#it took everything in me not to make 'just one more' at least 2k

[bucksangel]

✨What is your kryptonite as a writer?

i would say it's the fact that i feel the need to write SEVERAL THOUSAND WORDS of build-up just for one fic which means i take forever to write a single fic, and for some reason it kinda hurts me to write drabbles/anything under 3k 😭😭

[mrsbarnesblog]

i've got you

part 2

masterlist

summary: after getting a terrifying message from you manipulative ex, you lock yourself in the Camerons’ guest bathroom, spiraling into panic as everything starts to fall apart. what you don't expect is Rafe walking in and completely losing it when he realizes what’s going on.

word count: 2k

warnings: SA (non-consensual recording and sex while being drunk), blackmailing, panic attack, protective Rafe

The guest bathroom in the Cameron’s house felt like the safest place at the moment, and the second you closed the door, you collapsed on the floor, constantly buzzing with your phone still in your hand. 

It’s been like that for the last hour—endless messages from your ex, Ethan, who hasn’t wanted to leave you alone since you two broke up a few weeks ago. But when you were sitting with Sarah in the kitchen while she was cooking something on the stove and your phone lit up with a message, a video of you from him, your heart dropped to your stomach. 

Your hands started shaking violently, tears blurred your vision, as you couldn’t believe what you saw. It was just a preview, just a few seconds, but it was enough to understand. It was you on the bed, the dress from a few months ago when you went out with Ethan and some friends was gathered around your waist. You remember being drunk, barely conscious when he took you home, and then the next morning with pain all over your body. 

You didn’t remember having sex.

Sarah was oblivious to your breakdown, and you quickly managed to slip away from the kitchen, mumbling to her that you needed to use the restroom. 

You sat on the floor, back against the wall, staring at your phone screen with your heart thudding so hard it echoed in your ears. A consuming panic washed over you when messages kept coming from him.

Ethan (1:08 PM):

You really think I won’t do it? You think I won’t show them what you let me record? And i have more

Ethan (1:09 PM):

You looked so sweet in that video. Moaning for me like a slut. I bet Sarah’s brother would LOVE to see it.

Your blood turned to ice.

You don’t remember agreeing to anything. You would never have let that happen. He must’ve taken the pictures and videos without you knowing. You’d trusted him, loved him, been so fucking stupid—

It must be a nightmare. It should be, right? Ethan was bothering you, trying to convince you to go back to him, but straight up blackmailing you? You curled into yourself tighter, digging your nails into your thighs, as hiccups and cries shook your whole body. You couldn’t catch your breath, couldn’t stop your mind from racing because there was nothing you could do. No one who could help. And if those images were released? If they were sent to Rafe? You would be done for. 

The door cracked open before you could even register it, and the person whom you wanted to see the least in that state stood in the doorway. 

“Yo,” Rafe said casually. “Sarah said you were—“ Your head whipped up in panic at his voice, eyes growing wide, before you started desperately wiping at your face to hide the flow of your tears. But he froze when he saw you on the floor, looking so small and helpless. 

“The fuck—“ He muttered, stepping inside slowly, cautiously. “Hey, what the fuck’s goin’ on?” 

“Nothing.” You croak, voice raspy. “I’m fine. Just— just leave, Rafe.” 

“You’re crying. You don’t look fine.” 

“I said I’m—” You started to snap, but your voice cracked halfway through, and then you choked back a sob, curling in again.

“Fuck.” He muttered again under his breath, kneeling in front of you. “What happened?”

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut, as if it would make the situation not real. But you couldn’t hide the way your face scrunched as if you were in pain or hide the bubbling feeling of pure panic, and Rafe saw that. “It’s nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Who hurt you, hm? You can talk to me, I promise.” His voice was smooth and soft as never before. When he raised his hand to softly brush the side of your face, it was slow and cautious to not scare you even more. You open your mouth to lie, to say that it was just stress, or your parents, or your period, but your phone, lying face up on the tiles, lit up with another message, and your whole body went rigid.

Rafe’s eyes flicked down, instantly seeing the name, then looked back at you with curiosity and a hint of defensiveness. He knew the story between you and your ex. He saw how he treated you, saw you struggling to keep it all together, and he was the first one to congratulate you when you finally announced your breakup. 

So seeing you react like that told him everything he needed to know. 

“Let me see.” It was not an order, but his words were firm as he took hold of your wrist. You shook your head violently, wanting to hide your phone and downplay everything. 

“No— Rafe, don’t look!” 

He snatched your phone away before you could even process it, fingers moving quickly to unlock it. 

The heavy silence filled the room when his eyes scanned your screen, seeing the message you didn’t even read yourself. “What. The. Fuck.” He looked up at you, jaw clenched, eyes wide with barely contained rage. “Is this real?”

He suddenly stood up, his actions almost frantic and panicked, and you jump up from the floor right after him as if automatically. You wanted to rip your phone away, but there was no point anymore—he saw everything, and you were way too tired and exhausted to fight anyway. 

The silence that hung in the bathroom was suffocating, crushing, pulsing with the weight of everything that had just been revealed. Rafe stood there like a statue, gripping your phone so tightly his knuckles turned bone white, and his chest rose and fell with each sharp, shaky inhale, like he was barely containing an explosion. His jaw was clenched so hard you thought he might grind his teeth to dust. You could see the way his whole body was vibrating with fury, and when his eyes lifted from the phone to meet yours, they weren’t just angry. They were wild. Dark. Protective in a way that made your throat close up.

“What the fuck is this?” He spat, low and dangerous, his voice barely more than a growl. “What the actual fuck am I looking at right now?”

You couldn’t answer. Your lips parted, but nothing came out. You weren’t even crying anymore, you were just frozen. Humiliated. All you could do was curl your arms around your body tighter as the shame flooded you, soaked into your skin, and made you want to disappear. Rafe’s eyes dropped back to the screen, and you followed his gaze as he was staring at the first image. It was you, lying on Ethan’s bed. Your head turned to the side, half-lidded eyes, a soft expression that you now recognized as tipsy, barely coherent. The straps of your tank top were pushed down around your upper arms. No bra. The thin sheet pulled across your body did nothing to hide your exposed chest. One of the other photos was taken from behind with you on your stomach, bare, the lower half of your body completely visible, the shape of your thighs and your ass captured without any shame.

“I didn’t know.” You whispered, your voice cracking and dry, and it felt like you couldn’t even breathe properly. “I swear to God, Rafe… I didn’t know he took them.” You didn’t look up, feeling shame and embarrassment washing over you. “H-he sent me a video.” You whispered so quietly you weren’t even sure if you said it aloud at first, your eyes zeroing on the floor as your whole doby went numb. But Rafe heard you. He tensed instantly, hands stiffening around your phone still in his hand.

“A video?” He repeated, slowly. Carefully. His voice was like the calm before a hurricane. “What video?”

You nodded, trembling. “Of us. Of me, mostly. I—I was drunk, and he filmed everything. I don’t even remember it, but h-he sent it to me today.” 

You broke again then, sliding down on the floor, helpless, sobbing so hard your body curled in on itself, your hands covering your face, unable to bear the thought of Rafe picturing you like that—not just naked, but used. Taken advantage of. 

For a long moment, Rafe didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He just stood there, chest rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths, phone still gripped in his hand like he was about to smash it against the wall. Then, slowly, he lowered it on the countertop, and something in him cracked. Your cries, how desperate and sad they sounded, made him lose his mind, made him want to destroy everything and everyone who hurt you. 

His hands ran through his hair roughly as he looked away, trying to keep it together, despite fuming from the inside. But it wasn’t working. His entire body was tense, like a live wire ready to snap. He pounded his fist into the bathroom wall so hard that you heard a crack, and you jumped from the loud sound. The last thing you wanted was for him to hate you or to see you in a different light after those pictures.  

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He said immediately, his voice breaking. He dropped to his knees in front of you, fingers twitching like he didn’t know how to touch you to not scare you even more. “I’m not mad at you. I swear I’m not. I’m just—I’m losing my fucking mind here, baby.” That word slipped out like it was natural for him, and your breath hitched. Rafe’s hands cupped your cheeks, his blue, wild eyes looking for yours, while he tried to wipe your tears.

“That motherfucker is dead.” He hissed, voice rough with emotion. “I’m not even fucking joking. I will kill him. He touched you when you were barely conscious? He fucking recorded you? Sent that shit to you as a threat? Threatened to show me?”

“He knows what you mean to me. He wants you to see me that way so I wouldn’t have any choice but to go back to him.” You whisper. “I didn’t want you to see me like that. I just—fuck, Rafe, I feel so ashamed. I feel disgusting. I didn’t want you to see this version of me, not through his eyes.”

“You think I give a single fuck about how you look in those videos or photos? About what you did with him?”

You looked down again, shaking, unable to meet his eyes.

“I do care.” He said, softer, lifting your face up again. “But not because you were naked. I care because it wasn’t your choice. That wasn’t you, baby. That was him taking advantage of you. And that makes me want to destroy every bone in his fucking body.”

You finally met his gaze again. His jaw was clenched so tight you could hear it grind, and his eyes were glistening with the kind of rage that came from caring too much.

Rafe leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. His hands were on your thighs now, still shaking slightly. “You’re mine. Even if we’re not together yet. ” He said, barely above a whisper, like it was a truth he hadn’t even realized until that moment. “I wanted you for too long, let that scumbag treat you the way you didn’t deserve. But you’re fucking mine, and I swear to God, I’m not letting anyone hurt you like that again.” You closed your eyes, a tear slipping down your cheek.

“I’m gonna take care of this.” He muttered, so close you could feel his breath. “You don’t have to do a thing. You don’t even have to see that piece of shit again. I’m gonna make sure he never gets near you, never gets the chance to make you feel this way. Nobody will ever see that stuff, you hear me?”

“Rafe…” Your voice cracked again, barely holding together, tugging him closer by the shirt, seeking more comfort.

“Shh.” He whispered, brushing your tear-streaked cheek with his thumb. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you. I’ve fucking got you.”

part 2

[fairyysoup]

easy living

pairing: eric (a quiet place: day one) x fem!reader

summary: You ran into Eric on accident. Now you're facing the end of the world together. How do you get to know someone when you can't make a sound?

tags: smut, oral (f receiving), dry humping, piv sex, silent fucking, angst, hurt/comfort, survival, discussions of trauma, slight suicidal ideation by reader, words of affirmation as a love language, stay silent or die (obviously), strangers to lovers, apocalyptic, the cheesiest ending bc it's me writing, billie holiday lyrics bc it's also me writing

a/n: here it is, the silent fucking fic i promised y'all a year ago when this movie was announced. it was supposed to be like 1-2k words of plain smut but then I got too into the theory of what one does when you can't show affection through words and I genuinely discovered a tidbit of trauma I didn't know I had while writing it so I will be talking to a therapist about it, and also I'm literally out here baring my soul lol.

i also want to thank @bigtiddythanos @raraeavesmoriendi and @maximoffwxnda for supporting me throughout this writing process <3 this fic literally would not have been finished or published without y'all

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

The rain has ended. Morose, you stare up at the ceiling, wondering when you’ll get something close to free reign with your voice again. 

Of course the world had to end while you were at fucking Whole Foods.

You’ll miss certain things. Things you always took for granted, that you never even considered made a lot of noise until now. Typing on the computer. Making stir fry. Microwaving a burrito at 3am. Lighting a match, washing your face. Taking a shower.

And other things, too, that are more obvious, like singing while making cookies. Slurping the bottom of a milkshake. You’ll never be able to have a pet bird. You’ll never be able to see another concert again, and damn it if you didn’t really want those Glastonbury tickets a month ago. But it all just seems trivial, now. You don’t see why you shouldn’t just lay here on the couch forever. 

On the other side of the coffee table there’s a gentle shuffling. Eric rouses as quietly as he can; at the very least, your apartment creates a hospitable enough environment that he isn’t startled awake. It’s so silent in the apartment that you can hear the slight shift in his intake of breath, the rustle of the pillow as he turns his head to look at you. 

You want to look at him, but you fear that you’ll end up wanting to talk. So, you say nothing. You do nothing. You stare at the white paint on the ceiling and you wonder whether it would be better to get on one of the boats headed out into the water, or to move inland, away from people, away from sound. There has to be somewhere far enough away from the city that the… creatures won’t go, right?

Eric waves his hand in your periphery, so that you have no choice but to acknowledge that you know he’s awake. You have no choice but to turn your head and look into the depths of his eyes, and feel all the pain of the last 48 hours return to you. You’d been able to talk last night, just enough, in time with the rain and the thunder– enough to learn that he has family across the world. 

You can’t imagine knowing that somewhere, across an ocean and half a world away, your parents may or may not be dead. No way to contact them, no way to know what’s become of them. You can’t even begin to fathom the fear that he’s feeling, as much as you’re despairing. 

Eric’s big eyes tell you everything. Sadness and fear, and trying to grasp at the smallest hint of normalcy he can get. He blinks at you, and mouths, You okay?

No, you’re definitely not okay. Things are not okay. Things are broken and can’t be fixed. Things will never be the same again. He knows that, as much as you know that. But you nod anyway, even though you feel your heart beat a little bit slower than usual, like it wants to just go ahead and give up already. Tears prick at your eyes, and you have to close them before you let on that you’re lying.

Eric knows you’re lying, of course. How could anyone be okay, in this kind of situation? But he waits until you open your eyes, and then he mouths, Coffee?

You let out a small sigh of relief, and a smile that’s indescribably warm crosses your face. Even though he can’t make a sound, he knows exactly what to say.

You don’t have a coffee maker that doesn’t also make a ton of noise. But through some kind of witchcraft, Eric quietly empties two k-cups into a glass measuring cup and boils a soup pot full of water on the stove, and suddenly you have hot coffee in front of you. 

On a notepad left on the counter, you write, Wish I had some tea for you. 

Eric’s lips turn up at the edges, and he takes the pen from you. You’re able to doctor your coffee for about one second before he slides the notepad back to you.

Bloody American.

Your ensuing huff of a laugh is enough to make him turn pink around the ears, and he turns to place the dirty measuring cup into the sink. He reaches for the faucet, but then thinks better of it. You’ll have to figure out how to wash the dishes later.

You both drink your coffee in silence on the couch. You never considered yourself uncomfortable with silence; you’ve lived alone, you’ve gone for weeks without uttering a word before. But it’s so difficult to be sitting next to someone– someone you feel you could really get to like– and not be able to say a word. To make a sound, laugh or cry or snort or grunt. 

You’ll never be able to know what Eric’s laugh sounds like, or listen to his favorite song with him, or watch some stupid rerun of Friends with him while ignoring your responsibilities. He’s right there next to you, he’s risked his life to save you once already, and yet he’s so far away. You’ll never get to know him in all the ways you want to. Will you ever really know him at all?

He’d created a diversion when one of the fucking things had you trapped in a corner, between a dumpster and a brick wall. He chucked a rock at a car and set off an alarm, and then ran with you down an alleyway, his arm wrapped tight around your waist. Eric looked so sad, following you like a lost puppy. He was fucking drenched, too, so you know he’d probably been through one hell of a morning. And then the rain started, and the creatures were confused and… well, you weren’t just gonna leave him, scared and alone.

You, too, were scared and alone.

Eric’s hand appears to brush away a tear that had begun to fall down your cheek, betraying your internal monologue. You look to him with puffy eyes, and he pulls his hand away, suddenly unsure of whether you’re okay with such an intimate gesture. 

Your coffee cup meets the table with a quiet tap. You’re slow to move, but you scoot towards him, his arm still outstretched towards you, his eyes wide. Eric has the prettiest eyes in the world, you think. You want to tell him so.

But you’re a little too choked up to form words, anyways. Your forehead meets Eric’s shoulder, and his arm comes around you before you can huff the first silent sob that brims up. He coos softly into your hair, so softly that you can barely hear it, but it conveys enough. It does enough. 

The world is fucked. Your life is fucked. You have tunnel vision and you can only see things getting worse from here on; the only good thing you know anymore is holding you and caressing your head so gently that it pushes your tears out for you. 

You’ll never get to see a movie in a theater, and smell the stale popcorn again. You’ll never drive down the highway with the wind in your hair. You’ll never ride a roller coaster or sing karaoke. You’ll never go to a club and have a drunken heart to heart with a stranger in a bathroom.

“Do you think it’s worth it?” You whisper, so faintly that it’s barely above a breath, your lips pressed to the shell of his ear. “To try to exist in a world where you have to pretend like you don’t exist?”

Eric pauses, holding you to him. You can see the wheels turning in his head, while he tries to figure out what to say. Then he turns his face to put his lips against your ear, the same way you’d done to him. 

“I think it’s worth it to try to survive.” His breath tickles your skin when he whispers, “So survive with me, yeah?”

You nod solemnly, your tears threatening to rise up again. “I can’t stand not talking to you.” It’s so hard to keep your voice from cracking, from rising above the merest hint of a whisper, directly to him and no one or nothing else. 

Eric takes it in stride. “You are talking to me.” He pulls back and bats his eyelashes, and you think, he oughta fucking know what that does to me. 

“Not like this,” you breathe to him, because that’s really what it is– it’s a breath. A sigh. A gust of air and nothing else, barely anything that registers on your vocal chords. Your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close to you. His hand, tightening on the middle of your back, holding you there. “I want to talk– I want to get to know you.” 

“Well, this isn’t so bad, is it?” Eric turns his head. His forehead nudges yours at the temple, and you swear you see a flash of a smile on his face. “What do you want to know?” 

His forefinger traces up and down, up and down, a gentle pattern that keeps you grounded. You bite your lip, trying to keep from letting the sounds come out too loud. You say the first thing that comes to mind. “What’s your favorite song?”

“Easy Living. Billie Holiday.” 

“You’re kidding.” You’re blushing, hot in the cheeks. You’re imagining it; slow dancing in the kitchen with him while oldies plays on the radio. You didn’t think such an innocent question would send you spiraling like this, but it hurts worse to know that it will probably never happen.

“Absolutely not.” 

“Somehow… I can’t picture you listening to jazz.” 

“Picture it all you want,” he whispers. Eric swallows, and continues, “My granddad used to have these records, and we used to play them on Christmas. But when– when he died, the records went missing. I couldn’t find the song until a couple years ago,” he explains, and his voice cracks just slightly into a murmur. 

You both freeze. You wait for the sound of creatures coming down the hallway, busting down the walls… nothing happens. You let out a breath, and you pull his face closer to yours. His eyes flick over your face, and you put your lips against his ear. 

“You have to be so quiet. Can you do that for me?” Eric nods in your hands. “I wish we could do anything but this. I wish that we could have met in better circumstances. I wish… I wish I had known you before all of this. I think we would have had a lot of fun. But if this is the only way I can get to know you, and hear your voice now, I’ll take it.” You’re nodding as well now, like you’re trying to convince yourself of it. “I’m telling you this because I don’t know how long we have. Together, I mean. And I don’t want to waste it passing notes. Okay?” 

“Okay.” He sounds clipped. His hand fidgets on your back, and you pull away to find him misty-eyed, his brows turned up. He fishes for words that don’t come, and then he nods. “Okay.” 

Neither of you move. The atmosphere around you feels heavy, like it’s pressing in on all sides. Eric’s hand slides up your back and to your face, and you remember that you’re still holding his. You’re near sitting in his lap with how close you’ve become, and the realization of that feels like a punch to the gut.

You think you should pull away. You don’t. 

Eric’s thumb traces a gentle arc across your bottom lip. It’s so featherlight it’s barely there– his eyes are honed in on your mouth, clearly lost in thought. You’d let him stay there as long as he wants, but you want every minute you can get. “Eric–”

He closes the gap and kisses you. The way you’d said his name– or not said it, rather, you sort of mouthed it against his thumb– had done the job you wanted it to. It feels like this was the obvious conclusion to the system you’d worked out, the close proximity and your shared fears. He’s scared, he said as much last night. You’re scared, you said so just now. 

