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starmocha · 2 days ago

Note

ok, imagine you have a nightmare about caleb exactly two months before his death. he happens to be staying with you, a day off just to say hi that turned into a sleepover. you find him at 3am, crawl into his bed, his lap, he's trying to soothe you, asking what happened but you're sobbing, playing a shaking hand over his chest just to feel his heart beating. he manages to calm you down, holding you close, letting you cry it out until he thought you were sleeping/ end part 1

ANON. EATING THIS UP. EATING THIS UP!!!!! nooo pls don’t ever apologize for that. I was so delighted to see the Caleb spam. They’re always welcome in my inbox :)))) Here. I wrote a little something, because I see Caleb and I’m weakened instantly 🥹 And if you haven’t already, pls check out my beloved @rose-tinted-kalopsia’s fic, baby, kiss it better. She wrote about Caleb comforting you after your nightmare. Literally in my top 5 fave LADS fics overall 💖💖💖💖💖

but stay with me

It was the most horrible sound you had ever heard. So godawful, it woke you up from that nightmare.

Still shaken, your fragile heart was racing, pumping erratically against your chest, your own breathing was just as irregular. The heavy panting was mixed with the choked back sobs, your emotions in complete turmoil as you tried to convinced yourself that everything you had just witnessed was not real. It was just a nightmare.

It took you a few extra minutes before it finally clicked in your head that your face was wet with tears. You wiped at your eyes furiously with the side of your arm, but it seemed to have only encouraged more tears to fall, your chest tightening with each painful breath taken.

It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare.

You repeated the mantra, a vain, pitiful attempt to calm yourself.

It was not real. It was just a nightmare.

Except, it wasn’t the boogeyman that scared you. It wasn’t the social anxiety of standing before a large crowd giving a speech while naked. It wasn’t even something like your dolls coming to life to murder you.

Those were all irrational figments of your imagination, concepts so exaggerated they had no place in reality.

But this.

It could very well happen. The world was scary enough to allow this to happen.

You closed your eyes.

You watched him turned his back on you, his hand on the door handle. He opened the door, entering without you, the door closing in your face. Just as you reached for the very same handle he had touched, there was an explosion that knocked you back, leaving you crumbled on the floor staring in confused abject horror as your grandmother’s house went up in flames, destroyed within a blink of an eye for seemingly no goddamn reason.

In just a few seconds, he was ripped out of your life.

In just a few seconds, he was stolen from you.

In just a few seconds, the boy who had promised to always be by your side was gone.

Caleb…Caleb…!

“Caleb!” you screamed out his name, no longer sure whether you were still within that nightmare or if you were awake, suffering from the lingering horrors you had witnessed, the cruel image now ingrained deeply in your mind like a stubborn weed you couldn’t kill, its roots strong and hardy going far deeper into the soil than you could ever reach.

Get out of your head, you scolded yourself firmly. Caleb is alive. He’s asleep in the living room.

It was such a nice day. Caleb had arrived in Linkon for a surprise visit from Skyhaven, managing to find time to slip away from the Deepspace Aviation Administration to see his favorite person in the world and celebrate her recent achievements at the Hunters Association. You both spent the day catching up, reminiscing as you both bumbled your way throughout the city, going from store to store, taking countless pictures to preserve the memory of the day, and laughed until your sides hurt and your cheeks sore from all of the smiles exchanged.

When you came home, Caleb made all of his signature dishes, spoiling you even when he was a guest in your home. It was just a habit he couldn’t break, one that he also showed no particular interest in rectifying. Like a summer breeze, Caleb brought warmth into your home, into your life. When Caleb was here, the world seemed just a bit gentler, a little safer, and you found your guard lowering, letting yourself drown in his familiar warmth.

Caleb was the very feeling of home, and he would always be home to you, encompassing all of the warm memories borne from the innocent years of growing up together.

You tried to steady your breathing once more. There was a hollowness in your eyes, your mind settling but still restless.

You wondered how such a perfect day gave way to the most horrific dream of your life.

Like a zombie, you left your bed, moving sluggishly down the halls to the living room with no clear thought in your head. You approached the couch, peering down at the figure asleep, curled up on that small sofa that could barely contain his large stature.

You stood next to the couch, staring down, breathing a little shaky again now that you are looking at him. He was there, asleep, where he should be.

You could see him clearly with your own eyes, but there was still a seed of doubt planted in your mind, a nagging voice trying to manipulate you, spreading lies in your head that he was just a figment of your imagination, that you were just in another layer of a dream.

You reached out, the pads of your fingers skimmed over his cheek, barely making contact, but perhaps there was still just enough of an electrifying touch to rouse Caleb from his deep slumber.

He stirred.

You quickly pulled your hand back, your breathing worsening. Before you could turn and retreat, Caleb called out to you in the darkness, his voice raspier than normal, still caught somewhere between dreaming and consciousness.

“Pipsqueak? What’s the matt—”

The words died at his lips, his perfect vision noticing instantly even in the darkness your puffy, red eyes. He immediately shoved the cover to the side, rushing to his feet as he gripped your arms, bent down to your height to thoroughly examine you.

“What’s wrong? What happened? Are you hurt somewhere? Do you feel unwell?”

You sniffled, unable to answer the barrage of questions being hurled at you. When you try to speak, the fragments of your nightmare resurfaced, forming that awful image in your mind again. Unable to say anything, you threw your arms around his waist, the suddenness surprised Caleb into losing his balance and you both fell back onto the couch with you on top of him. Instinctively, Caleb’s arms wrapped around you, the familiar warmth of him was already easing your anxiety, but it still didn’t feel like it was enough. You wanted more, needed more.

Needed him. Just so.

Your face pressed into his chest, his heart beating softly and you started to breathe easier again. His body heat spread to you, his gentle voice calling out once more.

“What’s wrong?” His fingers were under your chin, slowly lifting your head up so your eyes could meet. He sighed, disheartened, upon seeing just how red and swollen your eyes were. “What could have made the fearless Miss Hunter here so terrified that she cried until her eyes were so red and puffy?”

You recognized the faint teasing lilt in his voice, the same one he had used since childhood as a way to console you, to brighten your mood, and coax out whatever secrets you were keeping from him. It always worked, and you would confess to him about your fears, reveal the bullies who were tormenting you, or any worries that filled your little head, and Caleb would always come to the rescue and make the world right again.

This time, though, you did not want to tell him.

You quietly lowered your eyes, missing the instant hurt on Caleb’s face when you refused to speak to him.

An awkward silence started to creep into the room, but neither one of you spoke. You continued to withhold this nightmare from him, afraid that if you voice it out loud, something would get set in motion and what was once just a horrific dream would become an irreversible reality.

Caleb himself felt a little lost and suddenly helpless, a role he was unfamiliar with. He was always your protector, your confidant, and your companion, so to see you so terrified to the point that you couldn’t even speak to him made him question his own worth. He closed his eyes briefly, and exhaled, deciding that this silence had gone on long enough.

Easily, he scooped you into his arms, ignoring your surprised cries as he stood up and carried you back to your bed.

“Ca-Caleb?”

“It’s late,” he murmured, not looking down at you, “Let’s get you back into bed.”

You huffed and lightly beat at his chest with one small fist. “Caleb, I’m not a kid anymore,” you said, muttering softly, “You shouldn’t speak to me like that.”

You were lowered down into the soft mattress, and before Caleb could straighten, you grabbed at the front of his shirt, yanking him down until he fell on top of you in surprise.

“Pipsq—”

Your lips pressed to his, and Caleb was stunned into silence, his eyes widened in surprise. A million thoughts seemed to race through Caleb’s mind, and not one of them made sense or even tried to rationalize what was happening in this instance.

Your lips felt so warm and soft against his, and perhaps in a moment of weakness, he closed his eyes, returning the kiss, deepening it further, realizing that this was everything he had wanted for years. The line he had always wished to cross but hesitated was now gone. You were the first to cross to him, so how could he just refuse this moment? Refuse you?

Neither of you know how much time had passed, breaking apart only when you needed to breathe. Caleb’s hands were pressed into the mattress on either side of your head, his eyes locked with yours, both your cheeks flushed and your breathing labored.

“Caleb…you’re leaving soon…”

He looked confused, unsure of what was going through your head. You were behaving so abnormally tonight, so emotional and distressed, he was starting to go mad with worry, wanting to do anything to chase away the anxiety that was grappling you.

“Not for another three days,” he answered as calmly as he could, “I’m all yours until then, pipsqueak.”

“Will you be mine tonight?”

He stilled, his breathing stopping the moment he heard those words, wondering if maybe his hearing might have deceived him. It was a few seconds before he managed to find his voice, though as he spoke, it wasn’t even registering in his head that he was speaking to you, “What…did you say, pipsqueak?”

You looked up, blinking away the tears that still remained. You stared into his violet eyes, wishing to look into them forever. “I want you, Caleb…please…”

“You’re not thinking clearly,” he said, his voice wavering enough that he wondered who he was trying to convince: you…or him?

You shook your head vehemently. “No…I am. I am, I am, I am, I am…!”

Your hands cupped his face, your voice steadied and assured. “This is the most lucid I’ve ever been.” As you stared into his questioning eyes, your heart dropped suddenly. There was an acute shift in your expression, reflecting your sudden mood change, and to others, it was subtle enough that no one would notice, but with Caleb, he was always aware of everything about you. He saw the shift, that flicker of fear in your eyes before you had blinked them away. Quietly, you asked, afraid of his answer, afraid of whatever truth awaited you in the next few seconds, “Or…do you not want me?”

Caleb’s eyes widened in shock, his heart stirring at hearing the anxiousness in your feeble voice. One large hand slipped under your head and you were pressed forward closer to him, his lips crashing against yours in a heated kiss, the depths of his feelings like a tidal wave sweeping away everything in its path.

“Fuck no,” he groaned, the rasp in his voice more prevalent than normal. “I…I’ve always wanted you. I’ll always want you.”

“Re…really?”

“Really.”

“Really, really?”

“Really, really.”

His breathing stuttered, his eyes flickering from your own, a mix of fear and yearning in your gaze, to your lips, trembling and waiting. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, before he leaned down closer, the warmth of his breath caressed against your lips as he spoke, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” you answered.

“One last chanc—”

You kissed him, swallowing that last word. He instantly submitted to you, his kisses ravenous as if a dam had just been broken, and now there was nothing holding back his own feelings. As you kissed him, gasping in between, your hands fumbled against his clothes, tugging at his t-shirt. He let you guide him, the shirt slipping off and revealing his toned torso.

You didn’t have long to appreciate them before you realized his own hands were on the waistband of your shorts, giving an experimental tug down. He shifted his gaze to you, waiting, and you nodded. He smirked and made quick work of discarding your bottoms, his breathing growing heavier now that the only thing left were the light pink cotton panties you wore.

“Caleb…” your lips found his again, pulling him back to you. As you two kissed, his lips trailing all over, marking you up in ways you had never dreamed about before. You gasped, arching up into him when you felt his bulge brushing over your core, the thin fabric of his pajama bottoms not enough of a barrier between the two of you.

The way he was breathing so heavily, his pants making you more aroused than you could have ever realized. One large hand slipped under your shirt, easily covering your entire breast. You whined when that same callous hand circled your breast, his fingers finding your nipple to pinch and play with until it firmed under his touch. You fidgeted against him, whining softly at his teasing treatment.

“Are you always this sensitive?” he asked, gazing down in amusement at your flushed cheeks. He laughed softly when you lightly glared at him. His voice lowered, his mouth so close to your right ear that when he spoke, you could feel butterflies fluttering in your belly. “Or is it…only for me?”

He kissed your neck soundly, the warmth of his lips still lingered even when he pulled back, his smoldering violet eyes gazing down at you with such desires, you quickly forgotten your frustration with him. His hands skimmed down your body, resting on your hips, his thumbs rubbing against the waistband of your panties. There was still some hesitancy left in him, as if he was afraid that once he crossed this line with you, things would never be like before.

You guided his fingers, letting more of the fabric slip lower and lower, his breathing the only sound heard in the stillness of your bedroom. Once he had slipped the garment off, it seemed like everything moved much faster, the restraints that held both of you back gone in that instance as you both succumbed to the once dormant desires within both of you.

“Ah…Caleb…!” You gasped as he grabbed your thighs, spreading you more. His hardened member pressed against your slick folds, the tip slipping in and you moaned as you took him in slowly. Your thoughts raced as you realized that not only was this happening, but Caleb was much bigger than you could have anticipated. Your belly tightened, body tensing as more of his large length filled you.

He kept you spread, his body leaning forward, the barely-contained groans filling your ears. “So fucking tight,” he rasped, “Fuck, you feel so…so good…better than I could…could have…imagined…”

Your chest heaved, the feverish expression you wore betrayed your feelings, showing him that his words barely registered in your head as all you could do was focus on the feel of him filling you so gloriously. He hummed happily as he leaned down and kissed your lips, giving one final thrust to fill you, your startled gasp swallowed by him as he continued to ravage your lips as he let you get used to the feel of him buried deep inside you.

“Ah…Ca…Caleb…” you whimpered his name in between kisses, your hips rolling against his.

Understanding your need, Caleb slowly pulled out before he thrusted back in, your moans more heavenly than he could have ever thought, and now that he had a taste of the once forbidden fruit, he knew he could never give you up even if he wanted to. Once he was sure you were enjoying yourself, he found a pace that was pleasurable for the both of you, letting go of all the previous hesitancy and yielding completely to this moment of passion.

With every movement, every burning touch, you moaned his name, begging and pleading with him for more, to take you harder, make you his completely. You had said his name so many times before, in so many different tones and with so many moods accompanying them, but he had never heard his name uttered in such a sweet, lascivious way as this with that pretty voice of yours spilling such perverted words. He could get addicted to this, wanting to greedily covet all of these sweet sounds for himself.

His length reached deeply inside you, hitting that sweet spot that had you arching into him, clenching around him. He groaned into your neck, his voice hoarse with desires. “Whatever you want,” he murmured, his voice so soft and lazy, it was almost like you were getting intoxicated by him, “I will give you.”

“Ca…Caleb…”

“Hmm…” He kissed you again, long and slow, savoring your lips and this moment for as long as he could. “I will never stop spoiling you,” he whispered, nipping your bottom lip. His forehead pressed to yours, and another roll of his hips had you arching into him, arms wrapped around his neck as you buried your face into his shoulder, crying softly. He gripped your legs on either side of him, pulling you closer to him as he shushed you gently. “You’re so close, baby,” he continued in that same leisure tone, his own groans of pleasure mixed in between his words, “Are you going to cum for me soon?”

“Ye…yes…”

“Yes what?” He was teasing you again, wanting to rile you up. He kissed along your neck once more, his sinfully sweet voice coaxing you closer to the edge. “Tell me. Say it with that pretty voice of yours.”

“Cale…Caleb…”

He hummed again, waiting. He pressed a kiss along your shoulder, his movements quickening to meet your needs.

“Oh god, Caleb!” You gripped him tighter, feeling every deep, hard thrust. You whimpered as he gripped your chin, keep your face close to his.

“Eyes on me,” he commanded, a lecherous smirk on his handsome face. “I want to see what you look like cumming on my cock.”

Oh, fuck.

At those perverted words, the long building climax came crashing, your body pulsing with pleasure as you cried out his name with such ecstasy. The sight of you beneath him, shaking in pleasure, lost in a blissful state of euphoria stole his breath away as he chased after his own climax, driving into you over and over again with reckless abandon.

You whimpered, his forearms suddenly resting on either side of you, keeping you completely trapped beneath him as he continued to penetrate you so deeply with quickened movements. His intense kisses assaulted your lips before his hips stuttered and suddenly, he was emptying into you, filling you with ropes of his seed.

“F-fuck…” he panted, his weight heavy on you. For what seemed like several minutes, you both stayed like this, feeling the aftershocks of your climaxes still coursing through your spent bodies. You could feel Caleb’s lazy kisses trailing along your neck, his lips finding your temple. He spoke first, voice soft and gentle, “Are you alright?”

You nodded tiredly, and he smiled.

He pulled out of you, breathing shuddering as his eyes took in the erotic sight of his cum dripping lewdly from your cunt. He didn’t say anything, but this was having more of an arousing effect on him than he could have realized. He swallowed and quickly looked up, meeting your satiated gaze. His expression softened, pleased to see you were in a calmer state now compared to earlier.

He settled down in bed, pulling you into his embrace. You arm draped over his chest as you both basked in the afterglow. The silence that followed was more comfortable this time as both your breathing slowed in time together.

Your eyes drifted close while Caleb ran his fingers through your hair, a troubled expression passed his features suddenly, almost as if he was unsure whether or not he should ruin this mood with the question lingering in his mind.

He didn’t want things to just get swept away, to be forgotten just like that, especially not when he knew you were in such pain before, and he doubted you were completely fine now. Whether this was a good decision or not, Caleb needed to at least try and break through this new barrier you had put up tonight. So, he asked: “Do you want to tell me about your nightmare?”

You stayed completely still in his arms, not moving or reacting in any way. You could sense Caleb’s intense stare, but he was patient as he waited for you to answer his sudden question.

You could still hear the explosion, the crackling of flames left in its wake. The heat was so unbearable, scorching like the fires of Hell itself.

You burrowed into Caleb’s embrace, shaking your head silently as you held him just a bit tighter, the squeeze a gentle reminder that he was still here, still in your arms.

He was safe.

He was safe in your arms.

And he was warm and real and here and yours.

“Alright,” Caleb whispered, his lips pressed to the top of your head. “I’ll be here if you ever want to tell me.”

Your voice sounded so small and helpless, as if you were a child again chasing after him. “You’ll be here?”

He smiled. “Even if I am away, I will always find my way home to you,” he said, his resolve strong. “From Skyhaven or wherever else, I will always return to you no matter the distance.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he answered, not missing a beat. Still seeing the worried creases on your face, Caleb rubbed your cheek affectionately, asking with a tinge of teasing in his voice, “Have I ever broken a promise to you?”

And you smiled for the first time that night, because no, he never had.

And he never will.

#x — 💌#anonymous #love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace x reader #caleb x reader #love and deepspace fanfiction #lnds fanfics #lads scenarios #caleb smut #i said a little something but why is it 3.7k words 😔#i’m sorry i’m so pathetic for him 🥹#this will continue 🥹#i will get worse 🥹#title is lowkey monsta x's kiss or death #for no other reason than i heard shownu singing this verse as i was writing lol #also quickly edited 'cause i finished this at midnight while heavily caffeinated lol

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 2 days ago

Text

Start of Time

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warnings: angst, panic attack, almost fainting, fluff at the end

Summary: Hotch is the only parent you have left, so you’re a bit overprotective of him. When he comes up with a plan to stop an unsub, you’re the only one who’s not on board.

Square Filled: fainting for @badthingshappenbingo

Author’s Note: this fic is based on the song "Start of Time" by Gabrielle Aplin. I also pulled inspiration from that scene in Teen Wolf where Lydia kissed Stiles for the first time since he was having a panic attack. You all know the scene.

