#lighter...... the man that you are...........
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ghouljams · 3 days ago
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I feel like each of the 141 has a difference preference when dicking down their mate.
Kyle prefers to stay human, it lets him really get a good show while fucking into the pretty thing he managed to take home. Seeing how your skin contrasts to his softly colored sheets is more reassuring to him that you're his than any scenting could be. Also, he's a lighter sleeper as a human, letting him keep you in his bed if you try to slip out while he's asleep.
Price likes the little hint of other, as a sign of his age and experience. He's the only one of the 141 who can shift only a few senses instead of having to start properly shifting. Let's him memorize your scent while fucking you, all so he can let you have the illusion of choice by letting you go and "finding" you again later. Eventually, he'll make it seem like a bit of fate and offer you out on a date.
Ghost partially shifts, and that's the most he can hold himself back when it comes to you. Claws and teeth come out, drool dripping from his maw to your skin. He needs to taste you, to make sure you taste the same. Taste like his.
Soap is a dog and he will fuck you in full transformation because of it. This man needs you on the most primal level, so why not just fuck you at his most primal. It also gives him a better nose to smell your sweat soaked skin, a longer tongue to shove into you, better hearing to catch each and every whimper you make. He needs to consume you and the best way to do that is with his wolf.
At least, that's my thought.
As usual how does it feel to be so fucking right?
Gaz absolutely prefers fucking you as a human, it feels too much like taking advantage of you when he has his semi-transformed strength and the idea of fucking you fully wolf makes him itch a little. He's so worried about damaging you with his claws and fangs :( his poor human mate, he doesn't want to ruin you. We'll, not like that at least. That won't stop him from knotting you, that's a luxury he can't afford not to indulge in. He loves the way you squirm and complain about the stretch, shushing you with soft coos, promising it'll be over soon, even when he knows it'll be a good 20 minutes at least.
Price is old hat at transformations and after years of growing and shrinking it's worn on his joints, if he doesn't have to transform he won't. He'll indulge in the sensed his wolf-form lends him, pressing his nose to your pulse and getting himself drunk on your scent. His eyes are always dark, animalistic, when he drags his flat tongue against your sex, and you worry that the teeth he's hiding might bite too hard, but he hasn't hurt you yet. And the only scare he gives you is when he presses his hand against your come filled stomach talking about pups.
Ghost simply lacks self control around you. The man has the control of a saint, but once he gets drunk on the scent of your arousal it's over for him. He grips you with heavy clawed hands, his skin splitting with fur and his nose starting to lengthen, and it scares you a little. His breathing is uneven, but his hips don't stop moving even when his bones start to break and his joints begin to pop. His drool dripping onto you is the only indication you get before he's sinking his teeth into your shoulder. You'll have to take wolfsbane in the morning if you don't want to end up going through the same pain.
Soap though... Soap fucks you like a dog, literally. He'll hunt you down on a full moon and hold you down with big paws, murmuring canned tones from his open maw about how he can't stop himself. He's all instinct, all panting and howling as he mounts you and ruts his cock against your sex, uncaring what hole he fucks himself into as long as it's yours. He'll lay directly on top of you once he's knotted you too, licking your face in apology but you know he doesn't mean it because he keeps asking for another round.
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penascigarette · 2 days ago
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Smooth Operator Ch 1. A New Client ➴ Joel Miller x f!phone sex operator
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➴wc: 6.7k | summary: You unexpectedly find yourself drawn to a new client during a late-night call, who ignites a surprising wave of desire within you. As you engage in a steamy conversation, you realize this encounter is unlike any you've had before, leaving you eager for more and questioning the boundaries of your professional life.
���warnings: mdni, phone sex, mxm phone sex, fxm phone sex, m&f masterbation lots of dirty talking, use of princess, shitty moodboard
➴an: hi! i hope you enjoy the first chapter of the first fic I have ever posted. if I have missed any warnings please let me know. feedback is super appreciated! now I will go run and hide lol. and a big tysm to @saradika-graphics for making such lovely dividers!
masterlist | series masterlist
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You love sleeping, and just as passionately, you love your bed. Whenever you wake up in the morning, you spend at least ten minutes wrapped up in your duvet, savoring the warmth and comfort as you tease yourself with the idea of a nap.
This morning is no different. The sun shines outside, making your dark purple curtains look lighter than they actually are. If you open your eyes, you know you'll see dust particles floating through the air.
You take a deep breath through your nose and immediately wish you'd opened your windows to let in some fresh air. But you never do, even though you think about it every morning. It's too risky. Open windows are an open invitation to your worst fear—spiders.
Just the thought of their tiny, hairy bodies and long, wiggly legs sends a shiver down your spine. You pull the duvet tighter around your shoulders, practically imagining the creepy crawlies on your skin.
And of course, that's when your roommate, Elliot, decides it’s the perfect time to tickle your ear with one of his long, pink, kinky feathers—used for who-knows-what.
You scream, jump, and scramble off the bed like it’s suddenly caught fire. Your eyes—probably bloodshot with dark bags underneath—narrow at the grinning culprit, who is currently doubled over in a fit of laughter on the right side of your king-sized bed.
“What the fuck,” you huff, too tired to find any humor in this. You were so warm and cozy, and now that feeling is ruined for the next twenty-four hours. “You’re a real dick, you know that?”
 “Y-your face!” he chokes out between giggles. He looks far too fresh-faced for someone who’s just rolled out of bed. Still in his pajamas, his messy hair—short on the sides with a wave on top—looks like it hasn’t seen a brush this morning.
“It's not funny!” you argue, your voice rising over the sound of his laughter. You’re this close to stomping your foot at him. “I thought you were a spider!” Standing there in nothing but pink pajama bottoms and a black strap top, your skin prickles with goosebumps. Yet again, you curse him for ruining your warm, safe burrito.
That only makes him laugh harder. It’s hard to believe this man-child is twenty-eight years old when he acts less than half his age most of the time.
At the sound of his snort, you feel your lips twitch against your will. No, you’re pissed at him—there’s no way he’s going to make you laugh. But very quickly, you’re losing the battle. Have you ever tried not laughing with someone who has an impossibly contagious laugh? It’s damn near impossible.
“Whatever!” you say, rolling your eyes as a reluctant smile finally breaks across your face. You cross your arms over your chest, trying to look stern, but Elliot knows he’s won this round
“It’s getting late,” he says, still chuckling. His green eyes are watery from laughing, making them sparkle as he grins at you. Rolling onto his left side, he props his head up with one hand—the one holding the feather—while his other hand runs through his sandy-brown hair, slicking it back. “And you slept through your alarms again, so I thought I’d help you out.”
Damn, have you really? It wouldn’t be the first time. Waking you is like trying to wake the dead.
“Oh,” you say sheepishly. Fair enough, he had to wake you, but—“Did you have to use your kinky, sex feather...thing?” You shiver in disgust. “Who knows where that’s been.”
He shrugs innocently, twirling the offending object between his fingers. “Nowhere gross...” His eyes flick up to yours, and he smiles once more. “Only up Danny’s ass.”
Your eyes widen, and you splutter. “What? Oh, my god—Jesus, that’s just—” You gag in the back of your throat. “You said it hadn’t been anywhere gross!”
He laughs again, sitting up. “I was telling the truth. Danny’s ass was far from gross.” A faraway look crosses his face. “It was heaven,” he muses wistfully before frowning. “God, I miss him.”
“Oh, honey,” you soften immediately, making your way to the bed and crawling toward Elliot to offer some comfort.
You know Danny and Elliot’s breakup was hard on him. He’d been completely in love with that man and was about to ask him to move in—with you both—when Danny decided to end the year-and-a-half relationship. It just wasn’t working was his excuse, but Elliot later found out the truth when Danny updated his Facebook page: he’d left Elliot for someone else.
“He didn’t deserve you,” you say, trying to make him feel better as you drape an arm around his shoulders. Sitting back on your heels, you add, “He was a dick for what he did. You shouldn’t be sad. He’s the one who lost someone who loved him. The only thing you lost was—”
“A twat-waffle who didn’t deserve me, I know,” he cuts you off, reciting your usual line before you can finish. You’ve said it enough times in the past three months since the breakup that he knows it by heart. “Thanks for trying to make me feel better, but...doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”
“I know,” you respond quietly, your thoughts drifting to your own breakup. It’s been over a year now, but the pain still lingers. Your ex had been your first boyfriend—hell, your first everything. You’d met when you were seventeen, and you moved in with him before your next birthday. Everything happened so fast, and you didn’t see the cracks until it was too late. “But we have each other, right?” you say, giving Elliot a little shake.
He glances at you, his expression vulnerable. Big eyes, plucked thin eyebrows, a slight bump on his nose from when a bully broke it in his teens, full lips, high cheekbones, and when he smiles, dimples form on his cheeks.
“Yeah?” he replies, hopeful. “Even if I wake you up with a feather that’s been up my ex’s ass?”
You roll your eyes, pulling away to thump him on the arm. “Fucker,” you mutter as he starts giggling all over again. “Remind me why I love you?”
Grinning, he reaches into the pocket of his pajama shorts and pulls out his phone. "Because I'm adorable," he answers distractedly as he stares at the screen. "Oh, my first caller of the day! And it's Simon," he whispers the last part to you as if Simon could hear. "He sounds like a whale when he comes, but boy, does he have a gorgeous sex voice," he informs you. You snort as he accepts the call. "Why hello there, lover."
While Elliot makes himself comfortable against your pillows, you climb off the bed and head toward your wardrobe. You already have your outfit in mind—a pair of leggings and a plain white shirt.
"Mmm, that sounds so sexy, baby," you hear Elliot purr in the background, and you smile, shaking your head. You can’t imagine what people would think about you being in the same room as your guy roommate while he talks dirty to one of your clients, meanwhile, you're getting changed in the corner.
It’s a strange situation, to say the least.
As you remove your shirt with your back turned to Elliot, you can’t help but listen in to the conversation.
"I'd love to touch your nipples," Elliot hums behind you, getting into character. You know how much he loves talking dirty to guys. It’s a turn-on for him. Unlike you, who only really enjoys sex if it’s with someone you love. Elliot is way more adventurous and has had more one-night stands than you can count. "I'd love to stroke them, caress them, lick them. . .”
"Suck them," you add when you hear Elliot hesitate. You pull the straps of your bra up your arms and hook it at the back. 
“Oh, and suck them," Elliot says as you pull your top on.
Since Elliot is still fairly new to this, he needs help sometimes. His situation had been very similar to yours—a broken-up relationship, no job, and forced to move back in with his mum until someone came along and gave him hope. For Elliot, that person was you. For you, that person was your boss, Jane.
Elliot's voice lowers as he talks to his client. "Your body is so pretty, honey. I can't wait to trace my tongue up and down your belly, and then start going lower and lower until I reach your—”
You cough quietly to yourself, trying to hide your smile as you change into your leggings and slip on a pair of fluffy pink socks. You’ve heard Elliot talk dirty loads of times, and he’s heard you talk dirty just as many. Part of training him was him having to listen in on your conversations, and then you monitoring his. Neither of you gets embarrassed around it anymore. It’s more amusing, to be completely honest.
Deciding to leave Elliot to it, you grab your phone off your bedside cabinet and quietly tiptoe to the door. Before you leave, you look over to Elliot and mouth, Coffee?
He nods enthusiastically at you and mouths back, Yes, please!
You’re halfway down the steps when you rub your eye and feel the crumbly sensation of mascara under your fingertip. You’ve forgotten to take your makeup off the night before. You curse to yourself before heading back upstairs to fetch a makeup wipe.
When you reach your room once more, Elliot looks at you questioningly before he notices your face. His lips curl into his mouth in an attempt not to laugh. You roll your eyes and put your middle finger up at him before heading over to your dresser, which sits directly opposite your bed. You open the top drawer and feel through the ridiculous amount of makeup and beauty products you’ve collected over time. As your fingers search, your eyes stare forward at your flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. You can see Elliot's reflection.
"God, you feel so tight around me," Elliot is telling his customer, and you bite your lip in an attempt not to laugh. Finally, your fingers grip the packet of wipes, and you pull them free. "I'm gonna come inside of your ass so damn hard—," Elliot is cut off by a muffled roar, and you turn to look at him questioningly.
He is still sitting on your bed, back against the pillows with one hand holding the phone far away from his ear. He has an uncomfortable look on his face, and it’s then you realize the noise has come from the phone. Or, more accurately, the noise is the loud, animal-like groans of a man coming hard.
Oh my god," you whisper to him quietly, now understanding what Elliot had meant by Simon sounding like a whale when he came.
Elliot uses his other hand to cover the bottom half of the phone, preventing Simon from hearing you speak. "Every. Damn. Time," he replies just as quietly, looking so serious it makes you giggle. He cracks his own smile before bringing the phone back to his ear. "Oh, that sounded like a good one, baby."
You’re glad Simon isn’t one of your callers because you’re not sure you’d be able to stay professional with that sound in your ear. You take care of your makeup before finally getting started on coffee.
Your living room and kitchen are all in one room. The only thing separating the rooms is the counter you eat at. Silver stools with black padded seats sit underneath, four of them for when you have guests over.
You walk past the L-shaped sofa and the counter. Once the coffee is on, you get started on breakfast. You decide on some cheesy, ham-scrambled eggs. Just as you start mixing the ingredients, your phone vibrates where you’ve placed it on the counter. You lean over far enough to see the screen. When no name appears, only a number, you figure it must be a new client since you save existing clients in your phone book.
You accept the call and bring it to your ear. "Hey there," you purr in your sexy voice. You never thought you had one until Elliot pointed it out to you. According to him, it’s a hot one too. "Tell me, gorgeous, what’s your name?"
"Josh." He’s breathing heavily, sounding as if he’s already started the party without you. "I-I'm new to all this…phone stuff," he informs you.
"That's fine, Josh," you say with a slight smile. "My name's Angel, and I’m going to take care of you, all right?" Your name isn’t Angel, but for safety reasons, you’re Angel as far as your customers know. And yes, you’re well aware of how clichéd it is.
"Yes," he tells you, his voice rougher than before. He’s probably getting more excited. Now, all you need to do is find out what he likes.
"Tell me, honey, you like it hard or soft, hm?" you question just as Elliot’s footsteps sound on the stairs.
"God. Hard. I like it hard," Josh answers. "I like it when you take control, with a little pain. Yeah, I like that a lot." In the background, you can hear the sound of his hand working his dick. At least you know he’s enjoying himself.
"Okay, Josh," you nod to yourself, knowing exactly where to go from here. Elliot appears in front of you, his lips forming an 'o' shape when he sees you’re with a client. You nod your head toward the food you’ve been preparing, signaling him to take over as you move away from the counter and toward the living area. Elliot passes you on the way, his hand patting you on the shoulder.
