#if no one knows i will look it up and report back

[mothofmyth]

DC x DP

The Justice League summons the ghost king.

Unfortunately, the safest way JLD can find requires a host body to contain the being.

Obviously Superman, Wonder Woman, and Flash are out - who knows what this being would do with a super-powered body. They have no idea how Captain Marvel or Green Lantern type magic would interact with the summoning, so not them either. They need Constantine and Zatanna to perform the ritual.

Basically it's down to the bats.

Batman tries to volunteer - better him than one of his kids if anything were to go wrong.

That gets vetoed. As do a lot of his offspring. The safest options (ie the least contaminated by magic, lazarus water, time shenanigans, and everything else) are Red Robin, Spoiler, and Nightwing.

Nightwing pulls rank.

After a lot of arguing, everyone at least agrees to tolerate the arrangement.

Nightwing removes every possible weapon from himself, allows himself to be tied to a chair in the middle of a summoning circle, and waits for JL Dark to complete the ritual.

It's not long before he feels a surge of cold burning through him.

He expected to be unconscious while the Ghost King took over. That's what Zatanna said had been reported the last time this ritual was performed many years ago.

They had all expected a lot of things.

Pariah Dark was supposed to be terrifying to behold - a massive, cruel, FURIOUS dictator who turned to violence at the smallest sleight.

This was... definitely not that.

Dick was present. He had no control over his body, but he could see and hear in an almost dream-like state. Foggy and indistinct, maybe a little warped, but definitely present.

He felt his heart rate and breathing pick up in panic even though he felt mostly calm (or at least no more anxious than he had been, waiting for an angry deity to possess his body and all). It was a strange sensation.

He felt the vibrations of his own voice as it left his throat, high and confused.

"Wha... Where..." It asked, warbling and afraid.

He felt his eyes blink and his limbs struggle against the bindings.

His head tilted down without his say so, and he looked at his own body as if through rippling water, warped lenses.

"I'm not..." His voice came out, still confused. Still afraid.

"Your Majesty?" Zatanna asked from beyond the limits of the circle.

His head whipped up, and he felt his neck click at the abrupt motion.

His breathing picked up again. Dick felt the ghost (pun not intended) of anxiety, like it was leaking from the other consciousness inhabiting his body.

"We mean you no harm. Our associate has agreed to lend you his body for the duration of this meeting." She continued.

Dick felt the king's anxiety again, stronger this time. Other emotions too, guilt, sorrow, anger, and a strange sort of pressing-tugging sensation.

Suddenly, Dick was back in control. He could still feel the king's consciousness, stronger now than before, but he could also move and speak freely.

"What just happened?" He mumbled, speaking to the ghost, not the audience of heroes.

"Nightwing?" Someone called from outside the circle, but he ignored them for the moment, feeling instead the consciousness inhabiting his body push back fear, guilt, and apology.

"Yeah, it's me. He's still in here, though." Dick frowned, trying to figure out how to interact with the being.

He heard a voice in the back of his mind. It sounded like him. It sounded different. It was younger than him. It was small and afraid. It was neutral and quiet and him. But it wasn't. It was speaking. It was silent. It was emotions and thoughts and nothing.

"Oooookay, this is really weird. I think we're communicating. I don't know how to talk back, but if he's in the same situation I was a minute ago he should be able to hear us just fine. Is that right?" Nightwing tried.

The 'voice' (he figured he'd call it a voice for now. He wasn't sure what else he could call it) responded in the affirmative. Like a hand outstretched, flipping up and down in a 'kinda' type of gesture. Like a nod and a hesitant smile. The feeling of victory by default.

Dick beamed.

"Okay yeah he can hear us." He announced for the benefit of their audience. "Why didn't you stay where you could speak? Wouldn't that have been easier?" He looked at his own chest, as if he could somehow find a way to see the presence inside of him.

Disgust. Guilt. Fear. An unexpected step at the bottom of a staircase. Falling off a pier into tempestuous water. A stranger pinning your hands above your head.

"Oh." Dick breathed. "Thank you, but I can handle it."

Guilt. Guilt. GUILT.

"Okay. It's alright. You can speak through me or we can manage like this." He soothed.

"Nightwing, report." Batman demanded.

"Uhh, right. I think he's trying to be courteous? To me, I mean. From what I can gather, he doesn't want to possess me or take over. He seems pretty repulsed by the idea, to be honest. I think he can see and hear and generally experience everything I'm experiencing, he's just more passenger than driver? I can feel him, and he's communicating, he just can't speak through me without taking my autonomy again, and he really doesn't want to do that." Dick explained, looking at the various states of thinly-veiled bewilderment across the faces of the heroes.

"Ask him if he's Pariah Dark, High King of the Infinite Realms, Ancient of Rage and Destructio-" Constantine begins, before Dick cuts him off

"I just said he can hear everything we're saying. Ask him yourself."

Constantine huffs. "You heard me, mate. Are you him?"

Denial. Contemplation. A battle. Single combat. A crown made of black thorns and green flames. A throne too big for he who sits in it. Victory. Desperation. Insufficiency. A question.

"I think..." Dick starts, trying to understand. "I think he's the King... but he's not Pariah Dark."

Agreement. Apology. Questioning.

"He wants to know if we're looking for Pariah Dark, or if we're looking for the High King of the Infinite Realms." He glances between Zatanna and Constantine, uncertain of the answer himself.

Constantine pales.

"Whatever is inside you defeated the ancient of Rage and Destruction in single combat, Nightwing. It's a powerful motherfucker, and a total unknown." He warns cautiously.

"Get him out of there, now. Send it back." Batman demands.

TERROR. Pleading. Unbearable suffering. Shiny metal dripping with green blood. The end of love. Unfathomable loss. Death without release. Unending torment. Begging.

"NO!" The voice tears its way out of Nightwing without his consent.

Cowering. Apology. Apology. Guilt. Apology.

Dick clears his throat. "I don't think he wants to leave."

"All the more reason to send it back." Batman growls.

"Don't." Dick protests. "I know it's a risk, and there's a chance it's manipulating me. But, something doesn't feel right about all of this."

"Ghosts are well known for their skills regarding manipulation, mind control, and emotion tampering." Zatanna cautions.

"According to those dehumanising rags maybe," Constantine scoffs.

"Every source we have-"

"Two sources, Love. Both of which have a bit of a vested interest, wouldn't you say?"

Fear. FEAR. Frustration. Heartbreak. An unheard voice in a crowded room. A layperson lecturing an expert. Mockery. A spectacle of suffering. Lies. Hurt. Fear.

"He agrees with Constantine." Dick pipes in.

Exasperation. Reluctance.

"I don't think he's too happy about it." He laughs.

"Of course he agrees with Constantine, he's giving him what he wants." Red Robin huffs.

"He's afraid." Dick's voice cuts through the argument and the heroes turn to look at him. "I don't know exactly what's happening, but he's terrified of being sent back."

Zatanna sighs. "Let's do what we came to do, and then maybe we'll talk about letting him out."

(Something goes wrong and Dick and Danny end up stuck like this for a while.

Dick moves back into Wayne Manor while they try to figure out how to remove Danny from Dick's body without hurting either of them.

Everybody starts referring to Phantom as Dick's little passenger.

Eventually they repeal the Anti-Ecto Acts and find out all of the trauma Danny's been through via talking and dream/memory bleeding between him and Dick.

When Danny does finally manage to tumble out of Dick he is promptly adopted into the Batfam (what did anyone expect, he's a traumatised young teenager with black hair and blue eyes and barely any sense of self preservation).

In the meantime, however, Dick is happily going about his daily life with his little passenger, and Danny is still very traumatised but he's also contentedly curled up in Dick's chest, thrumming with happiness whenever Dick takes care of him.

Once or twice when Dick gets into Big Danger while vigilante-ing, Phantom forcibly takes over Dick's body to save him, using his ghost powers to fight the bad guy and escape the scenario. He cries afterwards because even though he needed to save Dick's life, he knows how terrifying and violating it feels to have someone else controlling your body (thanks Circus Gothica) and never wants to put anyone else through that.)

[nineteenninety-six]

hello!! a request for a dr robby with reader my apologies if this is gibberish i have a hard time getting thoughts to words

reader is a social worker in the ED sunshine personified, always trying to cheer up everyone in the department making sure everyone is doing well, especially robby.

she gets called to help out with an agitated patient in the ed by robby. she goes to work with the patient and gets assaulted by the patient like bad, and robby finds her.

Pairing: Michael Robinavitch x Reader

AN: I wrote half of this before rereading the request and realised I strayed a bit but oh well.

Warnings: domestic violence, st@bbing, abuse, assualt. this one does have some heavy themes as a general warning.

You hummed as you rocked on your feet in the elevator as it took you down to the emergency department. You were a social worker at the hospital and you usually alternated with Kiara on who spent the shift in the ED and today was her day but she was currently occupied so you were called down to help on a case that just came through the ambulance bay doors, a suspected domestic violence case.

The elevator doors opened up and you wasted no time in stepping into the hustle and bustle of the emergency room, seeking out the day shift attending, Dr Robby.

You saddled up to the nurse’s station and smile at Dana in greeting, "Hey Dana, now's things going?"

“I’ll tell you what, those banana and chocolate muffins you make would definitely make the day better.” Dana hums as she wriggles her eyebrows as she hints at you.

You laugh at her words. You were an avid baker in your free time and so the staff of the hospital were both the recipients and test subjects of your baked goods. "That bad of a day huh? I’ll pick up some bananas tonight so give me a couple of days there be a full tray in the staffroom.”

"Don't get me started hon and make it two trays." Dana sighs, "You here for that DV case? I'll page Robby that you're down here."

"Thanks Dana" You nod and look around the pit as you waited for Robby. You didn't exactly know what you were looking for as everyday was different yet also the same at the pit. Same shit, different day.

You hear Robby call out your name as he approached the nurse’s station and you turn to face him with a smile, "Hey Robby."

A bright smile spreads across Robby's face as he comes to a stop by your side and you can't help the bright smile you return back.

"So, what’s the case you wanted my help with?"

Robby pulls you to the side, to an alcove where you can speak privately where there will be no overhearing ears.

"EMTs brought her in about thirty minutes ago. Woman in her twenties, boyfriend called it in, says he came home and found her unconscious on the floor. She has multiple bruises, both new and old, multiple fractures, new and old again. Trauma to the face and head including a skull fracture and broken cheekbone. Also, a couple of rib fractures."

You stare speechless at Robby as he rattles off the poor woman’s injuries, "... Holy shit."

Robby nods in agreement at your words, rubbing his hands across his face in exhaustion.

"Those sound like car crash injuries" You murmur, "And you said the boyfriend called it in? Was it like a house invasion... but you called me down so..."

"Police called, there was no evidence of an attempt to break in, no robbery took place."

"Shit..." You swear again, "So he assaults her, probably worse than he's ever done before, realises it and calls the ambulance and makes a story to avoid suspicion."

"Most probably" Robby nods, "You want me to come in with you?"

"Despite how much I'd appreciate that, I know you have your hands full with both patients and reports."

"I don't want you going in there alone though" Robbie worries.

"I'II bring Mateo or Donnie, I won't be alone and get a security guard to stand guard nearby but not at the door, I don't want to scare either of them."

Robby nods, "Sounds good."

You flash him a smile as you reach forward and squeeze his hand. "I'll keep you updated, okay?"

"Okay." Robby returns your smile, albeit with a shy smaller one. "I'll see you later."

Robby returns back to the nurse’s station, next to Dana as they watch as you head towards the patient’s room,

“Are you ever going to ask her out?” Dana asks.

Robby’s eyes flicker to Dana who was already looking at him, “She’s too good for me.”

Dana rolls her eyes at the man, “She’s very good, yes. Sweet and lovely and kind…which is why I think you two are good for each other. Trust me, ask her out.”

Robby hums as he clicks on a tablet and steps away, “I’ll think about it.”

You knock on the door, stepping in after a second with Donnie right behind you. The woman lays in bed, full of drugs that are currently keeping her calm and pain-free but she's currently conscious and the man sat next to her looked irritated and angry as he sat with crossed arms and frown on his face, the boyfriend if you had to guess.

"Finally," The man huffs, throwing his hands up in frustration as he stood up, "We've been waiting for ages. I don't know why we're still here. we need to go home."

"Miss Timmins' injuries are severe and require more testing and treatment. I'm afraid she's not going anywhere anytime soon." Donnie tells the boyfriend as he checks her vitals.

"You're just a damn nurse, you don't-know anything!" The boyfriend snaps before he turns to you, "Are you a doctor? Can you discharge us."

"I'm not a doctor. I'm a social worker." You correct.

"We don't need a damn social worker!" The boyfriend snaps becoming more incensed, "We just need a doctor."

"Well, I was called because I heard you were involved in a terrifying incident and my role is to help you in situations like this." You turn your focus on the woman and step closer to the bed and introduce yourself, "You're Claire, right?"

The woman nods and you give her a comforting smile, "It's nice to meet you, Claire. I can get you in contact with support groups and therapists who have experience with working with people who have gone what you have experienced."

"What do you mean?" The boyfriend barks out.

You turn to look at him before you share a look with Donnie. "Claire was involved in a house invasion and that is a terrifying thing to experience, don't you think?"

The man gives a reluctant nod and you share another look with Donnie before you speak again.

"Maybe it's best if I speak to Claire alone. Perhaps she'll feet more comfortable if it’s just the two of us."

The man looks to argue with you, getting red in the face as he stands up but Donnie moves to stand in front of you and the man immediately backs down but he doesn't leave without a glare and a curse muttered underneath his breath. Thankfully Donnie follows him out of the room leaving you alone with Claire.

"Claire, I'm going to be honest with you right now. I've heard what your boyfriend told the 911 operatives and then I heard what the police said when they arrived at your house and honestly, the stories don't match up and I think you're the only person who can tell me the full story."

Claire looked at you with wide watery eyes, and lips that began to tremble,"... I..."

"You don't have to tell me anything; all you have to do is tell me that you need help and I can help you get into contact with those who can actually help!”

"... what will they do?"

"Well, if you want, they'll help you with filing a police report and if your house is not a safe space, then they can get you into a shelter and there they'll help you move states if you so wish, and they can also help with you getting a job."

"What about a restraining order?"

"They can help you with that." You nod "But may I suggest something?”

Claire nods and you continue speaking, “Tell the police what happened. They already know what happened earlier, they talked to your neighbours, they watched the security footage and been to your place, they already know his story doesn’t make sense. They’re already suspicious and your statement would be the nail in the coffin-"

"What the hell are you talking to her about?!"

The words cause you to jump in fright, spinning on your heels to face the angry man in the door. You hadn't realised he had returned and now you were trapped in a room with him and it was obvious he had been there a while and had overheard what you had been saying.

"Answer me." The man’s voice is quiet but deadly and you feel your heart begin to race as he closes the door behind him.

"Please move away from the door" You tell him, keeping your voice calm as to not to escalate the situation.

"What lies have you been feeding her?" The man steps closer to you and you shuffle backwards until your butt hits the bed Claire is in.

You’re too far away to press the staff assist button so your only hope was to talk the angry man down.

“I haven’t told her any lies” You tell him, “We were just talking about what happened earlier.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” The man continues walking forward, his hand digging into his pocket and pulling out a folding knife.

Your heart drops to your stomach and you struggle to swallow amongst the urge to throw up.

“P-please put that down sir” Your voice is low as you plead, “Please…”

Claire gasps and sobs behind you before erupting in a scream when her boyfriend launches himself at you. You try to run for the assist button but before you can you’re pulled back by your collar and thrown to the floor, your head bouncing off of the floor.

You hear Claire scream and you blink through the ache that was creeping through you right now and stumble to your feet, “Claire, press the assist button! Now!”

Claire is frozen in her spot as she watches her boyfriend advance on you and you barely have time to blink before he’s grabbing you. One hand on your shoulder to keep you from moving and the other firmly clasped around the folding knife which he swiftly stabs you with.

You gasp at the searing pain it leaves and it glides through you and you can only stare at the man wide eyed in shock. Claire has curled up into a ball and turned away from you and amidst the pain and shock you realise that you will die soon if you don’t do something and so you scream at the top of your lungs knowing that people out there will definitely hear and come running.

“Shut the fuck up!” The man yells and stabs you again before he attempts to flee out of the room, letting you drop to the ground unable to support yourself anymore.

He doesn’t get far as he runs straight into Ahmed’s arms as he runs through the door and Ahmed is quick to push him to the side and restrain him as someone runs to call the police while Robby, Collins, Langdon, Dana and Princess run into the room.

Robby curses as he spots you when he runs into the room, muttering your name as he did so, “Oh shit-fuck,”

You whimper as he kneels next you and places his hand on top of yours where they lay on your wounds at a poor attempt of stifling the bleeding. You lay in a puddle of your own blood as it pooled around you, your hands drenched in the blood and when Robby’s hand rested on top of yours you left a bloody hand print on his wrist that you held on to in panic.

You stare wide eyed up at Robby, trying to focus through the fear but your body was engulfed in excruciating pain. Every inch of your body ached as you lay there on the emergency department floor, bleeding profusely from a stab wound. The sheer intensity of the situation made your head spin, yet you remained aware of your surroundings.

You heard Princess frantically paging for surgery, and the hurried movements of Dana as they passed whatever Robby had requested.

All you could see however, was Robby hovering above you, his hands moving with expert precision as he stabilised you with Langdon’s help, trying to slow down your bleeding enough for surgery to take over and stitch you up.

Your hands twitched desperately as you reached out for someone’s hand, yearning for physical comfort in this moment of fear. Panic was starting to set in, but when warmth enveloped your hand, you were jolted back to reality. Your eyes fluttered up and met Heather’s warm gaze, and suddenly, all the emotions that had been trapped behind the shock that had taken over after the stabbing were released. You began to sob uncontrollably, tears streaming down your cheeks as you clutched Heather’s hand tightly.

“You’re okay, you’re okay…” Heather soothed you, her fingers gently brushing the tears off your cheeks, “Robby and Frank are nearly done and you can go to up to surgery.”

Heather squeezes your hand and you hold on tight. She was currently your anchor and you didn’t want her to leave because if she did then your focus would shift to the miracle work that Robby and Langdon were performing on you.

Soon a stretcher is pushed into the room and Robby is hovering over you once again, he reaches as if he’s going to cup your cheeks before he remembers that wearing blood-soaked gloves.

“Hey, you’re going off to surgery now. They’re gonna stitch you up real good.” Robby assures you, wincing at your cry when you’re lifted onto the stretcher, “I know the surgeons are assholes but they’re the best in the city, if not the state. You’ll be good hands.”

All you can do it nod before you’re pulled away to the elevators, your hand slipping from Heathers as she falls out of view along with Robby.

You wake to the usual sterile stench that coated the hospital, your eyes slowly blinking open as you stare up at the white ceiling and for a moment you think you’re back on the floor of the emergency department bleeding out but then the steady beeping of the monitor beside you brings you back to reality.

You instinctually shift but your body immediately protests and you still your movement with a pained whimper.

“Hey, hey” A voice calls out to you, the person resting their hand on yours, “Don’t move too much otherwise you open your wounds.”

“Robby?” You croak out as you turn to face, “W-what happened?”

Robby tugs his seat closer and takes both your hands into his, “Do you remember what happened downstairs?”

You think for a moment, trying to find the memories through the fog in your brain before you nod, “Yea…How'd he get the knife in?"

"He came with the ambulance, so no security metal detector and no scanner." Robby explains with a huff.

“Frank and I got you stable and we got you into surgery where they patched you up,” Robby tells you as he rubs his thumb over the back of your hand, “You’ll stay here for a day or two then you go home. Strictly bedrest no funny business.”

Your lips quirk as you look at Robby, “Is that a demand Dr Robby?”

“Yeah, doctors orders” He nods before his expression settles into something more serious, “…I should have gone in there with you.”