“You’re kidding, right?” You look at Rossi. “Is he kidding? Did I hear him right?”

“No, you heard it right,” Hotch sighs.

“No, you’re not going to do that. End of discussion. You’re not going to put your life on the line for some psychopath.”

“You have no authority over me.”

“That’s bullshit.”

You slam your hands on the table and leave the briefing room to calm yourself down. Spencer watches you leave with a frown, itching to go after you to comfort you.

“Y/N!” Hotch calls after you, but you ignore him.

“I’ll go after her,” Spencer says and leaves the briefing room.

Hotch looks at Rossi who just shrugs. “Don’t look at me. You said it was fine to have your daughter on the team.”

You’d normally not go after Hotch’s throat like that but he’s the only parent you have left since your mother died a few years ago. Anything that puts his life on the line, you immediately object to. He understands you’re looking out for him but he has a job to do. You knew this when you signed up to be in the FBI academy.

You walk into the bathroom and turn the faucet on to splash some water on your face. The thought of your dad going in to face off against a psychopath and dying makes your heart race and sweat build up on your neck. You look around the empty bathroom and squeeze your eyes shut tightly to ward off the panic attack.

The door opens and Spencer walks in without a word. He immediately pulls you into a hug that slows your racing heart. He calms you down before the panic attack can get too far, and you hug Spencer back. He rubs your back and sighs knowing all you’re ever going to see him as is a friend. He likes you a lot but you haven’t given him any indication that you like him back, so he’s kept his feelings for you a secret. The last thing he’s going to do is tell you how he feels, especially not now when all you’re worried about is your dad.

“Sorry,” you whisper and pull away from him.

“Don’t ever be sorry.”

“You have to help me, Spencer. He wants to go inside that bank alone. Make him change his mind.”

“Y/N…”

“Patrick is one of the worst unsubs we’ve ever dealt with. He kills for fun, for sport. If my dad goes in there alone, he’ll kill him. He’s my only family, Spencer. Make him change his mind.”

“I know.” Spencer sighs. “I can’t promise anything but there might be another way to get to Patrick.”

Patrick has the same tragic backstory as all the other unsubs, and he’s hellbent on making humanity suffer for what he went through. He has so much anger for humans that he’s taking out anyone and everyone. He went to rob a bank to fund his trip across the pond, and he’s taken the entire bank hostage. The only reason he hasn’t killed them all is because they might be the key to getting him out of there alive.

Your job is to get the hostages out safely before SWAT can move in on Patrick. Hotch wants to go in and negotiate with Patrick into letting the hostages go, but you can’t fathom the idea of him going in there with someone like Patrick. SWAT and local police already have the streets blocked off to prevent anyone else from getting hurt.

“Garcia, were you able to get the blueprints of the bank?” Hotch asks when the team arrives.

“Yes, and because there are the sewers below it, I also got the layout for that as well. It might be your only way into the bank.”

She lays out the blueprints on the hood of the police car and Derek traces the pipes from the bank to a manhole cover that’s a block away with his finger.

“We can get into the bank through here. Looks like there is a gate blocking the way in, so we’ll have to break it. We’ll need someone on the inside to distract him so he doesn’t hear us.”

“Alright, Morgan, take Prentiss and three officers with you through the sewers. Wait for my word.”

They leave immediately, and Spencer looks at you in worry.

“Who is going to go inside and distract?”

“I don’t know,” Hotch answers.

He and Rossi step off to the side, and you look at the bank in concern.

“It’s going to be okay,” Spencer comforts you.

“I hope so. Sometimes I wonder if it was right for me to take this job.”

“What do you mean?”

“After my mom died, my dad got overprotective of me. He kept warning me of the dangers of this world. I wanted to help people like him, and the academy seemed like the right thing to do. My dad is the Unit Chief of the BAU. That had some pull in the academy. I was looking at a job upstate as an officer, but then a spot opened on the team. I wanted to be closer to my dad so I took the job. Now, I see the horrors of this job and every opportunity to lose him. He’s the best dad I could ask for. I don’t think I could bear losing him to someone like Patrick.”

Spencer pulls you in for a hug and rubs your back.

“That won’t happen.”

You look at the bank once more and your face is twisted in horror. Your dad is walking toward the bank’s front doors… alone.

“Dad!” You push Spencer away and start to run toward him. However, arms wrap around your waist to prevent you from following him. “No, let me go! Dad! Dad, please don’t go!”

Your dad disappears inside the bank, and you break down in tears. Rossi keeps his arms around you until he knows you’re not going to run after him. You step back from Rossi as a panic attack hits you in the face. Suddenly, you can’t breathe and your heart is beating too fast for you to keep up with.

“You need to calm down, Y/N,” Spencer says.

“I… can’t… I… Da…”

Hot tears are running down your cheeks, and you start hyperventilating at the thought of your dad dying right now. You're gonna faint.

“Kid, get her to calm down,” Rossi says.

Spencer doesn’t think twice about this. He grabs you and plants his lips over yours. Your eyes widen in shock but you close them once you feel how natural it is to kiss Spencer. Your heart rate slows down, your head becomes clear, and you relax against Spencer’s body. He pulls away from you but stays close enough so that the only thing you see is him.

His honey-brown eyes are warm and comforting, and his lips are soft and swollen from the kiss. Suddenly, you hear gunshots go off inside the bank, and that breaks you out of your trance. You push Spencer away from you and book it toward the bank without a second thought. This time, no one holds you back.

The hostages are in the corner with the three officers, Patrick is lying on the ground bleeding from a gunshot wound on his shoulder, and all three BAU agents are standing above him with their guns on him. Most importantly, your dad is alive and well. You immediately run over to your dad and hug him, thankful that he survived this.

“I was always going to be fine, Y/N.”

“I thought I lost you,” you cry.

“I’m right here.”

Patrick is arrested, the hostages are saved, and no one got hurt. Now that you’re back at the BAU, you have time to think about what Spencer did to you. Spencer is at his desk finishing some paperwork when you approach him from behind.

“Hey, Spencer.”

He turns around and smiles when he sees you. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m good now. Thank you for…”

You can’t finish your sentence but Spencer knows what you’re saying.

“Yeah, anytime,” he nods.

“You kissed me.”

“I know. I was there.”

“There are other ways to stop a panic attack. Why did you kiss me?”

“I read once that holding your breath can stop a panic attack so when I kissed you, you held your breath.”

“I did?” you whisper.

“Yeah, you did.”

“Was that the only reason you kissed me?”

Spencer opens his mouth to answer but decides against what he really wants to say. “Yes.”

Your face falls in disappointment but you bounce back quickly in hopes he didn’t see it.

“Oh, well, thank you.”

You pass by him to walk away when he grabs your hand. He sees the disappointment, and he takes that as his sign. He stands and pulls you closer to him, and you look into his eyes hopefully.

“That wasn’t the only reason. I like you a lot.”

You smile. “Well, I like you a lot.”

“I know this Indian place with really good food. Want to get dinner with me?”

“Yes,” you smile.

Hotch stands by his window and watches everyone work. He sees you and Spencer by his desk, and he definitely sees the smile on your face. Spencer grabs your hand and leaves with you, and Hotch smiles. Spencer is a good guy, and you’d do well with someone like him.

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#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst

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sweetcherriexs · 12 hours ago

Text

good girl; b.e.

smut...

It had started innocently enough. billie was on tour, thousands of miles away, and the distance was starting to wear on both of you. you’d been texting throughout the day, little updates about your lives, but the conversation had taken a turn after dinner when billie sent a photo of herself backstage. She was leaning against a wall, all sweaty with hair stuck to her forehead and eyes hooded. she had that damn eyeliner on that made your pussy throbb and pulsate with need each time you saw her wearing it. the picture was casual, but the look on her face was anything but.

you had responded immediately. you’re killing me, bils. I can’t handle how fucking hot you are.

billie’s reply came swiftly. I know. and I know you’re lying in our bed, thinking about me.

how do you always know? you had typed back, cheeks flushing.

because I know you, baby. I know how bad you want me right now. for me to be inside you, for my mouth on your wet pussy

The flirting escalated quickly. billie’s messages became more explicit, her words laced with the kind of confidence that only she could pull off.

I’m thinking about how soft your skin feels under my hands. how you whimper when I kiss your neck. how you beg for my cock to be inside your pussy.

your fingers trembled as you typed. I miss your touch. I miss the way you make me feel. fuck, bils, please.

then tell me what you’re doing right now, billie pressed.

you hesitated, heart pounding. I’m in bed… thinking about you.

Are you touching yourself? billie’s message was direct, leaving no room for evasion.

your breath hitched. not yet

mm, will you?

you gulped at the message, hand itching to touch your pussy yes

send me a picture, pretty

The request made your stomach flip. you'd done this before, but it still felt daring—exhilarating. you propped your phone up, took a moment to adjust the lighting, and snapped a photo. your skin was flushed, hand resting on your thigh, and your lips parted. your sent it quickly without overthinking.

billie’s response was immediate. fuck, baby, you’re youre so hot. I wish I could be there to take care of you.

then tell me what you’d do, you typed back, fingers moving faster now, eager to know what billie's thinking about doing to you.

call me.

you didn't hesitate, pressing the call button in a second and she accepted the call immediately, her smooth voice ringing out "hey, baby" she mused, a smirk noticeable in her tone.

"hey, bils..." you panted out, breath heavy even though you haven't done anything. "tell me, please" you begged, already so worked up and desperate. you heard her chuckle on the other line before she spoke again;

"I’d start by kissing you. softly at first, just to tease you. then I’d bite your lip, just hard enough to make you gasp. would you like that?"

“yes,” your breathed, your free hand drifting lower.

“and then I’d move down your neck, leaving marks where only I can see them. I’d make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

you moaned, fingers brushing against yourself through your pants. “billie…”

"ah- ah - ah... mm, I want you to strip for me, slowly. take off those clothes, pretty" billie's voice was like velvet, commanding yet sensual.

obediently, you began to undress, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of your shirt. billie smirked to herself, listening to your eager fumbling.

"That's my good girl. Now, slide those pants down... god i wish i could see you." billie's words were like a drug, sending a rush of heat between your thighs.

you complied, your movements becoming more fluid as you reveled in her instructions. the cool air caressed your naked skin, and you shivered, not from the temperature but from the intensity of her gaze, even though she was miles away. when the cool air of you and billie's bedroom hit your drenched pussy, you gasped the slightest bit, biting your lip in anticipation.

"good... now lie back" she instructs and you comply, shifting back and lying down with a shaky breath. "now, touch yourself, baby. slide your fingers down and tease that clit. I want to hear you moan for me." billie's voice was hoarse with desire, and you could almost feel her breath on your neck.

your fingers trembled as you brought them to your core, circling your clit gently at first, then with increasing pressure. "fuck, billie!" you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut at the sensation. "fuck fuc-... mmm, yes, yes. please-" you gasped out almost incoherent phrases.

"that's it, baby. rub that pretty pussy. imagine its my fingers, hmm? stroking you, making you wetter." billie's words were a symphony of filth, and you were her willing conductor.

you moaned, your fingers working feverishly, picturing billie's long, slender digits joining yours, claiming your pleasure as her own.

“keep going, baby,” billie encouraged, her voice a mix of tenderness and authority. “tell me how it feels.”

“so-... so good, fuck." you moaned "I wish it was your hand, though. your mouth.”

billie’s exhale was sharp, as she drank in your words “I’d make you come so hard, pretty, I’d take my time, make you beg for it,"

your hips lifted off the bed, body craving the release only billie could give you. “please…”

"stop" you whined at the single command, but your body knew better, obeying her immediately. "good girl. touch your pretty tits"

you inhaled deeply, moving your wet hand up your body until it reached the plush mounds on your chest, squeezing them.

"that's right, baby. imagine my fingers playing with your nipples, pinching and rolling them between my thumbs and forefingers."

you whimpered again, rolling your hardened nipples between your fingers. tugging, rolling, repeat and anything in-between as you let out soft gasps.

your fingers slipped deeper between your folds, slick with desire, and you moaned as you imagined billie's hand moving in unison with yours, claiming your pleasure as her own.

"that's it, baby. you're doing so good. such a good girl" her voice only intensified the burn in your stomach further, breath coming in short gasps as your fingers pumped in and out of your sopping cunt, the sound of the wet squelching noticeable through the phone as your chest rose and fell with each thrust of your fingers.

"bils... bils- fuck, baby-" you moaned, rutting against your own hand. "I- shit, please-" your wrist was burning, but you couldn't stop. your fingers were plunging in and out of your wet pussy at an erratic pace, desperate and needy for release. for billie's touch.

“you sound so pretty when you’re like this,” billie murmured. “so desperate for me. I love hearing you fall apart.”

"I'm gon- please-... fuck, fuck... I'm gonna cum-" you moaned, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you imagined billie's fingers being the ones fucking you so good. "can-... can I? please, please" you panted, feeling your clit throb, needy for a touch as the knot in the bottom of your belly threatened to snap any second now.

billie hummed, the sound spurring your orgasm on even more and you whimpered. "I don't know, baby... can you?"

"please-" you gasp out again " I've been a good girl, bils. please-.."

billie smirked, letting out a breath before speaking. "cum for me, pretty girl. cum all over your own hand as you imagine it's mine"

the coil snapped, making you gasp loudly, back arching off the bed as you surrendered to the pleasure, your body convulsing as you climaxed, your cries echoing through the night. your body tensed as waves of pleasure crashed over you and you cried out billie’s name.

as you lay panting, Billie's soft laughter filled your ears. "Gosh I wish I was there... tasting your sensitive little pussy" she muttered, breath noticeably heavy and her voice husky.

"yeah?" you breathed out, your heart still pounding in your ears. "I'll do it for you-..." you said and your head came up to your lips, taking your drenched fingers into your mouth and moaning around them, pushing them deeper as you gagged around them before pulling it out.

"fuck" billie huffed "do you taste good, baby? hmm? tell me" she asked, her voice dropping an octave as the desire caught up to her.

"yes, yes I do" you nodded, though she can't see. "wish I was sucking your cock though" you heard billie groan on the other line, then some rustling before she spoke again.

"keep it up, pretty. it's my turn"

#ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ)#billie eilish fandom #billie eilish smut #billie eilish fanfic #billie ellish lyrics #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish #billie eilish x #billie eilish x female reader #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x you #billie eilish fanfiction

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cryinggirlnamedhelen · 2 days ago

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hxh hot takes:

- none, and i mean NONE, of the founding members of the troupe will ever date or be in a relationship with someone that they didn’t grow up with. after all, if you weren’t there for them at their lowest and you weren’t there to suffer through poverty, starvation, and losing sarasa with them, then you’re not worthy or dating them.

- none of them would EVER k!dnap someone who they’re “in love” with. although i already established that they wouldn’t fall in love with someone who they didn’t grow up with, we’ll just make this hypothetical scenario. sure, they’re thieves, but they won’t k!dnap someone unless there’s some sort of reward: such as money or connections. plus, none of them would take out precious time all for some random person they started obsessing over, let alone spend time k!dnapping them.

- chrollo should be the only spider to make it out of the succession war alive in terms of plot, fanservice, and closure. chrollo is already an empty shell, with the spider practically as his very own identity. if all of the spiders die, leaving online him alive, not only will it parallel kurapika but also make chrollo realize that he is nothing without the troupe.

- it would be better if we never found out shizuku’s backstory and only how she joined the troupe. in my humblest opinion, i think shizuku was only a character created for fanservice and for the troupe to be more well liked and nothing else other than relatability.

- making fun of milluki for his weight is immature and also the same as making fun of killua for being scared of illumi. as far as we know, all of the zoldycks (other than alluka) went through the same training and ended up with different ways of coping. for illumi it was his emotionlessness, for killua it was his desire to run away, for kalluto it was his extremely reserved and quiet nature, and for milluki it was eating.

- hisoka is honestly not as bad as the fans say. as long as he’s not in a completely bloodlusted state and you’re not a powerful nen user, hisoka really wouldn’t care that much about you, even if you’re under 18. hisoka actually seems to be a pretty chill guy as long as the situation doesn’t fit the prior mentioned requirements. now, im not defending him for being a pdf file or anything, but im just saying.

- if you hate on illumi for being creepy and disturbing, then you missed the whole point of his character. he is supposed to be creepy. he’s a character who loves his family deeply (alluka aside😔 i love my girl but illumi doesn’t), but because of the way he was raised, he doesn’t know how to express it in a proper and healthy manner, hence why he does such disturbing things.

- you’d be perfectly fine if you stayed in a room with a phantom troupe member for 24 hours or the entire group as long as you don’t bother them too much or if you’re not worth too much. aside from missions, they honestly seem pretty chill. if you’re not worth anything and if you’re not bothering them, why would they kill you?

@monosanimegenericzone @opalwatch

#hunter x hunter #hxh #chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #hxh chrollo #chrollo hunter x hunter #chrollo x reader #hxh hcs #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #hunter x hunter hcs #hcs #phantom troupe #feitan #Phinks #kurapika #Illumi #Killua

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miriammctroi · 2 days ago

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The Engagement Party

Jegulus Micro Fic

A year ago, Regulus had this mad idea of reconnecting with his older brother, who had broken with the family a decade ago. They had some good times, fought, talked, and even laughed on occasion. What he didn’t know at the time was that if one reconnected with their older brother, one was forced to attend their social gatherings.

So, now, he was standing quietly by a table, nipping on a drink, wondering when an appropriate amount of time had passed for me to leave without it looking weird.

He loved his brother Sirius, and his fiancé, Remus, was quite wonderful, truly. He just wasn’t good with the whole social thing.

Then there was the other thing. His brother had that obnoxious friend with the loud laugh and wild hair who was always part of these parties: James.

He was also set to be Sirius’s best man for the wedding – which was totally fine for Regulus! They’ve only just started speaking again and James has been in his life for, what, twenty years now? Without a ten-year break, at that. So, Regulus was totally okay with him being chosen as the best man instead. Totally.

James was holding a speech at the moment, reminiscing about childhood mischief with Sirius and how Remus brought out the best in him, bla, bla, bla. The crowd laughed with him. He told a dirty joke and smirked in that very annoying, unreasonably attractive, cocky witch's-weekly-cover way. In general, he wasn’t ugly. Everyone had dressed up for the engagement party: The girls were wearing knee-long, colourful dresses, the guys, button-ups and trousers which weren’t jeans. James had put on a red patterned waistcoat and dark trousers, which was altogether very respectable, except that the shirt underneath was too tight and the sleeves were rolled up, effectively showing off his gym-bro arms. He could probably pick Regulus up and toss him around if he wanted.

James told another joke and let his eyes roam through the room, halting near the table where he was standing. James winked. Regulus didn’t listen to the joke and had no idea what that was about. It didn’t matter anyway. He was just some pretentious idiot doing idiotic things.

James finally left the stage. Regulus checked the time on his phone. Another half hour and he could claim to be tired and go home.

“Hey,” James appeared next to me. He had the magazine-cover smirk again.

“Hello,” Regulus said.

“You didn’t laugh at my jokes.”

“You weren’t funny.”

He gasped and put a hand to his heart. “You wound me!”