You flop over the arm of the chair and onto the sofa, landing with a bounce on your back. "The first thing I want you to do is to strip for me, now," you order him, reaching toward the coffee table when you spot a magazine there. You bring it over to you and open it. "Are you naked yet?"
"Almost," he practically gasps to you. You can hear some more shuffling, and then he's telling you, "Yes, mistress, I'm naked."
Mistress? You sigh internally. You seriously can't believe how many men are into the whole dominatrix kink. In the beginning, it was kind of fun, but by now, it’s getting pretty old.
Mentally awakening your inner dom, you relax further into the sofa and flip through the magazine. "Good boy," you coo, finding a 20 Sex Tips for Women article. Huh, how fitting. "Now, here's what I want you to do, and you better listen closely, pet."
The call ends up lasting 2 minutes and 28 seconds. Not bad for a newbie.
________
“I might have a date this weekend," Elliot mentions casually, making you glance over the top of your book at him, eyebrows raised.
A few hours have passed since breakfast, and you've had at least seven phone calls since. The two of you are relaxing in the living room, you on one side of your L-shaped sofa and Elliot on the other.
"And why is this the first I'm hearing of it?" you respond, feeling rather hurt. You tell each other everything. You know the penis size of every boyfriend he's had. How can he share that information so easily yet let something like a date stay secret?
He cringes, and you just know you're not going to like what's coming next. "Because..." he hesitates, takes a deep breath, and rushes out, "BecauseitswithDanny." He says it so fast it almost doesn't register, but the name Danny sticks out like a sore thumb.
"What!?" you exclaim, book falling forgotten onto the floor as you sit up. You're completely shocked, and you imagine your expression says everything before you even open your mouth. "How can you—why would you want to after what he did?" You can't understand what's going through Elliot's head, but you seriously want to knock some sense into him.
"I tried hinting to you this morning!" Elliot tells you, sitting up. The magazine he'd been reading earlier falls onto his lap, his attention now completely on you. "I told you I missed him!"
You scoff at that. "A hint is, 'Oh, by the way, I'm thinking of going on a date with my ex.' Not, 'I'm going to tickle you with Danny's ass-feather, complain about missing him, and hope that you get the hint that I'm going out with him this weekend despite the fact he broke my heart!'" You take a deep breath, oxygen running low after that rant. "Look, I know it's none of my business—"
"Of course it's your business. You're my best friend."
"—I just don't want you to get hurt," you continue as you both stare at each other with similar expressions. You're both desperate for the other to understand how you're feeling without wanting to cause any upset. "I love you, honey...and it destroyed you when he left."
"He said he's sorry," Elliot tells you quietly, making you realize just how much they've been talking. A pang of hurt goes through your heart, knowing that Elliot felt like he couldn't talk to you about this. "He said it was a mistake, one he wouldn't make again. But I don't want to jump back into things so...I told him we'll start slow."
"Well," you nod slightly. "That's something, I guess." It comforts you to know that he isn't rushing into the relationship again. Maybe, if they start from scratch, it could work this time. Unfortunately, your gut tells you different. "I'm going to be honest with you, okay?"
Elliot gives you a lopsided smile, causing a single dimple to form on his cheek. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
You smile back for a moment before turning serious again. "I think...you're thinking with your heart and not with your head," you tell him softly. "I think you're in love with him, and you miss him, and you're not thinking rationally about this. Which I totally understand, honey. You love him; I know you can't help that. I just worry that Danny knows how you feel about him, and he's going to use it to his advantage." You watch Elliot's expression closely; he's nodding, letting you know he's listening.
You give your lip a quick nibble before continuing. "But if this is something you feel like you need to do, then I'll support you, you know that."
"Thanks, babe," he responds sincerely, but his eyes are sad. "You're right. I know you're right, but...my heart wants this so damn badly."
"What's your gut telling you to do?" you ask him curiously. You’ve always believed in following your instincts.
"Run," he answers with a painful laugh. "Run and don't look back because he's only doing this as a rebound."
You frown at the information. "Rebound?"
Elliot nods, tears filling his eyes. He crosses his legs underneath him, which surprises you given how skinny his jeans are. One arm goes to the back of the sofa while the other runs through his slick-backed hair. He pulls his lips into his mouth for a moment, a habit of his, before telling you, "Him and Voldemort broke up. Danny says he broke it off because he misses me, but I checked Voldemort's page, and it looks like he's gone and gotten himself a new guy."
You hold back a snort at his nickname for Gary. Voldemort. It suits him. From Elliot's information, you're guessing that Danny is only after a rebound, but Elliot doesn't want to admit it because he still wants to be with Danny.
"Honey..." you sigh, scooting across the sofa so you can give Elliot a cuddle. He immediately returns the gesture but stays seated, whereas you lean up on your knees, making you higher than him. You rest your head on top of his, your arms around his neck. You know you don't need to say anything. Elliot knows he's burying his head in the sand. You think he just needs to find out the hard way; otherwise, he'd always regret not trying.
"I'm here for you," you assure him. This is something he needs to do, and you can't protect him from it, no matter how much you want to.
"Thank you," he tells you tearfully. You can hear how upset he is, but he's trying to hold it back. You squeeze him tighter, wishing you could take away all his pain. "You're the best friend a guy could ask for."
Your lips curve at that. "I know," you joke because really, you're not that big-headed. "Now," you say as you pull away but keep your arms around his neck. "What do you say we turn our phones off for a while, get a Chinese, and watch some crappy chick flicks?"
His eyes are bloodshot and wet with tears, but the smile he gives you is genuine happiness. And that you completely understand because food makes you feel the same way. "I love you so much."
--
The film you end up watching is beyond cheesy, but the humor is awesome, and you find yourself giggling along. Your Chinese food is now in your overly-stuffed belly, and the only things left are the containers sitting on the coffee table in front of you.
You sit side-by-side with Elliot, shoulders touching, a leopard-print blanket draped over your laps. Both of you ordered a beer with the takeaway. It isn’t enough to get you drunk, but that wasn’t the plan since you need to turn your phones back on for work later.
By the time the film ends, Elliot seems to be in a much better mood. Hopefully, he’ll stay that way for the next few hours.
“Gosh,” Elliot starts, reaching behind the sofa to the side table where a lamp sits. He switches it on, making you both blink against the sudden brightness. “I haven’t laughed that hard in ages.”
“Same,” you say, squinting as your eyes adjust. Your muscles feel cramped, so you throw off the blanket and stretch. As you straighten your body, you begin to slide off the sofa but don’t bother stopping it. You let yourself slip onto the floor.
With the coffee table in the way, you have to arrange yourself so you’re lying between the sofa and the table. The wooden flooring is cold against your right arm, while the left side of your body enjoys the comfort of the fur rug.
“Weirdo,” Elliot snorts from above.
“Don’t judge,” you respond, letting out a yawn. Watching films always makes you tired. Maybe it strains your eyes. The floor is oddly tempting right now—so cozy—or maybe Elliot is right, and you’re just a weirdo.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Elliot speaks again, his foot nudging your side. “Can’t sleep now. We’ve got horny customers waiting.”
It’s only then you realize you’ve closed your eyes. “I’m up,” you mumble, forcing yourself to sit upright. The smell of Chinese food still lingers in the air. It was absolutely delicious, but your stomach protests now, begging you not to even inhale another whiff of it. You pat your belly proudly, knowing it did a good job handling the feast.
“Good,” Elliot says. “We gotta get to work.”
Neither of you moves.
“For fuck’s sake,” Elliot sighs after a moment, making you crack a smile. “It’s so much effort. I hate... effort,” he says, spitting the word as if it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
You tilt your head to look at him better. “Just think about all those handsome, horny men stroking their dicks, waiting for you to—”
“I’m up!” Elliot exclaims, jumping to his feet. His hands dive into his pockets as you laugh loudly. “Christ, where’s my phone? My customers need me!” He’s being overly dramatic on purpose, and it makes you giggle even harder.
“It’s not funny!” he tells you, though he’s trying his hardest not to smile. “Who’s going to give those guys their orgasms? This is a serious situation!”
You giggle again, but then you try to put on a straight face. “You’re right. There could be a riot!” you gasp dramatically. “I’ll get on the phone to the prime minister right away!”
“And the president!” Elliot chimes in, but then you make eye contact, and the two of you burst into laughter. Sure, you can act pretty silly sometimes, but it’s healthy. At this age, you feel more mature than most people your age, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be childish once in a while.
Once you both calm down, you know playtime is over. It’s really time to get to work. Sighing, you take Elliot’s hand when he offers it to you, and he easily pulls you up from the floor.
“Thanks, kid,” you tell him, standing on your tiptoes to ruffle his hair. You know he hates when you do that.
He lets out a high-pitched squeak and backs away. “You know my rules!”
“No one touches the hair,” you recite dutifully.
“Yes!” he says, rolling his eyes. “And yet you always forget. And what do you mean ‘kid’? I’m older than you!”
“Yes, well, mentally you’re the age of ten, so…”
“Bitch,” he says, lightly punching your arm, and you laugh.
“Is that all you’ve got?” you tease.
He plants his hands on his hips, cocking a hip at you and raising an eyebrow. “Honey, you can’t handle what I’ve got.”
“I’m heading upstairs. Gonna talk dirty to some dudes, grab a shower, change into my pajamas, get some more horny people off, read a book, then go to bed.”
Elliot takes the phone and nods. “Sounds like a damn good plan,” he says, holding up his hand.
You smile and give him a high-five.
--
One of the hardest parts of your job is keeping things fresh and coming up with new ideas. That’s why you love working with Elliot. He’s a guy; he knows what men like, so whenever you feel like you need something different, he’s your go-to.
New customers are always the easiest to please. No matter what you say, it’s fresh to them. Exciting. It’s your recurring customers who require more effort. There are only so many ways to describe a blowjob before it starts feeling repetitive. When you get that feeling of déjà vu, you worry your client does too.
Oh, and trying to figure out what a guy likes? That’s another challenge. Sometimes, it feels like a seriously fucked-up game of I-Spy.
“I spy with my little eye…” Imaginary-you says in a hopeful voice. “A foot fetish? No? Fuck.” You’re rocking back and forth now, losing hope. “I spy with my little—oh, I know! Voyeurism?” you practically beg, thinking about pulling your brains out with a spoon if this doesn’t work. “…Golden showers?”
Okay, maybe you’re being a bit overdramatic, but you get the point. It’s frustrating, especially when the client is shy and doesn’t know what they like themselves.
Deciding you’re getting cranky—probably because you’re tired—you decide to finish half an hour early tonight. You shouldn’t, especially after already losing a few hours of work earlier, but you’ve made enough money to cover your half of rent and bills this month. You’ve still got a week to earn more for food and anything else you need.
So yeah, you’ll finish early.
Yawning, you pull the covers out from underneath your ass before throwing them over yourself. You’re already in your pajamas—a loose pair of pink shorts and a white strap top—and your book sits next to you, waiting to be read.
But just as you pick up your phone, ready to turn it off, a new number flashes on the screen. You stare at it for a moment, wondering if it’s worth leaving. The problem is, with it being a new customer, leaving a bad impression could mean they wouldn’t come back.
“Damn,” you mutter under your breath, knowing the professional businesswoman in you can’t risk losing what might end up being a recurring customer. As far as you know, this phone call could change your career. You snort at that. Highly unlikely, but it’s going to bring in extra money, which is a good enough reason. “Just this last one, then I’m going to bed,” you tell yourself.
You place the earphones back into your ears and press the green button on your touchscreen. “Hey there, handsome.” There’s a pause, and you briefly wonder if they’ve decided to hang up when he finally speaks.
“Hey,” he responds simply, sounding kind of awkward.
“You caught me just in time,” you say naughtily.
“Oh?” he sounds intrigued, though the awkwardness remains. He’s probably just shy or clueless about what to do. “Why is that?”
For a moment, you’re taken aback by how much you’re attracted to his voice. That’s never happened to you before, and he’s barely said five words. Masculine, educated, and gruff. Swoon.
“Um...” You try to get back into character while scolding yourself. The conversation has only just started; you can’t screw it up already. Get your head in the game, girl. “Because I’m wet and needing a man to help me out.” Internally, you wince. That’s pretty weak considering how good you usually are at this.
He doesn’t seem to think so because he releases a sexy, “Shit. I—” He’s breathing heavily, and you wait for him to finish, sensing he has something else he wants to say. “I don’t know if this was a good idea,” he admits after a moment.
Fuck, you’re losing him, and you’re losing him fast. You need to think quickly if you want to keep him on the line. You don’t want to admit it, but your interest in this man goes beyond the money you’re earning from him. He’s ignited something in you. “Wait! Please,” you breathe. “I—I’m so horny. I need you. Please? Just stroke your dick for me. I need it.” There you go; you knew you could do better.
“Damn it,” he hisses, and then there’s the sound of a belt buckle, and you know you’ve got him. “What’d you need, sweetie? Tell me,” he demands, and for the first time since doing this job, you feel a wave of lust hit you.
Swallowing in an attempt to bring moisture back to your dry mouth—it all seems to have headed south, if you know what you mean—you respond truthfully, “You.” Jesus, you shouldn’t be doing this, but before you can stop yourself, your left hand is slipping underneath your strap top and finding your breasts. “I need you, please—” You pause for a second. You don’t know if it will work, but if you’re right about him, this is going to go down a treat. For both him and for you. “—sir.”
And you’re right because he lets out a loud groan, making you squeeze your thighs together in response. Jesus, you haven’t wanted someone this badly in what feels like forever.
“Fuck, you’re going to be such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”
You’re already nodding before he finishes his sentence. “Yes, god, yes.” You move your right hand so it’s also caressing your breasts. In this moment, you completely love your headset, which allows you to talk and touch at the same time.
“Mm, you’re so obedient, baby,” he tells you, approval evident in his husky voice. “Tell me, Princess, tell me are your nipples hard?”
Your pussy clenches almost painfully, and you try to remind it to calm down because it’s only just started. “They’re hard. So hard they’re showing through my shirt.”
You’re getting so hazy with lust you’re not sure what to do with yourself, so you pinch your nipples roughly and almost cry out in frustration, knowing it would be so much better if he were doing it for you.
“Damn, that’s beautiful, sweetheart,” he tells you, and your belly does a funny flip. “You touchin’ them? Want you to roll them between your fingers. Not too hard, just enough pressure to leave you needing more.”
It’s not easy to admit, but you think he’s better at this than you are, and it crosses your mind that you should probably be paying him. “I already am,” you confess with a guilty laugh. “Your voice... it’s, uh, fucking hot.” You hesitate because you’re not sure if you can say that to him. It’s not very professional, but then you remind yourself that you’re only second-guessing it because you’re actually getting off on it.
"You that eager for me, princess?" he sounds pretty damn pleased with himself. "Tell me how it feels. You know, I'm stroking my dick to this. Getting hard over the noises you're making, and the pretty picture you're giving me."