Nowhere to go, nothing else to do except be right here, living. Alive, together. Kissing Eric, and him pulling you close by the waist, so that you do swing your leg and seat yourself in his lap. And as much as you love talking, and it breaks your heart that you can’t jabber at him, there are some things you just can’t put into words. Like the way that his hand on the back of your neck lights you up inside, or that you can’t think of anything other than all the areas where his skin is touching yours, and how you suddenly wish there was way more of them.

It’s stupid how much you like him already, really. You can feel your nonexistent friends clucking their tongues and shaking their heads, saying, “One day? That’s all it takes? You find some guy at the end of the world and you fall in love in 24 hours?” And they’d be right– maybe it’s not love. Not yet, anyways. But you could see it easily becoming that. And that fact scares you even more.

Your hands find Eric’s chest and the frantic beating of his heart tells you nearly the same thing. You break the kiss, trying to quietly catch your breath without gasping like you’re half-drowning. It’s harder than you expected. 

“Been wanting to do that all morning,” Eric whispers. And just like that you’re falling again, faster this time, like he’s just melted your wings right off and sent you plummeting.

You struggle to keep from gasping aloud when he kisses your jaw, just beneath your ear. It’s the lightest touch but you swear it burns, sears your skin. 

Your hands find the back of the couch, twitchy fingers digging in to keep you steady. Your mouth finds his again, his tongue tasting of coffee, and Eric kisses you a bit harder now, a bit sloppier. 

Breaking away, you open your eyes to find his wide, starstruck, his mouth hanging open like he’s been shocked beyond belief. You didn’t honestly intend for this to happen– you wanted to talk. But somehow this seems better, more appropriate. 

How do you get your feelings across when talking isn’t really an option? When innocent attraction becomes… whatever this is? 

You press a single finger to his plush lips, signaling exactly what you mean without a word. Quiet. 

Eric purses his lips, kisses your finger without breaking eye contact. His pupils are blown out so far that the barest hint of golden brown surrounds them, glinting in the sunlight from the window. 

You lean forward, until your mouth touches his ear. “Your eyes are so fucking pretty, Eric,” you whisper to him, and your teeth latch onto his earlobe to tug gently. You can’t help it– you grind your hips down into his lap, without even thinking of doing it. “You’re so pretty.”

Eric whimpers. It’s a soft sound, hollow in the back of his throat, but it’s still too loud for the world that you’re in. You clamp your hand down over his mouth, and his breath comes out sharp and hot over your knuckles as he tries to regain composure.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask him, whispering gently in his ear. Against you, he shakes his head no. “Want me to keep going?” Eric nods his head yes. 

He’s shaking under you, his fingertips digging into your lower back like he can’t hold onto you hard enough. At the thought, your pulse pounds, blood positively humming through your veins. 

You nuzzle his cheek, and give him the sweetest kiss you can while your hand is still clamped over his mouth insistently. “You have to be. Fucking. Silent. Do you understand?” He nods. “We can’t make a sound. Okay?” 

Eric nods again, and keeps nodding until you let him go. If the rain was still pouring like earlier, you could tell him how much you want him, too. How you don’t want to be mean, you just don’t want to get hurt. This is a bad idea, all things considered. But Eric slides his hand down and cups your ass to lift you up a bit, and the words bad and idea suddenly fucking vanish from your vocabulary.

You stand long enough to kick off your sweats, your day old panties going down with them. You hadn’t dressed to be sexy yesterday, you dressed to get groceries. You don’t necessarily want Eric to see your faded cotton underwear with the stretched out elastic and multiple frayed holes. You don’t think it would add to your sex appeal right now. 

He doesn’t notice the lack of a strip tease– he’s already taking you by the hips, not even waiting for you to shuck your t-shirt. He pulls until you’re stood in front of him, and then hooks your leg over his shoulder. 

So. Eric doesn’t need to be asked to go down on you, he just does. The gentleman. His hands are firm on your ass as he nuzzles into the patch of hair between your legs, and the precarious balancing act makes you snatch onto the back of the couch again. 

His tongue glides through the folds of your pussy slowly, methodically. You aren’t sure if he wants to take his time, or if he’s going slow so that he doesn’t make too much noise when doing it, but he latches onto your clit and sucks agonizingly softly, like he knows he should do it harder but won’t risk making you moan. 

It’s so gentle, and it builds. Pretty soon, you’re having a tough time keeping your whimpers in, even when he’s basically just teasing you, flicking his tongue over your clit with even the barest pressure. Your head has fallen back on your shoulders, your hand now clasped over your own mouth to stifle your sighs. 

Then, Eric’s hand glides up to splay across your lower back, and he sucks long and hard at your clit, and your hand squeezes murderously at the back of the couch while you ride out your orgasm on his tongue. 

Knees buckling, you collapse into Eric’s lap. He has a doe-eyed look on his face that’s way too innocent after what he just did to you. With panting breath and shaking hands, you cup his rosy cheeks in your palms, shaking your head in disbelief. 

Eric’s brows tilt in worry, like he did something wrong. He opens his mouth, but you put your fingers against his lips to silence him, and lean forward to breathe, “You’re too sweet for me, Eric.” 

He traces his fingers lightly up your spine, and turns his head. “Maybe one day I won’t have to be sweet. Maybe then I can really fuck you.” 

The sound of his whispering voice in your ear makes you shiver, your lust reaching a boiling point. The idea of him really fucking you– that this isn’t even him as normal, that he’s having to hold so much back– makes you burn hot all at once. That this isn’t something he’s planning on doing once. That there’s a ‘one day’ that he sees in the future with you in it. 

With a nod, your breath catches in your throat. You find your way to his mouth again, kissing him desperately. You can taste yourself lingering on his lips, and your hips rock forward against his again. 

Eric inhales sharply, stifling his own moan. You guess you have to take it just as slowly as he did, ease him into it. You work your hand beneath his unbuttoned fly and palm him, keeping your touch gentle against his hot skin. He shakes, his hands laid out against your spine, his eyes sparkling when he looks up at you. 

You push your forehead against his as you sink onto his cock, letting yourself adjust to his size. His breath stutters as he tries to keep quiet, small puffs of air spilling out and meeting your electrified skin. You curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, rocking your hips just barely, settling into his lap. 

This is more intimate than you can ever remember being with anyone, but right now it just feels right. Maybe it could be cathartic to fuck like a couple of animals in the face of doom, but Eric pulls your body flush against his, one strong forearm around your waist, and his nose nudges yours, and you think this is better. This is what you both need. Closeness. Sweetness. 

There isn’t a lot of movement– you can’t risk it. You and Eric seem to be in agreement on that, because as soon as you start trying to move in earnest, he just pulls you back to him, his arm around your waist and his hand petting the back of your head. 

Eric rocks his hips up into yours slowly, deeply, and it’s the depth of it and the slow sensuality that keeps you floating. Your clit catches on the patch of hair at the base of his cock each time you roll your hips with him, and you have to kiss him to keep from keening aloud. He doesn’t seem to mind it. 

You know he’s close when he tucks his face against your neck, his arm tightening around you. “Feels so fucking good,” comes his whine in your ear, and you gently shush him, your hand resting on the back of his head to keep him muffled against your shoulder. You want so badly to look at his face when he cums, but there’s that pesky issue of staying alive, and that hinges on whether or not he can keep quiet when he does. 

To his credit, he bites your shoulder and only whimpers a little bit. It’s just a squeak, but really, he could have been much louder about it, and then you would have both been in trouble. Imagine having to run for your life with your pants down. 

Ever the gentleman, he keeps you there even after he’s spent and sensitive, his hand clamped down on your thigh to prevent you from moving. His thumb finds your clit, and he lifts his head to watch you, his hooded eyes trained on your face as he brings you to the edge and over it again. He watches the way your brows tilt up, the way you struggle to keep your own eyes open, and the silent moan that threatens to break past your parted lips.

Eric claps his hand down over your mouth before it can. Your eyes fly open, your cunt clenches down around him, and he bares his teeth as you cum hard. It’s cyclical, comes in waves as he continues to stroke you through it, as he keeps his hand clamped down on your mouth to keep you quiet. 

To keep you quiet. 

Feverish and exhausted, you come down with your chest against his, Eric’s head flopped back onto the backrest of the couch. Your knees fucking hurt and you have yet to get off of him, and you sort of dread the moment when you have to. But this means your mouth is positioned right next to Eric’s ear, and you’re nothing if not a talker.

“Eric?” you whisper, and he turns his head just enough to let you know he heard you. “I’m glad that I met you when I did. Even if it’s terrible timing, I’m glad we met.”

A sweet, tired smile flits across Eric’s beautiful face. He nudges his nose against your temple. “I’m glad, too.” 

You shift off of him, and he squeezes your thigh just at the same time as he scrunches his face. He’s such a trooper about it, you kiss his cheek as you go, leaning over to grab a pair of earphones from the coffee table. 

You hand one ear bud to him, watching as confusion crosses his face. He watches you type on your phone as he tucks the bud into his ear, and you the other. 

On low volume, you listen to the soft piano and saxophone intro to an old jazz standard. Eric grins, his hand finding your cheek before he pulls you in for a kiss. 

And then, Billie Holiday’s voice plays for only you two to hear. 

Living for you is easy living, It’s easy to live when you’re in love And I’m so in love, There’s nothing in life but you.

[finelinevogue]

let’s go home

summary - jack nearly gets taken from you and you’re worried that you’ve ruined everything

pairing - aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

word count - ~2k

❗️ warning : near kidnapping / physical violence

It all happened so quickly.

One moment you were holding hands and the next he was gone from your grasp.

It was so fast that you wouldn’t have even registered it if it hadn’t been for the devastating scream of his voice calling out for you.

“Y/N!”

Your whole body shook with adrenaline as you turned around and noticed him being taken from you.

“Jack!”

The crowd was so busy that you almost lost sight of him.

You had come to the park with Jack to get some fresh air. His dad had been pulled into meetings all day and so had asked you to mind him like you usually did. Jack had wanted to do something fun, so you’d suggested the local park.

You had completely forgotten there was a fair on so hadn’t accounted for how busy it would be.

“Hold on tight to me, okay bud?” You had said to him.

And he had been doing such a good job.

But you’d gone through a busy patch and you couldn’t control what would happen next.

The crowd split as you screamed for Jack’s name.

His hand had felt tugged out of yours and you knew he wouldn’t let go without your permission. Your worst fear came true when you turned and saw a random man tugging Jack away with him.

“Hey! Stop!” You yelled, hoping someone else would step in. “Someone help!”

The man started running, pulling Jack along.

Luckily Jack was still only little so they didn’t get very far.

You ran towards them like your life depended on it, because it really did. If you lost Jack you would never forgive yourself. It would be the worst occurrence in your head.

And God…

What would Aaron do?

Before you could entertain that thought you caught up to Jack and pulled him back and behind you.

Without thinking you swung your hand into the mans face. You had never done it before and you definitely did it wrong, because your thumb is definitely not meant to hurt that much after.

Your knuckles connected with the man’s face his head turned with the force.

The crowd gasped as they watched on.

Hopefully someone would be filming so you could at least show Aaron the footage and get this bastard arrested if he fled.

Your other hand kept a tight hold on Jack behind you.

You turned to Jack for a moment, “You okay?”

He nodded with teary eyes and wet cheeks. You were so furious and scared but you had to hold it together for Jack.

Before you could confront the kidnapper - because that’s what he was - your face got punched to the side and then another punch went straight into your stomach, making you keel over in agony.

That moment was what it took for some crowd members to interfere. Two men caught and shoved the man on the floor, holding him tight as they called for someone to call the park security.

For you though, you were trying to process a single thought.

The punch to your head had completely shaken you and the secondary punch to your stomach had winded you.

You hunched over so bad that you had to fall to your knees to try and ground yourself (literally).

“Jack.” You said with pain, wanting to check that he was still next to you.

“Yeah?” He asked, holding onto your hand.

You blew out a breath.

Fuck that hurt.

What was going to hurt even more was the redundancy notice Aaron was going to serve you as soon as he found out about this.

Of course you knew this could’ve happened to anyone, but you couldn’t help but think it felt personal. Like whoever the kidnapper was had been testing your ability to prove yourself and you had failed.

You’d become like a best friend to Jack over the months you had been his nanny. Now it felt like you had just ruined all that progress by letting him down in the worst way possible.

Someone else came down on the floor near you and you immediately grabbed Jack’s hand tighter and pulled him closer.

“It’s alright. Ma’am are you okay?” It was a woman speaking.

You looked up and noticed it was the parks security.

You nodded shakily.

“Is there someone I can call?” She asked.

You looked from her to where two members of park security was handcuffing the kidnapper whilst another one was taking some witness statements.

You then looked to Jack who looked really shaken still. You tried to smile but it hurt to move the muscles in your face.

Looking back at the woman you nodded weakly, “Aaron. Aaron Hotchner. From the FBI BAU.”

She nodded and immediately got to it.

You let out another deep breath before looking back at Jack. You held his hand with one of yours and used the other stroke his cheek carefully, making sure he wasn’t bruised or anything.

“Sure you’re okay?” You asked him.

“Was scary.” He admitted and it made you want to kill a man for making him feel like that. You’re sure Aaron would.

“I know, I know. I’d never let anything happen to you though.” You promised even though it felt like you’d already broken it.

He nodded.

His hand reached out to your cheek carefully.

“You’re bleeding.” He said.

You had to bite your lip to hold down the sob you wanted to let out.

This whole situation has been bad start to finish. It was rubbish that you felt like this but it was even harder having to hide how you felt to protect Jack.

“I’m okay.” You lied.

Another lady came over to you then, offering you a hand up. You took it generously, not letting Jack go.

She helped you up and you turned the other to wince as your stomach straightened. It didn’t feel good at all.

The lady helped you over to a nearby bench, the crowd slowly carrying on instead of staring at you. The kidnapper had been taken away by the park security, but you had no doubt they’d be back to talk to you and Jack.

You thanked the woman as she left you and Jack alone.

Jack immediately clambered into your lap, sitting weirdly but in a way that he could wrap his small arms around your neck and rest his head on your chest. You rested the good side of your face on top of his head.

“You’re okay now.” Jack said and it made a couple of tears fall down your cheeks.

Your tongue had to reach out and catch them before they could fall into his hair.

Jack, bless his heart.

This boy was so pure and lovely. He was completely lovely and it was all because his dad was the best role model.

Aaron was continually kind to you. He was always making sure you were comfortable at his house when you were over - which was nearly always. He would always buy in your favourite teas and juices so you didn’t have to bring your own. He constantly praised you and credited you for pulling him out of his darkest moments.

You had been there for Aaron and Jack when it felt like no one else could be.

You had slowly weaved your way into both of their lives.

Which is why it was all the more painful and scary when they could be taken away from you so easily. So carelessly in your case.

“Jack! Y/N!”

Jack’s head popped up from your chest and he immediately clambered off your body.

“No, Jack wait.” You said panicked.

You tried to move quick, but your stomach burnt as you moved. You swore to yourself over the pain, but calmed yourself down when you realised Jack was running towards Aaron. Spencer and Emily were close behind him.

“Dad!” He shouted.

Aaron bent down to catch him in his arms, bringing him up and hugging him close. You could tell Aaron was doing his best to think about all the good things right now.

He had Jack in his arms. He was okay.

You felt like you could finally breathe now. You didn’t have to shoulder everything anymore, even though you were worried for what Aaron would say to you.

Jack wiggled out of his dad’s hold and Aaron put him on the floor. Jack guided him over to you.

If you weren’t sure you had a concussion you might’ve noticed that Aaron was wearing your favourite suit he owned. He was so damn handsome and it was infuriatingly frustrating when he was constantly in close proximity to you.

“See, dad! Y/Ns poorly.” Jack explained as they came to stop in front of you.

Spencer and Emily suggested to Jack that they come with him for a moment.

Aaron crouched down in front of you then. You dropped your head so you didn’t have to look at him.

“Y/N.” Aaron said.

You shook your head, allowing more tears to fall.

Your cries were heavy and your body wracked, which only hurt your stomach, but you couldn’t dare face the anger of a terrified father in front of you.

“Sweetheart.” Aaron’s hand came to cup your chin softly, forcing your head to look at his.

His eyes immediately went to your beaten cheek and the blood there. His jaw clenched as his eyes wandered. It would no doubt bruise ugly.

“I’m so sorry.” You cried.

Aaron frowned, looking at you with those permanently sad eyes.

“What are you sorry for?” He asked seriously, dropping his hand so he could cup both of yours together in both of his.

You looked to Jack, who was playing around with Spencer and laughing to his heart’s content.

You couldn’t help but let out another cry, dropping your head again.

It could’ve turned out so different, so quickly, today.

Aaron could’ve come here and it could’ve been just you sitting on the bench. It was that fact alone that terrified you and caused you to cower into yourself.

Aaron tried to catch your gaze with his.

“Hey.” He tried, “Y/N, look at me.”

The authority in his voice is what caused you to look at him.

One of his hands left yours and came to wipe the tears from your cheeks away his the pad of his thumb.

He moved so delicately over the skin on the battered side of your face. He always was so delicate with you. You think Jack’s kindness and tender heart comes from his dad being a gentle giant.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“But…”

“Stop, I mean it. Please.”

You pouted but let it be.

“Please don’t fire me” You asked, your voice sounding so small.

Aaron gave you a small smirk, something you believed he only reserved for you.

“I don’t think Jack would let me even if I wanted to, which I don’t.”

You nodded, feeling relieved.

“I’m sorry that this happened to you.” Aaron said.

You smiled at him, raising your combined hands up so you could delicately boop his nose with one of your fingers. Aaron smiled at the silly gesture.

“If I’m not allowed to apologise, then neither are you.”

“Okay.” He agreed. He paused before asking, “Well in case that case I want to say thank you for doing everything you did, for Jack.”

“I… love Jack. I couldn’t imagine anything happening to him.”

“I know.”

“Feel so s-stupid.” You said shakily. “I was holding onto his hand, Aaron, I promise.”

“I know.” Aaron smiled sweetly at you.

You knew you didn’t have to keep defending yourself to Aaron because he knew that none of this was your fault. You knew, perhaps only deep down inside of you, that he would never have been mad at you, but that’s the way your fear manifested itself.

You’re just glad they got the sick son of a bitch who thought he could get away with it.

“I punched him.”

Aaron frowned, “Who? The unsub?”

You chuckled, “He’s not an unsub Aaron, but yes.”

“You’re right. He’s screwed is what he is. At least he will be once I’m done talking with him.”

“Alright Agent, settle down.” You played along, laughing before wincing when your cheek stung from the movement. “Damn it.”

Aaron’s frown returned for the umpteenth time that day.

“I need to clean you up.” He said.

“It’s just a graze:”

Aaron spluttered out a profanity that would make Jack gasp with disbelief, but it made you giggle.

“I’m cleaning it up and bandaging that too.” He pointed to your hand. “Honestly, punching with your thumb tucked in.” He mumbled to himself, like he was more disappointed in himself for not teaching you the proper way to hit someone.

His affection towards you and his worry made your heart feel pulled towards him. It was a dangerous feeling but one you don’t think you’d mind acting on.

“Come on.”

His knees clicked as he stood up, forcing you to look up at him now.

“Let’s go home.” He held a hand out for you to stand up, only he didn’t let go once you were stood.

In fact he kept a solid grip on your hand until you relaxed and allowed your fingers to intertwine with his.

You gazed from your hands up to Aaron, giving him a soft smile as if to say ‘I hope you feel this too’.

Aaron turned to Jack then.

“Hey, buddy? Pancakes for dinner?” He asked and Jack cheered, Spencer lifting him up and twirling him around in glee.

Aaron looked at you, waiting.

“Yeah. Let’s go home.”

[illyrianshadow]

Lost in Shadows (pt. III)

Summary: After centuries apart, you see him again — Azriel, the boy who once kept you safe in the shadows of Windhaven.