Good. Regulus rolled his eyes at him.

“You look handsome today,” he said, ignoring Regulus's obvious attempt at killing the conversation.

“Same can’t be said about you. Your hair’s a mess, as always. You’re going to embarrass my brother at the altar.”

James ran a hand through his hair, making it even worse. There was no gel in it to keep it in place. It was probably soft and fluffy.

“You know? I like you, you’re funny.”

Huh? James smiled at him. Was he taking the piss? Or was he just being weird? From all he has seen so far, it could be either.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re funny,” he insisted. “With the way you roll those pretty little eyes of yours, and so obviously fight making rude remarks to every other person you meet, except me.”

Regulus wasn't planning to start fights with all of his brother’s friends, so what? It wasn't his fault that most of his friends were utterly boring or wanted to test him by not so subtly stirring the conversation towards women's rights, people of colour, gays and trans people.

Did he just call his eyes pretty? Maybe it was another test.

James pointed at his glass. “Are you actually going to drink that or keep nipping on it like it’s broccoli juice?”

“I’m drinking.”

“Sure.” He winked at him and turned to the room. Someone else was holding a speech now, Fleamont Potter, if Regulus recognised him correctly. “I bet you’re drinking so slowly because in your mind, as soon as it’s empty at this rate, an appropriate amount of time has passed for you to leave.”

That might have been the first non-idiotic thing he had ever heard him say. Nevertheless, he prepared to deny everything.

“He won’t mind you leaving early, you know? He has told all of us that you hate crowds before we first met you, and not to read anything into it when you leave early.”

“I see. So, he wants me to leave?”

“No, not in the slightest. It’s his engagement party and he keeps looking over here. He’d rather have you at the table and talk to us.”

“Then, you want me to leave.”

James glanced at him with a smile, it was different than the obnoxious smirk from before. Dirtier, somehow. He had a dimple.

“What I want is for you to give me that glass so I can finish it, then take you out of here and back to my place, where I’ll very slowly and gently get you out of these clothes, put you on the bed and then do decidedly less gentle and slow things to you.”

Oh. Oh.

Regulus's eyes got distracted by James's neck, then his arms, down along the lines of the waistcoat.

Without further hesitation, he pushed his glass into his hands and walked away to tell his brother he'd be leaving soon.

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aaazade · 3 days ago

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HOUSTON WE HAVE A PROBLEM ── EPISODE TWO 𖤐

⤷ 𝄞⨾ 𝟎𝟎𝟐. 𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐖𝐎: 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐙𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒

AUTHOR'S NOTE : i do not own any of these characters except my own. minors, please do not interact as this is mature content with dark and sexual themes. all of my characters are black women so please respect that as you read! all lowercase is intended in this writing. ( i love choso's eyebags, please don't kill me when y'all read this). i'm so grateful for all the love on my last post! PAIRING: rockstar!sukuna x tourmanager!blackreader RATING: 18+, again mdni WARNINGS: yandere-ish moments, rock band, reader is black, usage of being held hostage, dírty talk, vampire!sukuna, dubcon, biting, drinking blood, slowburn, eventual smut, sort of angsty, stalker!sukuna, set in mostly southern cities, attempted mind control, secret society, royalty, masked men, usage of foul language, fire usage, sleep watching, sukuna's pov

𝐬𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: when tour manager!reader gets sucked into the rock world after big time group ‘dark curse’ seeks her out to plan and arrange their tour in the us. heinous secrets unfold about the group as she gets closer to the pink haired lead singer in the ‘bone demon’ mask. does she run for the hills or does she play cat and mouse? find out in "houston, we have a problem!"

check out the rest of the series here!

“cheers!”

sloshes of maltreated liquor stung the back of his throat with vigor. it was appalling how humans deserted their thinking and ration for a few moments of daze and desire. small murmurs of chatter follow the background’s ambience, the team’s dinner party going slower than he imagined. truth to be told, he would be on the tour bus devouring a long awaited meal if you were knee to knee, pressing up against his arm to make room for the others at the table.

ryomen’s eyes cut to your hazy, relaxed figure. slouching against the padded oak wood chair, you were currently in a heated debate with your sister about… well actually he didn’t quite pick up what it was about.

no, ryomen was occupied being fixated on the curves and dips of your plush duo-colored lips, the way your eyes glowed with a soft brilliance at the suggestions of greasy foods and delights, how your the ringlets of your curls fell pass the juncture of your clavicle and shoulder down to brush against your waist.

how dare you enchant him? make him feel as if he has an obligation to be in your orbit, an obligation to admire you as if you aren’t human like the rest of them.

pathetic.

if this damn bind didn’t constrain him, the easiest option would be to drain you and leave your body by some unknown murky riverside in the depths of a foreboding cathedral of towering greenery.

he sneers instead, choosing the route most comparable to an insolent pubescent teen.

one long, slender finger proddes the seam at your waist of your wine red dress, your rambling coming to a halt. your eyes flaring at the growing lift at the corners of his mouth.

“fuck do you want, sukuna?” your eyebrows furrowed together, a cute little pout settling on your plush lips.

just as threatening as a baby tiger trying to show off their claws.

shit, he felt his blood rushing south like some measly fucking loser who hasn’t seen the touch of a woman in his life. all because you batted your lashes and spoke to him.

again, pathetic.

you had ignored him all night, opting to throw shots back and participating in team building strategies and other useless parlors. he was no fool, your scent usually stood akin to the smell of a fresh waterfall drifting into a pool of something floral. maybe water lilies? even roses. but now, it’s laced with the burning embers of something sweet. honey.

arousal. he was sure of it.

even now, flushed together as everyone else had risen up to find the dance floor, your eyes showed your true hues of emotions. red, yellow, pinks-

“would you fight me if i said you..?” your nose scrunched up in disgust, pushing the planes of his chest to seek out your sister.

guess it was time to go, huh?

“ugh, shut the fuck up! i’m leaving-” he couldn’t take you seriously with you stumbling and hiccuping your way down the steps, entering into the sea of people below.

and as much as he would love to sit and grovel, his heart felt like it was breaking at its enclosure at the sight of your growing distance with him.

he groaned, taking after you with long strides. his heavy footsteps followed behind the nimble wobble of yours, grasping at your wrist.

“look just-”

“no!” you whipped around shoving a manicured nail in the brunt of his chest. “i know there’s something-.... something that lurks in the shadows with you. i’m no fool, so stay away from m- mmph!”

smart girl. he’ll give you your credit. at least you have some survival instincts and wit about you. not only that, but you had the gall to stand your ground against him, huh?

a dark sneer rippled from his tongue, the kind of laugh that made the air thick and heavy. a heavy hand came up to cup your jaw.

your drunken fury simmered right back down to the tender laps of waves.

those treacherous pulses of heat ate at his control. eating at his will to not to take you into the back of some shitty storage room and show you the purge of darkness you think he hides.

not yet, you need more time.

ryomen tipped his head back to find some semblance of control, wielding the hunger and lust to draw back.

fucking woman, you driving him insane like this must be some sort of sorcery.

“go sit your ass down, now. your sister is fucking fine with those two freaks. ” he commanded, meeting the gaze in your eyes. your stance never wavered, the fire in your eyes refusing to be snuffed out.

yet, you ended up with your ass in a chair.

better than that, before he hung up the phone call to his personal driver, your eyes fluttered shut. the music thrumming in the background lulled you to fall asleep all less than five minutes. your head couldn’t hold it’s weight in your unconscious state, tilting until he had to clasp his hand to your forehead to catch it before it thudded against the table. opting to just sling you in his arms princess style, his boots began the journey, hitting the gravel outside of the building.

the city hummed its gentle tune in the background of the car, each passing street light catching the planes and dips that make the features on your face stand out. your lashes fluttered on the tops of your cheek with every inhale you take, chest rising in miniscule measurements. he felt a desperate urge to swallow you in his grip and hold you tight against his icy skin.

when the car rolled to a stop, ryomen cradled you in his arms once again, stepping into the shadows as a cloud of crimson swirled around the both of them, only dispersing seconds after in the middle of your hotel room like the parting of a fog.

his slender palm caressed your temple, the ice-kissed temperature of his lips pressing a sweet kiss there as he lowered you into the soft cushion of your sheets, his parting goodbye.

with another unnecessary breath, he rose up, striding over to pull the balcony door open.

“goodnight, my little tiger. you put up a good fight today.”

he slipped in the chilled gust of darkness, scarlet eyes lazily observing his surroundings as he appeared again across the street under a pole light. he could see you from his view below, from the tiny flickers of emotion in your expression as you dream dotingly to the soft twitch in your balled up fist uncurling as though you were reaching out from someone. for him.

“here, take it old fart.”

the younger ones these days are so disrespectful.

ryomen tilted his head over his shoulder to meet choso’s bored, chestnut irises ringed with that familiar, awful looking purple bags. pastel pink strands wisped away as he ran his hands through the base of his scalp.

“brat…” he grumbled, snatching the damn stick away in sheer pettiness.

there was an understanding of silence for a second, before choso huffed out a cloud of smoke.

“are you ever going to tell her? she’ll find out sooner than later, y’know.” he stated, rolling his eyes at ryomen’s antics as the second cloud of smoke filled the ice chilled air around them.

“i know that-” he growled. “i’d promptly advise you to shut the fuck up. i didn’t bother you when you were a pathetic loser for your wife.”

but despite the intensity of emotion behind his voice, choso simply shrugged his leather clad shoulders, taking his long strides away from from the 6’3 man. as he departed ryomen was so sure he hear that fucker grumble under his breath.

“at least i don’t have to stalk my wife like some old ass creep. wait until hayden finds you ‘edward-ing’ her sister.”

to fucking hell with that brat, the duo freaks, and their bonded. even if she is your sister, nobody will stop him from making you his.

conjuring forth a spark that gradually speared into a large crimson hue of a flame in his hand, he seeks you out till the sun bleeds a path of light through your balcony and wakes you to the day’s journey.

and when the sun sets and your mind drifts off into a careless realm of dreams… there he is again.

watching. waiting. protecting. yearning.

the usual humid heat of atlanta had simmered down into a drizzle calm. the streets were quite muted and lackluster from its usual loud blares of horns and activity. shades of greys and browns muddles its unique colors into a foggy storm. inside, the light flooded the room into a dim shade adjusting to the small quantity of natural rays from outside.

ryomen preferred this weather, something dreary. the type of weather that you could slip and disappear into the shadows and no one would bat an eye. the tapping rhythm of the rain dripped down the windows, capturing the spark of each flash with it.

“okay, everyone big smiles! one, two, three.”

his expression didn’t change much, of course. with each click next to a fan, ryomen stood tall, only a hint of impish tilt to the corner of his lips.

you stood maybe a good twenty feet away, your sister conducting the line to know that each individual gets enough time. your makeup was all done up, rocking a new hairstyle as you took long, away shots for promo.

he didn’t understand the schematics of it, but today it was a honey blonde, fading into a lighter shade of platinum around your waist.

a tinge of possessiveness curled around his ribcage.

‘pink would look better on you.’ he settled, a needy image rampaging through the cornered angles of his mind about how fucking gorgeous you would look splayed out on his onyx sheets with matching pale pink-

“okay, sukuna. one last picture.”

he slouched, forgetting to keep up with what’s natural to humans and what’s seen as… eerie, abnormal.

appearances, he supposes.

if not for shitty rules and customs he once was a part of, drakari traditions would have no substance on his life.

the last fan staggered on the podium taking the center of the group. he smelt… something pungent radiating from the male, face covered with a black mask.

but his eyes.. they were beady. like the life was sucked out from him, leaving only the remains of an outer shell.

“i remember something..” the man’s voice croaked alive, fingers shaky as they traveled to the edge of his facial mask.

“i remember.. that day that our village burned… so much smoke that the surrounding villages couldn’t see what really happened. what you really did-”

“alright guys! three-”

“is that right?” ryomen’s brows jumped at the man's tone, snarling, his chaos magic swirling, clawing like an animal to be released as the man taunted with those same beady eyes fusing into gold.

“two-”

“emperor ryomen sukuna”

“one!”

a loud cackle left the greasy man the same time a ‘pop’ echoed, heat spilling into the room at degrees to turn bones into ashes. screams ignited at the sight of flames blistering through the plaster covered walls in the building, crowds of people merging together to find any possible exit.

yet with each face he searched, none bared close to the resemblance of yours.

“fuck!” he roared over the crackles of flames and fear induced screams.

all five heightened senses working together as something ill made its way to his still heart at the thought of you stuck under rubble, lungs collapsing as you fight for your last breath.

no, not today. not ever.

and there it was, the scent of the rushing waterfall and bright lilies. he found you grasping desperately at multiple shoulders, presumably searching for the soft touch of your sister.

he swears some more profanities under his breath, clasping your shaky body under his. by the time your eyes opened after you blinked, you stood barreled under him in the middle of the park trail seven blocks down the street.

ryomen studied the contours on your face morphing from shock, to confusion, then finally landing in.. horror.

“n-no. no! how do we get here like that? ryomen…. where is my sister? oh my fucking god, is she still in there?” that unyielding boldness you carried had you clawing at him as if you could escape his grasp. though, you still shook like a leaf.

“my sister- ah! let the fuck go of me! she could be still in there! and you! with your freaky shit, what the fuck are you-”

his hands find their way to your cheeks again, clasping on as he bends forward. the both of you are only centimeters apart, your eyes searching for something found and strong behind the depths of those scarlet irises.

“breathe.”

his only command, and yet you sucked in the crisp morning air, blowing out the smears of smoke you escaped from.

“your sister is fine.. so just breathe, mama. just.. breathe. i’ll tell you everything later..”

those duo freaks would eat the world alive if anything happens to hayden.

ugh, especially blonde freak.

a strong chortle rings through his mind, affirming the hayden is indeed just with freak one and two.

now that not a hair was stinged on your head, maybe it’s time he goes to visit that zenin bastard.

it may end with the last remaining zenin’s heart clutched in his hand, as he sits on his throne in his court full of blood and bones.

all work belongs to to @aaazade please do not copy, translate without permission, or post my work! let me know if anyone would like to be apart of my taglist as i post each episode. hope you enjoyed episode two and be sure to comment for more!

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tortillamastersblog · 9 hours ago

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Back To You - Part 16 | Sam Carpenter

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x reader

Warnings: mentions of violence, death, blood, injuries, and swearing

Summary: When Sam left after turning eighteen, you were devastated. You’d been in love with her since you were kids and her leaving meant you never got to tell her how you truly felt.

Fast forward a couple of years, Tara gets attacked and Sam returns. . .

A/N: Fair warning there might be a couple of typos and shit in this part because I’m too tired to proofread properly

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The door of the theater falls shut behind us with a loud bang and I can’t stop myself from flinching ever so slightly.

Sam squeezes my hand and I squeeze back, letting my eyes roam around the room.

Nothing’s changed since the last time we were here and I cringe once again at the sight of the mannequins on the stage dressed in the old Ghostface cloaks.

It’s eerily quiet, but the knowledge that backup is ready to jump in and help us when Kirby gives them a signal brings me some sense of peace.

When Sam and I came out of the bathroom earlier Bailey had left to go to the station which gave me the chance to pull Kirby aside and tell her about what we figured out while Sam distracted the others, especially Ethan who kept looking at me with his big doe eyes.

She believed me instantly and we quickly came to the conclusion that in order to end this we either have to kill Bailey, Quinn, and Ethan, or get a confession out of them, so they go to prison for the rest of their lives.

I opted for the latter because I’m sick of people dying, but we agreed that should anything go wrong, we will kill them.

We also agreed that the less people are involved the better, so Kirby called the hospital Anika is at and convinced them to call Mindy in Anika’s name, saying she wanted to see her girlfriend.

We tried to come up with a plan to get Chad out of the way as well, but nothing came to mind, which is why he’s here with us now.

Danny’s also here, but we left him outside under the guise of needing someone to call for help in case something goes wrong.

He doesn’t know that the FBI is already stationed nearby, waiting to be called in by Kirby.

Sam, Kirby, and I are the only ones who know and even though I wanted to tell Tara and Chad, I never got the chance because we were never alone.

At first, Danny and Ethan were with us, and then it was just Danny because I managed to prevent Ethan from getting on the same subway as us by shoving a stranger in his way.

I’m sure he’ll be here soon though, just like Bailey who’s in on the “plan”.

We told him we wanted to trap Ghostface and execute him which he immediately agreed to since he doesn’t know we know about him yet.

He was super supportive and even told us to use public transport to avoid getting targeted, and if I didn’t know better I would have actually believed that he was concerned.

I still don’t know why he, Quinn, and Ethan are doing all this, but I guess we’ll find out sooner.

“I cleared the whole place before you got here,” Kirby says, turning to face us. “This—“ she nods her head at the door we just came in through, “—is the only way in or out.”

“What about weapons?” Sam asks, her hand still in mine.

Tara is holding onto Chad’s arm, nodding along to what Sam just asked.

“One gun and I hold onto it,” Kirby lies. She slipped me a knife earlier when I told her about what we found out.

It’s tucked into the waistband of my pants, hidden by my sweater, and not even Sam knows about it.

I know right now would probably be a good time to come clean and tell Chad and Tara everything we know (and tell Sam about the knife), but we can’t be sure that this place isn’t bugged.

“I’m the only one with a badge, so that’s the way it’s going to be,” Kirby says when the others look at her in disbelief. “We’re safe here,” she adds and even though I know the FBI is on standby outside, I’m still not entirely convinced. There’s three Ghostfaces and four of us, and they’re all armed.

This is going to be fun. . .

I wish we’d had more time to plan, because this is all super reckless, but we can’t risk someone else getting hurt, so it will have to do.

The others look skeptical, too, but no one voices their concerns and a moment later Sam’s phone rings. She disconnects our hands and pulls it out of her pocket, her eyebrows furrowing when she sees that it’s Mindy who’s calling her.

She glances at me and I dip my chin, wordlessly telling her to answer it.

“Mindy? Hey, you okay?” she says. She walks off in search of better reception and I let her be, turning to Chad and Tara who are eyeing the glass display cases with disgust while Kirby makes her own way through the theater, looking at everything with her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Sprout. . . Chad,” I say quietly, approaching them. They turn with furrowed eyebrows and smile weakly when they see me.

“Y/N.” Chad exhales sharply and I squeeze his arm reassuringly.

“You guys okay?” I ask.

Tara shakes her head and hugs me while Chad grimaces. “Not really,” she whispers. “I’m scared.”

I sigh and hold her closer. “Yeah, me too.”

“Same. . .” Chad watches us with a forlorn look and I chuckle softly before pulling him into the hug as well.

“You’ll be okay. Both of you, I promise.” I press a kiss to the top of Tara’s head and nudge Chad.

They both shudder and tighten the hug before my phone rings and I’m forced to pull away.

Dread settles in the pit of my stomach as I pull it out of my pocket, but then the sight of Paige’s name flashing across the screen makes me relax again.

It’s not Ghostface, Y/N. Calm down.

“Paige, hey. Everything okay? Are you in the city yet?”

