. A low rumble of voices, a shout from the guard tower, the sound of boots running. A noise that didn’t belong in the quiet hush of sunrise.

You dropped the bowl in your hands and ran.

Your heart was in your throat by the time you reached the gates. A crowd had gathered. People were crying. Rick’s clothes were soaked in sweat and blood, his hands covered in dirt. Carl looked pale. Michonne was silent. Rosita’s face was unreadable.

Something was wrong.

Your stomach twisted.

“Rick?!”

He turned toward you slowly, like it took effort just to lift his head. His face was ghost white, his eyes rimmed red, his lips slightly parted like he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

You moved closer. “Rick—what happened? Where’s Glenn?”

His face didn’t change.

“Where’s Abraham?”

Still nothing.

“Rick.” Your voice cracked. “Where’s Daryl?”

That got a flicker.

You took a step closer, chest heaving. “Where is he? Rick—where’s Daryl?!”

He swallowed. His jaw clenched.

And then, finally, in a voice that was so soft and so broken you almost didn’t hear it,

“Negan… he took him.”

Your body stopped working.

You collapsed where you stood. Knees hitting gravel. Hands braced on the ground to keep from falling further.

The crowd blurred. Your vision swam. All you could hear was your own heartbeat and the distant ringing of the name you hated more than anything now:

Negan.

He was gone. Taken. And you didn’t even get to say goodbye.

Not after everything. Not after the fight. Not after the way you still loved him even when you hated how much it hurt.

You pressed your hands to your face and sobbed until the sky went black.

—

You didn’t open the bakery for weeks after that.

The ivy over the door grew unchecked. The flower boxes wilted. Your neighbors left bread on your porch in quiet thanks for the months you had fed them, even if you didn’t remember how to eat anymore.

You slept on the couch most nights. Curled in his old vest. The one he used to wear when the weather turned, soft from age, still faintly scented with ash and smoke and the warmth of him. You clung to it like a memory you weren’t ready to lose.

You whispered to the dark sometimes. Told him you were sorry. Told him you loved him.

But no one answered.

Time passed. It always did.

The sun rose. People smiled. The world kept spinning even if yours had stopped.

You lit the ovens again eventually. Slowly. Quietly.

No grand reopening.

Just a tray of biscuits placed on the windowsill one morning. A loaf of bread on your doorstep the next.

Life was trying. You were trying.

But nothing filled the space he left behind.

And then, just like that, everything changed.

It was loud.

The sound of the gates creaking open. Shouting. Commotion. The kind of noise that only came with news, and usually, it wasn’t good.

You were in your kitchen, elbow deep in batter, when the first yell pierced the air. You froze. Your whisk clattered into the bowl.

Then came Rick’s voice. A few names. The sound of running. Footsteps. Boots. People spilling into the streets.

Something was happening.

You ripped off your apron and bolted outside.

You pushed past three people at the corner, breath caught in your chest.

You saw Rick first, staggering slightly, arms held out like he was directing someone. Then Carl. Tara. Jesus. Michonne.

And—

You froze.

Daryl.

He was there.

Standing behind Rick. Clothes torn, face pale, hair longer, darker under the dirt. His eyes looked sunken. Haunted.

But he was there.

Your heart stopped.

He was standing. Breathing.

Alive.

You didn’t even feel your feet move. You just ran.

And then suddenly you were in front of him.

And his eyes found yours.

He didn’t blink.

You didn’t breathe.

The world dropped away.

It was just him. Just you.

Just the space between two people who hadn’t stopped aching for each other.

He stepped forward.

One step. Then another.

Then he pushed someone out of the way, then another, until he was in front of you.

And before you could speak, before you could ask if this was real, his arms were around you.

Tight. Desperate. Like he never wanted to let go again.

Your breath caught. You clung to him instantly, sobbing into his shoulder, your hands fisting the back of his shirt.

“Daryl—” your voice cracked, “—you’re here, you’re okay, I thought—”

“I’m here,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “I’m here, darlin’. I got back.”

