#it is cool. i think before i was just scared to use he/him

[peasack]

Thought this was a wholesome and cute idea so I wrote it out.

Enjoy!!!

Thunderbolts x Gn!Teen!Reader

~ 750ish words~

✦ Late night grilled cheese ✦

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

The kitchen glowed with warm light. It was past midnight, and the world outside was a quiet blur of crickets and distant traffic, the kind of silence that made your thoughts echo too loudly in your head.

You weren’t planning on staying up. You just wanted some water. Something to cool the burn in your chest from thoughts you didn’t want to think. But the moment you walked in, your tired eyes caught them, Bob, sitting on a barstool at the counter, and John standing over the stove, spatula in hand, flipping a grilled cheese like it was a sacred ritual.

The smell hit you instantly. Golden-buttered bread. Melted cheese. A hint of garlic from the butter John always seasoned just right.

Bob looked up first, his brown eyes soft under the kitchen light. He smiled softly before talking “Couldn’t sleep?”

You moved toward the cabinet, grabbed a glass. “Yeah.”

John didn’t look away from the pan, but he greeted you like he knew you’d be coming “Join the club.”

The sink gurgled quietly as you filled the glass. You sipped once, then leaned back against the counter across from them, fingers curled around the cool glass. You didn’t talk. Neither did they. Just the occasional soft sizzle from the stove filled the air.

And then John, without asking, without saying a word, pulled out a third slice of bread from the bag, stacked the cheese like he always did when he cooked for the team, and tossed it onto the skillet.

He didn’t look at you. Just said, “You’re not walking out of here without a sandwich. Kitchen rules.”

You didn’t argue.

A few minutes passed, quiet and soft and almost normal. Then John plated two sandwiches, cut diagonally, obviously, and passed one across the counter to you before sliding the other in front of Bob.

You took it. Sat down on the stool next to Bob. Your fingers felt steadier with the warmth of the bread seeping into your skin.

It was Bob who finally broke the silence. “Nightmares?”

You nodded slowly. “Not the kind you can wake up from.”

He hummed, something knowing in it. “Those are the worst kind.”

John didn’t say anything right away. He was leaning against the counter, arms crossed now, his gaze a little distant. You picked at the edge of the sandwich. Ate a bite. Let it anchor you.

“Sometimes,” you said quietly, “I think sleep just makes the walls go down too far. And then all the stuff I’m good at ignoring just shows up. Like it’s waiting.”

“Yeah,” Bob said, voice gentle. “Like it knows you’re too tired to fight it.”

You didn’t expect to say the next thing. Maybe it was the warmth. The quiet. The safety of the kitchen at 2 a.m. “I think I’m scared of myself sometimes. Of the stuff I’ve felt and done and buried. I don’t wanna dig it up, but it keeps scratching at the surface.”

Neither of them tried to fix it.

John moved slowly, sitting on the other stool, sandwich long forgotten. “You ever feel like... if you stop holding everything in for even a second, it’s all just gonna spill out and drown the room?”

Your gaze flicked toward him, surprised. “Yeah.”

He nodded. “Me too.”

Bob said nothing, but you could feel it in the way his shoulders relaxed a little. The understanding in his silence.

John leaned back a little, a flicker of something old and worn-down in his eyes. “There was this kid. Private First Class Tanner. He was nineteen. Barely made it through basic. Skinny as hell. Couldn’t keep his rifle straight. But he had this laugh, man. Like the world hadn’t broken him yet.”

You watched him, blinking slowly. He wasn’t telling this for sympathy. Just to say it out loud. To give it weight.

“He used to sneak candy bars into our rations. Share ‘em with everyone. Thought it made things better, even if it was just a bite.” He exhaled through his nose. “We lost him in a desert I don’t remember the name of. Didn’t even have a body to bring back.”

The kitchen stayed quiet. Your sandwich forgotten in your lap now, half-eaten and warm.

“I still hear him sometimes. When it’s late and too quiet. That laugh.” John rubbed the back of his neck. “Grief’s weird. It doesn’t always hurt. Sometimes it just... lingers. Shows up in the stupidest places. A grilled cheese sandwich. An empty hallway.”

You didn’t know what to say. So you didn’t say anything. You just let it sit there. The story. The silence.

And then, gently, you leaned your head against the counter, cheek resting on your arms. The sandwich was still in your lap, but your eyes were getting heavy. The water, the food, the talking, it had peeled something sharp off your chest.

John glanced over, seeing your breathing slow.

“They out?” he murmured.

Bob nodded once. “Yeah.”

“Good.” He stood and grabbed a nearby throw blanket from the living room, draping it over your shoulders without waking you. “Let them sleep there. We’ll keep watch.”

And they did.

John cleaned the pans. Bob sipped what was now cold coffee. The kitchen stayed softly lit, the three of you sharing a quiet peace, a supernatural being, a super soldier, and a (super?) kid, tethered to each other by broken pieces that somehow made the night feel whole again.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

Had to give some form of trauma bonding one-shot to yall, hope you enjoyed!!!

[gwenie-creates]

Do You Like Scary Movies?

An F1 x Scream Au

Main Ships: Landoscar, Lestappen, Galex

Warnings: Fic contains major character deaths & graphic descriptions of violence

read on ao3 here!

Chapter One

It was late at night when Veronica got the call. She’d been sitting alone in her apartment, which was off campus, and was waiting for her boyfriend to come home. He was out clubbing with his friends, or so she thought. 

It wasn’t unusual for him to be out until late at night, partying and most likely cheating on her with some other girls from campus. The only reason Veronica stayed with him was because he– Brody– was captain of the football team, and his family was super rich. 

Veronica wouldn’t consider herself a shallow person– despite what others might think–  but she could admit that her reasons for staying in the relationship weren’t exactly respectable. She didn’t mind, though, dating Brody got her in with the ‘cool kids’ and allowed her to leave her loser reputation from high school behind. That being said, she pretended like she didn’t know about the cheating, preferring to keep her position as the football captain's girlfriend rather than go back to being a nobody. 

She’d been searching through Netflix, looking for a good movie to watch, when her phone suddenly started to ring. The sound cut through the silence of her apartment, making her jump. She glanced down at the screen, noticing the ‘no caller ID’. Huh, that’s odd, she thought, staring at it for a few moments before shrugging it off and answering the phone. 

“Hello?” She asked, expecting to hear the voice of a telemarketer who was trying to sell her car insurance or something similar. Instead, she was pleasantly surprised by the response she got. 

“Hi, is this Veronica? I’m Kyle, we have psychology together.” The voice– Kyle said. 

“Oh, Hi Kyle, yes, this is Veronica,” she paused, sitting up straighter. “What can I do for you?” Veronica asked, twirling a piece of hair around her finger. She remembered Kyle from class, remembered his big muscles, sly smile, and most importantly, that he was the captain of the basketball team. 

Kyle let out a small laugh. “Well, I was wanting to see if maybe you would like to go get drinks together sometime or maybe watch a movie?” Veronica could hear his flirty smile through the phone. “Oh, if you were wondering how I got your number, one of your friends– Cheryl, I believe, gave it to me.” Ahh, that makes sense. Although Veronica couldn’t really say she was all that concerned with how Kyle had gotten her number. 

“Well,” Veronica started, drawing her voice out in the flirty way that always got her boyfriend going. “I was actually about to watch a movie right now, if you wanted to join me…” she trailed off, letting Kyle fill in the blanks regarding her intentions. 

Kyle let out a smug laugh. “Oh really, well I’d love to. Tell me, Veronica, do you like scary movies?” His voice suddenly changes, becoming darker, more sinister. It sent shivers down Veronica’s spine, ruining her earlier flirty mood. 

“Uhh, not really,” Veronica replied, shifting uneasily. Something about the way Kyle had asked that made her uncomfortable, scared even. 

Kyle just laughed. “I do, I love a good scary movie. It’s always the pretty blonde ones who die first, you know.” Veronica stiffened, hand going up to hear bleach blonde hair. She sat up straighter, eyes glancing towards the window. Kyle continued, “Tell me, Veronica, what’s your favorite scary movie?” 

“I just told you I don’t like them,” Veronica replied, becoming sick of talking to Kyle. He was really starting to freak her out. “Kyle, I kind of just want to watch my movie now, my boyfriend's supposed to be home soon.” She started to get up, heading towards the kitchen, intending to use the old landline that their apartment had come with to call her boyfriend and ask him to get home soon. 

Kyle laughed, it was dark and cynical, almost mocking. “Oh please, we all know your slut of a boyfriend is out partying with some whores at a club. Now, sit back down before I gut you like a fish.” 

Veronica froze, hand just above the landline’s phone. “What?” she asked. “H-how did you know I was standing?” 

Kyle tsked. “Oh, Veronica.” Suddenly, his voice changed, becoming distorted and threatening. “I’m looking at you right now.” As the words left Kyle’s mouth, Veronica tore the phone away from her ear, eyes scanning the small apartment. She opened her mouth to speak, but Kyle continued. “Now, you’re going to do exactly as I say, unless you want your blood to paint the walls. They could use a new coat of paint, don’t you think? White was so last season.” 

Veronica gulped, nodding shakily as her heart rate began to speed up. “P-please,” she begged, voice wobbling. “What do you want from me!?” 

A maniacal laugh rang through the phone. “I want to play a game. Tell me, Veronica, what’s your favorite scary movie?” 

“I told you I don’t like them, you freak!” Veronica shouted. 

“Don’t you yell at me!” Kyle screamed back in response, his voice angry. “Go to the bathroom right this second or I’ll slit your throat!” Veronica shook in her place, fear making her freeze. “Now!” he barked. 

“Ok, ok,” Veronica said, sniffling as tears began to roll down her cheeks. She made her way out of the kitchen and headed towards the bathroom. She wanted to ask why she needed to go there, but was too scared of what would happen to her if she did. She stood in front of the door, hand hovering over the handle. “I’m here,” she whispered, voice trembling. 

“Open it,” Kyle instructed, and Veronica did. She grabbed the handle and twisted, swinging the door open. What she saw made her let out an ear-piercing scream. 

The bathroom was covered in blood. It was splattered on the walls, the floor, and all over the mirror and toilet. Her eyes scanned the room, landing on the bathtub that was completely red, soaked in blood. It wasn’t the amount of blood that made her feel like she was going to faint, but more so the source of it. Inside the tub sat her boyfriend, intestines on display as his stomach was ripped open. 

“Oh my god,” Veronica sobbed, fighting the urge to throw up. “Oh my god, Brody!” She wanted to get closer, grab his wrist, and check for a pulse, but she knew it was pointless. The blood had gone cold, and there was no way he could survive his body being ripped open like that, guts spilling out. 

“You sick monster!” Veronica screamed into the phone, backing out of the room as sobs fell from her lips. Her shoes were slick and sticky with blood, tracking footprints across the house as she stumbled towards the door. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Kyle said. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” 

“Do what!?” Veronica shrieked, grabbing onto the door and struggling with the lock. 

“Try to escape,” Kyle replied before the call suddenly ended. Veronica ignored him, throwing the phone to the floor and finally undoing the lock. She flung the door open, intending to run down the hall and get help. She looked around, seeing no one, and made a run for it. 

Suddenly, a man appeared, dressed in some kind of Halloween costume. He brandished a knife, mockingly pointing it at her. “Hello, Veronica,” he said, before running towards her. Veronica ran in the other direction, screaming bloody murder. He grabbed her, throwing her to the ground. Veronica fought, kicking out at him and trying to twist out of his grip. It was no use; he kicked her in the gut, knocking the air out of her. He grabbed her ankle and began to pull her back towards her apartment. 

“Noooo!” Veronica screamed, clawing at the carpet-covered floor. “HELP!” Her voice rang through the hallway; surely someone would hear it. 

Kyle– or whoever this man was– pulled her into the apartment, throwing her inside and to the floor. He slammed the door shut, snapping the locks in place. He turned towards Veronica, face shielded by his mask. “Now, I was going to be nice if you had played my game, but not anymore.” Before Veronica could respond, he suddenly lunged at her. She scrambled backwards with a scream, kicking out at him and nailing him in the face. 

She heard him grunt in pain, reaching up to right his mask. She used that as her opportunity to get some distance between them, running towards the kitchen so she could grab a knife. 

“Not so fast, you little bitch,” he growled, running after her. Veronica grabbed one of the knives from the drawer, pointing it at him when he rounded the corner. He grabbed her wrist, twisting until she let out a shriek of pain and dropped the knife. “Nice try,” he said, sarcasm leaking from his voice. She threw herself in the other direction, breaking free of his bone-crushing grip. She scrambled towards the living room, cries echoing through the apartments. 

“Help!” she screamed, running towards the window in the living room and starting to bang on it. She continued to pound on the window, ignoring the footsteps that were becoming increasingly closer. There was nowhere for her to run, being trapped in the small apartment with this psychotic man. Her only hope was that her banging would get one of her neighbors’ attention. 

The footsteps stopped, making Veronica freeze. She stood stock still, holding her breath. She felt something ghost against her neck, making her spin around, coming face to face with the masked psycho. 

“Please–” she begged, being cut off when he brought his hand up, knife glinting in the moonlight. He swiftly brought it down, slicing it across her throat. She gasped, reaching a hand up to grab at her bleeding gash. The blood splattered across the window, rivets of it dripping down like tear drops. Veronica fell to her knees, hands grasping at her bleeding throat. The man stood over her, knife in hand. He crouched down, showing her the knife before stabbing it into her chest, straight into her heart. 

Veronica collapsed on the floor, her body giving out. Blood pooled around her, and maniacal laughter filled the room as the masked psycho stood over her limp body. 

“You should have played the game,” he whispered, stepping over her body and heading towards the door. “They never play the game.” 

***

“This just in, two students were brutally murdered in their apartment last night,” Nico said, holding his mic up to his mouth. “I’m standing in front of their apartment building with neighbor Daniel Ricciardo right now,” he paused, turning towards Daniel. “Daniel, did you hear anything last night? You live in the apartment below them, correct?” 

Daniel nodded, “Yes, I live below them. I didn’t hear anything because I was out late, but when I got home, one of my neighbors had asked me to go see what was going on upstairs because they had heard something banging around. She’s a sweet little old lady, Ethel is her name, and she couldn’t make it up the stairs because of her bad knee, and the elevator was broken. I told her I would go check it out, and that’s what I did. At first, nothing seemed strange. The floor was silent, so I figured whoever had been making the noise was just some drunk kids and they’d gone to bed. I was about to turn back when I noticed that something was oozing out from under the door of apartment 3465. I walked closer to see what it was, and that’s when I noticed that the door wasn’t locked. I pushed it open and saw,” he paused, looking like he was going to be sick. “I saw blood everywhere. It was on the walls, the floor, the furniture, just… everywhere. And–and then I saw the body. It–it was,” he paused, taking a deep breath to keep from vomiting. “It was Veronica, but her throat had been slit. She was hung up from the ceiling fan, a rope around her neck. I-I can’t, I’m sorry–” Daniel rushed out of the frame of the camera, the sounds of him puking could be heard. 

The camera settled back on Nico, who was looking towards Daniel with a shocked expression. “Well…. Umm, alright, that’s all from Daniel, but,” he paused, gaze looking off camera, he beckoned someone closer. “Here we have Sheriff Wolff.” Sheriff Wolff walked into the frame of the camera, grimacing. “Sheriff Wolff, what can you tell us about–” 

Oscar turned off the TV, cutting off whatever the news reporter had been about to say. He turned towards Lando, who was standing near the entryway of their bedrooms, frozen in place. Lando’s eyes snapped towards Oscar, fear radiating off of him. “Osc?” he asked, opening his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. 

They both froze, fear gripping their chests. ‘Who?’ Lando mouthed, eyes frantically moving between Oscar and the door. Oscar shook his head in response, just as lost. He raised a finger to his lips, waiting to see if whoever it was would go away. They didn’t; instead, the knocking got louder, like someone was pounding on the door. Oscar slowly got up, creeping towards the door, ignoring Lando’s whispered protests. 