You tangle your hand with Robby’s so your fingers were interlinked, “Shoulda, woulda, coulda. It’s the past now, stop focussing on it.”

“You could have died!” Robby stresses.

“But I didn’t!” You remind him, “You saved me.”

You see him open his mouth, no doubt to argue with you some more and you quickly interrupt him, “Robby, please. You did nothing wrong and you saved me, that’s all there is to this conversation and if you dare bring it up again then I’m kicking you out.”

There’s a pause, a moment of silent before Robby nods and laughs, “…Okay.”

“I do need a favour though”

Robby perks up at that, “Sure anything.”

“You wouldn’t mind picking me up some bananas, would you? I promised Dana some of my chocolate and banana muffins.”

Robby stares at you speechless before he nods with a laugh, “Depends, will there be any for me?”

“Well, I was planning on making you those white chocolate and raspberry muffins you like so much.”

“Just for me?” Robby looks excited.

You smile and nod, “Just for you, as a thank you. Not just for saving me but also for getting all the ingredients.”

“Considering the muffins are repayment, you’re very much welcome.” Robby gives your hands a squeeze before he stands, “Now get some rest, everyone wants to come see you when their shift is done.”

“Sir yes sir!” You nod as you ease back onto the bed, trying your hardest not to pull at your stitches, “I’ll see you later?”

Robby gives you one last nod before he leaves your room.

[no-144444]

attending the met gala!

꩜ featuring: the entire grid, jenson button, mark webber, nico rosberg, sebastian vettel, daniel riccardo, logan sargeant

꩜ warnings: some 18+ references

mclaren

Oscar Piastri: nonchalant king 

He’s there for you, and you only. 

Boring black tux, but talks about how cool the concept is and has some cool takes so he makes up for it.

Asked Lewis for advice 

You two have a subtle coordination on your fits 

He’d stepping back so you can have your moment, but there’s about 500 photos of him looking at you lovingly as you pose for the photos 

Tries to act interested by just ends up talking to you and lewis all night 

HATES it when lewis tries to introduce him to someone famous and it CRACKS you up

Flops into bed in his suit and falls asleep as you take off your makeup. 

Again, CRACKS you up 

You climb into bed beside him and he’s wrapping his arms around you and whispering about how beautiful you looked/ look until yall fall asleep 

Lando Norris: STRESSED 

GRILLED lewis on what to wear. 

Was so stressed about it he missed his flight. 

Cue more stress 

Literally everything that could’ve gone wrong for him did and he was shitting himself because he didn’t want to ruin your big day (considering he was just coming as your guest) 

The airline loses his luggage 

He gets stopped by border security for a ages

gets the next flight and gets there in time to start getting ready with you, until you both realise the brand you’re going with brought the wrong suit for him. 

Both of you panic, him almost crying out of frustration for the past 20 hours, but you calm him down and thankfully it gets to the hotel in time

Once you’re all ready he is HANDSY 

I mean he won’t let you go girl 

You walk the stairs together, hand in hand, both beaming despite the luck of the past 24 hours

Again girl, hsi hands do not leave you and yall get some gorgeous shots together on the carpet and throughout the night 

He falls asleep at the table 

Lewis posts a picture on his insta and he gets violently grilled by the internet 

mercedes

George Russell: he’s been waiting for this 

Not that he’s a fashion man, but he likes looking good. 

Also grills Lewis about the theme and what he should wear 

Shows up and shows out tbf 

He knows what he wants when yall are going to fittings 

He’s not bothering with being boring because why would he?

he gets so into it he gives you the ick because he says shit like ‘chartreuse? No. not for you’ 

The night of the thing he’s shitting BRICKS 

He’s so scared to walk the carpet. 

But once yall get on and he’s holding your hand, he calms down. 

Serves face at the cameras 

FALLS UP THE STAIRS, AND YET ANOTHER MEME IS BORN 

You laugh so hard you almost fall down the stairs be he catches you and you get a real cute photo of the two of you laughing 

He sits by lewis all night, too scared to try and meet hollywood 

Kimi Antonelli: confused but supportive 

He barely knew what the met gala was when you first mentioned it, but it was happy to oblige you if that’s what you wanted 

He asked Lewis and Charles about it (the most fashionable people he knows)

Lewis sent him inspo and he just picked one and handed it to the brand you were going with 

During his fitting he kept dragging you into the changing room with him not realising he was in a Chanel store and almost got you two kicked out 

“So it’s like a fashion show?” 

“It’s a museum Kim-”

“BORING!”

Like Lando, he’s mr.grabby hands over here once you’re ready 

Tells reporters he’s just there for you and has no idea what he’s meant to do for the rest of the night 

“There’s an afterparty,” you tell him 

“Great! I can get drunk!” he smiled 

You shook your head. “Baby, we’re in america”

Sulks about that but Lewis sneaks you two some alcohol 

williams

Alex Albon: pop culture king 

He does a LOT of research and decides to tie in his Thai heritage with some patterns 

Genuinely gets into it and gets embarrassed when you say it’s cute that he’s getting into it 

Obviously has an obnoxious jokey pin on the inside of his jacket 

The weeks leading up it’s the only thing he and Lewis talk about 

Lewis came to one of his fittings and was genuinely so surprised at the thought he’d put into it 

Getting ready, he’s cracking so many jokes to calm both your nerves 

Once you’re on the carpet, he’s pointing out the influencers he knows and judging outfits 

He gets a great photo beside Lewis 

Gets incredible photos beside you 

Yall look adorable 

Carlos Sainz: he’s… he’s there! 

Bless him, he looks confused at the best of times but when you were explaining the met gala… you should’ve tried quantum physics first :( 

“It’s a fashion show?”

“It’s an exhibition?” 

“Which is it?!” 

He goes for a plain tux tbh, if he does anything else he’d be in information overload 

Jaw drops when he sees you in a suit 

Genuinely cannot stop kissing you 

The night of he is slightly terrified but you quell his nerves with your wonderful sense of humor 

Walking the carpet together is hilarious and fun because he has no idea what he’s doing there, and he can’t focus on anything but you, so you answer his questions for him 

Bathroom quickie 🤷

Asks Lewis if he approves of your outfit, which is all he cares about 

He loves you in a suit 

LOVES you in a suit 

I cannot stress enough how much he loves you in a suit 

redbull

Max Verstappen: he’s there for you bfr 

He’s allergic to anything but team kit, bffr 

Normally, nothing would get him to go to the met gala 

Not exactly his scene, plus it’s right after a race so he'd be exhausted 

You begged him though (and promised blow-jobs whenever he wanted for a month) 

So he agreed 

Plain black tux (BORING) 

Doesn’t give a singular shit about the questions he’s asked when he confirms that he’s going 

The day of, he’s just staring at you as you get ready 

He’s genuinely enchanted by you 

Cannot look away 

Very much let’s you have your moment on the stairs, but you pull him in for a kiss and it makes a great photo  

Reminds you the whole night he’s only there for you 

Ends up watching some form of racing on his phone like a fucking ipad kid 

Bj in the car after 

Yuki Tsunoda: fashion icon don’t play 

We ALL know he’s a fashionista 

Wouldn’t pass up the opportunity 

Sadly, is dressed by Boss, but we can get over that 

Subtle matching with you 

Gets Lewis’s approval on his suit 

It’s not totally out there but it’s not a boring black or navy tux 

Cannot keep his hand off you on the carpet 

Keeps whispering about how beautiful you look 

Gets sloshed at the after party 

Makes friends with a bunch of prominent hollywood people while he’s drunk 

‘Omg me gurlfrirnd is ssooooooooooooooooooooooooooo prewetty!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’ he posts a photo of the floor with that as a caption 

Gets put in pr lessons for 3 weeks 

Still maintains it was worth it 

vcarb

Isack Hadjar: he’s such a little baby 

He’s terrified 

I mean frozen with fear when you ask him to be your plus one

Agrees, but needs your help the whole way 

HAS TO GET LEWIS’S APPROVAL ON HIS SUIT 

Actually, Lewis helps him understand the theme and helps him pick out his suit 

Cute bonding moment for them 

Insists you wear the same colour as him 

The day of, he goes full simp 

Getting you coffees and food, checking in on you every four second 

Watching you get ready with actually heart eyes 

Doesn’t understand how to pose on the carpet, but he’s just so happy and honoured to be there with you that he just blushes and stands beside you until you move him how you want 

Seriously enjoys it when you kiss his cheek on the carpet and the cameras go mad

Makes that photo his lockscreen 

Liam Lawson: there’s heart there 

He doesn’t fully get it and he’s too scared to ask Lewis, so he asks you to pick his suit 

He’ll wear anything 

he doesn’t care once he’s going with you 

Literally watches tiktoks on how to pose on carpets 

He doesn’t want to fuck this up for you so he is constantly asking for approval of things

Let’s you pick how his hair, facial hair, outfit, etc. looks 

He just wants you to be happy 

The whole time on the carpet he is sweating buckets and terrified

That eases once you take his hand 

He answers interview questions politely, but his eyes continuously drift to you 

You’re always distracting him 

Ends up meeting a bunch of hollywood people and enjoying his night 

Both of you get trashed at the after party 

Drunk sex in your hotel room 

ferrari

Charles LeClerc: matching 

He will actually refuse unless you’re matching 

It’s slightly annoying but whatever 

He’s so into the outfit planning you almost wonder the performance of the ferrari is due to their drivers being so into the met gala

Insists you both wear ferrari pins 

At your first fitting for your outfit, he actually lost his mind 

Fucked in the car after 

He’s so nervous the whole week before 

Accidentally gets kind of drunk before it to calm his nerves 

It’s hilarious 

Deeply enjoyable to watch him almost fall up the stairs as he sobers up and realises what he’s doing and where he is, then that easy smile is replaced with a sullen look of fear and terror all in one 

Wanted to bring Leo 

Cannot stop telling you (and others) how gorgeous you are 

Slaps your ass so hard on the carpet and so many people get photos of it 

He gets asked about it on the next race weekend and he just puts his head in his hands, not remembering doing that until someone shows him the video- it definitely explains the bruise he noticed on your ass that morning 

Lewis Hamilton: …oh girl

Babe, your boyfriend is on the committee, you’re showing up and showing OUT 

He helps you with every bit of your outfit, feeling touched by how into it you are

Matching colours and concepts 

You help him with his board duties 

You’re super nervous in the un up to it, but he calms it all down 

The day of he’s paying extra attention to you and making sure you’re alright 

Yall are a POWER COUPLE when walking the carpet 

I mean everyone stops and looks girl 

You two serve genuine CUNT it’s literally insane 

He GUSHES about you in interviews 

You brag about him in interviews 

In the bathroom selfie he has his arms around you and every loves it 

You lowkey soft launch your engagement at it… by accident tho

Dancing all night during the after party 

He’s so thankful to you for how much effort you put into something that mattered to him so much 

Zhou Guanyu: pookie ZHOU 

He’s ready 

He’s planning 

He’s got the pinterest boards up 

He’s serving 

He’s critiquing your fit 

He’s showing UP! 

Get’s Lewis’s advice 

We ALL know Zhou is a fashion diva, so he’s so serving 

On the carpet, he’s serving FACE beside you 

Shining on the carpet, GENUINELY 

Has sweetcorn embroidered onto the inside of his suit (he is your child, of course) 

Slightly matching with you 

Spends all his interviews gushing about you 

Him and Lewis hug when they meet on the carpet and IT IS SUCH A CUTE PHOTO 

Omg i love Zhou so much 

haas

Ollie Bearman: he’s got the spirit! 

He has NO idea what he’s doing 

Goes to CARLOS for help… doesn’t get any 

Freaks out over it because he has NO idea what he’s doing 

Genuinely loses sleep 

Also it’s your relationship debut os he’d DOUBLE scared 

Subtly matches you 

Needs constant reassurance that you actually like his suit 

The night of he freaks out 

Literally shaking in the car, knee bouncing, etc. 

You have no idea how to calm him down because you're also terrified, so you just kiss him the second you get out of the car 

HARD LAUNCH QUEEN! 

he’s shocked for a second, but then relaxes into it 

Cameras are FLASHING girl

Teases you about it all night 

You both end up enjoying yourselves 

Esteban Ocon: has no idea what he’s doing 

Like, he barely knows what the Met is so… yeah. You’re in for a treat! 

He’s supportive of you and genuinely wants you to enjoy yourself, just fashion is NOT his expertise if you get what i mean

Let’s you pick everything 

Doesn’t care what you put him in once he’s walking in on your arm 

The night of, he’s weirdly calm and noticed how anxious you are 

Is super reassuring all night and on the carpet 

Super sweet in general 

You both end up having a great night 

aston martin

Lance Stroll: anti-social butterfly! 

At first, he flat out said no 

He wasn’t interested in being stuck in a sweaty hall with all of Hollywood for a night while he just pretended not to be there so people wouldn’t speak to him

He then realised that it meant a lot to you so he agreed and apologised for not saying yes sooner

PLANNING BEGINS! He’s scared to ask about anything because he knows it’ll turn into a 30 minute long lecture where he’s taught various fashion terms, pop culture terms, or the names of celebrities he should probably know 

He just follows your lead the whole time 

Photobombs EVERYONE 

I mean he is EVERYWHERE AND IN EVERYONE’S PHOTOS 

Randomly, he becomes mates with jack harlow 

Ends up enjoying himself a lot 

Handsy with you on the carpet, but in a sweet way 

Fernando Alonso: he has a mission 

When you asked, he was definitely up for it 

Kind of scared but like, supportive boyfriend 

Is excited to meet all the celebrities 

But when he finds out taylor swift is going, a plan is hatched 

He wants to get a photo with her and makes it his mission for the night 

Obvi, spends the majority of the night with you 

Does in fact get a photo with her (furthering the rumours, of course), and posts it before his photos with you (smh)

Makes tiktoks in the bathroom with other met-goers 

Weirdly, befriends rhianna 

sauber

Nico Hulkenberg: dude he’s scared 

Didn’t want to go but is going for you 

BORING BLACK TUX but whatever 

Talks to Lewis about it 

Is more lost after their conversation 

“So it’s for famous people? Why am I there?”

“OH! Is it for influencers? Why are we going?!” 

Bro is giving old man 

Anyway, follows you like a confused and scared puppy the whole carpet, but then you lose him the second you’re inside 

Funnily enough, gets trashed with Colman Domingo

Gabriel Borteleto: has no idea what he’s doing there 

Man is allergic to anything but team kit and zara mens, FREE HIM 

You both help style the outfits, but it’s definitely veering towards your vision because his is… (STRANGE)

Ends up enjoying the creation process 

Shitting himself the day of 

Almost vomits with nerves 

Goes out to lunch with ollie to try and calm down 

OLLIE GETS HIM DRUNK! 

He’s sloshed before even getting to the carpet, but you sober him up a bit 

(you also want ollie dead but that’s for later xxx)

On the carpet, he trips

Everyone laughs at him and he’s so embarrassed (chose that moment to sober up fully) he doesn’t even want to get up 

You tell him he’s alright and he kisses you on the carpet (CAMERAS FLASH!) and thanks you for bringing him, even if he makes a complete fool of himself 

You tell him it’s alright because he already made the biggest fool of himself by signing for sauber xxx

(he deserved it he got sloshed)

alpine

Jack Doohan: terror!

He’s never been more terrified in his LIFE 

Like girl he’s having heart palpitations. Why are you scaring him like this????

Anyway, gets Pierre’s advice on red carpets because he’s a #cannesqueen 

Lets you pick everything and just shows up on the day pumped full of coffee and shaking from the fear 

Ends up EATING on the carpet 

Serves down tbh (all thanks to you)

Admits he’s terrified in every single interview but is being brave for you 

Everyone online is like ‘dude drives cars at 300 miles an hours but is shitting himself on the met carpet’

Enjoys his night clinging to your arm 

Pierre Gasly: icon!

He was born ready 

He’s so excited

Gets Lewis’s advice, and shows Yuki the whole process 

Gets yuki’s advice more than yours but whatever it totally doesn’t bother you at all (it does)

Like his suit is cute but like… we both know you’re the real star here so he very much isn’t going all out os you can have your moment

NOT A BORING TUX- something colourful 

The day of, he’s never keeping his hands off you, like it’s BAD 

Interviewers even tell him to calm down 

He really enjoys himself 

Ends up playing chess with Lewis online inside

Wants to go again

Franco Colapinto: freaky

He doesn’t really get it at the beginning, but deffo is happy to go for you 

Doesn’t know anything about fashion so he lets you pick everything, but has strong feelings about certain things 

“I’m not wearing gloves, mi vita.”

“That’s so uncomfortable mi amor!”

“Do you think Lewis will like this?” constantly. 

#dramaking 

In the end, he really likes his suit and thanks you for all the work you put in to planning it 

You’d think he’d be his fine and charming self the day of, but no. He’s even worse! 

He’s his horny, fine, and charming self 

Refuses to keep his hands to himself all damn day 

Says CRAZY things in front of the vogue cameras in spanish, so bad that you have to ask them to cut it out of the video 

DOWNRIGHT FREAKY ON THE CARPET 

Hands all over you girl 

admits insane things in interviews 

“Well, yes, she looks beautiful. I’m more looking forward to taking it off her tonight,” with an innocent smile as you watch your career die in front of your eyes 

He’s fucking you in the car on the way to the after-party, 🤷

Paul Aron: my icon and king paul aron 

He’s ready for his moment 

Is scared but like… doesn’t let it show, which in turn makes you more stressed because like, he should be scared but he's not so now you’re more scared but anyway

He’s involved in everything 

very much gets Lewis’s and Pierre’s advice 

Talks to Oscar about it too (shockingly, deeply unhelpful) 

NOT A BORING BLACK TUX!!!

Genuinely researches the theme and hits the nail straight on the head. 

He looks GOOD 

Gets embarrassed because you refused to keep your hands off him 

(he’s secretly enjoying every moment) 

Is extremely grateful when you’re seated at the same table as Lewis so he actually has someone to talk to 

You have to persuade him not to wear sneakers 😭

Retired Drivers: 

Jenson Button: LOVES IT 

He was born ready 

BORING WHITE TUX BUT WHATEVER 

Helps you plan out your outfit 

Compliments you in every single interview, and cannot keep his hands to himself 

Tbf, you can't keep your hands off him either 

You’re giving POWER COUPLE on the carpet 

Lewis and Jenson have a little reunion on the carpet and inside 

You spend the night chatting with hollywood's elites while Jenson and Lewis race each other on spinny chairs they found 

Mark Webber: icon (drags oscar along too)

If you invited Mark, Oscar is coming too, it’s just a rule

You three look like a family fr 

BORING BLACK TUXES FOR THE BOTH OF THEM (BOOOOOOO)

Oscar kind of complains but you shut that down REAL quick 

Mark is having a great time with trying to make Oscar teach him the names of celebrities when Oscar clearly doesn’t fucking know 

Mark is handsy on the carpet and Oscar complains like a teenager the whole time 

“Jesus guys, get a fucking room.” 

“Fuck’s sake Mark, keep it to yourselves.”

He ends up enjoying himself as your son for the day

Mark has fun too 

Nico Rosberg: brittany 

He was born to serve do NOT play 

He dedicates so much time and ends up really enjoying the design process 

NOT A BORING BLACK TUX!!!!