The image of this man, who you are undoubtedly attracted to, stroking his hard cock over the thought of you pleasuring yourself drives you crazy. He seems so generous, something rare nowadays.
"It feels..." you breathe, trying to find the right words. "Like it's not enough. I need more. Christ." You throw your head back against your pillows, frustrated with yourself and the way you're acting. Completely unprofessional.
"Shh," he coos softly. "I've got you. I'm going to take care of you. Okay, princess?" He's so freaking good at this. You're practically shivering in anticipation of what he might say next. "I want you to get naked for me. And tell me, baby, you got any toys?"
"Um," you think about his question as you pull your strap top over your head. It gets caught on the earphone wire. "Wait a second." You quickly untangle yourself before placing the earphones back into your ears. Moving on to your shorts, you push them eagerly down your legs. "Yes, I have one of those little bullet vibrators."
"Good. I want you to get it for me, princess."
You bite your lip for a moment, feeling extremely dirty about what you're about to do. "Yes, sir..." you say before reaching toward your side cabinet and opening the bottom drawer. In an old, tiny, purple purse with a single zip sits the bullet. You take it out before getting comfortable on the bed once more. "I've got it."
He hums in approval. "Now, I'm more than happy to go slow, make this last, but I'm sensing that my girl wants to come hard and fast, am I right?"
You suck in an unsteady breath. Being called his girl really shouldn't make you feel as giddy as it does. Why and how does a complete stranger have such an effect on you? You're never one of those girls who fall for a man's charm easily. Yet here you are, swooning over a guy because he's good at talking dirty and has a sexy voice.
Apparently you were easier to seduce than you originally thought.
"Yes," you choke out, wondering if you'd wake up if you pinched yourself hard enough. You wouldn't try it, though, just in case you were dreaming. You really aren't ready for it to end. "God, yes."
"All right then," he chuckles, the sound warm. "I'll do what you want this time. Next time, what I say goes, okay, princess?"
Before you have a chance to respond, he's giving you more orders, and in no way are you complaining.
"I want you to spread your pretty little thighs for me, baby." His voice, and the way he's breathing, gives you the impression that he's getting just as excited as you are.
"Okay," you squeak rather embarrassingly. Cool air hits your most sensitive area as you do what he orders, your hands resting against the inside of your thighs, fingers clutching your vibrator as you wait impatiently for his instructions.
You have yet to turn the bullet on, but it already feels like your insides are vibrating.
"Now, take your hand and spread your pussy lips for me."
And there you go, once again speechless—and breathless—because of this man and his words. Seriously, he could do this job better than you. You have to admit, you're storing parts of this conversation away for both personal and professional use later on.
Your hands automatically do as he says, your body desperate for some kind of release. You feel overwhelmed and don't know where to start or what to do in order to relieve it. Thank God you have him to guide you; otherwise, you might combust. Then again, if he wasn't here, you wouldn't have this problem in the first place.
"Okay," you breathe, feeling more and more like a client than a sex line operator. But taking control is obviously something he enjoys, so who are you to put a stop to this? What’s the saying? ‘Customers are always right?’ Well, you absolutely, completely, one hundred percent agree!
"Stretch yourself out," he continues, his voice starting to strain. "Force your sexy little clit out of its hood. I don't want it hiding when you start fucking yourself. All right, princess?"
Fuckkk. Just when you think he can't possibly get any hotter, he goes and says that. Your pussy feels like it’s on fire; your clit is so swollen it hurts. You wouldn't be surprised if you came the second you put any pressure on your nub.
"Now," he continues. "Turn your bullet on and press it to your clit. You're not allowed to stop until your legs are shaking and you're calling out my name. Got it?" You can hear how hard he's pumping his dick now. For a moment, you feel guilty. Are you neglecting him? But then you remind yourself again that this is what he wants.
You know you're not going to last long. You're too excited. Not to mention, it’s been a while since you've spent some time with your right hand. You twist the top of your bullet, putting it on the highest speed. You know you're worked up enough to take it; usually, you start on low and build your way up because you're overly sensitive. Right now, you know it won’t be an issue.
The bullet starts to shake violently, but the noise is low, like a quiet buzzing. Your left hand holds yourself open, fingers forming a 'V' and spreading your lips as far as you can, just as he instructed.
You don’t need to tell him what you’re doing; the moment you press the bullet to yourself, a half-gasp, half-moan escapes your lips. You’re right—you definitely won’t last long. The vibrations are intense, and you draw small circles on yourself, pushing yourself even closer to the edge.
“Damnit,” he hisses. You’re quickly learning it’s one of his favorite words. “You sound fucking sexy. Wish I could see you. Watch you,” he inhales sharply. He’s just as close as you are.
“What’s—” you attempt to speak but end up gasping instead. Wetness gathers below, soaking your entrance and trailing toward your clit. The added lubrication lets the bullet slide more freely around your nub, the sensation unbelievable. “What’s—”
“Princess?” he chokes, likely having the same problem as you.
So close now. So fucking close. You just need a little more. The rhythm is perfect, and you can hear him breathing in your ear, letting out the occasional groan. It’s too damn much, but you can’t let yourself go—not without— “What’s your name?”
"Joel."
"Fuck - Joel!"
You see stars, as cliché as it sounds. Your whole body breaks into spasms, your left hand falling to the sheets and gripping the fabric desperately. Your right hand forces the bullet between your slippery lips, and your thighs clamp around your hand. Incoherent words tumble from your mouth: “Oh god,” “Fuck,” and Joel’s name.
As you come back down to earth, you can hear that Joel barely followed two seconds behind.
“Damn it, Princess. You’re so fucking good. Sound so pretty. Done so well,” the words spill from his mouth like sweet wine. He probably isn’t even aware of them. The sound of him fisting his dick is irregular and off-beat. “Fuck. Damn. You’re such a good girl.”
You remove the bullet from yourself—if you leave it there any longer, it’s going to become painful—and let out a giggle. Your cheeks are flushed, your body buzzing with pleasure. Lightheaded and giddy, you think to yourself that this guy must be amazing in bed. “That was fucking amazing.”
“Yeah,” he laughs breathlessly. “You can say that again. I can’t believe I almost hung up.”
“That would have been bad,” you reply, wondering if your heart will slow down anytime soon. “Very, very bad.”
“Oh yeah,” he agrees, then pauses before adding, “Let me ask you something.”
“Go ahead.” You hesitate for only a moment. It’s unusual for clients to stick around afterward, but you’ve quickly realized this guy isn’t a normal caller.
“What’s your real name?” he asks. “No way is it ‘Angel.’” He snorts, finding your alias hilarious.
Is Angel that bad of a name? You think it’s kind of cool. The company is called Angels and Demons, with you being the Angel. Elliot’s alias is Daemon because it’s close to “demon” but sounds way better. When a customer calls, they get an automated voice instructing them to press the number for their chosen operator, complete with a brief description.
You’re losing your train of thought; you can’t give him your real name, can you? It’s against the rules. If Jane found out, she’d be pissed. She wouldn’t fire you, but her anger is almost as bad. With the image of facing her wrath in mind, you tell Joel, “I’m sorry, I can’t.” Your tone is regretful because you’d really like to tell him. “My boss would…it’s against the rules.”
“Ah,” he responds, masking the disappointment. “It’s all right. I understand.”
“Sorry,” you apologize again, hating the idea of letting him down, especially after how amazing he just made you feel.
"Seriously, Princess, it’s fine,” he reassures you, easing the guilt. “I had a really good time tonight. You can bet I’ll be expecting a repeat tomorrow.” You just know that if you could see him right now, his eyes would sparkle with mischief.
Your pussy throbs again just thinking about it. God, he makes you insatiable. “I’m really, really looking forward to it,” you tell him honestly.
“Me too.” There’s a brief pause, then, “Goodnight, Princess.”
“Goodnight, Joel.” Hanging up the phone, you place it against your lips, letting everything sink in. Alone with your thoughts, you can’t believe you just had full-blown phone sex with a client. It’s so unlike you. It’s more like something Elliot would do. Speaking of…
“Elliot, you won’t believe what just happened!” you shout at the top of your lungs.
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spxllcxstxr · 2 days ago
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Mornings • S
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(Gif not mine)
Request: Hello✨ I would like to ask a morning routine with Silco (head cannons or fanfic or a little bit of both, whatever you’re comfortable with, I don’t mind). Just describe how his routine changed after s/o appeared in his life or someone like this. With the best wishes and patiently waiting for the answer 🌚🫰-- anon
Summary: Silco adjusts to no longer living alone
Warnings: gn!reader raised in the undercity, established relationship though first time living with each other, food/drink mention, reformed bachelor silco doesn't know what breakfast is nor self-care lmao
Word Count: 962
A.N: Wrote this with young silco in mind because, let's be honest here, he's a bit more put together than his older self lmao. I'm also a sucker for longterm love so like, this is the first of many mornings you would experience with him ykwim lmao, first time writing silco! Enjoy!!!
The palm of Silco's hand is warm against your skin when your eyes open. It's still dark outside but the murky green hue of his bedroom windows offer you dim light.
Deep snores and faint whimpers emit from the man next to you, dark brows furrowed in his sleep. You dip your head down to kiss his forehead, hand running through his long hair at the same time. The tension eases from his pale face almost instantaneously. You smile at his sleeping form, now finally peaceful.
Moments later you quietly shift the covers from over top your body, placing Silco's hand beside him as well. He shifts at your movement, the mattress springs creaking underneath his bodyweight.
Growing up in the Undercity stressed the importance of rationing and saving food, meaning the three square meals a day the citizens of Piltover were used to were normally cut out altogether. Since then, however, Zaun’s food supply and imports had drastically improved and that along with your decent job wages, meals like breakfast had become important to you.
Cooking for two would be a change, certainly, but a welcomed one.
The chill in the air engulfs you as you move from the bedroom to the kitchen, which causes a slight shiver to move down your spine.
Yawning, you flick the light switch on. The sharpness of the yellow-white overhead light in the kitchen causes you to wince. The contrast of the brightness, or lack thereof, forces you to wake up a bit faster than you wished.
The light reveals a cluttered kitchen—not cluttered with pots and pans, but with various pieces of scrap metal and rusted screws. The counterspace is littered with schematics and maps of both Piltover and the Undercity.
Silco was usually a tidy man, his space at the Last Drop was well organized along with all of the other tiny rooms in the apartment. Clearly, the kitchen was not a space he frequented enough for his attention to be drawn to it.
Cracking your knuckles, you start shifting things over and away from the stovetop. You take everything flamible and place it precariously on an equally messy table.
After rummaging through the icebox, you discover a carton of mostly cracked or broken eggs, which were better than nothing. Getting straight to the point, you bring them over to the counterspace near the stovetop, which you light with one of Silco's lighters. The fire crackles to life, heating the pan above it.
"What in the world are you doing?"
You look behind you, pan still in hand. Silco stands behind you, leaning against the threshold to the little kitchen. His long dark hair hands loosely over his shoulders, fringe dangling messily over his face. Silco yawns, exhaustion still hanging over him.
The simplicity of his figure is a lot more attractive than it realistically should be. A red shirt is tight over his slim frame, causing your face to heat up. You're tempted to forego breakfast altogether in favor for grabbing your boyfriend by the hand and dragging him back to bed. He just looks that good.
But your stomach grumbles and your routine demands to be followed so you push that thought to the back of your mind, determined to act on it later.
His blue eyes take in the sight before him, you, still clad in your sleepwear with a small flame haphazardly lit underneath a small pan he doesn't recognize. Silco's brows are quirked up in confusion.
"Good morning to you too, darling..." You tease, rolling your eyes. Silco smirks, making your heart skip another beat. "And I'm making breakfast. Like a normal person."
"Breakfast? This kitchen hasn't seen the light of day since I've holed up here." His voice is raspy and deeper than usual. Blue eyes quickly scan over the room before landing back on your own. "As you could probably tell."
You nod in agreement, turning back to the task in front of you and the questionable carton of eggs off to the side.
"And I've been eating breakfast for years, so that's going to change now that I'm here."
"Is that so?" His voice is laced with a teasing curiosity that draws him towards you.
Silco stands behind you, breath just barely tickling the back of your neck. You feel his eyes carefully following your hands as they crack eggs on the edge of the pan. Steam rises as they sizzle against the hot surface.
You hum as you watch the whites of the egg turn opaque. It isn't any song in particular, just something you vaguely remember hearing at sone point in your life.
"I'm not used to this, dearest; this...domesticity," Silco mutters in your ear, this tip of his nose brushing against the sensitive skin of the crook of you neck.
"Maybe that's why you're so skinny." You tease, leaning into his touch. Briefly your eyelids flutter shut before returning to the unpredictable stovetop.
"Hm, maybe so." You feel his small smile against your skin. "If we were running on my routine, we'd already be out the door with a lukewarm coffee in hand."
With the eggs finished, you scrape them onto a freshly rinsed plate with a vaguely spatula-shaped item. Shopping for at least some sort of kitchen utensils was something you needed to do in order to make this place livable for someone other than your beloved Silco.
"Well this is your new routine, dear," You reply, placing a kiss to his cheek. "And you will love it."
With one hand placed on his waist and the other holding onto the plate of breakfast, you smile, almost like you're asking for him to challenge you on this. Instead, his eyes settle on your yours, signature smirk growing.
"I'm sure I will."
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haveihitanerve · 2 days ago
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writing-
Dick sighed as he made his way along the familiar, well worn, path to the back of the Wayne Manor grounds.
Jason Wayne had had a large funeral, and was buried in the public graveyard, by his mother. Jason Todd-Wayne, Bruce Wayne's second son, Dick's little brother and the second Robin, was buried in the back of the Wayne grounds, in the Wayne family plot.
Dick picked up little stones as he walked, gently picking up the same tune as always as he selected pretty rocks from in between leaves and dirt.
"Down by the bay," He began quietly, voice harmonizing with the wind, wrapping around the stone at the head of the too small plot.
"Where the watermelons rot..." Dick knelt, placing one rock on the headstone, next to the previous five. A stone for every month he had been taken from them.
"If you go home," Dick swallowed, brushing away stray bits of dirt and leaves that had fallen on the grave, setting new flowers into the hole.
"Just don't get caught.." His voice grew quieter as he sat, crossing his legs, hands digging into the earth.
"But if you do.. my father will say..." Tears slid down his cheeks, watering the dirt below.
"Don't you ever trust a man, cowering in the sand, down by the bay." Dirt dropped from his fingers as Dick stood, striding away.
It was almost too easy. Dick didn't stand a chance. The hero was down in seconds, cloth pressed against his nose to keep him quiet and compliant, as Jason loaded him into his truck and headed to the secure warehouse he had picked specially for the occasion.
It wasn't Dick's fault, not really. Jason had been working him hard, making his goons stir up as much trouble as possible, getting Dick burnt out and sleep deprived and stressed. And it wasn't Dick's fault that Jason had an intimate knowledge of his schedule. Of everything he did. Of all his moves.