When he reached the door, he looked through the peephole, letting out a sigh of relief. “It’s just our idiot friends,” he said, looking back at Lando before undoing the lock and opening the door. 

“Took you long enough,” Max said, pushing past Oscar and into the apartment, the others following suit. 

“No, just come right in,” Oscar mumbled, ignoring Max’s comment. 

“Did you see the news?” Charles asked, walking over towards Lando, who was still standing near the entrance to their bedrooms. 

Lando nodded, “Yeah,” he breathed. “We just did.” 

Carlos spoke next. “It was Danny’s neighbors; he saw the bodies.” 

“We know,” Oscar replied. “We just saw his interview.” 

Pierre and Logan stood quietly to the side, fidgeting nervously. “Do you think the killer will kill again?” Logan asked. 

“I don’t–” Oscar started. 

“Probably,” Max said, interrupting. “No one kills as brutally as that and only does it once.” 

“Twice,” Pierre mumbles. “He killed two people.” 

“Exactly,” Max says. “He’s already killed two people. Why would he stop?” 

“How do you know it’s a he?” Lando asked, moving closer and standing next to Oscar. He was standing closer than strictly necessary, but Oscar chose not to comment, knowing that Lando sought comfort through physical contact. 

“Because only a man could kill that brutally," Max replied. “Veronica’s throat was slit, and Brody was cut open, his guts were all over the bathroom.” 

Lando made a face, looking like he might be sick. “Nasty,” he mumbled, moving even closer to Oscar. 

A sudden knock rang through the apartment, making all of them jump. “Let us in, you assholes.” Came Alex's voice from the other side. They all let out sighs of relief, and Carlos opened the door. Both Alex and George rushed in. “We came as soon as we saw the news,” Alex said, pushing the door closed behind them. 

“Who do you think did it?” George asked, looking at all of them. 

“You think it was someone from campus?” Lando asked, shocked. 

George nodded. “That’s what the sheriff was saying. He thinks it has to be someone from campus because the murder had so much aggression behind it.” 

“And Veronica and Brody were pretty popular,” Alex added. “A lot of people hated them because they were so shallow.” 

Charles nodded. “They were always making fun of people, too.” 

Oscar looked towards Lando, remembering how Brody used to pick on him in their shared arts class. “So, you think it was deserved?” he asked. 

“What?” George said. “God, no. Their deaths were horrible; no one deserves that.” 

“But,” Charles added. “It’s not exactly a surprise they were the targets if the killer was a student here. It’s probably someone they bullied relentlessly.” 

“Or one of Veronica’s hook-ups,” Lando said, making everyone turn towards him. “What? It was common knowledge that neither of them was faithful to one another.” 

Oscar nodded, backing Lando up. “We saw them sneaking off with people all the time…” he trailed off, being interrupted by the sound of everyone’s phones pinging. They all grabbed theirs, pulling it out and staring at the campus-wide text message that had just been put out. 

‘This just in, a campus-wide curfew is now in place as an ongoing murder investigation breaks out. Lock your doors and stay inside after 8 pm. Deputies will be patrolling the campus 24/7. It is encouraged that if you have any information about the two most recent murders or about who might be the culprit, that you come forward with it now. Thank you and stay safe.’ 

“Well,” Oscar said. "Looks like we’ve found ourselves in a real-life horror movie.” The others gave weak laughs, fear gripping each and every one of them.

What if they were next?

Tag list:

@river410 , @jamespotterisbetter , @f1lovely , @sparklydinosaurpanda , @introvertstoriesblog , @mother-bear2020 , @magnificentwolfface , @that-1-short-friend , @enchantedtamales , @fizzpopsnap101 , @ezisregrettinglifedecisions , @brat-cedes , @iheartf1 , @saffry1633 , @lefrenchparrot , @chiefuniversityeggdonkey-blog , @booklover2003 , @shipahmoks , @httpspiastri , @bloemblossssom , @28cupsoftea , @mgcwife , @fan-girl-2008 , @mr-decapitation , @mrsbrock-hardy , @fangirlmusicbiashoe , @reesielive , @libby1203 , @yar16 , @stairstothe7th , @glowbugaroo , @o-rion-sta-r , @ursusmajora , @oddends , @the-devils-salsa , @muffintacing82

[antithetical-bolter]

Someone, Someday (1)

Chapter 1: It's Time To Go

hi everyone, this is my other robby x nurse ofc wip, it's been up on ao3 for a while but I decided to post it here too! yes it is yet another taylor swift themed title, this one has chapter titles too lmao. this one is a different POV style bc I haven't decided what I like yet so lmk what you think <3

4.9k words | ER nurse Hyacinth Clark decides it's time for her to get the fuck out of her marriage, before she becomes just another statistic.

warnings: discussion of domestic violence, emotional abuse, miscarriage, ectopic pregnancy. excessive use of the word fuck, commas, and em dashes.

page dividers: @saradika-graphics

also if you'd like to be tagged in future updates lmk in the replies!!

Next

Masterlist

“Sometimes giving up is the strong thing, sometimes to run is the brave thing”

Hyacinth

She needs to leave. Like, right now. She really should've left already. Fuck.

Hyacinth Clark ran into work at 1902, knowing she was already a few minutes past shift change. Hopefully she got put in the same section as Dana tonight, because she was going to need some help. And probably a few drinks after all was said and done. Maybe a brief grippy sock vacation. 

This evening was too close of a call for her comfort, and she knows she can’t go home now. He was too angry, too close to finally losing his cool altogether and getting physical with her. Thankfully she has a shift tonight and could use it as an excuse to leave the house abruptly. Their relationship has never been perfect, and Hyacinth frequently found herself wondering if she made the right choice. Despite her reservations, she made a commitment and had been willing to try and make it work. They’ve been together for over a decade, since their sophomore year of college. Unfortunately time does not heal all wounds, and it seemed this one would continue to fester. Knowing that she is one bad night away from becoming a statistic scares her - and she knows it's time to do something about it.

The last year has been especially tumultuous, Hyacinth having had a miscarriage almost exactly one year earlier. The day after Pitt Fest. Jeremy, who had played the part of the supportive partner throughout her pregnancy, was a different man when they came home from the hospital. Going to the hospital (not PTMC, only Dana knew she was expecting) with your wife for some mild cramping at 14 weeks and then coming home, your wife no longer pregnant and without a baby, would understandably change a person. But Hyacinth had needed him. Instead of her loving and supportive husband who cooked for her, held her hair when she was sick, and went out of his way to make her life easier she got a cold shell of a man who could barely stand to look at her. She chalked it up to trauma and the disappointment of not having the child he had been so excited about, and he did eventually warm up to her a little bit. Not that it lasted.

"Hyacinth!" A familiar voice jolted her out of her panic spiral, "we're together in critical care today." Dana told her, and instantly Hyacinth knew that her day would have at least one bright spot. Dana had trained her right at the start of her nursing career and the pair made an incredible team. Now 5 years into her solo ER nursing career, Hyacinth almost felt like she knew what she was doing. She could do most things by herself and felt confident in her trauma skills, but smart enough to know when she needed help and not afraid to ask for it. Having spent almost a year under Dana’s supervision, whether direct or indirect, she got to know the older woman quite well and considered her one of her closest friends and an incredible mentor. Hyacinth's 5'10" stature, waist length jet black hair, and penchant for pink scrubs (firmly against uniform policy) was a stark contrast to Dana's five-foot-nothing, bright blonde bob and strictly gray scrubs - but they were undeniably perfect work partners.

Dana had previously been the dayshift charge nurse, but after the Pitt Fest shooting last year switched to night shift and only charges once or twice a week. That day had changed them all. Dana more so than others. The lawsuit she filed on a patient who assaulted her that same afternoon was still not resolved, and while Dana clearly still loved her job she had taken 2 months of leave before she felt ready to return. Hyacinth had certainly not escaped the after effects of the shooting. She was almost positive that she had started to miscarry while working that evening. Often wonders if she had noticed her symptoms earlier if she might not have miscarried, but isn’t sure she would change anything about her actions that day. How could she, when she knows everyone played an integral part in saving so many lives? Nevertheless, working a mass casualty and then having a D&C less than 24 hours later was bound to leave its mark.

"Hi Dana, sorry I'm a few minutes late. Had an eventful evening to say the least and got out the door a few minutes later than I wanted to which meant I got stuck in northbound traffic and -"

"Cinth, honey, you're fine. It's 1904. Most of the night shifters are just coming out onto the floor anyway." She said, eying her protege suspiciously. "Are you okay? You seem a little frazzled, in a way I haven't seen you since after your first code." Hyacinth really wished she was better at lying. Not that she wanted to lie to Dana, but no way in hell was she having this conversation right at the beginning of their shift.

"To be real with you I don't think that I am, but I am also not ready to have that conversation right now. We can talk later, I promise." Her mentor turned friend continued to look at her like she might fall apart at any second (which, to be fair, she very well might) and Hyacinth followed up with "Just... just let me dive into work for a little while. Focusing on somebody else's problems will help me get my brain settled so I can fill you in."

"Alright, I'll drop it for now. If you need to step away for a minute let me know and I'll cover your patients." Hyacinth nodded, knowing she would not be taking her up on that offer. 

They continued walking through the unit, passing by patients in hallway beds and doing their best to avoid eye contact with disgruntled family members. Some people seemed to think that nurses controlled bed assignments, and no amount of explaining could make them understand that nurses are also angry and stressed out about patients being stuck in the ER hallway for days on end. They did they best they could to make their hall patients comfortable, supplying eye masks and ear plugs, but nothing could change the fact that they were stuck in a room where the lights never truly dimmed and the alarm bells sounded all night. Not exactly a restful, healing environment. Turning the corner and walking towards the locker room, Dana turned to Hyacinth again, studied her paler than usual complexion and the bags under her eyes. 

"You're sure you aren't sick? You kind of look like shit. " she said, to which Hyacinth scoffed and replied,

"Physically I'm fine, not sick or anything like that. Just a lot going on at home and me realizing I need to make a big change and it needs to happen soon", she took a deep breath before continuing. “The only thing I feel ready to say right now is asking if I can come stay with you guys for a few days, just until I figure out what the fuck I am going to do with myself.” This caused Dana to stop to pull her aside and ask,

“Did something happen at home? Are you hurt?” Hyacinth watched Dana switch her brain into nurse mode - assessing her. Checking for obvious bruises or other signs that might give away a physical injury. Watching her breathe, even reaching out to feel the pulse in Hyacinth’s wrist. Your classic nursing doorway assessment. A skill all nurses master, being able to tell if your patient is fine, sick, or sick by just walking in the door.

“No - not... physically. I really will tell you everything later, but for now can we please just go get report so I can shift into Nurse Hyacinth for a few hours?” This alternate persona, Nurse Hyacinth, was fantastic at compartmentalization. No room to worry about your own problems when you’re standing between your patient and a one way ticket to a celestial discharge. Dana was aware of this, had helped her form those coping skills. The older woman gave her a look that practically screamed 'I am unhappy about this but willing to wait'. Hyacinth put her bag in her locker, glad that she seemed to be letting it go for now.

“Yeah, let’s go. I get it, even if I don't like it. We can talk when you’re ready, and you can stay for as long as you need.” Dana gave her wrist (where she was still counting a pulse) a supportive squeeze, and they turned to walk to their dayshift counterparts to get report for the evening. 

She really hates when nursing superstitions are correct. Turns out that asking for some work to throw yourself into activates the hospital gods, and not in a good way. Six hours and two rapid intubations later, Hyacinth was just now preparing her workstation for the night. The nurses station was always cluttered after dayshift left, and she liked to start her night off by getting rid of any extra supplies, throwing old report sheets (mostly scribbled on paper towels) in the shred bin, and giving the whole area a good sani-wipe bath. Now that her patient was finally stable, there was some time to sit and finish charting. Needing a caffeine fix, she makes herself a cup of shitty hospital coffee and gets to work.

Not 15 minutes had passed when she hears, “Hyacinth - ICU on line 1 for report on your patient in trauma 2!” the charge nurse, an older man named Jim, yelled from his desk across the unit. She sighs, knowing that she won’t be finishing her charing just yet.

“Thanks Jim!” Hyacinth replied before picking up the phone. “ER, this is Hyacinth.”

“Hi, this is Sara up on ICU. I am ready for report on the patient you are sending to 504.” She said curtly. Hyacinth rolled her eyes - very rarely did she have to give report to Sara but every time she did it was a hassle. Sara is a great ICU nurse. She also has no clue the shit ER nurses deal with on a daily basis. Hyacinth was not looking forward to having to tell her that no, she did not do a 2 RN skin check or label his IV lines. The patient is alive, intubated, well sedated, their blood pressure is no longer 60/dead, and they’re in a clean hospital gown. Really what more could she ask for?

“68 year old male, witnessed collapse this evening. Had about 30 minutes of CPR, started by the family and ending when we got ROSC following intubation. Extensive cardiac and respiratory history, he is generally non-compliant with his home medications. Initial blood pressures were very soft, now he is on 9 of levo and systolic is holding at 90. MAP between 65 and 68. 8-0 ET tube measures 25 at the teeth, OG secured on the right. Temp sensing foley in place. He’s got 2 peripheral IVs and a triple lumen right IJ. Currently on 50 of propofol for sedation.”

In a shocking turn of events, Sara just said “Fine. Bring him up.” and then hung up the phone. A little rude, but Hyacinth would take rude over a slew of questions she definitely did not have the answers to. She calls her trusty respiratory therapist, grabs a portable monitor, and prepares the patient for transport.

“Alright Jim, Dr. Abbot, we are taking trauma 2 upstairs!” She yells, making sure they knew she was going to be off the unit for a little while.

“Take your break when you’re done - I don’t want to see you for at least another hour.” Jim says as Hyacinth, along with respiratory, wheel the patient, his IV pump, and his ventilator upstairs.

25 minutes and one very tense handoff later Hyacinth is sitting in her car attempting to eat her lunch. Unfortunately now that she is no longer operating in nurse mode, she’s starting to feel anxious again. Having always defined herself as 'a bit of an anxious bitch' - Hyacinth is no stranger to anxiety. This is feeling more significant than past anxieties, knowing that her physical wellbeing might not be guaranteed if she doesn't take some action. 

In classic Dana timing, the blonde woman knocks on Hyacinth’s passenger window and looks expectedly at her. Hyacinth unlocks the door and attempts to prepare herself to hash out whatever the hell is happening in her brain right now. Dana does not waste any time, and starts to speak as soon as the car door opens. 

“It’s time. I told Jim that he can deal without both of us for a little while. What’s going on? You've got me worried.” Dana has turned sideways in her seat and is facing Hyacinth directly, while Hyacinth cannot bring herself to look up past her lap where she is wringing her hands. Taking a shaky but deep breath, she tries to find the words to tell Dana what was going on without activating Mama Bear Dana at the same time.

Realizing this is not a feasible task, Hyacinth makes herself start speaking. “I have to leave Jeremy. You know that things haven’t been the same since my first miscarriage, but I haven’t exactly been as detail oriented as I maybe should’ve been when you asked me how things were going.” She sneaks a glance up at Dana, who continues to watch her with an open expression but is clearly expecting some elaboration. “I have had 2 ectopic pregnancies since then. After each he has gotten meaner and more aggressive, and before work tonight when he told me he wanted to start trying again I freaked out. It’s only been a little more than 5 weeks since the most recent one and I’m not ready.” She can feel the tears starting to form and tries desperately to hold them in as she says “I wouldn’t call most of our uhm… encounters this year non-consensual but I definitely was not enthusiastic at the idea and he could tell. I told him that I wasn't ready and wanted to wait a little while longer and he screamed at me. Said some pretty awful things that I won’t be repeating right now. Then he essentially threatened that we would start trying again soon anyway and went to grab my arm. Thankfully this was happening as I was walking out the door for work so I just bolted to my car and got out, but I have nothing with me. Just what I have in my car, and I didn’t pack anything except the extra change of clothes I keep in here all the time." Saying this all out loud makes her anxiety worse, like she's being shoved into a box and pushed off a cliff. "I can’t go back. I probably should’ve left already but I just ... really wanted things to be different and was scared to do anything about it and we've been together for so long and I didn’t kn-” Dana cuts her off by leaning over the center console and pulling her into a hug, rubbing her shoulders and reassuring her.