But now he’s a stranger and you’re left wondering: does he remember? And is your connection, fated or forgotten, still strong enough to bring you together?

Warnings: none really, just two idiots sickeningly obsessed with each other, read at your own risk

A/N: Get ready for another lil' peak in to Azriel's mind. If you were thinking he couldn't become anymore tortured than he already is, think again. Always excited to hear your thoughts loves. x iz

Word count: 2K

Part 1 | Part 2

———

Azriel’s POV 

The Spymaster of the Night Court is freaking out. He’s having a full blown, existential crisis and he’s very glad his family are too wrapped up in themselves to notice. 

He looks at Rhys and Mor still bickering about god knows what. He’s glad for the distraction, it’s causing them to focus purely on each other instead of the Shadowsinger crumbling in front of them. He’s relieved they are no longer obsessing over his lack of focus. Busybodies. 

The last thing he wants is for his family to start asking him why he’s so lost in thought. How would he even begin to explain? 

He’s kept a huge secret from them for most of the time he’s known them, he’s not sure how they are going to react when they find out. If he was them, he would probably feel betrayed. At least for a little bit. 

What would he even say to them? 

When we were young I had a secret friendship with the daughter of one of the most brutal males Windhaven has ever known? She was everything to me, and days after I found out she was my mate she had to leave and I haven’t seen her in over 500 years? I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see her again? 

Not exactly light conversation. Besides, Rhys and Cassian had absolutely despised Baric when he was still alive. Finding out their brother is mated to his daughter and hid it from them for centuries is probably not something that will go down well. 

It’s rare for a mating bond to present itself so young, but when it happened it hadn’t scared him. You were his safety net, his home. It felt right. 

He’d been building up the courage to tell you, planning on surprising you on your birthday and if the moment felt right, he would’ve told you then. When he arrived at your hiding spot and found your note it broke him. 

He became frantic, all of his instincts telling him to chase after you. He needed to find you, help you, protect you. It was his duty. You were his mate and now you were gone. Before he even got the chance to tell you. 

That’s when he sent one of his shadows after you to track you down, to make sure you were okay. 

When it found you in a harbour in Velaris days later and returned with the message that he needed to let you go, he promised himself that he would do everything it took to be reunited with you again one day. He’d never stop fighting for you, never stop looking. 

He threw himself into his training until it became all consuming. His brothers noticed something was wrong, but they assumed he was just dealing with his traumas. Everyone did. They didn’t know the training kept him steady, focussed. He was training so he could be ready in case he ever needed to fight to get you back. It was an outlet for his feelings, a way for him to feel useful. 

Azriel sighs softly, one of his hands rubbing the spot on his chest just over his heart where the mating bond has been lying dormant for centuries. He’s become so used to it, some days he can almost forget it’s there. Almost. 

It’s stirring now though. Your presence has awoken something primal that’s been suppressed and pushed down for longer than it should have been. 

He’s itching to go over to you, to reach out. It’s taking all of his control not to run to your side and take you into his arms. To fly you away from here to have you solely to himself. 

He’s becoming more restless by the second and even your presence nearby is starting to lose the calming effect on his shadows. 

That’s a first. 

They’re starting to swirl around him, behaving a bit more frantically as they try and break free to make their way over to you. It’s taking all of his willpower to not give in and let them do what they so desperately want. 

Touch. They whisper in his ear. Mate. Hold mate. 

He can feel one of them starting to move, slithering over the floor towards the bar. It’s the same one that once followed you all the way to Velaris. It’s always been drawn to you. He lets it go and prays you won’t notice its presence before he’s ready. 

Once again Azriel’s thoughts are rudely interrupted by his brother. 

Rhys slaps his hand down on the table in force. “On that note, I have to leave.” 

Azriel looks at him, puzzled by his sudden announcement. 

Rhys just rolls his eyes slightly when he realises his brother has not been paying attention to any of their conversations. “Duty calls. Nyx has had a nightmare. I’ll see you tomorrow brother, I’ll stop by the training ring.” He presses a kiss to Mor’s cheek. “Goodnight cousin darling. And behave.” With a last wink at both of them he winnows home. 

Now it’s just him and Mor left. 

Once this would have been all he wanted. 

When he first met Mor he was taken aback by how much she reminded him of you. Her strength and resilience. Her ability to make light of tough situations. Her unwavering confidence. The beauty radiating from her that makes people stop in their tracks. 

Frantic to have any part of you he could, even if it wasn’t real, he became obsessed with being around her. It was the closest thing he had of you. He knew it wasn’t healthy but he just couldn’t help himself. He thinks it was some ancient, territorial part of him that made him do so. Always looking for his mate, never resting. 

Mor looks at him, concern shining through in her eyes. She places her hand on top of his and gives it a small squeeze. 

‘Are you okay Az, you seem distracted?” 

He just nods, not ready to voice any of this just yet. He needs to speak to you first, see you first. 

“Yeah I’m good.” he mumbles. “I think I just need to be alone for a bit.” 

She gives his hand one final squeeze and gets up. “I’ll go and see if Amren and Nesta feel like going to Rita’s with me. Will you be alright?” 

Azriel gives her a small smile in response. He loves how she never pushes him to talk when she can tell he doesn’t want to. He just waves her off. “Go have fun. Don’t spend too much of Rhys’ money.” 

She grins and winks at him when making her exit. “Can’t make any promises there.” 

And then it is just him. He downs the rest of his drink and wills his shadows to stay by his side while gathering the courage to approach you. After a few minutes he gets up. 

He turns around and his eyes immediately fall on your form in the corner of the bar. You look absolutely breathtaking. You had always been beautiful but it seems like you have grown into your beauty even more. 

He tucks in his wings and starts walking over to you, a fake confidence in his steps. He’s hoping it will make him feel more prepared, maybe he can fool himself into believing he’s ready. That he’s not absolutely terrified.  

Just when he’s about to clear his throat and speak your name, you jump up from the stool and lose your footing. 

He reaches out to you immediately, scarred hands touching your waist , sending a jolt of electricity to his very core. 

You look up at him and that’s when he feels it. The bond in his chest roaring to life, finally answered by the one thing it’s been seeking for over 500 years. It can no longer lie dormant, be one-sided or suppressed. 

 His shadows start whispering again. Home. 

———

Reader POV

Mate. The word echoes through your head over and over again.

You’re suddenly hyper aware of the male in front of you. Being this close to him, his overwhelming scent of night-chilled mist and cedar fills your senses.

Cedar, like the forest surrounding Windhaven. The same forest that provided you a safety blanket before Azriel did. The smell of home. 

You feel dizzy from the overwhelming realisation of how right this is. Everything makes so much sense, you feel blind for not seeing it before. You and the male in front of you fit together like a puzzle, both of you tailor made by the cauldron to only fit each other. 

You watch him, his shadows hanging still around his frame and you wonder if he has come to the same realisation. Surely he must be feeling this too? 

You put your hand on top of his scarred one still resting on your waist. Your head is spinning and you are struggling to focus with the alcohol roaring through your bloodstream. 

This is not how you imagined this would go. 

When you were a child you had often fantasised about meeting your mate one day. You’d heard stories, both good and bad, but had always dreamed you would find that unconditional bond with someone. Hell, you had always hoped it would be Az when you got old enough to wish for those things. 

All you feel is the need to be closer to him. You want to wrap yourself around him, hold on and never let go. But since you haven’t seen him in 500 years and are in the middle of a crowded bar, you’re guessing that’s probably not the proper response. You wish someone had written a guidebook on how to do this. 

Navigating the mating bond for dummies, or how to confront your mate after 500 years 101.

You’re starting to think your approach of getting drunk might not have been the best decision. 

You try to bring yourself back to the present by focusing on the situation at hand. You find Azriel’s eyes and give him a careful smile. He looks at you, gaze soft mixed with a hint of concern and something else you can’t quite place. Is that recognition, or are you imagining things? 

You straighten yourself, placing one hand on the bar to keep you from toppling over. 

By the cauldron this is embarrassing. You are really regretting the amount of drinks you’ve had. 

“Thanks Azzie.” The nickname falls from your lips before you can help yourself. Your eyes go wide at your words as you cover your mouth with your hand in shock. 

You blame the current alcohol content in your body for your stupidity. 

You haven’t seen him since you were 18, clueless and in love. And you’ve just called him by his childhood nickname in the middle of a crowded bar. Your cheeks turn a dark crimson. You wish the floor would swallow you whole. 

He looks at you in shock, but you can read the amusement on his face. He probably thinks you are some foolish, drunk female getting too familiar with the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. 

You’be only been back in Velaris a couple of days but you had heard the whisperings. 

Females obsessed with the Night Court’s most “eligible bachelor” now that the High Lord and Cassian were taken. 

Azriel pulls a bar stool closer to him and gestures for you to sit down while he flags down the fae behind the bar. He gets you both a glass of water and settles down next to you. 

You take a few small sips, aware of his gaze still locked onto your face in shock. 

He clears his throat and you brace yourself for what comes next. You feel a soft pull on the bond in your chest, a cautious contact. Your eyes widen. 

His voice sounds thick with emotion when he speaks. “I can’t believe you’re finally here.”

taglist (comment/send me a message if you'd like to be added and I'll add you in x): @yesiamthatwierd @k-homosapien @mortqlprojections @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @a-courtof-azriel @greenmandm

[rowdyluv]

Talk to Me - jh86

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: jack is stressing over how y/n is bottling something up that happened at the event they attended together. but he just wants her to open up to him like she always has

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2k

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: mild language, angst, fake dating, anxious themes, oblivious characters,

© property of rowdyluv ; do not copy and re-upload as your own - anywhere. do not place my work inside AI codes, do not translate.

"Quinn, man, she's just not herself," Jack said, his forehead creased with worry as he talked to his brother’s face through the phone. The bright screen cast a bluish glow on his face, making the shadows under his eyes more pronounced. “Well. She’s herself by being closed off and not telling people what’s wrong. But.”

“But…. she’s not telling you what’s wrong and that isn’t like her.” Quinn cut his younger, middle brother off.

Jack hummed in response. Relieved that Quinn at least understood that part of the situation. Quinn has known her just as long as him, so he figured calling big brother was an appropriate option for some advice.

Quinn's voice grew softer. "Jack, have you ever thought that maybe Y/n's still dealing with what went down at the charity gala? You know she isn’t actually superwoman contrary to your all’s longest running matching halloween costumes.”

Jack was quiet for a moment. Contemplating how to answer his brother’s absurd question. “Of course I have, Q. That is all I have thought about for four days now.” Jack drug one of his hands down his face and groaned in frustration. “Since when do her and I not talk to each other?”

Quinn sighs heavily on the other side of the screen, his voice thick with annoyance towards his brother’s oblivion. "Jack, you know, you can be pretty clueless sometimes.”

“What the fuck Quinn? How did this suddenly become the time to insult me?”

Quinn rolled his eyes and propped his phone up on his coffee table. He sat up, placing his elbows on his knees, looking right at Jack through the phone’s camera. "Jack, she is your best friend. You claim to know everything about her. Or that you know her best. If that is true, we wouldn’t be on the phone arguing about why she’s avoiding what happened."

Jack frowned and whispered, feeling attacked. "I do know her best.”

“And I know you both pretty damn well.” Quinn laughed. “So. I'm going to bet that she isn't avoiding the topic of the WAGs.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard you say this month.”

“Do you want to hear what I have to say or not, dumbass?”

Jack didn't respond to him, hoping he would take the silence as an invitation.

“Alright then. If what you told me about the ‘special moment’ you two shared is true. She could be avoiding you because of that. Think about that one.

Jack’s eyes snapped to the phone, his heart racing. He felt like the air was being sucked out of the room. “What do you mean? We have shared many hugs before. Many close moments. So what I felt like I was in heaven at that moment? She didn’t but I had it for a minute. She doesn’t care?.”

“Would you listen to yourself? Many close moments, many hugs, felt like you were in heaven? What about her? What did she feel? Had you discussed being that open about your arrangement in public yet? Or did you blindside her to have your fill?”

“Quinn.. I—. I have to go. Thank you, I love you.”

“Love you too, Jacky. Good luck.”

‘Rowdy dude. I believe you fucked up.’

————————

Jack stared at the phone screen for a moment longer before hanging up. He had been pacing the length of his bedroom, his thoughts a tumultuous mess. Quinn’s words echoed in his mind, making him feel like he had missed something crucial. He took a deep breath and headed to the couch where Y/n was curled up, fast asleep. Her chest gently rose and fell with each breath, and the soft light from the nearby lamp danced across her features. Jack was not going to wake her to let her know he was running out. He grabbed a pen and paper to leave her a note.

He scribbled down a quick message, feeling his stomach knot at the thought of her finding it. "Gone to grab a few things. Be back soon. Love ya, J." He placed the note on the coffee table and grabbed his keys. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the apartment eerily quiet.

Jack drove to the local floral shop, his mind racing with thoughts of what to say to her. The cool evening air brushed against his skin as he exited the car and walked through the quiet streets. The bell on the door jingled merrily as he stepped into the warm, fragrant oasis of color. The woman behind the counter looked up from her book, a gentle smile spreading across her face. "Can I help you find something?"

"I'm looking for some flowers," he began, his voice a bit shakier than he'd like. "I need lilies, daffodils, and some cosmos."

The woman nodded understandingly, her eyes twinkling. "Ah, sounds like you're trying to brighten someone's day," she said knowingly. "Lilies for purity, daffodils for new beginnings, and cosmos for a bit of whimsy. A lovely combination."

Jack couldn't help but chuckle nervously. "I hope so. They're for my best friend, Y/n. She's had a tough week."

The woman's smile grew as she began to gather the flowers. "Best friends are the best kind of people to have. Tell her they're for making bad days a bit brighter."

Jack nodded, his mind racing. "Could you make them into a bouquet, please?"

"Of course, dear," the woman replied warmly. "Let me wrap these up for you. They're going to make a beautiful bouquet."

Jack felt a twinge of hope as he watched her arrange the flowers. He knew that Y/n would appreciate the gesture, its who she is, and maybe, it would be the catalyst for the conversation they needed to have. He paid for the bouquet and stepped back out into the evening light, ready to get dinner and head back home.

The pizza place was a short drive away, a place they've been going to each week since she movec. It had the perfect blend of cheese and sauce that made their taste buds dance. As he walked in, the familiar smell of fresh dough and baked bread greeted him. The bell jingled over the door and the cashier looked up, recognizing him immediately. "Jack! The usual?" she asked with a knowing smile.

"Yes, please," he replied. She wasn’t necessarily picky with her food, but when it came to this pizza, she was a creature of habit. Pepperoni, ONLY just how she liked it. He watched as the pizzamaker expertly tossed the dough and spread the sauce, feeling a sense of comfort in the familiar routine.

As the pizza baked, Jack couldn’t help but recall the way Y/n's eyes lit up when she took that first bite, how she'd always save a piece for him to share. It was these little moments that made their friendship so special.

‘Friendship?’ His inner thoughts screamed and echoed and ping-ponged around his skull so loudly Jack didnt notice the cashier was trying to get attention to pay.

Jack nodded absentmindedly, pulling out his wallet. "Oh, right." He mumbling his apology and handed over the money. "Keep the change," he said, a little too eagerly, and practically bolted out the door.

The ride home was a blur. He barely noticed the scenery passing by, his thoughts consumed by Quinn's words and the weight of his own feelings. When he pulled up to the apartment complex, his heart felt heavier than the bouquet of flowers in his hand. The elevator ride to their floor was painfully slow, each ding of the passing floors a seeming to get louder and louder.

Jack's palms were slick with nerves as he unlocked the door and stepped into their shared space. The TV was playing softly in the background and the couch was now abandoned. He sat the pizza box on the coffee table.

He called out her name tentatively. The silence that followed was deafening.

With no response he peaked around the corner and down the hallway. There was a bit of light spilling out from under the crack of the door. He took a deep breath and went to knock gently, the bouquet in one hand, his heart in the other.

"Y/n? Can I come in?"

The door to her bedroom cracked open slightly, and a confused gaze met his from the other side. She had been crying again, Jack could see the redness around her eyes and the way her cheeks were still wet with tears.

His heart feels like it just had a skate ran over it.

Jack held out the bouquet, his heart hammering in his chest like a drum. "I brought these for you," he said softly, trying to keep his voice steady. "To make the bad days seem a bit brighter."

Y/n stared at the flowers, her eyes widening with surprise. She had never seen him so nervous before, not even when he was about to go on the ice for a big game. She took the bouquet from his hand, her fingers brushing against his in a way that sent a jolt through both their systems. The sweet scent of the lilies filled the space between them, mingling with the faint scent of her perfume. "Jack, they're beautiful," she murmured, her voice thick with unshed tears.

“I have something else, c’mon.”

Jack's voice was gentle, a stark contrast to the tumultuous emotions crashing through his mind. He stepped aside, allowing Y/n to enter the hallway to head towards the living room where the pizza waited. She followed him with a tentative step, the bouquet clutched to her chest like a lifeline.

When they reached the couch, Jack turned to face her, his eyes searching hers for any hint of what she might be feeling. "Look, Y/n, I know something's been bothering you, but I don’t want to push. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay. But I want you to know that I'm here for you." He took a deep breath and held out his hand to her. "Will you come with me?"

“Our pizza and my favorite flowers? Did you cause a scandal in this fake relationship.” She feigned faked shock, knowing well he didnt. At least she hoped that he hadn’t.

Jack couldn't help but smile at her attempt to lighten the mood, but he knew this was another attempt to deflect attention. He nodded his head no "I just wanted to do something nice for you."

Y/n's eyes searched his, looking for a deeper meaning behind the flowers and pizza. She sighed, her shoulders dropping slightly. "Jack, I know you're worried, but I just don't know if I can talk about it yet."

Jack dropped his head. “I truly wanted to do something nice. But i will admit i had a few motives.”

“I’m afraid that telling you will change things for worse.

Jack looked at her, his eyes filled with concern. "Y/n, I promise you, I’m not going anywhere. You can tell me anything."

Y/n looked down at the bouquet in her hands, the petals brushing against her skin as if whispering secrets she was too afraid to speak aloud. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Jack, I know you're trying to help, but it's just..." She paused, her voice cracking slightly.

Jack stepped closer, his hand reaching out to comfort her. "It's okay, Y/n. Take your time."

Y/n looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She took a deep breath and spoke in a hushed tone. "I've been trying to ignore it, but I can't. Have you ever wanted something so terribly bad, but you’re no good for it/them. Or do they see you differently?"

Jack's heart clenched at the pain in her voice. He went to grab her hand and she pulled away. His heart plummeted “Y/n.”

“Jack. Let me say it this way. Have you ever wanted someone so badly it physically hurt?” Y/n held Jack’s gaze silently pleading he did understand.

Jack cleared his throat before he tried to speak again. “And if I said yes, would you even believe in me?”

[wosospacegirl]

Pls to the boob writing 🤲🏾

Summary: Just a compilation of scenes where Kyra shows her appreciation for boobs.

Warnings: lesbians

Word count: 2k

a/n: This is literally a compilation of scenes I wrote but never posted. If something looks silly, it's probably because it was written very early on.

Masterlist

..

-> Scene 1

The TV was playing some mindless cooking show–low volume, dim lighting, both of them stretched out on the sofa with a blanket tossed over their legs after a very tiring day at training–well, at least for Kyra.

Y/n was reclined against the armrest, with one hand holding the remote loosely, the other resting on Kyra’s back as she lay curled into her side.

At some point, without a word, Kyra had tugged Y/n’s oversized shirt up just enough and moved her bra aside, settling her head against her chest.

Y/n thought nothing of it, Kyra always had a complete–unhealthy– obsession with her boobs.

But then…

“Lie down, please”, Kyra said, almost whining.

“Kyra, not now,” Y/n said, pouting on her face. “I know what you want, and honestly, my nipples are sore.”