Despite the situation, Paige laughs softly. “Yes, everything’s fine. I’m not in the city yet, I still have two hours to go. I’m just calling to tell you that the hospital called.”

The tentative smile that pulled at my lips just a second ago vanishes and I tighten my grip on the phone. “A-and?”

“Lee’s still in surgery, but he’s stable.”

Tears prick at my eyes and I spin around to avoid Tara’s and Chad’s concerned looks. “Okay, that’s good. That’s really good.”

I swallow thickly to get rid of the growing lump in my throat and Paige sighs on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, it is. . . so what about you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but—“

The lights turn off and the call disconnects. A scream pierces through the silent theater and I whirl around.

Tara.

She and Chad seem to be unharmed, but they’re tripping over their feet, trying to get away from something, of rather, someone.

It’s hard to make out what’s happening in the dark, but even before a homemade Stab movie gets projected onto the white curtains that have been lowered in front of the stage, I know that Ghostface is here.

Baile, Ethan and Quinn are here, right now, and we didn’t see it coming.

How didn’t we know? There’s only one entrance and we would have heard them come in. Right?

But what if Kirby overlooked a different entrance? What if she didn’t search the place probably?

Speaking of Kirby, my blood runs cold when my eyes land on her. Her face is covered in blood, and it looks like her nose is broken, but what’s more important is the blood on her shirt from a stab wound in her stomach and the knife pressed against her neck by Ghostface, standing behind her.

Ethan or Quinn. . . Bailey is taller.

“Fuck.” I rush to pull Tara and Chad behind me, feeling anger rising in the pit of my stomach when Ghostface tilts his head mockingly.

This is not how this was supposed to go down. Kirby was supposed to stay hidden, she was supposed to observe and call for backup.

Movement out of the corner of my eye makes my heart skip a beat, but when I turn my head, there’s nothing there.

A second later though I feel a presence on my other side, and I whirl around, expecting another Ghostface, but it’s just Sam, wide-eyed and panting.

“They’re here,” she breathes, “They’re—“ she freezes when her eyes land on Kirby, “—Fuck.”

She grabs my arm, and together we shield Chad and Tara while Ghostface continues to watch us wordlessly.

Kirby is deathly still in his hold, despite the obvious pain she’s in because she knows that if she even attempts to reach for her gun or her radio, her throat will be slit.

Some blood is already trickling down her throat because of how hard Ghostface is pressing the knife against her skin, and I shiver, remembering how I was in that same position a year ago.

Every breath, every blink could be your last one, and it’s a horrifying experience.

This is definitely not how I thought this would go. Was I skeptical of our half-assed planned? Yes. Was I expecting it to go off the rails at some point? Also, yes, but I didn’t think shit would be hitting the fan this quickly.

Well, there’s no point in keeping my mouth shut any longer.

“Let her go, Ethan. She has nothing to do with this,” I say lowly. I know it’s him because Quinn is even shorter than her brother and she probably wouldn’t have had the strength to overwhelm Kirby.

Ghostface falters ever so slightly, obviously surprised that I know who’s under the mask, but he doesn’t move or say anything.

“What are you doing?” Tara hisses, tugging on the back of my sweater. “That’s not Ethan.”

Sam squeezes my arm, and I glance over my shoulder for a split second to meet Tara’s eyes. “Yes it is,” I say, forcing myself to sound calm. “He’s behind all of this with Quinn and Bailey.”

“What?” Chad lets out a surprised gasp.

Someone starts clapping slowly behind us and we all whirl around to see Bailey standing there next to another Ghostface.

He’s smiling menacingly and claps one more time before exhaling dramatically. “I knew you’d figure it out. I mean, the way you looked at me at the police station after the bodega. . . I knew you knew something was up.”

I narrow my eyes, but stay quiet.

There’s no way to get a confession out of all of them now, at least not one we can use against them in court because Kirby was supposed to record everything, so we’re moving on to plan b.

Kill them. Kill all of them. Make them pay for what they’ve done to Liam, Gale, Anika, and Brooks, and for how they tired to frame Sam for what happened im Woodsboro.

“Also, Ethan saw you talking to Kirby, so I knew we had to do something sooner rather than later to make you pay.”

“Make us pay?” Sam asks indignantly. “For what?!”

The homemade Stab movie still playing in the background flickers eerily, casting weird shadows over everyone’s face, but especially Bailey’s when it tightens in anger.

He pulls out his gun and waves it around. “For killing my son!”

“Your son?” Tara snaps over my shoulder.

“Yeah, he’s right there.” I gesture at the Ghostface still pressing a knife to Kirby’s neck.

Bailey snorts and the Ghostface next to him takes off his mask.

Quinn.

I knew it, and so did Sam, but Chad and Tara suck in a breath behind me.

Ethan takes off his mask as well, somehow managing to do it without letting go of Kirby.

“Not him!” Quinn snaps with wild eyes before pointing her knife at Sam. “You killed—“

The curly hair, the thick eyebrows. . . E.K. Ethan Kirsch.

“Richie. . .” I say through clenched teeth.

Sam’s hand around my upper arm tightens. “You’re Richie’s family?!”

Tara and Chad shift uncomfortably, but they don’t say a word.

Of course they’re Richie’s family. How did I not see that coming?

They want revenge for what Sam did to him and they started it all by spreading rumors about her online, so when they kill her, kill us, people will just suspect some rando who took matters into his own hands after he found out Sam was the “real” Ghostface.

How fucked up is that. . .

I glance at Kirby while Bailey, Ethan, and Quinn catch the others up on what I just figured out, and nod subtly when her fingers graze against the pocket of her leather jacket.

The radio. . . We need to call for backup. We need to get out of here.

There has to be a second exit we don’t know about because how else would Bailey, Ethan, and Quinn have gotten into the theater unnoticed.

My call with page was disconnected, probably because Bailey turned on some kind of signal jammer, which could mean the radio is also useless, but getting my hands on it and trying to call for back up is worth a try anyway.

I mean, don’t radios and cell phones operate on different frequencies?

All thoughts of frequencies are quickly forgotten when Bailey steps forward and holds out a weathered Ghostface mask.

“This is your father’s, Sam,” he says. “Quinn’s got Stu Macher’s and Ethan has Nacy Loomis’s, your grandmother’s. . .”

“It really runs in your fucking family, doesn’t it,” Ethan pipes up, and the way Sam’s breath hitches next to me makes me want to bash his head in.

This is exactly what she’s afraid of, being like them, and I just know it’s going to take a lot of therapy and a lot of pep talks to make her, once again, believe she really isn’t anything like them

Tara sniffles quietly, and I reach behind me to squeeze her hand when she holds onto the hem of my sweater.

“This is what we’ve been counting down to,” Bailey says, waving the mask around with the same crazy look in his eyes as Quinn. “I’m going to need you to put it on.”

Oh, hell no.

Sam breathes heavily, and for a split second I think she’s going to take it—she’s going to give them what they want after all, but then she lets go of my arm and smacks the mask out of Bailey’s hand.

“Fuck you!” she spits and her confidence fills me with so much pride that I don’t react fast enough when Quinn lunges forward, slicing Sam’s exposed upper arm with her knife.

She was wearing my zip up hoodie earlier, but it’s so hot in here she must have taken it off while on the phone with Mindy, leaving her in only her gray tank top.

Shit, Mindy. . . Why was she calling in the first place? Is she okay?

There’s no way to find out now, so I quickly pull Sam back against me, out of reach of Quinn while she presses a hand to the cut on her arm.

It’s only superficial, but it’s already bleeding pretty badly and it will definitely need stitches.

“Stay the fuck away from her,” Tara shouts, trying to step out from behind me, but Chad holds her back with an arm around her waist.

“You’re a killer, just like your father, Sam,” Bailey says, pointing an accusing finger at Sam and this time, unlike when Ethan opened his stupid mouth, I don’t hold back.

“No, she’s not you!” I snap, baring my teeth. With her free hand, Sam squeezes my arm around her middle, either to silently thank me for standing up for her or to get me to settle down.

“Yes, she is you motherfucker!” Quinn screams. “She killed Richie like the cold-blooded psycho that she is!”

That’s it!

I let go of Sam and rush forward to tackle Quinn, but Ethan is quick to react. He shoves Kirby aside and jumps in my way before I can get to his sister, stabbing me in the shoulder right below my collar bone—right below the scar on my neck where Amber stabbed me.

“Ah, you fucking little twig,” I exclaim, squaring my shoulders, ready to take him down instead when Sam pulls me back by the back of my sweater.

“No, run!” she shouts and I spin around, knowing she’s right.

Tara and Chad are already weaving through the glass cases, trying to get to the metal door we came in through and Sam and I follow them.

Quinn and Ethan are hot on our heels while Bailey shouts how he knew Sam had to die when he saw the pictures of what she did to Richie.

Everyone who had something to do with his death dies. . . Yeah, no thanks.

Amidst the chaos, the fact that we don’t have the key card to unlock the door dawns on me the moment we’re standing in front of it. Chad tries to pry it open, but it doesn’t budge and when Quinn and Ethan’s footsteps get louder behind us I exclaim, “Forget about it. We’re not getting out this way! There has to be another exit!”

“The roof!” Tara says. “I saw an exit sign leading to the roof behind the seats on the balcony overlooking the stage.”

The roof? Seriously? We’ll be trapped there, too, unless there’s a fire escape.

Anything’s better than this though, I think as Ethan and Quinn skirt around the corner.

“Okay, go left! There’s a staircase up to the balcony!” I shout and we start running again, abandoning the metal door, which could possibly still be our only way out.

Somewhere in the theater a shot gets fired, and I pray to God that Kirby is okay, but I don’t have time to dwell on it as we get to the staircase.

I yank on Sam’s arm and pull her in front of me, and usher her to follow Chad and Tara, but she stops when she notices me freezing on the bottom step.

“What are you doing? Come on!” Urgency seeps into her voice and she tries to drag me up the stairs, but I don’t move.

“No, get to the roof and get help, I’ll buy you some time,” I say, pulling out the knife Kirby gave me.

If Quinn and Ethan want to get to the others, they’ll have to go through me first.

Sam’s eyes widen when they land on the gleaming blade and she shakes her head adamantly. “Fuck no! I’ve left you behind twice now, I’m not doing it again!”

“Sam— I—“ I want to protest, but then Quinn appears with a lazy smile, dragging the blade of her knife along the wall, seemingly in no hurry to get to us any more.

No, no, no. Why’s she so calm. What’s going on?! Where’s Ethan?!

“Y/N!” Sam urges, which snaps me out of my thoughts.

Right. We’ve got to move, no matter how slow Quinn is walking, she’s going to get to us eventually if we don’t move.

“Shit. Yeah, okay! Go, go, go!” I follow Sam up the stairs, taking two of them at a time with my heart pounding in my ears until we get to the top.

Oh damn, we’re higher up than I expected.

It’s at least a ten foot drop from the balcony to the main floor of the theater, but that’s not what I’m worried about.

No, what I’m worried about is Ethan, who’s blocking our path to the roof because he somehow managed to climb the scaffolding connecting the balcony and the main floor to our right.

Tara and Chad are rooted to the ground, staring at him while he simply waves his knife mockingly.

“You really thought you guys could get away?” He laughs and I grab Sam’s hand and spin us around when I hear Quinn coming up the stairs behind us. “Yeah, no. You’re all going to die here tonight and pay for what you did to Richie.”

Tara whimpers and she and Chad take several steps back until their backs are pressed against Sam’s and mine.

The weight of Kirby’s knife in my hand, the one that isn’t holding Sam’s, does nothing to ground me.

We’re caged in and there’s nothing I can do without risking getting hurt because both Ethan and Quinn also have a knife.

“Richie deserved everything he got!” Sam spits next to me. “He was pathetic and killed innocent people just so he could make a new Stab movie! A fucking movie!”

“He loved those movies!” Quinn exclaims angrily and I can’t help but scowl at her.

“That doesn’t excuse what he did! How deluded are you to think that it’s okay to kill people just so you can make a movie?!”

“Shut up!” Ethan shouts and even though I can’t see him, I know he’s absolutely livid right now.

I don’t shut up though. Not only because I can’t stop myself from going on, but because I need to get him to snap and move so we can get to the roof.

“I mean, how fucked up is it that your dad brainwashed you into avenging your brother’s death? He’s a grown ass man and he’s using his kids to do his bidding. Really gets you thinking about who the favorite child is, or was in this case, doesn’t it?”

Quinn’s face contorts into a grimace of rage and I can see both her and Ethan lunging at us from miles away, so I act before they can.

I let go of Sam’s hand and pick up a discarded scaffolding pipe, shoving it into Chad’s hands before turning back around and kicking the side of Quinn’s knee when she comes at us.

She cries out in pain and goes down, and I spin around just in time to see Chad knocking the knife out of Ethan’s hand with the pipe.

“You piece of shit, you know nothing about us!” Ethan shouts, scrambling to pick the knife back up, but Chad is one step ahead of him.

He kicks the knife under the seats before stepping to the side so Tara can knee him in the face, knocking him out.

Yeah, get his ass, Sprout!

Quinn wails furiously and jumps to her feet, her rage obviously numbing the pain in her knee. She tightens the grip she has on her knife and lunges at Sam who raises her arms defensively.

“Oh no you don’t!” I growl, darting forward and catching her wrist mid-strike. I twist it so the knife is now pointing at her and watch in horror as she runs straight into it, stabbing herself in the throat because she can’t stop her advance in time.

Her eyes widen, and she chokes on her own blood for a moment before Sam kicks her in the stomach, forcing her to let go of the knife and fall backward.

She twitches helplessly, coughing and clawing at her own throat for what feels like hours before finally going deathly still.

“Good fucking riddance,” I spit and Sam nods, seemingly in a daze with her eyes trained on Quinn’s dead body until I grab her hand and pull her away. “Let’s go!”

Tara and Chad have already left and I can only hope that they made it to the roof okay. Where Kirby and Bailey are, I have no idea, but the theater’s been deathly quiet since that gunshots I heard earlier.

Please let that have been Kirby shooting Bailey and nod the other way around.

“We need to call for back—“ My words get stuck in my throat when Sam lets out a surprised cry behind me. Her hand lets go of mine and I hear her knife clatter against the ground before I whirl around to see that she’s tripped over something.

No, not something, someone. And that someone is Ethan who’s got his hand wrapped around her ankle.

“Son of a bitch!” Sam seethes and kicks him in the shoulder, which makes him let go of her, but when they both jump to their feet, my heart drops at the sight of him holding the knife she just dropped.

“You’re not going anywhere!” He slashes the knife through the air, missing Sam’s throat by an inch which makes me see red.

I yank Sam behind me, ignoring the way my back stings because of it, and tackle him.

He grunts when we go down and I feel him dragging the knife across my side, but all I can focus on is the sound of Sam’s voice, crying out my name, and the sensation of falling.

Falling, and falling, and falling.

“Y/N!”

I look up and it’s only when I see Sam bent over the railing of the balcony with a bewildered look in her eyes and an outstretched arm that I realize Ethan and I went overt the edge.

No. This was not supposed to happen.

I want to reach out and grab her hand, but it’s too late. I’m falling and before I know it, everything goes black.

I can’t have been out for too long, because when I come to again, everything is quiet.

There’s no shouting, there’s no police and I’m still in the theater, staring up at the blurry outline of the balcony and the dark ceiling.

Sam is nowhere in sight, but when I turn my head I see Ethan right next to me, sprawled on the ground amidst the glass shards of the display case he fell on.

Black dots are dancing in my vision, and I know it’s only a matter of time before I pass out again, but I know for a fact that he’s dead.

His neck is bent at an unnatural angle and his lifeless eyes are staring at me. His lips and chin are covered in blood from when Tara broke his nose with her knee and there are tiny glass shards sticking out of his cheek and forehead.

That’s two for two, I guess. . .

I avert my eyes and go to sit up to find Sam and the others, only to feel my heart drop when I find that I can’t move.

No. Not again.

I try again, willing every muscle in my body to help me sit up, but it doesn’t work.

All I can do is turn my head, and even that is difficult now that I think about it.

It’s like trying to run in a dream, and before I can stop it, a desperate whimper slips past my lips.

Not again. Please, not again.

The memory of Leroy’s face— the firefighter who pulled me out of my parents car after the accident— makes its way to the front of my mind and when I close my eyes I see his sparkling blue eyes above me.

No, not again. Not again. . .

“Y/N!”

My eyes fly open and I look up. Leroy’s blue eyes swim in and out of focus before they’re replaced by dark brown ones.

Sam.

She’s kneeling over me and has her hands on the side of my head.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. What did you do?!,” she whispers frantically, her eyes darting between mine.

I go to say something, but she shushes me by pressing a finger against my lips. “Don’t answer that. Save your strength. Just stay awake, okay, keep looking at me.”

I don’t know why’s she’s telling me to stay awake, but then I feel the almost irresistible pull of sleep tugging on my insides.

My eyes flutter, but I can’t in good conscience rest until I know it’s over— until I know that everyone’s okay.

“T-Tara. . . Chad,” I whisper, my eyes momentarily focusing on the pendant of Sam’s necklace. It twinkles in the low light and fills me with an indescribable warmth, knowing that she hasn’t taken the necklace off since I’ve given it to her. It also somehow chases away the panic that threatened to wash over me just a moment ago when I realized I couldn’t move.

“They’re okay,” Sam says, her voice breaking which makes me look at her again. Her eyes are filled with tears and her bottom lip is quivering the same way it did when I collapsed at the hospital a year ago. “They’re both okay. Kirby’s okay, too.”

I exhale shakily and blink back my own tears. “So, it’s over?”

Sam nods, running her thumbs over my cheek. “It is and help is on the way, so try to stay awake, okay? I know you’re tired, and you’re in a lot of pain because you took quite a fall, but you have to stay awake.“

“Quite a fall” feels like an understatement, but I don’t comment on it. I just shake my head and sigh quietly.

“‘M not in pain,” I slur, feeling my consciousness slipping away again.

It’s true, I’m not in pain. I just can’t move, but that’s okay because I know everyone else is okay. They’re all going to be okay, including Gale and Liam.

“What do you mean you’re not in pain? You just fell ten feet! How can you not be in pain?” Sam grabs my hand and laces our fingers together. I can’t feel it, but I see her doing it. I also see her furrowing her eyebrows when my hand stays limp before realization dawns on her.

“Y/N. . .” Tears roll down her face and I want nothing more but to reach up and wipe them away, but I can’t. “You’re— You’re—“

“‘S okay,” I whisper, trying my best to smile. “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not, you’re not,” she hiccups and lets go of my hand again to cradle my head and the back of my neck just as my eyes begin to flutter. “Hey, keep your eyes open! You hear me, Y/N?! Keep your eyes open!”

But I’m so tired and she’s here. She’s finally here after everything that’s happened.

“Sam?”

Tara’s voice makes Sam look up and I take that as my chance to close my eyes.

Just for a little bit, I tell myself, but as soon as my eyes close, darkness washes over me.

“Y/N? Y/N!”

They’re all okay.

She’s here.