“We'll figure it out. It’s okay. You can borrow whatever you need from me. Hell, we can even move you out after our shift while he’s at work if you’re up for it. Especially if we recruit Jack. Between your car, my car, and Abbot’s truck I bet we could get you out in one or two trips.” This is what finally does Hyacinth in, and she starts to sob into Dana’s shoulder.

“Can we really move me out today?” She says after a few minutes, taking the time to cry a bit before she tries to speak. “What about your family? Shouldn’t you make sure Benji and the girls are okay with some random nurse you work with all but moving in?” Hyacinth has met Dana’s family a few times, but hasn’t spent enough time with them to really know them.

“Absolutely. Benji will be happy to help, and the girls are both off at college right now. Even if they weren’t we have an extra room.” Feeling reassured enough for now, Hyacinth nods and Dana continues to speak. “You can fill Abbot in on as much or as little as you’re comfortable with, but I can guarantee you he will help. Not like Mohan lets the man sleep between shifts anyway,” she says while rolling her eyes. Hyacinth laughs a little bit at this, and pulls back to grab a wipe for her face.

“Okay, then let’s do it. Getting all my stuff out is a huge step and I think it would help my anxiety to have it done quickly.”

“Then we’ll do it. Jeremy is for sure working? I assume so because he’s a teacher and it’s a Wednesday in mid-September, but just double check his school district calendar to make sure he doesn’t have a secret half day or day off.” Hyacinth pulls out her phone and googles the calendar for the North Allegheny School District, where Jeremy is a 6th grade teacher. 

“Yeah, according to this it is a regular school day. He will be out of the house from about 0700 to 1530, maybe 4 o’clock.”

“Perfect. That's the plan then - our garage is big enough to store anything you don’t want in the guest room. Which is yours for the foreseeable future. In fact, I am going to insist that you for a minimum of 3 months while you find your footing and navigate the divorce process.”

“I'm not gonna argue with you on that. Thank you.” Hyacinth says, reaching over to give Dana another hug. “Hopefully you’ll still be offering me all that storage space when you see how many books we’re going to have to move.”

“You have shown me pictures of those floor to ceiling bookshelves you love so much - I know what I’m getting myself into. Maybe I’ll finally pick up a book for fun. Who knows?” Dana replies, pulling back from the hug to look Hyacinth in the eyes. “I have your back. We will get you through this.” She pauses, but then asks “is that ectopic why you had to take last minute leave in August? I could tell you were holding something back but you really stuck to you story so I let it go.” She had taken time off of work with very little notice, telling her managers that she had a family emergency that would require her attention for a full two weeks. Technically she hadn't lied, it was a family emergency. Just little more immediate family than she had let on in her very vague email.

“Yeah. Jeremy’s sister didn't have to have emergency surgery. I did. The ectopic ruptured and I had my right fallopian tube removed.” Hyacinth looks away from Dana’s sympathetic gaze, not wanting to cry again. She was feeling bad for not telling her, but knew Dana would support her anyway. “Jeremy didn’t want me to tell anyone, told me that it was my fault and that everyone else would think so too. Objectively I know that isn't true, but I was so scared and just wanted his support so I went with it. I’ve never been on good terms with my parents and this situation has made it even worse, I just wanted to feel like someone was in my corner. It felt important that he support me when even my own mom wouldn't.” Dana reaches out and places her hand on Hyacinth’s cheek and says,

“Cinth. Honey. If nothing else, I am in your corner. Always. I’m sorry you had to deal with that by yourself. Are you okay now? Recovering from surgery okay?”

“Yeah, my recovery has been relatively smooth. Other than being stuck at home for 2 weeks and being a little scared of Jeremy the whole time I haven't had any issues. I haven’t had a period since though, and I’m sure the first one will be rough. It was awful after my first ectopic in March, and that one didn't require emergency surgery so I can only assume this one will be worse. But I will cross that bridge when I come to it.” Dana pulls her in for another hug.

“I will support you through that too. Your room has a giant bathtub and there is no shortage of bath oils and bubble bath. I have multiple heating pads and more chocolate than I probably should, and I’ll send Benji out for anything else you want. Plus, I can always bribe a doc into writing you a prescription for zofran if the nausea gets too bad!” She says, laughing.

“I have been pocketing every oral zofran that patients have refused for years. I’ve got lots!” They both dissolve into laughter at this, and Hyacinth feels herself starting to walk back from the metaphorical cliff edge. That is - until Dana says,

“Our break is almost up. Why don’t we go in now, corner Abbot, come up with a game plan, and then dive back into the wonderful distraction that is working in an emergency room?”

Hyacinth replies “Sounds perfect and also terrible. Let’s do it.” As they walk back into the ER, she can't help but feel like she is catapulting herself right off that cliff. 

Abbot is not hard to find as Dana and Hyacinth walk back onto the floor. Hyacinth, feeling nervous, lets Dana take the lead.

“Jack!” She shouts, making the doctor turn his head. Dana generally calls him Abbot while on the clock, so using his first name certainly gets his attention. “Can we borrow you for a second?” She asks while directing Hyacinth into the empty family room. Jack quickly follows and shuts the door behind himself. He stands against the closed door and asks,

“What’s the matter? A patient?”

“Ah, no, not exactly.” Dana replies, looking at Hyacinth.

Deciding to just get it over with, she quickly says “I need to kind of… very emergently change my current living situation. Like ideally before 4pm. I hear you have a truck?” Hyacinth says, finally turning to look at Abbot. He seems to startle a bit before catching himself and saying,

“You heard correctly. I do in fact have a truck.” Abbot replies, giving her a long look before asking “Are you okay? Has someone at home been hurting you?”

“Not physically.” Hyacinth says.

“So if I asked the triage safety questions, what would your answer be? Do you feel safe at home? Is anyone trying to hurt you?”

“Jack - seriously?” Dana interrupts.

“No, Dana. It’s fine. We ask literally all our patients that, I can answer them too. No, doctor Abbot, I do not feel safe at home.” Hyacinth says, no longer able to look either of them in the eyes and instead focusing on the vague landscape painting on the wall near Abbot’s head.

“Alright then. We will get you out today. I will have to tell Samira that I am rescheduling our breakfast date and she’ll more than likely want to come help, are you okay with that?” Abbot asks.

“Yeah, that’s fine with me. Samira and I get along well whenever she picks up her occasional night shift.” Hyacinth says, thankful that Dr Abbot didn’t press her for more information and immediately offering to help.

“Alright then. Dana, please start a group text with all of us in it and send Hyacinth’s address. We will all meet there right after shift change and get you out.” He says, looking at Hyacinth who nods in affirmation. Abbot turns to leave, but before stepping out says “Thank you for speaking up. Taking the first step out of an abusive relationship is often the hardest part, and always the most dangerous. Thank you for trusting us with this.” Giving one last pointed look at Hyacinth, who is very near tears again, he leaves the room.

“Now that that’s settled, why don’t you go splash some cold water on your face and come out onto the floor when you’re ready. I’ll have a coffee with your name on it.” Dana says, guiding her out of the family room and directly towards the employee restroom.

Alone in the restroom, Hyacinth gives herself a generous 60 seconds to cry. Everything she knows is about to change, and nothing about the process was going to be easy. At least she has support. Dana and Jack both immediately offered to help, no questions asked. It felt good to have people be so unquestionably supportive - her parents could never. Hyacinth wasn't even sure she was going to tell them. She just wishes she could jump to the part where she is divorced, living in her own apartment, and never letting another man into her house unless she deems it okay. She's ready to be happy again, tired of feeling like she's dragging herself through life. Her allotted mental breakdown time comes to a close so she splashes some cold water on her face, pats it dry, and declares herself 'good enough' as she looks at her reflection. Stepping back out onto the floor, she puts her Nurse Hyacinth mask back on for a little while longer.

Before she knows it, it’s 0645 and Hyacinth is getting ready to flip her entire life upside down and inside out. She is doing her best to give Princess a quality report, but she knows her heart isn’t in it.

“Girl it’s okay - I know last night was busy. I can read. Go home, I’ve got it.” The other nurse says as Hyacinth tries and fails to make her brain produce simple sentences.

“Thanks Princess. I will go ahead and get out of here. Hope your day goes well!” Hyacinth says, gathering her emotional support water bottle and pens off her workstation. She sees Dana and walks over to her, feeling emotionally fragile and knowing she could use the company on the walk out to the car. Dana sees her coming and immediately pulls her into a hug. Jack watches this and walks over from the other side of the nurses station, giving Dana a subtle thumbs up to ask if everything is okay. She responds with a thumbs up of her own, but her face clearly has a different story to tell. Jack nods and turns to find Robby waiting for him.

“Everything okay?” Robby asks, eyeing Dana and Jack who are both very focused on Hyacinth.

“Yeah - we’ve got it handled. Let me sign out to you and you can take over.” Jack says, steering Robby away so Hyacinth could collect herself in relative private.

After a few moments Hyacinth pulls away from Dana, saying “Okay, let’s go. We need to start or I’m going to lose my nerve.” Dana nods, links their arms, and they walk out to their cars.

Robby

Robby had met Hyacinth in passing many times, and genuinely enjoyed his interactions with her. Always finding himself looking at her during shift change, but he chalked this up to the bright pink scrubs she always seemed to be wearing. She is clearly an incredible nurse as well and he respects her knowledge and hard work. Anytime he assumed a patient she had taken care of the charting was complete and efficient, all patient care done, vitals stable, and the room was spotless. In the 6 years she had been working in The Pitt (one as a nurse fellow, and now five on her own), he had only seen her leave work in tears once, right after her first code blue. Now, the witty, intelligent, capable woman who he was used to seeing was clearly struggling.

“What’s going on there?” Robby asks as he watches Dana walks out with the younger nurse, somehow managing to support Hyacinth while also being almost a foot shorter than her.

“Don’t worry too much about it. Dana’s got it pretty well in hand. Kid has made some hard but necessary choices and just needs a little extra support.” Jack says, trying to convey the seriousness of the situation without betraying Hyacinth’s trust.

“Alright, brother. If you say so.” Robby says, clearly not wanting to drop it but also realizing he won’t get anything more from Jack right now. “She’s a great nurse, It will be fun getting to work with her now that I’m switching to nights.” 

“Your first shift is next week, you ready? No inclinations for past-the-guard-rail roof trips?” Jack asks, knowing Robby has not worked nights regularly for over a decade now.

“Yes, I’ll be fine. I’m excited for a change and to get to know the rest of the night shift crew, and fuck if I’m not thankful it will mean I see far less of Gloria.” Robby chuckles, knowing he will struggle with the transition but also ready to work within the freedom night shift offers. 

“Whatever you say, man. I am headed out. See you on the dark side!” Jack heads to leave, making sure to grab his backpack on his way out.

Robby watches him go, feeling like he was missing a lot of the story. Hyacinth was clearly very upset with whatever she was dealing with, and Robby knows it’s good for her to have Dana and Jack in her corner. He decides then that when he starts nights next week he will be sure to keep an eye on her, ready to offer his support as well should she ask him for it.

What else would a good coworker do?

[thatcoolweirdgirlwrites]

"A Place To Land" Series: Glow Stick ✮ || Avengers

Avengers!Platonic x Fem/teen!Reader

part one, part two

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: mentions of emotional neglect, implied past abuse, trauma symptoms, panic, loneliness, breakdowns, found family themes, Fem/teen!Reader.

Summary: New to the Avengers compound, she’s tip-toeing through game nights, empty hallways, and the fragile trust forming with Tony, Wanda, and Bucky.

Authors' Notes: SUPER ANTICLIMACTIC ngl. This took so long to write because I'm in bed hacking. Up. A. Lung. Literally cannot keep my eyes open for more than five minutes. I got it done though!! finally. Okay, but literally can't help but make Tony have fatherly vibes. it just makes sense. might redo this part later. I think I'm going to introduce peter next part but idkkkk... anywayssss... requests are always open!!! (not proofread, duhhhh)

Thank you for reading, my lovelies!! (Fic below cut)

You have no idea when or why you'd said yes. One second you were sitting there having him talk and just nodding in response barely looking at him, the next you were walking to his unmarked car.

The car ride was quiet.

Not the strained, awkward kind of quiet you'd come to expect from being around strangers—but a softer one. Like the lull between thunderstorms. The city blurred past the windows, neon signs melting into rain-streaked glass, and you pressed your temple against the cool surface just to ground yourself. Just to feel something solid.

Tony didn't try to fill the silence. He'd handed you a granola bar on the way out of the outpost—without comment, without pressure-and now he drove with one hand on the wheel, the other flipping absentmindedly through a digital dashboard that blinked with a constellation of unread messages.

You held the granola bar in your lap the whole time. Unopened.

You weren't hungry. Or maybe you were. You couldn't tell anymore.

"Not exactly the Ritz, but we're working on the aesthetics," Tony said eventually, eyes still on the road. "There's coffee. Decent wi-fi. Nobody screams unless it's about game night."

You didn't laugh. You didn't even smile. You just turned your head slightly, gold light flickering faintly in your palm before you clenched your fist and made it disappear.

"I don't know how to be around people anymore," you said, voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.

Tony didn't flinch. "Good news is, most of us don't either."

That made something in your chest loosen-just a little.

The facility came into view slowly, like it didn't want to be seen. A low, matte building tucked against a hillside outside the city limits, guarded by nothing more than discreet cameras and a forcefield that shimmered faintly when the car passed through it. You expected glass towers or steel gates. You got concrete and calm.

As Tony pulled into the underground garage, you tightened your grip on the straps of your jacket. Your legs bounced without your permission. Every instinct screamed for you to run.

Instead, you stepped out of the car and followed him inside.

The hallways were quiet. Clean. Wide enough to make you feel exposed, but not cold. There was no glaring overhead light, no blinding white sterile floors. Just soft panels in the walls that glowed faintly, and muted gray walls lined with framed schematics and photos—ones you didn't recognize, and didn't want to stare at too long.

No one else passed you in the halls.

No one except a woman with short curls and a clipboard who offered a small smile as you passed.

Tony nodded to her. "That's Helen. Resident miracle worker."

You didn't respond. Just kept walking.

He led you into a side corridor and up a narrow set of stairs. You could feel your powers buzzing against your skin again—your body reacting to the tension in your blood, the uncertainty in your limbs. You hated how it flared up when you were scared. Like it could smell it on you.

"I set you up in one of the guest wings," Tony said as he keyed in a passcode. "No cameras inside your room, in case you were wondering. Though if you blow a hole through the wall, we'll probably notice."

You frowned. "Is that a joke?"

He shrugged. "Depends. Are you gonna blow a hole through the wall?"

You hesitated. "No."

"Then yeah. Joke."

The door opened with a soft click, revealing a small room inside-modest, but warm. A real bed. A desk. A lamp that looked like it belonged in a dorm room, not a top-secret tech facility. The window was fake—you knew that instinctively-but it showed a slow sunrise over a lake, and somehow, that was almost worse. The softness of it. The lie.

You stepped in slowly, arms still tightly folded across your chest.

Tony didn't follow. He stayed in the doorway, watching you with a look that wasn't pity, but wasn't far off.

"You don't owe me anything," he said after a moment. "Not trust, not answers. You're here because you said yes. That's enough for now."

You turned halfway toward him. "Why does that scare me more than if you'd forced me?"

That stopped him. His mouth opened—then closed again.

Finally, he said, "Because you've never had a choice before."

That landed. Hard.

You didn't answer. Just nodded, once, and turned back toward the bed. You sat down slowly, hands curled in your lap like you didn't trust them not to spark again.

Tony stepped back. "Wanda'll check in later. I'll let you settle."