You bring back the ‘brittany’ nickname and he literally side-eyes you like crazy every time you do it 

You almost want him to grow out his hair again 

Subtle matching with you two 

On the carpet, he admits he’s only really there for you (LIE) 

Lewis comes with someone and there’s an incredible Paul Mescal, Daisy Edgar-Jones, and Phoebe Bridgers style photo where Lewis is looking at Nico as he has someone on his arm, and Nico is just posing on his own like a diva 

It goes viral on twitter 

They also end up adding so much more fuel to the flames because they post a selfie from the bathroom where Lewis has his arm around his shoulder and they’re both clearly violently drunk 

Sebastian Vettel: bored

He’s NOT wearing a tie ‼️

Wants to bring your kids along but you won’t let him

Very much sulks about that 

Anyway, spends a bunch of time on research, only to wear a black tux with little bits of bee embroidery because he’s just a diva 🙄

Talks with Lewis 

PRACTICALLY SPEED-RUNS THE CARPET 

You’re actually pissed at how fast he’s gone but he apologises and says he wanted you to have your moment 

Facetimes the kids 

Then gets shit-faced and convinces you to get shit-faced

Drunk sex in the hotel room 😀

Logan Sargeant: scared ✌️

I mean this man is basically only seen in team kit or frat boy fits so…. idk what you’re expecting 

Definitely following your lead on everything 

Talks to Lewis about it briefly but like… walks away more confused tbh

Baby he is scared for his life as he walks that carpet 

BORING BLACK SUIT WARRIOR (when will these men learn?)

He’s a cutie tho, barely lets go of your hand because he’s so scared 

You two get some cute candids on the carpet when you make him laugh to distract him from his (warranted) fear 

Daniel Ricciardo: girl he’s not getting stuck with anne hathaway again 

He has revenge to enact 

Bro’s showing up decked out 

he genuinely thinks about his suit for so long and pays a bunch of attention to the little details 

Has something to remind him of you in his suit 

The day of, he’s holding himself back from you 

Genuinely cannot and will not keep his hands to himself 

On the carpet, he kisses and dips you (drama king!), making you both laugh, and he almost drops you 😐

Spots anne hathaway inside and hides from her all night 

Ends up giving an interview with Lewis

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

mclaren masterlist (OP81 &LN4)

ferrari masterlist (CL16, LH44 & AL65 )

williams & mercedes masterlist (GR63, KA12, CS55 LS2 &AA23)

redbull & vcarb masterlist (MV1, DR3 & LL40)

alpine masterlist (JD7, PA17, FC43)

[nataliasquote]

To Build a Home | n romanoff

summary: natasha comes home from a tough routine mission and wants nothing more than to shut the outside world out for a night.

warnings: mentions of injury, explosions, fluffff and soft Nat

wc: 2.5k

note: more soft Nat for you all! some of you know who I wrote this for :) I hope she enjoys it because i’m very very proud of her

-⧗-

The waiting was the worst part.

The days leading up to a mission were good, and the mission time itself had happened enough for it to feel routine by now, but the sinking gut feeling never quite dissipated no matter how many nights Natasha was away from home.

Y/n knew how to keep herself busy, throwing herself into work and social events that occurred on the daily at SHIELD. But the vast emptiness of their shared city apartment only seemed to feel colder as the nights crept by, a lowness settling in the air like a sheet. Company was a four-legged friend who clearly had a preference for Natasha, but curled up close by when she was nowhere to be seen. Liho was moody but he knew his duty.

The living room was bathed in a warm light and music trickled softly from the speakers nestled beside the tv, adding to the ambience who’s only role was to fill the never ending silence. Y/n sat tucked up to the coffee table, mission reports scattered across the wooden surface as she sat, feet tucked under her like a child.

There was something grounding about sitting on the floor, the softness of the rug offering a sliver of comfort as she wrote. Hours or minutes could be passing, it wasn’t clear. Every day just felt impossibly longer. Dinner had long passed, but her appetite had left with Natasha, only a dull ache now residing in her stomach. Certainly not the most healthy habit, and one that the redhead wishes she could stop, but cooking for one only cemented the worries that she wouldn’t return home.

Even now, the coffee in her mug had turned cold, abandoned beside a pouch of pens and various stationary items. The caffeine was to stay awake, sure, but anxiety seemed to have that job down well, and sleep felt like lightyears away. Y/n wrote steadily, movements rarely ceasing unless to pause to read. But it drowned out everything else, and that’s all that mattered.

Time passed slowly until…

The soft click of a lock.

Y/n’s head turned to the door, eyes straining in the dim light as the door handle pressed slowly downwards. She didn’t rush to get up, no, this was routine. No sudden movements or noises because there was no saying what state Natasha would be in when she returned.

The redhead kept her head low, exhaustion weighing every muscle down until it was almost painful to walk. Autopilot had taken over in her mind and she barely registered even being back in her apartment - but here she was. Hooded eyes, dim with the horrors of the mission, cast across the room until a figure registered into focus, no longer a hazy outline, but something stronger… something real.

The sight of her girlfriend on the floor across the room, the glow of the light catching her hair and illuminating the softness of a hoodie she recognised - hers. The usual mismatched socks, the stray strand of hair, the painted but slightly chipped nail polish, it was so painfully familiar, and it was hers.

Natasha let her bag drop to the floor with a controlled thud, her eyes not even registering where it landed as they locked with a pair she knew more than anything else in the world. Not a word was spoken as she padded across the wooden floor, footsteps heavier than normal, and sank down onto the floor.

Her joints ached and her muscles screamed but she didn’t care. Her back found solace against the front of the couch but even the support that gave her wouldn’t truly satiate the need she’d suppressed for 3 weeks straight.

“Hi,” Y/n spoke softly, quickly scanning her girlfriend’s body for any signs of pain. She looked okay, but more would probably be revealed later on in the night. The gentle tug of a gaze pulled her eyes back upwards, where they settled on the face she could trace in her sleep. Every fibre in her body was on fire with the urge to leap forwards, but not without Natasha’s permission. There was no telling how or what she was feeling, and caution was crucial.

But maybe it wasn’t needed as much with the redhead. Even Natasha smiled and leaned forward, pulling Y/n in by the waist until she settled on her lap. Her bruised hands immediately found warm skin under the hoodie and she laced her fingers, locking them together in an embrace, locking their bodies together as one.

“How did it go?”

Natasha didn’t answer at first, too focussed on the weight that grounded her. She pressed her face into the space between Y/n’s shoulder and neck, inhaling the sweet scent of something more natural than perfume.

“Got everything and more,” she simply replied. “The flash drive opened up a whole rabbit warren of leads to follow, and we got one of the main suspects to reveal blueprints, so we’re one step ahead.” There was something unspoken but that would come on Natasha’s terms.

“Fury satisfied?” Natasha nodded, her grip tightening as she moved her hands higher up Y/n’s back. The bare expanse of skin was inviting and she held her there, close and safe, the way she needed it.

Natasha wasn’t a talker after gruelling missions, preferring to sit in silence to drown out the horrors in her head. And this time, her body had been put through hell, so the comforting weight of her safe person silenced every last gunshot and scream.

“I needed this,” she mumbled, her nose dragging up the side of Y/n’s neck until she got to her jaw. “Needed you.”

“I know baby, I know.” Y/n gently took Natasha’s face in her palms, cool skin on burning cheeks. There were dark circles around the redhead’s eyes, and flecks of dirt hidden amongst freckles. “I wanted you safe.” Natasha leaned into her touch, savouring this tender moment.

She hummed. “I am safe now.” And she was. Even in the forest with the darkness of night setting her senses on high alert and her stress levels skyrocketing, the steady memory of her girl in her mind gave Natasha the solace she needed to keep pushing through. And no amount of shooting or fighting was ever going to take that away.

She dropped her head forwards again, temples pushed up against the fabric of her stolen sweater. Perfume, muted but sweet, filled her nose, grounding her in the moment. A gentle hand threaded itself into her braid, now loose from days of travel and sharp movements. It scraped against her scalp, slow and reverent, easing the tension with every pass. She could have fallen asleep right there in the comfort and tranquility of her safe space, even if the hardwood floor was starting to dig into her bones.

They sat entwined as minutes ticked past, no words uttered. Just breathing and existing as one, the stress of the mission slowly melting into the floor and releasing its grip on the redhead’s stiff muscles. The distant slam of a door or shrill ring of a phone barely registered in this newfound paradise. The only movement from Natasha as she stroked Liho’s side as he stalked past, still salty from his lack of attention.

Natasha let out a soft groan as her legs started cramping. She lifted her head, eyes half shut, and brushed the scarred skin of Y/n’s hip. “Baby,” she whined, voice cracking slightly. Y/n shifted carefully, guiding her onto the couch before she was promptly pulled into her side, cheek resting on the redhead’s chest.

“Dinner?” Natasha knew the answer, and the subtle hum that vibrated across her collarbones made her shake her head subtly.

“You know I can’t without you,” Y/n replied, slightly guilty. Natasha kissed her forehead gently, letting her lips linger for a few seconds before she pulled away. “Did you get some at SHIELD?”

Natasha laughed breathily. “Detka, I came straight here. I’ll deal with them tomorrow.” Debrief wasn’t important. Whatever Fury had to say, it could wait. And no one dared complain, not to her. No one got in the way of Natasha Romanoff and her home.

Y/n pushed herself up from her position, mindful of her girlfriend’s battered body as she reached for her phone. She tapped frantically, a small frown etching itself between her brows as she paused before tossing it to the side.

“Fifteen minutes,” she murmured, eyes scanning Natasha’s body on instinct. “Do you need anything?”

“My wife,” Natasha replied with a smirk, grabbing her hips and tugging her body closer once more, grinning at the squeal her girl let out as she fell.

Y/n raised an eyebrow once she’d recovered, slightly taken aback. “Wife, hm?”

“Is that not allowed?”

“I don’t see a rock on my finger,” Y/n said, wiggling her fingers in front of her face. “But maybe I can make an exception.”

“Oh no,” said Natasha, grabbing the hand in question and pulling it to her lips. “My soon-to-be wife deserves the biggest diamond ring. Jewels fit for royalty, perhaps.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, pressing her back against the couch cushions so she could get a better look at Natasha’s face. “Okay but seriously, is that something you want?”

“Marriage?” Y/n nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. This time it was Natasha’s turn to cup her face, dark bruises a stark contrast to such clear skin. “I want everything with you. Whilst I was away, all I could think about was how I don’t want to waste time anymore. I want to do life with you, forever, as my wife. I don’t want anyone else.”

“I want it too.”

It was all either of them had ever wanted. Stability. A place to call home where the rest of the world didn’t matter. And on the rather small couch of the SHIELD issued apartment, nothing else mattered. There were no deadlines, no meetings, no whining level 1’s who didn’t realise how brutal combat training would be. It was just them, soft touches and slow kisses that melted two broken people into something beautiful and imperfectly whole.

The peace of the lazy cuddles was interrupted by a knock at the door, and Y/n slipped away to answer it whilst Natasha hauled her aching body over to the kitchen. Only now did it register how much her throat and stomach screamed for food and water, and she poured a couple of glasses in the meantime.

The savoury scent of chinese takeout wafted from the bag as Y/n reappeared at her girlfriend’s side, a gleeful smile on her face as she revealed the boxes of noodles and rice dishes.

“You know how to win over a woman,” Natasha sighed as she opened her box of noodles, almost salivating at the smell of warm onions and spices. “And you know me so well.”

“I’d hope so,” Y/n answered, leaning over the counter to grab cutlery. But her journey was cut short when she felt hands on her waist, turning her around and pressing her gently against the countertop. “Natasha…”

The redhead pushed their bodies close, pelvises pressed together. “God, I missed being able to hold you, baby,” she admitted, hands naturally resting on the woman’s hips. “I’m never leaving again.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “We both know that’s a lie.” She pressed a kiss to Natasha’s lips before she could protest and slipped over to the couch, food in hand and a rather eager stomach. “Stop pouting, my love, and come eat.”

It was Natasha’s turn to roll her eyes now, more towards herself at how easily she folded for the woman in front of her. She didn’t take orders well, but any request from Y/n and she did it without a second thought. Gone were the emotional constraints of the mission, scars of emotional and mental manipulation eased by the mere presence of such a sweet soul. Kind, caring, everything she needed and so much more.

And here she was now, just softly smiling down at her box of fried rice. Natasha had to take a second, chopsticks hovering near her mouth in an attempt to process. Why did she deserve this? Or how, even? The things she’d done, what she’d seen, that didn’t warrant the purity that was sat cross legged on the couch beside her. Okay so maybe she was more shaken up from the interrogation than she’d let on, 18 hours wasn’t enough time to process, but it would take years for her to ever truly realise how deserving she was.

Y/n picked up on her hesitation, calm eyes searching her lover gently. She didn’t need to speak, the tenderness said it all, and Natasha brought her food to her lips, the feeling of home slowly settling into her bones.

Just eating and existing, no talks of missions or combat or the horrors of the job. That would come later, when bruises become exposed after the shedding of clothes, or the screams that accompanied nightmares that would plague the next week. But right now, they were normal. Maybe not by societal standards, but they didn’t need that. They had each other and Natasha was too scared to lose that.

“He’s still mad you left for so long,” Y/n uttered, eyeing the rather grouchy ball of black fur that was curled up on the windowsill.

“He is? Or you are?” Natasha was smug, although it didn’t quite make her eyes sparkle like usual.

“Him, definitely.” Natasha gave her a look. “Okay fine, me too…” her eyes shifted, suddenly interested in a piece of cat hair stuck to the couch cushion. “I just get scared, Nat. I can’t help it.”

Natasha reached out, taking her hand in her own, clasping tightly. Her fingers were cool in comparison and they rubbed over smooth skin carefully. “You know I always come home.”

“But what if you don’t? And I'm left here all alone, with a cat who doesn’t even like me, and-”

“Baby,” Natasha softly interrupted, her voice low and calm. “I’m never leaving you. I don’t care what I have to crawl out of, or blow up, I am always coming home. To you, to Liho, to whatever family we will have in the future.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise. Pinky promise.” Natasha kissed her pinky finger - she was serious. She never meant to cause this much worry, but her girlfriend’s anxieties never truly ceased until she was home and in bed, a physical reminder of safety.

And now, with their fingers intertwined and takeaway packages discarded, a humbling reminder of normality settled across the living space. There was no need to pretend anymore. Their bodies melted together, Natasha’s lazy hands straying under the loose sweatshirt to trace patterns across damaged skin. Steady, slow, a silent mantra. She was here, and she wasn’t leaving again.

She’d built this home and no one was going to take that away.

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 14. chaos and Bruce's guilt

PREV PART  trigger warning: medical + physical + emotional neglect, vague background to your mama and Bruce, thoughts of death, chaotic (because I got too many ideas) filler   main m.list       series m.list

You’re glad Bruce has your phone, because that means no one can bother you while Maria and you are having a sleepover, finishing schoolwork, prepping for university entrance exams and practising for the talent show.

This gives you a sense of freedom you could never feel at the manor, even with you helping Maria with her chores, even with you baking for the family and making trail snacks for their family party this weekend. “Have you two already decided what you wanted to do for the talent show?” mama Angelica asks, taking a bite of one of your chocolate cupcakes while staring at you two intensely.

“...yes and no,” Maria admits, scratching her head slightly. Her mama deadpans, and Maria rushes to explain. “well, we have decided that I will sing and that (Name) will play the piano but we’ve yet to decide what song.”

You giggle as mama Angelica sighs, it was clear she wants you two to be prepped for the talent show, and it’s already in two weeks! “We could do forest green by why mona,” you suggest, tasting some of the baking batter. “you already sing that song continuously, I’ll just need to learn it on the piano only version, or make a piano only version.”

“Or we can do family line by Conan Grey,” Maria grins out, when her mama looks at her confused she explains; “it’s basically a song about a dysfunctional family and since (Name)’s youngest brother has to attend the talent show, why not kinda shame him?”

You look at her shocked, as if you couldn’t believe what she’s saying. “Maria, we are not putting my business up for everyone to speculate about.”

Maria scoffs and her mama does to. “Please everyone with function brain and eyes know you are Mr Wayne’s child,” mama Angelica says, looking disgusted when she utters the Wayne last name. “nobody says anything to you but they still talk. Waiting for you to break, waiting for you to shatter and air everything out.”

Her words seem unreal, and it brings you back to all the time people stared at you at graduations, at award shows, as if they are waiting for you to break and cry. Something that always kept you from doing so, you never cried in public, you never showed weakness, ensuring that the Wayne family name wouldn’t be tainted. And after Jason’s attack you did everything you could to separate yourself from the Wayne family to the point your father’s last name became an open secret. A secret no one spread, but a secret everyone learned eventually.

You don’t mind when people realise you are a Wayne, no it gives you privileges. But when they realise how your family disregards you, how your family hates you with a burning passion their attention turns into pity. Pity yet no one speaks out, pity yet no one reported your family when you didn’t go to school for almost year.

No one reported your family, no matter how dull your eyes got, how ill you got. They didn’t question it when you turned up with a medical emancipation. No, no one questions your disconnect to the Wayne family.

Most of Gotham knew your mother, they knew what a shining light she was. A shining light that did what she had to, and it made people believe that’s why the Wayne’s disregarded you. With all the fire in your body you defend your mother, but when people speak terribly about the Wayne’s you let it go.

Perhaps with their current behaviour it is time to make waves, it’s time to break the perfect picture. It’s time to destroy a small fragment of Bruce’s reputation, besides if a simple cover of a song can do that, doesn’t it mean that his reputation was never stable to begin with?

“Let’s do family lines then,” you agree, your eyes locking with Maria’s. “but I think it would send a message if I was the one singing.”

“Good thing I can play the piano as well.”

The sleepover with Maria was exactly what you needed after your family’s strange behaviour. It’s exactly what you need to calm your thoughts, to ensure that nothing goes wrong with you for a while.

You can’t handle their presence anymore, the minute you see your family you panic. You grow anxious, and rage fills your body the second you see Bruce.

It brings your pain up, it brings all your distress over the years back to the forefront of your mind. It makes you wonder if you had died in your mothers arm, if you would be happier? If you would be near your mama, if you would be in her arms? If your ancestors would’ve greeted you with open arms, if your ancestors would whisper sweet nothings to you as Maria’s grandma does to her and to you.

Maria’s family accepts you as one of their own, but no matter their kindness you cannot help but wonder how your life would have been if you died when you had your first medical flare up. You can’t help but wonder what would have happened if your mother had been alive. Would Bruce still learn that you are his child? Would he still take you under his wing, would he have treated you the way he has done now? Or would your mother have knocked sense into him?

Would your mother curse him out if she could?

Would your mother let you return to the manor if she knew how much it harmed you? How much it chips at your soul?

Bruce knows the answer to this, while he doesn’t remember your mother clearly, he remembers her core values. She adored family, she adored children, something that helped with her bonding with Dick. But she disappeared, she disappeared the day Bruce broke up with her. For Bruce the relationship with your mother had just been a cover for the suspicion surrounding his nightly activities, he just used your mother to solidify his position as a playboy with no regard for women.

But your mama could see through his disguise, she could see through what he pretended to be. And he truly fell in love with her, which hurt him even more was your mother’s face. How it went from shining brightly to falling within seconds.

If he had known she was pregnant with you at the time he would like the think he wouldn’t have broken up with her.

But his past regrets will fix nothing, you’ve made that clear. You’ve told him that his chances have been given and he never took them.

You’ve told him that you want nothing to do with them anymore, yet when Damian told him that you’re at this Maria’s house his heart broke.

He still feels his selfishness gnaw at him, that he wants, no needs, to keep you in his embrace.

There’s still a bit of hope in him that this is just you venting your anger, that once you’ve calmed down that you’ll let him fix everything.

And if you don’t?

Well he doesn’t mind drugging you if that means you staying. If that means you’ll give them, him, a chance.

NEXT PART  I know this one was chaotic, I just needed these two parts out of my system. (Name) is basically deciding if they want to go on the extreme route or not, and the talent show, I forgot I wrote that in so I want to get that out of the way I'll either make the talent show a side chapter and also make a side chapter for Bruce and your bio mom but idk yet.

taglist CLOSED!: @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret

[moonstruckme]

i mean if you INSISTTTTT….can we see intern reader trying to be flirty back with spence. or like them hanging out/doing something together maybe outside of work, the rest of the team can be there or not idk i just love them and your writing so much hehehe

Thanks for your request angel <3

cw: football concussion statistics? idk not trying to piss off any diehard nfl fans. oh also american football being referred to simply as football because I'm also not trying to piss off the rest of the world, and lastly some borderline HR violations

Spencer Reid x intern!reader ♡ 1k words

“Alright, Jack!” Prentiss claps, before sticking her fingers into her mouth and letting loose a piercing whistle that makes both you and Garcia flinch in surprise. 