_______________________________________________

Before you come for me I just want to say that—spoiler alert—we’re going to be okay!

This part was a pain to write, but it’s done and I can rest now.

Only one more part to go!

Tag list: @bella423 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @canyonyodeler @quadofthec @pussyydestroyer @rqizzu @pithod @morganismspam23 @idontliketoread2137

#x reader #sam carpenter #sam carpenter x reader #samantha carpenter #samantha carpenter x reader #scream

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alittlegiraffe · 3 days ago

Text

Title: Misunderstood

It started small. Marshall wasn’t the most openly emotional guy, but you always knew when he was present—when he was *there* with you. He had his way of making you feel like the only person in the world, even in his quiet moments.

But recently, that connection felt like it had been fraying. He’d been coming home later, spending more time in his home studio, and his usual warmth had been replaced by something distant. When he did talk to you, his responses were clipped, like he was only half-listening.

You tried to push through it at first, chalking it up to stress. He was always juggling a million things at once—his music, his kids, his public image. But when he started leaving the room to take phone calls or spacing out during dinner, a nagging thought crept into your mind.

What if he was pulling away because there was someone else?

It wasn’t like him, but you’d seen it happen to other people. Relationships falling apart quietly, slowly, until one day you wake up and realize you don’t know the person lying next to you. The fear of that happening to you and Marshall clawed at your chest, and the frustration of not knowing how to fix it bubbled over.

---

It was late, and you were already in bed, staring at the ceiling. Marshall had just gotten home after another long day. He sat on the edge of the mattress, scrolling through his phone, completely silent.

“Marshall,” you said, your voice sharp in the quiet room.

He didn’t look up. “Yeah?”

You sat up, your arms crossed. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you?”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, finally glancing over his shoulder.

“You’ve been acting weird for weeks. Distant. Distracted. You barely talk to me anymore, and I feel like I’m invisible.”

He sighed, setting his phone down on the nightstand. “I’ve just been busy. That’s all.”

“Busy?” you repeated, incredulous. “You’re not just busy, Marshall. You’ve been completely checked out. What is it? What’s going on?”

“I told you—it’s nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me!” you snapped, your voice rising. “Is there someone else? Are you cheating on me?”

His head snapped toward you, his eyes narrowing. “Are you serious right now?”

“What else am I supposed to think?” you shot back, throwing your hands up. “You’ve been shutting me out completely, and I don’t understand why. If there’s something you’re not telling me, just say it!”

Marshall stood, pacing the room, his jaw tight. “You think I’d cheat on you? After everything we’ve been through?”

“I don’t know what to think!” you yelled, your voice breaking. “I don’t know anything anymore because you won’t talk to me!”

Marshall stopped pacing, running a hand over his face. He looked… tired. Defeated.

“It’s not what you think,” he said softly, his voice cracking. “I’m not cheating on you.”

“Then what is it?” you asked, your tone softer now.

He sat back down on the bed, his shoulders slumping. “I have to go to L.A. for a few weeks. The label booked studio time, and I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you without it turning into a fight. I know it’s part of the job, but it’s killing me, okay?”

You blinked, confused. “Why would it be killing you?”

“Because I hate being away from you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Every time I leave, it feels like I’m leaving part of myself behind. And this time, it’s worse. I don’t know why. I’ve been trying to deal with it on my own, but it’s messing with my head.”

The weight of his words hit you like a freight train. All your anger, all your suspicions melted away, replaced by a pang of guilt so sharp it made your chest ache.

“Marshall,” you whispered, reaching out to touch his hand.

He shook his head, his blue eyes clouded with emotion. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t care. I didn’t mean to shut you out. I just didn’t know how to talk about it without making you upset.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you scooted closer to him. “I thought… I thought I was losing you. I’m so sorry. I should’ve asked you about it sooner instead of jumping to conclusions.”

“No,” he said, his voice firm. “You shouldn’t have had to guess what was going on. That’s on me. I should’ve talked to you.”

You sat there in silence for a moment, his words settling between you. Then you leaned forward, wrapping your arms around him tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against your hair, his voice breaking.

“Me too,” you whispered, holding onto him like you never wanted to let go.

**Rebuilding**

That night, the two of you stayed up talking. You told him how his behavior had made you feel, and he told you about the pressure he’d been under, the way the thought of leaving had been eating at him.

It wasn’t easy, but by the time the sun started to rise, you felt lighter, like a weight had been lifted off your chest.

When the day came for Marshall to leave, you were still sad to see him go. But this time, there was no tension, no distance between you. Just love and the promise of his return.

As he kissed you goodbye, his hands lingering on your face, he said, “I’ll call you every day. I’ll be back before you know it.”

And for the first time in weeks, you believed him.

**The Return**

Three weeks had never felt so long.

Marshall had called you every day like he promised—sometimes more than once. He sent pictures of the studio, snippets of songs he was working on, and messages that made you laugh. He was doing his best to close the distance between you, but it wasn’t the same.

The house felt emptier without him. You missed the sound of his laugh, the warmth of his arms around you, the way he’d sneak up behind you in the kitchen just to kiss your neck. You tried to stay busy, but it was impossible not to count the days until he came back.

Finally, the day arrived.

You were in the kitchen, cleaning up after breakfast, when you heard the front door open. Your heart leapt as you rushed into the hallway, wiping your hands on a dish towel.

And there he was.

Marshall stood in the doorway, his bag slung over one shoulder and his baseball cap pulled low over his face. He looked tired, but the second he saw you, his entire expression softened.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quiet.

You didn’t say anything. You just ran to him, throwing your arms around his neck. He let out a soft laugh as he dropped his bag and wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered, burying your face in his shoulder.

“I missed you more,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands cupping his face. “You look exhausted.”

He shrugged, giving you a small smile. “Long flight. But I’m good now.”

“Are you hungry? I can make you something—”

He cut you off with a kiss, his lips pressing against yours with an urgency that made your knees weak. When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.

“All I need right now is you,” he said softly.

**The Rest of the Day**

You spent the day curled up on the couch together, talking, laughing, and just enjoying each other’s presence. Marshall told you about the recording process, the late nights in the studio, and how he’d stayed up some nights just staring at his phone, wanting to hear your voice.

“You know, it’s not the same,” he said, running his fingers through your hair as your head rested on his chest.

“What’s not?” you asked, tilting your head to look at him.

“Talking on the phone. It helps, but it’s not the same as being here with you. I hate being away from you. Every time I leave, it feels like part of me is missing.”

You reached up to touch his face, your thumb brushing over the stubble on his jaw. “You don’t have to explain, Marshall. I get it. I felt the same way.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment. “I promise, I’m going to try to balance things better. I don’t want you to feel like I’m pulling away again. Ever.”

You smiled, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I know. And I’ll try not to jump to conclusions next time. We’re in this together, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, his lips curving into a smile against yours.

**That Night**

As the day turned to evening, you found yourself in bed together, tangled up in each other like you couldn’t get close enough. He held you like he was afraid you might disappear, his hands tracing gentle patterns on your skin.

“I hate that I made you feel like you weren’t important to me,” he said suddenly, his voice low. “You’re the most important thing in my life. You know that, right?”

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you nodded, your fingers threading through his. “I know. And I feel the same way about you.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment. “Good. Because I don’t ever want you to doubt that. No matter where I am, you’re always on my mind. Always.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with love for the man beside you. As you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you felt more connected to him than ever before, knowing that no matter how far apart you might be, you’d always find your way back to each other.

#eminem #eminem x reader #marshall mathers #marshall mathers x reader

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seokminfilm · 17 hours ago

Text

mystery of love | jeon wonwoo

🪄 pairing, jeon wonwoo x reader

🪄 warnings, non-idol au, fluff w a bit of angst, best friend's older brother trope, confession, mingyu is mentioned as wonwoo's sister's boyfriend, reader is a mess, open ending??

🪄 summary, sharing a bed with your best friend's older brother (who also doubles as your two-year crush) takes a turn for the better.

🪄 author's note, lots of people have been asking me for a part 2 to the professor wonwoo fic but i don't think i'm ever gonna write one, so here's my peace offering to you all 😭 ALSO this was WAYYY longer than i expected it to be BUT i still really like it!! i'm probably going to do a poll to see what type of fic lengths you all like...anyways, enjoy lyrnation! (and yes yuna is referencing the one and only @jjjjeonww 🤍)

🪄 now playing, mystery of love, sufjan stevens

🪄 word count, 2.1k | for @kstrucknet

"i've got to talk to you," yuna has a nervous look on her face, and you pull away from the conversation with mingyu, approaching her with a matching worry. "what's up?"

"so....apparently there's a mistake in the system," yuna sighs, walking up to you as you stare at her confused. "what do you mean by that?" you question nervously, and yuna sighs again, running a hand through her dark hair.

the four of you─you, your best friend, yuna, her boyfriend, mingyu, and her older brother (and your long-time crush), wonwoo─all went out of town to celebrate her acceptance into her dream college. she had been looking forward to the trip all semester, and now that she was out for a two-week break, the trip was underway.

everything was perfect on the way here─the weather was nice, the traffic was minimal, and the music wasn't that bad (mainly because wonwoo had the aux). even when you arrived at the upscale hotel, the vibe of the place was warm, and you couldn't wait to get in a warm bed and watch youtube to your heart's content.

apparently, that's not what was going to happen.

"the lady that helped us buy rooms swears up and down she has us paying for three, but the system only says we have two." yuna points to the recipt on her phone, clearly showing there were only two rooms reserved.

"so, what does that have to do with me?" you ask confusedly, and yuna glances at wonwoo, currently texting someone on his phone, listening to mingyu ramble half-heartedly.

"you and wonu are going to have to share a room." yuna coughs out, and you nearly squeal, eyes widening like saucers as you gasp loudly, directing the attention of a few patrons.

"share a room? with him? come on, yuna, you know i can't do that." you blush, rubbing the back of your neck shyly. yuna was aware of the two-year crush you've been harboring, and she's been overly supportive of it, doing everything in her power to push you together.

she was also aware of how shy you were when it came to her brother, and how complicated it made things when you were shy and wonwoo was usually closed off.

"this could be the night that finally sets it off for you too! plus, mingyu and i want to share a room tonight─" yuna pauses to sigh dreamily, to which you roll your eyes.

"wonwoo will kill mingyu if he does anything," you mutter under your breath, and yuna purposefully steps on your toes, earning a hiss from you.

"he's not going to know, so it doesn't matter." yuna states proudly, crossing her arms. "anyways─" she continues quickly. "─this could be the night that finally gets you and wonwoo together, and the lady at the desk is getting a bit pissy with how much mingyu and i have bothered her, so..."

yuna trails off, leaving you with a gobsmacked expression. imagine that: sharing a room with your best friend's brother who you also had a massive crush on. your night couldn't get more laughable than this.

"we'll take the rooms!" before you can stop yuna and beg her to not leave you with wonwoo, she's already taking the keys from the cranky lady, having mingyu take your luggage as the four of you reconvene.

"wonu, you don't mind sharing a room, right?" yuna asks her brother. wonwoo shrugs, his blank expression not very confirming as he nods. "i don't mind." his voice is still so shockingly deep, and it still makes you jump a little, hoping it wasn't noticeable.

(it was, as you saw wonwoo glance at you from the corner of his eye.)

"okay, cool! here's your room key! you two are right beside us, so just knock if you need anything! mingyu and i are gonna go for a snack." yuna hooks her arm into mingyu's muscled one, and you know your mouth is wide open, because mingyu mocks your expression before yuna pinches him, causing him to hiss to himself.

"why can't i go with you?" you plead, doing anything to stop yourself from having to stay behind with wonwoo─alone, mind you─and sleep in the same bed as him.

"this is a date, silly. it's for kim mingyu and jeon yuna only. are you one of those people?" mingyu teasingly asks, and you glare at him, eyes sharp as he chuckles. "that's what i thought."

"okay, now, bye!" yuna says quickly, giving you a not-so-discreet wink as she yanks mingyu back into the lobby.

now left alone in the awkwardly quiet hallway, wonwoo looks down at you. he's always towered over you, but now, it feels like he's gotten five inches taller (or it could just be the nervousness talking). his sharp eyes have hardly any emotion as he looks at you for a split second, and he just takes his backpack and your luggage in his arms, quietly heading to the room down the hall.

not knowing what else to do, you follow him from a distance, awkwardly fidgeting with your hoodie string as wonwoo fishes the key from his back pocket, unlocking the door with ease.

the two of you quietly pile into the nice furnished room, and wonwoo places your things down, backpack now on the floor as he yawns.

"you can go ahead and shower first, if you want. i can wait." wonwoo's voice is deep, bouncing off the walls of the room. you nod quickly, fishing through your drawstring backpack as you get your pajamas.

after your hot, ten-minute shower, you step out of the bathroom fully clean, quietly maneuvering your way around the room. wonwoo has his headphones in, reading a book as he sits on the bed. his posture is scarily straight, and so is his face─as if it's not 24/7.

his full lips are pressed shut, and his sharp eyes survey the pages slowly, taking in every word as he flips the pages a few minutes later. he's discarded his hat, short hair still scarily neat. wonwoo was really an attractive man, you thought to yourself. even if he didn't try to be, he was naturally distracting.

finally pulling yourself away from secretly admiring wonwoo's strong figure, you drop your clothes beside your suitcase, awkwardly grabbing your phone and climbing onto the bed.

wonwoo doesn't pull his attention away form his book once, and you sigh, preparing yourself for the worst as you pull up enough courage to tap his hand.

when you do so, it's soft and warm, making you blush at the tiny contact as wonwoo's eyes flick to yours. he takes his airpods out quickly, closing his book as he turns to you.

"are you done with your shower?" he asks simply, to which you nod.

"thanks for letting me go first, by the way. i was really tired, so it meant a lot." your words spill out from your lips faster than you want them too, and wonwoo cracks a small smile─a smile─at your blushed expression, nodding.

"no worries." wonwoo says, and you smile, watching him get up as he closes his book and places it on his bedside.

"oh, and wonwoo─" you start, surprised that the thought you were formulating in your head came out of your mouth. wonwoo stops short, turning back to face you as his piercing brown eyes lock with yours.

"i hope─i hope that you weren't offended by my overreaction or anything. i just..." you trail off, cheeks flaring hot as you sigh. "i didn't think we would have to share rooms. it just caught me off guard."

why were you specifying this? you didn't really know. you really did care so much about what wonwoo thought about you that even the natural reactions you had always had to be justified to wonwoo. you really were in love with this man─so in love it was painful to watch.

wonwoo shakes his head, cracking another small smile as his deep voice replies. "it's fine. i mean, yuna didn't really try that hard to fix the problem, and it was unexpected. i'm not hurt by it," wonwoo takes his glasses off, revealing that side of him you only rarely saw early in the morning or late at night.

"oh─oh, okay good." you hold an awkward thumbs up (why did you even hold that stupid thumb up?), and wonwoo matches your energy, holding your gaze for a bit longer before grabbing his sleeping clothes and heading into the bathroom.

sighing and considering suffocation by a pillow, you settle for just trying your hardest to go to sleep, closing your eyes and turning on rain sounds. you could deal with your racing heart tomorrow morning.

your heart did not wait until tomorrow morning.

your phone was dimmed, but even when you turned it on, it was too bright for you. glancing at your screen, you saw it was 12:15 am, and it felt like it too. the hotel was completely quiet, save for the distant hum of a tv and the crackling of the air conditioner.

wonwoo's sleeping beside you, breaths deep and steady as he stays bundled up under the blanket. his eyes are closed peacefully, lips still as he sleeps. he has an oversized shirt on and matching sweatpants, decently covered (thank god) but still comfortable.

sighing, you stare at him, saying nothing as you watch his slight movements. wonwoo really was a beautiful human being, sculpted perfectly by whatever higher being there could be. everything was perfect about him, from his thick eyebrows to his strong nose, and everything in between.

"are you okay?" wonwoo's voice is raspy and deep from disuse, and it makes you freeze in your bed, surprised and embarrassed.

"yeah, i'm okay. i just can't sleep," you sigh, and wonwoo turns on the lamp on his bedside table. it lights up the whole room in a warm, golden glow, and illuminates the dark room, which you're grateful for.

"me too. i guess all those energy drinks mingyu bought haven't worn off just yet." wonwoo rubs at his bare eyes, and you laugh, sighing into the sheets.

"why were you drinking all the ones mingyu wouldn't finish? i thought you were stopping the whole energy drink thing," you remark, and wonwoo doesn't say anything, looking at you as he weakly smiles.

"i did say that, didn't i?" he questions, and you laugh again, nodding. "you did."

the two of you laugh together, and the tension in the room seems to fall to nothing for just a split second. your heart is still hammering in your chest, but it's because you're happy. being with wonwoo in this moment doesn't feel like you were forced by your circumstance to sleep in the same bed with him. it feels domestic, in a way, natural in the way you're looking at wonwoo like he hung the stars in the sky.

for the past two years, you had always wondered why you had a crush on jeon wonwoo. he was completely different from your best friend and your usual type─he was quiet, studious, low-energy, and emotionally stable. wonwoo was rarely moved by outside factors and always seemed to keep to himself, minding his own business and going his own way when he felt he needed to.

you had finally found why you loved him so much tonight, in this moment.

wonwoo was everything you needed in your life─you needed someone to bring balance, and he was perfect for the job. you admired him for who he was and admired him because he was what you wanted to be. you wanted wonwoo because he made you want yourself. he made you want yourself to be the best person you could be.

for yuna, for him, and for most importantly─yourself.

"you're thinking about something." wonwoo says softly, voice deep and pressing as you nod slightly, inhaling and exhaling. "i am."

"i'm thinking..." you trail off, rethinking everything. you could lay everything down right here, telling wonwoo how you feel. so many things could change from tonight─change from right now, or you could ignore it all, going back to the way it was before.

why would you do that? you've gotten so far now.

"i'm thinking about how much i love you." your voice is barely a whisper, and you swallow, eyes filling with tears as you finally mutter the words you had been waiting to mutter for two years.

"i'm thinking about how much i love you and want to be with you." you add, and wonwoo turns to face you, eyes so soft they feel like feathers dancing across your skin.

"i was thinking of the same thing." wonwoo says lowly, smiling at you. his arm is just inches away from yours, and you know it too, growing the courage to reach out and hold his hand.

your hand fits in wonwoo's perfectly, and at that moment, you feel like a piece of you is finally complete.

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avifaunaa · 22 hours ago

Text

how the world spins without you [ n.r. ] [ p.2 ]

AUTHORS NOTE: the amount of likes i got on chapter one blew my mind. i'm glad you guys enjoy it enough to have liked / reblogged! i'm still considerably new to writing on tumblr so i'm really happy with what i've been getting thus far! i hope you like this second part!

Masterlist

PART ONE

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader

Summary: Natasha has mastered the art of falling in love . . . she thinks. Having graduated with a shiny new degree and on your way to work with Tony in his labs, she was closer to you than ever. When an important mission pulls her away it leaves you both realizing how incredibly important it is that you don't skip the little moments you get.