He started to pull the door shut-but paused. "By the way. If you want music, or books, or like... normal kid stuff, there's a tablet on the nightstand. And before you say it—yes, it's secure. No, it's not tracking you. It's just... there. In case you want something that doesn't make you feel like a science project."

And then he was gone.

You sat there for a long time, staring at the false sunlight, hands curled into fists.

You were safe. You were inside. And still, you didn't know how to let your guard down.

⸻

The first thing you noticed when you woke up the next morning was the stillness.

No footsteps overhead. No creaking pipes. No low murmurs of voices or clattering of tools like back at The Division's underground base. Just silence, soft and unsettling, like the walls were holding their breath.

You sat up slowly, blinking into the dim light. The fake sunrise was still there on the window screen, now higher in the sky, casting the room in gold that didn't quite warm you. For a long moment, you didn't move.

You just listened. Waited.

Nothing.

You weren't used to nothing.

When you finally stood, your limbs ached like you'd slept in armor. Your shirt stuck to your back, damp with sweat and clinging from the rain-soaked night before. You felt like you'd been dipped in oil and left to dry.

The small closet in the corner of the room opened with a low hiss. Inside: a towel, neatly folded. A pair of sweatpants. A hoodie that looked two sizes too big—dark blue, with a faded Stark Industries logo stitched in clean gray thread on the sleeve. Not new, but not

worn-down either. Like someone had picked it out carefully. Like someone had guessed what you'd want before you could say it.

You didn't let yourself think about that.

The bathroom was sleek and clean, too many mirrors for your liking. You avoided looking into any of them as you peeled off your damp clothes and stepped beneath the spray.

Hot water hit your back like a warning at first—too much, too soon—but you didn't pull away. You stood there until your fingers wrinkled and your chest stopped aching.

When you finally looked in the mirror, your face startled you. Eyes hollow, skin pale beneath the light.

You looked like someone else. Someone halfway between ghost and girl.

You dressed without thinking. The hoodie was heavy and soft, swallowing your shoulders. The sweatpants hung low on your hips but didn't fall. You rolled the waistband once and shoved your hands into the front pocket. The scent clung faintly-machine oil, maybe.

Or something clean and metallic. You didn't hate it.

You didn't put your shoes on.

Your feet made no sound as you wandered into the hallway, hair still damp and clinging to your neck. You walked slow. Cautious. The halls were quiet at first. You passed a few closed doors, a couple wall-mounted screens displaying building schematics and lab data you didn't understand.

Then, voices.

You stopped at the corner of a wider hallway and pressed your back against the cool wall. Two people passed-one in a black jumpsuit with a SHIELD patch on her shoulder, the other in a lab coat holding a tablet.

They didn't stop. But they glanced at you.

Not hostile. Not curious. Just assessing.

Your stomach twisted.

The golden hum beneath your skin stirred—faint, instinctive.

You forced it down.

Keep moving. Keep breathing.

You wandered further into the facility, hugging the wall like a shadow. Around the next corner was a large open space—part lounge, part command center, judging by the number of screens and sleek conference tables. No one noticed you at first.

Until someone did.

"Hey."

You turned sharply, eyes wide.

A woman stood near the wall, her bright red hair pulled into a low braid. She wore all black—boots, pants, long-sleeved shirt—except for a faint silver chain at her throat.

She didn't approach. Just tilted her head. "You lost?"

You stared at her. You knew her from somewhere.

You said nothing.

She didn't press. "Kitchen's that way," she said with a small nod toward the left corridor. "There's coffee. And fruit. Might still be some muffins if Clint didn't eat them all."

You nodded once, sharp. Defensive.

She didn't smile, but her expression softened. "I'm Natasha," she said. "You don't have to introduce yourself. Just thought you'd want a direction."

With that, she turned and left, quiet as mist.

You exhaled slowly and kept walking.

The kitchen wasn't empty.

Three people sat around a long table, laughing over half-eaten breakfast plates. A tall man with some sunglasses on, even though you were inside (weirdo). A woman with curls twisted into a bun and a tablet balanced on her lap.

You froze. Standing right next to them was THE Steve Rogers.

He looked just like you remembered from that rooftop.

Shield propped against his chair. Broad shoulders squared. Jaw tense even when he smiled.

Your stomach dropped.

You didn't know why you walked in. Maybe because you didn't want to look weak. Maybe because you were hungry after all. But the moment his eyes landed on you, something in the room shifted.

His expression cooled—not hostile, but not warm. Not curious. Just guarded.

You moved to the counter in silence and grabbed a protein bar, not meeting anyone's eyes.

You heard the scrape of a chair.

Footsteps.

Then his voice behind you, low and clipped. "You're the one from the Division raid."

It wasn't a question.

You turned slowly, bar in hand. "That's what you're starting with?"

Steve crossed his arms. "I like to know who's walking around secure facilities."

"She's cleared." said a voice from the corner.

Another man—tall, dark hair pulled into a low man-bun, metal arm gleaming faintly in the morning light. He leaned casually against the doorframe, gaze steady on Steve.

"She wouldn't be here if she wasn't."

You blinked. You didn't recognize him.

Steve didn't respond, but his jaw tightened. His eyes flicked between you and the mystery guy, like something didn't sit right.

You felt your magic twitch again. Not big. Not loud. Just a pulse under your skin.

You stepped away from the counter, hoodie sleeves swallowing your hands. "If you want me gone just say it."

Steve frowned. "That's not-"

"I've been looked at like that before," you said, voice flat. "I can tell when someone's deciding if I'm worth the risk."

Something flickered in his face. Not guilt. Just reassessment.

But he didn't deny it.

Before the silence could stretch any longer, metal-arm-man spoke again.

"You hungry?"

You turned toward him.

He jerked his head toward the hallway. "Kitchen's better down the hall. This one's more... mission briefings and high-protein smoothies."

You hesitated.

Then you nodded, and followed him.

He didn't speak much as you walked. Just moved with an ease you didn't expect from someone with a history like his. Not that you believed everything the world said about him. You knew what it felt like to be weaponized.

"Sorry about Steve," Bucky said finally, as you turned another corner. "He doesn't always know how to separate the mission from the moment."

You looked up at him. "He looked at me like I was a loaded gun. He's your friend?"

"Yeah, he's my friend" Bucky shrugged. "and to be fair, you kind of are."

You didn't know why, but that made you snort softly.

He glanced at you, smiling faintly. "But you're not the only one."

You didn't say anything else for a moment, but when he held the door open to a smaller, cozier kitchen space, you stepped inside without flinching.

⸻

The kitchen was quiet, warmer than the rest of the facility. The lights were lower here, more golden than fluorescent, and the space smelled faintly of cinnamon and clean steel. A few mismatched mugs hung from hooks above the sink. Someone had left a half-finished crossword on the counter beside a mostly empty box of cereal.

It didn't feel like a secret government base.

It felt... lived in.

You didn't sit right away. You stood near the doorway, arms folded, the oversized hoodie swallowing your frame. You watched as Bucky crossed the room and opened a small fridge like he'd done it a hundred times before.

"Want something?" he asked, casually pulling out two glass bottles of something fizzy—one orange, one clear.

You blinked at the label. It was an old soda brand. One you'd only ever seen in vintage ads peeling off subway walls.

He caught your hesitation and held both bottles up.

"The orange one's mine. You can have it, though, if you're feeling dangerous."

You stared at him.

He raised his eyebrows. "I can't promise the clear one won't be radioactive."

That startled a laugh out of you before you could stop it. A dry, startled sound.

You didn't reach for the soda. Not yet. But you stepped further into the room, a few feet closer. He didn't move toward you. Just handed the orange bottle to you by the neck and sat down at the small table with the other one.

"I don't know who you are," you said finally, after a long silence. "I mean, I know your face. Sort of. But not... your name."

He nodded, twisting the cap off his drink. "Yeah. That's fair. Not a lot of people do. I'm Bucky."

You sat down across from him, stiffly, the cold glass sweating in your hand. "What are you, then? Avenger? Agent?"

His mouth twitched like he almost smiled but couldn't quite commit. "neither."

You stared at him for a second. "You said I was like a loaded gun. That's not wrong. You don't seem scared, though."

"I've seen worse."

You tilted your head, cautious. "Like what?"

He paused for a moment, eyes distant, like he was debating how much to tell you. Then he leaned back in the chair and said simply, "Me."

You blinked.

He didn't elaborate. Didn't have to. Something about the way he said it—calm, factual, heavy like stone—made your stomach twist. You looked down at the bottle in your hands.

"You think I'm gonna turn into something like that?" you asked, not sure if you meant him or whatever history he was hiding.

"No," Bucky said, without hesitation. "I think you're scared you already have."

That hit you harder than you expected. Your fingers tightened around the glass.

"Why are you being nice to me?" you asked, voice low.

"You don't know me either. And your friend, he looked at me like I was one step from setting the place on fire."

He didn't flinch. "Because l've been where you are. Standing in a place that doesn't feel like yours, trying not to breathe too loud in case someone changes their mind about letting you stay."

You looked at him, really looked this time.

His eyes held a kind of exhaustion that didn't belong to any timeline. Not tired like he hadn't slept. Tired like his soul had been dragged across too many decades and buried too many selves.

You recognized it.

Not in the details. Just the shape of it.

"What did you do?" you asked, softer.

Bucky didn't answer right away. Just took a slow sip of his drink and stared at the countertop like it held ghosts.

"I hurt people," he said at last. "Not because I wanted to. Because I was made into something. And when I finally got out... I didn't know who I was without all that."

You swallowed. "Did anyone make you feel better about it?"

He looked up, one corner of his mouth lifting, sad and ironic. "They tried. Took me years to let it mean anything."

Silence stretched between you again. It didn't feel uncomfortable this time.

You set the soda bottle down on the table, still unopened.

"Did it help?" you asked. "Letting them try?"

He nodded once. "Eventually."

You didn't answer, but your shoulders loosened by degrees. You reached up and tucked your damp hair behind your ear, hoodie sleeves falling halfway down your forearms.

"Everyone keeps saying I'm safe here," you said, eyes fixed on a crack in the table's varnish. "But I feel like the minute I breathe wrong, someone's gonna lock me up again. Or worse."

Bucky didn't look away. "No one's locking you up."

"You can't promise that."

"No," he said. "But I can promise that l'd stand between you and anyone who tried."

That made your chest go tight.

You weren't sure what startled you more—the certainty in his voice, or the fact that you almost believed him.

"Why?" you asked, eyes narrowing. "Why would you do that for me?"

He shrugged. "Because someone did it for me."

You didn't know what to say to that. Your fingers itched again, that buzz of gold threatening to stir, but you kept it down. You just watched him.

The quiet stretched.

⸻

It had been four days since Tony brought you in.

Four days since you left behind the crumbling train stations, the rooftop shelters, the cracked glass and cold rain. Four days of hot meals, warm water, quiet hallways, and being watched without being hunted.

You hadn't quite adjusted.

You still didn't speak much to anyone but Wanda, Tony, or Bucky. The others—Natasha, Sam, Bruce, even Vision—were polite enough, but they kept a kind of distance. Maybe because they were unsure of you.

Maybe because you made yourself hard to reach.

You couldn't help it. They moved like people who belonged somewhere.

You still felt like a ghost with a guest pass.

But Tony had insisted on a "team night." No suits. No agendas. No hovering drones. Just people. In his words: "A bunch of overpowered weirdos pretending we're normal for three hours, or until someone flips the Monopoly board."

You hadn't planned on going.

But Wanda knocked gently at your door around 7:40, dressed in soft jeans and a hoodie that looked older than the building itself. She didn't pressure you. Just held up a bag of kettle corn and said, "It's low-stakes. You don't have to talk."

You followed her anyway.

The rec room was bigger than you expected—wide windows, scattered couches, flickering fairy lights strung lazily across a ceiling beam like someone had half-heartedly tried to make the space festive and then given up halfway through.

There were card tables, bowls of chips, bottles of soda and water, even one sad little speaker in the corner playing low-volume Stevie Wonder.

You hovered in the doorway for a moment, nerves prickling just under your skin.

Tony was sprawled on the couch, wearing a t-shirt that said Sarcasm Loading... and gesturing wildly with a slice of pizza in one hand. Across from him, Sam and Rhodey were arguing about the ethics of cheating in Uno. Natasha sat cross-legged on the floor, lazily shuffling a deck of cards. Steve and Bucky were in the back corner setting up some overly complicated board

game you'd never seen before, and Bruce was inspecting a massive tub of popcorn like it held state secrets.

No one turned when you walked in.

That made it easier.

You hovered near the drink table, pretending to be interested in seltzer labels, until you heard Tony's voice float across the room:

"Hey! Glow Stick! You made it!"

You froze.

Every head turned.

You blinked. "What?"

Tony leaned around the side of the couch, still chewing. "You. Glow Stick. You know, with the hands?

Glowy glowy?" He twirled his fingers in the air dramatically. "Boom, light show, minor property damage-very cool."

You stared at him. "You're calling me a glow stick?"

"Yeah glow stick. And technically I was trying not to call you the Golden Gremlin, but if you'd prefer-"

"She doesn't prefer." Wanda cut in smoothly, passing you a soda.

You kept your face still, but something inside you cracked. Not painfully. Just... loosened. Like a thread tugged free.

You sat in the corner of the couch with your legs pulled up and watched the chaos unfold. Sam yelled when Natasha skipped his turn. Bruce gave up on popcorn secrets and joined the card game. Steve tried to explain the rules of the board game while Bucky rolled his eyes so hard you thought he might pull a muscle.

Bucky caught your glance across the room and gave you the smallest nod.

You returned it.

Tony dropped onto the cushion beside you uninvited and shoved a paper plate of pizza into your hand.

You didn't take it. Just stared at him.

"I'm not bribing you," he said. "This is... uh. Diplomacy.

First step to a truce between the Kingdom of Brooding and the Republic of Sass."

You raised an eyebrow.

"I'm a diplomat." he shrugged.

You snorted before you could stop it.

He smirked. "That's right. I'm growing on you."

You didn't answer. But you took the pizza.

That was enough for him.

Later, when the card game devolved into Sam accusing Natasha of war crimes, and Wanda nearly spit soda laughing, and someone put on a stupid team movie no one intended to actually watch-you let yourself breathe.

You didn't laugh. Not fully.

But you didn't feel like a threat.

You didn't feel invisible, either.

You were still scared. Still sharp around the edges. Still flinching every time a door opened too fast.

But in that moment, curled on the couch in an old hoodie and socks that didn't match, with Tony Stark calling you Glow Stick and Wanda smiling gently across the room, and Bucky watching you like he trusted you not to vanish-

You felt something you hadn't felt in years.

⸻

The nightmares came in waves.

Not the obvious kind—not screaming or gasping awake like in the movies. Yours were quieter. More insidious. You'd jolt up around 2:40 a.m., heart thudding, breath caught in your throat, your hands glowing faintly with magic you hadn't summoned.

After game night it hit you hard.

You paced the halls like a ghost. No shoes. Hoodie sleeves pulled down over your hands. Stark's hoodie, still a few sizes too big and worn at the cuffs now from how often you clutched it.

The facility was quiet at night. No agents. No chatter.

Just the low hum of tech and the soft flicker of control panels in the walls. The silence should've been comforting.

It wasn't.

By the time you ended up outside the door to Tony's lab, you weren't even thinking clearly. You didn't knock. Just stood there for a long time, the cold from the floor seeping into your feet, your head spinning with thoughts you couldn't pin down.

You'd cracked a little during team night—felt something warm around the edges of yourself, something unfamiliar—but that feeling didn't last.

You were still terrified. Still wrong. Still dangerous.

And you were so, so tired of pretending otherwise.

The door slid open before you could decide what to do.

Tony stood just inside, wearing glasses too big for his face and some band tee you didn't recognize, a coffee cup in one hand and a wrench in the other.

He blinked at you. "Midnight meltdown or sudden thirst for engineering knowledge?"

You didn't answer. Just looked at him like you might collapse.

He nodded once and stepped aside.

"Come in. Breakdown special—quiet corner, no questions, extra snacks."