“Way to make the extra pass, kid!” Morgan shouts across the field. 

On the other side of the grass, Hotch nods like he seconds this, though his expression stays focussed and his eyes on his players. 

“He’s getting really good,” JJ says. 

Next to you, Garcia grimaces. “I wish he’d be good at something else.” 

“Beautiful,” Morgan chides, “don’t crush the kid’s dreams.” 

“He’s just a sweet summer child! There are, like, a crazy amount of concussions in football. I’m just looking out for him.” 

“In recent years, the NFL has reported a significant decline in concussions in professional football players,” says Spencer. 

Morgan makes a smug noise. “See? He’ll be alright.”

“But,” you raise your voice hesitantly, “wouldn’t the NFL have a bit of incentive to report that?” 

You’re looking at Spencer out of the corner of your eye. He meets your gaze, lips quirking. 

“Exactly,” he says. “That’s what I think, too. Independent studies have been less favorable.” 

Garcia mimics Morgan’s smug noise, victorious. Before she remembers to be worried and frowns again. 

Morgan laughs. “Hey, I didn’t sign him up. Jack likes football, you gonna tell him to quit?” 

Garcia comes back at him with some teasing remark, but you’re distracted by Spencer’s eyes still on yours. He’s looking at you like there’s something he can’t quite make sense of, which is happening so often lately it’s almost laughable. You have the most obvious crush in the world, and certifiable genius Spencer Reid can’t figure you out. 

You look away first. 

It’s sort of humiliating, how things have escalated between you in the last week. Every bit of that is your fault. You know it’s not professional, but you’ve spent lots of time thinking about it, and really a bit of flirting isn’t so bad if you know nothing is going to come of it. It’s harmless. Spencer is just so, so nice to you, you can’t help but want to be nice back; walking the line between friendly and something-else sort of comes with the territory. You would never actually endanger your position at the BAU. You only want Spencer to feel as special as he makes you feel. He deserves that. 

First it was bringing him breakfast after he helped you prepare your testimony. You wanted to thank him, so you picked up some breakfast tacos like he said he used to have back home in Las Vegas, and so what if you only know that because you’ve spent so much time chatting together? You’re training to be a profiler, remembering details is part of your job. Then you started complimenting him more, which was really just giving yourself permission to say your quiet thoughts out loud, making genuine observations about his taste in psychologists and the care he shows for witnesses even when the whole team is in a rush. And then maybe you began letting him teach you some things about chess even though you’ve never been interested in the game before, and bumping his knee gently under the table when he’s rambling without realizing everyone else has already moved on, and exchanging little smiles when you both look up from your desks at the same time. So what? None of that is a fireable offence. 

“I’m gonna go get water,” Spencer says, standing and starting to descend the metal bleachers. 

“Can you grab me one?” Prentiss asks. The rest of your team immediately chimes in with their requests, and you take a step down from the bleachers as well. 

“Want help?” you ask. 

Spencer seems to have been picturing the same thing you have: him coming back from the cooler in Garcia’s trunk with arms overflowing with plastic bottles, leaving a trail of them all the way back to the bleachers. He looks relieved. “Please.” 

You hop down, unable to look him in the eye when you take the hand he offers you for the last couple of steps. The sun is out in full force today, glinting off the metal of the bleachers and every car in the parking lot. The pavement radiates heat. 

Spencer hovers a hand above his eyes. “I wasn’t made for this.” 

“It’s a hot one,” you agree. 

“If Jack had a different hobby, we could be inside at a science fair right now. With air conditioning.” 

You chance a look at him. “Isn’t being involved in sports good for kids?” 

Spencer shrugs, though you’re sure he knows the answer. “I turned out okay.” 

Your lips tug. There’s no denying that. 

“Here.” You take off the baseball cap you’d put on for the game, holding it out for him as he pops open Garcia’s trunk. You pray to God the hat isn’t sweaty. 

Spencer only looks at it, surprised. “Oh, I—that’s okay. I’ll be fine.” 

“No, look.” You take a pair of sunglasses out of your bag, putting them on. “See? Now neither of us will have the sun in our eyes.” 

“Really?” Spencer asks, only taking the bill of the cap in hand once you nod. He settles it on his head like it’s his first time wearing one. “Thanks. Do I look stupid?” 

You shake your head, staring. “You look good,” you say. It comes out unchecked, before you can think about it. God, you’re so obvious. It’s true, though. Spencer’s still squinting a little even with the shade over his eyes, but it’s relaxed some; it reminds you of the way he looks when he’s puzzling something out. You’re hopelessly endeared by it. His hair, grown to what Garcia lovingly calls boy band length, wings out of the sides of the cap. Practically begging to be coiled around your index finger. 

“Thanks,” Spencer says again, the faintest tinge of pink—which can probably be attributed to the beginnings of a sunburn—kissing his cheeks. 

Bashfulness softens your voice. “No problem.” 

He opens the cooler, starting to scoop up waters and sports drinks (though one of the team moms is supplying drinks for the kids, Garcia had packed for you all like you’d be on the field too). Condensation drips down Spencer’s wrists. 

“Thanks for helping with this, too,” he says. 

“Pretty sure this is what interns are for,” you joke as you grab some too. 

“Always undermining yourself,” Spencer chides, something almost like teasing in his voice. It makes your stomach crowd with butterflies. “You know you’re more than that to us.”

[magpiemirroring]

Gosh, yes! This!! Every time one my fellow Americans whines that they were never taught any of this I want to shake them. YOU ARE ON THE WORLD WIDE WEB! THE INFORMATION SUPER HIGHWAY! YOU HAVE UNPRECEDENTED ACCESS TO GLOBAL SOURCES OF INFORMATION AND CONTACT WITH OTHER PEOPLE!!!

yeah, okay, there are people getting fucking disappeared rn but that's not because they googled the history of other countries when someone brought up a fact that is new to them. (if you find google hard to get good info out of, for basic facts about the world, just use wikipedia. it is an online encyclopedia. an encyclopedia was a term for a book or collection of books that holds basic facts about a range of topics. wikipedia cites its sources, which are sometimes other websites you can visit for more context or info. "wiki" + "word or concept that you are curious about" is also a pretty good way to find basic info. And now you have been taught how to find information about other countries and that lame excuse is invalid.)

I've also accessed plenty of foreign news sites, sometimes in a foreign language. (I can kinda muddle through french. 2 years mandatory foreign language when I was in school awhile ago. I took 4 years.) and many sites have an option to translate into english. I've read foreign books (translated. Except a couple things in French class). It's probable that your high school curriculum involved books translated into english from a foreign country. (Or, yanno. Were British books which are in English but England is still a foreign country! Read Harry Potter back when that was a socially acceptable thing to do? Congrats. You have read a foreign book steeped in the ways of a foreign culture.) Foreign movies are available on Netflix and YouTube. They have subtitles. It's fine. You won't die. (Watched a dubbed anime? Read some manga? Yeah, you've watched/read something from a foreign country that's been handily translated for you. Congrats on your multicultural experience.)

Your local library also has movies and books in foreign languages or translated from such, which allow you a peek into cultures around the world. They have shelves of nonfiction and documentaries too. Don't know how to find things in a library? Ask the people at the desk! Literally their job to help you and they will be so excited. Libraries are also big on free speech and info privacy. They DO NOT want to turn your reading list over to the government and will fight for the right to keep that private. Many library systems do not store a list of things you checked out in the past as a default. Or you can bypass that entirely by reading books at the library and not checking them out at all. (One of the reason library systems are under attack by the government right now is precisely because they would like you to have less access to info and less access to the community services library's assist with and provide. Use your library. Support your library. Libraries want you to have SO MUCH access to all sorts of helpful info. Please. I swear there are no stupid questions. We had a customer who regularly called us to get the weather report or ask for the definitions of words! The weirder questions are actually more fun!)

America is not an isolated country having a unique experience that no one in living memory has ever had and your reaction to being informed of that fact should not be begging for an excuse for continuing to not know anything. You don't need to respond at all, actually. Go look shit up instead. Become informed. Look at people going through the same shit as us (or worse shit) as allies in a fucking global struggle against the jerks running the world. Frankly, they might have some hot tips for surviving this bullshit if you can stop yourself lashing out defensively when someone waves a new fact under your nose.

Like, yeah man, it sucks when you make a colossal goof. That's embarrassing. Sometimes people can be kinda mad when you've made a silly assumption. But take a fucking minute to get your first instinctual emotional response under control and see if there's maybe something constructive you can do with feedback like "you're wrong actually. here's a new fact."

"you don't get it, the usa is a fascist country full of government propaganda, and our rights as women and queer people are constantly attacked!! you have no idea what that's like!!" i'm hungarian 👍

[yvaineseleneposts]

Can you do nico x reader where they are dating for a while and she's a volunteer on a hospital and one day a lil baby girl goes to adoption and the reader ands up bounded sm with her that they adopt her?

(English it's not my first language)

Little Shifts of Fate

A/N: I thought this was a lovely request and I hope it meets your expectations!

Requested: yes by @choppedbluebirdprincess

Pairing: Nico Hischier x reader

Words: 1.5k

Warning(s): none (I think)

The children’s hospital was quiet that afternoon, a rarity in your experience. Usually, the halls buzzed with activity—nurses moving quickly, monitors beeping, tiny voices echoing from the playroom. But today felt... still.

You liked these moments. They gave you space to breathe, to reflect, and most importantly, to visit Ellie without interruption.

She was in the corner of the infant ward, nestled in a bassinet with a soft yellow blanket tucked around her. Her wide brown eyes met yours as soon as you approached, and a gummy smile spread across her face.

“Hi, Button,” you whispered, brushing her soft hair back. The nickname had stuck—she’d just looked like a perfect little button from day one. “You miss me?”

She cooed in response, grabbing your finger with surprising strength. You laughed gently, letting her wrap her tiny hand around yours.

You weren’t sure when it started. Maybe it was the first time she fell asleep on your chest, or the day she giggled while you fed her a bottle. All you knew was that you had bonded with her in a way you couldn’t explain.

That evening, you came home to find Nico sprawled on the couch, fresh from practice, a protein shake forgotten on the coffee table. His face lit up when he saw you.

“Hey,” he said, sitting up to make space. “You okay?”

You smiled and dropped beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Yeah. Just... thinking.”

“About her?”

You didn’t need to answer. He already knew.

Nico had met Ellie once—just a quick visit when he brought you lunch during a long shift. She’d taken to him instantly, smiling like she knew him. He’d held her gently, a little awkward at first, then with a confidence that surprised even him.

“She’s still there?” he asked.

You nodded. “Her birth mom left a few weeks after she was born. No one's claimed her. They're starting the process to put her up for adoption.”

Nico went quiet. Then, softly, “Have you thought about... what that would mean?”

You turned to face him. “All the time.”

Another pause.

“Would you do it?” he asked. “Adopt her?”

“I want to,” you said, heart thudding. “But only if it’s something we both want. This wouldn’t just be my decision.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’ve watched you with her. You light up when you talk about her. I can already see how much you love her. And... I think I’m starting to feel it too.”

You blinked at him, overwhelmed.

“You mean it?” you whispered.

Nico turned to you with the softest smile. “Let’s become a family.”

The conference room at the family services office smelled faintly of stale coffee and photocopier toner. You sat beside Nico, your hand laced tightly in his under the table as a social worker named Marianne flipped through a thick folder labelled with Ellie’s temporary case number.

“You’ve both read the placement guidelines?” she asked, glancing between the two of you.

“Yes,” you said quickly, while Nico nodded beside you. He was in his calm, focused mode—the same one he used before big games. But you could feel his thumb rubbing circles on your knuckles. He was nervous too.

Marianne leaned forward. “This isn’t an easy process. You know that. Background checks, home inspections, references. And because she’s still technically in state custody, there’s a chance another family could petition before everything is finalized.”

You swallowed hard. “We understand.”

“But,” she continued, her expression softening, “Ellie’s already formed a strong attachment to you, and the staff reports have been overwhelmingly positive. If you're serious, and you're both willing to commit, we’ll begin the paperwork today.”

You looked at Nico, and his eyes met yours.

“We’re serious,” he said firmly. “She's already part of our life.”

The pen in your hand trembled slightly as you signed the first set of documents. It felt like the beginning of something sacred. Nico leaned in and kissed the side of your head.

“One step closer,” he whispered.

The next few weeks were a blur of logistics—clearing space in your flat, converting the guest room into a nursery, finding a family attorney, scheduling interviews. Nico juggled it all between games and practices, never once complaining.

One evening, you came home from a shift to find him building a crib in the middle of the living room, sleeves rolled up, and a measuring tape stuck behind his ear.

“Should I be worried this looks like IKEA trauma?” you joked, setting your bag down.

Nico grinned. “I’ve fought playoff defencemen. I can handle wooden pegs.”

You laughed, walking over and wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. He leaned into your touch instinctively.

“I love you,” you murmured. “For doing this. For being all in.”

He turned, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “I don’t want half a life with you. I want everything—including Ellie.”

The day of the home inspection, you were a bundle of nerves, smoothing down non-existent wrinkles in the freshly vacuumed rug. Nico, cool as ever, passed the baby monitor back and forth like a puck in warm-ups.

The caseworker arrived right on time. She walked through the home, checked the outlets, peeked into the fridge, and asked dozens of questions—from how you’d discipline to how you’d balance parenting with Nico’s hockey schedule.

When she finally smiled and said, “I think she’ll be very happy here,” you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

A week later, Marianne called with the news:

“Parental rights were officially terminated. Ellie is eligible for adoption. And we’re moving forward—with you two.”

You sat on the floor of the nursery, phone pressed to your chest, tears slipping down your cheeks as Nico scooped you into his arms.

“We’re really doing it,” you whispered.

“We’re going to be her parents,” he said, voice thick with emotion.

And in that quiet room, surrounded by stuffed animals, pastel walls, and soft light, everything finally felt complete.

You didn’t sleep the night before.

You tried—God, you tried—but every time your eyes shut, your brain flooded with checklists and emotions: bottles, blankets, the tiny outfit folded on the dresser, the realization that in a few hours, Ellie would be yours forever.

Nico didn’t sleep much either. At 2 a.m., you found him sitting in the nursery, the soft hum of the white noise machine barely audible under the weight of your shared anticipation. He was rocking slowly in the chair, one of Ellie’s stuffed bunnies in his lap.

“She’s going to love this place,” he murmured when he noticed you, voice rough from exhaustion. “It already feels like hers.”

You nodded, curling into the other chair. “I think I’m just scared it’s too good to be true.”

“It’s not,” he said simply. “This is real.”

The drive to the hospital that morning felt surreal. You’d walked through those double doors hundreds of times, but never like this—never as Ellie’s mum. A diaper bag hung from your shoulder, and Nico carried the car seat, his grip steady even as his eyes betrayed the storm of emotion building behind them.

Marianne met you in the infant ward with a warm smile. “She’s all ready for you,” she said, leading you through one final round of forms and instructions.

Then she opened the door.

There Ellie was, in a tiny fleece jacket with ears on the hood, her little legs kicking happily in her bassinet.

“She’s been waiting for you,” Marianne said softly.

You scooped her into your arms, and all the paperwork, all the home inspections, all the nerves—everything—melted away.

Ellie gurgled and reached for your necklace, her chubby fingers curling around it instinctively. Nico stepped beside you, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, then one on yours.

“Hi, baby girl,” he whispered. “You ready to come home?”

The ride home was quiet. Ellie fell asleep halfway through, one hand gripping her pacifier, the other resting gently on the edge of her blanket.

You couldn’t stop looking back at her in the mirror.

“She looks so peaceful,” you said.

“She’s already used to us,” Nico replied. “Like she knew it was supposed to be this way.”

When you carried her across the threshold of your flat—her home now—it felt like stepping into the first chapter of a new life.

You placed her gently into her crib, and Nico stood behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“She’s ours,” you whispered, almost not believing it.

“She’s ours,” he repeated, firmer this time. “And we’ve got her forever.”

You turned to face him, tears threatening. “You ready to be a dad, Hischier?”

He grinned, that same grin that made you fall for him in the first place. “Only if I get to do it with you.”

And just like that, the little girl who once had no name, no parents, no place to call home, became the heart of a family that had been waiting for her all along.

[jayblackpanther]

Something Soft

Bob Reynolds x Fem!Reader

Bob hadn’t gotten out of bed in two days.

The apartment was dim, quiet. Your soft footsteps echoed against the hardwood as you moved through the rooms, arms crossed against the heavy silence. No news reports blared. No glowing golden aura pulsed under the bedroom door. He hadn’t even turned on the shower.

The only sign he was still there—still breathing—was the quiet creak of the mattress when you gently opened the door.

He lay curled toward the window. Bare-chested. His hair tangled. Eyes sunken. The soft, broken golden glow in his chest barely flickered beneath his skin.

You didn’t say anything at first.

You just sat down beside him and laid your hand on his back.

“I can’t move,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “I know I should. But I can’t.”

“I know,” you said softly. “You don’t have to move. I’ll help you.”

He didn’t answer. But he didn’t pull away.

You brushed his hair back. “You don’t have to fly. Or fight. Or save the world today. Just let me take you somewhere quiet. Somewhere soft.”

He blinked. His jaw tensed. “I’ll ruin it.”

“You won’t.”

“I’m not good to be around when I’m like this.”

You slid your hand down to his. Interlaced your fingers.

“Then I’ll be around you like this.”

It took an hour to coax him up. Another to help him into the shower. You combed his hair with gentle fingers, buttoned up the navy sweater you’d set out for him. It hung loose on his frame. His eyes never quite met yours. But he let you hold his hand the whole way there.

—

The cat café smelled like cinnamon and coffee and vanilla beans.

Bob froze in the doorway at first. There were four other people seated around small café tables, warm drinks in hand—and a sleepy gray tabby sprawled across one customer’s lap. Two black kittens wrestled near a scratch post. And one curious orange cat immediately padded over to sniff Bob’s boot.

You smiled.

“Let’s get you something sweet.”

You sat him down near the window, the softest corner of the café. Ordered him a honey latte and a slice of banana bread. And when the orange cat climbed up onto his lap—Bob didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t breathe for a second.

Just stared down at the tiny creature now purring against his thigh.

“I think they like you,” you said gently.

He blinked. Lifted one shaking hand. Let the cat press its head into his palm.

“Why does it feel like this?” he whispered. “Like… I can breathe again.”

“Because it’s not asking you to be anything but here.”

You wrapped your hands around his coffee and guided it to him.

The first sip made him exhale. The cat curled tighter against his body. And you watched Bob Reynolds—glowing god, weapon of mass destruction, too much and too empty—start to soften.

—

He didn’t want to leave.

Not because he was scared anymore—but because he was peaceful.

“Can we come back?” he asked quietly.

You smiled. “Actually…”

You opened your bag. Reached in. And pulled out a small purple carrier.

Inside was a kitten. Pure black. Tiny. Sleepy.

“Her name’s Nova,” you said softly. “She’s yours.”

Bob stared.

Completely still.

Then his lips trembled. “You—you got me a—?”

“For the days you can’t move,” you said. “She’ll lay with you. Purr with you. Just like I will.”

His breath hitched.

He looked down at the sleeping kitten. Then at you.

“I don’t deserve this,” he whispered.

You reached up. Touched his cheek. “You deserve softness, Bob.”

His arms wrapped around you—tight, trembling.