He held you tighter. His whole body shook. His hands trembled where they gripped your waist.

You pulled back just enough to cup his face, your thumbs brushing the dirt from his cheeks. “What did they do to you?”

His eyes closed. He shook his head once. “It’s over. I’m here now. That’s all that matters.”

Tears slid down your cheeks.

He leaned in, rested his forehead against yours. His breath was shaky.

“I never stopped thinkin’ ‘bout ya,” he said, his voice cracking on the words. “Not once. Every damn second I was gone, all I wanted was this. Just… you.”

You let out a soft sob. “I never stopped loving you.”

His eyes opened. He stared at you like you were the only real thing left.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For everythin’. I thought pushin’ you away would protect ya. But I was wrong. And then I thought I’d never get to say that out loud.”

“You just did.”

You leaned into his chest again, and he held you so tightly it almost hurt.

But you didn’t care.

You’d waited months for this.

And you would’ve waited longer.

Because nothing else mattered.

He was home.

And so were you.

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[faiths0xyt0cin]

favorite girl ─────────୨ৎ─────────

────────────୨ৎ────────────warnings: smut, degrading, choking , scissoring, , f!ngering, cursing, teasing, overstimulation, switch!billie switch!partner, toxic billie

notes: this is my first time writing in months so i apologize in advance 😭 this could’ve been so much better (it’s also kinda long) ….also i make strictly gxg stories…..this is supposed to be angry sex but? we’ll see

NOT PROOFREAD

────────────୨ৎ────────────

faith sat on the couch in the unnecessarily big living room of billie’s house. she tapped her phone screen which was sitting right next to her on the couch as she read the time.

11:59pm

it had been nearly 2 hours prior to billie’s text.

Context

billie and faith were for friends for almost 8 years, they grew up in the same catholic choir and gotten closer overtime. extremely close….about 6 months ago billie asked faith if she wanted to have a regular girls night, which turned into something so much more. they had sex lots of it & they enjoyed it probably more than they should’ve but neither one of them cared.

ever since then billie would call faith every 1 or 2 weeks asking if the wanted to stay the night at her house. that is if billie wasn’t on tour, one of the main reasons both faith and billie agreed on not having anything serious is because of how busy billie was..billie was in no place to maintain a relationship plus she never wanted anything to serious anyway…just sex..which she often had with other people. she liked sex, faith knew but she didn’t do anything about it. she was getting far too attached and wanted anything from billie she could get, even when she knew that it would only end up hurting her feelings.

billie just got back from tour and went to a event were celebrities get to dress all fancy and talk about their successes. during the after party, billie had maybe a drink or two..she posted her dancing and taking shots on her close friends on instagram that faith had been watching..then THE POST, billie had posted a video of her full blown making out with a absolute gorgeous brown headed girl. faith didn’t know the girl which only made her twice as made..it wasn’t someone famous.. just someone billie had brought to the after party.

faith was fully aware billie had been hooking up with other people but she never seen it so it didn’t exactly feel real. and when she finally saw it in action. she was livid, she knew she had no right to be. they weren’t exclusive but that didn’t matter..she got so fed up and decided to text billie… anytime faith tried to talk to billie about something serious, billie dismissed it and acted like her usually nonchalant self. yet faith still decided to text her, and it got her nowhere but the conversation ended with billie telling her to wait at her house and they’d talk about it then.

PRESENT

faith had been sitting there for 2 whole hours waiting for billie, and it was now almost midnight. “fuck this.” faith mumbled under her breath as she stood up from the couch grabbing her phone almost aggressively. she was pissed and had every right to be. how could she had been so stupid? waiting for billie after just seeing her making out with someone else, what did she expect?. she walked down the long hallway to the door with her shoulder slumped, feeling exhausted, anger and hurt all at once. when she finally made it down the hall she slipped on her shoes that had been sitting by the doormat, she was in a hurry and all she wanted was to go rot in her bed. and then…she heard keys jingling. someone attempting to unlock the door but obviously failing miserably. faith tilted her head slightly. confused as if why it would take that long to unlock the door. after about 30 more seconds the door was finally twisted and pushed open.

