#i would have let this man talk for as long as he wanted to

[urdreamydoodles]

Hi hi!! Hope your day’s going well!!

I adore the krakoa headcanons you have for the x-men, how willing would you be to do something similar for mcu characters?? Idk if there’s an equivalent though, if not it’s no problem ❤️

MCU CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

A year after your death, you are resurrected and reunited with your lover

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker (Tom H.), Stephen Strange, Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson, T'Challa, Marc Spector, Steven Grant, Jake Lockley, Scott Lang, Wade Wilson, Logan Howlett, Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff & Erik Lehnsherr

Requests are reopened since I'm going to have surgery for my scoliosis...yes, it's bad news, it's a major operation, so I need your requests to feel better. PLEASE SEND ME REQUEST. I don't have surgery for another four months so I have plenty of time since I'm at home! I can't wait to see all your ideas, I LOVE YOU <3

Tony Stark

- Tony Stark, the man who could build a new world with his hands but could not stop them from shaking when they lost you. He spent a year in ruins, laughing too loudly at parties that could not fill the silence you left behind, drowning in half-finished projects where your ghost lingered in the curve of every wire. He never stopped talking about you—not to his friends, not to himself, not to the night. You were the equation he could not solve, the loss he could not engineer his way out of.

- When he sees you again, standing in the flickering light of his workshop, the wrench in his hand slips, clattering to the floor. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. His mind, sharp as ever, gives him ten different explanations, each more impossible than the last, but his heart—his battered, grieving heart—gives him only one. “Tell me I’m dreaming,” he says, voice hoarse, because the alternative is something he cannot afford to believe.

- And then you speak, and the walls he built to keep himself from shattering crumble in an instant. He is across the room before he knows it, hands gripping your arms, your face, tracing the proof of you. The ache in his chest is unbearable, but not from pain—it is the sheer weight of having you again. “They told me I was crazy,” he murmurs against your lips, against your skin. “Guess they were right.”

- You are back, but time has moved without you, carving deeper lines into Tony’s face, dulling the arrogance that once carried him like armor. He watches you like you might disappear again, fingers always brushing your wrist, your hip, the pulse at your throat. He doesn’t sleep much—he never did—but now, when you wake in the night, he is already awake, watching the rise and fall of your breath as if it is the only thing tethering him to reality.

- He brings you everywhere, makes no excuses for it. “My ghost, my rules,” he says when someone questions it. He builds new suits and doesn’t let you out of his sight, not when danger is near, not when a single misstep could take you away again. He has never been a man who believed in second chances, but for you, he will believe in anything.

- The world thinks he is Iron Man, but you know the truth: Tony Stark is just a man who loved and lost and refused to let death win. He holds you like a miracle, like proof that he was right to fight for the impossible. And for the first time in a long time, he is not afraid.

Steve Rogers

- Steve Rogers has always known loss—has carried it like a second skin, worn it like a name he could never leave behind. But losing you was different. It was not the cold silence of the ice, nor the distant ache of time slipping through his fingers. It was immediate, brutal. It was your blood on his hands, your last breath against his cheek. A year passed, and he carried on because that was what he did, because that was what you would have wanted. But he stopped looking at sunsets. Stopped drinking coffee the way you used to make it. Stopped believing that the world could ever feel warm again.

- When he sees you again, standing in the doorway of the safe house, the shield strapped to his back feels heavier than ever. His breath catches, his heart stumbles, and for a moment, he wonders if this is some cruel trick played by an enemy who knows exactly where to cut him open. But then your lips part, and you say his name, and the sound of it is like the first breath after drowning.

- He moves toward you slowly, hesitantly, as if one wrong step will shatter the illusion. His hands hover over your face, your shoulders, trembling with the unbearable need to touch, to feel, to know. And when you don’t disappear, when you are warm and real beneath his fingers, something inside him breaks. His arms crush you to him, his breath shaking as he buries his face in your hair. He is crying, but he doesn’t care. “I held you,” he whispers. “I held you.”

- After that, he does not let you go. The world calls him Captain America, but to you, he is just Steve—the man who wakes up in the middle of the night just to press his forehead against yours, the man whose grip tightens every time you reach for his hand, as if to reassure himself that you are not a dream. He does not know how to make peace with this miracle, so he does not try. He simply loves you harder, holds you closer, refuses to waste a second of the time he was so cruelly robbed of.

- He is more protective now, but it is not the suffocating kind. It is the quiet, steadfast kind, the way he always positions himself between you and an open door, the way he memorizes the sound of your breathing while you sleep. He does not speak of the past year unless you ask, but when you do, the grief in his eyes is something ancient, something that will never fully fade.

- Steve Rogers has always carried the weight of the world, but with you beside him, it is lighter. You are proof that even after all the battles, all the sacrifices, the universe still has kindness left to give. And he will spend the rest of his life earning it.

Natasha Romanoff

- Natasha Romanoff has survived on borrowed time for as long as she can remember. She has lost, she has bled, she has walked away from battlefields without looking back. But losing you was different. It was the one wound that did not heal, the one loss she could not turn into fuel. She did not cry. Did not speak of you. She simply moved forward, faster, harder, with reckless abandon—because if she slowed down, even for a second, she would have to feel the hollow space you left behind.

- When she sees you again, standing in the shadows of a dimly lit alley, her knife is in her hand before she even registers what she is seeing. Her body reacts the way it was trained to, but her heart—her traitorous, fragile heart—stutters in her chest. “No,” she breathes, shaking her head as if denying it will make it any less real. “No, I buried you.”

- And then you step closer, into the light, and she sees the familiar curve of your smile, the warmth in your eyes. She drops the knife. It clatters against the pavement, forgotten, as she crosses the space between you in two strides, her hands fisting in the fabric of your jacket. Her lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if she can taste the truth in the way you breathe against her mouth.

- After that, she is different. Softer, in ways only you will ever see. She touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reverence. A hand at the small of your back, fingers trailing over your wrist, knuckles brushing against yours as if reminding herself that you are here. The world may question, but Natasha has never cared for the world's judgment. You are hers, and she is yours, and that is all that matters.

- She does not let you fight alone anymore. Not because she doubts your strength, but because she refuses to feel that kind of loss again. She watches you when you sleep, when you move through a room, when you laugh. She memorizes the details she once took for granted—the exact color of your eyes in the morning light, the rhythm of your voice when you call her name.

- Natasha Romanoff has spent a lifetime making peace with ghosts, but you are not one. You are flesh and blood, a heartbeat beneath her palm, a warmth she never thought she would feel again. And this time, she will not let you go.

Bruce Banner

- Grief is not an emotion Bruce Banner can afford. He has spent a lifetime suppressing, locking away the parts of himself that feel too deeply, because feeling too much is dangerous, and losing you nearly ended the world. The Hulk roared in agony that day, the earth itself trembling beneath his wrath, but even in his most furious state, even as he destroyed everything in his path, you were gone. And no amount of strength, no amount of science, could bring you back.

- He stopped fighting after that. Retreated. Isolated himself in a place where no one could see the way his hands trembled when they weren’t balled into fists, where no one could hear him whisper your name like a prayer, a question, a plea. He stopped shifting into the Hulk—not because he was afraid, but because the monster within him had nothing left to fight for. There was only silence, only the ghost of your touch, only the unbearable weight of having lived when you did not.

- So when you return, standing before him in the quiet of his lab, he does not react at first. His mind, trained to doubt, to question, to disassemble and understand, tells him it cannot be real. That the chemicals in his brain are firing incorrectly, that his grief has finally shattered him in a way no transformation ever could. But then you say his name, and it is not just sound—it is gravity, it is a force pulling him from the abyss.

- He crosses the room in a single breath, hands hovering over your face, your shoulders, your waist, unable to trust his own touch. He is afraid to break you, afraid to break himself. And then your fingers slip into his, grounding him, reminding him that this is not a hallucination, not a cruel trick of his subconscious. You are warm, real, here. And just like that, the weight he has carried for a year crumbles to dust.

- After that, he does not leave your side. He watches you sleep, not because he doubts, but because he cannot waste another second of the time he was so certain he had lost. He builds new defenses, new protections, because if death could not keep you, then neither will any enemy foolish enough to try. He teaches himself to trust happiness again, to allow himself to feel, because with you beside him, it is no longer a danger—it is a gift.

- Bruce Banner has always been afraid of his own power, but with you, he is not afraid. He is a man, not just a monster, and for the first time in a long time, he believes in the possibility of a future. A future where he is not alone. A future where he is not running. A future where you, against all odds, are still his.

Clint Barton

- Clint Barton has never been one to dwell. The life he leads does not allow for it—grief is a luxury, mourning a weakness, and the only way to survive is to keep moving. But when he held you in his arms, felt the last shudder of breath against his skin, something inside him shattered. And he did not put the pieces back together. He let them fall, let them burn, let the silence swallow him whole.

- The others saw him continue—heard his sharp wit, watched him loose arrows with deadly precision, saw the same easy smirk that had always been there. But they did not see the empty spaces where you used to be. Did not see the way he avoided the places you had loved, the way he drank in solitude, the way his hands curled into fists whenever someone mentioned your name.

- So when you return—when you step into the dim light of his hideout, when your voice cuts through the silence he has lived in for a year—he does not believe it. He grips the bow at his side, tension in every muscle, because this is a trick, a trap, an illusion designed to destroy him completely. But then you move closer, and the way you look at him—the way only you ever have—makes the doubt in his mind fracture.

- And then he is there, hands gripping your waist, your arms, his forehead pressed to yours as he exhales a breath he did not know he had been holding. He does not ask how, does not ask why. He only pulls you closer, lets himself collapse into the only thing that has ever truly felt like home. His fingers are tight against your skin, unwilling to let go, unwilling to lose you a second time.

- After that, he is different. Lighter, in ways only you will notice. He is still Clint—still sharp, still reckless, still throwing himself into danger without hesitation—but there is a warmth now, a flicker of something that had long been extinguished. He touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reassurance. His hand on the small of your back, his fingers brushing against yours, a quiet, wordless promise that he will not take a second of this for granted.

- Clint Barton has always been a survivor, but he did not truly live until you returned. And now, with you beside him, he has no intention of losing that again. He is yours, wholly and completely, and this time, no force in the universe will take you from him.

Bucky Barnes

- Bucky Barnes knows the taste of loss better than most. He has drowned in it, clawed his way through decades of it, watched everyone he has ever loved slip through his fingers like sand. But losing you was different. Losing you was not the slow, creeping erosion of time. It was a blade to the gut, a wound that never closed, an ache that settled deep in his bones and refused to let go.

- He did not grieve the way others did. He did not cry, did not rage, did not seek solace in memories. He simply stopped. Stopped talking, stopped trying, stopped allowing himself to feel anything at all. Because feeling meant acknowledging the gaping wound your absence had left behind, and that was not something he could survive.

- So when he sees you again, standing in the doorway of his apartment, he does not move. Does not breathe. His mind—trained to expect deception, to anticipate betrayal—tells him this is a trick. But then you step forward, and the way your eyes soften when they meet his, the way your lips part in a quiet whisper of his name, makes the world tilt beneath his feet.

- And then he is there, crossing the space between you with the kind of desperation that only comes from losing something you thought was gone forever. His hands tremble as they frame your face, his breath shuddering as he drinks in the impossible reality of you. He does not trust words, does not trust his voice to hold steady, so he simply presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in, grounding himself in the proof of your existence.

- After that, he does not let you go. He does not speak of the past year, does not tell you how empty it was, how he spent every night staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that never came. He only shows you in the way he touches you, in the way he holds you closer at night, in the way his fingers linger on yours as if afraid you might vanish again.

- Bucky Barnes has spent a lifetime being taken, being controlled, being used. But you are the one thing that was his, the one thing that was real, and now that you are here, he will fight for you with everything he has. You are his salvation, his anchor, his second chance at something he never thought he deserved. And this time, he is never letting go.

Sam Wilson

- Grief is a weight Sam Wilson carries well, but carrying it does not mean it is light. It sits in his chest, heavy and unmoving, an ache that never quite fades. Losing you was not a clean wound—it was jagged, raw, a battlefield farewell written in blood and breathless whispers. He held you, watched the life slip from your eyes, and still, somehow, he had to stand up. He had to keep fighting. Because that’s what you would have done. That’s what you would want.

- But wanting and doing are not the same thing. He laughed in public, told stories that made others grin, carried himself with the same easy confidence. But alone? Alone, it was different. He spoke to you sometimes when the night was too quiet, when the wind sounded too much like your voice. He ran until his lungs burned, trying to chase the memory of you, knowing he never really could.

- So when you stand before him, alive, breathing, real, the world does not feel like the one he left behind. His first instinct is denial—a trick, an illusion, a cruel joke played by something with too much power and not enough mercy. But you look at him, and there’s something there, something he recognizes too well. Love. History. You. And suddenly, the weight in his chest is gone.

- He moves before he can think. One step, then two, then his arms are around you, his head buried in your shoulder, a shuddering breath breaking from his lips. His grip is tight—too tight, maybe—but he doesn’t care. He needs to feel you, needs to know this isn’t a dream he’ll wake from. He says your name like it’s the only word he remembers, his voice thick with everything he couldn’t say when you were gone.

- After that, Sam is different. Lighter, freer. He still fights, still leads, still carries the burdens of the world on his back—but he does it with you at his side, and that changes everything. He touches you constantly, a hand on your back, fingers brushing against yours, small, quiet reassurances that you are here, that he did not imagine this.

- Sam Wilson has lost many things. He has seen friends fall, watched the world tear itself apart. But this? This is something he never thought he’d get back. And now that he has you, he swears to himself—he’s not losing you again. Not now. Not ever.

Peter Parker (Tom Holland)

- Peter Parker does not know how to exist in a world where you do not. The pain is not sharp, not a clean wound he can stitch together with time. It is suffocating. Slow. A weight pressing down on him, stealing the air from his lungs, making every step feel heavier than the last. He was holding you, talking to you, and then you were just… gone. And nothing he did, no amount of strength, no web-slinging through the city, no late-night patrols could change that.

- He keeps going. He has to. That’s what Spider-Man does. That’s what you would have wanted. But some nights, when he is alone, when the mask is off and the world is quiet, he feels like a boy again—small, lost, powerless. He whispers apologies into the dark, tracing the memory of your touch, trying to pretend he still remembers exactly what your voice sounded like. Because he’s terrified he’s forgetting.

- And then, one day, you are there. Standing in the shadow of a flickering streetlamp, watching him with the same eyes he never thought he’d see again. At first, he doesn’t move. He can’t. His brain refuses to process it, refuses to accept this impossible, beautiful reality. And then you smile—small, hesitant, you—and he breaks.

- He crashes into you, arms wrapping around you so tightly it almost hurts. His breath stutters, hands shaking as they press against your skin, your hair, anything that proves you are real. “You—” His voice cracks. “You died.” And it’s not an accusation. It’s a question, a plea, a broken whisper of disbelief. But you are warm, solid, here, and he holds onto that with everything he has.

- After that, Peter is clingy. He doesn’t mean to be, but he is. His fingers find yours without thinking, his arm curls around your waist at every opportunity, his webbing pulls you to him when you step too far away. He is afraid—afraid this is temporary, afraid that one day he’ll wake up and you’ll be gone again. But he also smiles more, laughs louder, lives in a way he hasn’t since he lost you.

- Peter Parker has lost so much. But this? This is a miracle. And Peter—Peter is going to make sure he cherishes every single second of it. Because this time, he has you. And that? That is everything.

Stephen Strange

- Stephen Strange is no stranger to loss. He has lived through pain, through heartbreak, through the destruction of things he once believed unshakable. But losing you—that was something else entirely. That was not just loss. That was devastation. It was the kind of pain that settled into his bones, that made the world feel quieter, colder, less.

- He did not weep. Did not rage. Did not crumble beneath the weight of it. Instead, he buried himself in his work, in his magic, in the relentless pursuit of something—anything—that could fill the void you left behind. He scoured the multiverse, searching for answers, but found only silence. Death, it seemed, was absolute. Even for you.

- So when you stand before him, alive, whole, untouched by the grave, he does not react at first. His hands twitch at his sides, eyes sharp, mind racing through a thousand possibilities, a thousand explanations. This must be a trick, a deception, some cruel game played by forces beyond his understanding. But then you speak his name, and the way you say it—the way only you say it—breaks him.

- He crosses the room in three steps, hands cupping your face, searching for any sign of illusion. But there is none. There is only warmth, only life, only you. His breath stutters, his fingers tighten, and for the first time in a long, long time, Stephen Strange allows himself to feel. His lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if trying to convince himself that this moment is not slipping through his fingers.

- After that, he is possessive. Not in a way that is suffocating, but in a way that is unmistakable. His cloak wraps around you when you are cold, his hands find yours beneath temple robes, his magic lingers in the air around you like a silent guardian. He does not say it—not outright, not often—but you know. You have always known. He cannot lose you again. He will not.

- Stephen Strange has faced the impossible, has bent time and reality to his will. But this? This is the greatest miracle of all. And he, a man who once scoffed at faith, finds himself believing in something again. Because if the universe had any mercy, any kindness at all, it would let him keep you. And this time, he will fight for that with everything he has.

Thor Odinson

- Grief and gods have never mixed well. Mortals mourn with time, with rituals, with whispered prayers to the sky. But Thor? Thor does not know how to grieve in a way that does not tear the world apart. He held you as you died, cradled you against his chest, his hands helpless against the tide of fate. The sky wept with him that day—thunder cracking, the heavens splitting open in rage, the storm inside him unfurling with no battle left to fight.