Kyra gently ran her thumb over Y/n’s nipple, very gently. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” Kyra said, kissing the back of Y/n’s neck. “I’ll be good now, promise.”

Y/n was silent for a moment, but then she gave in, feeling sorry for Kyra. She had a bad day, training was too intense, and Reneé was too harsh. 

She could do something that would make Kyra better.

So Y/n just put her hand up in the air, and Kyra happily took that as a sign. She took Y/n’s shirt off and then undid her bra.

In less than a second, Y/n was lying on her back, and Kyra was on top of her.

And then she latched on.

No embarrassment. Just a soft sigh of comfort as she nuzzled closer, mouth warm on Y/n’s nipple.

Y/n didn’t even flinch. She adjusted the blanket over them and brushed her fingers through Kyra’s hair, eyes still lazily watching someone flambé pears on screen.

“Be more gentle,” Y/n said under her breath, feeling Kyra sucking too harshly.

Kyra hummed in response, sucking lighter this time

Y/n glanced down at her. “You’re not even watching the show.”

Kyra didn’t let go. She just shook her head a little, mouth still where it was. 

“Don’t need to. Got everything I want right here.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, but her fingers softened in Kyra’s hair, thumb brushing the shell of her ear. “You’re so needy..”

Kyra just smiled, her eyes closed now.

And so they stayed like that–Y/n flipping through channels with one hand, her other arm wrapped around Kyra, who was half-asleep, comforted by the soft rhythm of skin and heartbeat.

..

-> Scene 2

The tension in the room was thick–Kyra’s arms crossed tightly across her chest, face set in a stubborn scowl, and Y/n could feel her frustration radiating off her in waves. 

They’d been going in circles for what felt like hours, neither of them backing down. And honestly, Y/n didn't know how to deal with that; normally, she was the one in a bad mood, not Kyra.

“I’m just saying, Kyra, you need to actually talk when you get frustrated.” Y/n's voice was soft but firm, trying to get through to her. “Just… lashing at me won’t help!”

Kyra didn’t answer, her eyes fixed on the ground, not willing to look up.

Y/n sighed, rubbing her forehead. 

“We’re not gonna solve anything like this.” She stepped closer, waiting for a response that didn’t come. “I think you need it.”

Kyra’s eyes flicked to her, just for a moment, uncertain, but still a little defensive. 

“Need what?” she muttered.

Y/n placed a hand gently at Kyra’s shoulder, guiding her to the bed.

"Come here,” Y/n said softly, almost tenderly. “Stop being so grumpy. You’re just frustrated.”

Kyra didn't resist this time. Still frowning, she let Y/n guide her down until she was lying on the bed next to her. 

Y/n gave her a knowing look before she lifted her breast to Kyra’s mouth, a soft invitation to latch on.

Kyra hesitated for a split second, but when she met Y/n’s gaze, she saw nothing but calm, quiet understanding.

“Go on, baby. Just let it go,” Y/n whispered, her hand caressing Kyra’s cheek, urging her closer. "It’s okay."

Without saying another word, Kyra shifted, her lips finding Y/n’s skin, and she latched on with a soft, almost desperate sigh.

Y/n smiled a little. “There you go,” she murmured, her voice soothing. “Just relax.”

Kyra’s shoulders did just that,  relaxed. The tension melted away as she let herself focus on the calm, steady rhythm of Y/n’s heartbeat. Her grip softened, and she began to breathe slower, more evenly.

Y/n just continued to stroke her hair, letting the moment pass between them, knowing that sometimes words weren’t enough–but this? This was.

The fight seemed years away now. The room, once filled with tension, was now quiet, with only the sound of their breathing filling the space.

“See? Better already,” Y/n whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Kyra’s head.

Kyra didn't say anything, but the relaxed smile tugging at the corners of her lips said everything.

..

-> Scene 3

Y/n stayed quiet, one hand gently stroking Kyra’s back through the thin material of her shirt, the other resting at the back of her head, fingers tangled in soft hair.

Kyra’s mouth remained where it was, tucked against her breast, not moving anymore, just resting. Her lips still gently parted, cheek pressed warm to skin like she couldn’t bear to let go yet.

Y/n could feel her breaths slowing, evening out. The tension in her shoulders was easing bit by bit. Every now and then, she’d exhale one of those shaky breaths, like her body was still catching up to her heart.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” Y/n whispered, brushing her thumb over the rise of Kyra’s cheek. “Just rest now.”

Kyra didn’t speak. Didn’t even nod.

But she burrowed in a little deeper, letting her whole weight sink into Y/n’s body. Her legs tangled with Y/n’s under the covers, arms still loosely holding her middle.

“You’re pretty,” Y/n murmured, kissing her forehead. “I love you.”

And finally, Kyra’s body went still.

Soft breaths ghosted over Y/n’s skin, a little warmer than before. Her jaw relaxed, lips still barely parted against Y/n’s chest, her grip loosening just enough that Y/n knew she’d fallen asleep.

Y/n’s arms tightened around the girl sleeping on top of her.

Y/n closed her eyes, feeling Kyra’s breath against her breast, warm and steady.

..

-> Scene 4

The light was softer now, muted grey through the curtains, gentle enough not to wake them.

But Y/n stirred first, blinking slowly as she became aware of the warmth pressed so completely against her. Her arms were still wrapped around Kyra, and her chest... well.

She glanced down, and there she was.

Kyra, still clinging, mouth resting lazily on her nipple, one hand tucked under Y/n’s shirt like she needed to be touching skin to stay grounded. 

Her hair was messy, her cheeks flushed.

Y/n smiled to herself, dragging her fingers gently through that dark hair, brushing it off her forehead.

“You’re still here, huh?” she whispered, voice hoarse from sleep.

Kyra shifted just slightly, rubbing her cheek against Y/n’s chest with a soft sound. Not quite a word. Then she looked up.

Eyes half-lidded. “Mhm,” she hummed. “Morning.”

Y/n laughed softly. “Morning, baby.”

“I need you,” Kyra said in a whisper.

Y/n didn’t speak right away. She just cradled Kyra’s face with one hand, thumb brushing over her cheek, then cupped her breast in the other and gently guided it back toward Kyra’s mouth.

“Here, Ky,” she said softly, thumb stroking over her nipple. “It’s okay.”

Kyra didn’t hesitate. She latched on again, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Not for arousal this time, just comfort. Just safety.

Y/n held her there, rubbing her back in slow circles.

They stayed like that for a long time. 

Eventually, Kyra mumbled something low and almost shy against her skin.

“What was that?” Y/n asked, brushing hair back again.

“I sleep best like this,” Kyra said. “With you. Right here.”

Y/n exhaled slowly, pulling her even closer. “Then we can sleep like this every night.”

..

-> Scene 5

Y/n was already in bed, stretched out in a loose tank top and underwear, scrolling on her phone with the lamp casting a soft glow over the room. Footy laying on the other side of the bed.

She heard the front door shut, quiet, almost hesitant, and then the muffled sound of shoes being taken off.

Then footsteps.

Kyra appeared in the doorway, still in her tracksuit, her eyes red, lips pressed tight like she was barely holding herself together. 

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

Y/n sat up, already reaching her arms out. “It was a hard game, huh? Come on.”

Kyra didn’t speak. Just crossed the room and climbed into bed. She crawled right into Y/n’s lap, burying her face into her chest as if trying to disappear.

Y/n cradled her without hesitation, pulling her close and pressing kisses to her hair. “I’m sorry, Ky, sometimes the team it’s just off.”

Still, Kyra said nothing. Her hands curled around the hem of Y/n’s shirt, gently tugging it up a little. 

Then she reached behind to move Y/n’s bra aside and nuzzled in closer, lips brushing over her bare skin.

Y/n stilled for a moment, her breath catching. “Oh, baby…”

Kyra latched on gently, mouth closing around her breast. Not hungry, not playful—just desperate for something that felt safe. 

Y/n let out a slow breath, combing her fingers through Kyra’s hair. “You don’t have to hold it all in, you know,” she whispered. “You’re allowed to be sad.”

Kyra didn’t respond. She just stayed there, warm mouth pressed to skin, breaths hitching now and then like she was trying not to cry. 

Her hands clung to Y/n’s waist, fingers twitching like she needed to hold on tighter.

Y/n kissed her temple. “You're gonna have better games, I promise.”

Still no words. Just the soft, wet warmth of Kyra’s mouth against her breast, the quiet rhythm of her breathing slowly starting to even out.

Y/n held her close, arms wrapping around her completely. I love you” she murmured, pressing her cheek to the top of Kyra’s head. 

..

-> Scene 6

Y/n’s fingers stayed tangled in Kyra’s hair, absentmindedly stroking as the quiet settled over them again.

“I was thinking,” Y/n said softly, her voice lazy and warm, “maybe we could go for a walk later. Just down by the park, if my leg’s okay? You can bring Footy.”

No response. Just the steady breath against her breast.

Y/n glanced down.

Kyra’s mouth was still exactly where it had been, lips parted, cheek resting on soft skin. Her eyes fluttered, not fully asleep, but clearly deep in some peaceful haze.

Y/n smiled, brushing her thumb again along her cheek. “You listening to me, baby?”

Kyra gave the tiniest nod. Didn’t lift her head. Didn’t open her eyes. Just nodded.

Y/n laughed under her breath. “You just don’t wanna move, huh?”

Another little nod.

Y/n shook her head affectionately. “Okay. Walk later. Maybe we can make pancakes first?”

Still no words. Just a slow nuzzle, like Kyra was saying yes with her whole face.

Y/n giggled. “You’re so annoying.”

This time, Kyra hummed, a soft vibration against her skin. It might have been satisfying. It might have been a sleepy agreement.

“Don’t wanna take your mouth off for even a second, huh?”

Kyra finally shifted, just enough to mumble, “Feels nice. Calm.”

Y/n blinked, and her heart did that thing again. The soft ache of being completely undone by this girl.

She cupped Kyra’s cheek, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Okay,” she whispered, pulling the duvet tighter around them both. “Then stay.”

..

a/n: no tag list cus this writing is silly.

[koiukiy-o]

orphic; (adj.) mysterious and entrancing, beyond ordinary understanding. ─── 005. the barista.

-> summary: when you, a final-year student at the grove, get assigned to study under anaxagoras—one of the legendary seven sages—you know things are about to get interesting. but as the weeks go by, the line between correlation and causation starts to blur, and the more time you spend with professor anaxagoras, the more drawn to him you become in ways you never expected. the rules of the academy are clear, and the risks are an unfortunate possibility, but curiosity is a dangerous thing. and maybe, just maybe, some risks are worth taking. after all, isn’t every great discovery just a leap of faith? -> pairing: anaxa x gn!reader. -> tropes: professor x student, slow burn, forbidden romance. -> wc: 2k -> warnings: potential hsr spoilers from TB mission: "Light Slips the Gate, Shadow Greets the Throne" (3.1 update). main character is written to be 21+ years of age, at the very least. (anaxa is written to be around 26-27 years of age.) swearing, mature themes, suggestive content.

-> a/n: mini update :") this took so long yall but hopefully the next chapter will come out this weekend/early next week!! but @starglitterz cameo is officially here !! -> prev. || next. -> orphic; the masterlist.

You're still thinking about it.

Maybe that’s why your feet carry you here now, why your mind lingers too long on yesterday’s conversation—the recursion, the identity, the way Anaxagoras' voice dipped just slightly when he said neither walks away unchanged.

The café is the kind that always smells like burnt espresso and ambition, tucked just close enough to campus that it’s half library, half social hub. The walls are lined with faded flyers for long-past events, a community board pinned with everything from tutoring ads to desperate requests for lost calculators.

You step up to the counter, still half-lost.

"Next," a voice hums, smooth and patient.

You blink up.

You glance at the screen again, suddenly aware of the line that’s moved up behind you.

“Sorry,” you murmur, stepping closer to the counter. “Can I get a—”

You pause, eyes flicking to the chalkboard menu overhead.

“Medium oolong milk tea  . No ice.”

She nods, tapping it into the register. “Anything else?”

You hesitate. “And… one of those—” You gesture towards the red bean bun in the pastry display. 

As she bags it, she adds lightly, “Huh. Considering your usual habit of asking the kind of questions that make people reconsider the laws of physics mid-sip, that was surprisingly tame.”

You blink. “Huh?”

She gestures loosely, teasing. “Thought you’d be the type to hit me with a philosophical paradox disguised as a tea order.”

It clicks.

You straighten slightly, really looking at her now—the poised demeanor, the sharp gaze, the effortless way she dissects a thought before it’s fully formed. The girl from yesterday. The one who answered the question that left Ilias fumbling.

"Oh," you say, feeling somewhat slow. "You’re—"

"Kira," she supplies, tapping the register. "If we’re keeping track of names. Name for the order?"

You tell her.

Your eyes flicker to her apron, where her name tag is flipped backward on the strap. "You work here?"

Her gaze lifts, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "No, I just enjoy standing behind counters for fun."

You exhale a quiet laugh. "Right. Stupid question."

Kira shakes her head, sliding the receipt toward you. "Not stupid. Just distracted."

You blink at her, caught slightly off guard.

"Anyway," she continues lightly, "pay up and step aside. I’ll have your coffee ready in a minute."

You tap your card against the reader, hesitating just slightly before moving. "Well. Nice to, uh. Formally meet you."

"Likewise," she says, and this time, the smile reaches her eyes.

You linger near the pickup counter, the hum of the café settling into the background as you absently thumb through your notebook. 

Then—

"[Name]!"

You glance up. Kira sets your cup on the counter, her fingers still lightly curled around the lid as she meets your gaze. You hesitate for a moment, fingers curled around the warm cup. The question lingers, half-formed—would it be weird to ask? Probably. But class starts soon, and if she’s heading there too...

As if on cue, the café door swings open, and another barista steps in, shaking off the cold. Kira glances over, nodding in quiet acknowledgment before turning toward the back.

You clear your throat, glancing at your watch, and then her. "Should you still be on shift? Or…"

Kira’s lips curve, the kind of smile that makes you think she saw the question coming before you even asked it. 

"Not anymore," she answers, folding the fabric neatly before setting it down. She moves through the café like she’s a part of its rhythm, nodding to coworkers with the ease of someone who’s been here long enough to know all their quirks. 

(You, on the other hand, still hesitate at the self-serve station, debating whether adding a third sugar packet is a cry for help.)

As Kira folds her apron, the new barista taps his ID on the register, the screen flickering to a “Shift Active” status. She steps back, stretching briefly before grabbing her bag from under the counter.

She raises an eyebrow at you. "My coworker is clocking in." Then, with a small, knowing smile—"And class starts in ten." she adds, tilting her head toward the door. "You coming?"

By the time you reach the lecture hall, the remnants of that conversation trail in the back of your mind, overlapping with the notes scrawled hastily in your notebook.

Just as the low hum of voices begins to settle, the amphitheater-style seating rising in clean, sweeping tiers around the central podium. The vast screen at the front remains dim for now and the blackboard is half-covered in chalk when you sit down—trailing equations, half-formed diagrams, the kind of thought process that seems obvious to the professor but makes students squint in collective confusion.

 Kira lingers beside you, glancing at the mess of equations crammed into the margins as you flip your notes open.

"You wrote this after the lecture?" she asks, arching a brow.

"Yeah," you admit. "It was—kind of a lot to think about."

A small smirk, but not unkind. "Clearly."

You hesitate, then shift your notebook slightly toward her. "You want to compare?"

Kira’s eyes flicker to yours, then down to the pages, considering. Then, with an ease that shouldn’t surprise you anymore, she slides into the seat next to yours. "Sure."

She flips open her own notes, far neater than yours, and the two of you fall into quiet discussion. 

You're so caught up in the exchange that you don’t even notice someone approaching until—

"Alright, I made it—!"

Ilias’ voice cuts in as he drops into the seat beside you, exhaling like he just ran across campus. "Man, you would not believe the morning I’ve had—"

Midway through slinging his bag onto the desk, he pauses, suddenly noticing the third presence.

His gaze flicks to Kira.

Then flicks back to you.

Then to Kira again, slower this time.

And then, with the smooth elegance of a man who has absolutely no idea what’s going on, he leans in slightly and mutters, "Uh–"

You stare at him.

Kira does not react.

"Ilias," you say, deadpan, "this is Kira."

Ilias blinks.

Kira, without looking up from your notes, simply says, "Hi."

There is a long beat of silence.

And then—

"Hi," Ilias says. Then, slightly louder, like the first one didn’t count: "Hi. Hi—yeah, hi.” 

You look at Ilias. Ilias is staring at Kira like an idiot.

Eyes wide. Blinking. Lips parted ever so slightly.

You nudge him with your elbow, and he yelps, startled back to life. "Oh, right," he says quickly. "Hi—yeah, hi, um, sorry about—uh—dinner?"

Kira raises an eyebrow. "Dinner?"

Ilias turns red. "No—I mean— dinner–!? Wait, sorry, thats silly– Like, sorry about the, uh, you know—yesterday, the—thing, sorry about the thing."

She blinks at him.

And for the first time in all the time you’ve known him, Ilias actually blushes.

Blushes.

"No, really," he stammers, pushing through. "I— I think your—" His eyes flick over her, scrambling for words. "Your—uh, your penmanship is, um, really cool."

Kira smiles. "Penmanship?"

"Yeah! Yeah, your notes—super neat, I, uh, wish I could—" He gestures vaguely. "Do that. Y'know." 

You pinch the bridge of your nose.

Ilias visibly scrambles. "I—I mean, yeah, like. It’s so, uh, readable? And kind of… elegant?"

Kira’s eyebrows lift, eyes glinting with barely-contained amusement. "Are you complimenting my handwriting?"

Ilias looks like he wants to die. "I– I think so, yeah!"

You don’t even try to hold back a snort.

Kira, to her credit, just beams. "Well, thanks. I do take great pride in my ability to write legibly."

Ilias swallows, nodding a little too quickly. "Yeah! Right! Super important skill. Very… uh. Impressive."

Kira, unimpressed, tilts her head. "Uh-huh."

"What’s—what’s your pen made of?" he blurts. "It looks so—so smooth—"

He reaches forward, probably to touch the pen she’s holding.

She slaps his hand away, recoiling like he just committed a federal offense. "What the hell?"

"What?" Ilias blinks, confused. "What’d I do?"

Kira exhales sharply, a quiet laugh escaping before she shakes her head, the corners of her mouth tugging upward. Her eyes glimmer with something between amusement and pity, like she’s watching a cat repeatedly pounce at its own reflection.

"How," she says, voice warm with barely contained laughter, "are you so bad at this?"  

Ilias freezes. Mouth opens. Closes. Then, finally, "I don’t—I mean—I just—what even are the—" He gestures vaguely between them, as if that might summon coherence. "Like, is there a—a protocol for this? Should I, uh— I—can I call you sometime or—" 

You burst out laughing, loud and awkward.

Ilias swears out loud. Shoots you a disgruntled look. 

Kira just shakes her head, amused, and goes back to her notes.

The lecture hall is quiet, save for the scratch of pens and the faint creak of wooden chairs shifting under the weight of their occupants. Afternoon light slants through high windows, casting long, golden streaks across the desks, catching in the curves of glass beakers left forgotten at the edges of the room.

Anaxagoras steps forward, movements precise, measured. His coat moves like the sweep of an ink brush, fluid but deliberate. When he speaks, his voice carries through the space—not loud, but effortless, as if the room itself leans in to listen.

"Before we begin today’s discussion, there is something you should be aware of."

A flicker of interest moves through the room. Kira glances up from where she’s been absently sketching in the margins of her notes. Ilias doesn’t move, but you can feel his attention sharpen beside you.

"An exclusive symposium will be held on the nature of consciousness and spiritual physics," Anaxagoras continues, his tone even. "It is a gathering of scholars at the forefront of these fields. Attendance is strictly by invitation."

His gaze moves, sweeping over the rows of students—and for a fraction of a second, it lingers on you.