it was billie.

she stumbled inside, obviously tipsy and it had been very clear to faith that billie definitely had a few more drinks than she posted on her story. faith didn’t help her, she crossed her arms and looked at her with a look on her face that was unreadable. after billie managed to get in and slip off her sneakers, she closed the door and locked it with a snap. billie turned around and leaned her back against the door before her eyes finally met faith’s and gave smirk.

faith’s breath hitched when she locked eyes with billie’s icy cold blue eyes, faith looked billie up and down slowly. her hair was messy as her bangs fluffed out and the red roots of her hair sticking up slightly. she was wearing oversized pants that fell way past her ankles but was being held up by a belt with two women on it, paired with a tight blue shirt that rode up her waist almost perfectly. she was trying her best to resist billie.

“i knew you’d wait for me” billie said as she let her tongue run over her top row of teeth still smirking. she pushed herself off the door and began walking down the hallway. faith looked at her, her eyes full with frustration. why is billie so careless? she watched her walk down the hallway. she debated if she should follow her or actually respect herself and go home, but before she knew it, she had kicked off her shoes and followed behind billie who had already turned the long halls and went into the living room.

when faith arrived in the living room billie was already sitting down on the couch, scrolling on her phone grinning at the bright screen. faith didn’t know if she should speak, she wanted to stand up for herself but was sort of intimidated by billie..she always had been.

“looks like you had fun, hm?” faith spat out. she stood there by the side of the couch awkwardly, but willing to stand her ground.

billie’s reaction was delayed, like she wasn’t worried about what faith had to say. but eventually she sat her phone down on the coffee table infront of her and turning to faith.

“what do you think?” billie said, not a genuine question but a sarcastic response.

“well you could barely in the door and you have a fucking hickey on your neck, so im gonna take a guess and say yea” faith say scoffing as she saw she dark purple and red mark on her neck, that made her blood boil.

billie let out a bitter laugh “come here” she leaned back on the couch, looking faith up and down biting her lip with a grin, her legs falling into a man spread.

faith breath hitched, she felt small with the way billie looked at her, but she couldn’t quite tell if you liked it or not.

“i said come here, faith.” billie repeated, more stern this time. commanding.

faith didn’t refuse, slowly she started walking over to the couch before sitting down across from billie, attempting to keep a good amount of distance between them.

billie groan in annoyance seeing that faith was trying to avoid being close to her. “stop being like that. you’re taking this so seriously and for what? we aren’t together. you know that”. she moved closer to faith placing a hand on her knee

“we should stop….whatever this is.” faith started, trailing off slightly when she felt billie’s thumb rubbing circles on her knee. “you hurt my feelings, like a lot and im not gonna keep doing this shit” she stood her ground.

“yea fucking right faith, me and you both know this isn’t ending anytime soon so stop. and i didn’t know your feelings you hurt your own feelings.” she spat out, her hand trailing up her leg more firmly. “i told you what it was when we started, and you agreed this isn’t my fault baby”

faith lips parted at the name “baby”, she hated how billie could get a reaction out of her so easily. she wanted to say something back, stick up for herself, but she couldn’t. the words were stuck in her throat.

“cats got your tongue?” billie laughed bitterly, her hand moving from her leg to the side of faith’s neck, pulling her close just a tad bit. “i like when you get jealous, when you act like im yours but i’m not” she said in a lower tone, a teasing that made faith’s stomach do flips even when her head was telling her to be angry.

“and you like when i tell you that your my favorite girl, i came here because i wanted to see you…i could’ve went with that other bitch but i didn’t, did i?” billie continue to speak softly rubbing the side of faiths neck making her melt. “because your my favorite girl, that should be all that matters”

but that wasn’t all that matter. not to faith, she wanted to be her only girl, something she knew she couldn’t be. and no matter how much she wanted to say that right here right now. she couldn’t. she wouldn’t.