- He left Earth after that. It was too loud, too full of life, too painfully real in your absence. He searched for answers in the stars, in old myths and forgotten magic, in the whispered promises of gods who had lost more than he had. But the truth was simple: not even the might of Thor, not even the power of Asgard, could bring back the one thing he truly wanted. So he drank, and he fought, and he laughed too loudly to hide the fact that he was breaking.

- And then, one day, he turns, and you are there. Standing in the golden light of the Bifrost, impossibly, beautifully alive. His breath catches in his throat, Mjolnir slipping from his fingers, his entire body frozen between disbelief and desperate hope. “This is a trick,” he says, but his voice is hoarse, unsteady, as if saying the words out loud might make them false. But then you smile, and he is undone.

- He crosses the space between you in an instant, crushing you against him with a force that nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. His hands tangle in your hair, his forehead pressing against yours, and his chest heaves with something between laughter and a sob. “You have returned to me,” he whispers, reverence in every syllable. And then he is kissing you, fierce and unrelenting, as if proving to himself that this is not some cruel jest of fate.

- After that, Thor does not let you go. Not truly. His arm is always around your waist, his hand always at the small of your back, his eyes watching you as if you might disappear the moment he looks away. He tells you, constantly, in grand declarations and quiet murmurs, how much he loves you, how he will never lose you again. You are his greatest treasure, more precious than any throne, any kingdom, any power the cosmos could offer.

- The God of Thunder has lost much—his home, his family, pieces of himself that may never fully return. But you—you are here, in his arms, alive once more. And Thor, a warrior who has fought countless battles, swears that he will fight against gods and monsters alike to keep you at his side.

Loki Laufeyson

- Loki knows loss better than he knows himself. He has lost love, trust, family. But losing you—that was different. That was a wound he could not charm away with silver-tongued words, a pain he could not outwit or outmaneuver. You died in his arms, your fingers curling weakly around his wrist as the light in your eyes faded. And for the first time in his life, Loki Laufeyson was powerless.

- He did not rage. He did not scream. Instead, he withdrew, wrapping himself in silence and solitude, retreating into the shadows where grief could not be seen. The world continued without you, and he played his part well—smirking, deceiving, spinning tales as if he were not hollow inside. But in the quiet moments, when no one was looking, he traced the ghost of your touch on his skin and whispered your name like a prayer.

- So when he sees you again, standing before him in the flickering candlelight of some forgotten sanctuary, he does not react—not at first. His body stills, his breath catches, and his mind races through every possibility, every cruel illusion that could explain this. But then you speak his name, soft and familiar, and something in him shatters.

- He reaches for you hesitantly, his fingers brushing over your cheek as if expecting you to dissolve beneath his touch. And when you do not—when you are warm, and real, and here—a sharp breath leaves his lips, and he pulls you against him with all the desperation of a man drowning. His grip is tight, unyielding, as if trying to convince himself that you will not be stolen from him again.

- After that, Loki is different. Not softer, not weaker—if anything, he is more dangerous, more cunning, more willing to do anything to ensure you remain by his side. He keeps you close, always within reach, his sharp wit reserved for those who dare to threaten what is his. There is no force in the universe he fears, no power he will not challenge, if it means keeping you safe.

- Loki Laufeyson has never believed in fate, in mercy, in second chances. But you? You are proof that even the most broken of men can find something worth living for. And this time, he will not lose you. Not to death. Not to gods. Not to anything.

T’Challa

- T’Challa was a king before he was a man, a warrior before he was a lover. But you—you—were the one thing that belonged solely to him. With you, he was not a ruler, not the Black Panther, not the protector of a nation. He was simply a man in love. And then, in a single moment, in the chaos of war, you were gone. And he—T’Challa, the unshakable, the wise, the just—fell to his knees, holding you as the life slipped from your body.

- He did not mourn in ways the world could see. There were no public displays of grief, no speeches of loss. He carried the weight of your death in silence, bearing it with the same quiet dignity that he bore every burden. But in the stillness of his chambers, when no one was watching, he let the sorrow take him. He traced the last place he had held you, whispered your name to the night, and wondered if he would ever learn to breathe without you.

- So when he sees you again, standing beneath the glow of Wakanda’s golden lights, his heart stops. His breath catches. And for a moment, he is afraid to move—to hope. But you step forward, your eyes locking onto his, and everything else ceases to matter. The world falls away, and there is only you.

- He crosses the distance between you in a single step, his hands cupping your face with reverence, with disbelief, with a depth of emotion he has never let himself show before. He does not ask how or why. He only whispers, “My love,” as if speaking the words aloud will make them real. And then he kisses you—slow, deep, a promise, a prayer, a thousand unspoken words pressed into your skin.

- After that, T’Challa is your shadow, your shield, your unwavering protector. He does not smother you—he respects you too much for that—but he watches, always. His fingers linger against yours in quiet moments, his gaze softens whenever you speak, and when he holds you at night, it is with the quiet, unyielding certainty that he will never let go again.

- T’Challa has lost many things—his father, his home, pieces of himself in battles fought for the greater good. But this? This is something sacred. And a king who has been given back his heart will protect it with everything he has.

Marc Spector

- Marc Spector has never been good at losing people. He has lost too much, buried too many, carried ghosts in the hollows of his ribs and the shadows of his mind. But losing you—watching you die in his arms, feeling your body grow cold as his own blood soaked into the ground—was something else entirely. It didn’t break him. It obliterated him.

- He stopped pretending after that. Stopped holding himself together, stopped fighting for anything beyond survival. He threw himself into missions with reckless abandon, took every fight as if he was begging for someone to land a fatal hit. He couldn’t sleep in your bed, couldn’t bear to hear your name spoken aloud. He tried—Khonshu knows, he tried—to find a way to bring you back. Bargained with gods, hunted down forbidden magic, but nothing, nothing, worked. So he gave up. He accepted that this was his punishment, his curse, to keep losing the things he loved until there was nothing left of him.

- And then—then—you were there. Standing in the doorway, alive, whole, looking at him like you weren’t a phantom haunting his grief. He didn’t move at first, didn’t breathe, convinced you were another trick of his fractured mind. But then you spoke—soft, hesitant, like you weren’t sure if he would even want you back. And the moment your voice reached him, Marc snapped.

- He was on you in an instant, his hands on your face, your shoulders, your arms—anywhere he could touch, anywhere he could convince himself you were real. “Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he whispered, voice shaking, breath unsteady. And when you smiled, when you nodded, he kissed you—desperate, bruising, like a man drowning who had finally found air.

- After that, Marc is different. Not softer, not gentler—he has never been those things—but determined. He refuses to let you out of his sight for too long, refuses to take a single moment for granted. The nightmares don’t go away—sometimes he wakes up reaching for you, convinced he’s lost you all over again—but you are always there, grounding him, reminding him that miracles exist.

- He still fights, still follows the path Khonshu carved for him, but now, there’s something else driving him. Not vengeance. Not guilt. You. You, alive and breathing, laughing in the golden light of morning, rolling your eyes when he gets in one of his moods. And if he has to fight every god, every monster, every force in the universe to keep you by his side? So be it.

Steven Grant

- Grief is a lonely thing. And for Steven, it was lonelier than most. He didn’t have Marc’s rage or Jake’s cold detachment—he just had absence, an empty space beside him where you used to be. You had been his bright thing, his sunbeam, the warmth in his life he never thought he deserved. And then, in a moment of violence and blood, you were gone.

- The flat was too quiet after that. He still made tea for two, still caught himself turning to tell you something, still found little reminders of you everywhere. Your books on the shelf. Your perfume lingering in the air. A sweater you’d stolen from him, draped over the back of a chair. He couldn’t let go, couldn’t move—just existed, stumbling through the days with a polite smile and eyes that held too much grief.

- And then, one evening, as he shuffled into the flat with the exhaustion of another day spent pretending he was okay, he saw you. Standing there, real as anything, watching him with that soft, hesitant look you always had when you weren’t sure how he’d react. He didn’t even think. Didn’t question. Just dropped whatever was in his hands and ran to you.

- “Oh, love,” he breathed, his voice cracking as he cupped your face, pressing his forehead to yours. He was crying—of course he was crying—but he didn’t care, didn’t even try to stop. “I—I thought—oh God, I thought I lost you.” His hands trembled as he touched you, as if afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful. But you didn’t disappear. You were here. And when you kissed him—gentle, reassuring—he let out a broken, disbelieving laugh.

- After that, Steven becomes more himself again. The light comes back into his eyes, the warmth into his voice. He tells you every day how much he loves you, how grateful he is that you came back. He holds you for hours sometimes, murmuring little things against your skin, afraid that if he lets go, the universe will take you away again.

- You are his miracle, his impossible, wonderful second chance. And Steven, the man who never thought he was enough, now knows one thing with absolute certainty—he will never take you for granted again.

Jake Lockley

- Jake doesn’t grieve the way others do. He doesn’t sit in sorrow, doesn’t cry himself to sleep. He compartmentalizes, shoves it all into a locked box in the back of his mind and throws away the key. When you died, he didn’t break down. He didn’t scream. He just acted. Found the ones responsible. Made them pay. Made everyone pay.

- He convinced himself that was enough. That revenge was all he had left to give you. But when the dust settled, when the blood was washed from his hands, there was nothing. Just an emptiness so vast it threatened to swallow him whole. He became a ghost, slipping through the world unnoticed, unseen. He only spoke when necessary, only acted when called upon. If Marc and Steven noticed how much darker he’d become, they didn’t say anything.

- And then—then—you were there. Sitting in the backseat of his car like you belonged there, like you hadn’t died in his arms a year ago. He slammed on the brakes so hard the tires screeched, his pulse roaring in his ears. He didn’t turn around at first. Couldn’t. His hands gripped the steering wheel like a vice, his knuckles white with tension. “Not funny,” he rasped, his voice low, dangerous. “Not a game I wanna play.”

- “It’s not a trick, Jake,” you whispered. And that was all it took. He turned, his breath catching as he finally let himself look. Let himself believe. And the moment he did, something inside him snapped. He surged toward you, pulling you into his arms with a desperation he rarely let himself show. His face buried in your neck, his breath shaky and uneven, his body trembling as if the entire world had just shifted beneath his feet.

- After that, Jake is ruthless about keeping you safe. He doesn’t care how you came back—only that you did, and that nothing will take you from him again. He’s always watching, always waiting, always a step ahead of any potential threat. He doesn’t say it out loud, but it’s in the way he tucks you close against him in crowds, in the way his fingers ghost over your pulse like he’s memorizing it.

- Jake Lockley is not a good man. He never claimed to be. But you—you are the one thing that makes him want to be. And if death couldn’t keep you from him, nothing else will either.

Scott Lang

- Scott never truly believed in happy endings, but he believed in you. He believed in the way your laughter could turn an ordinary day into something extraordinary, the way your hand in his made him feel like maybe—just maybe—he was enough. Losing you shattered him in ways he didn’t even know were possible. You died in his arms, your blood on his hands, and in that moment, he stopped believing in miracles.

- He tried to hold it together for Cassie. He smiled, told jokes, did his best to pretend he was okay. But he wasn’t. His apartment felt too big without you, the bed too cold. He found himself talking to the empty air, half-expecting you to answer. The worst part was the moments right before he woke up, when his brain still tricked him into thinking you were next to him, breathing softly in sleep. And then he’d open his eyes and reality would sink in like a knife to the gut.

- When he sees you again, it’s like the universe plays a cruel trick on him. He blinks, rubs his eyes, thinks he’s hallucinating. But then you smile, that soft, knowing smile he dreamed about, and everything collapses. He doesn’t think—just moves, just grabs you, just feels. “Oh my God,” he breathes, his voice shaking, his arms wrapping around you so tightly he might never let go. “Tell me this is real. Please tell me this is real.” And when you nod, when you whisper his name, he lets out a half-laugh, half-sob against your shoulder.

- Scott becomes clingy after that—not in an overbearing way, but in a you-can’t-leave-me-again way. He constantly reaches for you, constantly checks if you’re still there. He makes up for lost time—cooking you breakfast (badly), taking you on spontaneous road trips, making you laugh until you can’t breathe. Every moment is precious now, every second a gift. He refuses to waste a single one.

- He tells you everything he couldn’t before. How much he missed you, how much it hurt, how many times he caught himself looking for you in a crowded room. He never wants to take you for granted again. Every night, he holds you like you might disappear in the morning, presses kisses to your skin as if he’s trying to memorize you all over again.

- Scott Lang doesn’t know why the universe gave you back to him, but he doesn’t care. All he knows is that this time, no force in the world—no villain, no bad luck, no cosmic cruelty—is going to take you away from him again.

Wade Wilson (Fox)

- Wade doesn’t mourn like other people. He doesn’t wear black, doesn’t cry softly in the night. No, Wade’s grief is ugly, loud, chaotic. After you died, he became worse—more violent, more reckless, more unhinged. He threw himself into fights he knew he couldn’t win, hoping—praying—someone would finally land the killing blow. But they never did. His healing factor cursed him to keep living, to keep hurting.

- He talked to you like you were still there. Made jokes to the empty side of the bed. Left your favorite snacks untouched in the cabinet. The others tried to check on him—Weasel, Domino—but he just shoved them away with a laugh, a joke, a bloody fight he walked away from without a scratch. “I’m fine,” he’d say, voice hollow behind the mask. “Totally normal levels of depression. Probably a seven out of ten. Maybe an eight. Who’s to say?”

- And then, one day, you walked through his door. Just like that. No fanfare, no dramatic music—just you, standing there, looking at him with that same familiar amusement in your eyes. He froze. Blinked. Looked down at the bottle of vodka in his hand. “Oh,” he muttered. “Guess I finally drank myself into hallucinations. Took long enough.” But then you said his name, your voice real, and everything inside him broke.

- He tackled you before you could even take a step closer. Knocked you onto the couch, onto the floor, onto him, his arms squeezing so tight it was a miracle you could still breathe. “If this is a dream, I swear to Ryan Reynolds’ beautiful abs, I will murder my subconscious,” he babbled, his voice cracking. He touched your face, your arms, every inch of you, just to be sure. And when you laughed—when you really laughed—he just lost it. Full-on ugly sobs, face buried in your neck, refusing to ever let go.

- After that, Wade is worse—but in a different way. He never shuts up about how lucky he is. Clings to you, wraps himself around you like a human (questionably clean) blanket, dramatically declares that if you ever die on him again, he’ll personally go to hell and drag you back himself. He texts you every five minutes when you’re not around. If you so much as sneeze, he’s already googling life-threatening illnesses.

- But beneath all the jokes, the over-the-top antics, there’s something soft there. Something raw. Wade Wilson doesn’t believe in happy endings. But he believes in you. And if the universe was kind enough to give you back to him, then maybe—just maybe—he’ll finally start believing in second chances too.

Logan Howlett (Fox)

- Logan is no stranger to grief. He has lost more people than he can count, buried more loved ones than he dares to remember. But losing you—you—was different. It wasn’t just another loss, another name on the long list of people the world had taken from him. It was the loss. The one that finally made him want to lay down and never get up again.

- He disappeared after that. Vanished into the wilderness, into the places where no one could find him. He drank himself into oblivion, picked fights with men twice his size just for the chance to feel something. The nightmares were worse—your face, your voice, the way you reached for him as you died in his arms. He could still feel your blood on his hands, still hear your last breath. There was no escaping it. No running fast enough.

- When he sees you again, it’s not dramatic. It’s not loud. It’s silent. He turns, expecting an enemy, a threat—only to see you. Standing there. Alive. His breath catches in his throat, his heart hammering against his ribs like it’s trying to break free. For a long moment, he just stares, his jaw clenched so tight it aches. “No,” he finally rasps. “No, that ain’t possible.” But you just step closer, your hands trembling, your eyes pleading. “Logan,” you whisper. And something inside him snaps.

- He moves before he can think, his arms wrapping around you with the force of a man drowning who has finally found solid ground. He buries his face in your hair, breathes you in, his whole body shaking. “If this is some kinda sick joke,” he growls against your skin, “I swear to God—” But you just hold him tighter, and he finally—finally—lets himself believe it.

- After that, Logan is fiercely protective. More than before. You are his second chance, his proof that maybe—just maybe—the world hasn’t taken everything from him. He keeps you close, always within reach. He doesn’t talk about the time you were gone, doesn’t say how lost he was without you—but you see it in the way he touches you, like he’s making sure you’re still real.

- Logan has lived a long life, filled with too much pain, too much loss. But now, with you back in his arms, he thinks—just for a moment—that maybe, maybe, he finally has something worth fighting for again.

Matt Murdock

- Grief became a quiet shadow in Matt’s life, a presence that never left. He carried it with him in the way he adjusted his tie, in the way he spoke to Foggy and Karen like he was fine when he wasn’t. He still went out at night, still fought in the streets, but the fire inside him had dimmed. He no longer fought to save the city—he fought because it was the only thing that numbed the ache of losing you.

- He whispered your name in his prayers, his voice breaking over the syllables. In his apartment, your absence was louder than anything else. He reached for you in his sleep, his hands closing around nothing, waking up with an emptiness so heavy it stole his breath. He let the guilt drown him—because you died in his arms, and no matter how many bones he broke or how much blood he spilled, he couldn’t change that.

- When you return, he knows it’s you before you even speak. The world is full of sound, full of heartbeats, full of voices—but yours? Yours has always been different. His entire body stills, his breath hitching in his throat. He listens, waiting for the trick, the deception, because he knows what death feels like. But then you say his name, and the world tilts sideways.