And in the safety of your arms, with Nova asleep in his lap and coffee still warm in his hands, Bob Reynolds let himself cry.

Not because he was broken.

But because he wasn’t alone.

[arkhamsknightz]

STARLIGHT // SUPERMAN HEADCANONS. CLARK KENT & JOURNALIST!READER.

content: just fluff, pure pure fluff. It's the biggest vomit of love lmao im sorry but i'm in love at this time so deal with it. I don't dare to write smut yet (i'm very rusty lol), + we don't accept snyder fans!clark here — sorry not sorry — this is the clark who would rescue a kitten from a tree so....

word count: 0,4k (almost 500 words)

notes: i'm testing the waters in the dc fandom, even though it's been too long since I've written in it, but the superman trailer is my new obsession and I can't wait for july. the brat summer hits hard, but the superman summer hits harder.

divider: @bernardsbendystraws

☆ You keep pretending not to notice when he leaves your apartment, and five minutes later "Superman" shows up to make sure you got home safe from your late assignment.

☆ Clark literally melts whenever you call him "Superman" in a teasing tone. like—he’s supposed to be the man of steel, but his knees go weak the second you smirk and say, “What’s the plan now, Superman?"

☆ You learned pretty quickly that dating the man of tomorrow comes with random date night interruptions. But he always makes it up to you. Like one time he flew in from stopping a train derailment with pastries from Paris and an "I'm sorry I missed our dinner" post-it stuck to your laptop".

☆ He’s so soft for you. Like, he’ll listen to you rant about Lex Luthor and his stupid company for an hour and then say, “You’re incredible. Do you know that?” with the most adoring look in his eyes.

☆ He's ridiculously good at remembering everything. birthdays, deadlines, how you take your coffee, and your favourite quote. He once quoted your own article back to you when you were doubting yourself, and you cried. He freaked out. tried to fly to get flowers or something.

☆ One time you tried to surprise him by bringing him lunch to the Daily Planet, and he got so flustered he nearly knocked over his desk. “You... you brought me food?” He blinked like krypto when he acts like never been fed before. Now he talks about it like it was a grand romantic gesture and not just an stupid sandwich.

☆ You once told him, half-asleep, that flying with him felt like dreaming while awake. Now he always asks, “Wanna go dream?” before lifting you into the sky.

☆ He sometimes reads over your drafts while you're out cold on the couch. leaves little notes in the margins like “love this part,” “so proud of you,” or “you spelt ‘crimes’ wrong, but you’re still my favourite reporter.”

☆ He lives for when you adjust his glasses or fix his tie before a press conference. It’s the only time he lets the whole “Clark Kent” act drop just a little and looks at you like you’re his whole world.

☆ Sometimes when you’re deep into writing, completely zoned out, he lands silently on your balcony and just watches you work for a minute—arms crossed, head tilted, that soft “I can’t believe she’s mine” smile on his face. When you finally notice him, he acts like he hasn’t been standing there like a lovesick puppy for the last five minutes.

☆ On your worst days at the paper, when deadlines crush you and the world feels heavy, he wordlessly picks you up and flies you above the clouds. No noise, no pressure—just the two of you, floating in golden light. “All of that can wait,” he whispers. “You can’t.”

[honeydippedfiction]

Joe x Angel Angst Prompt #42 “You Promised” with #14 “Don’t you dare walk away from me” with fluff prompt #35 “ I just want to be there for you.”

Whew this one is a lot… prepare your heartstrings (also takes place when they’re still engaged so pre-Zariyah era)

1k & Birthday Bash nav | main navigation | reqs | table of contents

#42 “You Promised”, #14 “Don’t you dare walk away from me” & #35 “ I just want to be there for you.”

Joe Burrow x Angel

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

Angel adjusted the gold necklace resting just above the neckline of her sleek black dress—the same one Joe had picked out for her birthday last year during a surprise trip to New Orleans. She could still remember the way he’d stood behind her in the boutique mirror, arms wrapped around her waist, whispering that she looked like everything the world didn’t deserve.

Now, in the quiet of her hotel suite’s bathroom, she stared at her reflection. Flawless makeup. Confident eyes. The ESPN badge clipped to her waist was a reminder that she’d earned this. After years grinding on the sidelines, chasing quotes in freezing locker rooms, she wasn’t just reporting on college football anymore.

Tonight, she was hosting—live, in front of the country—at the College Football Awards.

It was everything she had worked toward.

The moment she’d dreamt about when she was pulling double shifts during grad school, when she was the only Black woman on set, when she was told to smile more and talk less. All of it led here.

And Joe had promised he’d be there. Not just as her fiancé, but as her partner. As her biggest supporter.

She could still hear his voice from the week before, warm and certain: “Babe, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. You’ve supported me through everything—now it’s my turn.”

But he had missed it.

Three hours after the stage lights dimmed, after the cameras stopped rolling and the congratulatory hugs faded into the background, Angel stood alone in the driveway of their Cincinnati home. Her heels dangled from two tired fingers, her arches aching, but that pain was nothing compared to the tight, bruised feeling in her chest.

The sky was a soft charcoal above her, clouds hanging low, the kind of Midwest night where the air tasted like rain even if it never came.

She took a breath, lingering at the driver’s side of her car, part of her still hoping—still foolishly clinging to the idea—that maybe something had gone wrong. Maybe he had made it home early and was waiting upstairs, half-asleep in his clothes, her segment paused on the TV. Maybe there was a good reason.

She unlocked the front door quietly, slipping inside. The familiar scent of pinewood and lavender greeted her. The living room was dim, lit only by the soft flicker of the lamp beside the couch.

And there he was.

Joe was curled up on the sofa, hoodie loose around his frame, legs stretched out, his face bathed in the cold blue glow of his iPad. One headphone dangled from his neck. His eyes were narrowed in concentration, locked onto film breakdown, fingers tapping occasionally to rewind or freeze a frame.

He didn’t look up until the door clicked shut.

“Hey,” he said casually, glancing at her like she’d just come back from the grocery store. “How’d it go?”

Angel didn’t speak right away. She just stared at him. Her hand tightened around her keys.

“You weren’t there,” she said quietly.

Joe’s smile faltered. The guilt on his face wasn’t sudden—it had been there, simmering just beneath the surface. He sat up a little straighter, clearing his throat.

“Angel… I know. I—Coach called a team meeting last minute. There was new breakdown footage from practice, and he needed us to—”

“No.” Her voice sliced through the space between them, sharp and clean. “Don’t start with that.”

Joe’s brow furrowed. “I’m not making excuses. I just—”

“You promised, Joe.”

He sighed and set the iPad on the coffee table. “I swear, I wanted to be there. I was watching the time the whole meeting. But it ran long, and by the time I thought about leaving, it was—”

“Wanted to be?” she repeated, her laugh sharp and bitter. “That’s supposed to be enough now? Wanting?”

Joe stood, rubbing his hands down his thighs like he could scrub the guilt off. “Angel, come on. You know what my schedule’s like. It’s not like I was sitting here playing Xbox. This is my job. You knew this is what life with me was going to be.”

“Exactly,” she snapped, stepping closer. “It’s always your job. Always football. Always something more important than me.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No?” Her arms crossed over her chest, shoulders drawn tight. “What’s not fair is standing on a national stage, my first time ever doing live television, with my heart in my throat, looking for your face in the crowd and praying you'd walk through the doors. Thinking maybe you got caught in traffic, maybe you were running late, maybe—maybe—you gave enough of a damn to show up. But you didn’t. Just like last time. Just like every time.”

Joe’s jaw clenched. “You knew what this life was when you signed up for it.”

Angel blinked. Slowly.

Her voice dropped an octave, calm now. Dangerous. “I didn’t sign up to be a footnote in your life, Joe. I signed up for you. I thought we were building something together. But I’m starting to feel like I’m doing the building and you’re just passing through.”

The silence that followed was immediate and suffocating.

Angel turned sharply, walking down the hallway without another word. The sound of her suitcase rolling open and the zip of fabric felt louder than any argument.

Joe followed, pausing in the doorway of their bedroom, watching as she began throwing clothes into a duffel bag with a methodical, practiced rhythm.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice tight.

“To Monica’s.”

“You’re seriously leaving over this?”

Angel paused at the dresser, her hand hovering over the engagement ring that had once symbolized the future they were building together. She looked at it for a long moment—her finger, the precious metal, the diamond that had been a promise, now feeling heavier than ever.

Then, without a word, she took the ring off and set it gently on the counter. The sound of the band meeting the stone felt louder than it should have in the silence of the room.

She looked at him. Her eyes were tired now—not angry. Just disappointed.

“I need space, Joe.”

Joe took a step forward. “Don’t you dare walk away from me.”

That stopped her cold.

Angel slowly turned, her face unreadable. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that.”

“Angel—”

“No,” she said, yanking her arm back when he reached for it. Her voice cracked, but her stance held. “Until you can respect me—until you can treat this relationship like it matters—consider our engagement over.”

It hit him like a blindside sack. His lips parted, but no words came.

She slung the duffel over her shoulder, grabbed her keys off the dresser, and walked out. No tears. No dramatic pause. Just the sound of the front door clicking shut, quiet and final, as if the house itself exhaled in her absence.

Joe remained where he was, still trying to make sense of what just happened. His legs felt like lead, his hands trembling, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop her. Not now.

The sound of the door clicking shut echoed through the house, like the softest slap of finality. No tears. No dramatic pause. Just the quiet, irreversible exit.

And then, she was gone.

Joe stood there in the silence, his heart pounding, his mind racing with all the things he should’ve said, should’ve done. The house around him felt colder somehow. The weight of Angel’s absence pressed in on him, suffocating the air. And there, in the center of their once-shared home, was the ring. The promise that had slipped through his fingers.

⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭.·:¨༺༻¨:·.⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭

The night air hit Angel like a slap the moment she stepped outside. Cold. Final. The door shut behind her with a dull click, but inside her chest, it sounded more like a door slamming shut on something sacred.

She didn’t even remember getting into her car. Her hands moved on autopilot—key in the ignition, seatbelt pulled, drive. The streets blurred as she drove through Cincinnati’s quiet neighborhoods, the city lights casting shadows across her dashboard.

And still, no tears.

Not at first.

It wasn’t until she pulled up to Monica’s apartment complex—a beige three-story building tucked behind a row of oak trees—that the adrenaline wore off. That’s when her breath caught in her throat. That’s when the first sob ripped out of her like it had been waiting all night.

By the time she reached Monica’s door, she was trembling. Her fist knocked harder than she intended, but her control had slipped. All of it had slipped.

The door opened within seconds. Monica appeared in plaid pajama pants, a bonnet secured over her tight curls, a pint of Ben & Jerry’s in one hand and a face mask half-applied. Her eyes widened immediately.

“Angel?” Her voice sharpened. “Girl, what the hell—what happened?”

Angel tried to answer. Tried to say I’m okay, or It’s nothing, or Can I crash here for the night? But the only thing that came out was a choked sob.

And then she broke.

Monica didn’t hesitate. She stepped aside, looping an arm around her best friend’s shoulders and ushering her inside like she was guiding someone out of a burning building.

“Okay. Sit down. I got you.”

Angel dropped her bag by the door and collapsed onto Monica’s couch, tears streaming freely now, her body shaking. Monica knelt in front of her, one hand holding Angel’s and the other reaching for a blanket from the armrest.

“Breathe. Just breathe, okay?”

Angel nodded, but her breath came in gasps.

Monica waited, rubbing her thumb over Angel’s knuckles until her breathing finally slowed. When Angel was able to wipe her face and speak, the first words came in a hoarse whisper.

“He didn’t show.”

Monica blinked. “What?”

“For the awards,” Angel said. “He promised me, Monica. He swore he’d be there.”

Monica sat back, her expression darkening. “Tell me you’re joking.”

Angel shook her head. “I kept looking at the crowd, thinking maybe he’d walk in late, maybe he’d surprise me. But he didn’t come. I got home, and he was just there. On the couch. Watching film.”

“You’re kidding me,” Monica said flatly. “Watching game film?”

Angel nodded, another tear slipping down her cheek. “Like it was just another Tuesday. No apology, no flowers, no effort.” Her voice broke. “And I—I just snapped.”

“Damn right you did.” Monica stood up, pacing now. “After everything you’ve done for that man? After all the times you’ve canceled things for him, traveled with him, bent over backward to support his ass—and he can’t show up for the biggest night of your career?”

Angel looked down at her lap. “I told him I needed space. That I was coming here.”

“You did the right thing,” Monica said without hesitation. “He needed to hear it. He needed to see that you won’t sit around waiting for him to finally remember you’re not just the woman in his house—you’re the woman who’s next to him, or supposed to be.”

Angel winced. “I told him to consider the engagement over.”

Monica stopped in her tracks. “Good.”

Angel looked up. “Mon—”

“I’m serious,” she said, her voice low but fierce. “If he can’t treat you with the respect you’ve earned, then he doesn’t get to wear that ring like it’s a badge of honor. You’ve always been more than someone’s fiancée. You’re Angel Carter. You don’t need a man who only shows up when it’s convenient.”

Angel wrapped the blanket tighter around herself, her voice small. “I still love him.”

Monica’s expression softened, and she returned to the couch, taking Angel’s hand again. “I know. And maybe he loves you, too. But loving someone means more than saying it. It means showing up. Not just when it’s easy. Especially when it’s not.”

Angel nodded slowly, her tears finally slowing, her body exhausted.

“Get some sleep,” Monica murmured. “I’ll make waffles in the morning. You’re not going anywhere until you’ve had carbs and clarity.”

Angel managed a soft, tired smile through the ache in her chest. “I love you.”

“Love you too, babe,” Monica said. “And just so you know, if I do see Joe in the street tomorrow, I’m fighting him. That’s not a threat—it’s a premonition.”

That pulled a short laugh from Angel, a watery one, but real. It wasn’t healing yet. But it was the first breath after drowning.

⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭.·:¨༺༻¨:·.⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭

The first night at Monica’s, Angel barely slept.

She spent most of it curled on the couch under the weight of a fleece blanket and her own thoughts, staring at the ceiling fan slowly spinning above her. Her phone buzzed twice—both messages from Joe.

She didn’t read them.

She couldn’t.

The next morning, she awoke to the smell of cinnamon and the distant hiss of Monica’s waffle maker. She shuffled into the kitchen, hair tied up, hoodie draped over her petite frame. Monica handed her a plate and a side-eye full of sisterly concern.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” Angel said preemptively.

“Didn’t ask,” Monica replied, pouring syrup like it was holy oil. “But I’ll listen when you’re ready.”

Angel spent most of that day in sweats, watching reruns of A Different World and only half-listening. Her mind drifted back to that moment in their hallway—Joe reaching for her like he could fix everything with a hand on her arm. The way his face had changed when she told him to consider the engagement over.

She hadn’t said it to be cruel.

She had said it because it hurt too much to pretend anymore.

By Thursday, her emotions had shifted. The anger wasn’t gone, but now it was folded beneath layers of sorrow and confusion. Every time her phone buzzed, her heart jumped. What if he was saying the right thing now? What if he wasn’t saying anything?

She didn’t check. Not yet.

Friday came with silence. Monica went to the studio for a podcast taping and left Angel with the apartment to herself. Alone, Angel found herself scrolling through old photos—tailgates at LSU, their first NFL Draft night, the weekend in Miami when Joe told her, “I don’t know what the future looks like, but I know you’re in it.”

She had believed him.

By Saturday, the air was heavier. Something about weekends had always made Angel feel closer to him. Their lazy mornings. Coffee in mismatched mugs. Her feet on his lap while they watched film or movies. The ritual of love, in quiet moments.

But tonight was different.

They had planned dinner at Joe’s parents’ house weeks ago. Robin was making her infamous shrimp étouffée. It was supposed to be the kind of warm, casual night they both loved—family, wine, a break from the chaos.

Angel stayed on the couch, her phone on silent beside her, as Monica made sangria in the kitchen. She couldn’t face Robin. Couldn’t put on a brave face and pretend that everything wasn't unraveling.

Across town, the Burrow house was quieter than usual.

Dinner was ready. The table was set for six, though only five were seated.

Robin stirred her wine and looked at the empty chair beside Joe.

“Where’s Angel?” she asked casually, not yet suspicious, just curious.

Joe didn’t meet her eyes. He poked at his rice and shrugged. “She couldn’t make it.”

Robin blinked, surprised. “That’s not like her. She’s never missed a family dinner.”

“I know.”

Silence settled over the table, but Robin didn’t let it rest.

“She okay?”

Joe swallowed hard. “We, uh… we had a fight.”

Robin set down her wine. “What kind of fight?”

Joe shook his head, still not looking up. “It’s fine.”

“It doesn’t sound fine.”

“She just… needed space.”

Robin let the words hang there for a beat. Then, without a word, she reached for her phone, walked out of the dining room, and stepped onto the back porch.

She didn’t need to ask for Angel’s number. She had it saved.

It rang twice.

“Robin?” Angel’s voice came on the other end, hesitant.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Robin said gently, but there was a steel edge beneath the warmth. “I missed you tonight.”

Angel’s breath caught. “I’m sorry. I… I couldn’t come.”

Robin’s voice softened. “You don’t have to apologize to me, honey. But I would like to know what happened.”

There was a long pause. Angel considered dodging, softening the truth. But she was tired of pretending.

“He promised he’d be at the College Football Awards,” she said quietly. “He didn’t show. I came home to find him watching film like it was just another Tuesday night. And I broke.”

Robin exhaled sharply. “He didn’t show up for you?”

“No. And not just that night. It’s been building for a while. I feel like I’m standing alone in this relationship, and when I told him that, he got defensive. I told him I needed space… that I was leaving.”

Robin’s voice went cold. “And he let you?”

Angel didn’t respond. She didn’t have to.

There was a beat of heavy silence.

“Well,” Robin said finally, her voice rising just slightly, “you may not be my daughter by blood, but I love you like one. And I’m not going to sit back and watch my son sabotage the only good thing that’s ever happened to him.”

Angel closed her eyes. Her heart ached from the kindness, from the clarity of being seen.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Robin didn’t respond right away. But when she did, her voice was low, firm, and meant for one person only.

“I did not raise him to be this man. And if he doesn’t wake up soon and check into reality, he’s going to lose the only woman who’s stood by him through everything. And believe me, Angel—he knows it.”

⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭.·:¨༺༻¨:·.⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭

Robin stepped back into the house, the sliding door gliding shut behind her with a soft click. But the shift in her presence was anything but soft. The warmth in her smile was gone, replaced by a cool determination that made everyone at the dinner table sit up a little straighter.

Joe looked up instinctively. The second he saw her face, he knew.

He’d never been afraid of his mother. Not as a boy, not as a man. But right now, seated at the table like nothing was burning around him, he felt something close.

Robin crossed her arms and stared at him.

“Get in the kitchen,” she said.

A few glances darted across the table. Everyone else fell silent as Joe pushed his chair back with a scrape and followed his mother into the kitchen. He didn’t need a map to know where this was headed—he could feel the storm coming before she even opened her mouth.

Joe blinked. “What?”

“I said get up. Now.”

The scrape of his chair against the hardwood was the only sound as he followed her. Once they were out of earshot of the others—just past the pantry, near the fridge—Robin turned on him.

“I just got off the phone with Angel.”

Joe’s heart sank, but he kept his jaw tight. “I figured.”

Robin’s voice was low, sharp as a blade. “You figured? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” he muttered, but it sounded weak, even to him.

Robin leaned forward, her eyes fierce. “Don’t you dare minimize this. You broke a promise to her. Not just any promise—a big one. Her night, Joe. After all the times she’s been there for you. After all the ways she’s had your back, stayed quiet, made space for your career, smiled for cameras when she wanted to cry. And you couldn’t show up for her once? She didn’t come tonight because she couldn’t bring herself to sit across from you and pretend like you didn’t break her heart.”