“my favorite pretty girl” billie say grinning softly leaning in closer. and who was faith to pull away? she wouldn’t dare. and then she leaned in-pressing her lips against faith neck, moving up, catching the side of her jaw until she turned her face just enough to kiss her. faith completely crumbled, and she hated herself for it. everything she wanted to say, the way seeing billie making out with a other girl made her feel. washing away.

the kiss was slow at first, then firmer, needier, more certain. her hands slid to faith’s waist. faith couldn’t resist. her hand came up, fingers gently grabbing at billie's face, brushing across her jaw, into her hair. the way billie tasted, the sweet feeling of her plump lips. made her almost forget why she was so damn mad.

faith broke the kiss, taking a breath “billie i don’t want to keep doing this” she said sighing softly closing her eyes.

“your free to get up and leave, im not forcing you to be here.” billie shot back almost immediately, leaving faith speechless once more. faith knew she could get out and leave and never talk to billie again. and billie would let her but she wasn’t gonna do that, set herself up like that. she didn’t want to be lonely.

so she leaned back in, crashing against billie’s lips in a opened mouth kiss, letting their tongues dance with eachother, suck one another’s tongue. billie wasn’t kissing her like she missed it, she was kissing her like faith was hers. like she knew no matter what faith would be wrapped around her finger, and she fucking loved it.

billie broke the kiss this time, standing up and grabbing faith’s wrist without a word. leading her down the hall. faith didn’t resist, she knew what was about to happen and she knew she couldn’t lie to herself and say she didn’t want it.

the fumbled into the massive bedroom and billie nearly slammed the door, before basically throwing faith on the king sized bed that obviously hadn’t been slept on in a while. faith head hit the pillows and she let out a shocked soft gasp.

billie crawled onto of her straddle her lap before pressing her lips against faith’s neck and sucking as if she was trying to get something out of her.

faith tilted her head back so billie would have better access, she tried to hold back her whimpers, not wanting billie to have that satisfaction, but her plump lips on all the right places making it even harder. billie let one of her hands slip between their bodies and to faith’s waist, slipping up her shirt to rub her stomach, she kept going further and further up while still sucking and licking faith’s neck, she was a expert on making girls feel good and she knew it.

billie kissed her again, slower this time, but deeper-targeting a spot just beneath faith's ear, where her skin was soft and too responsive.when her mouth landed there-hot and certain, faith’s breath caught in her throat.

billie used her shirt up so much it has risen to where faith’s entire stomach was on display. billie slide her hand up and down her stomach teasingly before slipping just her fingertips past her waistband. then her panties

“fuck” faith whispered, her breath starting to get heavy already. billie’s fingers brushed against the waistband of faith’s underwear, and she hesitated for a moment before sliding her hand inside.

the warmth and wetness she against her flat palm made her breath hitch, and she began to tease her fingers gently against faith’s s core. “shit mama, your so wet for me.” billie spoke right against her ear ever so gently.

faith let out a soft moan, she could feel her clit pulsing with need. she was getting desperate despite and the things she was feeling earlier.

billie rubbed her core in softly gently circles, rubbing against her in a way that lit every nerve in her body.

then she pulled her hand out of faith’s sweatpants sucking them. before faith could even complain billie was already slipping off her sweatpants and tossing this next to the bed, billie set faiths legs up so her feet was flat on the bed, so she could see everything. “mm, so pretty all for me right?” billie said with a knowing smirk. faith nodded, not wanting to let billie get those words from her. “use your fucking words faith” she said harshly, she was gonna get it out of her one way or another.

faith wanted billie hands on her, so bad. but she wasn’t gonna give up that easily. she knew that billie would feel so proud if she got it out of her, and she didn’t want that.

in one quick move billie grabbed faith by the throat with a tight grip, making her sit up. “you don’t hear me? i said you look pretty, and you look pretty for me right? you better fucking say it.”

faith whimpered. she couldn’t deny she loved when Billie manhandled her, she acted up on purpose, she wanted this.