- He moves without thinking, reaching for you, his hands trembling as they trace over your face, your hair, your lips. “You’re real,” he breathes, almost afraid to say it. “You’re real.” And when he finally lets himself believe it, when he pulls you into his arms and holds you so tightly it aches, he lets out a broken sound—somewhere between a sob and a prayer.

- After that, Matt is different. He refuses to let you go alone anywhere, his protectiveness manifesting in quiet touches, in the way his fingers always seek yours. He’s softer now, more open with his emotions, because he’s lost you once and he won’t make the mistake of taking any second for granted.

- At night, when the city is quiet and his scars ache, he traces over your skin as if memorizing every inch of you all over again. “I don’t know how I deserve this,” he whispers against your hair, his voice raw with devotion. “But I’m never letting you go again.”

Frank Castle

- Frank has always been good at loss. Not because he accepts it, but because he survives it. Losing you, though? It was a different kind of wound, one that never stopped bleeding. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He just became colder. The world lost all color, all meaning. He didn’t live after you were gone—he just existed, a weapon with no purpose but destruction.

- He stopped talking. Stopped caring. The men he hunted became nothing more than names on a list, their deaths nothing more than numbers. He never said your name, never spoke of you, because acknowledging you were gone would break something inside him that even he couldn’t put back together.

- And then, one night, you stand in front of him, breathing, alive, looking at him like he’s still the man you loved. He doesn’t believe it at first. His grip tightens around his gun, his entire body coiled and ready for a fight because this? This is cruel. And yet—your eyes. Your heartbeat. The way you whisper, “Frank?” like it’s his name that brings you back to life.

- His hands shake as he reaches for you. He touches your face like it’s something fragile, something that might disappear if he presses too hard. And when you don’t, when you lean into his touch with a softness he thought he’d never feel again, something inside him shatters. He pulls you against him, his grip almost desperate, his breath ragged. “I lost you,” he rasps against your hair. “I lost you, and I didn’t—I didn’t know how to keep going.”

- Frank becomes your shadow after that. He’s gentler with you than he’s ever been with anyone, but that protectiveness? That fire? It’s stronger than ever. If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, they won’t live to make the mistake twice. But with you? With you, he is something softer, something almost human again.

- He doesn’t pray, doesn’t believe in fate. But at night, when you sleep beside him, warm and real, he presses a silent kiss to your forehead and whispers, Thank you. He doesn’t know who he’s thanking. Maybe the universe. Maybe you. All he knows is that this time, he won’t waste a single second.

Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter

- Losing you broke Dex. And when Dex breaks, he destroys. He tried to keep it together—tried to pretend he could move on, that he could keep living without you—but the anger, the madness, the unbearable emptiness inside him only grew. The world felt wrong without you. He felt wrong. He stopped sleeping, stopped feeling anything but the burning need to punish whatever took you away from him.

- He lost control after that. Killed without hesitation, without remorse. Let his mind spiral, let his demons win, because what was the point of fighting them without you? You were his anchor, the one person who made him believe he could be more than the monster inside him. Without you, he had no reason to pretend anymore.

- When he sees you again, he doesn’t react the way most people would. No tears, no disbelief. He stalks toward you, his entire body trembling, his breath uneven. His fingers twitch like they’re reaching for a weapon—like he can’t decide if you’re a dream, a trick, or something worse. “You’re dead,” he says, voice flat, empty. “I held you while you died.” And then, quieter, almost desperate—“Tell me this is real.”

- The second you touch him, the second your fingers brush over his, he breaks. He surges forward, his arms crushing around you, his breathing ragged against your skin. “Don’t leave me again,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “Please. I can’t—I can’t do this without you.” And for the first time in a year, his mind is quiet. The rage, the spiraling thoughts, the unbearable emptiness—it all stops the moment you’re back in his arms.

- After that, Dex is obsessive. He always had that trait in him, but now? Now it’s even worse. You are his, and he refuses to let anything take you away from him again. He follows you like a shadow, sleeps with his arms locked around you, memorizes every detail of your body just in case the universe dares to rip you away from him again.

- There’s a darkness inside him, one that never truly fades. But with you alive, with you real, that darkness is tempered by something softer. Something dangerous. He’s not just a killer anymore. He’s yours. And if anyone tries to take you from him again? He’ll burn the whole world to the ground.

Wanda Maximoff

- Grief clung to Wanda like an old, tattered shawl, woven with the ghosts of everyone she had ever lost. She had thought she had reached her limit—that the universe could take no more from her than it already had. But then it took you. And that, she realized, was the cruelest cut of all. She had survived wars, watched cities crumble, lost her family, her brother, her home. But losing you? That was the first time she felt herself break.

- She became something else after you died. A ghost walking through her own life, untethered from the world. The wind carried whispers of you—the echo of your laughter in a marketplace, the ghost of your breath against her skin in the moments before she woke up alone. And the anger—God, the anger. She lashed out when she fought, red energy sparking at her fingertips with a ferocity she couldn’t contain. She wanted to hurt the universe the way it had hurt her.

- And then, like an answer to a prayer she had never dared to whisper, you stood before her again. At first, she thought it was another cruel trick, another illusion meant to unravel what little remained of her sanity. But then—then she felt you. Your heartbeat, your warmth, the undeniable reality of you. And the moment that truth settled into her bones, she collapsed into you, shaking, weeping, hands clutching desperately at your arms, your shoulders, your face.

- “You were gone,” she sobbed, burying herself in you like she could merge her soul with yours. “I—I felt you leave me.” And for the first time in a year, her magic did not rage. It did not spark and burn with untamed grief. It simply was. It curled around the two of you like a shield, like a silent promise that she would never let you be taken from her again.

- After that, Wanda became something softer, but not weaker. She still held the storm inside her, but now, it had purpose. Now, it had you. She held you like she was afraid the wind might steal you away again, always touching—fingers brushing over yours, arms wrapping around you in sleep, a protective hand against the small of your back in public. She had lost everything before. She would not lose you again.

- At night, when the world was still and your breath rose and fell against her chest, she whispered things she could never say in the daylight. Apologies, promises, prayers in a language she had almost forgotten. And when you stirred, murmuring her name, she simply kissed you—deep and slow, like she could pour her very soul into you, like she could make you stay this time.

Pietro Maximoff

- The world never felt fast enough after you were gone. Time slowed into something unbearable, something suffocating. Pietro had always outrun grief before, always left it in the dust, but your death? That was a weight even he couldn’t shake. He stopped joking. Stopped running for fun. The world lost its color, its spark, its meaning. What was the point of moving quickly when you weren’t at the finish line anymore?

- He tried—he really tried—to pretend. To act like he was okay, to throw on that smirk and tell people, “Eh, I’m fine.” But Wanda knew. She saw it in the way he sat still for too long, the way his hands trembled when he thought no one was looking, the way he lingered in places that reminded him of you. His speed was once his escape, his freedom. Now, every step forward only took him further away from the last time he held you.

- And then—then he sees you. And for the first time in his life, he can’t move. He just stares, his heart a violent drumbeat against his ribs, his breath caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “No,” he whispers, blinking rapidly, because this has to be some sick joke. “This isn’t real.” But you are. And the moment you take a step toward him, he snaps.

- He moves too fast, too desperate, grabbing you like you might vanish if he lets go. His hands cup your face, his lips press against every part of you he can reach—forehead, cheeks, hands, lips. “You’re real,” he gasps between kisses, between shaky laughter and choked sobs. “You’re—you’re real.” And suddenly, the world isn’t slow anymore. You are his new gravity, the only thing keeping him from spinning out of control.

- After that, Pietro is obsessed with feeling you close. He picks you up just to hear you laugh, carries you even when you insist you can walk. He talks more, filling every silence with his voice because silence is what haunted him for a year. And he touches—not just because he wants to, but because he needs to. Holding your hand, leaning against you, brushing his fingers over your cheek just to remind himself you’re here.

- And at night, when he curls around you in bed, his heartbeat thrumming like a song against your skin, he whispers things he’s never said before. “I thought I lost you forever.” “I never stopped looking for you.” “If you ever leave me again, I swear I’ll outrun death itself to bring you back.” And when you tell him you’re here, that you’re not going anywhere, he presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder and finally—finally—lets himself breathe again.

Erik Lehnsherr (Fox)

- Erik was already a man carved from loss, molded by grief, his soul tempered in the fires of tragedy. Losing you was not just another wound—it was the moment he snapped completely. He did not rage. He did not weep. He simply became something else. Harder. Colder. More dangerous. Without you, there was no reason to hold back. No reason to believe in anything but vengeance.

- The world paid for your absence. He became relentless, his war against those he deemed responsible for suffering escalating beyond reason. He did not believe in mercy anymore—because if the world had shown you none, why should he? But in the rare, silent moments when he was alone, when his hands were still for once, he would stare at the space beside him and feel something that terrified him. Emptiness.

- When you return, he does not react as a man should when seeing his lost love brought back to life. He does not run to you. He does not whisper your name like a prayer. He simply stares, cold and unreadable, his mind calculating every possibility—illusion, manipulation, deception. And then—then you reach for him, and the moment your hand touches his, his composure shatters.

- His hands shake as they frame your face. His breathing is shallow, his eyes burning with something unreadable. When he speaks, his voice is low, trembling with something dangerous. “Who did this?” he demands. Because someone had to bring you back. And Erik Lehnsherr does not believe in miracles. But when you smile—when you whisper, “I’m here, Erik”—his fury dissolves into something broken, something human. He kisses you like a dying man gasping for air, his hands gripping you as if afraid the wind might steal you away.

- After that, Erik is ruthless in his protectiveness. He keeps you close, watches you with the sharp gaze of a predator waiting for the world to try and take you again. But in private, in the spaces where no one else can see, he is something else. His hands are reverent as they hold you, his voice is soft when he speaks to you, and his nightmares—the ones filled with loss—fade when you press a kiss to his temple.

- He does not believe in peace. He does not believe in forgiveness. But he believes in you. And that? That is the only thing in this world he will not let go of again.

[reidsmanuscript]

Exceptional

Summary: what happens when spencer hears the rumors about your teenage years? what happens when some of those rumors are true?. Pairing: Spencer Reid x lawyer!reader Genre: hurt/comfort and fluff at the end! wc: 5.5k! TW: burning wounds, bullying, misogyny/patriarchal behavior, violent and impulsive behavior. not proofread yet. A/N: in the middle of writting this i realized it's very based on "the archer" and "the man" by Taylor Swift Masterlist! (it's not necessary to read the first 4 chapters!)

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If we're talking about anecdotes from your teenage years, well—there’s not much to tell. Just the totally mundane story of an angry, emotionally volatile teenager with too much brainpower who somehow bulldozed her way into Harvard Law. No big deal.

JJ had great stories about high school—being the captain of her football team, those wholesome, small-town moments straight out of a coming-of-age movie. Emily had the wildest stories—traveling the world, the chaos of never staying in one place, and even the ones that made you feel something, like how badly she just wanted to fit in.

It started with the urgent case the BAU was handed—students linked to an elite Harvard secret society were disappearing, their bodies found staged in ritualistic ways. As the case unfolded, Spencer turned to you, his voice a little more cautious than usual.

“Do you know anything about some Seraphic Circle?”

You didn’t need to think. You’d heard plenty about them. Too much, really. "I’ve heard of them," you said, your tone dripping with disdain and rolling your eyes. “Rich kids with too much money and power. Half of them don’t even deserve to be there, but their families pay for their spot.”

You were reluctant towards accepting going with them to Massachusetts, too much memories and teh constant fear someone might recognize you and call you out for past decisions that maybe weren't the best. Maybe they were worse than you wanted to confess and might even scare Spencer away. 

Still, he had asked you to accompany them. “Do you think they will remember you?”

“Nah… i don’t think so, they have tons of law students per year so…” maybe your words were right, but the higher thn usual pitch on your tone gave you away to spencer, that only he was able to detect, of how you weren’t saying all the true

Long story short, that's how you end up where you are right now, walking behind de BAU towards the Dean of Harvard office, with Spencer by your side. 

You reach the office just as Hotch shakes the dean’s hand, introducing each member of the team. “SSA Jareau, SSA Morgan, and Dr. Reid,” he says, gesturing to each of them in turn. “We also brought—”

“Woodvale.”

The dean’s voice cuts through the room the moment his eyes land on you, recognition flickering across his face. Not even a hundred years would be enough to erase your name from his memory. He didn't like you back then. 

An almost cynical, carefully polite smile curves your lips as you extend your hand. “Dean Langford.”

He grips your hand firmly, his expression unreadable. “Seems like you’ve come a long way from that time your burned one of my students”

The atmosphere in the room shifts instantly, tension crackling like a live wire. But you don’t let it show, ignoring how he didn’t consider you a proper student. Instead, your voice remains cool, measured.

“Those accusations were debunked after no evidence was found,” you say smoothly. “Unlike the very real recordings and witness statements I had of that same student saying—” you pause, tilting your head slightly, your smile sharpening, “women became hysterical when it came to sexual crimes.’”

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Emily and JJ smirking, while Langford’s expression hardens.

The dean's smile barely falters. So, he does remember you. Not surprising—back then, you were even more impulsive than you are now. And that says a lot. 

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Don’t ask how, but somehow Garcia had dug up records that gave the team a list of names tied to the so-called “secret society.” Ironically, when the BAU interviewed students about it, everyone seemed to know what it was—just not anything useful.

“They sacrifice animals.” “A bunch of douchebags with too much money.” “They run everything. If you’re one of them, you’re untouchable.”

“Do any of the names look familiar?” Rossi asked, sliding the list toward you.

You scanned it, then shook your head. “Only the last names. But that’s not surprising—most of them come from old money.”

Garcia had also uncovered some interesting financial records. One name stood out: Andrew Carrington, former lawyer at his family’s prestigious Massachusetts firm. A-class dickhead.

“He’s got buildings in the city,” Garcia said, displaying files on the computer. “But his family’s the real power—deep pockets, old money. There are even a couple of campus buildings with their name on them.”

Rossi raised a brow. “Legacy admission?”

“More like a blank check.” You leaned back. “Everyone knew he bought his way in.”

“Any possibility he’s involved?” Hotch asked.

You considered it for a moment before shaking your head. “I don’t think so. Back then, this club was his pride. These murders? They only drag its prestige through the mud.”

“So… this Seraphic Circle thing,” Emily said, tilting her head. “Were you ever part of it?”

The police station buzzed around you, a low hum of voices and ringing phones, but your focus was on the files in front of you. Spencer sat beside you, skimming through pages with his usual quiet intensity. Neither of you was big on PDA—no hand-holding, no lingering touches in front of the team—but subtlety was an art you both had mastered. Your elbows brushed as you shifted in your seat, his knee resting against yours, the quiet pressure grounding.

“Not really,” you answered finally. “They claimed you had to have a big name in law, but what they really meant was that you had to be rich—and if you were a man? Even better.”

Morgan flipped through a file. “But you do know this Carrington guy.”

Before you could answer, Spencer’s fingers brushed against the side of your knee—a light touch so subtle no one else would notice. A quiet signal. He’d felt your tension the moment Morgan had mentioned Carrington.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “Yeah… It was hard not to know someone like him. He’s got that whole ‘king of the school’ vibe, but honestly, he’s not capable of something like this.” You spoke nonchalantly, but your voice betrayed a hint of discomfort.

The team shifted focus to the next lead, moving on to analyze the unsub’s possible personality traits. After a few more exchanges, the decision was made to call Carrington in for questioning tomorrow—there was no use doing it this late. The discussion had settled, but Spencer’s fingers brushed against your knee again, just enough for you to catch it. He was still attuned to your every movement, a silent understanding between the two of you.

After that, Hotch made the call for everyone to get some rest. One by one, the team decided to call it a night, heading out to their respective rooms. You and Spencer lingered behind, both of you wrapping up the last of your thoughts on the case.

Spencer was the one to break the silence. He looked around the station, then at you. His eyes softened for a moment before he spoke. “Enough for tonight. Let’s get some sleep.”

You nodded, thankful for the break. As Spencer found your coat, you dropped the files onto the nearest table. You stood still as he slid the coat onto your shoulders, the fabric brushing against your skin. As he did, you both made the mistake of letting your hands touch—just a fleeting brush—but it sent a warmth through your chest.

The walk to the motel was calm, with the quiet night air wrapping around you both. Spencer felt a strange mixture of calm and anticipation swirling in his chest, emotions he didn’t usually indulge. It wasn’t something he had the vocabulary for, not in his usual clinical sense. For once, there wasn’t a need for facts or equations to understand the feeling that settled inside him.

His fingers, almost absent-mindedly, curled into yours. It was a subtle movement, but the softness of it caught him by surprise. His thumb traced small, slow circles over the back of your hand, a tender rhythm he couldn’t quite explain. For someone who usually lived in the world of patterns and logic, this was unfamiliar territory. But the simple touch, the way your fingers fit together so naturally—it felt right.

In a world where everything was either solvable or predictable, this felt like the exception. There was no analysis needed. No need to question why it felt so much like a moment he wanted to hold onto. Maybe it was the quiet between you two, or the way everything around you seemed to fade as his thumb ran over your hand. All Spencer knew was that in that moment, nothing else mattered.

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The next morning, Hotch had sent Morgan and Prentiss off to speak with students on the campus, while he and Rossi took over the interrogation. The room felt different now, quieter—like the calm before another storm. 