He rolled up to the warehouse right on time, securing Dick to the chair and tying the last knot right as he blinked awake.
"Hello Birdie." He cooed, patting his big brothers face condescendingly.
Dick jerked away, a snarl ripping from his throat. "Hood."
A smile spread across Jason's face. "Oh, so you do know who I am. I'm pleased." Dick sneered at him, glancing around.
"Where are we? What do you want?" Jason hummed, walking to the sink to fill up a glass of water.
"You know, usually I'm the one asking the questions, but I'm feeling generous today, so I supposed you might as well know." He gestured to the room they were in. "A warehouse, off the borders of Gotham." He waited a beat, and, predictably, Dick's skin turned a little lighter.
"And what I want, truly, Golden Boy, is your Daddy. You're just the bait."
It took a shorter time than Jason expected for Bruce to find them. Not that he actually showed up, but Jason got the message from one of his goons that Batman was sniffing around. "Keep him distracted. I'll send word when to tell him." He pinged off quickly, turning to the vigilante still tied up in the corner.
Dick was doing a remarkable job of staying relaxed, acting as though nothing was wrong. But Jason could see the tension thrumming through his body, the disguised concern. He was worried. For Bruce, of course, not himself. Never himself.
Jason sighed, leaning against the wall, and pretended not to notice Nightwing's shift of attention to him. It was subtle, and very well done, but Jason had also been trained by the Bat, and knew all the tricks. Not that he believed Dick hadn't been looking at him the whole time.
"Down by the bay," He mumbled quietly, fiddling with his now empty glass. "Where the watermelon rot." He huffed, a small smile curling his lips. "If you go home-"
The chair clattered against the wall and Jason looked up in surprise just in time to make eye contact as Nightwing pinned him against the wall, forearm pressed against his neck, the other hand disarming him with ease.
Jason cursed quietly. He should've known Dick would wrangle out of his bindings. Or.. have enough strength to break them. He realized, as he spotted the mangled chair.
"How do you know that song?" Nightwing snarled, teeth bared, pure fury vibrating every single cell in his body. Jason blinked in surprise. That was not what he had expected the question to be.
"My... my brother used to sing it to me." He answered, truthfully, to both of their surprises. Maybe because he was caught off guard. Maybe because he didn't see a point to lie. Maybe because he hadn't been aware it was the truth until he said it. "While I- while I slept."
Jason let out a breath of air as he was dropped to the floor, as Nightwing took a step back. His face was guarded, wary, and Jason rubbed his neck, eyeing the vigilante with his own mix of curiosity and wariness.
Then Nightwing did something he never expected. "Jason?" Jason stumbled back, eyes wide in surprise. Dick inhaled sharply. "It is you." Jason fumbled for something, anything, but Dick had taken everything.
"Ho-How- did you- no I'm not-" But Dick crossed the room, arms enveloping him, uncaring of Jason's bulky jacket and mask and uncaring that he had killed and he had kidnapped Dick and-
And then Jason was crying, great, heaving, ugly sobs that shook his body, and Dick was holding him and humming and whispering sweet nothings and somehow they ended up on the floor, and Jason was clawing at his brothers back, hugging him back.
Dick shushed him gently, rocking, and Jason heard the audible click of something as Dick ground his back teeth together. "Its him B. Its him." Jason reared back, but Dick held up a placating hand, tears in his eyes and hope and pleading, so Jason stayed, wary, next to him, as Dick talked to Bruce. Of course they had new, unidentifiable tech, that allowed them to speak. That's how Bruce knew where he was. That's why he hadn't come. Jason waited until Dick signed off, clicking his comm tech back onto his teeth with a jerk of his jaw.
"How did you know?" He asked quietly. Dick shrugged, sagging against the wall.
"You're identifiable. No one... no one is that good unless they're bat trained." There was a simple truth to it, no bragging, not boastful. "And well... we had- we have the Batcomputer."
The dots were beginning to connect in Jason's head. "You let me catch you."
Dick nodded slowly. "Yes." He agreed simply. "We needed to know for certain, and since you seemed more eager to interact with me than directly with Bruce- which I get." he added quieter. "I was the one. And then... I didn't believe it." He admitted.
"I wanted to, so badly. So I could get you back. So that I could have another chance to be a big brother. A good one, this time." He shook his head ruefully. "I'm sorry about that, by the way."
The words stunned Jason, so quick, so genuine, not a second thought besides that he had been wrong, and was apologizing for it.
"But I didn't believe it. Not until.." Now he hesitated.
"The song." Jason realized. Dick nodded.
"I invented that song. And I only ever sang it for you. When I... when I visited you. There was... there could be no other explanation."
Jason sighed. "Well.. That ends my rather dramatic plans doesn't it?" He grumbled, but he wasn't upset. Not truly. Dick smiled faintly.
"I suppose so." He glanced over sideways, eyes analytical. "Do you want to see him?" The words were loaded, and Jason breathed, trying to think.
"No. I mean- not- not yet." It felt stupid and selfish and cowardly, but he wasn't ready. Not yet. Dick nodded though, and didn't push. They sat in silence for a bit when Dick started to hum.
"Down by the bay"
Jason smiled.
"Down by the bay,"
"Where the watermelon rot."
"Where the watermelon rot."
"If you go home,"
"If you go home,"
"Just don't get caught"
"Just don't get caught"
"But if you do..."
"But if you do..."
"My father will sayy,"
"My father will sayy,"
"Never trust the man, hiding in the sand, down by the bay."
@anonyunknownonearth @tigerliliesandcherryblossoms @writingpoorly @cece-alex @panp7 @amnmich @faeriegodpwn @ko-neko-san @kittykate23 @some-macaroni-and-geese @koraesrambles @spirit-fingers22 @nkc71 @discordzero
sry if you didnt wanna be tagged but i tried to get everyone who reblogged/had a reaction or asked for a fic :)
Dick hums the same little tune every time he visits Jason’s grave. When Jason returns as Red Hood his first play is to capture Nightwing, Batman’s star pupil, his golden boy. While he’s waiting for Bruce to react, Jason hums it to himself. Nightwing goes still, a moment before he breaks free of his bindings and pins Jason to the wall, snarling “how do you know that song?” Jason blinks at him a few times before responding, surprisingly, both because he’s caught off guard by Dicks reaction and because, well… it’s the truth. “My big brother used to sing it to me. While I slept.” 
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sweetlywriting · 2 days ago
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Steb x Enforcer! reader hcs
A/N- the other four Steb fans are gonna love this + gn reader + sfw as always!
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I feel like with him it’s definitely a friends/co-workers to lovers relationship
At first, because you’re an enforcer and part of his team, he makes sure to get to know you-while quiet he still wants to maintain good relations with the people he’s constantly working with
Although as time passes he finds he’s a little more interested in you than he previously believed
Of course, not ready to accept his feelings he chalks it up to just wanting to get to know a coworker better
However Maddie and Loris notice how he doesn’t deny going out for drinks after work whenever you’re around, how most team shifts he assigns are with you, and how his green pallor seems to redden a bit when you train together
He gets used to seeing you, training with you, enjoying your company
He finds himself increasingly worried when you go missions without him, his mind constantly wandering back to you and your safety, his stoic demeanor diminishing
With his no-nonsense attitude, once he realizes his feelings he immediately tells you
While a man of few words, people can tell you’re together in that he’s very intentional with gestures and affection
He’ll have his hand on the top of the chair your in often peeking over your shoulder to see what you’re doing, he’ll pull you close in busy crowds so you don’t get separated, and a hint of pride enters his neutral tone whenever someone asks about you
Sometimes he’ll even bemusedly poke you with his baton and everyone else is just shocked because of you how serious he normally is
You make him feel lighter and more carefree <3
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r0-boat · 22 hours ago
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Feral!Lighter brain rot
I'm very normal about his EP
Cw: Dubcon, consent non-con, rough sex, No beta we die like men
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Thank you for coming to my TED talk...*explodes*
Even the undefeated champion can get overwhelmed whether it be from stress or simply becoming drunk off adrenaline from a fight.
All he wants to do is maul the next thing he sees, like a feral animal.
That's what pretty little things like you are for. He tells you over and over that he'd never hurt you in a soft voice that makes your heart swoon. But you know full well that he can.
He knows precisely what you want, You're not exactly the most subtle with your desires.
That thought had been driving you crazy. The What if Lighter: Your sweet, protective boyfriend wasn't so sweet with you? To see you as a toy to play with than someone that he cherishes more than anything else in the world.
Why not give you an experience to remember?
This is what you want. To have him come in just when you're about to go to bed. You're lying on the couch when your door knob clicks and turns. You know exactly who it is... There was only one other person you gave your spare key to.
It's not that you didn't want to see him. It's just that you weren't expecting him; usually, he would shoot you a maximum of three-word text when he came to crash or visit.
But this time, he practically barges in, slamming the door behind him. The look in his eye shivers down your spine as an imposing figure stocking closer toward you.
Your heart fluttered in your chest, especially when he left his jacket and shirt, dropped on the floor forgotten. He took his red scarf and wrapped it around his left hand.
"On. Your. Knees."
That wasn't a request.
You looked at him, eyes wide., Whatever was showing on your television was long forgotten. Your legs shook everything, urging you to drop to your knees and let him do whatever he wanted. But something within you stirred inside, whether it be curiosity or blind courage. It made your lips move.
"Make me."
Lighter's green eyes flicker at your blatant challenge. His eyebrows raise slightly. The silence is deafening as his lips curve into a smile. His left hand grips the red fabric as the other takes off his shades, tossing them.
He comes after you in a flash, His hand roughly grabbing at your color, yanking you until he hoists you over his shoulders. His fingers dig into your back as he brings you to your bedroom, tossing you on the bed with little care of where you end up before crawling on top of you, licking his lips. He could practically smell your arousal.
And he was just as aroused as you were. Scratch that He's more aroused than you are. He feels so bad for handling you similarly to how he handles riffraff. But he can't deny how hard his cock was pressing against his jeans.
He lets out a snarl His arms flexing as he tears his pants in two. Before doing the same to your shirt and pants.
"Hey! I just got those!" You yell, hitting his rock-hard chest. It's kind of cute how you think you can hurt him.
"too bad doll, should've listened to me the first time."
There was no ounce of gentleness to how the man handles you to flip over, grabbing your wrists, and tying you with the scarf.
Coating his fingers in his saliva before plunging it inside you. His hand and thick fingers force you open. His callused palm and rough scarred fingers groping your ass spreading you whiter as wide as he could to force his fingers deeper stretching you out for the hardness you can feel grinding against the crack of your ass.
Fuck... Your muffled screams sound so good. He wanted to be at least gentle when he fucks you, but It looked like his body had other plans. Taking you like this was so thrilling. His eyes rolled back as he lost himself in his own lust, ravaging your body till there was nothing left.
"Gonna fuck you... Going to fill you up and teach that naughty little mouth not to talk back!" Lighter growls in your ear taking out his fingers before plunge again in your mouth You're empty hole soon filled with something bigger screaming against his mouth and fingers as he immediately sets his pace.
You're tasting yourself on your tongue. The thought alone was setting Lighter a blaze.
Why do you make him like this? He could feel every ounce of self-control crack and crumble.
He was making so much noise from the bed rattling and his own moans your neighbors could probably hear but to be honest he doesn't give a fuck. All he cares about is fucking all the stress he has built up from god knows how long.
From how tightly you were gripping his poor cock, to your shaking, quivering body and you're sobbing, muffled mess with your tears soaking his thumb and palm, you were close. Lighter was, too. Lighter was so close. And all he wanted to do was fill you up fill your insides tell you were leaking.
You felt him sink his teeth into your shoulder before the both of you exploded at the same time. Lighter can feel you milking him as he came harder than he ever did in his life.
For the first time since he first started training, his body felt sore as he practically collapsed on top of you before quickly rolling off so he doesn't crush you.
When he finally catches his breath, He rolls over to your side, wrapping his arms around you and holding you to his chest, kissing your face.
"hey hey hey...shhh It's okay... It's okay we're done... I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"
He'd never forgive himself if he did. But he got his answer when your arms wrapped back around him and he saw your beaming smile. He sighs in relief smiling back kissing your lips.
"I guess It's safe to say that you liked it.... Good... I did too."
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fruitsboots · 2 days ago
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I'm a nail technician and here's a big list of headcanons about the kinds of clients the TOS Enterprise crew would be!
Kirk:
-shows up on time for appointment but sometimes has to cancel super last minute.
-doesn't bite his nails but picks at them and his cuticles. not enough to bleed or anything but enough that most of his appointment is cuticle work.
- "Cut them short" my guy there's no free edge.
- holds still, uses arm rest appropriately, doesn't stiffen his hands. no polish, just buffed smooth. jokes every time that next time maybe he'll go with a hot pink.
-asks a lot of questions and chats at the beginning of the appointment but ends up getting a little bored by the end.
-always tips very well but doesn't rebook, he'll call you.
Spock:
-doesn't make appointments, just shows up sometimes on slow days and asks to use certain supplies.
-does his own nails and keeps them very nice and neat. nail beds to die for. Nails grow very fast.
-On occasion has been talked into a dark polish and will let someone else do that for him (he's not very good at the application).
-sits a little too stiffly like he's concentrating. speaks when spoken to. doesn't linger long, the smell gives him a headache.
-doesn't tip but you’re not sure if he knows he’s supposed to.
McCoy:
-calls and asks if there’s time for a walk in then shows up later than he tells you but usually has a good excuse.
-Hands are dry as hell from washing them a lot. Worst, driest cuticles. Always gets a split on the edge of his pointer finger.
-Sits too far away from the table, at an angle, hunched, wrists on the armrest and elbows locked. Has to be asked to scoot arms forward a million times.
-Is annoying to work on technically, but fun to chat with. Always turns into a complaint session but in the best way. Wants to know the drama in your life and gives opinions.
- Closes eyes and tries not to doze off during the hand massage. Wipes off all the lotion that he desperately needs.
-Tips alright and always says he’ll come back soon but you know it’ll be another 4 months.
Uhura:
-has a standing appointment every 3 weeks and is never late, sometimes she’ll bring you a drink and apologizes when she doesn’t.
-Did her own nails for a long time and keeps them well manicured between appointments.
-Will (properly!) remove her own gel polish before appointments to save you the trouble.
- Tends to go for lighter, pearlescent shades. Always asks what you have that’s new but then picks one of her go-tos.
- Loves to look at nail art but doesn’t usually get it.
-Super bubbly during appointments, very patient, sits perfectly. Always enthusiastic about the result and gives lots of praise.
-Tips well and takes business cards to give to people.
Chapel:
-Not really supposed to get her nails done but does anyways. Doesn’t have super regular appointments but usually books with Uhura when she does.