“oh so you wanna be a brat?” billie grinned, her grip on her neck getting even tighter

“i…yes….for you.” faith managed to get out, her oxygen getting cut off slightly. and billie almost slammed her back onto the pillows, letting her neck go. “that’s a good girl.”

before faith knew it, billie moved her hand back in between her legs ripping off her panties, billie was hungry for this now, she wanted to remind faith who’s in charge. not as if that wasn’t obvious already.

without a warning billie slammed two fingers inside faith, no time to adjust, just pounding them into her. billie moved her two fingers in and out of faith , you could hear the moist sounds coming from her.

faith whimpered uncontrollably, she wetness soaking billie’s fingers. “mm, your my little slut…such a good slut..let me hear you pretty girl”

and she did just that, her moans got louder. faith couldn’t hold them in anymore. she didn’t want too.

billie speeds up curling her fingers just right,hitting her g-spot which wasn’t hard for billie. she knew the quickest ways to make faith cum.

faith gripped the sheets, her eyes rolling to the back of her head and staying there for a good minute or two “mmpfhh im gonna…mmm”. she tried warning billie of her orgasm, but nothing came out but weak soft moans

“ oh yea? i want you to wait. don’t cum yet, i’ll tell you when” billie loved having control of faith’s orgasm, she liked hearing the noises she made trying to keep herself from cumming and bring good for her.

billie fingers worked endlessly, she didn’t slow down she didn’t take a break, she was working hard. she wanted faith right on the edge.

“please, i can’t..let me…please let me cum” faith thighs were trembling at this point, trying so hard to be a good girl for billie.

“ok mama, go ahead cum for me.”

she didn’t need to be told twice, as soon as billie spoke, her whole body shook slightly as her orgasm washed over her entire body.

billie didn’t stop, she kept the same pace, making faith’s orgasm even better, after she finally pulled out she grinned looking at faith and how fucked out she was. yet she still brought her fingers to faith’s open.

“open”

and she did. breathlessly, she opened her mouth and sucked billie’s fingers. tasting her sweet release on billie’s fingers.

“good fucking girl, just like that” she gave faith little to no mercy, sticking her fingers further in her mouth making her gag on them.

“mmpfhh” faith whimpered, tears prickling at the side of her eyes, gagging on her fingers.

billie only took them out when she as ready, and after she did, she got off the bed and undressed herself. almost in a hurry

faith watched, still laying there, biting her lip, she loved billie’s body. she wanted it all to herself it was too good, to beautiful to share.

billie crawled back on the bed “im not done with you yet pretty” she spread faith legs gently and positioned herself above her.

“billie i don’t think i can tak-“

“yes the fuck you can. and you will, if it’s actually too much youll say your color, yea?”

faith knew that, no matter what billie gave her, she took it. she liked it.

so she nodded.

“that’s an answer and you know it” billie said sternly, starting to move her hips back and forth. their heats mixing together.

faith groaned, her hands going to billie’s hips, helping her grind “yes…”

“that’s it, fuck you feel so good” billie moaned softly, picking up her pace as she leaned down biting down on her shoulder”

they moaned in sync, everytime their clits would touch they got louder, faith gripping her hips even tighter, she was overstimulated but in the best way possible her pussy was aching and she loved it. she loved that billie was the one who was making it feel like that

“mm…god i’m gonna cum” billie said against her skin,and going even faster now. the sound of their wet pussies mixing filling the whole house.

“i want you to bils, i want you to cum on my pussy..all over” faith whispered, just loud enough for billie to make out the words.

and billie did, she she squirted against faith, covering both their thighs and lower stomach & and the bedsheets beneath them.

the pressure from billie squirting against faith made her eyes roll back, she loved feeling coated with billie’s juices. it made it feel like Billie was hers.

billie body went limp against faiths until she rolled off her and laid next to her on her back.

laying there in awkward slience, no noise but the heavy breathing between of them.

billie turned to face faith

“so, i’ll be seeing you next weekend?”