Not obvious. Not lingering enough to be called staring. But deliberate. Expectant.

And then it’s gone, moving on without pause.

You straighten your back.

"I have been invited to attend," he continues, "and I have been granted the opportunity to extend that invitation.”

"A select number of students will be considered," he continues, "through an application process. This is not for those content with passive observation, but for those willing to question, to deconstruct, to think beyond the limits imposed by conventional academia."

You flick your pen idly against your notes, already half-dismissing it.

Kira, however, perks up beside you.

"Ohhh," she hums under her breath, just for you to hear. "That sounds kind of amazing."

Ilias, on your other side, leans in slightly. "Alright, so when are you applying?"

"I’m not."

There’s a pause. Then—“Wait. Seriously?”

You glance over to find Ilias actually looking at you, eyebrows raised in genuine surprise. "What?" you deadpan.

"I think you’re in denial," he counters. "You say this now, but two weeks from now, I’ll probably find you staring dramatically out a window thinking about it.”

Kira stifles a giggle, ducking her head.

"I just don’t think I would enjoy spending hours listening to a bunch of pompous academics talk in circles," you mutter, doodling absently in the margins of your notes.

"Right, because you hate talking in circles." Ilias snorts. "That’s totally not your favorite thing to do."

You swat at him without looking.

At the front, Anaxagoras continues, his voice smooth and steady as he moves seamlessly into the day’s lecture.

You let your pen trail lazily across the page, letting his voice turn into background noise.

This isn’t something you need to think about.

-> next.

taglist: @starglitterz @kazumist @naraven @cozyunderworld @pinksaiyans @pearlm00n @your-sleeparalysisdem0n @francisnyx @qwnelisa @chessitune @leafythat @cursedneuvillette @hanakokunzz @nellqzz @ladymothbeth @chokifandom @yourfavouritecitizen @sugarlol12345 @aspiring-bookworm @kad0o @yourfavoritefreakyhan @mavuika-marquez @fellow-anime-weeb927 @beateater

[swift-works]

Enchanted ✧.* Part Two

part one | masterlist

word count: 2k

summary: After inheriting your grandmother's house, you find a seemingly normal mirror in the attic. When night falls however, the mirror becomes a portal into your favorite fictional world and who better to greet you than your favorite character. Can you change his fate or see him to his doom?  

tags: isekai!reader, sfw, swearing

a/n: and here is part 2! thank you for all the love on part 1 <3 i hadn't planned on making this weekly but i may have to keep it like that due to life events

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Ace went into a panic as soon as you dropped. He couldn’t do anything but call out to you in hopes that you would wake up. About a minute passed before he saw your eyes begin to flicker open. A sigh of relief passed through him. No one has ever fainted at the mere mention of his name before. “Are you okay? You didn’t hit your head too hard, right?”

You slowly regained your bearings. The figure in the mirror hadn’t disappeared so this was definitely not a dream. He was still shrouded in the dim light, his fire must have gone out when you went down. “I’m okay? At least physically I am. Mentally? Well the jury is still out on that one.” You finally sat up, deciding to stay on the floor instead of standing.

This was real. A fictional character from a fictional story was in your mirror. The more times you said it, the crazier it seemed. It was crazy but it was real. You could make out his figure- Ace’s figure looking around his side of the mirror. He grumbled under his breath when he couldn’t find what he was looking for. “Okay, I’m gonna move it so hopefully you can see me better.” Without waiting for you to answer, he easily lifted the mirror and moved it to a better lit spot.

Finally you were able to see him in his full glory. Everything was accurate from his boots to the hat that covered his head. He looked good. You tried to act as if you weren’t looking at his chest for longer than you needed to. There was a faint smirk on his lips that told you that he knew. Your cheeks grew warm. “So you’re Ace? Like Fire Fist Ace?” 

“Yup! Proud second division commander of the Whitebeard pirates, at your service.” He took his hat off and held it to his chest as he bowed.

A thought occurred to you. Where in the timeline was this Ace? He must have been on the Moby Dick so this must have been before Thatch’s death. Could you- No. It was never a good idea to mess with timelines or whatever was happening here. What if you changed everything for the worse? What if you couldn’t change anything?

“So uh,  you wouldn’t happen to know exactly how we’re talking through a mirror would you? Cause I’ve heard of inanimate objects getting devil fruit powers but I still can’t wrap my head around it.” He began to ramble while plopping his hat back on his head.

“Yeah let’s go with that. I was just gonna call it a magic mirror.” You decided that you weren’t exactly going to tell him that you were from a different world yet. The world of One Piece was definitely big enough that you could make something up. A sudden thought occurred to you. “Oh and it only works at night! During the day, I just have a regular mirror.” The white thing you saw in the mirror originally must have been a sheet or something. Not unlike how you found your mirror.

His face fell upon realizing it was night time. That's the moment his stomach let out a loud grumble. So caught up in this magic mirror business he had forgotten that he missed dinner and had a task at hand. “Shit, I forgot I didn't eat dinner.” he groaned. On one hand he really wanted food but he really wanted to keep talking to you. This was new and exciting for him and had greatly piqued his interest. 

“Well, If you want to go find something to eat. I- I guess that we could continue talking tomorrow?” You offered, knowing better than to keep that man from food.

He beamed at you and rapidly nodded. “That’d be great! I’ll meet you here again tomorrow. Same time?”

You agreed with him and you both said your goodbyes. With a wave of his hand he darted off. He was gone for two seconds before he came back to grab a piece of paper and hurried off again. You still couldn't comprehend that you had just met your favorite character but you were slowly coming to terms with it. The image in the mirror didn’t change so you threw a blanket over it, just in case. You went to bed thinking about the next night, feeling excitement for the first time in awhile.

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For the next week, you and Ace talked every night. He had moved the mirror into his room for easier access and less questions from his crew. At dinner, he’d scarf down his food at an all-time high speed just so he could see you- talk to you quicker. Everyone on board could tell something was different with Ace, but they were content with letting him be for now. Well, almost everyone, except Thatch who was the nosiest person ever. Everytime Ace locked eyes with the cook, he was met with a suspicious squint. He tried to wave him off but Thatch was not easily deterred. 

“So, Ace, what’s gotten into you this week? You’ve been taking naps all day- and don’t deny it! You snore! And you seem to perk up anytime the sun goes down along with shoveling food down your throat. My food deserves to be appreciated, you brat.” Thatch had blocked Ace from leaving the mess hall, waiting with his arms spread out.

Oh so people had noticed his behavior. This wasn’t embarrassing at all. “Is a man not allowed to take naps anymore? You’re getting strict in your old age, Thatch.” Ace teased him while ducking under him to get out.

“You little shit! I will find out what’s going on with you!”

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During your talks, you had told Ace that you were from a boring island in Paradise. He never questioned you and nodded along to every detail you could come up with. In return, Ace told you that he came from the East Blue and was raised by mountain bandits. Nothing you didn’t already know. There was a fond smile etched upon his face as he recalled his time on Dawn Island. 

As soon as he would mention Luffy though, you swear you could see a shine in his eyes. You just didn’t know if he was going to start crying, ramble on about his little brother or both. So that’s how most of the nights went. You’d both swap stories, although yours were laced with white lies and exaggerations. Obviously he wouldn’t tell you everything. After all, it has only been a little over a week since that first night you two met. It was nice though, having someone to talk to. None of your friends had reached out since the funeral, not that you were expecting them to. They had always held you at arms length. Ace made you feel less alone.

You still didn’t know when he was in the timeline until a few days later.

You had made a comfortable sitting spot in front of the mirror, ready for a long night's worth of conversation. Yeah it might not have been good for you, skipping hours of sleep just to talk to Ace, but you felt like it was worth it. Not everyone got the chance to talk to their favorite character through a magic mirror. You were wrapped up blankets and feeling nice and cozy when Ace burst into his room.

He called out your name with a large grin and plopped down in front of his side of the mirror. “It’s almost time for Luffy to set sail! His birthday’s right around the corner! I wonder how much he’s gotten stronger, not stronger than me though.” He smirked and lifted his arm in a flex.

Oh so this was right before the main story started. You were going to have to decide soon whether or not you’d warn him of the dangers that lie ahead. It was best to push those thoughts to the back of your mind for now. You’d decide when the time was right.

You scoffed. “Uh huh, I bet he could take you. I hear that he's the determined type.”

He jutted his bottom lip out. The fearsome Fire Fist Ace was pouting. “You’re supposed to be on my side. You don’t even know Luffy,” Actually you knew the future king of the pirates pretty well. You’ve watched at least five hundred episodes of Luffy’s journey so far. “But you are right, he is the most determined person I know. I can’t wait to see what kind of pirate he’ll become.” His pout morphed into a smile.

Those words made your heart lurch. Ace only got to see Luffy twice before he died. It was a sinking feeling to know that the man in front of you was doomed by the narrative. He wasn’t just a character now, he was just Ace. Could you really just sit here and not change anything? Maybe…

“I didn’t know you were such a softie, Ace.” You teased, masking the somber thoughts that were going through your head. 

Any other teasing remarks were silenced when a pillow was launched at your head. What the fuck? You held onto the pillow after it fell from your face into your lap. Ace’s pillow? Speaking of Ace, his face mirrored yours in shock. Nothing had ever passed through the mirror before.

“Did that-”

“How-”

You looked down at the pillow and decided to test if it worked both ways. Launching the pillow back to its owner, you stifled a laugh as it struck him in the face. Karma. His look of disbelief shifted into a look of mischief. “Oh it’s so on.”

A game of dodging projectiles broke out. Anything that was in reach went flying back and forth. You both were caught in fits of laughter and smiles. Until Ace dropped to the floor without warning. Shit. “Ace?! That’s not funny.” You were met with silence.

You made your way in front of the mirror and hesitantly reached out a hand. Could people pass through? There was only one way to find out so you pushed your hand through the mirror. Or was it more of a portal?  Your hand passed through effortlessly. Oh shit. This was so cool. You snapped your focus back to Ace. Oh right. With a deep breath, you jumped from your room to the Moby Dick.

Unfortunately, you didn't have time to really let that settle. You rushed to Ace and hovered over him. Oh my god, he was so real. Not that you had doubts, but now you could touch him. He was also dead to the world as a loud snore erupted from him. Wait, wasn’t he narcoleptic? You let out a sigh of relief. At least, he didn't literally drop dead.

Kneeling beside him, you shook him. “Ace, wake up!” He did no such thing and continued to reside in dreamland. You huffed and decided to look around his room. Since you two have been having nightly chats, he's kept it clean. A certain green bag caught your eye. Hopefully he wouldn't mind you snooping. You lifted his head and slid one of the pillows under him. Your curiosity had you ruffling through the bag and bringing out a few coins. Your eyes practically shined. Real berries.

While you were snooping, you failed to hear the soft knocks that came from the door. As soon as you had pulled out the berries, the door swung open and Marco the Phoenix stepped through the threshold. “Just wanted to remind you of the commanders meeting tomorrow-”

He froze as he took in your figure with Ace’s bag and berry in hand. His eyes flickered to the sleeping figure on the ground. Well this didn’t look good. You felt as if you were under the gaze of a predator as his eyes narrowed at you. 

You dropped the bag and stepped away from it. “I swear this is not what it looks like, I can explain.”

“Oh you’re gonna explain alright, yoi. To Whitebeard himself.” 

Oh fuck.

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last chapter | next chapter

[rainix13]

Loving Her Is (Im)possible

masterlist

Natasha Romanoff x Civilian!Reader

description: They say loving the Black Widow is impossible, so what happens when you meet her?

Words: ~2k

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none I think, not proof read tho

I know this is shitty, I wrote this coping with myself lmao.

Next one is promised to be good or at least better again

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Loving her is impossible. That's what they say.

Meeting her is easy.

Red hair, brown coat, black boots.

And effortless elegance that held the power to draw everyone's attention but prevent anyone from making eye contact. Or comment on her.

"A large, black coffee please" her voice carried the same unspoken authority her movements displayed.

Rough and soft at the same time, polite but distanced. She layed one hand on the counter while waiting. With the other hand she removed her sunglasses, letting them fall in the pocket of her coat. A few curious glances from the other customers in her direction but most just continued their conversations.

You watched the interaction, studying her. How she glanced over the room. How she corrected her own posture - and you did instinctively too. How she took her cup and took yet another glance over the room but in a seemingly different way. Her eyes locked onto you.

She directed a small, greeting nod to you and you responded with a friendly smile. "That seat doesn't seem taken", the redhead mostly stated, sitting on the chair across your own.

"You can't be sure of that" you replied with a teasing grin. The woman chuckled. A low, soft and intriguingly dangerous sound, sending a shiver down your spine. You tried to save it, lock it in your memory and protect it, the moment you heard it. If you could do something to get to hear it again, you would.

"So you're saying this seat is taken, princess?" a playful glint in her eyes, knowing exactly that it wasn't.

And within a split second your mind surrendered. You weren't sure if it was the nickname or just the way your own teasing backfired but you flushed and glued your eyes to your hands. "No" you mumbled, holding the cup in your hands just a little tighter. A shy smile played around your lips.

"No need to be shy, sweetheart. I'm Natasha"

Meeting her was embarrassing in a way you enjoyed it.

Knowing her is easy.

You knew who she was. Everybody does. The media is flooded with footage of her, everytime something in the world happens. Everybody sees what you could see that day.

Effortless perfectionism. Authority without room for arguments.

She was the Black Widow.

In press conferences the backbone of the avangers.

No one knew her. Behind that perfect mask that would allow her to dominate the whole room, was in reality something different.

Behind that perfect image was a human just as everyone else is. Someone who sometimes feels lonely. Someone who's guarded but also someone who let a few things slip from time to time.

You were aware that everything you saw of her was calculated. A risk she took.

A nightmare she told you she had. Explaining why her day was bad. Asking you what she should cook.

You never got much to grasp on, but to every little detail you held on as if it was sacred.

Nat:

I'm bored

What should I do?

You:

Me [you deleted that as soon as you typed it]

Cinnamon rolls

And just two hours later it'd ring on your door.

"Hey, I brought cinnamon rolls."

You laughed, seeing her physically relax under your careless happiness as you invited her in.

The Black Widow was an open book - someone everybody could know within thirty minutes of amateurish research.

Natasha Romanoff was more than that.

A closed book with a lock, behind bars, behind walls.

She rarely shared something about what she actually did or felt at any given moment. But if she'd let something slip you'd pick it up and cherish it.

Talking to her is easy.

Without even noticing in less than a month your world was upside down.

Checking your phone every ten minutes for notifications, even though you know the screen lits up when you get one.

Smiling when it does.

Denying the small bit of disappointment when the notification doesn't begin with "Nat 💕:".

Going silent on phone calls with others for a moment when you recieved a message from her. Being mentally absent while playing cards, glancing down at the phone beside you, answering whenever it's not your turn.

You:

How was your day?

Nat💕:

{voice message 1:48}

You loved these. You loved listening to her voice, detecting the satisfaction when she told you about a successful mission, hearing the frustration when some recruits didn't listen to her in training and then obviously failed the task at hand. You loved her sighs when she was tired.

Soon you yearned for every interaction you could get. A small chat, a short phone call. Or when you had the time you'd bring her a coffee over.

The first time you did, you weren't sure you'd get out of the building in one piece.

You learned that day that Shield doesn't have visitors. Especially not ordinary people and definitely not one's who come in without an agent.

Your hands were shaking as you held them over your head, in one still the coffee you brought.

"What do you want?" The guy, who asked this just entered the area, motioning for the security to stay in position.

"u-uh visiting? A friend" you added and cringed internally about verbally friendzoning the redhead. But that's the most fitting description. Maybe even exactly what she sees in you. A friend. One she likes to flirt and tease with just to see how it messses with your head.

"And who is that friend?" he walked behind you, taking the coffee from your hand.

"Natasha? Romanoff..." your voice grew quieter realizing how unrealistic that must sound. And just as confirmation he scoffed "Of course. And if that's true, why isn't Agent Romanoff here to get you through security? And further, why is the name on this coffee 'Nathan'?"

Now you scoffed, rolling your eyes "So now it's my fault that coffeeshops can't get names right?? You can't convince me no coffeeshop ever wrote your name wrong" You regretted those word almost as soon as they left your mouth but now it was too late anyway.

But before anyone reacted to that, the clicking of heels cut through the tension. Just as they stopped a familar voice spoke up from behind you "You have some nerves, giving these kind of answers while having two guns directed at you, princess"

Your cheekes flushed at the nickname. You knew she did that on purpose, relishing your involuntary reaction. And it happened every time.

With probably another motion of one of the two behind you the security guys backed down and you turned around with a small smile on your lips. "Well, bold of you to show up so late they almost shoot me"

When you sat down on a couch in what you presumed was her office she took a sip from her coffee and sighed. "Nathan, huh?" A smirk playing around her lips.

You snorted meeting her eyes with a mischievous glint in your own "Maybe I made the barista write down the wrong name intentionally. But a coffee wouldn't be a coffee if they got your name right twice in a row"

It became a little game of yours. Trying to find a new variant or fucked up way to mess with each others name.

These meetings happened more often, you bringing her coffee or lunch. Talking, laughing, joking. You learned that the guy, who questioned you on your first time there was Clint, Natasha's best friend. Soon these lunch breaks became the thing you looked most forward to, by the start of a week.

You got to meet Clint, introducing himself with saying something along being sorry for almost having you shot. And by then all of you could only laugh about that first encounter.

On a random friday she took you to the shooting range after another shared lunch. Handing you one of her pistols she positioned herself behind you. Guiding your legs to stand in the right stance, moving her hands along your arms so you wouldn't hurt yourself. And while you loved learning to shoot, her being pressed against your back made it hard to focus. How her touch burned itself under your skin, how her scent surrounded you. And suddenly you felt like one of the recruits she liked to complain about. Distracted.

Of course Natasha noticed. But she didn't seem mind it, when it was you. She didn't mind having to guide you into the right position another time and maybe even a third. At least she didn't say so. She seemed to enjoy the time you had as much as you did and that alone made your heart skip a bit.

Watching yourself fall for her feels scary. Like the craziest thing you've ever done.

Running away is easy.

Especially when self-doubt is consuming you.

When she's out on missions and you don't get any response to your messages for hours or days.

You start to doubt yourself, if this was right for you.

The redhead tried to push you away only shortly after you met. Telling you that she's too much for you. That her life isn't made for her to fit in your world. You managed go convince her from the opposite.

Now you were the one doubting if that was the right decision.

On the one side fearing how much this is about to hurt if you don't work out, on the other already being too attached to let go now.

Not without trying.

But after just another day of radio silence from her side you feel like ending things would be best for you. Or after another conversation, where you realize that she's not actually telling you what she feels or what's bothering her. Giving only so short answers to your messages that something like a conversation wouldn't even begin - it hurt you probably more than it should.

But you didn't blame her. Or you tried not to. You knew that this was an unsettling kind of jealousy with no one to be jealous of. No one you knew about. But that didn't make it easier. It just drained your energy on these days, killing some of your usually good mood. Every one of those days giving you another reason to leave.

Running away. Not without an explanation, that would be unfair. She deserved to understand. And while you're trying to convince yourself that hurting her by leaving now would be less bad than doing it even later and that it would probably be for the best for both of you, you couldn't shake the feeling that she would've felt used.

And every time you think about that, she texts you, answering your last message and pushing the thought of leaving away immediately - not that she's aware of that but she still does. The start of a conversation, that filled you with a strange sense of happiness. A happiness that kept you from running.

The urge to stay is impossible to ignore. The want to understand every action before calling it unreasonable, taking all reasons to leave and burn them down, you kept only the reasons to stay.

A stupid smile with every message.

An shy and embarrassing flush with every tease.

The commitment to understand her and give her time.

You mentally burned whatever you read about her on the internet. Banning news reports about her, ignoring blogs judging her or her job in any way.