-Usually shows up with chipped polish from last time that desperately needed removed 3 weeks ago.
-Gets light/sheer colors.
-Sometimes will book for a gel manicure and then tell you she doesn’t actually want polish this time even tho she needs it. Nice nails beds but they are thin and peel a bit without anything on them.
-Apologizes for no reason multiple times. Thanks you as if it were an inconvenience to do her nails? 
-After a few appointments, she loosens up a bit. Tips decent.
Sulu:
-has gotten his nails done like five times just for fun.
-Keeps them short, not much cuticle work. Why are you here??
- Will get a couple “masculine” designs and isn’t picky about them. “You just do whatever you think will look best :) “
-genuinely fun to have as a client but needs some direction on how to sit etc. can talk about anything.
-Didn’t tip the first time bc he didn’t know and felt bad so he always does, but it’s not much.
Scotty:
-how can one man have so much grease under his nails?
-Has a standing appointment once a month for just a nail trim but should be more like every two weeks.
-Asks questions about nail equipment (UV lamp, e-file, etc).
-Talks a bit during the appointment and then stands around after chatting. Always tips like 2$ but sometimes brings baked goods, etc.
Chekov:
-wanders in with a bruised nail and is like “what can you do for this” nothing dude.
-Leaves and comes back later to buy a gift certificate to give to a girl.
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comflexxed · 2 days ago
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june chuckled softly at hans’ question, shaking his head. “i hate ketchup,” he admitted, his smile turning rueful. he leaned back slightly, resting his weight on his hands as he glanced toward the open album again. the warmth of the room, hans’ smile, and the gentleness of the conversation made him feel lighter, like the weight of his past wasn’t as heavy in this space. “i guess even when i was little, i didn’t make much sense,” he added, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a grin.
hans’ words about love being visible in their home struck something deep in june. he glanced up, catching the vulnerability in hans’ expression, and felt a pang of admiration. hans was a man who poured himself into the small, everyday moments. it made june wonder what it might feel like to have those imperfections feel like love instead of loss.
june hesitates, his gaze drifting toward the door where sunny slept. he thought about the life hans had created here — one rooted in love and stability — and how it contrasted with the temporary moments that had defined so much of his own past.
he shook his head, his tone lightening as he looked back at hans. “i think so too,” he continued, his voice softening again. “as we get older, we do learn to hold on to the best moments. today is one of those days for me too. not just because of the fishing or the dinner, but because of this. sitting here, talking about all of it. feeling like it matters.” june’s gaze settled on hans, his expression earnest. “i hope sunny grows up knowing just how lucky she is to have you. and i hope you know it too.”
as hans listened to june speak, he was reminded of what june had shared before, how there had been a lot of moving around in his earlier years. that must explain the scattered photos, different places and different faces. it made the mention of june’s favorite even sweeter in hans’ opinion, how he had something to remind him not just of all the moving, but of all the living room. “i can only imagine it, i bet you really enjoyed your fries dunked in ketchup!” he commented with a laugh, before adding curiously, “is that something you still like?” 
before he had his own daughter, he always wondered why parents took the silliest photos. was it just to remind their children that they had once been babbling messes? but now that hans was the parent who was taking the photos, he realized it was just the pure innocence of the moment—that laughter that was not yet tempered by the horrors of the world, that pure awe of new experiences. capturing its essence seemed to be a common characteristic all parents possessed.
“i want them to be a sign of love in this household too,” hans added, letting vulnerability seep into his words as he looked at june. “even if my phone does get cracked sometimes.” he fished out the phone from his pocket and chuckled at the crack on the screen after all the commotion when sunny caught a fish. it reminded him of the day they’ve had, how he could still remember their panic and excitement. and the quiet moments too, hans could remember the feeling of belonging, of shared laughters and the silent conversations.
he felt his heart grow warm with the recollection, and when he looked at june again, he was smiling, still thinking about how they had felt at ease together all day. “i think as we grow older, we learn to remember the best moments too, even without photos. today is a day i’ll remember for a long time.” 
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aemondapologistfrfr · 3 days ago
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Do Not Text
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modern!ex!aegon x fem!reader 
Summary: You go to a party just to make your ex come and pick you up in a jealous rage. 
Warnings: 18+ drinking, swearing, vulgar language, ig degradation but i feel like thats such an intense word, one cigarette, fingering, p in v, unprotected, a couple spanks 
Authors Note: 2% plot 98% toxic porn sry 🫡 also new style of header that i’m trying out 
Word Count: 2.5k 
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You had to practically beg your friends to go to this party. Apparently it’s a crime to have fun in the middle of the week. Thankfully all it took was a couple of shots and ensuring you were all sharing your locations. Once you all stepped into the house you all spread out and went in your own directions to enjoy yourselves. 
You were relieved to see the drink table had decent options and took your chances with the mysterious colored bowl. It burned going down your throat but you shrugged and downed the cup before filling it up again. You turn and scope out the area before downing your drink again and making your way into the crowd. Your heart stutters when you see a head of platinum hair but when the person faces you it’s just a girl. Fucking blondes. 
You pull a man with dark curly hair into your arms and get lost in him for a couple minutes. His hands are grabby and his touch doesn’t offer you the heat you’re looking for. You whisper into his ear to find someone else before you disappear into the crowd. You find yourself at the drink table again with a cup of that burning liquid and pull out your phone. 
you: i fucking hate you
do not text!!: i hate you 
you: come pick me up
do not text!!: so you're drunk lmfao
you: says the alcoholic 
do not text!!: fuck you 
You go to throw your phone but remember your surroundings. You stare at the screen, willing it to burst into flames. The drink in your hand is downed and refilled once more. You turn and find the curly dark haired stranger looking at you with a smile. 
“I can’t find anyone as perfect as you.” his line makes your stomach twist but Gods you just want to make out with someone. You pull him to your lips and you wince at his taste and his hands are quick to find your ass. There’s only one person who knows what you like and he won’t come to you without the right incentive. 
“Take a picture of us. I’m trying to piss someone off.” you mumble against the man’s lips. He seems to have no care for being used in your petty game and snaps the picture. You send it and look up to him shrugging your shoulders. “You’ll find someone better than me. I’m not worth it.” you pat his chest offering him a half hearted smile before filling up your cup again. You chuckle at your phone reading the texts as they come through.
do not text!!: send me your address 
do not next!!: now 
do not text!!: you have your read receipts on dumbass now answer me
you: no he said he’ll take care of me
do not text!!: tell me where you are 
*do not text!! calling…*
“I can’t hear you, I'm at a party.” you shout picking up the phone. 
“Go outside then.” you hear his engine revving. “Tell me where you are.” you giggle into the phone at his tone. 
“I told you I’m at a party.” you push through the bodies to get to the front lawn. “Does someone have a cigarette?” you whine and watch a couple men walk up to you with packs open. 
“Give me the address.” he enunciates every word. 
“Mm, thank you.” you smile as another man lights your cigarette. “Do you know the address?” you look around. 
“I can give you a ride home if you need, baby.” the man who gave you the cigarette says. 
“I could give you a ride you won’t forget.” the one who had the lighter smirks. 
“You see how they treat me, asshole?” you mumble into the phone. 
“Get the fucking address. They only want your pussy and you know that.” his voice is dripping with anger. You finally get the address out of the man at the door and mumble it into the phone before hanging up. 
“Someone get me another cup, please.” you push your bottom lip out and one of the men rushes into the house. You take a seat on the steps and smoke your cigarette and smile when a cup is put into your waiting hands. You only get a sip before you frown when someone’s hand slaps it onto the ground. 
“Get up.” you look up and start giggling at his expression. “Let’s go.” your cigarette is next to be tossed and soon you’re being pulled to the car. 
“Aegon, slow down, I'm going to fall.” you tug his hand back. He grunts and yanks you to the car. 
“Are you fucking serious?” his voice low. He gets you into the passenger seat and leans over to put your seatbelt on. 
“Acting like you care all of a sudden?” giggles fall from your lips and you tangle your fingers in his hair. He grabs your hand and places it on your lap before slamming the door shut. 
“Are you fucking stupid?” Aegon turns to you and you sit there trying to stifle your laughter. “Oh my fucking Gods.” his fingers dig into the steering wheel as he peels away from the house. He doesn’t care that you broke up two weeks ago, you're still his. 
“I’m surprised you’re even sober.” you roll your head to the side and look at him. “Fuck Aegon, you’re so pretty.” you watch his nostrils flare and you start to giggle again. 
“You’ve been calling me to pick you up almost every day.” he mutters. Of course he’s been sober, he needs to be there to come get you. This is your stupid game you’ve been playing. 
“Are you gonna take me home?” you turn in the seat. “Hm? Are you one of the guys that just wants my pussy?” you run your hands up your legs. 
“Who was the dude in the picture? I didn’t see him outside taking care of you like you said he was.” he turns to you at the stoplight.
“Just someone to make out with. He couldn’t touch me the way you do.” you pout your lips at him and he scoffs before turning his attention to the light turning green. 
“You’re the one who broke up with me.” he shakes his head. 
“So?” you turn to him and he stares straight ahead. The rest of the ride through his neighborhood is silent and you smile seeing him pull into the driveway of his house. 
“Out of the car.” he unbuckles both of your seatbelts and is waiting for you outside. You sit in the car and wait for him to open the door for you. A smile spreads across your face as he storms over to the door and pulls it open. “I will leave you out here.” you step out of the car and cling onto his arm. 
“I was just waiting for you to get the door for me. You used to be so sweet to me.” he tugs you into the front door. 
“Be quiet.” he hisses and starts to pull you up the stairs. 
“Are you mad at me?” you turn to him once he clicks his door shut. 
“Very.” you smile seeing his dark eyes. “You think this is funny? You throw yourself onto these fucking guys and have the audacity to send me a fucking picture? Fuck that.” his hand engulfs your face, pulling your chin up. 
“Aeg-“ 
“No.” he shakes his head covering your mouth with his hand. “I don’t want to hear it tonight. You’re just here for one thing so get on the bed. Go on.” he nods to the bed, removing his hands from you. “This is why you wore this little dress, right?” you lay on the bed on your back. 
“Please,” you whine looking up at him. You start to spread your thighs and he groans before grabbing your leg and flipping you onto your stomach. 
“Ass up.” he taps your thighs. “Pull your dress up.” he clenches his jaw seeing the wet spot on your panties as you push your ass back towards him. You turn your head and watch his features darken. “I don’t even know why you broke up with me if you’re just going to beg for me to fuck you everyday still.” he slides his fingers down over your panties. 
“Why are you so wet?” he chuckles, pulling your panties to the side. “Hm? I thought you hated me. Why’s your pussy crying for me then? Begging me to fuck you the way you like.” you whimper at his words as he pushes two fingers into you. You rock your hips back onto his fingers and he brings his thumb down to circle your bud. His fingers move quicker as you softly roll your hips into his hand. You hear the shuffle of clothes and suddenly his fingers have disappeared. 
“Aegon,” you gasp as he slams into you. He leans over you, pressing you into his bed as he hammers into you. 
“This is what you wanted?” he grunts into your ear as you push back into him. You cry out his name and he chuckles pushing your head into the mattress. “You think those fucking losers at that party know what you like? How to fuck you so you’re nice and sweet for them?” his words cause more pleasure to pool in your lower stomach. 
“Please, just like that.” your hand grabs for his arm pressed onto your back. He lets out a low chuckle and his pace becomes almost nonexistent. “Please,” you whine pressing back into him. “Please, please,” your nails dig into his arm. 
“Gods you should fucking hear yourself.” he slowly rolls his hips into you. “Maybe I should stop letting you come when you come over. Just use this little pussy for my pleasure.” you whimper at his words. “But the feeling of you squeezing me so tightly is something I’ll want forever.” he whispers before he starts to pound into you again. 
There’s no coherent words coming out of your mouth as you slide against his bed as he slams into you. The sounds of skin on skin is in competition with the sounds of your wetness seeping out of you. His low words have your toes curling and with every snap of his hips your pleasure spirals closer to the edge. 
“If you wanna come ask.” he grunts. “I know you’re about to.” his hands grip your waist. 
“Can I,” you gasp as his hand lands on your ass. “Can I come, Aegon? Please.” your pleasure is on the cusp and you won’t be able to hold it off for much longer. “Aegon please, yes,” his hand lands on your ass once more. 
“Then come.” he rasps pounding into you. You fall apart around him crying out his name. “Fuck you feel so good.” his fingers dig into your skin promising bruises in the morning. “I’m gonna ruin this dress so you can’t wear it out.” you whine as he slips out of you. You turn and watch him fist himself before he starts to paint his pleasure across the back of your dress and on your ass. 
“Aegon,” you whine scrunching your brows. 
“I don’t give a fuck about this dress or your whining.” he laughs collapsing on the bed next to you. 
“I want you to fuck me again.” you turn your head to him with a pout. 
“I’m sure you do.” he chuckles watching you sit up on your knees. “Take your dress off. I don’t need it to make a mess in my bed.” you start to pull off your dress watching Aegon lick his lips at every inch of exposed skin. 
“Fuck me. Please Aegon.” you straddle his hips and start to slide against him. “Please, please.” you lean down to kiss him and he turns his head. 
“No kissing. We’re not together anymore.” you groan, burying your head in his neck while starting to roll your hips. 
“Just one kiss?” you whine feeling him start to harden. 
“No.” he chuckles, enjoying your desperation. You press your lips against his neck as you continue to rock against him. Aegon tries his hardest to hold himself together but your soft whimpers and small kisses are slowly making him lose his composure. “Then line me up so you can fuck yourself on me.” he grits out through his teeth. 
“Thank you.” you kiss his neck quickly before grabbing his length. Aegon groans as you sink down onto him. You lean back down and start to slowly bounce against him. “I wanna kiss you so bad, Aeg.” your words a question. 
“That sucks.” you furrow your brows as you stop your movements. 
“I hate you.” you dig your nails into his chest. “You should be quiet. I hate you.” you slam your hand over his mouth and you watch his eyebrows raise. You lean down as you start to move again and look at him. “All you’re good for is your dick. I hate you so much.” your words start to slur as you start to bounce faster. 
His hips jerk up to meet yours and with one hard thrust you fall against his chest. His arms wrap around your waist as he starts to slam his hips up into you. A gasp falls from your mouth as his fingers dig into your ass to push you down to meet his thrusts. Your hand moves from his mouth to dig into the sheets as he continues to pound up into you. 
“Can’t even fuck yourself on me properly. I always have to do it for you.” his words leave you whimpering in his neck. He stops his movements and you whine starting to grind against him. “Look at you so fucking desperate for me.” you slow your movements and half smile as he lets out a low groan. 
“You’re just as desperate.” your words breathy and soon lost as he flips you. Your legs wrap around his waist and he chuckles starting to push into you. His thrusts become more erratic and your fingers dig into his back. “Kiss me.” you pant and he dips his head down to hover over your lips. 