Joe’s stomach sank.

He opened his mouth, but Robin wasn’t done.

She raised a hand, and he immediately fell silent.

“No. You don’t get to talk yet. You get to listen.”

“Do you understand how lucky you are that that girl even looked at you twice, let alone stayed with you through everything? Through the chaos, the injuries, the relocations, the media—she’s been there. Constant. Loyal. Proud of you. Loving you out loud, in front of the world. I’m not saying this as her friend. I’m saying this as your mother. You want to be a franchise quarterback? A leader? A grown man who earns respect? Then you better start with the woman who’s been holding you down since LSU.”

Joe’s chest rose and fell, slow and tight. He’d felt guilt before—but this? This was something deeper. A sinking realization that he hadn’t just made a mistake—he had wounded something sacred.

“And you couldn’t be bothered to show up for her,” Robin said. “Her night. A night she earned, worked for, dreamed of. You left her alone in that room, looking for your face and realizing you weren’t coming.”

Joe’s shoulders tensed. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be there—”

​​“Wanting isn’t doing,” she snapped. “She didn’t need you to want to show up. She needed you to be there. In the seat you said you’d sit in. Supporting her like she’s supported you through injuries, media storms, trades, and a schedule that devours every minute of your life.”

“Mom, I—”

“No.” Her voice dropped, quiet and lethal. “Joseph Lee Burrow.”

Joe froze.

That was it.

The full government name. Robin hadn’t said it since he was sixteen and wrecked her Camry backing out of the driveway too fast. Back then, he’d known it meant he’d crossed a line.

Now, hearing it again, as a grown man, the shame hit him in the chest like a linebacker.

“You didn’t just miss a dinner,” Robin continued, voice trembling now—not from anger, but from disbelief. “You missed her. And then, when she called you on it, you let her walk out that door instead of fighting for her. You let her pack a bag and leave. She told me she called off the engagement. Do you even get what that means?”

Joe’s throat was dry. “I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” she snapped. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t be sitting at this table acting like you’re just giving her space. You’d be on your feet, in your car, at her door, doing whatever it takes to win her back.”

He looked down at the tile floor, hands braced on the edge of the counter. The image of Angel walking out—her bag over her shoulder, her eyes full of fire and heartbreak—played in his head like punishment.

“I didn’t raise a man who hides behind excuses or expects the people who love him to always be the ones bending. I raised a man who knows how to apologize. A man who knows when he’s wrong and makes it right.”

Joe’s throat tightened. “I know I messed up.”

“Messed up doesn’t even cover it, Joseph,” she said, using his full name now. “She left your house. She’s staying at Monica’s. And she told me to my face that she called off the engagement.”

He flinched.

Robin took a breath, softer this time. But no less serious.

“She loves you. But love isn’t a one-way commitment. And you are this close—this close—to losing the best thing that’s ever happened to you because you’re too buried in game tape to notice the person in front of you is drowning.”

Joe leaned against the counter, hand to his face. “I know,” he whispered. “God, I know.”

Robin stared at him for another moment, and then walked closer, her tone dropping to something gentler.

“I adore that woman,” she said. “She’s strong, she’s brilliant, she’s loyal. She chose you—not the NFL, not the spotlight. You. And you’ve got one chance, maybe two, to make this right before she walks away and never looks back.”

Joe nodded slowly, the weight of his mother’s words settling into his bones.

“Figure it out,” Robin said, pointing a finger at him like it was gospel. “Because if you don’t, she’s not going to be the one who regrets it. You will.”

Robin took one last look at him and let out a breath like she’d just set something heavy down.

“I raised you better than this. So act like it.”

With that, she turned and walked back toward the dining room, calm as ever—leaving Joe alone in the kitchen, heart pounding, shame burning like fire in his chest.

⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭.·:¨༺༻¨:·.⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭

Four days.

That’s how long it had been since Angel left.

Each one stretched endlessly, heavy and hollow, the kind of days that don’t tick forward—they drag. The kind of days that make a man sit in silence and realize just how loud a quiet house can be.

Joe didn’t go back to the facility. Not after the fight. Not after the dinner at his parents’ place where his mother, with every ounce of love and fire she had, peeled back the armor he’d been hiding behind and forced him to look at himself. Really look.

He told Coach he needed a few days. Told the team he had something personal to handle. That was true, at least in part.

But what he really needed was her.

And she wasn’t answering.

Not the simple Hey. Not the full paragraph that started with I’m sorry and ended with I don’t expect a response, but I hope you know I love you. Not even the one that just said: I miss you.

Joe had always known Angel was special. Since the beginning. Since LSU. But these four days stripped away every distraction, every assumed “tomorrow,” every excuse.

He wasn’t losing some girl he casually dated. He was losing the woman who had rooted for him when he was a backup quarterback, who had defended him when no one thought he had an NFL arm, who had stood in the shadows of stadium lights so he could shine—without once dimming her own brilliance. The woman who made him, him.

And he had let her down. In front of the world. In front of herself.

⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭.·:¨༺༻¨:·.⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭

That fourth night, just after 9 p.m., Joe stood outside Monica’s condo building, hands shoved deep into the pocket of his hoodie. The spring air wrapped around him with a quiet chill—the kind that seeps past cotton, settling in your chest, reminding you that time keeps moving whether you’re ready or not.

He shifted his weight on the concrete stoop. His breath fogged faintly in the porch light as he looked up at the door. From the outside, everything looked normal. Cozy, even. But inside those walls was the woman he’d spent the last four days aching for—and she hadn’t given him a single word.

He deserved it. That silence. And still, it hollowed him out more than any hit he’d taken on the field.

Joe exhaled once, a breath that rattled in his chest, and knocked.

The door creaked open a crack.

Monica appeared, bonnet wrapped tight, arms crossed, eyes sharp as nails beneath arched brows. Her sweatshirt read Don’t Try Me, and she wore it like a mantra.

She didn’t blink. “If you’re here to start drama,” she said flatly, “turn around now.”

Joe didn’t flinch. He nodded once. “I’m not,” he said, quiet and low. “I just… I need to talk to her.”

A long pause stretched between them. The kind of silence that measures character.

Monica narrowed her eyes, then sighed. She didn’t soften, but she stepped back just enough to let him pass.

“She’s in the back,” she said, tone clipped and cautious. “And if she tells me she wants you gone, I will personally help her pack your ego into a suitcase.”

Joe managed a small, broken smile. “Fair enough,” he murmured. “I understand.”

The condo was warm—light jazz playing low from a Bluetooth speaker somewhere in the living room, candles flickering from a side table. It smelled faintly of eucalyptus, cocoa butter, and the vanilla lotion Angel always wore at night. The familiarity of it almost made him dizzy. He didn’t deserve the comfort—but he took it in anyway, like a man gasping for air at the surface.

He moved down the hallway slowly, like each step mattered.

Because it did.

Every one of them was an apology. A plea.

He reached the end of the hallway just as she stepped out.

Angel stood barefoot in Monica’s oversized T-shirt, joggers hanging low on her hips, her curls pulled back into a loose pineapple bun. There were faint smudges beneath her eyes, the kind that didn’t come from makeup—but from not sleeping. From carrying too much.

She looked exhausted. And somehow, impossibly, still stunning.

Joe’s heart twisted hard in his chest. She was right there—so close—but he could feel the distance between them like an entire ocean.

He cleared his throat, voice low.

“I messed up,” he said.

Angel didn’t move. She didn’t roll her eyes. Didn’t cross the room. But she didn’t walk away either.

That was something.

“I told myself I could balance it all,” Joe said, eyes searching hers. “That football and us could live in two separate lanes. But that’s not how love works. You’re not something I fit into the margins of my schedule, Angel. You’re the center. You’re home. And I haven’t been treating you like that.”

Still nothing. But her arms fell from their crossed stance. Her fingers laced together in front of her like she was holding herself still.

Joe stepped closer, slow and careful.

“I keep saying I love you,” he said. “But love isn’t missing your biggest night because I was too wrapped up in game film. Love is being there. It’s showing up. And I didn’t. I didn’t show up for you—and that’s the part I can’t stop thinking about.”

Finally, Angel’s voice cut through the quiet—soft, steady, and sharp.

“Do you know how hard I’ve worked to be taken seriously in this field?”

The words were simple. But they carried years inside them. Years of being questioned. Overlooked. Undermined.

“I do,” Joe said, voice hoarse.

Angel’s jaw tightened. “No. You think you do. But you don’t. I’ve stood on the sidelines in the snow, gotten talked over in press conferences, been told to smile more and speak less. I’ve had people call me lucky for being on air—as if I didn’t earn every second with sweat and receipts. That night… it wasn’t just about the award, Joe. It was about being seen. And I needed you there. Not as my boyfriend. Not as the NFL quarterback. As my person. The one who claps loudest, even when no one else is watching.”

Joe closed his eyes briefly, the weight of her words sinking into his bones.

“You’re right,” he said. “I failed you. I see that now.”

Angel looked down, blinking fast. Her arms hung loose at her sides now, like even holding them up took too much effort. When she spoke again, her voice trembled—not with anger, but with fatigue.

“You let me stand alone in a room full of people who didn’t expect me to be there in the first place. And you were supposed to be the one face I could find. The one person I never had to doubt.”

“I know,” Joe said, taking a tentative step forward. “I can’t fix the moment. But I can do better. From this moment on.”

He looked at her, bare and open, no defenses left.

“I just want to be there for you. Every time. No more excuses. No more ‘next time.’ You deserve more than promises. You deserve action.”

The silence between them stretched long—thick with history and hurt. And love.

Angel’s gaze lifted. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the kind you don’t cry because they carry too much. She looked at him for a long beat, like she was deciding whether to believe again. Whether to let him back into the soft, vulnerable places.

Then, quietly, she said:

“I don’t need perfect.”

She took a step forward.

“I just need present.”

Joe nodded, voice caught in his throat. “I can be that,” he whispered. “From now on… I will be.”

No dramatic music played. No world paused. It was just her—moving closer. Slowly. Until she was in his arms again, wrapping herself around him like she belonged there.

And she did.

Angel pressed her cheek into his chest and let out a breath that seemed to collapse four days of holding everything in.

Joe buried his face in her curls and held her like she was gravity itself.

No, it wasn’t forgiveness—not fully. And it wasn’t forgetting.

But it was hope.

It was us.

It was the start of something new, built from the rubble of everything they’d nearly lost.

In the hallway of a quiet apartment, beneath the hum of candles and the weight of a love still learning how to grow, Joe and Angel didn’t fix everything.

But they chose each other.

And sometimes, that’s enough to begin again.

Joe didn’t move right away. He just held her, arms wrapped tight like he needed the physical confirmation that she was real, that she was here, that she hadn’t slipped through his fingers completely.

After a long moment, she pulled back slightly—just enough to look up at him.

Her eyes were still glassy, lashes clumped from tears that hadn’t fallen. But her shoulders weren’t so tense now. The storm in her chest was settling.

Joe reached into the front pocket of his hoodie and slowly pulled something out—small, delicate, shining faintly under the hallway light.

The engagement ring.

He hadn’t let it out of his sight since the night she left. It had slept on his nightstand, sat on his kitchen counter while he ate cereal he couldn’t taste, pressed against the palm of his hand when he paced the house in the middle of the night.

“Can I…?” he asked, his voice quieter than it had been all night.

Angel looked down at the ring, then back up at him. Her lips parted slightly, her breath catching.

She didn’t answer with words.

She held out her left hand.

Joe took it gently, like he was handling something sacred, and slid the ring back onto her finger—slow, deliberate, like a promise being made for the second time.

It glinted under the warm overhead light. And this time, it meant something more.

Not just love—but earned love.

He looked back up at her, a small, hopeful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“So,” he said. “Do I get a kiss, or...?”

Angel lifted one brow, her mouth twitching into the smallest smirk. Her voice was soft, but teasing.

“Don’t push your luck, Burrow.”

Joe huffed a laugh, the first real one in days, as she shook her head—but didn’t pull her hand away.

He didn’t lean in. He didn’t need to. That one look, that one line—it was hers. It had always been hers. And he’d take it gladly.

In that quiet hallway, no kiss was exchanged.

But the ring was back where it belonged. Her hand was still in his. And his heart—finally—was back in the right place.

They had a long way to go. But they’d go together.

And that made all the difference.

[pittsick]

summary: Spencer is overwhelmed by work until a fellow BAU agent and close friend takes him out to unwind, leading to laughter, confessions, and a sweet first kiss. What begins as a casual night at the pub becomes the start of something much more.

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader.

cw: 1.4k words. workplace stress, emotional exhaustion, and gentle romantic tension. fluff, mutual pining, hand-holding, first kiss between coworkers.

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

Quantico's fluorescent lights were unforgiving. They hummed above Spencer’s head as he sat at his desk, hunched over a mountain of paperwork. His brow furrowed, eyes scanning line after line of typed reports with a mechanical rhythm. The rest of the bullpen had quieted down for the day, the team's chatter replaced by the soft buzz of computers and distant footsteps.

You watched him from across the room, your own desk long abandoned. You’d finished your reports hours ago, but something kept you hanging around. Well—someone.

Spencer hadn’t moved in over an hour. He pushed his glasses up his nose, muttering something under his breath that you couldn't quite catch. You stood, stretching, and crossed the room with soft footsteps.

“You know it’s past nine, right?” you said gently, leaning on the edge of his desk.

Spencer startled slightly, blinking up at you as though coming out of a daze. “Is it really?”

You nodded. “You’ve been working all day. Didn’t even stop for dinner. Are you trying to burn out?”

“No, I just…” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s a lot to get through. I figured if I could finish tonight, tomorrow could be… easier.”

You tilted your head at him, heart tugging a little. His tie was loose, shirt wrinkled, and the bags under his eyes had gotten darker over the last few weeks. The last case had been rough—gruesome, personal. You’d all felt it, but Spencer had taken it especially hard.

“You’re not a robot, Spence,” you said. “You’re allowed to unplug. In fact, I think I’m making it my personal mission to help you do that tonight.”

He blinked again. “What do you mean?”

You grinned. “I’m taking you out. Pub down the road. Dart boards. Fries. Maybe even karaoke, if I can talk you into it.”

His lips quirked in amusement. “Karaoke?”

“Yep. Non-negotiable. You need a reset. Come on, it'll be fun.”

Spencer hesitated, fiddling with his pen. He didn’t like loud places or unfamiliar environments. But then you smiled at him again—bright and encouraging, and somehow soft just for him—and that did something he couldn’t quite explain.

“…Okay,” he said, quietly.

You beamed. “Really?”

“Yeah. Okay. Just let me grab my coat.”

The pub you picked was small, warm, and comfortably noisy—not too packed, but alive with the kind of background chatter that gave the illusion of anonymity. A local band was playing soft indie rock in the corner. It was a place you knew he might tolerate, with dim lighting and rustic wooden beams, and a dartboard tucked away in the back.

Spencer looked around cautiously as you slid into a booth with two beers in hand.

“I promise,” you said, pushing one toward him, “no drunk singing unless you want to.”

“I don’t drink much,” he said, inspecting the beer. “I know. Just sip. We’re here to de-stress, not get wild.”

He gave you a sheepish half-smile. “Thanks for dragging me out.”

“You needed it.”

He took a sip and let the cool bitterness ground him. For a moment, you both just sat there, watching the room. Then he glanced sideways at you. “You… always know what I need.”

You looked over at him, surprised by the softness in his voice. “Well, you’re kind of easy to read. When you look like you haven’t slept in three days, that’s my cue.”

He laughed—a real, warm laugh that made your chest swell. “I’m that obvious?”

“Only to me,” you teased.

He didn’t say anything at first, but he didn’t look away either. His gaze lingered on you—on the curve of your smile, the gentle way you leaned toward him when you spoke. You’d been friends since you joined the BAU, and somewhere along the line, that friendship had tangled into something messier in his chest.

Something he didn’t know how to say out loud.

“Hey,” you nudged his knee under the table. “Don’t go all introspective on me now. You’re out. You're relaxing. Let yourself have a little fun.”

“I am having fun,” he said, a bit too quickly. You raised an eyebrow. “Then let’s see it. Darts?” He gave you a doubtful look. “You’ll destroy me.”

“I’m counting on it.”

You weren’t lying—you did destroy him. But he didn’t mind.

You laughed with every bullseye, tossing back your hair and pointing at his stunned expression. Spencer was terrible at darts, but he played anyway, content to watch you smile and tease him. You didn’t make fun—just poked, prodded, kept things light. Kept him laughing.

At one point, between throws, you leaned close and whispered, “You look better when you’re not worrying.” He turned red, flustered, and missed the board completely on his next turn.

You cackled and high-fived a stranger nearby, and Spencer just buried his face in his hands. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

“Not a chance, Doc.”

But underneath the jokes, you were watching him, too. Noticing how the lines on his forehead had smoothed out. How his shoulders sat a little lower. You liked seeing him like this—unguarded, laughing, a little shy.

He didn’t notice you staring. Or maybe… he did.

An hour later, you were back in the booth, sharing a plate of greasy fries. Your knees were touching under the table now, and neither of you moved away.

“You know,” you said, chewing thoughtfully, “for someone who’s got three PhDs and an IQ higher than my rent, you’re really bad at darts.” Spencer wiped his hands on a napkin. “There’s very little overlap between deductive reasoning and hand-eye coordination.”

“Still. Very disappointing. I thought you’d be my secret weapon in bar games.”

“I’m good at trivia,” he offered, trying to salvage some dignity.

“Oh yeah?” you grinned. “Then riddle me this, genius: why haven’t you asked me out yet?”

You meant it as a joke—a harmless little tease to keep the mood light—but the color drained from his face. Spencer froze, eyes wide behind his glasses. “What?”

You blinked, suddenly uncertain. “I—sorry, I didn’t mean to make it weird, I was just—”

“No, no,” he rushed, waving his hands. “It’s not weird. I just… I didn’t know you… noticed.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “You’ve got the biggest crush face I’ve ever seen, Spence. I figured it out months ago.” He looked like he might combust. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t trying to—make you uncomfortable. I didn’t want to ruin anything.”

“You didn’t,” you said softly.

He blinked.

You smiled again, gentler this time. “It’s kind of sweet, actually. Watching you fumble over coffee orders when I’m around. The way you always sit next to me on the jet, but never too close.”

His voice was barely a whisper. “I didn’t think you felt the same.”

Your heart fluttered. “Well, I do.”

There was a long pause—full of new tension, not quite awkward, just fragile. Spencer sat very still. “What happens now?” You slid your hand across the table, lacing your fingers with his.

“That depends,” you said, voice low. “Do you want to go on a date with me, Doctor Reid?”

He stared at your hand in his, then looked up, and you saw something melt behind his eyes. The tension that had lived there for years—fear of rejection, the need to always be in control—slipped away.

“Yes,” he said, quietly but firmly. “I really do.”

It was late when you stepped outside, the chill of night brushing your skin. The sky above was soft and dark, stars peeking between clouds. You stood beside him on the sidewalk, hand still tucked into his like it belonged there.

Spencer was quiet, but it was a different kind of quiet now. Comfortable. Sweet. “You did good tonight,” you said. “Actually had fun.” He smiled. “I did. Because of you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He turned toward you, eyes bright behind his glasses. “I’m really lucky you noticed me.”

“I always noticed you, Spence,” you whispered.

And then you leaned in and kissed him. It was soft—brief—just your mouth on his, warm and sure. You pulled away before he could even process it fully. His face was pink, his smile dazed.

You nudged his side. “Walk me to my car, genius?”

He nodded, still smiling, still holding your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

As you walked together under the soft glow of streetlamps, Spencer thought that maybe—just maybe—life wasn’t so heavy with you beside him.

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Forty Three - Deeper Connections

Part Forty Two

Warning: Violence

———

Compatibility is a finicky process, whether it is someone struggling through the written or physical testing, or just the system's lack of reliability. Compatibility is necessary to operate a mech suit based in the current technology.