You walked in like you were moving underwater. Slow. Cautious. You didn't speak. Didn't even look around. Just sank down to the cold concrete floor beside one of the workbenches and curled your knees into your chest.

Tony didn't push. He returned to whatever he was working on-something with exposed circuits and an old arc reactor casing-and let the silence fill the space like warm water instead of something to drown in.

You sat there for a long time, not crying. Not moving.

Just breathing like it hurt.

Finally, maybe an hour later, your voice rasped out of nowhere.

"I don't think it's going to stop."

Tony looked up, hands still.

You stared at the floor. "This... thing inside me. The magic. It doesn't sleep. It's always... humming. And when I try to control it, it feels like it's waiting for me to slip up. Like it wants to take over."

Tony exhaled through his nose, leaned back in the stool, and took a sip of whatever was in his cup. "You know how many nights I spent in this lab after Afghanistan?"

You looked up, startled.

"Couldn't sleep. Couldn't stop building. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that cave, those bombs. The arc reactor in my chest felt like a loaded gun. Not a miracle. Not salvation. Just a countdown."

You swallowed. "What'd you do?"

He shrugged. "Built a hundred suits. Broke twenty. Took apart the same toaster seven times. Invented a coffee grinder that brews insults into the foam."

You almost smiled.

He watched you for a moment, softer now. "What I didn't do? Run away from it."

You looked away again, throat tight.

"I don't know how to stop being afraid of myself," you whispered. "Everyone says I'm safe now. But I don't feel safe with me."

Tony was quiet for a long time.

Then, gently, "Yeah. That part's gonna take a while."

Your eyes stung.

"I don't want to be a weapon," you choked. "I don't want to end up like them. Roan. The Division. I don't want to look in the mirror one day and see what they tried to make me."

Tony stood slowly and crossed the lab. He knelt in front of you—not close, not reaching. Just eye level.

"You're not a weapon," he said. "You're a kid who got handed a live wire and told to swallow it."

You lip was trembling as you spoke.

"I don't know who I am without it."

He nodded. "You will. And until you figure it out, you've got me, the resident disaster recovery specialist."

You let out a shaky breath.

"I don't understand why you're all so nice to me."

Tony smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Because I know what it's like when nobody is."

You looked at him for a long time. Really looked.

Then, without fully meaning to, you reached up and tugged one sleeve of the hoodie down over your wrist and wiped at your eyes.

It didn't fix anything.

Tony didn't try to fix you. He just went back to his bench, tinkering quietly.

And you sat there until you could breathe again.

[thedreamflarealchemist]

please drop vampire pluto headcanons

Vampire Pluto Headcannons

Okay, so as a precursor, I was kinda thinking of vampire Pluto as a Vampire Diaries AU, so some of these are intertwined with that lore. Tried to make these as canon compliant as possible, lol. I'll probably end up making a Vampire Diaries AU at some point, too.

Pluto’s first victim was his father. After he was freshly turned, he didn't know what was going on. His father started arguing with him over money as always and shoved Pluto backwards into a wall. Pluto's new instincts took over, and he drained his father in a frenzy before sense came back to him.

Pluto tried sticking to strictly animal blood for a while before he switched to willing blood "donors."

He tends to be very polite when drinking from people and often confirms consent multiple times.

He considers drinking from the neck a far too intimate act and exclusively drinks from the wrist unless he is very familiar with the person (or in a starved frenzy).

Pluto's daylight "item" is an ornate lighter layered in twisting gold and silver designs with a lapis lazuli stone encrusted in the side.

It actually took him a large stretch of time to find a witch willing to make him a daylight item, so he spent years avoiding the sunlight.

Due to his years spent in the dark, he still gets a jump scare on occasion when someone opens the curtains/blinds in a dark room.

He has an affinity for cats as he tended to spend most of his time in the presence of witches and their familiars as opposed to other vampires before arriving in Nevermore.

He died originally when his father strangled him in a drunken rage. The next morning, Pluto was miraculously still alive, and his father didn't remember a thing.

Pluto is the slightest bit sparkly when in direct sunlight (Edward is that you?) so he's prone to covering most of his skin in oversized clothing (also holdover from not being able to go out in the sun).

Pluto doesn't like garlic... not because he's a vampire! He didn't like it when he was human either. That fact doesn't stop Duke from teasing him, though.

Lenore, Duke, and Eulalie are the only ones who know that Pluto is a vampire so far. Lenore has been letting Pluto feed off of her as his primary food source since getting to Nevermore.

Pluto was forced to feed off of Duke after they were stuck together running from The Stag. This was, unfortunately, how Duke and Eulalie found out.

Eulalie is taking it well. Duke... not so much. They're working on it.

Lenore, surprisingly (or not), repeatedly checks on Pluto after finding out how starved he had been to make sure he's getting enough to eat and isn't hungry.

Berenice thinks it's cool that their teeth match.

Montressor has made multiple comments about "Pluto's kind," which has put Pluto very on edge. He might know something— or he might just be being a bigot about something else.

He hissed at Will once and made him flinch, but neither of them has brought it up since.

Annabel made two (2) separate backhanded compliments about his complexion.

He wants to like Morella. Really, he does. She's very friendly, but something just feels a little off. He keeps a safe distance for now.

Pluto knows who Prospero used to be. He can smell the scent of vervain in his blood and clinging to his clothing plain as day. Sharing a room with him had been the closest Pluto's been to a near constant state of anxiety since living with his father.

[noxitsnox]

enhypen as toxic bfs - hyung line

heeseung, jay, jake, sunghoon x gn!reader (sep)

summary: in which way each of them is toxic in a relationship

tags: toxic behaviors (emotional unavailability, possessive behaviors, love bombing, ghosting, lying), fighting, crying

a/n: do i make a version with the maknae line as well? @exactlyinfp 🧘🏻

heeseung:

you never know if you’re actually dating, if you’re hooking up or if you’re strangers. he never called you his partner, you never talked about being exclusive but you go on dates and he’ll buy you flowers sometimes, if you ask just enough times for him to remember. he doesn’t tell you that he loves you, but you met his friends. he doesn’t want to meet your family, he says it’s too early. you’re never together on valentine’s day but he calls you to spend february 15 at his house. at some point you get tired of it, you’re tired of being with someone you’re not even sure is your boyfriend. you can disappear for a day or two but heeseung won’t let you walk away so easily. he’ll call you and tell you he’s changed, that he’s ready for a relationship and for a week he’d be the best boyfriend ever… just as soon as you’re back under his spell he’d go back to be the man he’s always been.

jay:

he’s possessive. you-can’t-go-to-parties-alone possessive. he’s so jealous of everyone and that’s the only reason why you ever fight. he’d get mad at the delivery guy for looking at you for more than two seconds. when you’re out he always has his hands on you, wheter he’s holding your hand or he’s holding your waist it doesn’t matter he needs to show everyone that you’re his. it got to a point where you’re completely isolated from everyone. you ended up blocking all of your guy friends because he’d put up fight after fight for them, he’d say they’re just trying to get you to bed anyway. and even when you’re with your family or female friends you end up spending all the time on call with him because he’s scared there might be other boys. you stopped going almost completely and when you do he’s with you. he says that knows how men think and doesn’t trust them. you know it’s wrong, that you should get away from him as soon as possible but when he holds you so gently every night before sleeping, when he cooks for you each night and surprises you everyday with flowers and gifts… how can you not close an eye on his jealousy?

jake:

in words, jake’s perfect. he sends you a good morning and good night text each day, he calls you fifty times a day just because he wants to hear your voice, he always tells you he loves you, that you’re pretty, that he’d do anything for you… sometimes you think he’s too much, you’re not used to such antics and his love overwhelms you. when your friends ask, you talk about him with pride, your boyfriend is everything people look for. except when he disappears for a week or two every month. everything is fine, jake seems happy and in love and them suddenly there’s no good morning text, and he doesn’t open your messages nor he answers your phone calls. you find yourself craving and begging for his attention, you tell yourself if he doesn’t answer before noon i’ll block him, but you never do. you put your phone on DND but keep checking for his notification. just as you’re about to give up he comes back. sorry!! i’ve been so busy with school lately. how are you? or at times just a simple hi, no apologies until you point out how he became unreachable and how it hurts you. he tells you that he’s so truly, deeply sorry and takes you out to dinner, promising you it won’t happen again. you both know it will. but you try to enjoy jake as long as you have him, his gift and his sugar coated words became your drug.

sunghoon:

sunghoon is the guy everyone wants, he’s cool, he’s hot, and he has those dork vibes that make him seem human. you love his quiet side, even when it means you have to wait a whole day or more before he answers your texts. he never apologizes for late replies, he never even acknowledges them so you don’t either. even if there are days where you have no idea what he’s up to, when he’s with you he barely touches his phone, he’s actually present and the dates he takes you in are the best. dinner dates, picnic dates, museum dates… everything was perfect. it takes you a while to realize that you never met any of his friends or family, he never even talks about them, you’re not even sure about what he studies in uni, which university he goes to. It’s almost as if he’s living life completely alone. you might try to ask him, to organize a dinner with his friends and yours so you both can meet the important people of the other’s life but sunghoon won’t have it, he’d say he’ll think about it, that now he’s tired and wants to sleep or that it’s too early in the morning for this kind of talk even if it’s 11 am. you have never been the type of person who checks their boyfriend’s phone, but now you felt like you had no other choice. you had no idea of what you were looking for and yet you didn’t find anything at all. he’d find out eventually, you’d get in this huge fights where he claims that you don’t trust him- how can i trust someone i barely know?, you didn’t say it even if you wanted to. you didn’t hear from sunghoon for months before he called you up again, acting if nothing has ever happened.

[lustful-lore]

Clinical Obsession

(a one piece smutty fan-fiction)

Trafalgar Law x You | NSFW 18+

The air on Swallow Island was humid and thick — sticky with salt, tension, and the kind of danger that made even seasoned pirates tread lightly.

Law wasn’t here to play. He hated crowded markets, hated the noise, hated the stench of desperation in a town crawling with bounty hunters pretending to be civilians. But most of all, he hated distractions.

So when he saw you, you already pissed him off.

You moved through the crowd like you owned it…hips rolling, eyes sharp, while peeling back the skin of an orange. Law’s gaze locked on yours before he could stop himself. There was something in the way you looked back, that set off every instinct in him.

Not prey. Not harmless. Definitely not just some pretty little thing looking to flirt.

You tilted your head, smirking like you could taste his attention on your tongue. Then, casually, you licked the juice from your fingers, slow and shameless.

Provocation.

His jaw ticked.

His crew fell silent as he stepped away from them, walking straight toward you like a blade sliding from its sheath. His steps were smooth, slow, but there was a heat behind his eyes now.

“I can tell you’ve got a mouth on you,” he said, stopping just a foot from you, low voice cool and sharp like a scalpel.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t step back.

“And I noticed you watching me like you want it all over yours.”

Law’s pupils flared.

“Who are you?” he asked, voice just above a whisper now.

Your answer came with a subtle shift in the air. The hair on the back of his neck lifted. Devil fruit.

But what kind?

“Wouldn’t you like to know…Captain.” you replied, sweet and venomous. You leaned in, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Or do you only like playing with what you can dissect?”

A mistake.

Or maybe exactly what you wanted.

“ROOM.”

You didn’t even have time to gasp before the world blinked away…market noise swallowed by silence and decay. Dust. Rust. Rotten wood.

An abandoned warehouse. You staggered, breath catching as you faced him again…his eyes now stormy and dark. Locked in on you like a predator with prey cornered.

You opened your mouth to speak, but he was on you — slamming your back against a metal beam, his hand gripping your throat with just enough pressure to make your body go still.

“I don’t like being played with,” he said, his voice low, breath brushing your cheek. “You want my attention? You have it now.”

Your pulse pounded. But your legs didn’t shake. Not yet. You smiled, lips brushing his.

“Good. I plan to earn it.”

Law didn’t waste another breath.

His mouth crashed onto yours…nothing sweet, all teeth and pressure, lips parting yours with the kind of kiss that left your knees trembling. A hand stayed tight at your throat, just enough pressure to make your breath catch in the most delicious way.

You barely noticed the fabric vanish — he sliced them away like a whisper of steel. You were naked in seconds, back pressed to cold metal, his body hot against yours.

“You don’t get to tempt me like that,” he growled against your jaw, kissing down your neck with deliberate, biting nips. “Not unless you’re ready to take what comes after.”

His rings scraped your thighs as he slid his hand between your legs. His fingers found how soaked you already were, and it made him laugh low in his throat.

“Already?” he murmured. “You really did come looking for trouble.”

You bit your lip but didn’t back down. “Guess I wanted to see what a surgeon could do to my insides.”

You could feel his cock immediately start throbbing against your leg.

He spun you — rough palms on your hips, bending you forward over a stack of metal crates. Your cheek hit the cold surface just as his fingers gripped your ass, spreading you wide.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” he ordered. “And don’t even think about using that fruit of yours.”

You smirked over your shoulder. “Scared I’ll overpower you?”

His response was a sharp slap to your ass, followed by the blunt, aching press of his cock sliding between your folds, teasing.

“I told you,” he murmured, voice dark, “I don’t like being played with.”

And then…he was inside you. All at once. Thick, deep, unforgiving.

You screamed. And he grinned.

His thrusts were merciless, each one slamming your hips into the crates hard enough to rattle the whole stack. He fucked like a man who needed control, who’d held it back all day, and was finally letting it out on your body.

“You wanted this. You watched me and lusted for me in public. You’re gonna come before I let you speak again.”

He wrapped his hand in your hair, pulling your head back as he fucked you harder — his hips snapping against your ass, the slap of skin on skin echoing around the empty space.

You tried to fight it, you really did. But he hit something deep, precise every time, and your powers flickered involuntarily. The air warped. Light bent. Control was slipping.

Your knees buckled as your orgasm tore through you…violent, unexpected, making you cry out his name like it was carved into your spine.

But Law didn’t stop.

He pulled out only long enough to flip you around— lifting you up onto the crates, legs spread, your slick still glistening. He watched your chest rise and fall, eyes dark with hunger.

“You look good like this,” he muttered, stroking himself as he lined up again. “Fucked-out and begging for more.”

He slid in again…deeper this time, slow and grinding, making sure you felt every inch. His thumb brushed over your clit while he thrust, and your entire body trembled from overstimulation. You wrapped your legs around him, nails dragging across his back, leaving red marks through his tattoos.

“Law…..” you gasped.

He smirked, sweat dripping from his jaw. “Say that again.”

“Law!”

“Louder.”

“Lawwww!!!”

That did it.

He fucked you harder than before, pushing you flat against the crates, using your body like it was made for him. He kept going until your second orgasm took you by surprise — ripping through you with tears at the corners of your eyes and a scream echoing off rusted walls.

Law groaned, low and deep, biting down on your shoulder as he spilled inside you…hips stuttering, hands gripping your thighs so tight you’d wear the bruises for days.

Silence followed. Just heavy breathing. The drip of sweat. The slight creak of rusted metal beneath your shaking body.

When he finally pulled out, he didn’t say a word. He just reached out, dragging a single ringed finger down your swollen, twitching core, watching his release drip from you like a reward.

Then — snap — you were back at the market.

Standing in the same spot, fully clothed again, legs unsteady. His crew nearby. The crowd unaware.

But you felt him.

Still inside you.

Still watching.

And when you looked up?

Law was leaning casually against a wall, licking the tip of his thumb as he met your gaze again.

“That was just foreplay, sweetheart. Next time, I’ll ruin you.” He said with a smirk, and walked off with his crew.

[bonesandpoemsandflowers]

after many many months, I finally got back to my true detective rewatch, by which I mean: I watched half of episode 2. and they're just. they're so fucking funny.

Not saying anything new here, but they are so truly, briefly, inhabiting separate genres. Rust IS actually the only guy who gives the appearance of thinking about the case, brain circling the killer and motives and the victim and same.