“No.” his lips barely brush yours but it leaves you trembling. His hair curtains around your face as you stare at each other getting lost in the feeling. His hips snap into you and your breath catches as your pleasure pulses through you. “Fuck.” his eyes shut and you feel his warmth spread. 
“I hate you.” you’re still clinging against him. He unwraps your legs and lets them fall open on the bed before rolling off of you. You watch him pull the blankets up and tug some for yourself. 
“Yeah. Go to bed.” he mumbles rolling over. 
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masterlist 🔌 
idek 🫠 
taglist ✍️
@clarityisnofun @gabriella-aesthetic @callsignwidow @llynx7 @violetiss3lfish @ka1afbr @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @thatgirl101blog @1-fuzzy-squirrels @arya-brooke @ashovertheriver @zanygot7straykidsbonk @moonymoo1 @malfoycassimalfoy @april-notthemonth69 @anaviieiraaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @neocockthotology @thereaderwitch @hardkiddonut @faenyra @hiimava11 @daintylittlesunflower @primroseluna @fiction-fanfic-reader @povofjustme @multilover19 @alexxavicry @cedstars @fuckalrighty @mrsmunson-harrington @misspendragonsworld @nz2004 @ninihrtss
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jhilsara · 3 days ago
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Of Bookstore, Coffees, and Late Nights pt. 3
Sunshine!Reader/Southern!Reader/Plus Sized!Reader
Pairing: Fem!reader x Spencer Reid
Summary: Another year goes by and your friendship with Spencer is better than ever… too bad its a rough year. A birthday surprise, another Halloween adventure together (but make it a musical), Sister fights, and you finally find out what Spencer's day job is.
Word Count: 11.5k
Warnings: Canon typical BAU themes, sick family members, bank robbery, Season 7 finale
Previous|Next
The one where Spencer turns 30  
Spencer hasn’t left his apartment much lately. Besides going out for calls at the BAU and working on finding Ian Doyle, he doesn’t have much energy for anything else. Except for the new doctor he was seeing for his migraines. She was actually helpful in comparison to the others he had seen.   
It’s only been four months since Emily Prentiss died and Spencer doesn’t feel any lighter. He just seems to be spending more time debating on whether he’d feel better if he started using again. At least he’d be numb. Feeling numb sounded better than being miserably sad at the loss of one of his closest friends. He knows in the back of his mind, if he did start using dilaudid again he wouldn’t be able to truly put his all into the Ian Doyle investigation. That’s what keeps him content to stay sober.   
Spencer hasn’t visited the bookstore, not nearly as much as he used to. It’s enough to cause worry so you’ve started to call him at least once a week. He’s sure that you probably wanted to call every day. You worry and fret over him, and he knows it’s just a part of who you are, but he doesn’t feel deserving of the attention.   
Especially when you take it upon yourself to visit occasionally.   
He always opens the door for you, he can’t help it, he doesn’t want to worry you. Even though when he looks at your face, he sees the clear concern behind your eyes.   
He always knows when it’s you because your warmth and brightness almost roll off in waves that gently brush and seep under the doorway. You’re a force of nature. One where you shed some color into his incredibly bleak world.   
The only other friend who checks on him in the same kind of way would be Penelope. Which, she’s grieving in a very different way. It’s also hard for any of them to talk about Emily together without it being tainted by their Doyle investigation. He knows this isn’t a healthy coping mechanism, but he’ll be damned if he stops looking for the man that took away part of his family.    
There’s an ease and tenderness that comes with you. You've never pushed him to tell you what’s wrong. You'll ask, always testing the waters, shaking his raft, but you never push. You don’t force him down into the depths of his own consuming thoughts. The ones where he thinks he’s drowning and can’t recover from. The ones where all of his intrusive thoughts prick at his brain like tiny needles, trying to prove nonexistent points.   
It wasn’t that you weren’t curious, because you definitely are. Sometimes when he closed off the conversation, he could see the hurt in your eyes. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you, because Spencer would trust you with anything, you’re his best friend outside of the BAU. He even spent last New Years with you and your dad, Big Joe. Well, mostly you had made dinner, they watched Big Joe’s favorite movie, which Spencer happily listened to him give all his endless movie knowledge. After you put your dad to bed, they went out to a bar for a few midnight drinks.    
Spencer just preferred to keep the FBI parts of his life out of his personal life. It’s been refreshing to not be a federal agent when he’s with you. If he had to explain everything about Ian Doyle and Emily’s death... he was slightly afraid you wouldn’t want him in your life anymore.    
Or worse, he’d endanger you like Hotch had with Haley...   
So, Spencer does what he truly does best, holds his feelings close to his chest with his secrets. If your smile faltered when he couldn’t tell you what was happening, he’d bite his tongue. He couldn’t lose another friend. Not you. Even if his secrets kept you at arm's length.   
-   
It’s a random day in the middle of August when Spencer finally walks back into the bookstore. It surprised you so much you ram yourself into the edge of the checkout counter. You curse under your breath but shoot him a hesitant smile.    
“Hey, haven’t seen you in a while.” you softly said as you placed the books down to give him your full attention. Almost approaching him like he is a wounded animal. 
Spencer nods, “world keeps spinning, life goes on.” he said with a small shrug and a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.   
He couldn’t tell you that his dead friend faked her death and was alive all along. Just in Paris... while two of his friends lied to his face. That absolutely isn’t a can of worms he’s willing to unload onto you. Not today, maybe not ever. He still had some anger to process that he doesn’t want to direct towards you. Spencer takes a deep breath and starts walking toward the cafe.    
You followed after him and smiled brightly. “Well, I’m glad to see you anyway.” you touch his shoulder lightly. “I’ve been worried about you.” you said warmly as you move behind the counter to make him a coffee.    
“I didn’t want to worry you,” He starts to rebuttal, but you cut him off.    
“I was going to worry regardless; I don’t know how to turn it off unfortunately.” you tried to joke lightly.    
Spencer just furrows his brows, “Do you worry about everything?” he asked. It comes across harsher than he means it to, but it rolls off your back.    
“No, just about people. I’m worried about Birdie, like all the time, not to mention dad. I’m also constantly thinking about my coworkers, Josie... My friends in Georgia...” you pause and bites your lip.    
“That probably sounds like I don’t do anything else besides worry.”    
“It sounds like anxiety.” he deadpanned.    
You shrugged and offered him his coffee. “Probably.”    
“Oh! Spencer, since you’re here!” you quickly change the subject whirling around to the computer, “Do me a favor and sign up for our new rewards program. I need a test guinea pig to make sure it actually tracks the points.”    
Spencer nods and waits. You swiftly tap information into the computer screen.    
“It’s only a few questions,” you murmured, “Full name...Spencer Reid. Date of birth-” you froze looking up at Spencer.   
“I don’t know your birthday.” you said it like it was a genuine surprise and frown. “We’ve known each other for almost three years, how do I not know your birthday?”   
Spencer gave a soft chortle of amusement, “I’ve never been in town for my birthday. I’m weirdly always out for work. Besides-” he shrugged. “I don’t know yours either.”    
You dramatically groan. “I cannot believe I didn’t know this! Birthdays are so important!”    
Spencer tilts his head curiously, “I didn’t know you liked birthdays that much?”   
“Don’t you? It’s the one day to truly celebrate a person. I mean you don’t need a day to do that, but doesn’t everyone want to feel special just one day? I mean you make your way around life another year and you should earn just a little treat for it! Living sucks sometimes.” you said matter of factly.    
You're so passionate as you talk, Spencer almost forgets it’s even about birthdays.     
Spencer paused before his brain autofill's information like a search engine, “Did you know that the birthday celebration actually started in ancient Egypt with Pharoh's? It wasn’t for common folk at all. They acted as a coronation for a Pharoh. Greeks and Romans adopted them for their worship of the gods but really, individual birthdays weren’t well known. For a long time in history.” Spencer info dumps what he knew and smiled triumphantly.    
You nod, listening, you always listened to Spencer when he had the wealth of knowledge to just disperse whenever. It was charming.   
“Sooooooo, what I’m hearing is, we should celebrate everyone like they are their own gods?” you tease him.   
Spencer rolls his eyes, “Not what I meant.”    
You hummed in amusement, “Well, I’ll be the judge of that.” You smiled, like you had a secret. “What’s your birthday Spencer?”    
“October 12th 1981.” He tells you with a sigh.    
You plug it into the computer, and you realize quickly that Spencer’s about to turn 30. You looked up at him, “That’s only a few months away. Makes sense it’s October.”    
Spencer fakes a dramatic gasp as he looks at you in shock, “What’s that supposed to mean?”    
You give him a deadpan look as you finish typing in the rest of his information. “It means- that for someone who loves Halloween it doesn’t surprise me you were born in October.”    
“What’s your e-mail?” you asked him.    
“I only have my work one and I’m not using that for your rewards program.” He said in fake exasperation, “By your logic,” he picked back up their conversation, “that means you also were born in October.”    
You make a fake buzzer noise, “Nope!” you pop the P. “Try again.”   
Spencer raises a brow, “There is a 1 in 365 chance for me to guess right. That’s not even one percent.”    
“Do you care if I just put in my e-mail? We’re just testing it, I’m doing it anyway.” you tap away at the computer, “Also- ever heard of a zodiac sign? Thats at least like 1 in 12 chances. Better odds.” you gave him a pointed look.   
Spencer rolls his eyes. “Are you seriously making me guess zodiac signs?”    
You wiggled your brows, “What? The genius doesn’t believe in the fate of the stars.” you smirked to yourself as you typed away at the computer.   
“Do you actively want me to stereotype you?” He asked with a teasing smile of his own.   
“Tik tok, it’s either guess the sign or the date.” you joke.    
“You’re stubborn enough, let’s say Taurus.” he replied with a snark.    
You rolled your eyes and made a tsk sound, “Nice try, but WRONG. I’m a Cancer. A summertime baby even though I hate hate hate summer.” you groan thinking about the heat.    
“Then your logic definitely doesn’t make sense.” He laughed in exasperation.   
You shrugged, “never said I was right.”    
Spencer glared playfully, “No but it was implied.”   
You just brush him off. Finishing up the rewards program. “I think it works. It should track your drink purchases, and every tenth drink is free!” you said excitedly.    
“You never charge me for my drinks.” He reminded you with a look of mild confusion.   
“Shhhh, don’t let the other customers know I have favorites! They’ll get their feelings hurt!”    
-   
You’ve been scheming since you found out Spencer’s birthday. 30 was a milestone and you weren’t about to let him go by without even an itsy bitsy teenie weenie celebration. You weren’t going to throw a surprise party or anything. After the fiasco that was a friend's surprise party when they were 21 you vowed to never again. The last thing you had expected was for everyone to find out that your friend's roommate was cheating. Screaming surprise to a pair of twentysomethings trying to eat each other’s faces and their actual boyfriend being in the room was rough.    
You learned no more surprises the hard way.   
The only surprise you had was you were determined to have Josie bake one of her delicious cakes for him. You begged Josie, just a small chocolate cake with a gorgeous violet frosting. Nothing too insane, Josie just was the best baker you knew. Her cakes were to die for, but most of her pastries were.    
Josie agreed, but only if you agreed to take the deposits to the bank for the Holiday season. You lived closer and Josie hated dealing with the general population outside of what she had already seen during the holidays.     
You've been hiding Spencer’s cake in the back freezer for a day, hoping he wouldn’t be out of town for his birthday. You had called him earlier in the week and asked him to swing by on Wednesday if he could. You had told him you really needed a taste tester for your new Halloween treat. Sugar was Spencer’s weakness.    
You're pacing back and forth, trying to not be on edge, but you’re riddled with so much excitement it’s hard. You've been decorating the new display case filled with Halloween themed books. You are hanging up a garland in the window display when you see Spencer walking down the street.    
You quickly finished hanging up your ghost garland and quickly ran to the back freezer to get his cake out to let it defrost a bit. You throw candles and a lighter on the counter in the back room and you try to make sure everything is set and ready to go.    
The bell rings all the way through to the back and you compose yourself before stepping out again. You stick your head out the back door that divides the cafe from the back kitchen and waves to Spencer.    
“Back here!” you shout.   
The bookstore only had a few patrons tonight, none of which were happily there to hang out or study. They were perusing the isles, and you had already given them a few recommendations of books. You know an insomniac when you see one, and these people were the kind that needed something besides the empty fridge to look at for their late-night brain. It was later than normal, around two in the morning, when Spencer came walking in.    
“I almost thought you weren’t coming by tonight.” you tease leaning against the counter.    
“It was a late work trip.” He said with a tired smile.    
“Well, I have a treat for you. Taste testing if you will.” you said, turning to the back room.    
“I need you to close your eyes though. I’m really proud of it.”    
Spencer rolls his eyes at your antics but does as you’ve asked.    
“No peaking!” you shouted, and Spencer could hear the door to the back close behind you.    
You check the cake, and it's good to go. The back freezer wasn’t cold enough to freeze it solid, so the cake is still easy to cut. you press the candles into the top, a three and a zero to make 30. You slowly light the candles and back up to bring the cake out. You gently set it down in front of Spencer, who’s just standing there with his eyes closed and a goofy grin.     
“Okay, open.”    
Spencer opens his eyes, and he looks stunned. His mouth just kind of hangs open like a gaping fish before he murmured, “This isn’t a Halloween treat...”    
“Happy birthday Spencer.” you whisper looking at his reaction and trying to gauge it. “I didn’t make your cake, Josie did, but I promise her cakes are the very best.”    
Spencer was stunned into silence. He truly didn’t expect you to remember his birthday, or know he was turning 30. Hell, even his team wasn’t aware it was his birthday until Emily told them. Which, he does appreciate her listening to him. He was having a crisis over his own accomplishments.   
You start getting antsy when Spencer doesn’t respond. He’s standing there with his mouth open. You start rambling, “I just thought, you know, 30 is a big deal! It’s a milestone and I didn’t get to celebrate your past two birthdays so I thought this would be a nice treat... I know I didn’t ask if you even like surprises, but it was so small-”    
Spencer cuts her off.    
“Sorry, I just... thank you.” He tells you with a soft smile. “I love it.”    
Your eyes light up and you brush your hair out of your face. The nerves leaving your body.    
“Make a wish Spencer.”    
Spencer doesn’t have to think about it as he blows out his candles.    
“What did you wish for?” you asked, grabbing a knife to cut his cake.    
Spencer raised a brow, “Well if I tell you, it won’t come true.”    
You roll your eyes, “Didn’t peg you to be superstitious.”    
Spencer just shrugged at that and bit his lip. If his wish had to do with you, well, you didn’t need to know.    