Andrew Carrigton settled into the chair like he was sitting at a country club luncheon rather than an interrogation room. His suit was crisp, his cufflinks glinting under the fluorescent lights. If he was rattled by the fact that three of his former society’s members were dead, he didn’t show it.

Hotch sat across from him, his expression unreadable. Morgan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, unimpressed.

“Mr. Carrigton,” Hotch began, “we’re investigating the murders of three students, all of whom were members of the Seraphic Circle. You were one of its founders. We need information.”

Carrigton exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Tragic. Truly. But I haven’t been involved in years. You’d be better off asking one of the new recruits.”

Hotch didn’t budge. “We’re asking you.”

Carrigton smirked, tilting his head. “What do you want me to say? That it’s a secret society? That we have rituals and secret handshakes?” He chuckled. “Come on, Agent. It’s a networking club. A prestigious one, sure, but hardly the Illuminati.”

Rossi let out a sharp breath, unimpressed. “Right. A ‘networking club’ where only the rich and powerful get in, and anyone who doesn’t measure up gets chewed up and spit out.”

Carrigton raised an eyebrow. “That’s life, isn’t it?”

Hotch didn’t rise to the bait. “The night of the first murder, there was an event. Who was in attendance?”

Carrigton hummed, tapping a thoughtful finger against his jaw. “Hard to say. The Circle’s grown since my time. Dozens of faces, most of which I wouldn’t recognize.”

“You’re still connected. You know the leadership.”

Another lazy shrug. “I might know a few names. But as I said, things change. The president rotates out, always some eager young thing desperate to prove themselves. They run the show until the next one takes over.” He smirked. “I imagine the current one is quite overwhelmed.”

“Who’s pulling the strings?” Hotch asked.

Carrigton chuckled. “You give us too much credit, Agent. It’s not some grand conspiracy. It’s a club. People join, people leave. Some do well, some don’t.”

“And the ones who don’t?”

Carrigton waved a dismissive hand. “They drop out. Go on with their lives. Or—” he smiled, sharp, “—they stew in their resentment, blaming others for their own failures.”

Morgan’s jaw tightened. “You think that’s what happened here?”

Carrigton leaned back in his chair, perfectly at ease. “I think it’s always the same story. Someone on the outside looking in, bitter that they weren’t enough. And now they want to take it out on the ones who were.”

Hotch’s voice was cold. “That’s a convenient theory. But it doesn’t answer our questions.”

Carrigton’s smirk widened. “Then maybe you’re asking the wrong ones.”

From the other side of the glass, you watched Carrigton with growing irritation. He was the same smug, arrogant bastard you remembered from college, only now it was worse. His attitude hadn’t changed a bit, and neither had his ability to waste everyone’s time with his deflections.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as he ran his mouth, completely ignoring the fact that three people were dead, his precious club possibly involved. He was too busy leaning back in his chair, playing at some sick power game.

You glanced at JJ, your patience already hanging by a thread. “There’s no cameras here, right?”

JJ, clearly thrown off by the sudden question, gave you a puzzled look. “No… why?”

Without answering, you turned your focus back to Carrigton and felt your hands tighten into fists. His polished smirk made your blood boil, his greasy hair gleaming under the lights. Your shoulders squared, the weight of your frustration making your movements sharper. You ignored Spencer’s curious glance, his quiet scrutiny as he watched you.

You didn’t have time for any of this.

You walked to the door and knocked once, the sound sharp in the sterile room. Before anyone could respond, you turned the handle, stepping into the interrogation room.

Carrigton’s eyes locked onto you the second you walked in. His gaze flickered briefly, a subtle but noticeable flash of discomfort before he quickly masked it with that same patronizing grin.

“Well, well,” he sneered, adjusting the collar of his shirt like he was trying to put some distance between himself and the real world. “I didn’t realize the FBI was hiring gutter rats now.”

Spencer tensed from the other side of the glass, his expression hardening as his frustration mounted. He was clearly growing angrier at Carrigton’s smug demeanor, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing you were even a little fazed. You simply smirked and kept your focus on the man sitting in front of you.

Carrigton’s glare never left you as you stepped closer, your tone ice-cold. “This ‘gutter rat’ is about to charge you with obstruction of justice if you don’t start talking, Andrew.”

Carrigton's eyes narrowed, his lips curling in a sneer. “That’s blackmail.”

You didn’t flinch. “And if you keep dragging your feet, that’s another charge—contempt of court. Trust me, I’ve got plenty more where that came from.” You leaned in just enough to make sure he heard you loud and clear. “You want to keep playing games, or you want to start answering questions?”

Carrigton shifted in his seat, the cockiness starting to waver, but he still clung to that arrogance like a shield, gripping it with white-knuckled desperation.

“I want my lawyer,” he said, forcing his voice to stay even.

You scoff, tilting your head as if you were genuinely considering his words before your lips curled into something sharp and ruthless.

"Is that your way of admitting you’re not a good enough lawyer to defend yourself?" Your voice was smooth, razor-edged silk, venom threaded through every syllable. "Start talking."

His nostrils flared, a flicker of something—hesitation, anger, maybe both. It was barely a breath, but you caught it.

"From what I know, the admission process has gone to hell," he sneered, grasping at arrogance like a lifeline. "I spoke with their president last week about it. I'm not throwing my money at that place just for them to start letting in anyone."

Rossi’s eyebrows lifted as he slid the crime scene photos across the table, each image a stark, undeniable truth. “Are these people just ‘anyone’ to you, Andrew?”

For the first time, Carrigton’s arrogance fractured. It was subtle—the flicker of his gaze, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. His fingers twitched, but he didn’t reach for the photos.

And then you saw it. No matter how high his shirt collar was, it couldn’t quite hide the edges of old scars peeking out—angry, uneven marks trailing up the side of his neck, disappearing beneath expensive fabric. 

"We didn’t have anything to do with this," Carrigton muttered, his voice suddenly lacking its earlier bravado. His eyes flickered briefly over the crime scene photos, but his gaze quickly dropped.

"Who’s ‘we’?" Hotch’s voice was cold, demanding, cutting through the silence.

Carrigton didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he shifted in his seat, hands gripping the edges of the table, knuckles turning white. He wasn’t as confident as before.

You could feel it—he was trying to hide the discomfort, but it was there. The truth always made people uncomfortable.

You pushed yourself off the wall, your movement slow and deliberate, your eyes never leaving him as you circled around behind him. He tensed, just slightly at first, but it was enough.

The memory was still fresh, and you knew it. He hadn’t forgotten how you burned him—how the scalding coffee had left that mark on his neck. He was trying not to show it, but it was eating at him, that simmering, seething reminder that you’d done it and he couldn’t touch you for it.

You stopped just behind him, letting your presence loom over him like a shadow. He could feel your gaze, feel the space between you—too close for comfort, too close for someone who hated you as much as he did.

"What’s the matter, Andrew?" You leaned in, your voice low and smooth, but your words sharp as a knife. "Don’t like me standing here?"

"I told him to stop accepting anyone," Carrigton muttered, his voice tightening as he stumbled over the words. "Grayson Locke, that's his name. Legacy admission. But I had nothing to do with this. We even went through some names, cut people off."

You could feel the hesitation in his voice, the way he was trying to distance himself from the mess that was unfolding. His words were almost defensive, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as you. The stammering wasn’t lost on you—it was almost pathetic.

"What names?" Rossi’s voice was firm, but he wasn’t pushing too hard yet. He was letting Carrigton sweat just a little longer, a strategy you were both accustomed to.

Carrigton's jaw tightened, his eyes darting nervously between Morgan and you. "It was a list," he said quickly, almost as though the words were tumbling out before he could stop them. "Just find him. Tell him I told you to give it to you." He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to the door. "Outside of that, I don’t know anything else."

There it was. The slip. The admission that he was just as tangled in this as the rest of them. But it wasn’t enough. Rossi stepped out of the interrogation room, heading off to search for the list.

“See? Was that so hard?” You taunted, slumping into the chair Rossi had just vacated, your eyes never leaving Carrigton. His smug façade cracked, just enough for you to see the shift. The sense of discomfort that he could no longer hide.

His eyes flicked to you, venom dripping from his words. “You think you’ve won? All you are is a stray dog who’ll burn in hell.” He spat the words, his jaw tight, but beneath the bravado, there was fear creeping in.

You straightened in the chair, completely unbothered by his outburst. “And you’ll be right there with me. I guess you know a thing or two about burning, don’t you?” Your smirk was sharp, a silent jab at the scars on his neck, the ones you’d left there.

His expression faltered, just for a second, but it was enough to make your blood run colder. Without warning, he shot to his feet, slamming his palms down on the table with a force that made it rattle. His face was inches from yours now, his breath stinking of rage and something darker—panic.

“Fuck you, you deranged bitch,” he hissed, his voice barely contained. “You’ll always be the daughter of some filthy addicts. You’ll never belong to this world. My world.”

You didn’t move, didn’t even blink. The words hit, but they didn’t land. “Did I strike a nerve?” You leaned forward slightly, your tone dropping to a razor-sharp whisper. “Or should I say... burn a nerve?”

Carrigton’s entire body stiffened, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles went white, veins bulging from his hands. His chest heaved with the kind of raw anger that radiated off him like a furnace. “You’re still the same psycho bitch I met years ago.”

You didn’t flinch, didn’t let his venomous words land, only smirked. “Have you learned how to make women come, Carrigton? Or are you still calling them hysterical? Is that why your wife is filing for divorce?”

It wasn’t just the words, but the sharpness of your tone, the deliberate push of your venom that made it sting even more. Garcia had provided all the dirt, the skeletons hidden deep in his closet. You weren’t above having a little fun with it, using it to your advantage. Carrigton, though, was losing his composure with every word you threw at him.

You opened your mouth to retort, but Hotch beat you to it, rising from his seat. "Enough. We appreciate your time, Mr. Carrington. We'll contact you if we need further information," he said, his voice calm but firm.

Andrew huffed dismissively, rising to leave. As he reached the door, he paused, casting one last venomous glance in your direction. "You think you’ve got a place in this world? Trust me, you don’t. People like you? They end up alone, scrambling to hold onto the little sanity they have left before it all slips away."

He didn’t wait for a response, Spencer’s gaze locked with yours the moment Andrew was out of the room. His eyes were filled with concern, but you chose not to address it. Now wasn’t the time.

Instead, you stayed silent, the words echoing in your head. Something about them stuck, gnawing at you. Maybe it was the way he spoke—like he knew something about you that you hadn’t even fully admitted to yourself. Scrambling. It was true, wasn’t it? You were constantly on edge, barely holding it together, pretending that you didn’t feel like you were one step away from losing it. Maybe it would be easier to just give in, let go, and fulfill everyone’s expectations of you. Be the damaged, angry, broken thing they wanted you to be.

For a moment, you almost believed his words.

　　　　 　　    .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

If murdered students weren’t enough to set the rumor mill on fire, your presence definitely did. The thing about rumors is that they spread like wildfire.

“Sooo… guess what we’ve heard?” Emily’s voice broke through the room as she and the others approached, grinning like they had just uncovered the juiciest piece of gossip on campus.

“Anything useful?” you asked without looking up from the file you were flipping through. “Or is this about the librarian hooking up with students in the archives? Because if it is—old news.”

Morgan smirked, shaking his head. “Nah, actually, we heard about some girl who once got a professor fired.”

“And,” Prentiss added, leaning in with a knowing smile, “was banned from mock trial as a freshman after making another student indirectly confess he bought the answers to his exams.”

Your fingers froze for just a split second—the briefest pause, barely perceptible to anyone but Spencer, who noticed it right away.

You shrugged, trying to keep your voice steady. “People get weirdly creative when it comes to making up rumors.”

Emily raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “So you’re telling me,” she pressed, “that you’ve never heard of the girl who burned some rich kid’s manuscript because he plagiarized her?”

You sighed, closing the file with exaggerated nonchalance. “Sounds like a legend. And legends aren’t real.”

Emily snorted, clearly enjoying this. “Or when she threw a chair at a debate judge for interrupting her?”

Morgan gasped dramatically. “And don’t forget when she flipped a Monopoly board at a networking event after some trust fund brat said she didn’t have the ‘pedigree’ for law.”

Emily smirked. “I heard she broke his nose.”

You shrug it off. “Monopoly makes people violent. Everyone knows that.”

You knew they weren’t trying to be mean, but you’d rather die than show any hint of regret. You had made some questionable choices in the past, but those didn’t define who you were now. Right?

Morgan chuckled, crossing his arms. “Right, right. So I guess the whole thing about you making a guy cry so hard during a mock trial that he dropped out of law school is fake too?”

You were forced to pretend not being able to stop the small smirk tugged at your lips, “Okay, in my defense, that guy was pretentious and thought using big words would make him win.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow, “Some student mentioned you, uh, burning people when they pissed you off.” He exchanged a glance with Prentiss, both of them catching on to your lack of eye contact. “Is that what the Dean was referring to?”

You couldn’t help but feel a slight heat creep up your neck, but you managed to keep your gaze on the desk, avoiding their eyes. You didn’t need to give them the satisfaction of seeing how much it bothered you. “People talk,” you muttered. “But if you believe everything they say, you’re as crazy as they are.”

You could’ve fooled anyone in that room full of profilers, because hiding behind your indifference mask was something you were well-practiced at. That was, of course, if they didn’t know you deeply. If they didn’t spend weekends with you, cooking together, exchanging quiet conversations and inside jokes. If they weren’t Spencer Reid—the only one in the room who could read beneath the surface.

He noticed the way you winced when you shifted your neck, the subtle way you massaged the sore muscles with your hand, avoiding eye contact with everyone. To anyone else, it might have seemed like nothing, but to him, it was a clear sign that something was off. You weren’t as fine as you were pretending to be.

"Anyone want anything? I’m doing a coffee run." You don’t wait for an answer, already making your way toward the break room. But the laughter behind you lingers—harmless, good-natured, but still too close to the laughter of your ex-classmates. It curls around your ribs like a memory you don’t want.

You don’t notice Spencer saying he’ll come with you, but you realize he’s there when you hear his footsteps—loud enough for you to hear him, deliberate so he doesn’t startle you.

At the coffee machine, you take a breath, ignoring him. You press the buttons and try to shake the feeling off, but when you glance at him, just for a second, all he sees in your eyes is guilt. Shame.

"What?" Your voice comes out sharper than you mean. "You also think I’m a menace to society? They’re lucky I turned out halfway functional. Statistically, I shouldn’t have.” 

Spencer stays a few feet away—close enough, but not crowding you. The perfect arms-length distance. It was something he understood about you, something you never had to say out loud. Letting you decide if you needed space or needed closeness. Giving you control, even in something as simple as this.

"None of them think that," he says quietly. "I don’t think that."

It takes effort to look at him, but when you do, the tightness in your chest gets worse. You hate it. You hate the way it feels when you take a step closer, resting your forehead against his shoulder. And you hate how naturally his hand finds the back of your head, his fingers brushing through your hair in a slow, soothing motion, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

"I didn’t mean to—God, have you seen the scars on his neck?" Your voice cracks, barely above a whisper. "What kind of… monster does that?"

His hand stills against you for a second.

It breaks his heart every time you talk about yourself like this—like you’re one of the people he spends his life trying to stop.

"Technically, the probability of someone from your background reaching your level of success is less than three percent. And even among that group, only a fraction manage to sustain high-pressure careers."

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Yeah? And what’s the probability of me snapping one day and proving everyone right?"

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t flinch. "That’s not the point."

"Then what is?"

He exhales, steady and patient. "The point is that I could pull up hard data showing how statistically, you shouldn’t have graduated at fifteen. Or made it through law school on a full ride. Or become one of the best prosecutors in D.C. The odds of that happening were lower than one percent. But you did it. So if we're playing by numbers, then statistically… you're exceptional."

He pauses, watching you carefully. Then, softer "And not in the way you seem to think."

Your fingers curl into the edge on themselves, nails pressing into your palms as you process his words. You hate how much they settle into your chest, how they make something raw and aching twist inside you. You exhale, forcing out a scoff, trying to grasp onto the sarcasm that usually keeps you afloat.

"You make it sound like I'm some kind of miracle," 

"You might as well be the proof that God exists to me," Spencer says simply, like it’s the most obvious fact in the world.

Your throat tightens. You shake your head, swallowing past the lump forming there. "I hate how you do that," you murmur.

"Do what?"

"Make me feel like maybe I’m not beyond saving."

His hand stills for a moment before he squeezes the nape of your neck, grounding. "Then I guess I’ll just have to keep doing it until you believe it."

And for once, you don’t have the energy to argue.

　　　　 　　  .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　

The case wrapped up when the team uncovered that one of the students they had interviewed had been fixated on getting into the Seraphic Circle. After his rejection, it became his breaking point, driving him to kill the members in a vengeful spree.

You would have laughed in Andrew Carrington’s face and shown him just how much that exclusive little club had spiraled into something violent and twisted, you would’ve. But, of course, that would’ve been disrespectful to the victims, so you didn’t. You wouldn’t let yourself sink into that bitterness.

But, it didn’t matter in the end. When you landed back in Washington—home, dear home—it didn’t matter. The case was closed, and, for the first time in a long while, you felt a weight lift from your shoulders. Your past mistakes no longer haunted you, and as you stepped into the familiar rhythm of your life, you realized that, just for this moment, you could breathe.

To be honest, you weren’t the same person you were back then. The young teen you once were would have never believed, or even considered, that she could be in a loving relationship with a man who would love her unconditionally, no matter what. She never would have believed that someone like Spencer could ever like someone like you. 