THE LOCKER ROOM SCENE...how did i forget how funny it is.

rust is actually so cutting and fucking funny on purpose, i don't understand how so many of you people think he's one note socially awkward. sometimes he's distracted, but that's not the same thing. when he's in the moment that's actually happening to him? he's FUNNY. he is a little SHIT. he is saying shit ON PURPOSE. does he expect to get shoved into a locker about it? no, i don't think so, which is why he backs down with saying he's not commenting on the particularities of the scent, but like. he's not TOO surprised by anything here, either, imo.

and marty!!! marty. marty in that scene, in all scenes! maaaarty.

marty, rust's not saying anything about your wife and you know this. marty, you're fronting so hard! you're doing this elaborate flimsy bit to bluff your sidepiece into not leaving her house! you're paraphrasing rust as you do it!

every interaction marty has with a woman is like. hysterical, actually

like, they both get scenes with women that are interspaced with each other and the scenes are so different in tone. marty's having mildly kinky sex with a fresh faced smoking hot babe with huge tits. he's having a great time. she's so comfortable with him she cuffs him without really asking and he goes with it, only complains a little. meanwhile, Rust is having PILLS, is what he's having. I do not buy ANY interpretation that says he feels lust for Lucy here. He is there to BUY DRUGS (and ask about The Case). And Lucy is uncomfortable! bruised up thighs, uncertain of Rust's motives. she is attracted to him--uncertain as she is, she displays a willingness, an active interest--but she's still kind of scared of him. And he is, as ever, aware of her precarious position here, aware of what all this can mean to her, and he's never threatening but he's not too comforting, either. "Of course I'm dangerous. I'm police. I can do terrible things to people, with impunity."

Rust is so much cooler around sex workers than Marty...we love a man who's comfortable in this space. It's just so much more reliable. I've said it before but part of the magic of TD s1 is that it opens with Rust as a mythic figure but also kind of a nerd, right, and they show us busted old man rust, and Marty's talking so Marty's the cool guy, right? and then the show's like: hahah, SUCKERS, this nerd? he bad. in the best way possible, which is to say: he legitimately belongs here in all these sex and drug and crime spaces, he's fluent in everything here.

and marty is, meanwhile, having such a sanitized time, despite being senior detective, homicide, etc.

what if the nerd was actually the COOL guy but also the BAD BOY but a SAD DAD but also the only honest man to be found in the entire world? that is what true detective asks and offers. and then, meanwhile, for contrast: marty.

marty is easier to love when you forget some of the stuff marty does, but he's so delightful, too, in the ways he's awful, in the way he's so--pitiable, and I don't even mean that in a bad way. I love Marty Hart and he is, in a way, trying hard, trying, in fact, way too hard. he just also sucks so bad! it's amazing! rust is human but fundamentally heroic and aspirational. marty hart, whether we like him or not, is much closer to where most of us live: a little clueless, a little selfish, desperate to understand what's going on and desperate to be loved, and pretending to be in charge, pretending like we're qualified.

etc etc

I'd forgotten how delightfully distressed Rust looks when he sees those roiling lights in the sun drenched clouds, how obviously he's trying so hard to not show too much dread, how he shuffles himself around and closes his eyes and hopes and hopes and hopes that will keep him together

and Marty's there in the driver's seat, looking over but not until Rust's closed his eyes, does Rust even know? Does Rust know and that's worse, that's why he keeps his eyes closed?

and this isn't even getting into the @ticklingyourcatastrophe theory that we're actually meeting Crash in the frame story interview. like, I've been turning this idea over in my head since I saw it, and sometimes I agree and sometimes I don't, but the idea of Crash as something bigger that Rust wears? that makes PERFECT sense in a lot of these scenes.

they also give you SO much about Rust so quickly! so much tragic backstory! they don't hold on to it! they don't play those cards close to the chest! they make you wait like 1.5 episodes before he's not finishing his sentences and he's skipping to casually saying how him and his ex-wife resented each other being alive. and that's not even near the top ten saddest rust cohle moments. amazing writing and I'm still not sure how much anyone involved here understood what they were doing.

however also delightfully insane that this show has these dudes discussing scent of pussy and fighting each other and then having to get in a car together and drive. i would kill my coworker within the hour.

"that a down payment?" rust cohle is the meanest girl in the world and I love that for him.

[soundwwaving]

congrats on the pronouns #bewhoyouare

thank you :))

[aquanutart]

[softservesoymilk]

Inigo loves Archie so much it kills him inside :’)

[thebluebygracieabrams]

real

[apatheticsunday]

Dead Serious Arranged Marriage

AKA "Damian al Ghul and the High King of Infinite Realms, Space, and the Dead are married because of some ritual Ra's al Ghul did when Damian was a baby. The Batfam only find out because Damian casually mentions his husband and they're like?? WHAT???" prompt idea!!

Loosely inspired by this post where Billy Batson & Danny Fenton accidentally get married and Billy spills the beans in front of the JL.

I love the idea of Ra's al Ghul knows Danny because of the Lazarus Pit; maybe Ghost King!Danny came to Ra's and was like, "You know unsanctioned resurrection is forbidden, right? You have to submit an Undead Appeal form in the afterlife. I'm gonna have to confiscate your Goop." But Ra's is a master manipulator and gets Danny to agree to a truce... a marriage with his grandson in exchange for continued use of the Lazarus Pit. Don't ask me how it happened; Ra's "wins" either way because his grandson gets married to a High King and he gets to keep his Goop.

(Because Danny's young, okay? Logistically speaking, he's not going to outsmart an immortal cult leader. Maybe sometime down the road Danny gets tired of Ra's talking circles around him and just, like, punches him in the face or something. Makes "Redemption Arc" Dan take care of it. Who knows?)

But for now, Danny is now married to a literal baby. He's confused as hell how this happened. He's like, omg, am I a groomer now?? Am I one of those creepy ancient kings that get married to 12 year old girls?? What the fuckkkk!!! So, he runs to the Ghost Zone. Goes off-world, maybe he gets swept up in Ghost King duties and totally forgets about it. The thing about the Ghost Zone is that the time dilation is different: a couple of days/weeks/months in the Ghost Zone is actual years on Earth. That's why Danny is still so young despite depictions of him going centuries back (time is even messier because he can actually time travel, too, so there may be paintings of him during the Aztec civilization but only because he was there for maybe a week or two.)

This leads to everybody on Earth thinking he's an Ancient Being. Ra's is elated that his grandson, the heir of the League of Assassins, is married to the equivalent of a God (he doesn't know that 99 percent of the time, Danny's lounging on Sam's couch in sweats and eating cheese puffs, watching melodramatic reality TV with Tucker).

And Damian grows up hearing about this legendary marriage, how this Great Ancient Being is his husband, and is... maybe scared? A little angry, resentful? He's had the choice taken from him from before he could even conceptualize it. He was a kid growing up thinking this All Powerful Being was watching his every move, judging him for not being the best like his Grandfather says, and waiting. He trains harder, learns more, maturing faster than anyone his age. And he's still waiting. Because the High King doesn't show up. Not when Damian's four, six, ten, twelve, fourteen. Damian thinks maybe he's not good enough yet despite vastly outdoing even the most seasoned senior assassins in the League.

Danny comes back to Earth and is like, oh, shit, I need to check on my baby!!! Except when he drops in on the League of Assassins, he's met with an angry, resentful, offended Damian al Ghul who's the same age as him. And Damian's met with.... some guy?? What the hell?? This can't be the High King of Infinite Realms, Space, and the Dead, Ancient Being, etc. He's heard so many stories of his husband, spanning centuries of different culture and in varying dead languages.

Needless to say, their introduction doesn't go great. But Danny wants to explain himself and make amends, and Damian's just baffled enough to listen. ("What do you mean, the Undead Siege of The Great Wall wasn't you???" "Yeah, that was the previous Ghost King. I've never risen an army of the dead before.") But as they talk, Damian begrudgingly accepts that his husband is... actually pretty cool (despite the god-awful sweatpants). Danny's recounting his various tales, usurping the previous Ghost King, and Damian even starts to respect Danny.

So, they keep talking. Keep meeting, learning about each other, becoming friends, and eventually becoming more. Damian originally thought Danny was too stupid for words, but quickly realizes that he's a great strategist, knowledgeable about a vast amount of stuff, and is incredibly loyal. Danny thinks Damian's deadpan bluntness is hilarious, understands Damian's pathological need to be the best (courtesy of the Demon Head's traumatic teaching during childhood), and is almost single-mindedly, unconditionally loyal. He's also incredibly petty, which is also hilarious.

Maybe years pass and they're now lovers, Danny sticking around Earth because he's scared if he goes into the Ghost Zone, he'll unintendedly come back when Damian's 90 or something. So, Danny's there when Talia takes Damian aside and says, "Bruce Wayne is your father. I'd like you to train under him before you become the new Demon Head."

Damian goes and Danny follows. When he worries about Tim usurping the title of Heir, Danny's there to say, "You don't make friends by attacking them, Dami! He's your family, not your enemy." The whole "Damian trying to kill Tim" thing doesn't happen. When he worries about disappointing his Father, Danny's saying, "He's your dad. He missed your childhood so he wants to get to know you - just be yourself." Damian doesn't act violently, aggressively, or is offensively provocative; he's still petty, painfully blunt, and exasperatingly self-confident, but he's also honest and thoughtful.

Damian transitions into the Batfam easier with Danny beside him (invisible, only showing himself while in Damian's room or when they're alone). Because Danny wants his husband to feel accepted, appreciated, and get the unconditional love that he never received while living with the LoA.

Let's imagine several months go by and the Batfam are totally comfortable with Damian. He's truly like their annoying younger brother. So, they're at family dinner, maybe Dick is discussing his relationship with Barbara and Steph makes a comment about when are you going to propose already?? Tim and Jason are ribbing him about commitment issues (Bruce is suspiciously silent, likely knowing that if he says something, his kids are going to verbally tear him apart for his Situationship with Selina).

And Damian says, "Many feel apprehensive to marry. I was not, of course, but my husband was very trepidatious."

The whole Batfam are like... what?? What do you mean the youngest kid of the Wayne household is the first to be married?? (Aside from Alfred, who's since divorced.) Is this even legal???

But Damian just continues on, "Perhaps discussing the progression of your relationship with Miss Gordon would be beneficial. Marriage should be consensual." (Damian learned that from Danny, who had offered to null their marriage in the early days. It was a heated conversation, Danny feeling guilty because he'd trapped Damian into this relationship and Damian feeling betrayed because what do you mean you're leaving me? This is unacceptable! They shared their first kiss after realizing neither one wants to end the marriage.)

And the Batfam, as comfortable as they are with Damian, knows he's a little like a feral animal. He doesn't share things about himself often. They don't want to scare him off by prying, even if Bruce is gripping the table cloth, sweating, and is looking pale. Because his child is literally married and God, please don't let it be to one of those old assassins in the League, please. So, Dick just says, "Uh, yeah. That's - thanks, kiddo, that's... a good idea."

Damian continues to make occasional comments about his husband, but nobody knows who it is. He doesn't use Danny's name. And Danny has to leave to do Ghost Stuff (despite being terrified of losing track of time, but Damian's now living with a loving family so he's kind of okay with being dragged off for his Kingly Duties). So, nobody's ever actually seen Danny.

Until the Joker decides to make his mark on the newest addition of the Batfam. He's already killed one Robin, traumatized the hell out of another, and paralyzed Batgirl. He's eager to add another of the Batfam to his roster.

Joker nor the Batfam anticipate the High King of Infinite Realms, Space, and the Dead to straight up portal Joker's ass into Frostbite's territory (aside from Damian because he absolutely knew what was going to go down the second he saw a glowing green aura illuminate the warehouse). One minute Joker is threatening a civilian Damian, whos' still dressed in his Gotham Academy uniform, and the next he's being violently yanked into a massive swirling void of green.

And who steps out? Ghost King Danny, in full kingly attire, including a wreathy crown of white-hot, broadsword hung on his hip, and a skull mask over his face. The Batfam are scrambling to get Damian's chains unlocked and haul him away from whatever-the-fuck that is. They get Damian unlocked, but he just snaps for them to desist your hysteria, Richard, 'that' is my husband.

(Cue the very tense family dinner afterward. Danny's in Damian's sweater and ripped jeans but the Batfam are just squinting at him like, how is this the same as that Thing from the warehouse?? Danny's totally oblivious, holding Damian's hand and saying, "Mr. Wayne, I love your home! The painted ceiling in that one from on the second floor is amazing, the constellations are actually super accurate!" He forgot that the Batfam had no idea he's visited Damian literally hundreds of times since he moved into Wayne Manor. Bruce looks like he's gained several greys in the last hour.)

(Bonus points if at some point Damian can be seen lovingly feeding Cheetos to Eldritch Monster Danny and the Batfam are just like that's... definitely not pants-shittingly terrifying... Bruce tells himself he's just glad his son isn't married to an LoA member.)

[0scarp1astr1]

Spoiled Much? (P1)

જ⁀➴ Desc: || Pranking them but telling them you let another man pay for you. ||

P2

ᯓ★ Featuring: Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton, Lando Norris, Carlos Sainz, Fernando Alonso.

ᯓ★ 1x Genre: Humor

ᯓ★ Warning: None

ᯓ★ Requested? Yes

Author Note: We are back to headcanons! and doing requests given to me. I've been working on the masterlist that will soon replace the original pinned post. It'll have links to each part of these headcanosn so I hope you all enjoy.

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Max Verstappen

It all started with a few innocent scrolls on TikTok—girls pranking their boyfriends left and right—and you figured, why not? Max had just handed you his card to go grab a few things from the store, trusting you like he always did. That’s when the perfect plan popped into your mind.

"Call me if you need me," he said casually, completely unaware. You hummed in response, leaned over to kiss his cheek, and slipped out of the car with a little too much pep in your step.

Max leaned back in the driver’s seat, letting the car sit idle in the parking spot. At first, he thought nothing of your delay. He assumed you were just stuck in a long line. Meanwhile, inside, you were hunched over a cart, hiding your giggles behind your hand as you rehearsed the prank in your head.

Eventually, you managed to compose yourself, strolled out with your bags in hand, and tossed them into the back seat before slipping into your place beside him. You buckled up, eyes wide with innocent mischief.

"The man I ran into was really nice—he paid for everything," you said smoothly.

Max turned toward you, brow already furrowing. "The man?" he echoed, confused. "What are you talking about, lieverd?"

You nodded, playing it cool. "Yeah, he said I was pretty and that I shouldn’t have to pay on my own, so...he paid for everything."

Max leaned toward you, staring like he was trying to read your soul. "You weren’t paying on your own? That was literally my card."

"Yeah," you shrugged, holding it out to him. "But he insisted."

He took the card from your hand, jaw tightening slightly. "How old was this guy?"

You pretended to think, dragging out the moment. "Hmm… around your age, I guess?"

Max scoffed. "And he just—what—started complimenting you and offered to pay? Just like that?"

You fought the urge to burst into laughter. "He wasn’t hitting on me," you said, smiling just a little too much.

"He called you pretty," Max shot back, frowning. "And don’t get me wrong—you are—but still. He clearly meant what he said. That’s not casual."

You just nodded solemnly, letting the tension hang in the air a second longer before he abruptly unbuckled. "Alright, I’m going back inside to find this guy."

You grabbed his arm, laughter spilling out now. "Max, wait—"

"No, seriously," he huffed. "He thinks you’re single or something. Like he has a shot. I can afford to fly you to Monaco, let you live in my house, be spoiled every day of your life—what can he offer you?"

You were full-on laughing now, tears threatening to sting your eyes. "Baby, I was pranking you. There was no guy. I used your card like you said."

Max froze, blinking at you. Slowly, his stern expression melted into something softer, almost amused.

"You’re evil," he muttered, shaking his head. Then he let out a quiet laugh of his own. "Don’t joke like that, lieverd. You know I don’t care if people think you’re pretty—but if someone’s actually hitting on you? No. Absolutely not."

You leaned over, kissing his cheek. "Look at you, all protective and jealous."