The one about Rocky Horror Picture Show  
Spencer’s sorting through the collection of DVD’s you’ve brought over for their movie night. You brought an eclectic mixed taste of Halloween movies, from Hocus Pocus to Insidious. Spencer pauses on Rocky Horror Picture Show and you make a noise of excitement.    
“Oh, we should watch it! I’m going to the showing next weekend and I’m so excited.” you said, reaching for the bowl of popcorn.    
“I didn’t know they still showed it in movie theaters, I’ve never been.” he said casually popping open the case to grab the DVD.   
“What do you mean you haven’t seen Rocky Horror Picture Show? It’s like quintessentially a Halloween staple.” you said in abject horror.    
Spencer is once again being berated for his lack of pop culture knowledge. To be fair, he does know the movie. So, he isn’t fully aware of why you are looking at him like he has two heads.   
“I’ve seen the movie. I know what it is.” He gives a scoff and shakes his head.    
“No, that’s not what I mean. Why haven’t you ever been to a local show? It’s iconic!” you said exaggeratedly.   
Spencer rolled his eyes. “My job doesn’t always let me preplan my events well. Besides, it can’t be much different than watching the movie at home.” He said turning to press play on the DVD player.   
You audibly gasp standing up from the couch.    
“Spencer Reid, that is blasphemous! You are absolutely coming with me to a viewing of Rocky Horror, like immediately.” you demand planting your hands on your hips and shooting him a playful glare.    
“What makes it so different?” He cocked his head in confusion, brows furrowed. “It’s a musical from the 70’s that barely makes sense in the plot line and some of the verbiage is really outdated, borderline offensive really.” He states matter of factly.   
You sighed, “You don’t understand art! It’s about the experience of the show, it’s such a great time going to a live show and seeing everyone in costume and singing together, chanting, using props! It’s one of the best things to be in a room of similar people just having fun.” you told him in a dreamy voice.   
Spencer nodded, still not fully getting your image, moving to go sit on the couch, “I didn’t know they were so... performative.”    
“They are some of my favorite shows I’ve been to. Especially bringing new people.” you plop back down on the couch next to him.    
“Why?” he asked, turning to watch the opening credits, leaning down to grab his late-night coffee that wasn’t nearly as good as what you make in the cafe.   
“Because they’re virgins.” You said it like it was so obvious. Like it was a fact as simple as the sky is blue.   
Spencer almost chokes on his coffee.    
“Excuse me?” he asks a little baffled.    
You roll your eyes, “When someone is brought to a live show and they’ve never been, they’re a virgin. There’s even a silly virgin ritual that’s super fun. The whole nights a blast.”    
Spencer goes quiet, his face bursting into a red flush, “It’s not... it’s not like a sex thing, is it?”    
Your laugh filters through his apartment bright and loud. You shake your head, “God no Spencer! I’m not going to some crazy orgy almost every year.”    
Spencer started coughing and looked at you with wide eyes, “I wasn’t implying that you- I-... shit.”    
You just shake your head still trying to control your laughter, “Well you have to come with me now Spencer, to heal my wounded ego. I’m going on Halloween. Dress up please?” you asked with a bat of your lashes.   
Spencer covers his face in embarrassment but nods, “Okay, okay, okay. I’ll go. Can we please just watch the movie now?”    
“Can do.” you snickered settling back into the comfort of his couch.   
-   
Before you can leave, you have a few things you need to check first. Spencer is picking you up to walk to the theater together, which is sweet. You go to check on your dad before leaving.    
You knock gently on your father's door before opening it a crack, “Daddy?” you whisper.   
Big Joe is passed out in his bed, the television still playing faintly in the background of some sports game. His snores letting you know he was out for the night.   
You shake your head with a sigh before going in to turn off his television and giving him a soft kiss on the cheek.    
“Love you, I’ll be back later.” you whispered.     
You check your outfit one last time in the mirror, looking at her Janet inspired pajamas. She was wearing tights, a silk slip dress, and wrapped in a similar silk night gown. You were going as Janet in her under garments, but something you were okay with wearing in public. You throw your long coat over it to keep yourself warm.    
You hear Spencer’s gentle knock on the door, and you quickly move to grab the last few items. You grab your large tote bag, double checking to make sure you have all the props you wanted to bring. You look in your wallet to make sure you have both tickets, and you feel confident.    
You slide on your heels and open the door to greet Spencer.    
“Hey! I’m ready.” you greet excitedly, moving to close the door behind you.   
You look at Spencer and see he’s dressed as Brad from the start of the movie, glasses and all. You grin as you tilt your head.    
“I didn’t know you wear glasses?” you said with a tiny smile pointing at his face.   
Spencer shrugged, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” he said holding out his arm for you.    
“A gentleman too!” you faked a gasp as you wrapped your arms around his. “To the theater!” you proclaim with an exaggerated drawl of your accent.   
It’s not the shortest of walks, but the duo arrives at the theater only a little chilly. Mostly you, even under your coat. You present the tickets, and they are quickly ushered inside. You immediately relax, feeling the warmth of the heater.    
You move to hang up your coat on the rake and Spencer catches what your actual costume is. His face flushed a bit.    
“You, you look great.” He almost chokes on his words as he compliments you.    
You do a little spin, your loose robe fanning out around you. “Thought it would be cute and comfy!” you tell him with a proud smile.    
You come back up to Spencer to link their arms together again, “Come on let’s go find our seats! I wanna make sure I have the props in the right order.” you looked up at him with unbridled excitement that’s just too contagious.    
Spencer just gives a nod, “Lead the way, Janet.”    
“Aren’t you just a peach Brad!” you responded without missing a beat.    
Everything about this movie experience is the exact opposite of what Spencer would expect when going to see a film. Almost everyone in the crowd was dressed and just as many were carrying around props.    
Your bag was filled with rice, newspapers, playing cards, he was honestly impressed by the Mary Poppins effect. He couldn’t see the bottom and every time you pulled something out, he really thought you had hit the end.   
The Time Warp plays, and you drag him out of his seat to dance together. The whole room ignited into a loud cacophony of singing. Your laughter is the only sound he can hear pierce through, and he finds himself smiling alongside you.    
Once that musical number ends, they almost fall back into their seats, you lean closer to him and whispers in his ear, “Are you having fun?”   
He turns and nods, bending down to grab some left-over rice to toss at you playfully. “It’s a blast.” he laughs.   
You squeeze his arm, “I’m glad.”    
The evening is chaotic, loud, and so so so messy. By the time the movie ends the theater is a real mess. You grab as many of the large props as you can and shove them back into your bag, trying to make the clean-up at least a bit easier.    
Once they’re outside, and you’re wrapped back up in your coat, Spencer takes a deep breath.    
“Soooooooooo?” you start, giving him an expectant look.   
“I had a lot of fun. I totally get the theater experience.” He chuckled looking over at you.   
“Good! Maybe we can make it a tradition.” You said giving him a gently nudge with your elbow.   
“You mean add more activities to our Halloween calendar? How will we ever find room!” He says in jest.    
You shrugged lazily with a dramatic sigh. “We’re just too festive Spencer.”   
“Clearly, we’re going to have to start Halloween in September next year.” He suggested.   
“Oh, that would give me something to look forward to!” you said in excitement.   
Spencer walks you home and drops you off at the foot of the apartment.    
“Thanks again Spencer. It was so much fun going with someone again.” you tell him with a soft smile. “I haven’t been able to go with anyone since we moved here.”   
Spencer steps forward to brush your hair out of your face, “I love spending Halloween with you.” he whispered.   
Your face bursts into a deep flush as you can feel your heart almost beat out of your chest. “Goodnight Spencer.”   
“Goodnight, Y/N.”   
The one where Birdie visits  
You're cleaning some dishes left over from breakfast when the doorbell rings. You sigh, knowing it’s far too early for Spencer to come by to pick you up for lunch. It has to be Bridget. Her timing couldn’t have been more perfect, since you had just dropped your father off for a checkup.   
Your baby sister had called last night asking if their dad would be home tomorrow. You were too hopeful to think that meant Bridget was trying to spend time with their dad. It’s like pulling teeth trying to get Bridget to spend some time with their dad. Since he’s been diagnosed it’s almost like she can’t stand to be in the same room as him. Big Jo tries to not let it hurt his feelings, but you see his face and how he deflates.    
The day she came by, and he was in a wheelchair, it was like they’d both been hit by a truck.    
You plant a forced smile on your face as you answer the door, “I thought you were coming by later? When daddy would be here.”    
Your sister shakes her head, shoving her hands into her coat pocket. “Nope, I just needed to stop by before I started running my errands for the day.” she said calmly.    
“Well come in, come on, it’s freezing.” You step aside to let your sister in. Bridget quickly sheds her coat and scarf hanging them on the rack next to the door.    
“Magpie, did you pack any of my stuff when you moved daddy up here?” Bridget asks, walking into the kitchen and making herself a glass of water.    
“Come on in, fix yourself a drink, don’t mind your sister... by the way do you have my junk?” you mock crossing your arms as you raise your brow at your younger sister.    
“I didn’t mean it like that, I’m just in a hurry.” Bridget replied rolling her eyes.    
“Well, what are you looking for Birdie?” you asked.    
“I told you, it’s Bri.” She murmured with a sour face. “I can’t find any of my old high school stuff.” she said casually.    
You lean against the counter, “I didn’t take any of that stuff. I just packed up the essentials.”    
“So, my stuff is in a storage unit?” Bridget asked irritated.    
“No Birdie, it’s all still at the house in Georgia. I have Aunt Jo taking care of it. All your stuffs at home.” you replied exasperated.    
“Aunt Josephine? I thought she was like... a recluse?” Bridget asked, making a scrunched face.   
You roll your eyes, “No, Aunt Jo just never liked Lauren, so she never came around.”    
“God, can you just call her mom Magpie? I hate it when you call momma Lauren... it’s weird.” Bridget said defensively.    
You look up at Bridget with a raised brow, “I’m good, thanks. That would involve her having to stick around to be my mom.”   
“I’m not getting into this with you again.” Bridget says in a huff of frustration hitting the counter with her hands.    
“Fine.”   
“Fine.”   
Silence settles over the two sisters, and you go to open the fridge to grab a prepackaged cold coffee.    
“Soooooooooo,” you drawl out as you open the drink.    
Bridget looks at you with a suspicious look.    
“What are your Christmas plans?” you ask, trying to be casual.    
“Jamie and I are going to see momma in Florida. We’ve had these plans for a while.” She said defensively not making eye contact.   
“Birdie come on, you haven’t spent the past few Christmases with daddy, and if you did see him, it was for twenty minutes or a crummy half assed phone call.” you plead, throwing your hand up in emphasis.   
“Y/N, I didn’t come here for a lecture, I just needed to know if you packed my shit when you decided to pack up all our lives and move out to DC without asking me.” Bridget murmurs bitterly under her breath.   
Your brows furrow as you’re taken aback by your sister.    
“Bridget, I didn’t pack up everyone's lives- we still have the house in Georgia!" You said mildly irritated.   
Bridget just rolls her eyes and puts her glass in the sink. “Whatever...” She murmured.   
You feel that small part of yourself, the one that gnaws and claws bubbling under your skin, poke itself to the surface. “What was I supposed to do? I had to make a decision for dad’s health!” you feel your voice rising in irritation that only your sister can bring out of you.   
“Besides, I wasn’t the one who moved to DC to run away from her family.” you state bitterly.   
“Oh, come off it!” Bridget throws her hands up in defeat. “I’m not running away-this was the best program for me, and you know that!”   
“Then what do you call never seeing dad! You even called to ask if he was home before you came today, Birdie, just so you could avoid him... What would you call that?” you feel your voice raising and can’t stop the vitriol that spits out of your mouth at your sister.   
There’s a pit in the bottom of your stomach that twists and churns when it comes to your sister and your dad. You had tried so hard to get her to understand that their father was dying. They’re already lucky with the years they’ve gotten. He’s beaten the odds, but he can’t go on forever. You don’t understand how Bridget can just act like life is normal when every day could be their dad’s last.   
“It’s not my fault daddy’s sick!” Bridgit shouts, her own voice cracking, “It’s not my fault you’ve given up your own life to be his caretaker! So, stop blaming me for living my life, while you’re stuck here playing nurse!”    
“I’m not blaming you-”   
“Yes, you are! You always blame me-”   
“No, I don’t Bridget! If anything, I’m jealous about how selfish you can be!” you feel the words tumbling out of your mouth like bile before you can stop herself. You're so angry and sad all the time. It’s not fair that you’re so aware of your father’s mortality while your baby sister gets to run around and live her carefree life.    
“I just wish you’d think about the fact that daddy is dying!”    
The silence that falls between them is thick, the tension tight, about to break. Bridget looks at her sister with hatred, “I’m very aware he’s dying Y/N... I’m not stupid.” she whispers out in a hard tone.    
Bridget turns around to grab her coat and rushes quickly to the door.    
You dig your heels in more, the words almost vomiting out your mouth in fierce resentment, “Go on Bridget, run away like you always do! I’ve been taking care of dad alone, anyway, not like he has two daughters!” your voice peaks and cracks in frustration.    
You blink away the fat angry tears pricking your eyes.   
Bridget turns on her heels to face her older sister, flipping you off, “Fuck you!” she hisses out in a venomous tone.   
Bridget elbows her way past the man in front of her almost knocking him down as she runs off.    
You rush to the door, about to yell something else after her when you see Spencer standing to the side in shock.    
Your shoulders drop and you look ashamed, closing your mouth tightly. You take a deep breath.    
“How much of that did you hear?” you asked quietly.    
You can’t find it in yourself to look up at Spencer yet, embarrassed by your own unbridled rage.    
He moves to push you gently back inside, “enough...” he replied softly closing the door behind him.    
“C’mon sit down.” He gently moves you to the couch, forcing you to sit down.    
He disappears into the kitchen for a short while and you sit on the couch looking at your lap. You feel the wave of resentment you were holding onto leave and be replaced with the intense sorrow that follows. The tears that were building finally fell, landing on your lap as you sobbed, trying to hold back your voice. Your throat feels tight as you sit there trying to hold yourself together, to not scream your lungs out.    
You feel the sofa dip next to you and a small mug is pushed into your hands. It’s warm tea.   
“There’s a lot of honey in there, I wasn’t thinking so it might be too sweet.” he said softly.    
You just shake your head and sniffle, trying to compose yourself. “No such thing...” you tried to joke, moving the cup to your mouth, your hands shaking the whole time.    
A sob escapes you before you can even drink the tea.    
“I’m sorry,” you tried to say, the tears just sliding down your face, you look up at Spencer your lip quivering and eyes red.    
Spencer gently grabs the tea and puts it on the coffee table before he opens his arms for you, and it doesn’t take but a short second before your face is in Spencer’s chest bawling.   
He wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly, rubbing soothing circles into your back. Your body shakes from crying, you sound like a small child with how the sobs rip through your throat.    
Spencer holds you until you calm down enough, he finally feels you stop shaking.   