Instead you chose to focus on every single bit that seemed to be real and held on to it. Every soft chuckle, the glint in her eyes when they meet yours, her sighs at the end of a voice message about an overly exhausting day.

Everything that you knew was her. What didn't scream 'ex-assassin and spy'.

You chose to learn and hold on to what you got about Natasha instead of Widow.

You chose to ignore the reasons to leave for now.

Red hair, brown coat, black boots.

And a caring smile in your direction.

Loving her could turn out so easy.

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[ghost-proofbaby]

For your Valentine’s Day Event what about a mini-blurb about spending your first V-Day as Eddie’s partner

❤️❤️❤️❤️

the image of your first v-day with eddie and both of you being such nervous messes is so endearing to me i love him your honor. i need to be a nervous wreck with him please.

wc: 2k+

When the day had first started, you were determined that it had to be perfect. 

You thought that your outfit needed to be faultless, and destroyed your room in the process of rummaging your closet for a specific shirt you just had to wear. You thought your makeup had to be flawless, and you’d redone it nearly three times, leaving your skin raw and irritated after the third removal of eyeliner. You were convinced your plans for the night had to be exemplary, and you and Eddie had changed your minds too many times to count in the weeks leading up to the day. 

Nerves. And stress. And picking at the beds of your nails until you’d made one bleed and took it as the Universe’s sign to cut it out. 

The day of love had morphed into something twisted, a terrible buzzing beneath your skin that was less than comfortable rather than the warmth in your chest that you had come to associate with adoration. 

“You should have seen his face, sweetheart,” Eddie cackles as he continues to recount a story from the latest Hellfire session, one hand clinging to yours as they swung between your walking bodies and the other holding up a cone of ice cream to match your own, “I told him to leave that damn NPC alone, and he just wouldn’t listen.” 

“Serves him right,” you mumble, feeling miles away and hating it. 

Normally, you’d be entirely enthralled by Eddie’s stories. Latching onto every last word, waiting with bated breath for every turn of his tales. And yet, right now, all you could focus on were your nerves. 

Is he having a good time? Is he enjoying himself? Is the night perfect for him, at least? Is he sorely disappointed about me, and realizing that this is all a mistake? Not just this date night, but everything-

“Hey, are you feelin’ alright?” 

Eddie stops in the middle of the sidewalk suddenly, and you only notice by the tug of his hand halting you in the process as well. 

“Hm?” you hum, trying to drag yourself back down to Earth. Trying to quiet all the voices in your head panicking at full volume. “Me? Oh, yeah, I’m fi-”

“Don’t say you’re fine,” he rushes to interrupt, quirking a brow, “You’ve hardly said shit the last hour. Did I... Is something wrong?” 

This is the part where he lets me down gently. This is the part where he admits he’s having the worst time of his life, and that we should break up. 

You force out a laugh, giving his palm a pathetic squeeze, “I am fine, Eddie. Just… just…”

This is the part where he realizes what a terrible partner I am, because I can’t even make Valentine’s Day fun. 

Except, he doesn’t. 

His entire face softens, and he takes a step closer before his voice drops to just shy of a whisper, “Just in your head?” 

Your stomach sinks. He had noticed – he had noticed, and probably stopped having any fun because of it. 

On instinct, you start to shake your head, but he only gives you a knowing look. 

“Look, I know I’m kind of a dumb ass half the time, and I know I can be a little oblivious, but…” he motions vaguely at you with the hand holding a melting scoop of rocky road, “I can tell what’s something up. With you, at least. So… what’s up?”

You want to correct him. Either tell him how even on his worst days, the days where he’s been the most annoying pain in your ass, you’d take him over someone else on their best days – or make a joke about how he’s definitely a dumb ass more than half the time. Jest how it’s okay, because you’re a full-blooded idiot almost all of the time with him. You want to reassure him, staring at you with puppy dog eyes, how it has nothing to do with him and everything to do with you. 

It’s only been one month. A measly month of dating Eddie, adoring Eddie, getting to know the endless labyrinth that is him inside and out. 

It’s only been a month, and you’re still sort of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Insecurity is a bitch to kick. 

“It’s not you, it’s m-” you begin before realizing your mistake in an instant. His face breaks so solemnly, and heartbreak is painted across the heights of his cheeks and dark brown pupils clear as day. He thinks you’re breaking up with him. “Wait! No, okay, no, I- That sounds like I’m breaking up with you. I am not breaking up with you.”

He sighs out in relief, a breath you hadn’t noticed him holding, as his shoulders relax, “Jesus H. Christ, you scared the shit out of me-”

“I’m scared you’re going to break up with me,” you blurt out before he can simmer too long in the relief. “I’m just- I’m terrified that this date night is going to shit, and I’m so fucking nervous, and I… I don’t know,” your voice trails off, dropping in volume with each word before you slowly blink up at him, bracing yourself for impact, “I’m scared that I’m fucking up our first Valentine’s day together.”

You wait for him to confirm all your fears, or to make fun of you, or to burst with relief at finally being able to agree that you were ruining the night. 

No such thing when it comes to Eddie Munson. 

“What?” he laughs a little breathlessly, dulcet eyes locked in on you, “I’m sorry, you think you’re ruining the night with your nerves?” 

All you can do is nod. 

Because it’s true. It’s why he hadn’t kissed you the entire night, scared you might jump at the press of his lips surely. It’s why you had to be the one to grab his hand initially, probably so jumpy that he was convinced you’d run like a scared animal if he moved too close. 

“Baby,” he’s smiling ear to ear now, smooth like honey as he sighs out in more relief. The pet name sounds nice on his lips; if you weren’t so in your head, you might go dumb in the head at the way it tumbles off his tongue, “Oh my God. Are we both idiots?” 

What? 

“I never said you were-” 

“I’ve been rambling for the past hour, non-stop,” he cuts you off, taking a step closer to you, “I spent nearly three hours getting ready when I’d usually take an hour tops, freaking out over what you’d think about my goddamn t-shirt. Wayne nearly kicked me out of the trailer when I started pacing about whether I got you the right kind of flowers,” as the confessions spill out into the air between you, you notice some of the buzz beneath your skull dulling. The voices in your head turning down the volume, notch by notch, “I haven’t even kissed you yet tonight because I’m so fucking nervous – you had to grab my hand first, for fucks sake. If anyone is fucking up this date by being a mess, it’s me.” 

Little, by little, by little. The voices go silent. The buzz leaves, and the warmth tickles at the back of your throat. 

He was just as nervous as you were. 

All you can do is laugh.

It starts small, the teeniest of bubbles bursting from your chest, but it quickly descends into something borderline concerning. Giggles overflowing from you, making you bend at the waist just a bit from the force of them, eyes tearing up at the ridiculousness of it all. 

“I-” you gasp out, and Eddie just beams at you. Heart eyes and all as he watches you finally unravel from all your stress that’s strangled you the entire night, “Oh my God-” another little hiccup of a laugh, and he joins in a bit, “We’re so…. So…. dumb.”

There’s not a better word for it. Only the plain ones, simple ones.

Dumb, stupid. Idiots. The two of you were such idiots. 

“Wanna know a secret?” you’re finally able to hoarsely whisper once you get control of yourself once more, Eddie leaning in eagerly, vibrant eyes locked on yours, “I thought you weren’t kissing me because I’ve been all jumpy, so nervous and shit. I… I thought it was because of me.” 

Something melts. Slowly, warmly. Frigid and icy nerves between the two of you run away in rivers as he looks at you, so soft and so enamored, half his lips twitching up in a barely-there grin. 

“Well…. We can’t have that, can we?” 

Each movement is intentional. A little sure, but you can still taste the hesitancy when his lips first meet yours so feather light. Just a taste, a quick test of the waters. 

And immediately, whatever hesitancy lived within both your bones, leaves along with the nerves. 

He starts to pull away from the peck, but you’re quick to drop your ice cream cone of cookies and cream just to bring both hands up to the nape of his neck properly, racing to press him back into your space. A sharp chuckle falls from him at first, trying to get a look at your discarded cone, but you won’t let him get too far – you need his lips back on yours, and you need to just… laugh. 

Laugh about how stupid you two had been. Laugh because neither of you ever had any reason to be nervous. 

“Your cone!” he gasps into the kiss, and teeth clash a bit as you smile widely and shake your head.

“Forget the cone. We can get new ones.” 

He drops his cone as well, right on queue, as he pulls you hard into him. Lets your chest meet his, your hips melting against his. One cold and sticky hand, one warm and sweaty palm, and a whole lot of skin he’s been restraining himself from exploring the entire night. 

Eddie Munson kisses you in the middle of the sidewalk until your knees are about ready to give out. Until your lungs have shrunk a few sizes with all the air he’s stolen from you. Until you can’t even remember why you had been so nervous to begin with. 

This? This is nice. This is what you’d expected of your first Valentine’s day with the fool kissing you like his life depends upon it. 

“Hey, Eddie?” you finally break the ongoing kiss a bit, his forehead chasing yours to stay pressed up against you. 

His arms circle around your lower back to hold you tightly as he hums in response, eyes still shut and a goofy grin overtaking his aching cheeks. 

“Wanna just… have a redo of our first Valentine’s day?” you offer, making his eyes flutter wide open, “No nerves fucking things up this time?” 

Is a month long enough to fall in love with someone? 

It sure feels like it as you trace over the dimples, all the creases beside his eyes. It feels a lot like love, when you’re being honest with yourself. 

“Thought you’d never ask,” he teases so gently, thumb tracing arcs against your spine, “Where do we start, sweetheart?” 

“Well, I think we need to get some ice cream…”

You trail off and look to the ground where broken cones are scattered amongst melting sweet treats. 

One might argue that that’s the true mess of the night, but you hardly care. It’ll clear away with the rain due next week according to the weather forecast. 

Whatever is happening between you and Eddie, though? That’s going to take a bit more than one stormy night inside both your heads. 

“Absolutely,” he quickly presses a chaste kiss to the tip of your nose, and you let out a snort – something that a few moments ago, might have embarrassed you straight to your grave. Not now, though. “Say… I know this killer ice cream shop that we’ve just got to try. One you’ve totally never been to before.” 

“Really?” you play along, leaning further back against his arms. He still refuses to let you go as he nods so assuredly, “And I’ve never been there before? Not even in the, let’s say, last thirty minutes?” 

He bites his lip to stop his smile from growing any larger, but it’s a hopeless effort, “Definitely not. Trust me, sweetheart. Best rocky road and cookies ‘n cream in town. Swear it.”

Maybe perfect looks a little different than you’d imagined in your head, and maybe that’s alright. 

“Lead the way, Munson.”

[little-jana]

"Caffeine and Affection"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Genre: Fluff

Words: 2k

Warnings: excessive caffeine consumption, but otherwise pure fluff

Summary: For Valentine’s Day Spencer surprises you with a very special bouquet!

a/n: requested: yes! Thank you very much, hope you enjoy it!

The BAU ran on coffee.

At least, most of it did. Hotch practically had a coffee IV, Rossi wouldn’t touch anything under espresso-level strength, and even Spencer—who could rant about the adverse effects of caffeine for hours—drank coffee when cases ran late.

But you? You were different.

Your fuel of choice came in cans, not cups. Whether it was soda or energy drinks, you always had something sugary and carbonated in your hand. It had become part of your identity—something the team liked to tease you about but ultimately accepted.

Spencer, however, took a particular interest in your habit.

“You know,” he had told you one day, watching you crack open yet another can, “the excessive consumption of sugar and caffeine can lead to increased heart rate, insomnia, and dependency.”

You had grinned at him, unfazed. “Sounds like a problem for future me.”

He had sighed, shaking his head. “Future you is going to be very disappointed in past you.”

Despite his concerns, he never actually told you to stop. If anything, he seemed intrigued by your preferences—often asking which flavors you liked best, what brands you preferred, and even quizzing you on why you liked soda over coffee.

It was… cute.

Spencer had always been the kind of person who paid attention, but when it came to you, it felt like he noticed everything.

Which was why, on Valentine’s Day, when he approached your desk with a nervous expression and something hidden behind his back, you immediately knew he was up to something.

“Spence?” You tilted your head, setting down your can of soda. “What are you doing?”

His lips twitched in that shy, almost awkward way he did when he was nervous. “I, uh… got you something.”

Before you could respond, he revealed what he had been hiding.

It wasn’t flowers. It wasn’t chocolates.

It was a bouquet. But instead of roses or lilies, it was made entirely of your favorite sodas and energy drinks, all carefully arranged and tied together with a big, bright bow.

You blinked. Stared. Opened your mouth. Closed it.

Then, finally, you burst into laughter. “Oh my God, Spencer!”

His ears went a little pink. “I read that people appreciate personalized gifts, and I know you don’t really drink coffee, so I figured this was a more… suitable alternative.”

You reached out, taking the bouquet from him with wide eyes. It was surprisingly well put together—each can securely fastened with ribbon, the entire thing looking both ridiculous and oddly adorable.

“This is—Spencer, this is amazing.” You grinned up at him. “Did you make this yourself?”

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “I had to look up a tutorial. It took longer than I expected.”

You could just picture him sitting at home, carefully arranging cans of soda into a bouquet, meticulously tying them together with absolute precision. The thought made your heart swell.

Without thinking, you threw your arms around him, squeezing tightly. “You’re the best.”

Spencer tensed for half a second before quickly melting into the hug, his arms wrapping around you just as firmly. “I’m glad you like it.”

You pulled back slightly, grinning. “Like it? Spencer, this is the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me.”

His smile was small but full of warmth. “Then it was worth it.”

You looked down at your wonderful bouquet and then back at him, your heart hammering a little harder than usual.

Maybe it wasn’t just the caffeine making it race.

[lizardboiii]

At The Tone ┃ DCU

Barry Allen x Spider-Woman!Reader

┃ Summary: Sometimes bad things happen to good people - and that’s where the Justice League comes in. Too bad you weren’t interested.

“Think I forgot how to be happy Something I'm not, but something I can be" Billie Eilish, "What Was I Made For?"

│cw: SFW, alcohol abuse, unhealthy coping mechanisms, grief, hurt/comfort, violent themes

│wc: 3.9k

│chapters: One shot

│notes: This fic has been sitting unfinished (with 2k words!!) in my drafts for a WHILE. randomly decided it needed to see the light of day ig. was gonna make it nsfw but i low key hate it and just wanted too move on oops. enjoy <3

・❥・

│One Shot: At The Tone

You have five new messages.

“Good afternoon, Spider-Woman this is Cla-”

You heard a throat clear.

“It’s Superman. I see you still aren’t picking up any of the team’s calls,” He swallowed thickly, “I understand your recent loss was… hard. Something none of us would have wished for anybody.”

You could feel the tension in his voice.

“Please take all the time you need. The league is more than capable of taking care of New York in your absence for the time being.”

The sound of a pen clicking disrupted the message every so often, “But at least give us some indication you're alive…and well. The team cares about you,” He chuckled warmly, “Even “Mr. I Work Alone” Batman himself.”

His laugh dropped abruptly with a soft sigh, “Call me back when you can.”

Beep

You crawled out of bed slowly, dragging your duvet behind you like a cloak. The plush cotton laid heavy on your shoulders. You wondered if this was how Big Blue felt every morning - the weight of knowing everything depending on him once he bore his iconic red cape. 

You knew what that weight felt like, and you knew what it felt like to have it all come crashing down.

You have four new messages 

“How’s it hanging, Spidy? Haha, you get it?” A dramatic sigh escaped the machine, “Sorry, poor timing.”

He took a moment to regroup, “It's Green Lantern, just calling to check in. Headquarters has been depressing without you. I mean even Martian Manhunter is down in the dumps. It's a total bummer.”

Another sigh, “Listen you don't have to call me back if you don’t want to, but at least let Flash know you're still alive. He needs you more than he lets on.”

Beep

You groaned at the shrill ring of the answering machine. The outdated tech was too cherished to be discarded but the pulsing headaches you received from it almost outweighed the fond memories of Aunt May.

Thoroughly woken up, you entered your kitchenette. Your eyes shifted between the week old coffee pot on your stove to the half empty Hennessy bottle next to it. 

Maybe this time you would make the right choice. A sober evening is a good evening. However, the battle was always rigged to begin with and the winner already predetermined.

The Hennessy felt burdensome in your hand as you took a long swig. It burned violently down your throat, eating at your skin, before finally settling warmly in your stomach. Though you hated to admit it, it satisfied you more than any pot of coffee could.

Staggering to your couch, courtesy of one of New York’s finest sidewalks, you flopped down. The cushions were well used and musty. But who were you to pass up a free couch?

You have three new messages

“Spider-Woman.”

There was a lengthy pause.

“Your recent inactivity has caused some concerns regarding your whereabouts. The league seems to be having a hard time focusing on missions with your absence.”

Bats’ uncertainty leaked through the phone as he thought of his next sentence, “You have my condolences, Webs. However, the league cannot continue to work with this distraction. Please report to the Hall of Justice immediately.”

He hesitated, “We are worried.”

Beep

An involuntary snort escaped you. Bats’ attempt at comfort was interesting to say the least. He was surprisingly awkward for a leader of the Justice League. Though you supposed dark and brooding was his brand.

You have two new message

“Greetings, Spider-Woman, Wonder Woman speaking.”

You could hear muffled arguing in the background.

“Batman may have been a bit…straightforward in that last voicemail,” She attempted a fake laugh, “Please do not mind his bluntness, he is merely just as concerned as the rest of us. In his own way at least.”

A loud slam made her curse under her breath.

“I apologize I must go, the “children” are fighting again. Don’t hesitate to call back. See you soon, Webs.”

Beep

Lifting the liquor to your lips, your brows creased when only a drop hit your tongue. Out already?

You let out an exaggerated sigh before placing the empty bottle on your coffee table. A quick glance at your barren pantry told you everything you needed to know. You’d have to go out and get some more. You felt your face scrunch. That means you have to go out in public.

You weighed your options. 

You could stay inside and continue to peacefully hide from the world, but you're guaranteed to sober up eventually.

Or you could make a quick trip to the convenience store down the road and pray the minimum wage employee can’t smell the alcohol on you from a mile away. 

You hummed thoughtfully. Though, now that you think about it, there’s a off chance you might run into the supe that’s covering your city for the time being. Then again, there’s a very high chance it’s not someone from the Justice League, a member from The Team at best. 

Massaging your forehead, you tried to remember the last time a Justice League member took a leave of absence. A blonde goatee flashed in your mind.

That’s right. Green Arrow was out for a while when he got busted up pretty bad. His protégé, Speedy, ended up babysitting Star City in his absence. You bit your lip. 

But you didn’t have one of those anymore.

You have one new message

“Hey Webs! Sent me to voicemail again, huh?”

An awkward laugh made the machine crackle.

“Just calling to check up on you. How are you doing? Feeling alright? Just say the word and I can grab you anything from anywhere. I mean literally anywhere. They don’t call me the fastest man alive for nothing!”

You could practically hear the large smile embedded on his face.

A large sigh passed through the speaker, “It’s been a month now. The team misses you…I miss you. A lot actually.”

He paused.

“Just call me back alright? I need to know if you're okay.”

Beep

Your hand paused over your front door handle. Flash’s deep voice was like a siren's call, beckoning you in. 

What you’d give to turn around. What you'd do to call him back. It took everything in you to force yourself away from his voice.

Your best friend. 

Your confidant. 

Your everything. 

You have zero new messages

・❥・

You weaved through the bustling sidewalk with a slight wobble, managing to dodge a third of the people you almost crashed into. Night was quickly approaching. That meant the streets were only going to get busier. 

More people = More crime = More superheroes.

Fumbling into a dimly lit alley, you avoided Main Street completely. It was too risky. Even in your civilian disguise there was no guarantee your voice wouldn’t be recognized - mainly by your teammates but especially by… Flash.

You recalled how often you sought each other out in the Hall of Justice. Whether it was meddling in the business of others, or simply enjoying the company of one another.