Content Warnings: Mild angst, fluff, overabundance of Natasha being soft, reader referred to with she/her pronouns, smut, top!nat and bottom!reader, fingering [ n and r receiving ], MILD dumbification, MILD dedragation [ r receiving ] strap-on use [ r!receiving ], praise [ r!receiving ], hair-pulling, some finger-sucking

Word Count: ~7.7k

Natasha thinks you like Yelena.

That was her hope, anyway, when she asked her little sister to come finally meet the woman who had caught her eye and managed to peel her open and get even her most buried away memories and desires to be expressed in just a few short months.

It was a few days before you big day as Yelena sat across from Nat, sprawled across an armchair like an unruly child with legs spread open and propped over the legs. She chose where so sit this time despite Nat glancing longingly at her table.

She sat on the couch in front of the fireplace diagonal to her sister's armchair instead. She drank something strawberry-flavored today, a seasonal drink to draw in customers despite the business that the shop never seemed to lose.

She thinks you'd like it -- she hated it.

"So, you drag me here," the braided blonde begins, licking whipped cream off of her cold drink. Then proceeds to stick her finger inside to get more.

"Yelena that's disgusting."

"Who else is drinking this? Huh?" A perfectly arched eyebrow raised at her. "Is there a law against being disgusting? Pah." She popped her fingers in her mouth. "You are rude for interrupting me."

Natasha's eyes float up to the ceiling. Would Melina mind all that much if she killed Yelena?

She believes Alexi would be proud of her.

"As I was saying," the former Widow continued when Natasha did not speak, taking her silence as encouragement, "you drag me here and give me fattening sugary American drinks."

"I figured you'd like it," Natasha said, drink abandoned as she rests her hand on the armchair of the couch. "You eat nothing but Kraft. I try to get you other brands and you threaten to shoot me."

"Because the other brands are cardboard covered in plastic cheese!" Yelena threw her arms up, coffee still in hand, and uncrossed her legs to sit up rightly. "Nat I will never forgive you for trying to trick me into these poor excuses of mac-n-cheese. Truly. I know the difference. I am an assassin."

"Of store bought goods?"

Yelena scowled at her and used her straw to flick whipped cream in Nat's direction. The glob landed sadly on the couch cushion instead of where Yelena likely aimed: her forehead.

"Damn," the younger of the two whispered, stabbing her straw back into place.

"Clean that up," Natasha ordered, gesturing to the napkins left out for patrons on the coffee table.

"Yes mom," Yelena grumbles, but did it anyway and sniffed after a minute of sipping her drink like a scolded toddler. "You were right. This is a very delicious drink."

"How hard was it for you to admit that?"

"Very. But we have gotten off the topic of why you dragged me here and I know it is not just for this as much as I wish it was."

Natasha had to hand it to Yelena for her observance. The two of them were the Red Room's most prized creations of differing generations of Widows but both had been given the same end goal and similar orders at the end of the day.

Her sister was impulsive and quick to jump the gun -- but it normally worked in her favor and could be better in certain situations where Natasha's tendency to react more strategically may be too slow for some situations.

She tapped her index fingers together. "I am seeing someone. Someone who is important to me and I think I could find happiness with her if I continue to undo everything our upbringing has taught us."

Whatever Yelena had been expecting her to announce, it sure as hell wasn't that. The blonde adverted her eyes momentarily either in bafflement or incredulity before masking herself up with a sly smirk.

"Her?" Yelena purred, placing her cup on the side table separating them. "You've really been discovering yourself, haven't you, Sestra?"

"Suka," Natasha shot back, feeling the weight begin to lift off of her chest. She was worried for Yelena's response -- she didn't know if she expected disgust, anger, maybe doubt?

"We are not built for the type of relationships she might seek from you," Yelena finally says, her accent thickening with concern as she struggled not to regress into Russian to speak to Nat. "What have you told her . . . about everything?"

Natasha cupped her own chin with her hand and rested her elbow on the armrest. "Very little, but enough to paint her a picture that tells her it was an evil childhood. I am sure she did some searches on me and read whatever she found and if she did it did not seem to scare her off."

"You could hurt her."

A thorn struck at Natasha's heart. Yelena was truthful in all accounts, and she expected no lies or sugar-coated warnings from her and never would have in the first place. But it still hurt to hear Yelena have expressed what Natasha feared.

"I know," was all she replied, gaze turning to the weak fire in the fireplace.

"Or she could . . . hurt you very badly."

"That's always been a possibility, yes."

Yelena was silent for a moment. The two of them watched the fire as it crackled and attempted to keep itself alive with so little to work on.

"You like her very much," Yelena said -- not asked.

"I do," Natasha admitted and found her throat dry when she swallowed back everything she wanted to say.

Yelena nodded a couple of times, soaking in the words and reading the tone seeped within them. Then, "I will have to kill her very slowly if she makes you cry."

Natasha sniffled, watery eyes turning to her as a laugh broke from her chest.

Natasha watched you walk off the stage and she would not cry. But Gods — the pride she felt as she saw you stride with confidence was absolutely everything and more to her.

Kate had reached out to her and invited her to attend around the same time you had. Natasha had decided to surprise you and made up a quick lie by telling you she would be on a mission.

You were saddened but when she almost broke and ruined her and Kate’s plan, you and promised her that it was okay: everything else after would make up for it.

And now you were crying in her arms as her fingers ran through your silky hair, done beautifully for your day. Your introduction to Yelena was hilarious to her but that was something to look back on later.

Now the four of you sat in Kate’s hotel room. You were curled up tightly against Natasha freshly showered and dressed in one of her hoodies. Yelena and Kate were arguing about what movie to watch and Natasha had to intervene when Yelena pulled out her gun and slammed it on the table in the corner.

“I think I have the final say. We watch Brother Bear,” Yelena said, palm splayed on top of the weapon like it was nothing more than a trading card.

Kate stared at the gun, then at Yelena, then yelled, “Why the fuck are you carrying around a gun like a crazed woman? Like seriously? What the fuck?”

“You’re welcome if someone attacks us and I so happen to have the gun,” the blonde snarked back, nose wrinkling with frustration.

Kate threw her hands in the air then turned to you. “Dude — she just — did you see that?”

You blinked sleepily and were jerked out of Natasha’s warm embrace as the redhead suddenly got up and grabbed Yelena by the scruff. “Ow! Suka! What do you think you are doing?” She yowled as Natasha drags her over to the second bed.

Natasha flings the flailing woman down and crosses her arms. You sit upright and glare at Kate, who went from smirking to abashed at your gaze on her.

“Both of you are being childish,” Natasha said, striding back to the table and snatching the gun. She unloads it and packs the bullets and gun away in her bag. “Yelena that was first year shit you did, pulling your gun out and flashing it.”

Yelena flushed red and crossed her arms, pouting on the bed. “I do not like Finding Nemo. It is sad but not the good kind of sad.”

“Brother Bear is sadder!” Kate exclaims as she walks over and flops face first down next to Yelena.

“But there is vicious bears in it. That makes it fun again. Finding Nemo is just said.”

Natasha retakes her spot next to you, slinging an arm around you and pulling you in tight. “Well tough luck. I think we’re going to go with Spirited Away instead.”

You perked up at the suggestion as Nat worked on logging into the streaming service that offered the movie.

“What is that?” Yelena asked, scooting upward by the pillows and flinging her legs downward so that they landed hard on Kate’s back.

The brunette yelped out, shoving Yelena’s legs and sitting upright with an icy glare.

“Only the best movie ever,” you whispered as you stared up at Natasha covetedly in adoration.

Yelena kept demanding the movie be paused so she could ask questions about it. Anytime Natasha tried to answer, the blonde shushed her and waited for you to explain instead.

You explained patiently for her until the younger Russian was pleased and allowed the movie to continue.

Eventually you all — sans Natasha — fell asleep.

You got breakfast together at one your favorite places in town near campus and by then you and Yelena had developed a closer bond. She asked more about Spirited Away and if it had a sequel.

“I wish,” you groaned, flopping back in the booth dramatically as Kate patted your knee next to you. “The studio that made it though . . . It makes really good movies besides that one. I should show all of them to you.”

“Oh now you’ve done it,” Kate chirped and dug into her breakfast burrito without explaining further.

Yelena waves her off like a gnat. “I’d love to watch these movies with you if it means Kate Bishop will suffer.”

Kate’s head jerked up so quick, indignant and puffy in the chest. “First of all,” she said, echoing you from yesterday as she pointed a tater tot at the offender across from her, “I need you to go jump off a building immediately.”

“Did that. Hated it,” she shot back quickly in a bored tone despite the mischief that gleamed on her features. “What is your second of all.”

“Second of all,” Kate continued, then stopped. She blinked as Yelena’s shit-eating grin grew slowly, “Fuck you.”

Yelena gasped. “Kate Bishop how could you — why —“ she went on acting as if she were taken aback beyond fixing.

You and Natasha found each other’s eyes over your meals and you noticed the look in her eyes mirrored how engorged your heart felt in this moment.

Natasha was true to her word. You got an interview offer from Stark Industries — sent and signed by Tony Stark himself. It was about three weeks after your graduation and move back to New York which was entirely unexpected so soon.

It was early and you had slipped out of the warmth that Natasha exuded like a space heater. Dawn was making an entrance into your bedroom and you turned to look at your sleeping girlfriend through hooded eyes.

She looked so peaceful as she slept — and it was her time sleeping over at that. Her hesitance to do so had led to a necessary conversation as you tried to avoid pushing her too hard.

“I get night terrors sometimes,” she told you as she sat across from you on the bed and you leaned against the wall. “And not just . . . Not ones you see when you look up the signs on the Internet. Mine can be violent.”

You noticed how low her body was haunched as she made her confession to you, hands rubbing against each other and eyes avoiding yours.

“Nat.” Her gaze flicks to you as you push off the wall and get to your knees in front of her. “Do you think you could hurt me? Are they that often?”

She curled a strand of your hair around her finger. She treated you so delicately at times and it pissed you off to no end that there was a reason for it and you couldn’t fix it.

“They’re not often,” she comments while basking in your comfort offered to her. Being with you had made her realize that her touch-aversion was some form of touch-starvation if the person was right. She always seemed to be in contact with you if she could help it.

“Okay,” you finalized, standing up and resting a hand on her cheek. “Then why are you worried? If you have a terror while we’re together — we can make a plan so I can handle it properly. Or we learn as we go.” She then swallowed. “But if you . . . If you’re not comfortable . . .”

“I do,” she promised, leaning into your palm. “I’m just very worried. Hurting you is not something I could ever let myself live with.”

You ran a thumb down her cheekbone. “Then let’s try together. Slowly. Until you feel like that fear is no longer something realistic.”

She stayed over that night and has done so increasingly since. She hadn’t had a mission since before your graduation and she told you to expect her to be pulled at any second.

You took what you could get with Nat — time was precious and she gave you so much of herself.

A chill ran up your spine when the warmth of your bed and Nat’s hold escaped you; you quickly went to your closet to grab your thick and too-large robe and slip it on along with your sandals.

You kissed Natasha’s temple as you grabbed your apartment and mail key and headed out downstairs to where the front desk was already in to retrieve mail forgotten from this week.

You start flipping through it on your way up, pushing the button to your floor and inserting the key to allow it through.

It was mostly junk mail, a couple of offers for interviews at tech companies, and some reminders about returning her dorm keys. You already did.

The elevator dings open for you on your floor and you do not even look up as you continue flipping through. How much mail do you forget to grab?

You listen for the elevator doors to shut behind you and stopped halfway in your tracks when you flipped one of your bills to discover the white envelope with the large STARK INDUSTRIES stamped on the corner and your full fucking name and address on the front.

“Oh my fucking god,” you burst out in a high pitched scream, slamming the stack of unread mail onto the corner of your dining room table where it proceeded to spill onto the hardwood.

Care you did not — your mind was on one thing: showing your girlfriend this piece of news that was going to change your life. You scrambled on sock-clad feet across the hardwood to your bedroom, trying not to knock into corner walls.

Natasha had startled awake at your scream up and hair askew as she pulled out her gun from her pants in the middle of the floor, eyes frenzied and blurred from sleep.

You stopped in your doorway and she stopped too, gun lowered to the floor. You were practically vibrating where you stood, the early dawn sunlight that filtered into your apartment’s windows painting a beautiful portrait Natasha wanted on her walls.

“You scared me,” Natasha breathed as her body relaxed, thumping heart still loud against her chest. She shakily set the gun on the nightstand behind her. “What’s got you screeching like an injured creature, Malyshka?”

You beamed at her with excitement that was damn near contagious, scooting forward on your feet and jerking your arms out quickly with whatever you had in your hands as close to her face as you could get.

The absurdity of the entire show you were putting on in your glee was peaking her curiosity. So Natasha took your wrists in her hands and gently pushing them back about three inches from her face so she could see what it was. “Easy, my love. I need to be able to actually look at it.”

You said nothing back but kept that ear to ear grin and flushed excitement about you which read to your girlfriend that it was very good whatever it was you were bringing to her.

She focused on the envelope in your hands and steadied your grasp to ease the shaking. When her eyes scanned the words across the envelope, a slow grin of her own started creeping up on her face and she lowered your arms.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” she asked you proudly.

You glanced at the letter, then at her, then bit your lip. “I want to, yes. But more than that . . . I really wanna kiss you.”

Natasha smirked. “I should maybe be concerned that a letter from Stark gets you so affectionate, huh?” But she cups your cheeks and brings you in for a kiss anyways, sharing your excitement with you.

The interview took place at the Avengers Compound. Over the phone, Pepper Potts explained to you that you’d likely be working closely to the Avengers and thus with Tony. Where he went you would go. You were fine with that as long as you had access to the labs and could get your hands working.

Natasha was the one to drive you to the in-person interview once your background check came through clean. She was already someone with complete access and Tony wouldn’t have to send Happy or Pepper and increase your anxiety by sitting in silence.

Natasha knew how to filter out the nerves by keeping you occupied. She discussed the features of the Compound with you, and she mentions that you’ll finally get to meet her cat Liho who she’s been discussing in great detail to about you.

You had squeezed her hand and kissed the back of it before you were separated for the interview.

Tony liked you — maybe? You couldn’t tell through his highly-caffeinated, long-winded tour once you sped through the interview with him.

He had asked you mostly engineering questions . . . Oddly enough. No, “where do you see yourself in the next five years? What starting pay is best? What hours do you see working the most?”

“It’s all bullshit,” he said to you, leaning across his office desk with furrowed brows. “I plan on paying you your worth and if you’re as dedicated as you say you are, you’ll have trouble leaving the lab to sleep. And you’ll stay because I am the best there is in terms of what you want to do.”

He clocked it — but you shouldn’t have been entirely surprised. Money wasn’t much to him materially and he sat you down in the lab and watched as you began tinkering with things and babbling about their use.

He hired you within two hours.

Natasha, however, had to come hunt you down by seven at night. She found you and Tony buried into one of his suit’s arms as he was explaining the workings to you and what made it run.

“Agent Romanoff requests entrance, Mr. Stark. Shall I let her in?”

The voice above scared you. You jumped and admittingly almost twisted a wire or two. Tony scratched his chin and said, “I guess I should’ve told you about FRIDAY. That’s FRIDAY. She’s a good friend.”

“Thank you.”

“What is she?” You wondered. There was no indication of another person or even an intercom in the room.

“She’s an artificial intelligence I developed after Wanda’s husband decided he wanted to be a real boy,” the genius replied, leaning against the table to stare down at you. “She makes our lives a little easier but if you don’t want have an extesinal crisis I’d stay away from asking her if she has feelings.”

“Mr. Stark —“ the womanized AI started again, but Tony cut it off.

“Let Romanoff in. Let’s see what I’m in trouble for this time.”

The doors slid open with nothing more than a whisper and your girlfriend strides in. Her hair is up in a ponytail and she looks like she just got done doing something active. You let your eyes graze over her.

“Are you done hogging my girlfriend now, Stark?” Natasha questioned, rounding the workbench to look down at what had you so fascinated for hours.

“I suppose,” Tony said gloomily. “But don’t keep her away too long. I hired her and plan on squeezing her brain of all its important juices.”

Natasha leaned forward over your shoulder to kiss your cheek. Then she quirked a brow at Tony. “Juices stay in her brain or I’ll fuck up your suits.”

“Who makes your Widow Bites, again?”

Natasha pointed a steady finger in his direction. “Don’t test me, playboy.”

“You forgot the rest of the title.”

Natasha ignored him and leaned back down, kissing your cheeks in peppered pecks. The actions forced you to set down your tools and lean into her. “What’ve you been here doing, my love?”

“Mr. Stark is showing me how he makes his suits work and how else that technology can be used,” you told her, turning around on the stool to face her. You grin up at her, a twinkle bright in your eye. “This is so important and . . . God, Nat. I love this. Thank you.”

“Thank her?” Tony protests nearby, a clatter of objects following. “I cannot believe —“

You glance his way but Natasha puts a finger under your chin. “I’m glad your dream is coming to fruition, Malyshka,” she said, green eyes soft. “Would you like to spend the night?”

You stared up at her wide eyed. “Really? With you?”

Natasha’s answering smile was practically feral.

“Get out of my lab,” Tony grumbled. “And don’t come back until you’re decent tomorrow morning. With coffee!”

It’s been a year and you don’t think you could have made a career this successful this quickly. Not without the support of Natasha [ who insisted you could’ve done it anyway ].

But right now you were exhausted and more than anything felt like you needed a vacation. You had time built up waiting to be used but in the year you’ve been working at the Compound, no time felt right.

Natasha had gotten as busy as you not long after you started with missions that she would come home from bloodied and bruised. Patching her up was scarier than her leaving sometimes because you couldn’t tell which injuries were surface and which ones needed the keen eye of Doctor Cho.

You’d been stuck in the lab the last week and Natasha had left a month ago. She had found Wanda Maximoff — the Scarlett Witch who fell in love with Vision but ultimately lost him to Thanos as a sacrifice to save everyone else.

Natasha had looked at you grimly when she told you it was an undercover operation. You were confused, “Aren’t you sort of friends?”

“Yes, which might make it all the more volatile, sadly. She has taken a town under her control and Sam and I are both being sent in.” She leaned down to kiss you but you pulled back.

“A town? That’s . . . That sounds like a lot of power, Nat,” you whisper, uneasiness settling inside your gut. “Are you sure that it’s safe to go in?”

“It’s not safe,” she says slowly, gently. “But Wanda is my friend as you said and she is hurting but she’s lashing out at innocent people in response. It will look better from people she knows to break her from it than S.W.O.R.D. marching in. She is not on good terms with them.”

“I see.” You looked down at her suit and adjusted some things, fiddling mostly. She allowed you to do so even if nothing was really wrong with it. “Are your Widow Bites charged?”

“They could take down a bear,” she promised, then kissed you. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“We’re taking a vacation,” you told her firmly. “I’ll ask Tony when you get back. He won’t protest . . . Much.”

Natasha smirks. “If he does, I’ll kick his ass.”