"Are you hungry?" Spencer asked, his voice soft as he dropped the go-bag by the entrance of the apartment. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead "I saw this new recipe for homemade lasagna," he added, his eyes lighting up in that way they always did when he was excited about something. "It has layers of ricotta, mozzarella, and this really rich, savory meat sauce that I think we could definitely pull off. I thought we could make it together—maybe add a little twist of our own, like some fresh basil?"

You smiled at his enthusiasm, noticing how his fingers brushed through his hair absentmindedly as he spoke. It was always endearing to watch him get excited over the little things. "Homemade lasagna? That sounds amazing," you replied, already picturing the cozy evening ahead.

His grin widened, and he pulled his phone from his pocket, swiping through the recipe. "It’s supposed to take a bit of time, but it’s not complicated...just a lot of love and patience—so, you know, I think we can manage. Plus, it’ll give us time to talk...and eat a lot of cheese."

You laughed, the sound light and full of affection. "I think I’m sold. Lasagna and cheese? Definitely the kind of night I need."

He gave a small nod, as if he were confirming his excitement to himself. "Okay, I’ll grab the ingredients. You’re in charge of setting up the music. Deal?"

"Deal," you said, already feeling that comforting sense of peace that only came from spending time like this—together, in your little shared world, filled with small moments that meant everything.

Who would’ve thought you’d be cooking lasagna with the soft crackle of a vinyl player spinning Billy Joel and Elvis Presley in the background

　　　　 　　    .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

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[fireinmoonshot]

patience, baby | joaquín torres x fem!reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: After escaping the Red Room, Bucky Barnes became a father figure to you. He'd never approve of you dating Joaquín Torres... but you have to come clean to him about it eventually. Warnings: Mentions of the Red Room, brainwashing and killing people. Reader was brainwashed and has killed before. Word Count: 1.7k A/N: Another request from a lovely anon 💗 This was fun to write. I've missed writing Bucky. I will definitely be writing for him again once Thunderbolts comes out and my Bucky Barnes obsession is reborn... Joaquín is extra cheeky in this one as well. I adore him. This is perfectly timed to be in celebration of him being in Avengers: Doomsday!

When Bucky had first introduced you to Joaquin Torres, he hadn’t thought much of it. The kid was the new Falcon, but he was also annoying as hell. It was only because of Sam that he’d bothered to introduce the two of you in the end.

Sam had insisted on it, saying that it would be good for both you and Joaquin to get to know one another. You were similar ages and could learn from each other. “Joaquin could do with some tips from someone like her,” Sam had said, and Bucky had relented eventually. He’d assumed that, since he was like a father figure to you, that Joaquin might be like a brother to you. You never really knew your biological family, so he convinced himself that this might be good for you.

You’d been through a lot in your life, being raised in the Red Room. Once you’d gotten out, Bucky had been there to help you through it. He understood what it was like to be brainwashed, to do things and not realise you were doing them. He’d helped you the best way he knew how. 

It was exactly why he was so protective of you. The second he realised he was wrong about all that, though, he regretted ever introducing you. 

He’d seen you staring across the room at Joaquin while he was training with Sam, trying to learn a barrel kick on solid ground before trying it in the air. After the accident, Joaquin had to take time off to recover, so he’d been hitting the gym pretty regularly to get his strength back now that he was healed.

The look on your face told Bucky everything he needed to know. 

“Stop that,” Bucky had said, placing his hands on your shoulders and spinning you to face him so that you would stop watching Joaquin. “None of that, okay?”

You raised your eyebrows and shook off his grip. “None of what, Bucky?” You said, as if you didn’t know what he was talking about – the fact that you’d been caught staring at Joaquin. And who could blame you? The man was an incredible fighter and it wasn’t your fault that he’d worn a sleeveless shirt to training.

He pointed a finger over towards Sam and Joaquin. “None of that. He’s a kid, you’re an Avenger.”

“Technically he is also an Avenger…”

“No.” Bucky shook his head. “Don’t even start.”

Luckily, you had dropped it after that – much to Bucky’s glee (if he even had such an emotion, you thought). You’d gone back to training with Bucky and tried your best not to let your eyes wander across the gym to where Joaquin was training.

Behind his back, though… well, what Bucky didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, right? 

Whenever Bucky wasn’t watching, you and Joaquin would spend time together. The more Bucky trusted you, the more lenient he was with you spending your time outside the Avengers HQ – as if you weren’t a grown adult. If he’d known you were spending that time with Joaquin, you knew he wouldn’t be so calm about it. 

It didn’t take you very long to fall for Joaquin, or for him to fall for you. Even though he knew your past, he knew the rough details about who you were and what you’d done, he didn’t seem to care. All he wanted to do was to sweep you off your feet every single day. Sometimes, quite literally.

For the first time in your life, you felt human. 

It was that fact that made you realise that you needed to tell Bucky. You couldn’t keep a secret like this from him any longer. He��d want you to be happy, you knew that. In time, he’d warm up to Joaquin, you hoped. 

Joaquin meets you in the corridor outside the gym, a cheeky grin on his face as usual. He glances around to make sure no one is watching before he sweeps you into his arms, pulling you to his chest and brushing his lips over yours.

“Be careful, baby,” you murmur against his lips. “This is not the way I want Bucky to find out about us.” 

He pulls away reluctantly, a smile on his face yet again. “Sorry, I just can barely keep my hands off of you. I haven’t seen you in three days since I’ve been away with Sam and I’ve missed the feeling of you in my arms.”

His words set butterflies off in your stomach and you can’t stop yourself from leaning in to peck his lips. His hold tightens on you as you do and he attempts to deepen the kiss into something more but you pull away, leaving him pouting.

“Patience, baby,” you hum. “You’ll get plenty of kisses later when we aren’t right outside the room where Sam and Bucky are, okay? Can you be patient for me?”

Joaquin nods his head without hesitation. It’s taking all his self control not to pull you into the nearest storage closet and show you how unwilling he is to be patient right now. 

You place your hands on his chest and push him away from you gently. “Let’s go and see how this is going to play out…”

He reaches down and takes your hand. Your head snaps towards him. Does he seriously think holding your hand is a good way to break the news to Bucky?

“It’s a compromise,” Joaquin explains. “You won’t let me push you against this wall and kiss you properly, so I’m holding your hand when we walk in there. I’m not accepting any argument you might be thinking up in that gorgeous head of yours.” 

Then he starts leading you into the gym, pulling you along behind him. You laugh to yourself and hurry to catch up with him so that you can walk side by side. 

Bucky and Sam are standing across the gym near the lockers, talking amongst each other. Bucky’s back is to you, meaning he thankfully can’t see the way you and Joaquin are walking towards him, hands entwined.

“So, Bucky,” you start as you reach the two of them.

He spins around, his eyes instantly falling on your hands. He stares at them for a second before his eyes meet yours. “What is this?” He asks, glancing between you and Joaquin.

“Joaquin and I are together,” you state, figuring it’s better to just rip off the bandaid and get everything out in the open straight away. That way, there’s no chance of Bucky butting in and trying to stop you from what you’re about to say.

Sam, standing just to the right of Bucky, stifles a laugh. He’d seen this coming from a mile away, but somehow Bucky hadn’t. He’s almost tempted to walk away and let Bucky handle this alone, but for the sake of Joaquin, he stays.

“You’re what?” Bucky furrows his eyebrows. “I thought I said–”

“I know what you said,” you interrupt. “I’m an Avenger and he’s just a kid. But he’s an Avenger, too. And we’ve been spending time together behind your back – that was my choice, not his – and we really like each other.”

You feel a little silly having to explain all this to Bucky. Is this what it would’ve been like if you’d lived a normal life and had to introduce your boyfriend to your dad as a teenager?

Bucky looks between you and Joaquin, a little lost for words. You’re dating someone. For the first time since Bucky has known you, you’re not entirely his responsibility. You’ve been like a daughter to him for years now… and Joaquin is apparently not like a brother to you like he’d expected.

“I don’t think-”

He’s cut off again by you interrupting him, but he can’t bring himself to be annoyed by it. You’ve learnt this from him. Not only some of your fighting techniques once you’d escaped the Red Room, but apparently some of his personality traits too.

“I’ve never been able to have a personal life, Bucky,” you state. “I’ve spent most of my life killing people without even knowing what I was doing. I’ve spent a lot of my life being brainwashed into someone else. Can’t you just let me have this?”

Your voice is soft and it’s just enough to break through Bucky’s walls. 

“Just… just go and start stretching for training,” he says gruffly. “And don’t hold hands when you’re around me. I don’t wanna see any physical contact, you hear me?”

A smile breaks out on your face and you look up at Joaquin, who is sporting a similar look on his own face. “I’ll take care of her, Bucky, I swear,” he replies.

Bucky waves his hand, dismissing you both and watching as you walk over to the sparring mats on the other side of the room to start stretching. He’s not mad, not really. Just concerned. But everything you said was right – you deserve to be able to have this, this piece of normality, and he can’t find it in himself to not let you, even if it terrifies him. 

“I don’t want him to hurt her, Sam,” Bucky murmurs, crossing his arms over his chest.

Beside him, Sam laughs. “Buck, Joaquin wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“She’s been through enough,” Bucky continues as if he didn’t even hear Sam’s words. “The Red Room, everything that she went through there, learning to get past it all…”

Sam claps a hand onto Bucky’s shoulder, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Joaquin isn’t going to hurt her. Couldn’t you tell that just from the way he looks at her? The kid is head over heels. He practically worships the ground she walks on, man. She’s in good hands. Loosen up a little. It wouldn’t hurt you.”

He shoots Sam a look and steps aside, forcing Sam’s hand to drop from his shoulder. He can only hope that Sam is right about that, that you’re in good hands with Joaquin and that he’ll never hurt you.

“Tell him to watch his back if he does,” Bucky calls over his shoulder as he starts to walk towards you where you’re stretching. “Torres, get to your own mat! It does not take two people to stretch out a calf muscle!"

––––

Joaquín Torres Tag List (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!)

@sidkneeeee @dead-inside-but-happy @lay-lay-5 @marchingicenotes7 @phucboy @davinashifts333 @lomlbuckybarnes @laurenjbb @chansburgah @blackwidownat2814 @mischiefmanaged71 @madzlovez @marvelwitchergilmore @brittnicki @rheas-ripley @bcystar @victorsbathroomstall @giona45-5

[softfem-dom]

bill relationship headcanons please…*claws at screen* it can even include Nsfw if you want. I just need content

a/n: of course! dating headcanons, sfw and nsfw, for Bill Dickey coming right up!

wordcount: 1,3k — masterlist 𝜗𝜚 navigation post NSFW CONTENT MINORS DNI

⮞ alright, let's start off with the obvious. he's a total mysognist and I don't make the rules.

⮞ he mansplains everything. everything.

⮞ he'd be the type to see you going to grab a pickle jar and snatch it up to open it for you, but he can't so he awkwardly returns it to you only for you to open it right away.

⮞ he'll affirm he 'loosened it up' for you.

⮞ he has huge jealousy issues.

⮞ you can just be talking to a random guy on the grocery store queue and he immediately assumes you're going to leave him.

⮞ gets terribly passive-agressive about it too, acting like a moody kid about to throw a tantrum.

⮞ he thinks every guy is trying to hit on you even if it's just a cashier handing you the change with a polite 'have a good day'.

⮞ there's a fifty fifty chance that he'll either take it out on you or the other guy for it.

⮞ he refers to himself as 'your knight' and says totally cringe stuff like "I would fight to the death for you, my lady" (he has never been in a real fight in his life).

⮞ if anybody ever insults you online you can bet your ass he's immediately writting a three-pharragraph response.

⮞ he's clingy as hell. but not in a cute way, but in an extremely annoying one

⮞ he's always texting, calling, or showing up at your house. and whenever you take too long to answer, he assumes you're going to break up with him and suddenly you're being spammed with over 50+ messages.

⮞ he has no real romantic experience so he just like.. showers you in gifts... of things he likes.

⮞ like... he could randomly get you an expansion for D&D despite you not having played it in your whole life and then he is the one using it😭

⮞ he calls you the cringiest petnames ever. like bro wdym my elven princess, the goddess of my realm and my player two wtf

⮞ he has you as his phone screen. both of them. no, he will not change it.

⮞ he always brags about you to the club and they are so damn sick of it.

⮞ he always tries to impress you with his wide RPG knowdelge, rambling on for hours about some obscure lore assuming you're impressed by it lol.

⮞ he actually loses his mind if you wear something nerdy, like a Star Wars shirt or something. specially if it's his.

⮞ if you cosplay (because he forcedasked you to) a videogame/series character, specially one he likes, he goes full-feral.

now, moving onto nsfw territory...

⮞ he's horny.

⮞ all the time.

⮞ he acts like he's never been touched by a woman before (because he hasn't) and is greedy about it.

⮞ he thinks he's masking it real good, but his eyes are always drift down whenever you're near him.

⮞ he's addicted to groping. this man doesn't control himself. ass, titties, thighs, everything and anything he can reach he'll grope.

⮞ he literally read guides on how to make out, watched tutorial videos, studied like it was a damn exam.

⮞ and once he got a taste, you literally can't spend five minutes with Bill before he's leaning in to initiate a make-out season.

⮞ he's lowkey a bit of a creep. he gets hard from just smelling you on his clothes.

⮞ a pantie stealer.

⮞ he goes feral whenever you wear short skirts or tight clothes. he'll play it cool in public, but the second you're alone he pounces like a damn animal in heat.

⮞ he does the moterboating thing btw..

⮞ he's mouthy as hell and doesn't know when or how to shut up. he's groaning, grunting, babbling, rambling and choking on moans the whole time.

⮞ he always leaves marks. and visible ones where you can't hide them, he doesn't care if you told him to be subtle, he wants everyone to know you're his.

⮞ he can barely last the first times btw. real pathetic virgin behaviour. will cum in under two minutes of being inside.

⮞ would and will absolutely get off on you grinding on his lap.

⮞ he freaks out over your moans and every noise you make, the first time you moaned out his name he came on the spot —no further stimulation needed.

⮞ he wakes up with morning wood almost everyday. he can't stop thinking about sex even in his dreams.

⮞ his grip is iron tight, expect to find finger-shaped bruises on your hips after every time you fuck.

⮞ when you're fucking you're his to play with. he'll take whatever he wants, satisfy himself, and then satisfy you. his pleasure comes first, sorry.

⮞ he teases you and mocks you so much especially if he's been pent up for a while. “what’s the matter, sugar? can’t handle it?”

⮞ he pins you down. full on pressing his chest against your back or chest and forcing you down on the mattress with his whole weight.

⮞ he looooves pulling your hair, the sounds you make go straight to his head (both of them, actually-)

⮞ expect to be ordered around, because when I tell you this man is bossy I mean it.

⮞ he loves making you watch yourself on the mirror while he fucks you. "look at yourself, baby. look how good you take me, sucking me in, huh? s'needy.”

⮞ and when it's over, he'll just grin at you from above —cocky, smug as if he just won over Josh— while panting like an animal in heat. "was good, huh? must've been if y'can't even answer to me. no, nods don't count as answers, doll"

[kikiwie]

call me back? 𖦹 ˚.

————————— 𐔌⋆🍊 ̟ ˚ !! 𐦯 —————————

in which you get in a heated fight with the haikyuu boys, and it takes longer to reconcile than usual.

you didn't need to see his message appear on your screen. especially not after waking up.

after going days without speaking and feeling better, you were able to stop thinking about him so much. but now that he was reaching out, you felt as though all of your effort was gone.

he mentioned something along the lines of wanting to meet up and talk. you really couldn't look at it for too long or you might lose what little sanity you had.

this was the worst fight you’ve had in your relationship, and you didn’t know what to do. you knew you couldn’t be mad forever, but some things said did hurt, and you could admit you said things you shouldn’t have too.

you screamed into your pillow, and you didn’t know if it was from dread or something else you didn’t want to recognize. that you missed him more than you wanted to.

immediately you grabbed your phone and texted the group chat to ask if you should text him back fast or wait because you were not sane enough to handle this situation.

you, of course, ended up giving in after 2 minutes, which you didn’t even finish asking your friends. even if you tried not to give in, you knew you loved him too much for that.

(he would’ve seen you or sent a text earlier, but he didn’t know if you were still mad. he was tweaking because you were non verbal.)

suna, osamu, sakusa, kenma, tsukishima & kageyama.

the last thing you expected to happen today was to see him standing in front of your door. you felt horrible for him because he was so wet from the rain, but you were hesitant.

"what brings you here?" despite your best efforts to appear cold, your eyes betrayed you as you glanced at him. "not even going to invite me in?" when you glared at him, his attempt at a smile turned wary.

"i didn't ask you to come here.” he didn't like it when you crossed your arms. you felt so distant.