All pilots, once found compatible, have implants installed at the base of their skull with connectors to their nervous system and the neural pathways of the brain. 

It creates an interface between the pilots and the suit that makes it possible to control the suit at large. There is of course the main system a pilot can control by hand, the monitors in front of them and the systems attached to the piloting seat, but some pilots have that deeper connections.

When that deeper connection is established, it is hard to pull away from and remove oneself from said connection. It can cause permanent damage to both pilot and the system, whether from lack of awareness to surroundings or an overload of the system itself during connection.

Pilots that start to experience these deeper levels of connection are generally in one of two situations, pilots that organizations want or pilots that will be reassigned to a new class when possible. Specific types of coding which typically are found in Hunter class and older classes such as REDACTED, are what have been found to cause these deeper levels of connection.

It matters less the level of compatibility initially, but the compatibility with the specific class. 

Pilots are often rotated out of their initial class when not immediately assigned to striker class for the safety of the suit, then the pilot. When they remain in the more intense classes for an extended period of time, without disconnection, it can cause severe damage. 

Recommendations are offered to the extended mech suit family by the leading scientist in the field, to rotate out their Hunter, Rescue, and older class pilots to striker units after the first five years. Remove the extended coding from both pilot and suit, then refuse transfers back.

Ten percent of pilots survive the reclassifying process. 

Severe damage from prolonged use of mecha connection is labeled as the cause on autopsy reports. 

Implants are removed upon the death of the pilot, as resources grow scarce and the need for pilots grows. 

This deeper level of connection, referred to as over-connection, has been said to cause abnormal situations. Pilots and suits in specific classes have previously been noted as experiencing abnormalities upon the reinforcement of the deeper connection.

Little is known of how the specific side-effects harm both suit and pilot.  

—

The thing spoke in some guttural language that Hound could not understand, briefly shorting his translator as it attempted to use the Cybertronian translation it was building to translate. His speakers shrieked in his ears and with a wince he killed it before setting up the next scanning for language. 

Shifting his stance, he was still breathing heavily, “I don’t know what you’re saying, but I doubt it’s ‘take me to your leader.’” He almost cracked a smile, almost, this was a worse situation than they were in when they crash landed on Cybertron. Worse still than probably the whole assault on New Kaon.

With a flick of his arm, his gun slid back into his hand and he leveled it at the weird Quintesson, they looked similar enough to know this was just a different type, “Alright then.” And he pulled the trigger as many times as he could as the mega-quint ran at him. Foot coming up to try and kick it off.

His back hit the building outside the ship, a good ten yards from the glass he’d been sent through. Alerts popping up throughout his vision, bright red and screaming at him. 

Everything from crush alerts to zero-g and of course impact alerts. More alerts than he got when the building fell on him and his head swam for a minute, “Oh fuck,” dragging his arm under him, he looks down at his destroyed gun. 

Shattered beyond repair and hand plating splintered, sharp pain shooting through it. For a moment he couldn’t breathe, thinking of his suit as his body before looking up.

It took several long moments for him to realize his comm wasn’t full of static but shouting, “Hound, answer!” Glancing up towards the ship, Jazz was waving, “Yeah, yeah, I’m here.” His head spun as he started to drag his suit up from the ground. Hand grasping at the wall of the building he’d slammed into. 

He just managed to dodge the spear thrown at him, it lodged in the wall, “I wish I wasn’t but I’m here. We’ve got a big enemy that is in the process of trying to destroy my suit.” Pulling the spear from the wall, he was still heaving for breath, “God damnit,” He hardly had a moment to get it up before he was stabbing the spear into the executioner. 

These things were big and fast, as well as seemed vaguely intelligent to have tools and some sort of language, “Holy shit, what is that thing?” Sideswipe’s voice was strained and Hound could only guess why at the moment, “I don’t know but it's what threw me from the ship.” He only had a moment to respond before kicking out at it, pulling the spear back sharply and stabbing it again. 

Green splattered across the ground with a far to satisfying squelch, Jazz looked back over and swore, grabbing hold of Sideswipe’s arm, “Hound needs our help.” With a glance, Sideswipe frowns, “Why?” 

“That is what command calls an executioner, if the flying Quints we normally fight are us without a suit then that thing there is their striker.” His voice rang in Hound’s ears, especially as he stabbed it again, kicking it off the end of the spear and jabbing it again, “Oh, that’s just wonderful. Why haven’t we fought one before?” His voice was harsh, he hadn’t meant for it to be so bad but he was grunting with the effort.

Risen from his piloting chair without even noticing, Hound kept jabbing it as the translator whirred somewhere in the cockpit.

Jazz eventually spoke up though he was still panting from the efforts of his own fight, “Because they are few and far between, thankfully and only used when they are close to getting what they want. Whatever the hell that is.” He spun and hit one of the approaching Quints, “Hound, just, hold on. Alright?” Grunting with the effort, he stalks towards the executioner.

”Yeah, I’ve got this.” And his foot collided with the chest of the so-called executioner before spinning the spear, raising it up to point at its chest. He heaved for air, closing his eyes for a moment to adjust his mask, but as soon as he opened them again he was thrown into another wall. Spear clattering to the ground. 

It laughed this deep and guttural laugh, then Hound got the ping of a partial translation, quickly turning it on, “What the hell are you?” His voice sounded horrible through the translation, dragging himself back to his feet, “I am your enemy, one who is thrilled to destroy you completely.” He blinked.

That wasn’t exactly the answer he was thinking he’d get, taking a slow breath, Hound crouches, “Yeah, good luck with that.” Then charged at the executioner, slamming into him and kept pushing as hard as he could till they slammed into the side of the ship. It went back to the typical Quintesson shrieking as Hound slammed his fist into it’s side over and over. 

Green was splattering up his arm and his hand was able to grasp something inside the body of this thing, so he pulled hard. Plating his knee into its stomach while yanking out its entrails. It screamed and started to bash its fist against the head of his suit, blurring his vision.

The further the damage, the more focused he got and it was just tunnel vision, the comms clicking off instinctually as he methodically starts to tear the thing apart. Warnings flashing through his suit, plating cracking and breaking as it screamed and laughed.

—

He couldn’t see Hound, but he and Jazz were retreating, starting to get overwhelmed by the sheer number of Quintessons crawling out from the remains of their ship, that and Prowl was in Jazz’s ear for the first time since they had started attacking these things.

Nearly as soon as Hound had been thrown from the spaceship, communications had cleared up, whether from something he had done or by preventing whoever was blocking the signals from getting out into Iacon, now there was backup approaching rapidly. 

“Fall back to four hundred feet, the seekers are going to hit the ship then we have a unit coming your way from central and will be there in less than five minutes.” Prowl’s voice was smooth, calculating, “We have some heavy craft coming in with bombs to try and eradicate the remaining Quintessons.” Sideswipe paused for half a second, even as he tore tentacles free from the body of a Quintesson.

Glancing towards the sky, he could see seekers streak past, moving to get into position, he blinked even as he hurles the Quint towards the ground and off the ship, “We can’t just carpet bomb this side of Iacon!” Sideswipe’s voice was higher than it typically was.

The chuckle through the line was unsettling, “Believe me, that is far from what they will be doing. It is banned on Cybertron even in times of war, article 468 of the Cybertronian Peace Agreement.” He paused and stared at the Quint in his grasp for a long moment.

”You had to put that in your peace agreement?” With a hum, Prowl disconnected and Sideswipe couldn’t help but shake his head. Cybertronians had all tried to kill each other even more than humans had it seemed.

Jazz almost ran smack into him, shoving, “We’ve got to move.” Swearing, he slid down the side of the ship even as more Quintessons started to peel themselves from inside, breaking open the plating on the exterior of their odd ships. 

He collided with the ground hard as a Quint wrapped it’s tentacles around one of his legs, “Fuck!” His head slammed into the monitors in front of him, his connection being yanked hard and he screamed from pain.

His vision blue screened like a computer.

It was like he couldn’t breathe when everything went blue then black, he couldn’t see even the hands in front of his face, but the sensors were still working. He could vaguely feel something grab him under his arm to pull him to his feet, “Sideswipe, we need to move!” Jazz’s voice was still clear at least.

Today really wasn’t going his way and all he really wanted to do right now was cry.

”I can’t see,” His voice broke and he swore as Jazz dragged him away from the ship, stumbling in the dark as he desperately grabbed at Jazz’s arm. If this had happened to Sunny, he didn’t even want to think of how bad it would have been for his brother. 

Crashing into the ground again, he groaned and pushed up, breathing far too quickly, hyperventilating, then Jazz’s hands pressed to his shoulders and his back hit the wall, “I’ve got you Sides, disconnect and fix your cameras. Your visor went dead.” Barely able to nod, he disconnects and tears off his helmet for a moment.

The cockpit wasn’t the most well-lit place but it certainly was brighter than the complete darkness his suit had decided to put him into. Dragging a hand over his damp implants, he dragged in slow and deep breaths. He wasn’t particularly scared of the dark, but losing one of his senses while in a fight was terrifying. 

It took him a moment to calm his racing heart, grabbing up his water pouch and taking a deep drink, “Oh god, please let this end quickly.” Setting aside the pouch, he picks up his helmet again and puts it on. Adjusting the visor on it for a second until it lit back up before returning to his piloting chair instead.

Taking up his connector for the implants, he holds it for a second, staring down at it. If he lingered he knew his mind would drag him into his past, distinctly where he didn’t want to spend anymore time that particular day. Adjusting his hold, he re-connects and straps back on his oxygen mask.

Seconds dragged on, sitting in the dark, and his breathing shook again. It was nearly a minute before everything came back online and he was shaking again, sighing, “Thank you.” His suit probably needed more maintances than he realized, leaning against the wall in an alleyway. 

Jazz was across from him, staring up towards the sky.

“Any sign of our reinforcements?” His voice wasn’t as strong as he had hoped for, but today had been one of the worst days of his life, so for now he’d let it slide. Shaking his head a bit, Jazz continued to stare, “No, but the first round of bombs are gonna fall here in a second.” Nodding a bit, Sides tried not to rub at his neck.

Looking out himself, he could see the Quintessons crawling all over their ship, and then Hound still out there. Tearing the executioner apart like it was nothing, “Damn.” Nodding a bit, Jazz sighed, “And that is one of the many reasons why hunter class is dying out. They lose themselves in the fight.” 

He watched before looking around, “Where are BD and Sunny?” Standing on shaky legs, he moves to go out, but Jazz catches his hand, “They’ve moved for cover, like we did, just stay put.” He stared out and tried to look around, to spot the familiar yellow or blue.

It was then that they were blown back, both slamming into the walls of the alley, “Can things stop blowing us up now?!” Sideswipe shouted, slamming his fist into the ground, then the wave of heat hit them, “Run.” Jazz sounded horrified, so he followed suit, scrambling after him.

”Why does everyone want to kill us today?” It was murmured, but Jazz shook his head, “Just run.” Sighing deeply, he followed, exhausted. He wasn’t a soldier, yet he was here on the front lines with everyone else. 

Just managing to snag Jazz’s hand, it grounded him, and he kept running. 

—

Breakdown thought this was one of the strangest days of his life, he was carrying Hound suit's severed arm while his own suit’s head was creaking with each step. Almost flopping from side to side like when his arm would fall asleep or if he sat on his foot too long. 

To his left was Sunstreaker, making their way between buildings and back towards the wreckage of the bar now as that is where their backup would link up. This had to be one of, if not the worst mission they had ever run. This is why the humans were separated, running head first into danger without a plan.

It was likely to get them all killed, stupid, stupid. 

“Any word from the others?” Sunny’s comms were growing patchy every handful of seconds, bleating painfully and Breakdown’s seemed to have disconnected at some point, probably when his cannon started to overheat, “No, after we got around that one skyscraper I lost connection.” Sunny’s hand rubbed at his neck, sighing. 

They kept walking together, quietly, trying to listen to the sounds of battle behind them. 

With the seekers above the main noise, the loud blast that made them both stumble almost gave Breakdown a heart attack, “What the crap?” He spun and tried to bring his cannon back online, it whirred once and promptly died.

Sunstreaker turned and stepped in front of him, both pausing to wait as more explosions happened in the distance. His heart was racing but he rested a hand on Sunny’s shoulder, “They all would have left before the Seekers started to bomb the area, we need to continue to the rendezvous point.” 

Nodding slowly, Sunstreaker turned back and kept walking though there was a slight hitch to his step. The poor boy was shaking like a leaf but kept on. 

He would never look down upon civilian pilots, they had more guts than most military ones he’d ever known, and he was glad to have Sunstreaker and Sideswipe by his side.

Their record, for how young they were, was incredible and it had made him very glad to have them on this mission. Even if it was their world sending them off to die, for the sake of saving it. This bigger picture was one he’d known his whole life, but this was not how he pictured it going.

Yet, here he was, with their small crew on an alien planet making friends and moving forward with a mission that was given to them thirty lightyears away from their current position. He doubted any of them would blame him if he decided to retire to one of the neighboring organic plants in a nearby system.

Sighing deeply, he shifted the hold he had on Hound’s arm. He’d never actually retire, he would die in this suit, just like M did. He was just glad it was far from the hands of his government, so they could force one of his younger brothers into it next.

They continued to walk in silence and he was grateful for it, glancing around, he sighed a bit. The walls around them were nearly the same shade of grey as the immigration office, he could picture it nearly clear as day. His implants oozed unpleasantly and he swore, trying to blink as he stumbled into the wall. 

“Hey, Breakdown, you there?” Sunny’s hand rested on his arm and he tried shaking his head but all it did was knock loose plating off.

The office was cold and grey, there wasn’t much to it but Breakdown kept walking down the alley. Putting his arm around Sunstreaker as he nearly stumbles. The desk was solid in front of him and his paperwork was hard to understand, half of it was in English. 

He only sat there for a few seconds before an older man came in, carrying more paperwork and setting it on the desk with a sigh.

”Breakdown, snap out of it.” He blinked hard and tore off his oxygen mask, grabbing up his water pouch to drink deeply. His overuse had never gotten as bad as the others, but it didn’t change; they all still struggled with it from time to time. So long as they lived here and fought for Cybertron it would probably stick around. 

Taking a slow breath, he nodded a bit, the head of his suit now lolled at an angle that his cameras had already adjusted for, “I’m alright, thank you Sunny.” They slowed as they came back to the rubble, just as other mecha started to come to it on the other side. 

Their colors were still bright and stood out against the grey that had coated this neighbor. Suddenly it hit Breakdown as he raised his hand, which held Hound’s arm, that they might not look their best at the moment, even as Sunny also waved to the approaching reinforcements. 

—

Everything ached and it was pretty obvious as to why. The Quint had thrown him through a building just as the bombs hit, then the heatwave made the metal of his suit nearly unbearable to be in.

Hotter than running drills in Death Valley. 

Even now he was grappling with the damned thing, even when it should have already bled to death. No, he kept ripping it apart and kicking it every time it got back up. This was worse than the worst fights he’d had anywhere on Earth, this felt endless. 

Though this was the end of the fight, kicking the shit out of it as it tried to shriek, “Just shut the hell up.” He was exhausted, almost more tired than he’d been after New Kaon, but it laughed cruelly, “My kind is not done with yours Cybertronian, no, we will not stop till your planet is ours once again.” 

He almost stopped, almost listened, instead his foot crushed the things head instead, panting from the effort, “I’m not Cybertronian. I’m human.” And he sat down on the ground, putting his arm on his head to breathe easier. 

Outside still looked like hell, bombs exploding and fire roaring, they wouldn’t leave anything left of that damned ship and in a way, Hound was glad. It meant he wouldn’t have to step foot back inside, but it also meant they wouldn’t have anything for Prowl to look at. To potentially figure out past the maybe-hard drive in his cockpit.

Disconnecting, Hound cried out and grasped at his implants. They were oozing and bleeding again for the first time in weeks, his whole body hurt. It felt like he’d been in a car crash, but then again, it was nor dissimilar to how his day had gone. 

Collapsing from the weight of his own body, Hound laid on the floor of his cockpit, next to the plating from his suit and the oversized hard drive. The bombs going off outside were still audible even there, in his suit and in the building. Grabbing his water pouch, he removes his oxygen mask then his helmet. 

It took a moment to drink slowly and deeply, trying to not drain the pouch but desperate for the water. 

“Ah god,” tears sprang to his eyes as he tried to breathe normally, grasping at his overly long hair. What he needed was a haircut, probably a shave too, but now wasn’t the time. 

The bar was destroyed, the music his parents coveted had been ripped out from under him like a rug in a cartoon. He hadn’t even thought of bringing music on the Odyssey, unlike the twins, it just had slipped his mind while they trained for being in space. 

Quintessons had tried invading Iacon, they had been just outside and nearly killed his friends. They wanted Cybertron and apparently Earth, for what he still had no idea but they wanted to kill everyone and everything.

Including him.

Including his crew.

Including Mirage.

Covering his face, he took a deep and shaking breath, and sobbed. Slamming his fist into the metal flooring of his cockpit, “Oh god, fucking, stupid.” Closing his eyes, he tried to calm down.

It was overwhelming, it was too much, and he needed to pull himself together so he could get back to his team. Whether that was Arcturus or his unit.

Slowly, the bombardment outside lessened and he got up, putting his helmet and oxygen mask back on, picking up his connector and holding it in his hands for a long moment. Tossing it lightly before reconnecting.

His eyes snapped open and he gasped painfully, the feeling in his arm disappearing again with shooting pain into his shoulder, “God damnit, fucking, stupid suit.” Shaking his head, he adjusted his visor and slowly rose, turning back to the executioner to hopefully grab it to bring it in.

Green ooze was what remained where it had been, but there was not nearly enough of it to its remains, “Fuck.” Dragging his hand down his face, Hound groaned, “Alright, find the others and don’t die. Yeah.” Nodding a bit, he steps through the hole he’d initially gone through.  

The outside wasn’t much better than the inside, if he had much to say, though most of the ship was burnt to a crisp and what remained was in fact charred remains, there were still Quintessons crawling around. Tentacles whipping out and feeling for its goal. 

His foot came down on one and then swiftly turned what remained of its body into green mist with a kick and once he did one, he had to keep going. Grabbing and tearing, kicking, then dispatching. It was one step then the next. 

———

A/N

This was meant to be out yesterday, but at 11 last night I did not feel like researching how the brain works or how the world is figuring out how to integrate tech into the human body to be perfectly honest.

But yeah, I hope to still have the next chapter out on Friday, I’ve already started to work on it so we will see how that goes, so wish me luck lol.

TAGS

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @sirassban @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscrapheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @thetrexartist @naaaafam @elegantmantaray @emichusai @waterlilykitty @diabolichare @ham4ponyo @osqindaxend @sunnyvibesanddoodles @ratatatata248 @ijustneedausernaneplease4444444 @sprook-children @fooolisher 

And once again thank you to @Keferon for this amazing AU

[deja-you]

Starling: Act I

bucky barnes x reader

masterlist | series masterlist | next part

word count: 1.7k

summary: You don’t expect to befriend your neighbor in apartment 3B. Not the one who only speaks in dry observations and quiet glances. Not the one who watches you like he’s memorizing your escape routes.

A/N: hi! So I've been inactive for years and trying to remember how to do this all again. This is my very first time writing for this fandom so this is a big change for me! I would welcome any tips or advice or literally anything. But this is basically going to be a five part series? I'll probably be doing a lot of format changing and all that soon.

You moved into the apartment two months ago and still haven’t figured out whether the building is sketchy or charming. Maybe both. Probably both. It’s old. Radiators don’t work the way they’re supposed to, floorboards creak in some kind of Morse code, but your neighbors mostly mind their own business, unless they’re Mr. Keller. He’s always looking for a reason to report you for a noise complaint even though it's his bird that is constantly shouting threats of getting you arrested. 