His hand always seemed to find its way to the small of your back. Gently resting. While his thumb delicately circled the thin fabric of your suit. 

He leaned in closer than he should. The dull smell of his cologne inevitably picked up by your heightened senses. 

It wasn't how friends should behave - but that's all you ever were. Friends.

Thwack!

You slammed yourself against one of the side walls in surprise, extinguishing your mind of complex thoughts. Creeping closer, you cursed in your head when harsh thumps and muffled grunting filled the air. 

“Where’s my money, Huey?”

Crack!

“I-I don’t know! Please!”

Whack!

You recognized the tell-tale sound of blood splattering against the ground, akin to paint splashing. The sound made you nauseous. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you thought of your next move. 

Now, on any normal occasion you’d swing in all heroic and save the day. But today was different. You were different. 

Excuses flooded your brain as you tried to explain to yourself why you felt little desire to help the abused man. 

Your suit was at home crammed somewhere in between an ugly Christmas sweater and a latex bodysuit you practically begged Cat Woman not to give you. 

Even if you had the energy, you were still considered MIA to the league. You’d basically be spoon feeding them your location. 

Your internal dilemma didn’t last long as the pummeling swiftly came to an end. Peaking around the corner, you watched the assistants retreat into an adjacent alley. They moved lazily. Clearly they didn’t expect to be caught.

You could still catch them.

You found yourself making an internal description. Two Caucasian males both wearing black beanies and disgustingly outdated puffer jackets. The taller one sported purple and green. While the shorter preferred yellow. 

Your foot shifted before you felt yourself hesitate. Maybe you shouldn’t. They’d probably be caught soon enough anyways. 

If anything, the supe covering your city would swoop in and haul their asses to the local jail. Especially when you called an ambulance for the man who was passed out on the ground. It would put this area on tonight's map. You sighed and finally allowed yourself to relax. 

This was fine. 

Everything was fine. 

Shifting your eyes to the ground, you located the poor soul who suffered the attack. His breathing was ragged and wet. You were quick to put two fingers on his neck, checking for a pulse. A wave of relief crashed through you when you felt a steady beating.

Pulling out your phone, you immediately dialed 911 and requested an ambulance, anonymously of course. You stayed with the man until you could hear loud sirens growing closer. Your sign to leave. 

Exiting the alleyway, you reached the small convenience store in record time. The adrenaline in your system was starting to make quick work of the alcohol in your bloodstream. 

You could feel your senses beginning to come back. Eyes clearer. Ears sharper. You could practically hear the heartbeats of everyone in the store. 

Groaning at your misfortune, you beelined for the alcohol section in the back. My god was it beautiful. Itching to return home, you grabbed a random bottle that had the highest percentage. Taste didn’t matter. Only the effect.

Glancing at your selection you choked on your own spit. 30 dollars?? The glass bottle was swiftly put back as you grabbed the cheapest one you could find. Tucking the Shitty K under your arm, you turned to walk to the register.

“PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP, OLD MAN.”

You froze. Extending your neck out, you caught a glimpse of the register. 

Purple, green, and yellow.

You had to be fucking kidding.

You watched as the two assailants from the alley held the elderly cashier at gunpoint. His form shook like a leaf. 

“Please! Just take the money and leave!”

You caught his eyes as he begged for his life. Tear filled and shaking. You could have prevented this. If you would have just stopped them when you had the chance none of this would have happened.

You could have saved the man in the alley. Saved the poor cashier.

You could have saved Uncle Ben too. 

Your eyes watered. Fucking pathetic mistake. What the hell were you doing? You weren’t a teenager anymore. You were a grown adult who should have learned from your mistakes by now.

Shifting your eyes from the vodka to him, you pressed your lips in a thin line. You didn’t know what hurt more. The fact that you were repeating past mistakes or the fact that you wanted to take the more expensive alcohol and leave unnoticed.

When did you become this? 

No wonder you let Spider-Girl die.

You needed a drink. Desperately.

Abruptly, a whiplash of red and yellow snatched you from your daydream. The streaking shape blew over the newspaper stand before spinning around the starstruck perpetrators. You knew those McDonald's colors from anywhere. 

Kid Flash.

Like any speedster, he removed the gun in milliseconds before tying up the confused robbers. They stood no chance against the meta-human.

Dusting off his hands, Kid Flash smiled smugly at the dumbfounded duo, “Guns aren’t currency, you know?”

The man in yellow thrashed violently, “What the hell-Kid Flash!? Why are you in New York? Spidey taking a break or something?”

You cringed.

Kid Flash’s boyish voice laughed awkwardly, “Something like that.”

You need to get out of here. Now.

Slowly backing into the aisle, you clenched your teeth when your elbow hit the shelf. The bottles tinked in a symphony, altering everyone in the store of your presence. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Instantly, you snatched your coat hood and covered your face and hair. Staring into the grime covered tiles, you prayed Kid Flash wouldn’t think too much of it.

“Hello?”

Of course. The one time he’s actually thorough.

“Are you alright?”

Bright yellow boots came into your vision as you tried to conceal yourself further. You hunched into yourself with clenched fists. Mistaking your actions for something else, Kid Flash placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, hey it’s okay! You don’t have to be sacred!”

You bite into your lip eager to escape the conversation, “I’m not. Please let go.”

Kid Flash laughed, sounding a little too similar to Flash in your opinion. Removing his hand from your shoulder, he stood next to you with his hands on his hips. 

“Then why are you hiding?” A red glove entered your vision. It was headed straight for your hood.

You slapped his hand away, “Didn’t your parents tell you not to talk to strangers.”

He shrugged, “That rule doesn’t really apply to superheroes.”

You couldn’t contain the breathy laugh that left your throat. You hate to admit it but you actually really missed the kid. 

However, you failed to realize your mistake. If anyone knew your laugh it was Kid Flash. You spent way too much time around him and Flash for him not too.

There was a long pause. 

“…Webs?”

You flinched hard, “Wrong person.” You internally cursed at yourself for the obvious slur in your voice.

“Are you drunk?”

“…No.”

His hand grabbed your upper arm tightly, “Where have you been? Are you okay?”

You gently pulled against his hold, attempting to break free without force, “I’m fine.”

“No you aren’t,” Kid Flash raised his hand to his ear piece, “Just let me notify Flash-”

“NO!”

Your arm flew up to the communicator without thought. Taking advantage of his surprise, you were able to snatch the high tech earpiece from his loosen grip.

“Hey!” 

Kid Flash grabbed at you. His lanky limbs attempting to reclaim his lost device, “Let go!”

“You let go!” You shoved his face away with the palm of your hand. 

Kid Flash merely continued to grab at the air around you, “Never!”

If this was any other situation you would have laughed. The pair of you looked like children fighting over the last dessert.  

However, this wasn't just any situation. This situation involved Flash. 

“Listen to your elders you brat!” Finally, after a well fought struggle, you managed to hold the device out of arm's reach. A much needed success after the month you've had- 

“Webs?”

You halted in your tracks.

The small communicator in your hand blinked on and off, identifying an unstable signal. 

“Webs is that you?” Flash was urgent, “Wait there! I'm coming-”

You crushed the device in your hand. Terrified.

Small fragments engraved themselves into your skin, dotting your hand red. What have you done? 

“Batman’s gonna kill you for that, you know?” Kid Flash laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood. 

You frowned, uninterested in entertaining him. Kid Flash merely smiled awkwardly. It was evident the boy was taken aback by your unusually serious demeanor. 

The thought didn't take up much space in your mind. You could only think of one thing. When would Flash decide to appear out of thin air?

As if conjuring the hero, a red bolt flew through the mostly empty convenience store. The glass doors shook from the force. While newspapers scattered through the air, Vogue landed atop the cashier's head. 

Though he moved faster than the speed of light, he stood before you still. Unmoving. It was as if you might fade away if he got too close. 

“Webs,” His voice was laced with reverence. 

Your mouth went dry, “Flash.”

The tension between the two of you was thick enough to cut with a knife, suffocating you. Maybe this was how Flash planned to get back at you for ignoring him. Slowly killing you with hypoxia. A metaphorical death pertaining to how he felt during your absence. 

“Woah, this just got really awkward.” 

Kid Flash’s voice suddenly reminded you of his presence. He swayed uncomfortably. Trapped between you and Flash.

The younger male pointed his thumbs at the door, “Should I leave…or?”

“Yes.” 

Startled at your synchronous voices, Kid Flash quickly shuffled toward the door, “Alright. See you later?”

Flash nodded his head in response, ushering his protégé away. Kid Flash couldn't leave fast enough. Magazines, once again disturbed, twirled around the ground from where he left.

You stared at the loose paper. Preferring the sight of perfume ads then whatever expression Flash held. From the corner of your eye you should see him shift. He moved with unease. Your mouth curled slightly. He never was able to stop moving for long. 

“Webs, I-”

You cut him off, “I’m sorry.”

Flash furrowed his brows in confusion, “You don’t need to apologize. It's not your fault.”

“But it is,” You clenched your teeth in frustration, “It's always been my fault.”

The taller male crossed the space between you hesitantly. You flinched when he placed his large hands on your shoulders, completely engulfing them. 

“It wasn't your fault, Webs. Nobody could have known.”

“I could have saved her,” you finally met his gaze, “I was right there.”

You saw his eyes widen slightly, clearly used to your masked form more than your real face. 

Your name spilled from his lips. 

Not just Webs - your name.

You took a shaky breath, “Barry.”

The name was foreign on your tongue. You had tried to keep your personal life separate from hero work. Though that only lasted a year. Barry managed to weasel his way into your home life before you knew it.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

Barry’s hands slid from your shoulders down to your hands, caressing them softly. “Believe me when I say this,” He took a deep breath, “I’ve been in your position before. We all have.”

Breaking eye contact, your stare bore into the wall of cheap booze, “I know.”

“And I know,” He cupped your cheek, “That drinking away your problems won’t help. It only makes it worse.”

You bit your lip, “I just want to forget.”

“I know. God, I know. I want to go back and change that day every time I open my eyes,” He placed his head in the crook of your neck, “But I've been down that road before. And it's not sustainable.”

Your eyes felt hot, your throat dry, “I don’t know what to do.”

Barry pulled your smaller frame into his arms, “No one does.”

You sunk into his embrace, inhaling his scent.

“Let me take you home, Webs.”

“Okay.”

・❥・

You held tightly onto Barry, arms circling his neck, as he brought you home. You had barely enough time to blink before you were standing in front of your apartment’s door.

Barry hesitantly let you down from his hold. Though his arm stayed wrapped around your waist for support. You gave him a gentle smile as a thank you. 

Unlocking your door, you were immediately reminded of the state of your apartment. Dirty laundry and loose items scattered the floor. 

Shame crept up your neck. The uncaring attitude towards your humble abode seemingly disappeared.

Barry entered slowly, taking in the messy state. His eyes were quickly drawn to the empty bottles strewn about your floor. Unsurprisingly, he began to pick one up. Then another. And another. You snapped when he started to replace your trash bag.

“Barry.”

His head whipped toward you, only focusing on you.

“That's enough,” You tried grabbing the bag from him, “You don’t need to.”

Barry held onto the plastic tightly, “I want to.”

You shook your head, “It's my mess. Leave it.”

“No.”

You jolted in surprise at his commanding tone, “Why?”

He tossed the bag to the side, “Why?” 

Laughing dryly, he shook his head, “Why not? Why wouldn't I take care of you?”

You averted your gaze, “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“But you do,” his voice was imbued with desperation, “If you didn’t, I wouldn't have spent a month doing everything in my power to find you!”

Your face felt hot, “I didn't ask you too!”

Barry closed in the space between you, “You didn't have too!”

You weren't sure when the tears began to pour down your cheeks, “I never wanted you too! I just want to be alone! Why can’t you let me be?”

“Because I can't let you be!” Barry’s hand slammed down on your tiny island counter, “You're all I think about! From the moment I wake up to the time I go to sleep, all I know is you. I would rather you hate me for the rest of my life just to see you for a moment than ever ignore you.”

You felt like a deer in headlights, “What?”

“That day when Spider-Girl died,” He gripped the counter, slightly cracking it under the force, “I felt like I lost a piece of you too. And I could bear it.”

You felt like you lost your breath when Barry met your gaze again. His eyes were laced with anguish. Bloodshot rims already forming.

“I know you're hurting. I know what I am experiencing is nothing compared to what you are going through,” He searched your eyes, “But I'm in love with you! And I have been for as long as I can remember.” 

The start of a cry made his voice waver, “And this is definitely poor timing for a confession, but I can’t lose you-”

You weren't exactly sure which one of your muscles was still intact enough for you to move. However, the feeling of plush lips against your own thwarted any other thought.

Barry stood rigid for a moment. Hands clenched at his sides. Then, he dominated the kiss like his life depended on it. His hands held onto your waist tightly, before slowly making their way to your face. You couldn't remember the last time you felt this happy.

Pulling away, you took shallow breaths, “I love you.”

Barry smiled and swiped a loose teardrop from your cheek, “I love you too.”

The warm moment didn't last long. Your mind was quick to remind you that there was a reason Barry had to confess in a messy studio apartment rather than someplace special. That reason was because you were broken.

You pressed you mouth into a thin line, “Do you still want me even if-”

“I want you no matter what,” Barry didn’t allow you to get another word in, “We can go through this together.”

He placed a soft kiss on your forehead, “You're not alone, Webs. You never were.”

You swallowed hard, “Together?”

"Together."

・❥・

[mrsbarnesblog]

Do you want me to help you?

masterlist ko-fi ao3

Summary: As you and Bucky spend time at your place, things get hot pretty fast.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: +18❗️smut, subby Bucky, he's jetting his first blow job, come eating.

Author's note: enjoy<3

It was another Friday night when you invited Bucky to your place so you could order some food, watch movies, and cuddle under the blankets.

You and Bucky met almost six months ago at the coffee shop. You were walking in when someone suddenly bumped into you, and you ended up lying on the ground with a large coffee stain on your pink blouse. The man who caused this mess ended up being an Avenger. Sergeant Barnes, a former Winter Soldier, was really cute when he got all nervous and couldn’t stop apologizing for the situation. He said that he really needed to be somewhere else, so he took your number with a promise to pay you for everything and ran away, leaving you with shock and excitement bubbling in your body.

You were too stunned to speak, because not only was it an Avenger, but it was Bucky fucking Barnes—the person whose whole biography you willingly studied in school. He was much taller than you imagined and definitely more attractive. His apologies seemed to be really sincere, so you were just stupidly nodding while he was speaking. Bucky asked for your phone so he could call himself and have your number until he would have time to properly make amends.

Then you didn’t know that you had just met your future boyfriend.

Soon he called you and asked you to meet him at the cafe, and you agreed without any hesitation. He was too sweet for his own good, and that minidate was one of the best experiences that you’ve ever had.

Now, you don’t know how you ended up in this situation, but you were sitting on Bucky’s lap on your couch while the two of you were too lost in the kiss.

Of course, you have already kissed, but most of the time it wasn’t too rough or desperate. You knew that Bucky had hard times trusting people, so you didn’t push him with anything. You were happy just to be with him, and if he needed time to start touching you or have sex, it was okay.

But right now, something has changed. His hands were gripping your thighs, pushing you harder on his erection in the jeans. Bucky kissed you like a starving man; his tongue was in your mouth, and he had already bit your lower lip several times. You were so lost in the pleasure that you didn’t even notice that you started moving your body against his.

At that moment, he came to his senses, stopped your hips with his hands, and pulled out of the kiss, breathing heavily.

"What happened?" You asked while trying to catch your breath. "Was it too much?"

"I don’t know." He looked you in the eyes, and you saw that his own were much darker than usual. "It was too long ago, and I'm not sure that I’m ready right now." He looked down as if he were ashamed to say this.

"That’s okay, baby, I promise. We can go at your own pace. I didn’t have sex for some time too, so that’s okay." You smiled at him while your hand found a place on his stubbled cheeks.

"It’s not just a few years." He mumbled. 

"What?" 

"I haven’t had sex since I went to war." Silence fell on you while you were trying to process his words.

"Wait… really?" He nodded. 

"You know, while I was with HYDRA, I was busy with different… things. And after that, I was just trying to get back to a normal life."

"I see, but I really thought that you at least were with someone in Bucharest or in Wakanda."

"No. In Bucharest, it was unsafe to even go out in the streets, and in Wakanda, every woman was for me like a sister, you know? You are the first one who I wanted to know as more than a fri-Oh, shit!" He suddenly gasped. You just wanted to move a little bit, but instead, you accidentally touched his erection.

"Oh my God, I’m sorry!"

"T-that’s okay, just don’t move, please. It will disappear." Bucky threw his head back on the couch and closed his eyes tightly.

"Do… do you want me to help you?" You asked almost innocently. "I mean, we don’t have to have sex, but I can do other things to help your problem."

There was another awkward silence when Bucky opened his eyes and looked at you with an unreadable expression on his face.

"You don’t have to do that. Really."

"What if I want to?" You moved closer to his face, almost touching his lips. "Would you let me take care of you?"

Bucky’s eyes were dark again, full of need and lust. Finally, he nodded slightly. You gave him another sweet kiss on the corner of his lips, and not wanting to waste any more time, you slipped from his lap onto the floor.

"Wait! You want to—you don’t have to—I mean– fuck." Bucky hid his face behind his hand from embarrassment. You act like a fucking child.

"Hey, baby. Talk to me. It’s okay." You put your hands on top of his, pulling them away. "What happened, James? You thought I meant to help you with my hands?"

"Mhm. I’ve never done this before." He mumbled something that you almost didn’t understand. Bucky's face was pink, so you put your hands on his burning cheeks to calm him down. "I’m sorry that I’m such a mess."

"You’re not a mess, Bucky. So you’ve never got a blowjob? Even before the war? I thought you were a ladies’ man." You asked gently.

"I was, but back in the day, it was hard to find a girl that would do it just because, you know? Sex was more available because blowjobs were more intimate, I guess. And I’ve never had real relationships, sooo." He just shrugged, feeling even more embarrassed.

"I understand. And that’s okay if you don't have experience in something. You don’t have to be ashamed, at least not with me. I still want to do this, if you don’t mind." Bucky nodded again before leaning closer to your face and kissing you with passion.

While you were kissing, your hands slipped from his face, running across his chest and abs, right to the bottom of his jeans. You pulled away from the kiss and pushed Bucky back onto the sofa. As soon as the pants were unbuttoned, he helped you pull his clothes lower, and you gasped.

His beautiful dick was standing right in front of your face. Hard, thick, with a vein from one side and pre-cum leacking from the tip. Honestly, you’ve never found them attractive, but it seemed like Bucky was perfect everywhere, so the sight before your eyes made your mouth water.

"Holy shit." You breathed out as your hand wrapped around him, and the fingers barely even touched each other. Your boyfriend’s body instantly tensed; he was not used to this kind of touch. You gave him a few strokes, seeing how his eyes rolled back in pleasure and a tiny moan escaped his mouth. "You know, that’s a shame that no one put this pretty cock in their mouth." You smiled as Bucky’s ears got pink from your praise. "Look at me."

As soon as he did as you told him, you looked directly into his eyes and licked him from the bottom to the top, swirling your tongue around the tip. The taste instantly filled you, and you slightly moaned, sending vibrations down Bucky’s body.

He tried to hold himself together. He really did. But the sight of you on your knees, looking him in the eyes with his cock in your mouth, He completely lost it and let out the loudest moan that he had ever made. Both metal and flesh gripped the sides of the couch, but the pleasure was too intense, and he was overwhelmed.

You started moving your head up and down, still looking Bucky in the eyes. The tip of his dick met your throat, but there were still a few inches left.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! Y/N, holy shit!" He whined and threw his head back.

You let him slip out of your mouth with a loud ‘pop’ and started stroking him with a hand, using the mixture of your saliva and Bucky’s pre-cum to make it easier.