"You nearly scared me to death, lieverd,"

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Charles Leclerc

Charles was home, lounging on the couch with Leo curled up beside him, the little dog resting his chin on Charles' leg like the most loyal companion. The TV played softly in the background, a comforting buzz. Before you left, Charles had handed you his card with a smile, telling you to get whatever you were craving for dinner tonight. But instead of heading straight home after shopping, you were too busy plotting your latest prank—one inspired by a few too many TikToks.

"I'm home!" you called out as you stepped inside. At once, Leo perked up, leaping from the couch and padding over to greet you with his tail wagging wildly.

Charles looked over his shoulder. "I was starting to worry," he said, standing up. "You took longer than usual."

You smiled innocently, setting your keys down and slipping off your shoes. After leaning in to kiss his cheek, you dropped the first line. "Sorry, this guy paid for everything and we just got caught up in conversation."

Charles froze, staring at you like you'd just said the most absurd thing he’d ever heard. “Je t’ai donné ma carte ?” he asked, blinking slowly.

You hummed. "I know, but he was really sweet. Said I shouldn’t worry my pretty little head about paying. He covered it."

Charles just stared for a moment before slowly shaking his head. “That’s unbelievable. People are going to assume you're dating him.”

You fought back a grin, holding it in with all your strength. "No one’s going to think that but you, Charles."

“Sure, sure,” he muttered, eyes narrowing as he turned on his heel and headed toward the kitchen. You followed him, bags in hand.

"Tu fais la moue ?" you teased once inside, catching a glimpse of his unmistakably pouty expression.

Charles didn’t even try to hide it. He just stared at you, arms crossed like a sulking prince. “I treat you well. We live in Monaco. We have Leo,” he gestured around, like the dog was part of his romantic résumé. “I drive in F1—and you're letting some random guy hit on you, baby?”

You couldn’t help it anymore. You broke, laughing as you set the bags on the counter. “I was just messing with you, Charles. There was no guy. I used your card—like I was supposed to.”

He let out a long sigh, his head dropping back slightly. “Don’t scare me like that, woman. I thought some random was actually going to take you away from me.”

You walked up to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I’m with you, Charles. Why would some random have me?”

He gave a tiny shrug, still sulking. “You never know.”

You patted his back playfully. “I got you good,” you said through a soft laugh. Leo barked at your feet as if to agree, his tail wagging like he, too, was in on the joke.

Charles looked down at the dog, then at you, his pout slowly morphing into a smirk

“Yeah, well—just wait, Y/N. One day, I’ll get you back.”

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Lewis Hamilton

You and Lewis had been shopping together most of the day, casually wandering the aisles like the soft domestic duo you were. At some point, Lewis veered off toward the pet section to get Roscoe a few new treats and maybe a fresh toy or two, promising to meet you up front when he was done. You nodded sweetly and went your own way—though behind that innocent look, you were plotting. And not just any plan: a prank. A classic, lighthearted trap for your sweet, loving, “just tell me what you need and I’ll buy it” boyfriend.

After grabbing everything you came for, you paid for your cart using your own money, then waited with the most innocent look you could muster. Lewis eventually showed up, a plush dog bed under one arm and a pack of Roscoe’s favorite snacks in the other.

"You already paid for your stuff?" he asked, dropping the items onto the counter.

You nodded, slipping into character. "No actually… this really nice guy offered to pay. Said I looked beautiful today, and he didn’t want me lifting a finger."

Lewis blinked. “He what?”

"He paid for me," you repeated with a shrug, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. "Said it was his pleasure. Real gentleman type."

Lewis squinted at you like you just told him someone insulted Roscoe. "Baby… that man was flirting with you."

You shook your head, playing dumb. “No, he was just being nice.”

“Right. ‘Just being nice,’” Lewis echoed, making air quotes with a look of complete disbelief. “Because men randomly pay for groceries out of the kindness of their hearts and not at all to shoot their shot with a gorgeous woman.”

You kept your poker face as he grabbed the shopping bags and kept going. “I don’t see myself out here buying random women’s almond milk and cucumbers just to be nice. That’s a move.”

You tried to hide your smirk. “You sound a little… jealous.”

Lewis narrowed his eyes. “I’m not jealous. I’m logical. Man sees a beautiful woman, she’s alone, he tries his luck with his wallet. Basic flirting algorithm.”

“I mean, it worked. He was really sweet.”

That did it.

Lewis ran a hand down his face and let out a long sigh. “Look, it’s great someone thinks you’re hot enough to swipe a card for—but you know I’m right here. You never have to let some man pay for you when your boyfriend drives for a living. Just sayin’.”

You watched him ramble with a barely contained laugh as he kept going.

“I mean, come on, I spoil you for a reason. And now some stranger thinks he can step in with a grocery run? That’s his whole move?”

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. You burst into laughter, your body shaking as you leaned into the cart. “Lewis. Babe. It was a prank. I paid for everything. No man, no flirting, no almond milk Casanova.”

He blinked, pausing mid-rant. “Wait… you’re serious?”

“I am. Gotcha.”

He took a breath like someone who’d just been pulled from open water. “I’m forty, woman. You can’t play with my blood pressure like that.”

You grinned. “Alright, old man.”

Lewis straightened up immediately. “I am not an old man.”

“You didn’t even catch on to the prank, grandpa.”

He narrowed his eyes, his lips tugging into a smirk. “Forty doesn’t make me old. It makes me wise. And this wise man now knows he’s being pranked in public.”

You patted his back “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll go easy on you next time.”

Lewis gave a low chuckle, wagging a finger at you.

“No, no. You started something. A prank war is officially declared. So… just be prepared.”

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Lando Norris

When it came to you and Lando, pranks weren’t just an occasional thing—they were a lifestyle. The relationship came with love, laughter, and a mild risk of heart attacks. Like the time he woke you up at 3AM with a horror mask and you nearly karate-kicked him into next week. Or when you served him a fish smoothie and he banned you from the blender for a month. Your TikTok followers? Obsessed. They lived for every prank war update, every meltdown, every squeal of revenge.

So when you got tagged in a new viral prank trend, it was practically a public request to strike again. You didn’t hesitate. The phone was propped up, camera rolling discreetly, and you were all set. Lando, of course, had no clue what was coming.

You heard the door open and quickly pretended to be busy with prep in the kitchen. He walked in, hoodie slightly damp from the gym, cheeks flushed from the workout. “Smells good,” he said, setting down the grocery bag before leaning in for a soft kiss. “Took me forever to find that stupid oat cream you like.”

You smiled sweetly. “Oh, you didn’t have to. I ended up sending that list to Joshua earlier, and he already grabbed everything for me. Paid for it too. Said, and I quote, ‘anything for the pretty lady.’ Sweet, huh?”

Lando froze, hand still half-in the bag. “Joshua?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nodded, biting your inner cheek.

He blinked. “As in your friend Joshua? The one who wears too much cologne and tried to teach me how to salsa at that dinner party?”

You tilted your head. “Yeah, he insisted.”

Lando scoffed, standing up straighter. “I literally sweat through my hoodie at the gym, fought for a parking spot, went to four aisles for oat cream—and you let another man, one who smells like a Hugo Boss sample sale, buy your groceries?”

You struggled to keep a straight face. “He was being nice.”

“Oh, nice? Nice?! That’s the international signal for flirting. What’s next, is he gonna tuck you into bed and read you poetry? Babe, if I see him handing you a spoon while you're cooking, I might lose it.”

“Are you jealous?”

“I’m insulted. I’m offended. I’m—” He placed a hand over his chest. “—deeply betrayed. I mean, I pay rent! I drive race cars for a living! I went out to get snacks for your cravings at 4AM one time! And now I’m just… footnote boyfriend?”

You snorted. “You’re so dramatic.”

He gasped. “Go ask Joshua to massage your feet tonight then. My spa services are officially retired. Hope he has peppermint oil.”

At that point, you burst into laughter, pointing toward the camera recording from the corner. Lando followed your gaze, groaned, and dragged a hand down his face. “You little gremlin,” he muttered. “Of course it’s a prank. Of course.”

“Aww, you love me.”

“I do. Too much. Which is why you’re lucky you’re cute, because anyone else trying this would be blocked and reported.”

You leaned up, kissing his jaw gently. “You’re my favorite victim.”

He smirked. “And you’re my favorite menace. But just know—this war? It’s not over. I know you're scared of some bugs and some...other things. I’ve got Oscar on speed dial.”

Your eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I will. I already know where you hide your slippers.”

“LANDO NORRIS!” you shrieked as he backed into the hallway, giggling like the absolute child he was.

“Love you!” he called over his shoulder.

“Calling Oscar now! Let’s ruin her life!”

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Carlos Sainz

Carlos and you had been on the road for way too long, the kind of drive where you’ve already debated three podcast topics, played the same five songs on repeat, and shared half a bag of chips in silence. You were coming back from a much-needed trip—two full weeks away from the chaos of daily life. But now, you were finally heading home. And honestly? You were ready.

Still, you needed one last laugh before real life kicked back in. So, naturally, you plotted a prank.

You’d been riding like a queen in the passenger seat the whole time—pillow tucked under your head, cozy in the Christmas blanket Carlos had gotten you last year, doing everything but offering to drive. So when Carlos offered to go into the store to grab some snacks, you stopped him with a sweet smile and a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll go,” you insisted, taking his card from his hand.

He smirked. “Okay, but bring chips. Whatever you pick, I’ll eat it, mi amor.”

Inside, you grabbed everything you both liked—chips, drinks, something sweet. But instead of swiping his card, you paid with yours. And as you made your way back to the car, the plan was already in motion.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you handed him his card back with a calm smile. “You know,” you said casually, “the cashier was really nice. Paid for everything himself. Said he’d just take it out of his paycheck. Also told me my shirt looked cute.”

Carlos stared at you. “Wait—my shirt? That’s literally mine, you’re wearing my clothes.”

“Yeah, but he liked it,” you said with a shrug. “Said it brought out my eyes.”

Carlos blinked at you like he’d just short-circuited. “Oh my god.”

You bit your lip, trying to hide your laugh.

“Mi amor, what do you mean some random cashier paid for your snacks and flirted with you while you were wearing my clothes? Do I look like I’m sharing?”

You tried to keep a straight face as he gestured wildly at the snack bag like it had betrayed him. “I don’t even want these anymore. I can’t eat the chips. They’ve been... compromised.”

“Carlos—”

“No, seriously. You have a ring on your finger! Granted, it’s a promise ring, but still, the promise is loud and clear! I was gone for five minutes and I already lost you to a gas station Romeo?”

That was it. You burst out laughing, your head thrown back as tears formed in your eyes.

He narrowed his gaze, suspicious. “Wait. No. Don’t tell me...”

Still giggling, you nodded. “It’s a prank. I paid with my card.”

He groaned and started the engine again, shaking his head. “You almost gave me a heart attack, mi vida.”

You wiped your eyes, still giggling. “I have to tell Charles about this. He’s going to love it.”

Carlos turned, deadpan. “Do not tell Charles. I swear, if that man starts calling me Gas Station Cuckold or something—”

“You’re being dramatic!”

“I’m being real!” he exclaimed. “That was emotional damage.”

You leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You love me.”

He sighed. “Way too much. And that’s exactly the problem.”

You laughed again as he muttered under his breath, pulling back onto the road. “Just know...this isn’t over. I’ve got something planned. Something evil.”

“Oh yeah?” you smirked.

He grinned. “Just wait till you wake up to find glitter in your shampoo.”

“CARLOS!”

“Love you!”

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Fernando Alonso

You and Fernando had only recently tied the knot — rings still shining, wedding playlists still stuck in your heads. The honeymoon? Cut short by his ever-demanding racing schedule. But to make up for it (and to keep his guilt in check), Fernando had surprised you with a follow-up getaway, your choice of destination. Romantic, thoughtful… and, as you decided, the perfect setting to prank your new husband.

The internet had become obsessed with your marriage — overnight, you'd gone from “regular girl with decent taste in sunglasses” to “Fernando Alonso’s wife who posts adorable reels.” So when fans started tagging you in prank challenges, you figured: why not give the people what they want?

Camera hidden. Kitchen smelling like garlic and glory. Tomatoes being sliced with intention. You were ready.

Fernando walked into the vacation home and immediately lit up. “Huele bien,” he smiled, shrugging off his jacket.

“Mhm,” you hummed, sliding the tomatoes into the pot. “Took me a minute to get it all, though. I accidentally brought the wrong card with me to the store.”

He frowned immediately, concerned. “You should’ve called me, mi amor. I would’ve paid—”

“No need. A very sweet guy at the store paid for me. Said he didn’t want a pretty girl like me to struggle.”

The air stilled. Fernando blinked. Once. Twice.

“I’m sorry, what?” he said slowly.

You kept stirring the pot, tone completely casual. “Yeah, he just insisted. Said it was no trouble. Even complimented my top. Super nice guy.”

Fernando was now planted in place like he’d just been hit with a yellow flag mid-race.

“So... some stranger,” he started, arms crossing, “paid for your groceries. Complimented you. And you just… thanked him and left?”

“Yep.”

“You didn’t say, ‘Oh, I’m married to Fernando Alonso, two-time world champion, racing legend, heartthrob since 2001’?”

You blinked innocently. “Didn’t think it was necessary.”

Fernando threw his hands up. “Necessary?! That ring I gave you is the size of a small island. It has its own timezone. You could signal planes with it.”

You bit back a grin as he kept spiraling. “And this guy? Just decided to be your white knight? At the produce section?! He sees you picking tomatoes and thinks, ‘Yes, this damsel needs saving’?”

You nodded, trying so hard not to laugh. “Pretty much.”

He started pacing. “No. No, no, no. See, I make you feel better when you’re down. I buy you things. I compliment you. I signed up for that role! This guy? He’s just freelancing emotional support. I should find him.”

You turned, finally pointing toward the fruit bowl hiding your phone. “Or... you could relax. Because you’ve been pranked.”

Fernando froze. “You’re joking.”

You just smiled.

He leaned in, spotting the camera, then groaned dramatically. “Oh my god. I gave a full speech. I even included my racing credentials.”

“And it was a very passionate monologue,” you teased.

He stared at you, narrowing his eyes. “You’re evil.”

“Maybe. But I’m your evil.”

He shook his head, muttering something in Spanish before pausing. “Also… be honest with me. Was I really hot in the early 2000s?”

Your head snapped up. “Fernando. You were unfairly hot in the 2000s. Like, ‘could’ve ruined my life if we’d met back then’ hot. The hair? The fire? The attitude? I would've fallen hard.”

He raised a brow, trying not to look too pleased. “Gracias, mi vida. Very sweet of you.”

Then he pointed at you, smug returning full force. “But don’t think flattery will save you. You will be pranked back. And when it happens? You’ll regret ever stirring that tomato sauce.”

You giggled, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “You’re adorable when you’re dramatic.”

He smirked, grabbing a spoon and tasting the pasta. “I was adorable in the 2000s too.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m going to post this entire thing.”

“I know,” he sighed.

“Just tag me in it — and put ‘Oscar-worthy performance’ in the caption.”

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[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

John Walker X Reader: Code Yellow

a/n: hated this little fucker in fatws but thunderbolts made me feral for him (i probably have issues i know)

Warnings: smut, sex pollen (because i love this shit), penetration (p in v), oral (f receiving), begging, kissing, cursing, sexual activity, friends to lovers (maybe?), mutual pining, hidden feelings, no use of y/n, f!reader.

Word count: 3.1K (well that happened)

Oh, this was bad. This was very, very bad. The dust was fucking everywhere. If you hadn’t inhaled it—which you 100% had—you’d still be fucked, because it had come in contact with your skin. It was in you now, and you were very screwed.

This was a simple mission. All you had to do was sneak into the lab, see if any of the scientists were still around, and take them out. If they weren’t, you just needed to mess around with some reports and go back to the Watchtower. It was initially supposed to be Yelena’s mission, but once you found out it was connected to the Red Room, you’d told her absolutely not.

It was a touchy subject, and Yelena was more than willing to go through her trauma to get the job done—but it felt unnecessary to send her if you could go in her place. Yelena had accepted your suggestion, but not before giving you explicit instructions.