It’s the right amount of shady. Just the kind of place where nobody questions why you’re doing laundry at 2:47 a.m., and if they do, they’re probably running from something, too. 

You’re jiggling the coin slot on the washing machine with a bobby pin you keep tucked in your sleeve. You’ve got the motion down to muscle memory. The trick is gentle pressure and patience–things you learned the hard way. The washer clicks open. 

The door creaks behind you.

You don’t turn around immediately. Whoever it is walks soft, which means they’re either dangerous or polite. Maybe both. You bobby pin back into your sleeve and keep your tone light and casual.

“Almost done. There’s a dryer open if you want it.” 

You’re met with silence. Then:

“That’s illegal, you know.”

“So is jaywalking,” you shrug.

You pause, hand still on the machine’s lid, glancing over your shoulder. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed like it’s instinct. Gloved on one side. You catch the glint of metal peeking out from the other. Left hand. Of course.

You know who he is. Of course you do. But you’ve gotten good at pretending you don’t recognize ghosts when they show up in the flesh. 

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t move. He just stares like he’s trying to figure out if you’re dangerous or just disrespectful. Maybe both. 

You break the silence.

“It’s not a crime if no one sees it.”

He raises an eyebrow at your faulty logic.

“I saw it.”

“What, you gonna report me to the landlord?”

“Mr. Keller would love that.”

“Yeah. Well. Mr. Keller also things his parrot’s a government spy, so I’m not exactly quaking.”

There’s a small flicker in his expression. An almost smile. Almost. He still hasn’t moved from his position on the wall.

You turn back to the washer and finish loading it before snapping the lid down and dusting off your hands. When you walk past him, your shoulder brushes the air between you. You turn back briefly to get one more quip in.

“Thanks for the legal advice, Barnes.”

His brow furrows slightly. “Didn’t give any.”

“Sure you did.”

You give him a small, coy smile and leave the room without looking back. You can feel his eyes on you as you make your way to the stairwell.

- 

It’s been a few weeks since your interaction with Bucky Barnes a.k.a. The Winter Soldier a.k.a. Your neighbor in apartment 3B. 

The apartment is too quiet to sleep. Too many locks on the door, not enough on your mind. You throw on a hoodie over sweats, lace up your boots without tying them, and slip into the hallway like you’ve done a hundred times before. You grab your to-go cup of tea–the one you’ve nuked twice but never actually drank. 

The stairwell is cool and dim, lit by one ceiling light that flickers like it’s on its last life. 

You freeze halfway down the first flight. He’s already there.

Sitting on the bottom step, hoodie up, elbows on his knees. His hetal hand hangs loose between them, glinting when the flickering light catches the plating. He’s not asleep, but somewhere else entirely. You hesitate.

Then, quietly, you descend the rest of the stairs and sit two steps above him. Not beside him. Just…near. 

Neither of you say anything at first. You set your cup by your feet, it clinks softly against the concrete. He doesn’t respond. 

For a minute, there’s nothing but the soft humming of the building. Pipes ticking. A TV murmuring through the walls. The buzz of the light overhead. 

Then:

“You always this dramatic, Barnes?”

Silence. You think he’s not going to respond. But then he turns his head slightly to look at you.

“Only when I’m awake.” 

You nod as if this makes sense. It does. “Must be exhausting.” 

“Yeah,” he says softly. 

Another beat of silence.

“You got someone looking for you?”

The question is blunt. Between your current interaction and the brief one in the laundry room, Bucky Barnes has picked up that you’re running… or hiding from something. Someone. You don’t know if there’s something obvious you’ve done to give it away, or if it's just the fact that Bucky could recognize someone on the run from miles away. He should be able to. He’s spent too much of his life on the run himself. 

You don’t look at him when you answer.

“Not anymore. Not really.” 

He nods slowly. He understands. 

Then quieter:

“You got someone looking out for you?”

You don’t answer. The light flickers again. You find your hands grabbing fistfuls of your hoodie, knuckles white. 

He doesn’t press. He just breathes out slowly, leans back against the wall behind him, and shifts slightly like he’s settling in to keep watch–just for a while. He decides then and there that he’ll look out for you. Whether you want him to or not. 

You stare down at your cold tea, still not drinking it. 

-

You’re headed back from a bodega run that wasn’t about groceries so much as getting out of your head. It’s late—later than usual—but the building’s always quiet at this hour. You like it that way.

Except this time, the stairwell isn’t empty.

You spot him instantly, crouched on the landing like he belongs to the shadows. Hoodie up, shoulders tense. Left hand dangling loosely over his knee. The other—

Split knuckles. Blood dark across his skin, pooled in the creases. There’s some on his jaw, too.

You stop halfway down the stairs and exhale through your nose.

“You got a thing for this spot, or is it just a coincidence I keep finding you here?”

He doesn’t answer. Just shifts his jaw and glances away like the wall’s got something important to say.

You sigh, head back up the stairs, and return thirty seconds later with your beat-up first aid kit from under the kitchen sink.

“Don’t move.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m sure you are. But that hand isn’t.”

You drop to a crouch beside him, ignoring the stiff way he goes still. You pop open the kit, flick the latch like you’ve done it a thousand times, and pull out a packet of antiseptic wipes.

He doesn’t protest again. Just watches.

“You throw a punch or catch one?”

“Little of both.”

“You win?”

“...Define winning.”

You huff a quiet laugh and start cleaning the blood. The cut’s deeper than it looked, but you don’t flinch, even when the antiseptic hits raw skin and he tenses under your touch. He doesn’t make a sound.

You don’t ask what happened. He doesn’t offer. It’s better that way.

You tape the knuckle gently, fingers brushing over his calluses, and you catch him watching you—not the kind of stare people give when they’re sizing you up, but the kind they give when they’re trying to remember the last time someone touched them like this.

When you’re finished, you close the kit, set it aside, and wipe your palms on your sweats.

“You should put ice on it.”

“Don’t like the cold.”

“That’s rich, Frosty.”

That gets the barest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile, but closer than anything you’ve seen from him.

“You always talk this much?”

You sit back on your heels and arch a brow.

“Only when I’m patching up super-soldiers who loiter in my stairwell.”

“I wasn’t loitering. And we share a stairwell.”

“You were brooding. Bleeding and brooding. It’s a step up.”

He grunts—noncommittal—and leans back against the wall. The tension in his shoulders has eased. Just slightly.

“Thanks.”

You nod.

Neither of you moves for a moment. 

“Next time,” you say, standing and grabbing the kit, “try to win in a way that doesn’t involve blood loss.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

You start back up the stairs.

“Hey,” he calls after you, voice low.

You turn.

“You didn’t ask.”

“About what?”

“Why.”

You shrug. “Didn’t need to.”

And you leave him there—alone, but not as alone as before.

-

The city is quieter than usual tonight.

No sirens. No arguments echoing off brick. Just the distant hum of traffic and the occasional flutter of fabric on clotheslines no one ever takes down. Brooklyn pretending to sleep.

You’re out on the fire escape, perched like you belong there. Bare feet on cold iron, knees tucked under a blanket you meant to mend weeks ago. One hand wrapped around a beer bottle gone warm. The other resting loosely on your knee, fingers twitching every now and then like your nerves haven’t quite gotten the message that you’re safe.

You’re not sure what time it is. You don’t check.

The window creaks open behind you.

You don’t turn around.

You know it’s him.

Bucky steps out like the fire escape might bite him. Slow, deliberate. He’s in sweats and a t-shirt, hoodie slung over one shoulder. Barefoot. You catch the glint of the metal arm in your periphery.

He doesn’t sit. Just stands by the railing, hands braced on the edge, body angled slightly toward you.

“You always sit like that?”

Your eyes stay forward.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re gonna fly away if I say the wrong thing, Birdie.”

The word hits you in the chest like a second heartbeat.

You go still.

Your grip on the bottle tightens, not enough to crack it, but enough to feel the strain.

Your gaze drifts up—to the skyline, the lights, the dark slice of sky where stars are supposed to be but never quite are.

“Don’t call me that.”

Your voice is quiet. Not sharp. Not pleading. Just… tired.

He doesn’t apologize.

“Okay.”

A beat.

“But I’m gonna anyway.”

You let the silence stretch. The breeze carries the faint smell of fried food from a cart six blocks away. Somewhere down the street, someone yells at their dog in Russian.

You don’t correct him again.

Not because you like the nickname.

Not because you trust him.

But because, for the first time in a long time, someone called you something without expecting anything back.

You take a slow sip of your beer.

He stands there a while longer.

Just breathing beside you.

Not trying to fix anything.

Just staying.

[word-woven]

After the Mold

18 Plus+ 🔞

Ethan Winters x Male!Reader

After surviving the worst days of his life, Ethan Winters finds quiet solace in the arms of someone who sees him for more than what he’s lost—someone who holds him like he still belongs to the world.

I just think Ethan deserves to be kissed stupid, held like a lifeline, and railed lovingly by a very patient man, okay? I don’t make the rules—I just write the smut

You met Ethan in the kind of silence that followed horror. Not the peaceful kind. The ringing kind—the kind that lives in your bones long after the screaming stops.

He was already back from Louisiana when you found him, if “back” was even the right word. He looked like he’d crawled out of hell on his hands and knees and didn’t trust the light anymore.

And who could blame him?

He didn’t talk about what happened at first. You knew the headlines. You knew what wasn’t in the reports too—the rumors, the whispers about a girl and a swamp and something that shouldn’t have existed. The mold. The Baker family. His wife. All dead, except her.

You never asked.

At first, you just fixed his injuries. Cleaned up the places no one else would. The scar across his hand that never quite healed, even with REACT tech. The jagged shrapnel wound near his ribs. The nightmares he tried to pretend didn’t happen.

“I’m fine,” he’d say, voice hoarse.

“You’re not,” you’d reply.

But you never pushed harder than that.

You learned to recognise the signs—when he needed space, when he needed silence, when he needed you to sit on the floor beside him and just be there. Sometimes he’d press the heel of his palm to his eye like he was trying to wipe something out from behind it. Sometimes he’d flinch at the creak of a floorboard, reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there anymore.

He moved in with you after two months. Said it was temporary. Said he couldn’t be in that empty apartment. Too clean. Too sterile.

He slept on the couch. Then on your bed. Then beside you.

Neither of you talked about that either.

Until the night you found him on the bathroom floor, his back against the tub, sweat-soaked and shaking. Eyes blown wide. Breathing like the air was drowning him.

He didn’t say your name. Just, “She was there.”

You crouched beside him. Pressed a hand to his chest, over his racing heart. “Who?”

“Eveline. The girl.” His voice cracked. “But not really. I know she’s dead. I know she’s—I know—” His hands curled into his hair. “But it’s like I feel her sometimes. Like she’s still in my goddamn head.”

You didn’t say it would be okay. You knew better. Instead, you leaned forward, resting your forehead to his. “You’re not alone.”

He started crying.

He didn’t sob. Just went so quiet that you almost missed it—the way his breath hitched, the tears falling soundlessly onto your collarbone as you pulled him into your arms. He clung like a man broken open, like your touch was the only thing keeping him from dissolving back into the mold.

“I’m so tired,” he whispered, and it gutted you. “I don’t know how to be human anymore.”

“You don’t have to be,” you told him, voice low and fierce. “You just have to be. And I’ll be here.”

That was the first time he kissed you.

It was clumsy. Desperate. Teeth clacking and fingers trembling. But it was real. You kissed him back with everything you had—because he needed it, and because you wanted it. Wanted him. Not as a broken man or a haunted survivor, but as Ethan. The man who still carried groceries with both hands even if one of them ached. The man who told awful jokes at 3am and cooked breakfast like it was the only sacred act left in the world.

The man who finally let himself live.

That night, you didn’t fuck. You just held each other. You undressed slowly, reverently—like every scar he’d earned was holy, like every piece of him was something to worship. You kissed his wrists. His stomach. His throat. You laid him out across the sheets and laid your hands across his heart like a benediction.

“Do you want this?” you asked him, breath shaking.

He nodded. “More than anything.”

And so you gave him everything.

He moaned under your touch—soft, needy, unguarded. Every sound he made was real. No performance. No walls. Just Ethan, raw and open, letting himself feel. You took your time. You didn’t rush. You ran your tongue along the curve of his hip and watched him fall apart, whispering your name like it was the only thing grounding him.

When you were finally inside him—slow, deep, tender—he clung to you like you were salvation. His legs wrapped around your waist. His arms wound around your shoulders. His mouth on yours, again and again, as if kissing you could save him.

And maybe it did. A little.

After, he cried again. Quieter this time. You kissed the tears from his cheeks and held him until he fell asleep, his head over your heart.

In the morning, he reached for your hand under the covers and laced your fingers together.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be okay,” he said.

You pressed a kiss to his temple. “That’s fine. You don’t have to be okay. You just have to be here.”

He turned to face you. Eyes red. Voice steady. “Then I’ll stay.”

[sereia4skz]

to my dearest best friend,

you’ll never believe me but, i think Jisung, Felix’s friend, has such fluffy ears. He’s a quokka hybrid, and he’s so so so cute! Makes me want to, you know.. mess with him<3

I did, that’s why i’m reporting back, hah. Jisung’s such a good listener, sitting still while i played with his ears. Oh, did i mention that his ears are sensitive? Well now you know. Actually, he’s sensitive a lot of other places as well. Makes for a fun time for overstimulation! I think we both had lots of fun as I brought him to tears!

1k Followers Event | sensitive little thing

pairing: quokka!Han x fem!reader

genre: smut

warnings: MDNI, overstimulation, safeword (just a check in), voyeurism (Han peeking at the reader), dom!reader, dacryphilia

event masterlist: #1kShootingStars

━━━━━━━━━━━━⋆｡°✩

Hi sweets, 

It's been a little bit, I saw your letter but I've been so busy. 

About your little quokka boy, sounds like you'll have a lot of fun. If you think he's sensitive, I've found that ice can be a lot of fun… Just a tip hehe.

Xoxo Yaya

━━━━━━━━━━━━⋆｡°✩

You were bored. Not in the sense that you had nothing to do, rather in the sense that nothing seems enticing. Most of the boys were out, leaving you alone, laying on the grass in front of the cabin. You were 'tanning', it was sunny enough, really you just wanted to enjoy the outside, although thunderclouds seemed to roll in the horizon. Preparing for the possibility of a thunderstorm, you made your way off the warm soil and jogged back inside. 

You smell your shirt quickly, making a face. Yeah, time for a shower. You made your way through the hallways before popping into one of the bathrooms. Your shower is a quick affair, and before long you were sautering back to your room, towel wrapped tightly around you. 

You dropped the towel, looking for lounge clothes to change into when the floorboard outside your room creaked. Seems you weren't alone. For a second, you consider turning around to close the door but quickly dismiss the idea, anyone that didn't want to see wouldn't peek… 

And if someone did… Well you didn't mind the audience.

You continued on as if you hadn't noticed, bending down to pull up your underwear. Then a squeak rang out, quiet, but loud in comparison to the present calm of the cabin. 

You let out a chuckle, spinning around to face the culprit. You saw a little fluffy ear peeking over the door frame. Making your way over quietly before blowing on it softly.  That caused a louder squeak to come out of the boy, and him to turn around and face the doorway.

"Hi Hannie~" you coo, crossing your arms, although that didn't do much to cover your tits.

The boy looked everywhere but your eyes, quickly glancing down before settling on looking past you. He stayed quiet like he was going to get scolded.

"Hanniiie~" you drawl, "I said hello? Are you not going to answer me?", teasing smile on your lips. 

The boy lets out a shaky breath, "Sorry…"

"What are you sorry for Hannie? Use your words, I know you can."

A whine leaves his mouth pitifully, as the boy looks into your eyes. "Sorry for peeking."

You step forward, bare feet silent on the wooden floor as you close the distance between you and the trembling hybrid. His little quokka ears twitch nervously, and you can see the red flush rising up his cheeks, spilling down his neck. He’s pressed back against the wall like he could disappear into it if he tried hard enough.

“Oh, Hannie~” you coo, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. His breath catches. “You're so cute, why do you look so scared, baby?”

“I- I didn’t mean to, I just… The door was open and-” he fumbles, words tripping over each other.

“Mhm,” you hum, unimpressed, brushing a finger down his chest lightly. “So you thought you'd take a peek at your hyung's naked friend? That's very bold.”

He lets out another whimper, eyes wide and glassy. His small tail twitches, flicking back and forth nervously. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again, ears flattening.

You sigh dramatically and turn away. “I was going to get dressed, but you clearly want a show.” You walk back toward your bed, dropping the pretense of covering yourself at all. “Watch.”

You bend over slowly, deliberately giving him a view as you slide on your panties. His breath hitches. He hasn’t moved from the doorway, frozen in place like prey. When you straighten and turn back to face him, his eyes are glued to your body. His pants are tented, cock obviously straining against the fabric of those stupid sweatpants. His thighs are pressed together tightly.

“Hannie,” you murmur, approaching him again, “do you want to touch me?”

He nods helplessly, too fast, too desperate.

You lean in, your lips just brushing his ear. “Then earn it.”

You guide him backward by the chin until he’s sitting on the edge of your bed. He looks up at you with those wide, watery eyes, ears trembling with every breath.

“Good boy,” you praise, straddling his lap. He gasps when your hands slide under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin, the nervous tremble beneath your fingers.

You kiss him gently at first, then deeper, letting your tongue tease his. His hands stay at his sides like he’s afraid to touch you without permission. It's so messy, so lewd, you're licking at his mouth, suckling his tongue. Poor baby is whimpering, overwhelmed. You grind against him slowly, feeling him pulse beneath you.

“Can I- can I cum?” he gasps, already so worked up just from being teased.

You smile against his cheek. “Already?”

Your hand dips between the two of you, slipping into his waistband. His breath stutters as you stroke him, fingers gentle but firm. He’s so sensitive already, hips bucking up despite himself. You watch him unravel under your touch, moaning softly, thighs quivering. It’s not long before he’s panting, hips twitching, eyes brimming with tears.

“Please-” he whines, “I can’t- I'm sorry- gonna-!”

You lean in, lips brushing his jaw. “Go ahead, cum for me, Hannie.”

With a broken moan, he does, hard, the warm release coating your fingers as his whole body jerks beneath you. He tries to catch his breath, but you don’t stop. You keep stroking, soft but relentless. He cries out, trying to squirm away from your touch.

“S-Stop, 's too much,” he gasps, tears finally slipping free.

"Color?" 

"... Green" He whines. 

"Greedy boy~" you tease, as you push your soaked panties to the side and guide his twitching, still-hard cock to your entrance. “Such a good boy,” you whisper as you sink down on him slowly. 

He sobs, loud, desperate. His whole body trembles beneath you, his hands gripping the sheets as he tries not to fall apart. “Too much, too much–” he babbles, but his hips are still trying to buck up into you.

You ride him slow and deep at first, drawing soft, broken sounds from him. His ears are flicking wildly now, tail gone still from pure sensory overload.

You lean down, kissing his wet cheeks. “Look at you. So sensitive. So hard. Feels nice? You can take it, baby. I know you can.”

He whimpers, nodding weakly even as more tears spill down his face. "I'll be good…"

You fuck him through it, until he’s trembling and gasping, begging under his breath. You don’t stop until you feel him start to cum again, body clenching, hot release flooding inside you while he sobs your name. You cradle his face, kissing him gently as he whimpers in your arms, spent and overstimulated but clinging to you like you’re the only safe thing in the world.

“Such a good boy for me, Hannie,” you murmur, fingers carding through his messy hair. “You did so well.”

The boy lets out a breathy sigh, of satisfaction and relief perhaps, as you slip off him.

"I'll clean you up baby," you peck his lips, "Next time we'll go for one more," you giggle, kissing his cheek before turning away.

━━━━━━━━━━━━⋆｡°✩

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