You watched her and Sam board the Quinjet already missing her. Once the aircraft was out of sight was when you dug yourself back into your work. Tony didn’t ask, but he would force more breaks on you that he didn’t give himself.

Sleeping by yourself had become a lonely affair without Nat; though you did have her ever-watchful companion of the night. Liho cuddled nicely most nights as long as you fed her on time. She was a good motivator to get out of the lab by seven at the latest.

Two months without Natasha and not a peep from her has you hyper focused on anything but her. You designed a new technology you hoped could enable pipes in some countries to not need replacement as much, and keep water fresh with auto-testers.

It was still a work in progress and Tony was not shy to peek over your shoulder and cross out when something wouldn’t work in his eyes — and usually he was right when you got to the phase where you created a prototype.

“Kid.” A rough hand landed on your shoulder. You jolted slightly, spilling screws and bolts and whatever else you had collected onto the floor around you.

“Fuck.” Your hand carded through your hair, messy from a day of non-stop work. “Sorry, Tony. I’ll pick it up. Just —“

“FRIDAY can get it,” he said just as a specialized roomba came humming out from a miniature doorway in the corner and started cleaning up the mess. “It’s like ten PM, kid. Go to your rooms.”

“I fed Liho already,” you murmured, picking at your thumb with your index finger as you went over your fifth blueprint. “She’s fine.”

“Not talking about the cat.”

You broke away from the small, dimly lit zone you had sequestered yourself into and turned. Tony was in some pajamas with fuzzy slippers.

“You know as well as anybody I don’t leave this lab,” he started, awkwardly shuffling his feet. “But look — Nat made me promise that you wouldn’t burn yourself out.”

You furrowed your brow, “I’m not burnt out. I’m fine.” Your head was pounding and you knew you stank since your last shower was the night before — but anything beat going back to that quiet place.

“You’re talking to deputy director of burnt out, I’m afraid,” Tony retorted, gesturing for you to stand. It was a standoff when you sort of just sat there and he waited expectantly. “Don’t make me be your boss, Y/N, seriously.”

You sighed, leaning backward enough to reach the lamp to flick it off and get up. Your muscles ached deeply when you wobbled across the lab to the doors.

“Night, kid,” Tony calls as he sets down the other hallway of the compound where his and Peppers’ rooms are located.

Liho meowed loudly, eyes like lamplights in the darkened floor of your rooms as you entered. She rubbed between your legs and purred thickly before darting off to Nat’s bedroom to wait in bed for you.

One hot shower later and you crawled into the sheets, curling around Natasha’s previously untouched pillows instead of yours. You missed her deeply. So deeply.

You hoped sleep would chase away the longing.

Natasha pressed a few switches and pulled a lever that allowed her to safely gear the Quinjet into a safe landing. She waited for everything to power down properly, drooping in her seat and rubbing at her eyes. One of them still healing from being bruised.

The town was unhexed and mostly unharmed. Just traumatized and distraught by the events that plagued them for two months by the mysterious witch that held them hostage.

Natasha and Sam had gone in so quickly — before Wanda had a second to realize there was a disturbance. They posed as a married couple and played along with her games — the way she ran her show.

Natasha ached deeply for Wanda. All she saw when witnessing these events were acts of a broken woman failed by the world. She understood why the witch had done it. If it had been you . . .

Natasha put her fingers against the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, still waiting for the low beeping signal that would alert her that the Quinjet was finished cooling down.

They hadn’t expected a second witch. Not until Wanda figured out who she was and that was as soon as Wanda realized Natasha and Sam were there — not just creations she forgot she made.

It was a fucking disaster.

Wanda was gone. Again. She had defeated this other witch that seemed to have sought Wanda out for her power but as a result she ran without talking to Natasha.

She could still taste Wanda’s despair and shame.

“Nat.” Someone nudged her. She rolled the chair around and found Sam waiting for her. He gestured to the open backend of the Quinjet. “We’re home now. I think you should get some rest.”

Natasha smiled as she got to her feet, making sure she didn’t forget to do anything before following him out and making the trek across the landing zone to the Compound.

It was too early. Two in the morning — and she would only be crawling next to you in her bed and drinking in your scent and catching up on lost sleep. Hopefully.

Liho was not there to greet her.

It was disappointing — her cat was easily made a traitor it would appear. She dropped her bag on the ground by the door and made her way to the bedroom, leaning in the doorway.

Liho poked her head up, ears pinned back before realizing it was Natasha there and chirped a greeting. Rolled onto her back and purred loudly from her spot in the crook of your blanketed legs.

“Been keeping her company, Liho?” the spy asked, reaching over to skritch her behind the ears. “Good kitty.”

Liho blinked in agreement before releasing Nat to the bathroom, where she did her best to spot clean so she wouldn’t wake you with a full on shower.

She climbed into bed behind you and sighed when you seemed to automatically melt into her as if on instinct.

She was asleep within seconds.

You woke up to more warmth than Liho usually has in one tiny body to provide for you. You moved around and stretched, turning into the warmth —

You shot up.

“Where’s the fire?” Natasha grumbled as she turned back over and buried her face into the pillow without taking at least one hand off your body.

“When the fuck did you get home?” you fell completely on top of her in attempt to body hug her completely.

Nat groaned, but adjusted back onto her back so you could curl up on her chest. A hand went up the back of your shirt and traced the skin of your spine. “Uhh . . . Like two?”

You nosed under her chin, peppering kisses where bruises seemed to lay. “I wanted you unharmed.”

“Tried my best, Malyshka.”

You moved up and closer to her to grasp her chin between your thumb and index finger. She opened her green eyes and smiled crookedly at you. "Gonna just stare?"

You kissed her if nothing else, then to at least shut her up. She responded to the kiss instantly with need that outdid your own.

Her nails found home in the skin of your back, dragging carefully up and down as the kiss was deepened more than it already was. You pulled back, fully straddling her waist and was quick to remove your shirt. She let you.

"So beautiful," you breathed, nosing yourself into her neck and nibbling. She grunted as she pushed your ass closer to her in an attempt to keep you in place.

"You feel so good," Nat murmured back, straining her neck upwards to give you more access. With more openings to proceed and no reason to stop, your lips began a path at the same time your hand started floundering backwards for her shorts.

"Want 'em off," you breathed against her skin. It was too close to a whine for your liking but Natasha obeyed your request anyways and helped you to remove the shorts.

You pulled your lips away to situate yourself and brushed your fingers against her thigh. "Did you miss me?" you asked casually as you went about tracing random designs close but not close enough to where she wanted you.

"You know I did. Every day," she said, that normally composed woman of yours sounding rather out of breath.

You smiled and trailed your fingers a bit closer -- just barely brushing her slit. "I missed you too," you told her, reaching a finger into her pussy and gathering wetness and run it up to her clit.

She drew in air. "Malyshka," she said shortly, "teasing me is not in your favor. It has never worked before."

You ignored her and set a slow pace just as your hips started circling with your finger, adding some pressure onto your hand and more stimulation for yourself. Her hands found home on your hips.

You leaned in close to her ear without stopping, whispering so lowly that she could be forgiven if she hadn't heard it, "I touched myself so much thinking about you when you were gone. It was usually never enough, though. You always know what to do -- how to please me. Isn't it sad how I can't seem to please myself in the ways you seem to know how?"

Fingernails dug into your hips just as you sank two fingers into her cunt, your thumb replacing your index on her clit to keep the slow and steady circles going as you began to thrust into her.

She broke into Russian curses and brought her teeth to your shoulder, digging them in to keep from getting loud. You wished she didn't feel the need to contain herself -- she never had to with you.

"You're doing so good," Nat breathed around your shoulder, eyes squeezed tight as you pushed one hand deep into the mattress and reangled to try and find that one spot inside her that you know drives her insane.

"Fuck, Malyshka, right there," she moaned, abdomen flexing from the strain as you picked up your pace and your strength. She loved rough and you weren't one to deny it when she said words to you that had you putty in your hands.

Even when you fucked her she was in control in the most powerful way.

"I need you to make me come," was drawled in your ear, growing less composed the closer she was getting to her orgasm. You could fell it to in the way she spent longer clenched around your fingers and the way she grew wetter.

"Yeah?" you whisper back, locking in and going for broke as you began at a speed not usually in your range but the sounds and way Natasha clutched you encouraged you on.

"I'm so close."

"Then come for me," you begged her. You need to feel it, to see it, to fucking drink it in like you did with everything that was Natasha Romanoff.

The sting in your hips grew near unbearable as she crossed her legs behind your back and froze up. You fucked her through her orgasm and ensured not to look away one second.

It was a quiet thing, the way she came. Never too much noise but always expressive from the flush in her face and chest to the way her face goes lax in ways nobody else gets to see but you.

You helped her ride down the waves until she sank into the sheets, eyes opening onto the ceiling as her chest rose and fell heavily.

"Have you been practicing while I've been gone?" she wheezed, raking her fingers through her hair as you climbed off of her and licked your fingers clean of her.

"Oh yeah, I've got so much practice," you teased with a cheeky grin. "Me, myself, and my vibrator."

You suddenly had your world spun around too quickly for you to comprehend. Before you knew it, you found yourself looking up at Natasha.

"Stay," she ordered sternly, sliding off of your prone form and making her way to the closet.

You did not argue but you did watch her ass sway as she disappeared.

You were no better than a man.

She returned buckled into a harness, adjusting the straps and you peered up to see which dildo she chose. If it was the eight incher, you think you'd die.

It was the eight incher.

Your head fell heavily back onto the pillows and knew now that Natasha was taking no prisoners today as she settled her knees on the edge of the bed and dragged your ass all the way down.

She saw the look on your face and gained a wicked gleam to her eye. "What -- you thought you'd get away with what you just did? Not have consequences?"

"Kinda," you admitted.

"Appreciate the honesty -- but no dice." She smacked your ass. "Roll over, ass in the air."

You were purposefully slow in your movements, considering that she planned on undressing you and then straight up fucking you in this position and you decided to give her somewhat of a challenge in the process.

"Princess," she warned as she reached for the hem of your shirt. "You're being a brat."

"Sounds like a big problem . . . for you."

She ripped your shirt clean off to your chagrin, and made quick work with your sweats and underwear next. She ran open-palmed hands up the sides of your thighs and ass as she took in the sight of you.

Then her eyes glanced downward to your ass and she kicked your ankles open to where she could see your exposed pussy. Her mouth watered at how wet it was.

"Look at you," she husked, leaning over you and licking a stripe down your back. "So spread open and ready to take me. Do you need my fingers first, baby?"

Your reply was muffled by the sheets. Natasha took a handful of your hair and pulled your head up, "What was that?"

"Fingers first," you slurred and her lips quirked up at that hazy cloud starting to form in your eyes.

"Fingers first . . . ?" she trailed off, tugging just a bit harder.

"Please," you added quickly.

Natasha hummed with approval before dropping your head back onto the bed. "Alright -- since you're so fucking tight and need some fingers to loosen you up, I suppose I can warm you up."

You squeaked something out but Natasha did not force you to elaborate, knowing it was likely just garbled words anyway. She did not tease, did not draw it out. She simply thrusted three fingers in after testing your wetness.

Your body raised off the bed at the intrusion, "Nat," you whimpered clutching the sheets, "too much."

"Too much?" she repeated, raising a brow, "are you sure?"

She let you think about it as she worked her fingers in and out of you, and she removed one to give you a moment to think. "T-three, Natty."

"Are you sure?" she asked again, doing three fingers in and then two. Keeping you both over-and-under stimulated at once in the best way. "For such a smart, beautiful girl you sure are being dumb right now. Can't even make up your mind."

You whined a little into the sheets. "M'sorry. Feels good."

"Aw, I'm sure it does baby," Natasha crooned, lacing her tone with thick false sympathy. "Is that what's making it hard to think? How good it feels?"

She watched you nod into the bed. "S'lot, Natty."

"I bet," the redhead agreed, just barely brushing against your g-spot and never actually giving you enough pleasure to come. "Maybe I should go put my cock away if you're unsure if you can handle even three fingers."

"N-no!" you garbled, tightening around her suddenly. She brushed your hair from the nape of your neck and leaned down to kiss it tenderly. "Wanna take it."

"Oh baby, I want you to take it too," she says, nibbling a mark where she started a kiss. "But are you so sure you can handle it? You're so sensitive today."

"Yes! Yes I can handle it," you promised raptly, ass starting to arch higher and meeting Natasha's thrust with fevered passion. "P-please. Wanna take it."

"Okay, okay, Malyshka," she soothed and moved her lips to pepper kisses along what parts of her face was exposed to her. "Okay. You can have my cock because you're a good girl and good girls get what they need."

The praise sent a jerk through your nervous system at the same time as she pulled out with her fingers intentionally running along your walls.

She eyes the fingers covered in your wetness and resists the urge to lick them clean. Rather she decides to give your mouth something to do by putting them up to you, "Suck, baby."

Just as you took her fingers into your mouth you let out a low noise that was damn near animalistic as Natasha took you with her cock. She slipped in smoothly, eyes twitching at the pressure she felt at the base on her.

With her free hand she slithers down between your body and the surface of the bed so she could start putting pressure on your engorged clit.

She let you adjust before deciding to finally, after a few seconds of waiting, begin slow movements that already had shivers wracking through you.

She decides to talk you through them, to bring you as much pleasure as she possibly can in this moment after two months of not touching you at all, "How's it feel? Is my cock hitting you where it should?"

"S'full," you somehow managed. Well, if you were still talking . . . she pulled all the way out and pushed back in at a punishing pace.

"Gonna try to keep you full, too," she went on as her rotations on your clit began to increase and grew rougher. You were suffocating her cock and if she could truly feel it like a man . . .

"My Gods," she laughed mockingly, "were you this desperate for my touch that you're melting this quickly? I've not been inside you that long, Malyshka."

Whatever noise you made went right through Nat's ears. She was rough and unforgiving now as she practically had you choking on her fingers while the tip of the dildo brushed repeatedly on your g-spot.

Your thighs were trembling with signs that you were close even if you could not so much as whisper a word to tell Nat.

She knew your tells anyway -- just as you knew hers. You were drooling around her fingers and unable to form coherent sentences, you were grinding her hand into the sheets and giving her a rug-burn more than likely, and you were stuttering with every wave of near-pleasure that shocked you.

Natasha decided denying and playing the game of keepaway wasn't on the table today. She wanted to make you come.

It didn't take very long. One good jab of her thumb into your clit timed with her cock hitting just right sent you spiraling into a squealing orgasm that was wracking your entire body.

Natasha was left startled when she found it hard to fuck you through it, growing slippery and soaking the sheets beneath the two of you as another orgasm crashed through you with her fingers still working you.

As the pleasure ebbed away into fuzzy content, Natasha collapsed over your back and breathing against you in a way that brought immense comfort, you slowly came back to yourself.

You nipped her fingers.

Natasha scoffed as she pulled them out, leaning down to give you kisses wherever she could reach. "I make you squirt like a fountain and you bite me?"

You rolled over so that her hands were forced to settle on your knees. The strap-on had been removed at some point in your daze and was thrown aside to be washed later.

"I am never letting you go," you announced, peering up at her with a dopy smile. "That was literally mind-shattering."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "At least you find me good for something." She helped you sit up. "Are you okay?"

"Did you just not hear me say mind-shattering? As in . . . orgasms?"

"Okay, smartass." She pinched your hip and was rewarded with a yelp as she pushed you to your feet. "To the bath with you. I'm changing the sheets and setting us up for vacation then calling Tony. Get a bath ready or else."

You smiled and leaned in the doorway to your bathroom, eyeing her. "You're so cute when you're determined."

"When it comes to the axis my world spins on," Natasha said, growing serious as she walked over to you and rested her forehead against yours, "nothing could pry me away from what I want."

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #htwswy

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tadpole-apocalypse · 20 hours ago

Text

It’s been a while since I did some info dumping about Morgan. I’ve literally never stopping rotating her and Astarion in my brain, I just haven’t been posting about it.

Thinking more about my post Netherbrain story, and I'm rewriting it so that God Gale becomes a more involved figure and kind of antagonist in their lives.

After the events of the game, Morgan and Astarion journey to the Underdark to help out with the new vampire fortress. She asks Jaheira to set up the legal process of selling Cazador’s belongings and property while they’re gone; easily done through their contacts with the Guild. Unfortunately, they have no home in BG at the moment other than rented rooms, as her shop/house got destroyed in the fight.

While in the Underdark, Astarion works with his siblings to set up some kind of structure for the vampires there, and Morgan works in the society of brilliance for a time, until a few years pass down there. They end up living in Lenore’s old wizard tower, and as a favor Barcus arranges for some ironhand gnome artisans to help fix it up and make it a proper home with furniture.

But after a few years, it really starts to affect Morgan’s mental state, being away from the sun. She has access to the daylight spell, but it’s not enough of a substitute for the real thing, and she falls into a deep depression. She loses her motivation to leave the tower most days, becoming listless and sleeping away the hours. Astarion, concerned for her health, convinces her to move back to the surface with him, even though it means he’ll be limited to being indoors during daylight hours.

In their absence, Jaheira used some of the massive amounts of gold from selling Cazador’s property to build a proper home in the newly rebuilt upper city; ready for them to move right in. They have a little bit of cute domestic time here; Astarion is a total house husband and rules over their household staff with an iron fist because he likes being master of the house. He also likes having nice things and a nice home in the city and not being surrounded by gross undead/underdark creatures. AND they’re treated like heroes, because they are.

And also rich! Astarion is very happy here.

Then, Gale starts calling on them. He really wants Morgan for his chosen, both for the personal reason of maybe some unresolved feelings, but also just the practical fact of adding a very powerful sorceress to his flock. His influence is still new and lacking reach, and the hero who raised an army and personally killed a Netherbrain being among his followers would certainly attract more souls into his faith. He tries to court her interest, but she is uninterested in being his champion. Morgan doesn’t have strong ambitions that he can tap into; she just wants to relax and enjoy her life and go wherever her whims take her. And right now her whims are entirely wrapped up in her vampire.

Astarion however, is very very much full of ambitions. And Gale starts to see the way to Morgan leads through Astarion. 😱

I'm going to save that for a different post though. I also want to draw some of this! I just need to organize these ideas into some scenes.

#bg3: morgan #just talking

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lightdancingwords · 21 hours ago

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Second Chances - Part Eleven of ?

Pairings: Beau Arlen x Y/N Female reader Series Summary: A chance meeting in a grocery store brings a second chance for you and for Beau. The only thing standing in your way are your respective pasts... and a tiny little roadblock. Word Count: 3,996 Tags/Warnings: murder, murder/death/kill, police work, lots and lots of angst A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! I couldn't resist--I gotta have me some Beau while writing Dean! This is a brand new story of Beau and female reader! Divider: credit to @sweetmelodygraphics

Chapter Eleven: Stress

It had been weeks since FBI Agent Rachel O’Hare arrived in Big Sky, and the body count had only grown. Each new murder added more weight to the already suffocating atmosphere of the town. Fear was palpable, spreading like wildfire as the community grappled with the reality of a killer living among them.