"Put your hand on my head, baby. Do whatever you want." Bucky hesitated for a few seconds, but then his right hand fell on top of your head and made a messy ponytail. You smiled and put your lips back on his dick, gently licking and sucking the tip. The hand on your head slightly pushed you down, and you allowed Bucky to control you.

He slipped back into your mouth until his head touched the back of your throat. You started moving on your own, but Bucky’s hand was still tightly holding your hair as he was showing you the pace that he liked. Your eyes were watering, and saliva was dripping down your chin, but you didn’t care about it when your boyfriend was such a mess.

Bucky’s eyes were partly closed as he was trying to look at the beautiful view before him. Your pretty lips were wrapped around his cock, and it was probably the hottest thing that he had ever seen. He couldn’t hold back the small moans escaping his mouth because it was too good—feeling your warm and wet mouth around him. He tried not to push you too hard, but from time to time his grip tightened and his hips moved by themselves, making you choke.

"Doll." Bucky moaned. "Please, baby, I’m so close, oh my– fuck." He instantly pushed you lower, but you didn’t seem to mind. Instead, you moaned around his cock, lifting your free hand on his torso under the shirt. You felt that his body was tense, and the muscles under your fingers were trembling. You knew that Bucky was close, so you ran your nails over the hot and soft skin. "Doll– doll, you should move. I’ll cum– fuck, please." Bucky whined and tried to take you off of him, but you didn’t let him and instead swirled your tongue around him.

You felt it before it happened: Bucky’s body tensed, his cock twitched, and a loud moan filled the room. In a second, your mouth was filled with a warm, a little bit salty, and a little bit sweet seed. You moaned at the taste, still sucking his dick until you knew that he had completely finished, and only then swallowed every single drop.

Bucky’s hand fell out of your hair on the sofa near him, and he was sitting there almost senseless with heavy breathing and closed eyes. You helped Bucky put himself back into pants and then sat on his lap again.

"James?" You gently put your hand on his face.

"Mm." Bucky finally opened his eyes, and you have never seen him in this condition: sleepy, relaxed, with a tiny, lazy smile on his face. "Can’t believe that you just did it, doll. It was better than any sex that I’ve had in my life." He leaned into your touch. Bucky grabbed your face and dragged you closer until you two connected in a kiss, and he could taste himself on your tongue.

"I’m glad you liked it."

"Liked? Doll, you almost sucked my soul out." He chuckled. "Now I have to pay back." Suddenly, one warm and one cold hand were under your pajama shorts.

"Not today, baby. You’re tired. Would you stay for a night?" You bumped your nose with his, leaving light and short kisses on his lips.

"Of course, doll."

[frostara]

Challenges

Cregan Stark x Karstark!Female

Synopsis: It takes some time to get to know each other, and lots of words to understand.

Wordcount: 2k

Tags: characters miscommunicate at first, but overall fluff, Cregan is 17, Astrid is 15

Notes: Hi! This could be read as chapter 2 for this work, but does pretty well on its own. All thanks to one person who asked for a second part - I hope you'll like it </3 I wanted to describe Cregan and Astrid the way they are - youthful people, with their own beliefs that are sometimes wrong (Astrid is so silly I love her) and quick to change temper. I worked on this drabble a little harder and hopefully, it was worth it!

Winterfell was like a living being—always alert and ready, yet calm and composed. It thrived with the quiet bustle of its people, the rustle of dry bushes, and cold of its stone walls. A guarded place, where the only thing Astrid had to worry about was herself. At least for now.

One moon have passed since she was wed to the Lord of the Winterfell, and yet, she felt rather wary of him. Cregan, whom she called so yet in her mind, was always surrounded by either maister-at-arms or castellan, which left her seeking his attention that he could not give.

Though, Astrid would be forever ungrateful if said that she was entirely alone. She had grown quite fond of maester Alvin, an old grey-haired man, but skilled and cunning like no one. He often inquired after her well-being with genuine courtesy and shared his wise thoughts, for which she was forever grateful.

Yet the companionship of one old master could not fill the void of loneliness. Her handmaidens, taught to serve their lady quietly, rarely spoke unless adressed directly. To make them speak freely was a challenge, but one she welcomed.

"My Lady, Lord Cregan sent me to let it be known that he awaits you in Godswood, and I am to accompany You on Your way," said Ethel as she entered chambers after a gentle knock. She was a pretty girl, not much older than Astrid, and probably the one she was fond of.

"Right. Well then, let us not keep the Lord waiting," - Astrid replied, standing perhaps more quickly than intended, letting Ethel drape a warm cloak over her frame to shield her from wind in this chilly weather.

As they made their way, her nervousness spilled in questions she bothered Ethel with: "Was Lord in a good mood? Did he seem upset with anything? Was he alone?" She could swear on all Old Gods that Ethel was laughing at her, but skillfully maintained her composure. Though, Astrid was too nervous to pay attention to that, pressing on. Luckily, the walk was short, and soon they were able to see the red leaves that framed the massive tree. Ethel bowed and turned her back, leaving Astrid to herself.

She took a moment to steady herself before stepping closer to where Cregan stood. She felt cold seep through her body, making her shiver. Heart tree was there, proudly emracing everything with its branches as if hiding from the sky. He looked like a real Stark, in a place he was always supposed to be. And Astrid was just a huble guest, even if being his wife. Light wind was playing with his dark hair, moving leaves casting shadows on his stern face.

"My Lord wished to see me?"

He turned to face her, his black eyes softening slightly as a polite smile tugged at his lips. "I did. I wish to know how my Lady fares."

Cregan walked towards her, and it was only then that she noticed a crimson leaf he was holding in his hand. She returned his smile, though uncertain of what to say. He seemed to be unbothered by silence that layed between them, as he studied her appearance. During their wedding he barely payed attention to her. Perhaps, that was why he was observing her so carefully now.

"I am very happy to be here," - Astrid nodded to her words, as if to make sure he believed her. "Winterfell does not cease to amaze me."

Cregan hummed to himself, not really putting his mind to her words. He seemed lost in thoughts, and these thoughts were far away from here. Far from her. She felt subtle sting in her when she thought of it. Why did he call her, if he still did not care about her being?

He was still holding the leaf in his callused hands, twirling it with his fingers when he brought it to her, putting it in her braided hair.

"Red suits you well. Has anyone told you that before?"

He murmured, seeming to be pleased with his work, running his fingers along her braid, his lingering touch leaving Astrid speechless. Her eyes widened as she tried to hide her confusion. He was gentle, almost reverent, and it warmed her heart in a way she never felt before. Was this the first time he truly saw her as a wife?

"No, my Lord. I believe you are the first to notice."

Cregan took his hand away from her hair, offering his elbow for her to grab. "Very well. Let us walk, I would not wish for you to get cold while standing here," - as he put his hand on his sword.

Astrid hesitated a moment before wrapping her fingers around his clothed arm, feeling the soft fur and fabric of his cloack, contrasting with his cold and rough to touch sword, accepting the offer. It pleased her more than she cared to admit to spend time with him in the godswood, a sacred place. Though it was still a mystery to her, what made him be so attentive to her today?

It was very quiet there, only rare birds chirping and leaves rustle could be heard. Astrid took a deep breath, enjoying frosty and fresh air that smelled of wood and earth. She found this moment very peaceful, this walk was a sweet gesture and it was not nice of her to doubt her husbands kindness.

"I have been thinking about our marriage," Cregan began after a while. "It seems to me that I have not fulfilled my duties to you. For this, I ask your understanding, and, perhaps, your forgiveness."

Cregan turned his gaze to her, awaiting what she has to say. She was now taken aback by his words. A suspicious thought was starting to form in her head - his previous behaviour could not be judged, it fitted his position. But these gentle words now were not sounding like the ones he would actually say. An odd feeling took place in her, yet, she could only listen to him right now.

"It is no secret to me how tiring your position may be," she started carefully. "And I could never hold it against you."

She studied his face, searching for any sign of anger or discomfort. Yet a gnawing curiosity urged her to push further. Astrid evased any other words from him, now being curious to get an answer for her thoughts:

"My Lord, if I may ask, did someone suggest that you speak to me like that?" - she stopped, making her husband follow her action, now facing each other. He was confused, and he could not hide that, making it obvious he was not prepared for such confrontation. Astrid believed there was also a hint of irritation in his expression.

"In what way are you implying this?" he asked, his tone guarded but lacking the harshness she feared.

Cregan even forgot to adress her properly. It made Astrid smile ever so slightly, now making her scared that she could offend him with her words.

"Do not misunderstand me, my Lord, but your actions are...rather opposing your character, which makes me suggest that you might have sought an advice about our relationship from someone."

She tried her best to sound friendly and not too arrogant, but confused look on his face eased her worries - he probably could not be angry with her now, that he looked so amusing. Astrid awaited patiently, when he finally spoke up.

"First of all, do not jest with me in such a way," he replied, his voice firm but lacking true anger. "I may be your husband, but my behavior is none of yours to question."

He glanced away, looking in direction of a bird that landed on a low-hanging branch nearby. The pause gave Astrid a moment to collect herself, and she only smiled at her thoughts, now being more confident to continue.

"Forgive me," her tone sincere. "I only wanted to make sure I understood the situation well." She reached out, lightly tugging on his sleeve to draw his attention back to her. The gesture startled him, and instinctively, he caught her hand in his. For a moment, they stood frozen, her smaller hand caught in his. He did not let go, and his grip, though firm, was not harsh.

Wind sent another gust as couple of bright red leaves fell from tree, falling at their legs. Laying onthe ground, they could be mistaken for small pools of blood. It sent a shiver down Astrid's spine, the movement was visible for Cregan. It made him snap from frozen state as he let her hand hung in the air, bringing his own to his sword, slight embarrasment from an intimate moment made him cough, as if to shift their attention away.

But Astrid still was confused. Was she right then? Perhaps, her behaviour made it impossible for her Lord to seek her company? She felt nervousness fill her heart once again, making her clasp her hands together on stomach, as if trying to calm herself down.

"Maester Alvin is someone you could consider guilty," Cregan's voice cut through silence, breaking the formed pause.

"Though, I believe, his intentions were kind."

"Should I be grateful for it then?" she bit on her inner cheeck, fidgeting with cold fingers. Astrid felt emarrased: she probably looked so stupid right now; her concern made her act very rude, or atleast, that is what she believed.

"You could at least try to not to be mad at me."

He rubbed the back of his neck, as if looking for the right words. The situation they currently trapped themselves in was quite awkward. Astrid hummed softly at his words in an attemp to answer, but words would get stuck in her throat.

"I am not mad, my Lord" - it was all she could mutter, before quickly facing him away. She was definetly not acting like a modest lady right now. But who was to blame for that?

"Cregan."

Astrid blinked, turning her head back at her husband.

"Call me by my name. You are my wife, you have such right." He shrugged, an unsure smile tugging at his lips.

This time, he held out his hand to her.

"I believe we will have many days to continue this argument, if you wish that," she took his hand, now holding it gently, but with a firm grip, returning his favour as she unconsciously smiled herself.

"But we had spent more than we should have time here. Let us head back to castle, before anyone starts looking for us."

Their way back was more pleasant, as the silence that followed them was now a welcomed one, sometimes interrupted with quiet laughter.

[melminli]

Cold Coffee

pairing: young coriolanus snow x fem. reader

summery - you liked working, and someone else liked you working for them.

word count: 2k+

contains: young president coryo, crack, fluff, secretary reader, coryo being lovesick and shy

You had a routine. A routine that you strictly followed every day and it started with your alarm clock waking you up at 5 o'clock in the morning. The first thing you did was get up and go to the bathroom to wash the sleep off your face, otherwise you couldn't get anything done. After you had finished everything else concerning your hygiene, you continued with your outfit of the day.

You liked to play around a bit when it came to your fashion choices. After all, you were living in the Capitol. Your job still demanded a certain formality and professionalism, which is why you were perhaps not as free in your choice as others, but that wasn't a problem for you. You always managed to find something elegant to wear since you had all kinds of clothing in different colors and fabrics that were perfect for combining with various other items. Whether vests, suit jackets, skirts, trousers or everything all together, it was entirely up to your mood. (Even though combining everything together was something you hadn't done since your school days at the academy.).

Then the last thing left missing was your hair and maybe some make-up, before you could step out of the house with your pre-packed bag. After a 15-minute drive in your car, you would arrive a few minutes early and were able to go about your duties as planned until it was time to leave at around 4 pm (if you were lucky).

You've been doing this every day for three years. Every day. That may sound exhausting (because it is), but you were also kind of happy about it since missing work would just mean that you had more to do on the following one. You rarely got sick, but when you did it was usually nothing serious so you came to work anyway. On the two rare occasions when you were really seriously ill, you were once off work and once you were lucky (or unlucky) that it was at the time of several public holidays. So yes, you haven't missed a single day of work - until today.

Your alarm clock died in the middle of the night.

"...huh - what's happening?" You asked, slightly drowsy, and it felt like you'd been asleep for far too long, a suspicious amount of long. Your eyes glanced at the clock on your wall, and you had to concentrate to keep the image from blurring. "...It's a quarter past seven." You finally realized, before widening your eyes and jumping out of bed. "It's a quarter past seven! I'm going to be late!"

In your stress to get ready quickly, you decided to get dressed first and quickly picked something out before scurrying to the bathroom to get ready. That was your mistake because while being a bit too hectic when brushing your teeth, you were clumsy enough to get toothpaste on your shirt. "No, no, no - ugh. I can't believe this." You whined and hurried so you could change again.

Hair? fine, make-up? Fuck it - okay, just go out and get in the car. At this point, you were already a whole hour late. When you arrived at the place where your car was supposed to be and couldn't see it, you started to panic and it didn't stop when you realized why. It's in the repair shop! Why, does this have to happen to me?!

"Okay, let's calm down for a minute." You said to yourself and took a deep breath of the cold morning air. It was quiet, only the chirping of the birds could be heard, it was still early in the morning. "That's just the way it is now. I'll just let someone know I'll be late and - " You said and took out your phone, only to realize that it was dead. This all was probably due to a power cut in the night, which also explained why your alarm clock wasn't working this morning. " - alright, I won't do that then. It's cool. Everything's cool."

Your day was off to a pretty bad start already. It would take you at least half an hour to get to work with the train, and you'd have to wait another half an hour since the last one left five minutes ago according to your watch. Yes, the morning commute wasn't exactly popular in the Capitol - the people here usually preferred to sleep in.

"You know what? I'm just going to treat myself to my favorite drink in my favorite café. I really can't do this right now." You finally decide and set off a little more relaxed. "I would argue that I don't get paid enough for this, but I actually get paid pretty well." You admitted but didn't care any more than to laugh about it.

Of course, no one would assume that the secretary to the president of Panem would get a bad wage.

Hm. Coriolanus looked at his watch again. His eyes had been darting there strangely often since this morning. Well, he didn't see you at all today, and normally you would greet him on the way to his office, and he would greet you back. After a while, you would come through the door and ask if he wanted coffee while you were already carrying it to him in your hand. This was followed by a little summary from you about what appointments he had today, who he was meeting and so on - it's not that important, the point is that he hasn't seen you yet and he didn't know why.

He got up from his seat and opened the door of his office to look out, but like before, you weren't sitting in your seat at the reception desk.

He then decided to look for his nearest employee. "Excuse me, Mr. Pox. I hope I'm not interrupting anything. " He announced his presence as he knocked lightly on the open door with his knuckles.

The man immediately stood up slightly nervously in order to appear respectful. He was older than Coriolanus, but he also wasn't the president. "You're not interrupting anything, sir! How can I help you?" He asked, a little confused. Oh no, he never asks me anything personally, I hope it's nothing serious. I'm not in trouble, am I?

Coriolanus reassured him as he subtly asked his question. "Well, I was just wondering where my secretary was. You wouldn't happen to know anything about her whereabouts?" He said, thinking it was a little stupid of him for not wanting to appear conspicuous. She works for me. I have the right to know where she is. This is not in any way inappropriate.

Pox was relieved when it turned out that this wasn't about him, but immediately felt a little guilty because you seemed to be in trouble. You were his nicest colleague, he liked you a lot. But I can't just lie to the president either. He's literally the president! He'll certainly find out if I do. "No, sir. Unfortunately not, she didn't tell me anything." He replied and just watched as the man in front of him hummed absently, which is why he quickly added. "Maybe she's just late?"

If that were the case, you'd already be three hours late. That was not like you, and Coriolanus began to subconsciously worry a little. She would let me know if she was going to be late. He thought to himself until he realized that you had never been late before, so he couldn't be too sure of his theory. Because that was what it was - just a theory. "Hm. All right, thanks for your time, see you then." He said goodbye to Pox and decided to go back to his office.

There wasn't really anything else he could do - well, except maybe call you. He stopped his steps for a moment at the thought. That feels wrong. Usually, you were the one who called him regularly or barged into his office so he didn't really have to. Well, sometimes he wanted to, but he doubted you would appreciate it if he contacted you after your working hours. He sometimes wished that his thoughts of you would end with your departure, but he hadn't really been successful yet, and for god's sake, he didn't know why. Well, I do - but it's complicated. She's my secretary and this isn't a stupid rom com.

He saw you all day. That is enough. It should be enough. It wasn't like he was looking forward to monday or anything since you started working for him - well, he was, but that was because of other things, for sure. It could be because of other things, he could find joy in other things.

"Oh, Mr. Snow. There you are." Your voice surprised him as he opened the door to his own office and was greated with your face in front of his. "I wanted to talk to you, but then you weren't here. I'm sorry I got in without your permission." You apologized sincerely and took a step to the side so he could enter.

"It's all good. You don't need to apologize." Coriolanus said calmly and sat down in his seat, subtly watching you move in front of his desk. "What is it?" He asked, appearing unaffected - as if he hadn't been thinking about you and what you were doing since this morning.

You looked slightly confused. "Well, I'm three hours late for work." You announced, sure that he would have noticed. "I know this can't be excused, and I'll get straight to work to make up for it, I promise. It's just that my car has a few issues and, well..." You assured him and placed a paper cup on his table. "I know I usually bring you coffee, and this is not the expensive one from here, but from my favorite café around the corner, but well..." You started rambling a bit and were a little more talkative than usual, which didn't go unnoticed. "...It also got cold on the way, and I spilled half of it because someone ran into me on the train." You added when you noticed how his gaze shifted to the stain at your side.

"Sounds like you had a pretty exciting morning. It's all right, don't worry, I'll turn a blind eye since it's the first time." Coriolanus replied with his slightly charming smile. You usually told him so little about your personal life that he unconsciously began to appreciate the little things he got to hear from you.

Like no, he didn't want to hear another stupid story about Mr. Aliose and his fucking hamsters. He almost felt sorry for the guys patheticness, maybe he could live a happier life if he put more effort into finding a wife than getting his pet to do a roll. Or from his other employees who tried to entertain him with uninteresting personal stories he didn't care about - because he didn't care about them.

And the one person he did actually want to hear from, kept their personal and work life very separate. He hated that it wasn't the other way around.

You nodded. "You don't even know. I don't expect you to drink this, by the way. As a matter of fact, I'll make you another one right now. It's just that - I worked really hard to get this to you, and it felt wrong to just throw it in the trash in the end." You let that bit out before returning to your professional self. "I just wanted that at least one thing would go right today."

Stay cool, Coriolanus. Don't freak out, and also, stop romanticizing this. "It's all good. I'm honored that you thought of me." He said, hoping he sounded natural.

A smile graced your face. "Of course, Mr. Snow. I'll be right back." You promised him as you stepped out of his office and made your way to the coffee machine.

As soon as the door closed behind you, Coriolanus let out the breath he had been holding. His hand reached for the coffee cup and turned it in his hand only to discover a small note on it. "For my boss and the boss of Panem :)" He read out loud and smiled as his thumb ran over the drawing of the snowflake. He couldn't help but take the little gesture to heart. "That's so sweet."

I should send out a car to pick her up tomorrow - for business reasons, of course.