"i just had to see you. to talk. i really miss you, and i wasn't expecting for the fight to go to this.” with a sigh, you decided that it would be best to have that discussion inside.

he entered when you stepped aside. "come, i’ll get you some dry clothes and a towel." he agreed, and he followed you to your room to get one of the hundreds of sweatshirts and shirts he stored in your dresser.

shortly after, he changed and came back with the towel in his hair. he gave you a hug when your back was to him. “i’m really, really sorry. i promise i’ll do anything to make this better..” he kept rambling, and you knew you couldn’t be mad forever.

kuroo, iwaizumi, terushima, daisho, akaashi & semi.

he tried to be nonchalant about the whole situation. like it didn’t bother him at all. (he in fact did care. just in denial) that was until he realized it wasn’t one of those times where you’d fight and after a few hours you would talk it out after you’ve both cooled off.

nope, he was going insane. he tried calling you and texting you, but you weren’t answering. it was really messing with him and with his performance in whatever he was up to.

he’d stalk your socials sometimes to see if you were up to anything, but you weren’t giving him anything to stalk. now he was just getting worried. usually you would repost on tiktok or post on your spam, but nothing. just radio silence.

that was until a miracle happened. your mutual friends had decided on a night out and invited you both. that was his chance.

when he saw you, he tried not to run to you and shower you with kisses like he usually did. but at this point he was getting desperate.

being the hopeless man he is, he had to talk to you. to fix this and never fight with you again and shut up whenever you want him to.

let’s just say he almost got on his knees and begged for forgiveness because he couldn’t last another second without you by his side. (in a way that didn’t seem too desperate, of course.)

atsumu, oikawa, bokuto, tendo, futakuchi & koganegawa

they don’t fight with you. they get told to shut up, and they do. they get told to sit down, and they sit. (they just love you a lot)

tanaka, nishinoya, hinata, lev & yamamoto

————————— 𐔌⋆🍊 ̟ ˚ !! 𐦯 —————————

this was for funsies, might not be too accurate. hope you enjoyed either way. <3

[devdozes]

SO HAPPY TO HEAR ABT SPIDERMAN PHAINON, like can you write how exhausted he must be after being busy all night? Dozing of in the middle of class and having to cover for him and If you have more shenanigans for them please add them!!

♥ Spiderman Phainon !!

OH MY GOD THIS MAN HAS ME IN A CHOKEHOLD !! AND HELL YEAH ALSO SPIDERMAN PHAINON DRAWING AT THE END OF THE POST!!

This man treats you as his personal pillow istg. And, he will be passed out within SECONDS. You’ll be talking to him, and next thing you know? He’s OUT. If you try to get up, he tightens his grip around you. -"Babe, I need to get up—" "No." "Phainon." "You’re my pillow now. ;3"

He is absolutely DOWN BAD, he will definitely do those silly couple trends with you, and sometimes you wonder whether hes the man in the relation or you. -"BABYY WANT TO DO THE RIBBON TREND WITH ME??" -"BABY WANT TO DO THE LIPSTICK TREND WIRTH ME PLEAJ :(" - "Of course phai :), NOW CMERE"

He falls asleep in the most RANDOM places, and when he falls asleep, he is a HUNDRED times more clingy, You have caught him dozing off in class more times than you can count. Sometimes, his head just drops onto his desk with a loud thud. Other times? He’s literally asleep with his eyes open. "Babe, wake up." pinches cheek Mumbling. "Mmf… five more minutes…" clings onto your arm like a koala. "Phainon, we are in a LECTURE, wake up—" Grabs your hand and dramatically puts it over his heart. "Let me just… rest in your warmth for a moment…" "Oh my god."

Calls you his savior since you have to write his notes for him, of course you do hes literally spiderman and your boyfriend, you have to help him since you love his idiotic ass. If you don’t remind him about deadlines, he will forget. "Phai, did you finish the essay?" "… What essay." "THE ONE DUE IN AN HOUR???" "WHAT THE FUCK??" -You once caught him doing an entire paper five minutes before submission. The man wrote 1,000 words in 4 minutes. It somehow got an A.

Doesn’t want to admit when he’s too tired. "Phai, baby, go sleep for gods sake. "Nah baby im alright" immediately trips on air and faceplants

You once tried to see how long phainon would last without touching you and clinging on to you, he lasted 46 seconds. - baby come back i hate this, this is TORTURE—"

He texts you randomly during patrol and tells you EVERYTHING "Just stopped a robbery. Miss u. What r u doing?" "Babe I just saw a guy try to fight a raccoon behind a gas station. This city is insane." "I’m on top of a skyscraper right now thinking about u." "Send me a selfie. I need motivation."

HE LOVES WHEN YOU PATCH HIS INJURIESS !! and when you kiss them "Baby im alright no need to worry" "YOU HAVE A HUGE GASH ON YOUR ARM. SIT DOWN." "Im alright ill heal-" "Ill kiss your injuries" "Yes maam, please do that 500 times"

Bites you everywhere, fucking whimpers if you bite him back "Bites you "here is your daily serving""bites back""Lets out a whimper and asks you to do it again" "PHAI WHAT THE FUCK"

He always calls you "his" like 24/7, And gets SHAMELESS whenever he wants your attention and if someone approaches you "My love" "My baby" "Mine" "My girl" "Phai thats a cat you dont need to be all.. clingy" "Felines are cute yet dangerous"

His love language? Spoiling you. SPOILING THE LIVING SHIT OUTTA YOU. If you casually mention you like something? BOOM its in your room the next day "Babyyy you like cats dont you?" "Yes i do- oh my god." "Meet our new kid :D" "PHAINON WHY IS THERE A BRAND NEW GAMING SETUP" "But you complained on how your old gaming setup lagged :(" "Phainon i love you but you can NOT keep wasting your money"

Eats alot, and will force you to eat with him, He practically lives in your house so your fridge is ALWAYS full "Baby i got you your snacks and groceries!!" "That is enough food to last me an entire month." "You just eat less" "I am not a bigback like you Phainon" "THE AUDACITY??"

ALWAYS uses his webs cuz hes too lazy to do anything. One time, you were "too far" from him (you were 7 steps away from him" and then used his webs to pull you to him "PHAINON I WAS NEAR YOU! YOU COULDVE JUST WALKED" "Nuh uh" "Fuck you mean nuh uh"

If you compliment him once he will malfunction and BOMBARD you with compliments, kisses whatever. "C'mere pretty boy" "..." "OH MY GOD YOU LOVE ME" "We are literally dating" "MY AMAZING SWEET BEAUTIFUL PARTNER I LVOE YOU SO MUCHH"

He carries you randomly just to see your expressions, he is a down bad mf. And does those random ass stunts. "Baby look!" does a backflip "You're so dumb" It is dumb but you laugh and smile widely "YOUR SMILE IS SO PRETTYY"

If you ever feel bad, or want comfort, he will do ANYTHING FOR YOU. ANYTHING. Want fresh air? He's swinging you through the city with you in his hand the next second. Want to rant? He's listening and comforting you the next second

He may be a hero, but he would do anythin for you, even if that means betraying his city's trust or becoming evil or just quitting.

ARCADE DATES AND CHAOTIC ASS DATES. Phainon took you to an abandoned place and explored it around as a date. He is afraid of normalcy and loves being unique im not like other boys ahh 😒 -He insisted on dancing in the rain with you. "Baby can we please" "Sure :) but your clumsy ass is gonna get hurt" "No i wont!!" He falls on his ass the next moment he tries to do a fancy step in the rain with you, but you just laugh your asses off - He one time stole a shopping cart, seated you inside the shopping cart and pushed it full speed while controlling it. You both almost crashed against a light pole at like 100 km/h but his strong ass dodges it with ease luckily "PHAINON OH MY GOD LOOK IN FRONT!!" "FUCK OH MY GOD" - If you go on a beach date? hes beefing with kids and everyone. He is competitive. LIKE ALOT. He built a sandcastle and webbed it up so its technically indestructible. "BABYY LOOK :D" "Phai thats a goddamn kingdom" And whenever you all play beach volleyball, he does EVERYTHING to impress you or beat you. (he just wants to win) "HEY BABY THATS CHEATING YOUR USING YOUR SPIDEY SENSES :(" "I TAKE NO LOSSES." - Even when yall do an arcade date he does that. He always secretly uses his webs to pull out plushies without the sensors and you noticing "Aww baby you wanted that plushie" Pulls it out using his webs "PHAINON THATS STEALING!" "UH ITS JUST EXTENDED CLAW FUNCTIONALITY" Please kiss him after that - And in mall dates? he somehow manages to sneak in an entire course meal inside the movie theatre. He refuses to sit still. His leg bounces. He fidgets. He’s either whispering dumb commentary in your ear or dramatically reacting to the screen. "Baby the popcorn is so dry ugh" casually pulls out an entire full course meal from his jacket "Phainon what the fuck" "Shh Shh baby just relax and enjoy the illegally smuggled pizza" -Go karting dates? Hes gonna web the other players to win. And bowling? he accidentally breaks the bowling ball and the pins

HE ALWAYS RANDOMLY PICKS YOU UP, JUST TO FLEX HIS STRENGTH AND MUSCLES, AND EASILY DOES THINGS FOR YOU "Phai.. you dont have to hold my shopping bags" "Its okay there are only 21 bags" "Phai-" "Ill carry you too." AND HE ACTUALLY DOES. -His BACK MUSCLES OH MY GODD HE IS SO FINE, One time you walked in on him shirtless and his back was facing towards you, his shoulder blades and back msucles were so fucking fine. And the way his arms are so fuckign firm. You can NEVER get out of his grip

some texts with this menace

giggles, i am down bad AND THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST WHOEVER DID THIS OH MY GOD ILY

[waechan]

nct dream's love languages (hyung line)

i was just thinking ab what my love language was and was like...wait this could be cute for my tumblr

fluff! sry if im rusty its been ages

ׂׂૢ

mark lee - words of affirmation

i thought about this one for a while bc i feel like he could be many things

mark is always busy and at first i thought quality time bc he's such a fun guy to hangout with but i don't think he has much time to spend:(

i finally decided on words of affirmation cause this man is always telling people "잘했어요!" (good job) or "수고했어!!" (you've worked hard) or literally anything else he can think of with a big ass smile on his face

he's so sweet im like awh even just thinking about it

if you were in a relationship w mark i could only imagine he'd be there to talk about anything and everything with you...the deep talks would be so intense but so amazing to have

he'd make you think of life differently, truly

he could also be an acts of service boy as he's always helping his members with things they need, it'd probably be the same for you!

text example: "you did great today babe, i'm so proud of you."

2. renjun huang - acts of service

i feel like in dream renjun gives off such a mom vibe and he's so nurturing and caring to them

i see him always doing things for you, bending down to tie your shoe, holding your things for you, planning on the entire day when the two of you hangout, ordering your food for you

he's such a chivalrous guy and i think he'd be that way as a boyfriend too

he'd be so quick to fight for you too like if someone talked shit about you behind your back he would RUN to beat whoever up omg i swear

could see him being a physical touch boyfie too bc he's always cuddled up with whoevers near him

hand holding when walking, you leaning on his shoulder when you're sitting down, it's the little things for this guy

he's adorbs

he will always always ALWAYS pay for your meals i already know that for a fact. he won't even let you get NEAR the bill

text example: "hi my love, how are you doing today? did you need anything? i'll be right there"

3. jeno lee - quality time

i was looking for pictures of him on pinterest and it honestly just pissed me off

he's so fine it makes me angry lol

i had a feeling he'd be quality time because honestly i feel like it doesn't matter what you do together he'd just want to be with you

he's always so happy and in a good mood and i feel like you being there would make everything a hundred times better for him

i think he'd love going on dates with you and he'd have something different planned everyday

but i also think he'd cherish the moments the two of you would have together just chillin on your own at home...gaming, watching movies, doing work..literally anything

he'd 100% be the most loyal boy in the world

i see him being an acts of service guy too, like lifting things for you or running errands for you...he just wants to make your life as easy as possible!

text example: "what do u wanna do today! i mean we could stay home too...whatever you want i just want to see you:)"

4. haechan lee - quality time

he's a loverboy and i already know he'd want to be around you 247

while jenos more of a calm presence, i feel like haechan is such a huge ball of energy

late night talks and walks, going to the grocery store, anything as long as he's with you

he'd hate being left out of any plans you have with other people...he'd sulk omg it'd be so cuteee

he's also definitely a night owl so i could see him wanting to talk with you until morning comes

i could also see him being physical touch because i mean, come on. have you seen the guy?

he's ALL OVER whoever he's talking to, even if it's in the most subtle ways

if your feeling down i already know he'd try to make you laugh, and treat you like his princess

text example: "soo when are you gonna stop ignoring me and tell me that you love me and you're coming over:) or i could come over!"

ׂׂૢ

i missed writing this was so funnn

lmk if u guys like it and i'll do a maknae line:) miss all of u and this community so much <3

[celestialseawitch-ff]

🌹

A little more DC for you since you liked the other one so much xx -- send a rose 🌹 and I'll post a snippet from a wip

Billy stepped forward, face set. "I need to talk to Batman."

Robin smiled kindly. "Let me see if I can help you first. Is it about your parents or guardians? Do you live in this building?"

Billy shook his head. "I'm from Fawcett City. I have a message for Batman from Captain Marvel."

Robin stared at him. "How did you get to Gotham?"

"Train."

"By yourself?"

Billy glared. "Are you gonna help me or not? I came all this way!" He gestured. He really didn’t want to grab a bus to Metropolis. It was late. He would probably have to sleep somewhere in the city first.

"What's the message?"

"It's for Batman."

“No Bats here,” a deep, mechanical voice stated.

Robin grabbed Billy’s arm and pulled him behind. Billy turned and stared up at the tall figure as he stepped off from the ledge of the building and closer to the boys. He was wearing a full face metal helmet in a gleaming red color. Billy spotted the gun in his hand and stepped further behind Robin.

“Picking out your replacement, Replacement? How proactive.”

Robin was tense, arms spread defensively in front of Billy. “What do you want, Hood?”

“You’re in my territory, birdie.”

“We’re in Gotham Heights. Park Row is two blocks east,” Robin returned, voice tense.

“Close enough,” the man growled.

Robin tilted his head. “Fine. We’ll go.”

“Kid stays.”

“He’s not from Gotham,” Robin quickly returned.

“I have a message for Batman!” Billy piped in.

“Oh, really?” the stranger drawled.

“And he’s probably on his way. So you should go if you’re a bad guy.” He turned to Robin. “Is he a bad guy?” Billy whispered loudly.

The man huffed through the mechanical mask. “You’re really not from around here. I’m the Red Hood.”

“I’m Billy Batson.”

Robin looked over his shoulder at Billy. Both heroes stared at him for a long moment.

“Seriously?” Robin asked.

Billy nodded.

[funnyjb]

Our boy

————————————————

(2022)

“Welcome back, joe. Good to see you.”- Colin

“Thank you. Good to back here.”- Joe

“So, you just had a great win over the Jets. How are you feeling? How’s the team?”- Colin

“I’m feeling great. Definitely getting a good nights rest after that win.”- joe laughs

“But, the ping pong games are better in the locker room, film study is you know, what it is, but everyone is happy and we are ready to take on the next game.”- Joe

Colin laughs

“Love it. And when I watch the bengals, joe. I look at you guys a little like the rams. You’re what I would call your more of a let it rip and you guys have an aggressive culture. I like you guys aggressive. Does that make sense?”- Colin

“Yeah. Week 1 I was aggressive. Playing it safe and then end up losing. But found a balance. I took some chances but tried to throw a ball to the guys that needed it.”- Joe

“Yes. Exactly. I want to go back to what you said at the start of the interview. You said you’ve been having a god nights rest. I just want to say congratulations, because you just welcomed your first baby.”- Colin

Joe smiles

“Yes, he was born about a month ago.”- Joe

“Wow! I just wanted to say I’m happy you’re getting a good nights rest.”- Colin

“Yeah. Been a little tuff. But once I get home from a long game and I see my wife and my son, I know I will definitely have a good nights rest.”- Joe

“And how’s your wife? I mean I bet it’s a lot with football season.”- Colin

“Yeah. She’s honestly the strongest person I know. She can be up all night and still make it to a game. Or she’ll stay up way too late just to make sure I got home ok. Shes my everything. I wouldn’t be where I am today without her.”- Joe

“I really do love you guys. How long have you guys been together for now?”- Colin

“7 years since August.”- Joe

Oh, so since college? Wow. She’s really been with you from the start. My daughter was actually talking about your wife the other day. She was telling me y/n, is the only WAG she loves. Just the way you can tell she is sweet and how you can tell she really cares about you. Obviously being because she is your wife. Was there a point in your relationship before you got married where, joe, you were like “man, I’m going to marry this girl”.?”- Colin

Joe laughs

“Yeah. She’s probably one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met and known. I probably knew when we went out on our first date back at Ohio state. She’s a great listener and is even better at communicating. She always knows what to say and she has always gotten a laugh out of me even when I come home pissed from a loss or just a bad day at work. I knew when I was talking about football and I felt like I needed more. She knew what to say in that moment. She made feel like I was somebody. That’s when I knew I wanted to marry her.”- joe smiled

“Wow, just incredible. I’m smiling like a little girl right now. And now you guys have a little baby boy.”- Colin

Joe and Colin talked more. As the conversations kept flowing, joe kept thinking about you. You have been with him from the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. He just kept thinking how grateful he was to have you by his side.

[doctorruby]

Peace

Buck and Tommy get engaged. Maddie reflects.

°°°

Buck and Tommy get engaged on a Thursday. They take the long weekend off. Maddie's the first to know.

On Friday morning, she wakes up to a text of a single image from her brother. At first, she doesn’t know what she’s looking at. Blinking sleep out of her eyes and readjusting to the light of the day, it dawns on her that the picture of two rings set gently on the counter, resting on top of one another, is an indication that Tommy finally popped the question.

He told her two weeks beforehand. He came to her with shaky hands and timid smile and asked for her blessing with a stutter.

She hadn’t been sure about Tommy at first, a thought she kept to herself for years if she’s honest with herself. She brought it up one day to her own husband.

“I just- I don’t know if he’s the one for him, you know?”

Chimney bristled at the comment, “What do you mean? He’s Tommy! I think they’re awesome together.”