For Beau, the pressure was relentless. His days and nights blurred into one long stretch of work—crime scenes, interrogations, strategy meetings with Rachel and his team. He barely came home, and when he did, it was only to shower, change, and exchange a quick hello with Y/N and Eliza. He hated it. Every time he walked out the door, he felt like he was leaving pieces of himself behind.

Today, the stress was at a boiling point. The mayor had called a meeting with Beau earlier that morning, and it had been anything but pleasant.

“You need to reassure the public, Sheriff,” Mayor Tomlin had said, pacing the conference room with his hands clasped behind his back. “People are scared. They’re looking to you for answers.”

Beau stood with his arms crossed, his expression grim. “And what exactly do you want me to tell them? That we have no suspects? That we’re doing everything we can, but this guy’s still out there?”

“Yes,” the mayor snapped, spinning to face him. “Tell them exactly that. But tell them with confidence. Tell them you’re going to catch this killer, because if you don’t, this town is going to implode. Businesses are already losing customers, parents are pulling their kids out of school—hell, some families are talking about leaving altogether.”

Beau’s jaw tightened, and he glanced at Rachel, who sat silently at the table, her brown eyes steady. She gave him a slight nod, a wordless encouragement that did little to ease the frustration roiling in his chest.

“Fine,” Beau said curtly. “I’ll give your damn speech.”

Later that afternoon, Beau stood on the steps of the sheriff’s department, facing a crowd of reporters and residents. The air was tense, thick with the kind of unease that came from too many unanswered questions. Cameras flashed, microphones were pointed in his direction, and all eyes were on him.

He adjusted his hat, his green eyes scanning the crowd. He spotted familiar faces—business owners, parents holding their children close, elderly neighbors who’d lived in Big Sky their entire lives. These were his people, his community. He’d never felt the weight of his role as sheriff more acutely than he did now.

Beau stepped up to the microphone, clearing his throat. His voice, when he spoke, was steady but tinged with weariness. “Good afternoon,” he began. “I know you’re scared. I know you’re angry. And you have every right ta be. No one should have to live in fear in their own home.”

He paused, letting his words sink in. The crowd was silent, their attention fixed on him.

“These murders have shaken all of us,” Beau continued. “And I want you to know that my team, along with the FBI, is working tirelessly to find the person responsible. We’re followin’ every lead, turnin’ over every stone. I promise you, we won’t stop until this killer is caught.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd—some voices of approval, others of skepticism. Beau clenched his jaw, his hand gripping the edges of the podium.

“I also want to ask for your help,” he said, his voice firm. “If you see somethin’, say somethin’. Even the smallest detail could make a difference. Be vigilant. Look out for each other. We’re a community, and together, we’re stronger than any fear this killer is trying to spread.”

Beau’s green eyes scanned the crowd again, his gaze softer now. “I know this is hard. But we will get through it. And when we do, it’ll be because we stood together.”

He stepped back from the microphone, the applause scattered but genuine. The crowd began to disperse, conversations bubbling up as people debated his words. Beau turned to head back inside, his shoulders heavy with the weight of the day.

Rachel was waiting just inside the door, her arms crossed and her expression thoughtful. “You did good, Sheriff,” she said quietly.

Beau gave her a curt nod, his jaw still tight. “Let’s hope it makes a difference.”

“It will,” Rachel said, her tone confident. “People just need to feel like they’re part of the solution. You gave them that.”

Beau didn’t reply, his mind already spinning with the dozens of tasks still ahead of him. But as he walked past her, her words lingered, and for the first time in days, he felt a small flicker of hope.

The days stretched into weeks, and the murders continued to haunt the town of Big Sky. Beau threw himself deeper into the investigation, hardly stopping to eat or sleep. His office had become a second home, his once-warm moments with Y/N and Eliza reduced to fleeting hellos and tired goodbyes. And then, there was Rachel.

She had a way of making herself indispensable. Her insights were sharp, her dedication tireless, and her presence steady. She worked long hours alongside Beau, poring over files, chasing leads, and mapping patterns that seemed to shift and twist like smoke. And somewhere along the way, the professional barrier between them began to blur.

It wasn’t anything overt—at least, not at first. There were the lingering moments when their hands brushed as they passed papers back and forth. The way Rachel would lean in close to point something out on the murder board, her shoulder brushing his arm. The way her brown eyes would meet his across the room during a tense meeting, her expression softening for just a second. Subtle, almost imperceptible, but noticeable to the sharp eyes of Deputy Jenny Hoyt.

Jenny stood in the break room, her arms crossed tightly as she stared through the window into the conference room. Beau and Rachel were seated close together, their heads bent over a map sprawled across the table. Rachel’s auburn hair glinted under the harsh overhead light as she leaned in to say something, her hand briefly brushing Beau’s arm. He didn’t pull away, his green eyes fixed on her with an intensity Jenny didn’t like.

“You’re gonna burn a hole through that window, Jenny,” came Doris’s voice as she stepped into the room, a cup of coffee in hand. She followed Jenny’s line of sight and raised an eyebrow. “Ah. The Sheriff and the FBI lady.”

Jenny didn’t take her eyes off them. “You see it too.”

Doris sipped her coffee, studying the pair through the glass. Rachel was gesturing toward a point on the map, her body angled toward Beau in a way that felt more intimate than professional. Beau nodded, his posture relaxed—too relaxed. Doris frowned.

“Yeah, I see it,” Doris said finally. “There’s something there.”

Jenny turned to her, her expression taut with frustration. “It’s inappropriate, Doris. He’s got Y/N at home, pregnant with his kid. He’s got Eliza. And he’s spending more time in there with Rachel than he does with them.”

Doris sighed, setting her coffee on the counter. “I’m not gonna argue with you. It’s not a good look. But what do you expect us to do about it?”

Jenny’s hands tightened into fists at her sides. “I don’t know. Maybe remind him who he is. Who he has waiting for him at home.”

“And how do you think that’ll go?” Doris asked, her tone practical but not unkind. “You walk in there, tell him he’s too close to Rachel, and what happens? He shuts down, tells you it’s none of your business, and now you’re on his bad side. Meanwhile, the case stays unsolved, and this whole town keeps falling apart.”

Jenny’s jaw tightened, and she looked back at the conference room. Rachel was laughing softly at something Beau had said, her hand resting on the edge of the table, close enough to his to suggest familiarity. It made Jenny’s stomach twist.

“It’s not just about the case,” Jenny muttered. “It’s about him. He’s not like this, Doris. Not usually.”

Doris nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Stress does strange things to people, Jenny. And this case? It’s eating him alive. Rachel’s here, working right beside him, helping him put the pieces together. It’s easy to see how he might start leaning on her.”

Jenny’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “But Y/N…”

Doris sighed again, her gaze softening. “I know. It’s not fair to her. She’s at home, holding it all together, waiting for him to come back. But, Jenny, it’s not our place to interfere. The best we can do is hope Beau remembers who he is—and what he’s got.”

Jenny swallowed hard, her throat tight. “And if he doesn’t?”

Doris picked up her coffee, her expression grim. “Then it’ll be his mistake to live with. And believe me, he will.”

The two women stood in silence for a moment, watching as Rachel leaned in closer to Beau, her voice low and steady as she pointed to another spot on the map. Beau nodded, his focus entirely on her. The scene felt too intimate, too familiar, and Jenny couldn’t shake the heavy feeling in her chest.

“Let’s just hope he doesn’t cross that line,” Doris said quietly, breaking the silence.

Jenny nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Yeah. Let’s hope.”

As the night wore on, Beau and Rachel remained in the conference room, their focus unwavering. Beau pointed to a section of the map pinned to the wall, his voice low. “This area—he’s stickin’ to it. But why? What’s keepin’ him here?”

Rachel stepped closer, her shoulder brushing his as she followed his gaze. “Could be familiarity. If he’s local, he knows these neighborhoods, knows how to blend in.”

“Or,” Beau said, his voice trailing off as his thoughts churned, “he’s targetin’ something specific we haven’t figured out yet.”

Rachel tilted her head, her auburn hair falling over one shoulder as she turned to him. “We’ll figure it out, Beau. You’re too good at this not to.”

There was something in the way she said his name—soft, almost intimate—that made Beau glance at her. For a moment, he didn’t respond, his green eyes meeting her warm brown ones. The air between them shifted, subtle but charged.

Rachel smiled faintly, stepping back. “I’ll grab the next batch of files,” she said, her tone lighter as she broke the moment.

“Yeah,” Beau said, clearing his throat. “Good idea.”

As Rachel left the room, Beau ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. The exhaustion of the case weighed heavily on him, but it wasn’t the only thing pulling at him now. He shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Get it together, Arlen.”

The flashing red and blue lights painted the quiet suburban street in harsh, alternating hues. The air was heavy with the metallic tang of blood, and the low hum of murmured conversations from officers and forensic techs only added to the oppressive atmosphere. Beau stepped out of his truck, his face set in a grim mask as he surveyed the familiar, horrifying scene ahead of him.

Another murder. Another young woman. The same chilling pattern—killed in her home, no sign of a struggle, no forced entry. Beau didn’t need to step inside to know exactly what he’d find, but he forced himself to anyway. He had to. It was his job.

Jenny was already there, her expression tight as she stood near the doorway. “Victim’s name is Alyssa Baker. Twenty-seven. Neighbor called it in after noticing her door was slightly open. Found her in the living room. Same as the others.”

Beau nodded curtly, stepping past her into the house. The living room was pristine, eerily undisturbed, save for the lifeless body of Alyssa Baker lying on the floor. Her eyes were closed, her face peaceful in death, as though she’d simply fallen asleep. But the bruising around her neck told a different story.

“Dammit,” Beau muttered under his breath, his fists clenching at his sides.

Rachel’s voice came from behind him. “It’s the same, Beau. Everything about it matches the others. He’s taunting us.”

Beau turned to her, his green eyes flashing with frustration. “I know that,” he snapped, harsher than he intended. “What I don’t know is why we’re still chasin’ shadows while this bastard keeps addin’ bodies to the count.”

Rachel raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond immediately, her calm demeanor only fueling his anger. “We’re doing everything we can—”

“Everythin’ we can?” Beau interrupted, his voice rising. “We’ve got fourteen—no, fifteen now—fifteen women dead, Rachel. Fifteen lives stolen. And you’re telling me we’re doing everythin’ we can? Then why the hell aren’t we closer to catchin’ him?”

The room went silent, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. Officers and techs froze, their eyes flicking toward the sheriff, who rarely—if ever—lost his composure. Jenny stepped forward, her voice quiet but firm. “Beau, take a breath.”

“I don’t need a damn breath, Jenny!” he shot back, his frustration boiling over. “I need answers! I need this son of a bitch off the streets before another woman ends up like her!”

He gestured toward Alyssa’s body, his voice cracking slightly under the weight of his anger and guilt. The tension in the room was palpable, the silence deafening as everyone avoided meeting his gaze.

Rachel stepped closer, her voice low but steady. “Beau, I get it. Believe me, I do. But losing your head here isn’t going to help us find him. We need to stay focused.”

Beau turned to her, his jaw tight. “You don’t get it, Rachel. This isn’t just another case to me. These women—they’re my people. This is my town. I’m the one who has to look their families in the eye and tell them we don’t have answers.”

“I understand that,” Rachel said softly. “But we’re all on the same side here. Let me help you carry this, Beau.”

Her words hung in the air, but Beau didn’t respond. Instead, he turned away, running a hand over his face as he tried to rein in his spiraling emotions. He stared at the floor for a moment before exhaling sharply. “Get the scene processed,” he said gruffly. “Every inch of it.”

Jenny watched him closely, her concern etched into her features. “Beau…”

“I’ll be outside,” he muttered, brushing past her and stepping out into the cool night air.

The crime scene was buzzing with activity as officers and forensic techs worked methodically, the flashing lights of patrol cars illuminating the grim tableau. Beau had stepped outside, his chest tight, his hands clenched into fists as he leaned against the hood of his truck. The cool night air did little to ease the storm of emotions swirling inside him—anger, frustration, guilt, and the suffocating pressure of responsibility.

He stared out into the dark, the weight of the day pressing down on him. Another body, another family he’d have to face with no answers. The murderer was still out there, and with every second that passed, he felt the killer slipping further through his grasp.

“Beau,” Rachel’s voice cut through the quiet night, pulling him from his thoughts. She approached cautiously, her auburn hair catching the faint light from the streetlamp. Her tone was calm, steady, but there was a softness to it that made it feel personal. “You all right?”

“No, Rachel,” he muttered, not looking at her. “I’m not all right. There’s a killer out there, and we’re no closer to findin’ him than we were weeks ago. And now there’s another woman dead. Another family I have to face.”

She stopped a few feet away, her hands resting lightly on her hips. “I know this is eating at you,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “And I get it. You care about this town, these people. That’s what makes you a good sheriff. But you can’t let this consume you.”

Beau scoffed, shaking his head. “You don’t understand, Rachel. These people—they’re my responsibility. It’s my job to protect them, and I’m failing.”

“You’re not failing,” Rachel said, stepping closer. Her brown eyes were warm, her gaze unwavering. “You’re doing everything you can. More than most people would.”

He finally turned to look at her, his green eyes dark with frustration and something deeper—something he couldn’t quite name. “It’s not enough.”

Rachel held his gaze, her expression softening. “You’re not alone in this, Beau. You’ve got a team, people who want to help you. Let us carry some of this with you.”

For a moment, the tension between them hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. She stepped closer, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her, close enough to see the way her chest rose and fell with steady breaths. Her voice softened, her tone almost tender. “You’re not in this alone.”

Beau’s jaw tightened, his breath catching as her hand reached out to rest lightly on his arm. It wasn’t an overly intimate gesture, but it sent a jolt through him all the same. The world around them seemed to fade, the noise of the crime scene muffled as their eyes locked.

“Rachel…” he started, his voice low and strained, but he couldn’t finish the sentence.

She didn’t step back. Instead, she leaned in slightly, her eyes searching his face. The space between them felt charged, a pull that neither of them seemed able—or willing—to resist. For a fleeting moment, Beau felt himself leaning toward her, his resolve weakening under the weight of everything he was carrying.

But just as her breath brushed against his cheek, he froze, reality crashing back in. He straightened abruptly, pulling back and breaking the moment. His jaw set, his green eyes hardening as he took a step away.

“No,” he said firmly, his voice rough. “I can’t.”

Rachel blinked, her hand dropping back to her side as her expression shifted. There was no anger or offense in her gaze—just understanding. She nodded slowly, stepping back to give him space. “I get it,” she said softly.

Beau ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “I need to get back to work,” he said, his tone clipped as he turned toward the house.

“Beau,” Rachel called after him. He stopped, glancing over his shoulder. Her expression was calm, but her voice carried a quiet sincerity. “Whatever you’re feeling—it’s okay. You don’t have to carry it all alone.”

He didn’t respond, simply nodding once before heading back inside, his shoulders squared, his focus resolute. The moment lingered in his mind, a knot of tension that he couldn’t quite untangle. But he pushed it aside, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. There was no room for anything else—not now.

The house felt too quiet, even with Eliza’s occasional giggles as she played with her toys on the living room rug. Y/N sat on the couch, one hand resting on the gentle curve of her six-month pregnant belly, her thoughts heavy. It had been weeks since Beau had spent more than a few fleeting moments at home. She understood the demands of his job, especially now, but the loneliness was becoming harder to ignore.

She glanced over at Eliza, who was stacking her blocks with careful concentration. The toddler’s curls framed her face, and her small hands moved with determination as she carefully balanced one block on top of another. Y/N smiled faintly, but the ache in her chest didn’t lessen.

Finally, she stood, smoothing her hands over her belly as she made a decision. She wasn’t going to sit here and wait for him to come home—not tonight. If he couldn’t come to them, then she and Eliza would go to him.

“Eliza,” Y/N said gently, crouching down to her daughter’s level. “How about we go see Bo-Bo?”

Eliza’s face lit up, her wide eyes sparkling. “Bo-Bo!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands.

Y/N smiled, brushing a curl away from her daughter’s face. “That’s right, sweetheart. Let’s get our coats.”

A short while later, Y/N parked the car outside the sheriff’s department. The building was dimly lit, the occasional shadow moving past the windows as deputies went about their work. She hesitated for a moment, her hand lingering on the steering wheel. Beau hadn’t been home much, and she knew he was under enormous pressure. Was this the right thing to do?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Eliza’s excited voice from the back seat. “Bo-Bo?”

Y/N turned to see her daughter craning her neck to look at the building, her little face pressed against the car window. Y/N smiled, her decision made. “Let’s go see him,” she said softly, unbuckling Eliza from her car seat.

With Eliza on her hip, Y/N walked into the station, the weight of the past weeks easing slightly as the warmth of the building surrounded them. Several deputies glanced up from their desks, their expressions softening as they recognized her.

“Y/N,” Jenny said, standing from her desk. Her gaze flicked to Eliza, who was already waving enthusiastically. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d surprise Beau,” Y/N said, shifting Eliza slightly. “He’s been… busy.”

Jenny’s smile was faint but genuine. “That’s one way to put it. He’s in his office.”

“Thanks,” Y/N replied, heading toward the familiar door.

Beau was seated at his desk, a stack of files spread out before him, his shoulders tense as he flipped through pages of crime scene photos and reports. His hat sat on the corner of the desk, forgotten, and the faint lines on his forehead betrayed his exhaustion.

“Knock, knock,” Y/N said softly, stepping into the office.

Beau’s head snapped up, his green eyes widening in surprise as he took in the sight of her standing there, Eliza perched on her hip. For a moment, he simply stared, as though trying to make sure they were real.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice rough with emotion as he stood. “What are you doin’ here?”

Eliza squealed in delight, holding out her arms. “Bo-Bo!”

Beau crossed the room in a few long strides, scooping Eliza from Y/N’s arms with a soft chuckle. “Hey there, wolf-child,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “You miss me?”

Eliza nodded emphatically, her little hands patting his face. “Miss Bo-Bo.”

Beau’s chest tightened, and he looked up at Y/N, his green eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and guilt. “I’m sorry, darlin’,” he said quietly. “I’ve been…”

“Busy,” Y/N finished gently, stepping closer. Her hand rested lightly on his arm, her eyes soft. “I know, Beau. But we miss you. And I thought maybe you could use a break.”

He sighed, his free hand running through his hair as he shifted Eliza on his hip. “You don’t know how much I needed this,” he admitted, his voice low. “How much I needed to see you.”

Y/N smiled faintly, her hand sliding down to lace with his. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know. You’ve got us.”

“I know,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “And I’m sorry for bein’ so distant. I just—this case, it’s…”

“I know,” Y/N said again, her voice gentle. “But don’t forget who’s waiting for you when it’s over.”

Beau looked down at Eliza, who was now playing with his badge, her little fingers tracing the edges. He smiled, leaning down to kiss Y/N softly. “I won’t,” he promised. “I swear, I won’t.”

For a moment, the weight on his shoulders felt lighter, the warmth of his family grounding him in a way nothing else could. And as he held Eliza close and pressed another kiss to Y/N’s temple, he allowed himself a small sliver of peace in the chaos.

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