“Don’t touch the yellow vials.” “Why? What are they?” “Just trust me. You don’t want that stuff in your system.”

You looked down at your hands, eyes tracing over where the yellow powder clung to your skin. You hadn’t done it on purpose. The shelf had been in the way, and when you attempted to move it, everything came spilling out onto the floor. You were surrounded by pieces of broken glass and yellow dust.

John had heard the crashing sound, causing him to run out from the room he’d been exploring. His eyes searched for you, expecting you to be in some sort of trouble. But when he finally found your frame, you were just standing still and staring at the floor.

“Hey, you okay?”

Your head snapped up at the sound of his voice, eyes wide as he started to move toward you.

“No! Don’t come closer!”

John stared at you, his body stilling. The desperation in your voice surprised him. You were normally the cool and collected one on missions. Nothing seemed to faze you. But now you looked scared, and that made anxiety spike in John’s system. He watched you look from him to the floor and then back to him. He could tell you were trying to think, so he stayed quiet.

“You need to get out of here.”

“What? No, we—”

“John, shut up!”

Okay, so something was definitely wrong. Walker was an annoying person to work with. He was sarcastic and condescending, but you two always managed to get along. Out of the team, you were the one that least hated working with him. You knew how to handle his mean comments, and he knew how to understand your silent requests.

The way you were behaving wasn’t how you normally acted during missions, so that meant something bad had happened. Walker moved to get closer to you, but you gave him a wide stare, telling him to stop without ever opening your mouth.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

You sighed.

“I spilled some fucking powder.”

John’s face broke into a grin, lips parting to make a joke.

“It’s not funny, John.”

That stopped him in his tracks. Your voice was raw against your throat. Your body shook, and he could tell you were frightened.

“Sorry. Force of habit. Just let me come over there and we can figure it out.”

“No. You have to—” Heat blossomed in your chest, making you close your eyes. Fuck. It was starting. You didn’t know if it would affect John too—him being a super soldier and all—but knowing the Red Room, you didn’t rule out the possibility. You had to get him out of the room before the effects took over your brain and you did something you’d regret later. You let out a shaky sigh, forcing yourself to look at John.

“It’s a sex pollen, John. Lena told me to avoid the yellow stuff, so I got curious and did some research. They made it to help people get horny so they’d be able to sleep with a target if needed.”

John’s eyes raked over your body, observing how much powder clung to your suit and skin. Every time he looked at you, your body longed to close the distance. You pinched your hand, forcing yourself to stay put. The smell of him was overwhelming.

“I need you to get out of here. I don’t know what it’s going to make me do if you’re in the room with me. It’s already starting to become unbearable.”

“You won’t die from it, right?”

The question surprised you. You hadn’t expected Walker to care about your well-being. The thoughtfulness made your core clench.

“No. I’ll just be uncomfortable for a while.”

“How long is a while?”

You bit into your cheek.

“Eight hours.”

“Jesus.”

John looked up at you. There was already sweat forming on your face, and your skin itched beneath your suit. You wanted to rip it off your body. But not while he was still here.

“Please, John, just wait outside. Or go back to the Tower and send backup in a few hours—I don’t know. I just need you to get out.”

“I’m not leaving you. I’ll wait outside the door.”

“Okay.”

John made his way toward the door, pausing as you called out his name.

“Yeah?”

“Whatever I say—don’t come in here.”

John nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.

You didn’t know how much time had passed. The rational part of your brain told you it couldn’t have been more than forty minutes but you felt like you’d been in here for hours. You're stripped down to your underwear, suit discarded somewhere in the room. Your body felt like it was on fire. The worst part wasn’t the heat though. It was the utter need you felt. You were so horny it hurt. 

You were laying on the floor, hands stuffed into your underwear as you tried to make yourself cum. You knew your release wouldn’t help dull the effect of the powder but you had to do something or else you’d go insane. 

You hadn't told John, because it would put you both in a compromising position, but you knew how to make the effects go away faster. It would take eight hours for it to leave naturally. But if someone were to fuck you…the relief would be instantaneous. You couldn’t do that to him.

You’d started to develop a crush on the super soldier a couple of months ago. Sure he was a piece of work, but your heart didn’t seem to care about that. You let out a frustrated groan, hand retracting from your body as you failed to bring yourself some relief. Your eyes snapped over to the door. You could smell him trough the fucking door and that just about made you go feral.

Walker sat outside the door, head resting on his knee as he waited. He should have called the team to update them on what was going on but he didn’t. A part of him felt like telling them what was going on would make it more real somehow. Another part of him, a very selfish part, wanted to make sure he was the only one you could depend on if needed. John had always found you attractive but things were complicated. His family had left him not long ago and he wasn’t sure he deserved to have a romantic life any time soon. But then you’d look at him a certain way, or you’d lean over his body as you went over plans and his heart would jump into his throat. He never planned on telling you before.

He was starting to rethink that now.

“John.”

His head snapped up at the sound of your voice. He shifted around, lifting himself up.

“John.”

Your voice was breathy, only barely dulled by the metal door that separated the two of you.

“You okay?”

“No. It hurts , I need….”

Your voice trailed off. John pressed his ear to the door trying to listen for you. He could hear you panting, small whimpering leaving your mouth. John's dick jumped in his pants. Quit it. 

“Please open the door. Please, I need you so bad. I can smell you out there. Fuck you smell so good.”

John's hands clenched into fists at his side, head leaning against the cool metal. He wanted to open the door. He wanted it so bad but you’d told him not to. So he didn’t.

“John please. Just open the door. I need you.”

“Fuck.”

The word slipped from his mouth before he could stop it.

“You told me to stay out here, remember? I promised you.”

“I was wrong John. Please I’ll be such a good girl I promise.”

That was his breaking point. The way your voice sounded so fucking wrecked, the way you were begging him for help. Who was he to deny you? So he opened the door and the sight before him almost made his brain short circuit.

You were on your knees before him, wearing only your bra and underwear. The moment he opened the door your head shot up to look at his face. Your pupils were blown wide, lips parted as you let out small pants.

Before he could even think about moving you were latching onto him. Your arms wrapped around his legs, head resting against his thigh. You nuzzle your face into his groin and his knees almost buckle. He tugged you off of him, much to your disappointment. You opened your mouth to complain but before you could John had crouched down, making his face level with yours. 

“Are you sure you want this?”

He knew you would probably say yes to whatever he asked you but he needed to hear you say it, even in your altered state. He needed to hear you say you needed him. Not because it would flare his ego but because he knew that as soon as he kissed you he would be a gone man. His thoughts would be consumed by you and everything would change between the two of you forever. 

“I want you John. I want you so bad.”

That was all he needed. His lips crashed into yours. You met him with desperation, tongue moving against his teeth as he opened his mouth to you. His hands dig into your skin, trying to tether himself to reality. This could be the first, and only, time he had an opportunity like this. He didn’t want to waste it. You grumbled something against his lips, causing him to pull away.

“What did you say?”

“You’re wearing too much shit. Take it off.”

You tugged at his suit in desperation.

“I want to feel your skin against me.”

John nodded, raising for a moment to strip out of his suit. It wasn't an easy task but he managed. Once he was only in his boxers he moved back to the floor, giving you a bruising kiss. He guided your body to lay down, his own caging you against the floor. Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, grinding yourself against his growing bulge. Your nails raked against his back as he bit into your lip.

He began moving down your body, lips pressing kisses to every inch he could until he was face to face with your pussy. He could see the wet spot on your underwear. The sight made his dick twitch. John glanced up at you, his fingers gripping onto your waistband.

“Can I take this off?”

You nodded enthusiastically. John couldn’t help but smile at your reaction. With one tug he managed to get your underwear off your body. His eyes widened at the sight before him. 

“Jesus. You're soaked.”

You let out a small whine as his fingers moved over your folds. 

“Shh, pretty girl. I’m gonna help you out.”

John's head moved between your legs and you swore you had just died and gone to heaven. His beard scraped against your thighs as he ate you out. With every skill full lick John got you closer and closer to your desired release. Your hands weaved into his hair, forcing his head to stay where it was. 

“So good John it feels so fucking good.”

The praise went straight to his dick, causing him to rut against the floor. He would fuck you but he needed you to cum on his tongue first. One of his hands moved to your pussy, thumb moving over your clit as he shoved his tongue inside you. Your body locked, hips rising as your orgasm washed over you. 

“John!”

John continued to lap at your cunt, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as you tried to squirm away from him. After a moment your body relaxed beneath him and he took it as a sign to stop. He raised his head to look at you expecting to see a blissed out expression but that's not what he saw.

You looked fucking hungry.

Your hands moved to tug John up, lips crashing into his as you tasted yourself on him. You moved one hand down his stomach, fingers tracing over his muscles before finding his boxers. You palm him through the fabric and he groans.

“Put it in me John. Want to feel you inside.”

“Fuck darling. You sure?”

“Please. Need you.”

Yeah there was no way in hell he’d say no to you. He lifted himself up, tugging his dick out from its confines. Your mouth salivated at the sight, core clenching in anticipation. John wrapped his hand around his dick, lining it up with your entrance. He moved in slowly, trying to savour the feeling despite the desparte need to fuck into you. You were a mumbling mess beneath him.

“So big.”

“Yeah? Like it?”

“Love it.”

He snapped his hips, causing you to cry out. Your legs wrapped against his waist, trying to keep him as deep as possible. John began moving in against you. With the way you were clenching around him he wasn't going to be able to keep this up for long.

“Harder.”

“What?”

You grabbed onto his beard, forcing to look at you.

“Fuck me harder.”

Your mouth opened wide as John followed your request. He used his super strength to keep you pinned down as he began to ram into you. Praise slipped from your lips as he fucked you, only spurring him in.

Without so much as a warning your orgasm washed over you. Your body locked up again as you gushed onto John's dick. The moan you let out of his name was enough to make his release come. He painted your walls with his seed, body sagging onto yours as he did. 

John forced himself to pull out, much to your dismay. Your body was no longer burning and the ache you’d been feeling was completely gone. You’d fixed one issue while creating a new one entirely.

“I’m sorry.”

John turned to look at you, his chest raising and falling as he tried to compose himself. You lifted your body off the ground, moving to get up. Despite the exhaustion he felt John followed after you, rising from the floor. You had your back turned to him, arms wrapped around your chest.

“Hey.”

John's hand wrapped around your shoulder, lightly tugging you so you’d face him. You glanced up at him, brows furrowed. 

“Don’t apologise, it wasn't your fault.”

“Except that it was. I knocked the stupid powder off the shelf. I made you fuck me even-”

“Woah, hold on. You didn’t make me do anything. I did it because I thought maybe it would help. But mostly because I was being selfish.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jesus, you gonna make me spell it out?”

You gave him a shrug. John let out a sigh, hands moving to cross over his chest. He was protecting his heart. Even if he didn’t realise it. He was preparing himself for the possibility that now, without that stuff in your system, you’d be repulsed by him.

“I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time. And yeah i’ve wanted to fuck you for a while. So if anyone should apologise it should be me. Because you-

“Shut up.”

John looked at you, mouth open with unspoken words.

“Just shut up and kiss me Walker.”

And he did. He kissed you like it was the first time. He kissed you like he hadn't been inside you mere moments ago. Kissed you like he’d just taken you out on a date and was saying goodbye at your doorstep. You kissed and kissed and kissed until you couldn’t breathe. Both of you pulled apart for air. You looked up at John with the most love filled eyes he’d ever seen and he couldn’t help but grin down at you. 

“I take it you like me too?”

“Thought it was obvious when I was begging for your dick through the door.”

“Just wanted to make sure it was actually you and not the powder.”

You placed another peak to his lips.

“Oh no. It was definitely me.”

John smiled, tugging you into his arms.

The two of you arrived at the Tower three hours later than planned. The team had been about to step out to rescue you when you’d stepped out of the elevator. Your hand was grasped in Walkers as you two made it to the main room. Everyone's eyes snapped to look at you two.

“Where the fuck where you guys?” Yelena asked.

“On the mission.” John answered calmly.

You stifled a laugh, biting into your lip.

“You were supposed to be here three hours ago!”

John let out a small shrug at Bucky's outburst, turning to look at you with a smile.

“Guess we lost track of time.”

You repressed the urge to slap his arm. John turned back to the rest of the team.

“Well i’m gonna take a shower. Ended up working up a sweat.”

A blush coted your cheeks as John gave you a cheeky smirk before making his way towards his room. You watched him go, eyes catching on his ass. You turned back to Yelena, who was just staring at you.

“What the fuck was that?”

You sighed, knowing she’d find out eventually you opted to tell her.

“I touched the yellow shit.”

Yelena's eyes widened in understanding. 

“Oh uhg blah! That’s disgusting.”

You just shrug, turning on your heels and walking towards John's room. You were suddenly feeling the need to shower as well. 

[littlelamy]

can you do with rafe and !reader who faints a lot during showers or just gets very lightheaded/has vasovagal episodes and can you just write like the things he does for you?

lamy's notes: i hope you like it!

the first time it happened, rafe didn’t even realize what was going on until he heard the thud. he’d been lying on the bed, scrolling through his phone, when the sound of you hitting the shower floor jolted him upright, his heart slamming in his chest.

he was at the bathroom door in an instant, throwing it open without a second thought. steam billowed out, and there you were, crumpled in the corner of the shower, the water still running over you. his mind went blank with panic for half a second before instinct took over.

“y/n, hey, hey, baby,” he muttered, dropping to his knees beside you, his hands shaking as he reached for you. he turned the water off first, then gently propped you up against the cool tiles. “hey, can you hear me?”

your eyes fluttered open, dazed and unfocused, and he let out a shaky breath, relief crashing through him. “what the hell happened?” he asked, his voice breaking slightly.

“just got… lightheaded,” you mumbled, your words slurring a little. “i’m okay.”

“okay? you scared the shit out of me,” he said, cradling your face in his hands like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. “jesus, you’re freezing.”

from that day on, he’d made it his mission to make sure it never happened again. if you were going to shower, so was he. it didn’t matter what he was doing; he’d drop everything the second you said you were heading to the bathroom.

“just in case,” he’d say, his tone light but his eyes serious. he’d sit on the counter, cracking jokes and tossing you a towel before you even asked for it, his presence steady and comforting.

some days, when you were especially tired or feeling off, he’d insist on staying right outside the door. “yell if you need me,” he’d call, and you knew he meant it. you could practically picture him sitting there, legs stretched out, scrolling his phone but keeping an ear out for any sign that you needed him.

he started keeping a small stash of things in the bathroom just for you—a bottle of water, a pack of crackers, even a tiny fan he’d mounted to the wall to keep the room from getting too hot. “just in case,” he’d say again, shrugging like it was no big deal, but you could see the way he checked you over every time, his eyes scanning you for any signs of trouble.

on the nights when you’d get that familiar wave of lightheadedness, the kind that made your knees wobble and your vision blur, he’d wrap an arm around you without a word, guiding you to sit down on the cool tiles until it passed. “deep breaths, baby,” he’d murmur, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

it didn’t matter how many times it happened—he never got annoyed, never made you feel like a burden. if anything, it seemed like he’d made it his personal mission to keep you safe, to be your anchor when the world spun too fast.

sometimes, he’d just step into the shower with you, his hands gentle as he helped you wash your hair or rubbed your shoulders when you were too tired to do it yourself. “just lean on me, okay?” he’d say, his voice soft, water dripping off his face as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

on the tougher days, he’d insist on being in there from start to finish, his eyes never leaving you. he’d prop you up against his chest, his arms around your waist, holding you steady as the warm water cascaded over both of you. “it’s okay, i’ve got you,” he’d murmur, his voice steady and grounding.

when you’d protest that he didn’t need to, he’d just shake his head. “you think i’m gonna risk it? no way,” he’d say, his lips quirking into a small smile. “plus, it’s kind of nice. makes me feel useful.”

“not gonna let you hit the floor again,” he’d say with a small, determined smile, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. and you believed him.

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