Maddie tried to explain herself but it was in vain. Chimney doted on Tommy’s proclaimed “awesomeness” and she let the conversation die while she settled into silent judgement.

It’s not that she didn’t like Tommy, or even think that he was bad for Buck, but something about him felt- wrong. Buck- no, Evan was sensitive. Sweet. Clingy. He needed adoration and praise and love and stability. He needed someone who could stomach being looked at like they were the center of the universe. Someone who had the appetite for love that he had to give.

When she looked at Tommy- she didn’t see that. She couldn’t explain it. And when her baby brother called her with a shaky voice and explained that Tommy had dumped him, she knew why.

He was a runner. And it broke her heart. She imagined that same voice, only smaller and higher pitched, the day she told Buck that she was leaving with Doug.

You’re leaving me.

He left me.

Her brother is always being ditched, abandoned, tossed aside. Always being shattered by the people who are supposed to love him, always being rejected by the people he’s desperate to leash himself to.

In a strange way, after this realization, she felt sorrow for Tommy that she didn’t before. Sorrow she felt for a past version of herself who waved goodbye to her kid brother from the passenger seat as a bad man drove her away. She felt anger for him, too. The same anger she felt when looking at Buck lay motionless in a hospital bed.

You should have stayed. You should have been there. You should have loved him better.

The same anger she felt when she watched Jee slip into the bathtub, down under the layer of water, tiny fists clenched and thrashing. The same anger she felt when she watched Los Angeles fade into the horizon, when she gripped the steering wheel in her fist and told herself that they were better off without her. Her husband, her daughter, her brother. Maybe the world.

Then, Tommy came back into Buck’s life. After a messy hookup, a long conversation, and a bakery’s worth of carbs, they were back together. Buck had talked her through everything. How Tommy apologized, how they cried and fought and forgave each other. She nodded along to everything, let him vent, gave support, and bit her tongue.

She still wasn’t sure about him, even then.

It wasn’t until he came to her, nerves laid bare for her to see, that it dawned on her.

“I-I know that you might have reservations about our relationship and about me,” he admitted sheepishly. It took her by surprise and when Tommy took note of her quick correction, he gave her a knowing look and assured her, “You don’t have to apologize or deny it. I get it. If someone I loved was abandoned the way I left Evan, I would hold a grudge until the day I die. If someone hurt Evan the way that I did, I would never forgive them. Which is why I hope that you believe me when I say that I will never stop trying to make that up to him, to remind him everyday how much I love him. We both know much he needs that. I want to spend the rest of my life loving him. And it would mean a lot to me, and I know it would mean a lot to Evan even if he won’t admit it, if you would give me your blessing,” he bit the inside of his cheek and she watched as he squirmed under her gaze.

She let the silence eat away at him for a few seconds before sucking in a breath.

“I’ve seen my brother be a lot of things. I’m sure you’ve seen the revolving door of careers he tried on in his twenties. The one thing I’ve never seen him be is at peace. And then he met you-” Tommy’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, “and I still didn’t see him at peace.”

She watched his face fall and opened his mouth to mutter an apology but she stopped him, “The first six months were a honeymoon period. And then when you broke up with him that first time, that was the worst I’ve ever seen him. He was a mess and everyday I woke up and wondered if he was ever going to be okay again. You were just another person who leaves him and throws him away when they get tired of him. And then you came back into his life, and he was even better than before. The best I’ve ever seen him, the happiest. And for a really long time, I could not understand why- why he would forgive you. And then I realized, it’s because you came back.”

Tommy dug his nails into his palms and listened.

“God knows that I have messed up with Evan more times than I can count, that I’ve made mistakes, that I’ve run away when I should have stayed. But I came back. And he forgave me because that’s what he does. I’m not perfect and I don’t expect you to be either, but as long as you keep coming back to him. That’s what matters to me. He deserves someone who knows that he’s worth coming back to.”

She wiped her face of the few droplets of tears and leaned forward to hug him. He clearly wasn’t expecting it, as he went stiff the minute she wrapped her arms around his large shoulders. He delicately placed his hands on her upper back, like he was afraid he’d hurt her.

They talked for a few more minutes before he made his exit. He hadn’t told her the when or how and she suspected that he hadn’t known himself.

When she received that message, and then a few seconds later a paragraph worth of exclamation marks, she felt at peace for her brother. She knew he was in good hands.

[multiheadcanons]

FLIRT WITH THE MERCS

scout: jeremy is stupid enough that he thinks most flirting with him is a joke, and is generally happy to play along. he is very used to being aggressively shut down, and doesn’t really give it much thought anymore. he will not get that you’re flirting seriously until he has agreed to a date. then it’s like it clicks in his brain. and he becomes a grade A USDA certified dickhead. “yeah, i got a date! with who? oh, you wouldn’t know ‘em!”. what an ass.

soldier: why are you trying to flirt with this man, first of all. you know this man can’t understand a literary device past a knock knock joke, right? compliments are shrugged off. he knows he looks good for his age. he knows he’s got stellar aim. he worked like a bitch to achieve these things. coy questions get unamused answers. what’s he doing after work? more work. he’s training. eating. cleaning his weapons. sleeping. if you want to flirt with him that bad, slap his ass. the yelp he’ll let out is humorous. but the grin he gives is better. you’ve opened pandora’s box, maggot. let him show you how to make a real advance.

pyro: you want to flirt— with pyro? are you ready to see a grown ass adult become a straight up tweaker, no dope necessary? they point at themselves in shock. are you talking to them? are you— are you talking to them?? the squeal, the giggles, the heavy breathing, they are genuinely shocked and taken aback, and incredibly flattered. will hug you very tightly, before running away. they’re squealing, they’re barely making it ten steps before they have to stop and catch their breath. they’re gonna write about this in their diary later.

demo: he acts like… a stereotypical man when you start flirting with him. have him giggling and kicking his feet and shit. he is one of those men who will beam when he’s told he looks handsome when he smiles. you can be a borderline creep to demo and demo will tuck his hair behind his ear and say “aw, you don’t mean that!” but just know… however far you take it, demo will match your freak. so tread lightly. or don’t! whatever you want to do!

heavy: heavy is uninterested and will shut you down the first few attempts. however, if you don’t take the hint, and he thinks he can get away with it, he’ll use your little crush to squeeze whatever he thinks he can get from you. regardless of what it is, he’ll start subtly, maybe an occasional flirt back, a laugh, a slight bow of gratitude. but then he starts asking you to do things for him. a quick delivery. retrieval of items. leaning in to ask you quietly. he’d be incredibly appreciative if you would oblige and do this one little thing for him. he’ll owe you. then it escalates. bury this body for him? he’ll come out and watch your back, don’t worry. oh, and he forgot to mention… the body isn’t dead. you mind taking care of that too? he just likes to see how far he can push you. what he can get from you, and when he finds your line in the sand, it is duly noted and he is done with you until further notice. he did enjoy the sweet words though, undeserving as he may be of them.

engineer: he’s not as expressive as demo with it, but you can get him quite flustered if you don’t let up. not in the long con way, either, i’m talking family-bucket-20-piece-combo-no-biscuit-no-drink-two-sides-mukbang do not let up. “you’re looking good today, dell! ass looks great in those overalls, whatcha got going on later?” you can watch a man turn into a tomato in real time. he short circuits. lets out an awkward laugh, thanks you kindly, and gets the hell out of dodge before he says something stupid. but he’ll think about it all day. it’s a big mood and confidence booster for the week. and dell gets real sweet when he feels good about himself.

medic: the first time you flirt with this man he side eyes you. hard. but he cannot hide the smile creeping on his face. he’s not shocked, but he’s a little surprised you’re looking at him that way. but he stays silent. he hates direct approaches, he finds it crass from anyone of any gender. but a thinly disguised compliment will give him pause. he’ll size you up every time, pondering if you’re worth the effort and the risk. especially as you up the frequency, and he decides you’re actually serious about this. if he wants to reciprocate, he might ask you to dinner. he will also write about this in his diary later.

sniper: “oh, thanks!” and no more outward emotional reaction. but it makes him feel good. he’s quite tickled. this is a team of pretty good looking guys, nice to know he’s a catch with the rest of them. a consistent flirt with him will result in him matching your interest, wherever you want to take it. he is not one to play the long game, if you’re expressing interest, he’s certainly interested.

spy: “well, thank you.” unlike his counterpart, this spy can play nice and gracious very well. he gets no enjoyment from playing haughty at other’s expense; but he does get an ego boost from flattery. he’s just better at being humble about it. he knows he looks good. he always looks good. his plans are the same as they always are. no he has no interest in changing them today. yes, he’s french. nice place to live until the tourists ruined it. stay away from paris. no, he has no family. he’s good on lunch. he’s heard it all, and what he hasn’t heard he’s mentally simulated, and he’s got formulated responses for everything. it gets old, and it is old to him after the third attempt. you cannot flirt your way into his heart.

[anglbunny]

ᝰ.ᐟwinner's girl

.ᐟcw: street racer!kaiser, street racer!Rin, street racer!Isagi, betting on isagi's girl, suggestive, mature language

"𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑒. 𝐵𝑎𝑏𝑦, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑠𝑜" - 𝑠𝑜𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑠ℎ𝑦 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑡ℎ

ᯓ★ᯓ⚡︎

“Yo, ‘sagi” kaiser rolled down his window, shouting over the music blasting through his car. Isagi, who was parked, peacefully enjoying a stick of weed, only to get rudely interrupted by kaiser. He rolled down his window, giving him an annoyed face. 

“Fuck you want?” he said, turning down his music, to hear kaiser better. 

“Race me,” Kaiser said, blowing his vape towards isagi. The other ran a hand through his hair, groaning.

“Hell fuckin’ nah, I just bagged a mil on my last run. Go bother Zero if you’re looking to lose.” 

"Ight, man, relax. That race was light work—you were running against rookies."

"A win’s a win, and my bank account don’t care who I smoked." yoichi grinned, throwing his head back, taking another hit. Blowing the smoke out with his eyes closed when he heard the scream of another car pulling up beside him. 

Zero. 

“Less talking, more driving. Who’s actually tryna race?” rin says, revving his engine. 

“All you hoes piss me off, fuck outta here” yoichi groaned, resting his legs on the dashboard.

“Put your money up if either of ya actually wanna race”, he said right after. 

Kaiser smirked, looking at rin as if they planned something.

“Nah, not money.” 

“Then what?” isagi asked, confused. What else would they wanna race for, other than the thrill and the money? 

“Your girl, bet that adorable little thing is sleeping all alone right now. Unprotected and vulnerable.” Kaiser grinned, running his tongue across his teeth. 

“Huh? You out your damn mind? Did you crash into a pole or sum?” 

“Yeah, i’m down, let’s bet yoichi’s girl on who win” rin said, giving the same sly grin as kaiser. 

Isagi snapped his head around, glaring at rin. It's like you could see the smoke coming out of his ears. He was fucking fuming. These assholes had the nerve to talk about HIS girl like she’s some whore?

“Man you have no idea how long i’ve been dreaming about her little cunt taking all of my cock down her throat” michael yelled across to rin, who just laughed. 

“Oh, you bet. She definitely got looks.” 

“Looks of a fuckin’ pornstar, am’i’right?” kaiser smirked, pulling smoke out his vape. 

“I’ll fucking gut both of you individually. Keep my goddamn girl’s name out your filthy mouths” yoichi said through his teeth. Stepping on the gas. 

Kaiser shouted, saying he’s cheating cause he got a head start, but Isagi only flipped him off and was gone. 

Rin and Michael followed after him. It wasn’t declared, but they all assumed the race was till Isagi’s house. 

The 3 cars zoomed down the road, leaving a trail of smoke and the deafeningly loud roar of their engines. 

Nearing Isagi’s penthouse. He thought he would be first since the other 2 were far behind, but suddenly, right before the stop, rin’s car pushed past, claiming first. It caught Isagi off guard, enough to make him lose focus, making Kaiser claim second. And the man himself whose girl was on the line came last. 

ᯓ★ᯓ⚡︎

“Jesus, ‘sagi won’t stop arguing. He yapped for a good 3 hours about how he’s gonna burn us alive if we hurt his girl or some bullshit like that” 

“Can’t blame em, If my girl looked like his, I’d also wanna kill anyone who said her name.” 

“You have a girl?” Kaiser asked, jaw dropping.

“What? No, man. I’m saying if I did.” 

Kaiser nodded. He opened the door to his penthouse. Isagi got put on car duty. He was told to park their cars like a valet. 

He planned on coming as soon as he finished. So he could watch.. And make sure they don’t hurt you. Yeah, that’s exactly why he was gonna watch. It’s totally not like he’s some pervert with weird kinks, like being a cuck. 

Kaiser and Rin quietly opened the door, trying not to wake you. 

“Yo’chi.. U home, baby?” you mumbled groggily from under the blanket. They both were silent, making their way towards you. 

Kaiser slowly moved the sheets and slipped into bed. Pressing his boner into your round ass, which perfectly fits against his body. Pressing down just right to make him bite down a groan. 

Rin on the other hand stood infront of you, rubbing your lips with his thumb, picturing his cock choking you. Which it will be doing soon. 

You lazily opened your eyes, confused at the dual sensations. 

Instead of seeing your boyfriend beside you or in bed with you like you were hoping. You see his 2 biggest rivals. One rubbing your ass onto his erection. The other is standing over you with a very prominent bulge in his pants. 

“Yoichi..?” you quietly whispered, hoping this was just some sick nightmare. 

“Don’t look so scared. We’ll be gentle, princess,” Rin said, and Kaiser patted your cheek. 

You panicked, looking around the room for some help or even your boyfriend, but neither came. 

Taglist: @cyberheartrebel @vaelils @narcjsistx @arisaturn

A/N: all three of them. at once.

ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.

[M.list] [Navigation] [street racer!AU] [street racer!Isagi] [street racer!kaiser] [street racer!Rin]

[munnmolads]

Rafayel's bounty - Who is after him? Theory and Analysis

Why Rafayel has a bounty on his head and who is behind it? I'll explore all we know about his bounty from Chapter 7 and the possibilities behind it. Spoilers for the entirety of Under Deepspace, Land of Secret Flames and Long Lost Treasures World Underneath story as well as mentions about Long-Awaited Revelry.

The very common speculation about the bounty in the dark web is that Ever has placed on him - based off on the Long Lost Treasures World Underneath story, he is ranked sixth on their execution list. I have a feeling that Ever is not the only one after him - let's explore all the options.

Quick reminder - If you don't remember who Raymond is, he is the man who we met in Chapter 2 at his house with Zayne. He has been acting irrationally for a month and MC's mission was to find out if there were any wanderers involved. He has the Lemurian skeleton in his house as "art", and we learn during the main story that Rafayel painted the painting that makes him act irrationally. During chapter 7 we learn that Raymond died (last night specifically) and the painting Rafayel had painted vanished from his collection.

What do we know about the bounty:

It's posted on the dark web

It is a new bounty, so it hasn't been around long, there isn't any timeframe mentioned, but the message sounds like it is fresh

The "User323412" gets a referral payment for passing it along, so they likely aren't related to the bounty other than passing along the message

Rafayel was already aware of the bounty by the time MC learned about it and confronted him about it

The people who are targeting him are in the N109 zone

Rafayel claims the bounty is on him because someone in N109 zone wanted him to paint a painting as they discovered the secret that "could lead them to their hearts desire" and he said no

What conclusions we can draw from the bounty:

The bounty could be closely related to Raymond and his painting - the bounty's timing with Raymond's death and the painting vanishing from his collection while being related to N109 zone seems a bit too close to be coincidental

Someone who put the bounty is quite influental, atleast in the sense that they are giving out payments just to refer the job to someone

Also the referral payment makes me think it's quite urgent for the person who posted the bounty

Details that point out that the bounty could be from Ever

As mentioned before, Long Lost Treasures mentions that Rafayel is ranked 6th on Ever's execution list. This is in the context that the expeditions which Deepspace Academy have made to Lemurian ruins show protocore weapons, which complicates Ever into it. Rafayel is trying to protect those ruins and other Lemurians as best as he can, and most likely has made an enemy out of Ever because of that.

I want to mention that if Rafayel's bounty is the same thing as Ever's execution list, most likely Long Lost Treasures happen earlier in the main story of the game than in Chapter 7, possibly even before the main story begins. In Chapter 2, MC reads that Rafayel recently returned to the country and LLT mentions this as well. It would also make sense that he knows about it by Chapter 7. I want to talk about LLT's timing in a another post in more detail later though.

Ever is also quite influental in N109 Zone as we learn in Long-Awaited Revelry with Sylus. It probably wouldn't be out of the question to use dark web to their advantage when they want to deal with more shady business.

Something that really bugs me about this is that most of these aren't really related to Raymond other than that he has the Lemurian skeleton in his house. Also, if the timing with it happening well before Chapter 7 is true, the bounty isn't actually a new one, or that had been spread wider because of reasons. As mentioned before, I really feel like this bounty is more directly connected to Raymond.

In addition, Rafayel's reason about why the bounty makes very little sense - how an entire company would put a bounty on him because of he refused to paint a painting? It's not completely out of the question he would lie about that to MC, but we get to exploring more of that.

However I also want to point out that Ever has a motive to cover up Raymond's death, since we know from Zayne's story branch that since Raymond's death, Xander Sciences gets acquired by Ever. They also would have the perfect scapegoat right there, since everyone thinks Rafayel murdered Raymond. I don't know why they would want to put a bounty over his head because they want to cover Raymond's death - dead men can't talk and be proven innocent I suppose?

Why it could be someone else than Ever

Again, I feel the timing in the story for us knowing about the bounty is very important. Quite often the story tends to infodump on the player and then distract with another thing, but Chapter 7 is quite cohesive in the sense that most of the information locks in together quite seamlessly. We learn about Rafayel knowing about the illusion in the painting, what caused it and he even indirectly admits putting the it in the painting. I'm showing this conversation in a reversed order just to make my point about the painting being special.

He quite explicitly says this bounty is about someone wanting a painting like that from him too. His description of the bounty's placer doesn't really fit with Ever - maybe someone specific from Ever, but this sounds much more personal than a huge company trying to veer off people who could stop them.

Just after this conversation we hear from the journalist in 7-3 that Raymond is dead. This could be very much related why the bounty is new as it would be related to Raymond's death and to the fact that the painting had vanished from his collection room. This is why I think the bounty is heavily related to Raymond's death - we are getting all this info in such a short amount of time.

Something also that I really want to point out with Rafayel's brach story is that Rafayel specifies that he has other enemies than the people who put up the bounty, and he refers to Ever.

This is the main reason why I think the bounty from Chapter 7 is different from Ever's execution list. While Rafayel isn't exactly straightforward about many things considering his secrets, he still seems to be quite honest about the bounty. But even still he seems quite nonchalant about it - while his focus is quite pin-point on Ever. It would make more sense he would take the bounty more seriously if it was directly from Ever.

It also still leaves room for Ever having him in his execution list, as well as not tying Long Lost Treasures in a certain time.

Who it could be if not Ever?

I'll take out the boring answers out first. It could be a revenge bounty from Raymond's family, who thinks Rafayel killed him. I don't really think it's likely since the other details don't match with it, and as I said, a boring answer.

It could also be a nod to a 6th LI - I have seen the fan theories going around that the original 3 get their "dark counterparts" as the added LI's, such as Xavier having his "dark counterpart" from Sylus and Zayne from Caleb. This could be a subtle introduction to Rafayel's counterpart from the 6th LI. But we don't know much about them at this point anyway, so I feel I don't have much to do on speculating who that might actually be. Also, I feel the relations between the LI's aren't this straightforward.

Maybe this is just me readying my popcorn and waiting the drama to drop, but I feel it could be Sylus. There's the obvious connection to N109 Zone, but Sylus would also be aware that Rafayel managed to get hold of MC thanks to the painting that Raymond had thanks to the illusion in the painting. I am admitting I don't know much about Sylus' lore, but "lead to their heart's desire" sounds close to his words.

To my understanding Sylus is more the "If you are not useful for me, then I need to make you disappear" kind of guy. I wouldn't put it past him to put a bounty on Rafayel because of both being close to MC and him possibly being a threat to Sylus since he has approached Rafayel.

He also would have the reason to take the painting - maybe his thought was that MC will follow that painting to reveal the secrets behind it. I want to point out about Raymond's death is that it didn't leave any traces behind - such like the Ever researcher Sylus killed years ago according the voice recording we hear before learning about Rafayel's bounty.

I feel like all these pieces of information being presented in such a small timeframe - 3 chapters to be exact - Sylus' voice, Rafayel's bounty from N109 zone and the reason for the bounty and Raymond being dead, it feels very intentional.

Both Rafayel and Sylus are aware of each other

This is going on a bit of a side tangent since I'm just really into this, but also it's clear Sylus and Rafayel are aware of each other. If you look back on Chapter 7, you will notice MC never at one point mentioned her target being Onychinus, but at Chapter 7-4 Rafayel mentions about becoming a bait for Onychinus. I'm 50-50 on if it's something that was overlooked during writing the story or if it's a hint on Rafayel knowing more than he lets on, but I'll lean towards the latter.

I really, really would want to talk more about Rafayel's line in the Nest, but for now I'll just point out the similar language he used with person he's talking with. Considering that this is all happening after we learn about the bounty, I feel Rafayel's actions could indicate him trying to get rid of Sylus in self-defense.

We also hear some small mentions about possibly Sylus learning about the people attending the Nest during the Hunting day in Midnight Stealth, and then Luke and Kieran taking care of some "clean up" the day after.

Of course this night could also refer to something else, but atleast it would feel bit silly to include this in the story so deliberately if it wasn't about the Hunting Day. You could argue that Midnight Stealth isn't part of the main story, but I do feel it's very connected to it since it is about retrieving that brooch from Sylus that he tells to get from his person, and the main story continues from MC getting the brooch. This also could be why Rafayel is hiding from Sylus as mentioned in one of the previous screenshots since Sylus is aware Rafayel was there.

I have seen some other stuff that could also indicate some extra references between them. but unfortunately one of them is from a affinity call from Rafayel that I'm getting soon-ish hopefully, but it will take some time, so I need to put all that to a different post when I get more familar with Sylus's myths and other lore meanwhile.

What do you think? I think I will go insane if we don't get to know more about Raymond's death and Rafayel's bounty soon. I don't want to close the possiblity for the bounty coming from Ever, but I feel the bounty is much more deeper and meaningful than just Ever being the only big bad meanie to Rafayel.

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

Is it not Obvious?

For decades, almost my entire life, I’ve had to hide some parts of me. Mostly, to stay of out of trouble. I was good at it too. Still am, truth be told. Or so I believed. Until my nosy brother answered my question with one of his own.

“Is it not obvious?”

That got me thinking, and when I came back from my Mind Palace, Mycroft had left 221B.

Every comment regarding my relationship with John; sorry, friendship, has gone over my head. He answered them loud enough – “not gay!”

On more thorough inspection, those comments weren’t all wrong. Granted, we’ve never had a romantic or sexual relationship, but our friendship was, is, unique. Intense, possessive, easy, complicated, and filled with hidden emotions. The latter is the reason for the complications. 

Like I said, I am good at hiding parts of me I don’t wish exposed. That changed one January day when John Watson entered my life. My abilities to conceal my feelings, were thrown to the wind, and they have been quite difficult to reclaim.

I realised that John was hiding too. Not as well as I once did. His admiration for my deductions was instant, unshielded, honest. The way he looked at me then… I just wanted to…

***

We’ve been through hell a couple of times since the mentioned January day at Barts. I have hurt him. He has hurt me. I told myself I deserved every blow he gave me. Now, I’m not so sure.

“I can’t ever forgive myself for what I did to you, Sherlock,” John said when we finally reconciled, and he reluctantly agreed to move back home.

He cried, which was an alien sight. I had never seen John cry before. It broke my heart, and I slowly got up from my chair. My body was still bruised, and every movement hurt.

I slid one hand up his right arm, while the other rested on the nape of his neck. His left hand was still covering his eyes, which hindered me from pulling him tighter toward me. To my utter relief, he didn’t pull back when he had calmed.

“Why are you so good to me, Sherlock?” he whispered hoarsely.

The words resting on the tip of my tongue, were too dangerous to speak. Perhaps one day.

“You are my best friend, John,” I told him, reminded him.

“Some friend I am,” he huffed and moved.

I let him go with a heavy heart.

“You were grieving.”

“No excuse,” he said angrily.

I winced involuntarily at the vehemence in his voice. Thank God, he didn’t see it. Or so I thought.

When he lifted his head, new tears trickled down his cheeks.

“I don’t deserve your friendship,” he whispered and took my hand in his. “If you still want me and Rosie to move in, I promise I’ll do better. I’m working on my anger, and…”

I gripped his hand so hard I thought he would squirm, but he seemed unfazed. His face, though tear and grief stricken, was open, unveiled, and I realised that my feelings for him weren’t as unrequited as I’d feared. 

His phone buzzed before I managed to catalogue everything, but he didn’t let go of my hand, which I took as a good sign.

***

After John left, I thought about the previous conversation with my brother. I admit, I didn’t pay full attention. My mind was elsewhere. With John. As always. I was nervous about his answer to my request of moving back. So, when Mycroft mentioned the hidden chemistry between me and John, I honestly had no idea what he was on about.

“What are you talking about, brother mine?” I snapped.

“Is it not obvious?”

The question soared around the corridors of my Mind Palace until it led me to the door of John’s Room. Behind said door was the truth I had avoided for so long. When I looked at it from a distance, it was crystal-clear. Our chemistry was a tangible thing from that particular point of view. 

Sentences and statements from us both lit up the room:

“Where he goes, I follow.”

“I would be lost without my blogger.”

“Of course, you’re my best friend, Sherlock.”

“You are the bravest and kindest and wisest man I have ever known.”

***

Two days after John and Rosie moved in, John finally noticed what was missing from the flat.

“Sherlock, please tell me you haven’t given up on doing experiments for our sake. I don’t want you to – “

“John, it is one thing to have chemicals and body parts lying around when two adults live together. Bring a toddler into the equation, and things change considerably.”

“I get that, but – “

“221C. That’s where I’ll be doing the more…dangerous and malodorous experiments. Mycroft had it renovated. It even has proper ventilation now.”

“So, you’ve hidden your chemistry set and everything down there?”

“Yes. Well, almost. I’ve kept the microscope up here. Molly had a spare one I keep down there.”

“Wow, well, I guess that’s good. I never thought I’d say this, but 221B’s kitchen wouldn’t be the same without that microscope.”

His voice was teasing, and…happy?

“I am happy, Sherlock. This is the only home I’ve ever wanted. Sharing it with you and Rosie…well…”

“Since when did you become a mind reader, John?” I teased back.

“Learned from the best,” he replied mirthfully, before he turned serious. “I’ve missed you, Sherlock. I’ve missed us.”

His hand found mine so easily, as if it was a habit, normal.

“I’ve missed you too, John. And us.”

Carefully, I pulled him closer. He didn’t hesitate, but put his arms around me, and placed a hand on my cheek. I closed my eyes and said the words I had hidden for so long.

“I love you.”

He echoed my words reverently before he kissed me.

“No more hiding,” we agreed when we could think straight again.

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

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[emeraldserenade]

okay i know the smut option definitively did not win but...maybe sneak in little bit of it, as a treat, mayhaps?? 👀👀

Enjoy the treat, lovelies. I know I enjoyed writing it. This is literally just an entire smut because I was not about to be mean and have you only see a little bit of it. But because I'm not giving anything away, there is such an unsatisfying ending to keep the mystery alive.

tw: fem!reader, smut, kinda dubcon but only because reader has the potion in her system even though it's not the reason she loves Joaquín, unprotected p in v, belly bulge, creampie, aftercare because Joaquín would never leave you afterwards.

➽──────────────❥

"Angel, it's just the potion talking," Joaquín held your shoulders as you tried to kiss him. It's not that he didn't want to, god did he want to, but it wouldn't be right for him to.

"Joaquín Torres, I have been in love with you for years, please," you were begging him at this point, and Joaquín was just a man after all.

"If I do this, do you promise that this isn't because of the potion," Joaquín was holding onto the last of his resolve.

"I promise, please," you tried to lean forward again and Joaquín met you half way. It was exactly what you wanted, both of you were desperate. It was clear he wanted you just as much as you wanted him. You moved closer but he pulled away, you made a noice of protest.

"Angel, I don't want to take advantage of you, I know you say that this is what you want but," you cut Joaquín off my suddenly grabbing your phone. You should have thought it through more, the fact that Joaquín was about to see you telling one of your friends that you wanted to jump his bones.

"Look," you shoved the phone in his face and you watched as he read the messages. They were clearly stamped from way before you had the potion and they were detailed on what you wanted, if your mind wasn't so muddled from kissing Joaquín you probably would have felt embarrassed.

"Angel, why didn't you say anything before," Joaquín mumbled before grabbing your phone and throwing it aside. He practically pounced on you, his lips were everywhere. On your lips, your neck, jaw, your chest, everywhere he could reach his lips touched. You gasped as he gently bit your neck and heard his chuckle.

"Sam will be back soon," you told him, urging him closer to you.

"Then we better make this quick," Joaquín mumbled against your neck before you two started to undress each other.

Your clothes were thrown around the bedroom and Joaquín had you on the bed. You watched as he slowly kissed his way down your chest to your stomach all the way down to where you wanted him. He pressed a kiss to your clit and your hips jolted toward him. You felt, more than heard, his huff out a breathless laugh. Joaquín dived in, wasting no time, he kissed, licked, and sucked before gently adding his fingers to the mix.

You were a moaning mess, your hips were fighting against the hold Joaquín had with the hand that wasn't occupied, trying to get closer to him. You had one hand pressed over your mouth and the other was tangled in his hair, he groaned when you pulled it. You made brief eye contact before your eyes rolled in the back of your head when his fingers it your g-spot.

"Let me hear those noises, Angel," Joaquín pulled away long enough to tell you and you did as he said. Your hand that was over his mouth blindly reached down to grab onto his that was still at your hips.

"Oh god, Joaquín. I'm gonna," you didn't have time to finish your sentence before the waves of your orgasm crashed over you. Joaquín helped you ride it over before licking his lips and fingers clean, the ight turning you on even more. You hungrily pulled him down to your lips, the taste of yourself still lingering on his. You lost yourself in the kiss before you felt him prodding at your entrance.

You and Joaquín let out synchronized moans as he slid into you. He stilled as he bottomed out, letting you get used to it. When you nodded at him, only did he start to move. It was slow at first but he gradually built up his speed until he was slamming into you. You looked down and you could see where his dick was hitting your cervix. Joaquín looked down too and placed his hand over it, adding to your pleasure. You threw your head back with a moan as he shifted so his tip brushed against your g-spot before slamming into your cervix.

Joaquín leaned down to kiss you and you ran your nails down his back. You heard him moan and did it again. "I'm not going to last," you whined as he slammed into you particularly rough.

"Let go for me, come on Angel. You're doing so good and you look so pretty, let go," the mix of his words and the immense pleasure he was bringing you was the perfect mix to throw you over the edge. Your orgasm shook you to your core, Joaquín wasn't far behind. You could feel his release fill you up and you pulled him to lay on top of you. You two laid there in your post orgasm glow for a moment before v pulled out, both of you hissing at the overstimulation. "I'll be right back," he told you and you nodded, too fucked out to speak.

True to his word, Joaquín was back and with a warm damp cloth to clean you up. He threw it back into the bathroom before grabbing your bags to find something for the two of you to change into. He gave you some panties and one of his shirts before throwing on some boxers and his grey sweatpants. He laid with you, holding you to him as you two stayed silent.

"This meant something to you, right?" You couldn't help but ask, you needed to know.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests

[nerdgirlbutinpink]

so i did say you guys would be feed some joaquin worries head canons while im writing part 2, so here they are!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡𝗦 | 𝗷𝗼𝗮𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗲𝘀 𝘅 𝗚𝗡!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗶𝗺 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗯𝗲 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲

↳ you guys meet at a coffee shop — hear me out though! the beginning scene from anyone but you, he fakes you being his wife so you can use the restroom

↳ but this one doesn’t end as you two bring mutals and being enemies, this is the happy ending of you two going on an actual date

↳ he’s actually really good at picking spots to go to for date nights, you two go to places you don’t even know exist

↳ for those nights you two stay in? oh my gosh, when you say that he’s the best cook ever? you mean it.

↳ he cooks you all kinds of mexican dishes, he makes enchiladas, tortas, tacos, sopes, mole and pozole

↳ enough with the food talk now

↳ he’s SUCHH a family man, you don’t even understand

↳ when he takes you to a family gathering, you’re so nervous and about to jump out the car

↳ “what if they don-“ “they’re going to like you babe, they like everyone!” in the conversation you both have in the car before getting off

↳ you two walk in and you swore his mom looked at you angry then a sense of joy came upon her seeing you were with her son

↳ joaquin’s mom? nah. that’s your best friend now! you two have been talking and texting nonstop since you met her

↳ even when it’s not about joaquin, you’re always asking her for cooking advice or even advice about joaquin

↳ “he’s been acting strange, he goes away when we’re not together, he never answers the phone when he’s gone, and hes a little too secretive about his second phone”

↳ besides him being a little odd when he’s away, he’s such a gentle man

↳ ever since you met him, he’s never let you open any door for yourself or anything, and he makes sure of it too

↳ when it’s that time of the month? gone or away, you’ll receive his own little care package he made himself of stuff he knows you like, down to the candy, a pair of socks, a heating pad and even a blanket sometimes

↳ you always swear you’re going to marry him

↳ he gets you a puppy for your guys’ anniversary

↳ he says it’s for when he’s on his oddly long periods of time …. and you bring that up too

↳ “joaquin?” you say with the cutest smile on your face, “yes y/n?” “where do you you even go in those times you just leave me alone?”

↳ that starts a pretty heated conversation, you get worried on if you two would break up but it ends in him admitting he’s the falcon

↳ honestly you didn’t see or believe it at first since you didn’t notice any similarities between the two

↳ then when he pointed out when you’d see the green suited man on the news … the same times he’d be gone

↳ everything had just made a bit more sense now

↳ honestly you couldn’t even be mad at him, because you’re boyfriend being a superhero? holy shart

↳ you soon forgive him to getting angry at the fact he would disappear, all was now okay knowing he was safe in these situations

↳ but then you hit him because he didn’t tell you sooner, “why would this be a secret!?” he explains he didn’t want you to worry

↳ you weren’t even mad at that part, you were just mad because that’s such a cool thing to hide

↳ “you make me seem lame, my super secret is that i eat all the nutella when you’re gone!” “so that’s where it goes…i know im not crazy”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

a/n: please lmk if this was any good T-T also i want to start a taglist but im not sure how to make the link, but once i find out ill make one for each character i write!