“Do you feel better now?” he whispers.    
You pulled back and tried to dry your eyes, you could already feel the puffiness settling.    
“No...” you murmured pitifully. “I feel worse, like I’m a bitch.” You look up at Spencer and see the massive wet stain from your tears.   
“Sorry,” you point to his shirt, “didn’t mean to unload all of that on you. I thought you were coming later?” you said in a tiny voice.    
“I was running early so I thought I’d just drop by, was that... Bridget?” he asked in a soft voice.    
You nodded. “We were fighting about dad... again.” you admit finally grabbing your cup of tea that he made you.    
Spencer face makes a silent ‘Oh’ as he nods in understanding.    
“It sounded pretty bad.” he replied.   
You groan, “I don’t like fighting about it. I don’t like fighting at all!” you said facing him. “We used to get along great, then... I don’t know. Everything changed when our parents divorced, and the gap just never stopped growing... Now there’s this great divide I can’t seem to reach across and...” you pause, taking a deep breath trying to stop the words from just falling out of your mouth. Exposing your raw skin that you’ve picked at so much your bones are exposed telling your story.   
“I know she thinks I hate her for living her life.” You sigh looking at Spencer, who’s just been sitting and kindly listening. Attentively. “I do sometimes resent how carefree she is... but” you bite your lip.   
“Spencer, I’m so scared that when dad dies... it’ll just,” you scoffed, “Me and that god forsaken bookstore.”   
“I don’t want to lose them both.” you said, your eyes brimming with tears again.    
If there was anything Spencer felt confident that he could do, it was helping you handle loss. He’s experienced it enough.   
“You won’t be alone.” He tells you confidently; he reaches out to hold your hands tightly. “I’ll be here.” he reassured you.    
“If there’s anything I’ve learned, everyone handles grief differently. Bridget...she might not be able to handle how sick your dad is.” Spencer tried to reason, anything to make you feel less alone.   
“Avoiding it won’t make it go away...” you muttered.    
“No, and she’ll eventually see that. You can’t force her to confront that fear.” he said pushing your hair behind her ear.    
“It’s so hard, how do you do it? Alone with your mom?” you asked softly.    
Spencer loses his breath for a moment before he swallows. Trying to find an answer.    
“Well, she has doctors she trusts now. And a home that she feels safe in... but I spent my childhood taking care of her.”    
Spencer scoffs, “I resent my father, he left a child alone to take care of a sick mother? He never helped me.”    
You give him a soft nudge with your shoulder, “my mom's pretty shitty too.”    
Spencer gives a hollow chuckle, “Does everyone have a shitty parent?” he asks, squeezing your hand.   
You lay your head on his shoulder, “There has to be good parents... we just- we got unlucky.” you whisper.   
“Maybe we did...” He murmured.    
Silence settles between them and it’s calming, not the tense air that was with Bridget.    
“You never told me what happened with your mom.”   
You tense up.    
“It’s not a story I like telling...” you sighed, “When I was thirteen, I overheard my parents arguing. Long story short, my mom cheated on my dad. Bridget was so young, like six, so when they divorced, they tried to lie to us. That it was mutual. Civil... I knew the truth though; I couldn’t look at my mom the same after that." you told him with a bitter smile.    
“I already lost my mom; I just couldn’t take away Birdie’s...”    
“You never told her?” he asked in surprise.    
“It wasn’t for me to tell. I just, I was a teenager...I wanted to protect her you know? She didn’t need the bitterness that bites at the back of my throat every time I see that woman.”   
Spencer nods in understanding. “You know, you’re allowed to feel angry. You don’t have to be agreeable or happy about everything. It’s okay to get mad sometimes.” His hand moves up to gently brush your hair.    
You don’t respond to his statement, just try to not cry anymore.    
“Can we go get lunch now?” you asked after a few minutes of silence.    
“Anywhere you want.”   
The one where you find out Spencer works for the FBI   
It’s a rough morning.   
Massively rough, actually. Your alarm didn’t go off and if it wasn’t for Spencer calling you, you’d still be heavily sleeping.    
You roll over to grab your phone and answer it.    
“Hello?” your voice comes out groggy, slow, and thick with sleep.    
“Hey! You still want to go to the convention? I’m leaving soon and I can swing by to grab you.” Spencer’s voice comes through.    
You panic, and shots up staring at your bedside clock. “Oh god, Spencer I’m so sorry! I slept in!” You jump out of your bed and almost trip over your own clothes strewn on the floor from the night before.    
“It’s okay- I can wait if you need me to-”   
“No, no no! You were so excited, don’t wait up!” You interrupt him as you throw clothes from your closet around trying to find something you want to wear.    
“It’s no big deal.” Spencer started to answer but you sighed.    
“Spencer are you already dressed?” you pressed, grabbing one of your comfortable but cute skirts and a simple sweater. You throw them on your bed.   
His silence is enough of an answer.    
“You are.” you sighed and shook your head, “I have to go to the shop and pick up the money to deposit for the bank today. I’ll just meet up with you later. Promise. I just have to run this errand first.” you told him with a soft tone.   
You hear his small huff, “It’s really not a big deal,”    
“Spencer” you chastise him. “You’re already ready to go. I’ll probably just take a little over an hour. Then I'll be there, okay? Just do a few laps in the artist alley for me.” you tell him teasingly.    
You can almost hear him rolling his eyes. “Fine, but you owe me a coffee.”    
“I always do.” you joked before hanging up.    
You rush through putting on your makeup and throwing your clothes on. You gave yourself a quick once over before deciding that you can’t waste any more time. You looked decent enough.   
You rushed down the stairs and came around the corner to see your dad sitting at the kitchen table.    
“You sure you’re okay without me today?” you asked him, leaning down to kiss your dad on the cheek.    
Her dad huffs, “I told you I can handle one day. Magpie, go out. You haven’t been out in months for fun.” He grunted in his deep voice, slurring his words together.    
“I’m just asking daddy!” you snorted a soft laugh. “I want to make sure you don’t need anything before I leave.” you told him.    
Her dad’s been able to move himself in and out of his own wheelchair for the most part, but you’re waiting for the day he can’t.    
You’re waiting for the day your daddy can’t do most things.   
“Don’t worry about me, I’m gonna watch the Brave’s game today and I better see them win.” He mumbled nodding to you.    
You roll your eyes, “Don’t hold your breath on that one. I love you.”   
“Love you too pumpkin.”    
You grab your bag, “Be safe!” He hollers at you.    
“I always am!” you shout back to him before leaving for the bookstore.    
-   
You are checking your watch in a mild panic. You’re not super off on the time you gave Spencer, but you still hate making him wait. You should have just taken the money deposit on Friday, but you were so sleepy you barely could do more than take your dad to his appointment.    
You huffed in frustration, you only had yourself to blame.    
You're finally up to deposit the stores money, and you thank the gods above. Then your, already bad day, goes terrible.   
“Hey!”   
Gun shots. Gun shots go off and you are frozen, your brain going into fight or flight. You turn quickly and see a woman with a short bob holding a gun and the security guard is on the ground, blood pooling beneath his body.    
You feel your stomach fall out of your body and you’re shuffled with the crowd trying to get out. It feels like a blur.   
“I want to see hands in the sky!” a new voice shouts.   
Your hands go up, you see at least three guns and three different ugly face masks swinging their guns around. You feel like your ears are ringing while you’re ushered into a corner with the other patrons.    
Your body is shaking from fear. Who the hell robs a bank on a Saturday afternoon?    
“Yes, ladies and gentlemen, we are the Face Cards, maybe you’ve heard of us.” The woman’s voice rings through again.   
You stand next to a couple who start speaking lowly in a foreign language, you think it’s German. You know that they’re trying to plan something together.    
The woman with her face mask turns around pointing her gun at the couple quickly walking toward them, speaking in their language. You have no idea what she says but you know it’s a threat.    
“Get your faces on the floor already. I see eyes, you see bullets. Get it?” the woman shouts at them.    
You slide down with everyone, fear eating away at you. You just hope the police are either quick or the robbers are.    
“Get down on the ground!” one of the males screams.   
You feel like a rock is in your throat. You just keep your head down, trying to keep yourself together. You aren’t focusing on what they’re saying. You know he’s demanding money but you’re just trying to focus on living.   
You hear them shuffling, shouting, and then they're gone. Just as soon as you feel like you can breathe again, there’s more gunshots and the robbers come running back inside.   
You are yanked up by your arm, forced to your feet. Your eyes meet the hollow black abyss of the woman’s mask as she holds the gun to your stomach. You can’t breathe, all you can think about is how you can’t leave your dad alone.    
“Make a wall, stand near the doors and windows.” she demanded, shoving you toward the front door.    
You heard the woman walk away, and you released a shaky breath squeezing your eyes shut.    
This is not how you wanted today to go. You were supposed to be at a convention with Spencer. Dressed as Doctor Who characters, eating bland food, and buying something silly from the artist alley. You’d come home, make dinner, and watch a movie with your dad.    
Now you don’t know if you’ll see your dad or Spencer again. God, you can’t think, what if you don’t see your dad again? Who’s going to take care of him? Your sister won’t. Your mind starts to spiral and you’re panicking, your breathing becomes shallow.    
You're brought back by the woman who’s next to you grabbing your hand and holding it tight. It grounds you to the present. You can hear the conversation happening with the squabbling face masked robbers.   
“I can’t find anything. No doors, no grates, nothing.” The woman informed the man.   
“Yo! Lynne! What’s another way outta here?” He shouts disgruntled to the woman who was working behind the counter.   
“Just the main entrance and the side door. It’s for security.” She responds timidly.   
“I know that. You think I’m stupid?” He shouted at her with an exhausted sigh.   
“What went wrong? We were on count.” The woman growls out in frustration.   
“I need a doctor. Is anyone a doctor?!” The man is clearly ignoring her and trying to save the other man that’s with them.   
You don’t hear much else, you start to tune out all the noise into a hum that almost feels like tv static against your skin. It makes you itch, but you can’t be bothered to try to move.   
There’s a murmur of conversation from the group next to you but it just makes white noise in your ears. You're just numb and want desperately to be home or at the coffee shop with Spencer. Anywhere else.   
A phone ringing is the only thing that vaguely pulls you out of it enough to pay attention again.   
One of the robbers is on the phone, the woman keeps circling murmuring her own commentary.   
“He’s trying to negotiate.” the man’s gruff voice cuts through.   
“We’re not playing games!” The woman sneers back.   
You feel the woman’s eyes scanning, heels clicking on the floor. You can feel your heart in your throat as it beats aggressively.   
There’s sudden movement and near you the woman pulls a small girl. She screams for her dad who’s with her and he spins around begging for his daughter.   
“Either we get what we want, or everyone in this room dies.”   
The father’s voice is shaking as he begs. “Take me instead, please. Take me.”   
“It’s okay baby.”   
Then the loud noise of gun being shot makes you flinch as you see the man falling backwards and lands on the ground in front of you. His daughter screaming for him and trying to grab him.   
You squeeze your eyes shut, knowing too easily you could be shot too.   
“You better send in some help or more people are gonna die.” The man tells the police calmly on the phone.   
You feel a shaky breath leave your body.   
They keep going back and forth and you hear the phone again.   
It feels like an out of body experience. You can’t think, barely can feel yourself breathing. If it wasn’t for the occasional heel clicking or unfortunate gun shot, you’d think it was a nightmare.   
The front door opens, and a man walks through a metal detector, he looks like medical personnel. The woman tries to pat him down, but the other robber is in the floor with a dying man screaming for help.   
The room in dead silent as you hear the man work, trying to save the robber on the ground.   
The room is starting to smell like blood and what you can only assume is the stench of death. You hate the iron that’s infiltrating your nostrils, and you’ve never thought of yourself to be queasy with gore, but this is real. Not a horror movie.   
There’s at least two dead men in front of you on the floor, a small girl sobbing into a strange woman, and soon to be another body.   
Another gunshot.   
You still flinch. The medics body now is dragged forward into the pile of dead men. Alongside the other robber. Four. Four dead men.   
You want to hurl. You are not built for this, that’s why you run a bookstore and cafe.   
“Everyone move forward!” the woman demands with a shout.   
You vaguely hear the phone ring again and you wonder when this will be over. Will they shoot all of them? Will they kill another person, five more? When does it end and what can the police even do?   
You’re starting to think this bank will be the last four walls you ever see. You have to blink back the tears and not let that thought overwhelm you.   
The man and woman are squabbling again. Turning on each other? You can’t really tell.   
“I wanna talk to the cop who shot my brother.”   
Well, there goes that tactic. No betrayals here... just possibly another dead officer.   
The man gets back on the phone and the back and forth goes on, he keeps demanding the officer, even offering to let hostages go. That feels far too good to be true though.   
One of the men near you gets dragged back, pulled over to the phone.   
“Come on bud, let’s go!”   
“Pick up the phone.” the robber demands.   
“Why?” the man’s shaking voice asks.   
“Pick up the phone!” he shouts, like he’s desperate.   
“Hello?” the man is clearly scared, voice shaking and small.   
“Tell him your name.”   
“It’s...” He swallows, “It’s Shawn Harper.”   
There’s another gun shot, and you wish you didn’t know what a body hitting the floor sounded like.   
And that makes five innocent bodies, and one dead robber.   
“Ugh, you just killed Shawn Harper. Not me, you.” the man hisses through the phone.   
You’re going to hurl, what a sick thing to say.   
“I’m going to shoot another hostage every sixty seconds until you send in the cop.”   
You freeze. 
You try to close your eyes, and you’ve never been a very religious person... which is not common for someone from Georgia, but you find yourself begging to some god, or whoever, that you can make it out. You have to make it out.   
“Who’s next huh?”   
He grabs a woman and drags her back. Telling her to pick up the phone. Your body trembled as you tried desperately to block out the gunshot you knew you would hear.   
“Pick it up, come on. Pick it up.” he goads the woman, her sobs broken between her shaking breathes.   
“What’s your name?” he pressures.   
“No,” she gasps, “Please...” her voice broken.   
“Tell him your name!” he shouts at the woman.   
“Annie...” she gasps, swallowing a sob, “It’s Annie.”   
“Annie, you got about 30 seconds, I hope Agent Rossi doesn’t make me shoot you too.” he tells her, with fake sympathy in his voice.   
The man next to you decides that now is the time to chat. He turned to face the woman with children, he whispered something to her, and you can’t believe this man has lost his mind.   
“Hey! You! Come over here.” The robber yells at him, his gun pointing much too close to you for your liking.   
“Just let the women and children go. They don’t need to see this.” The man tried to negotiate with the robber.   
You almost scoffed, what did this guy think he was doing?   
“Pretty soon they’re gonna be doing a lot more than seeing.” The man hisses out, “Annie, you just got yourself a reprieve, get in line over there.”   
The robber grabs the man shoving him towards the phone and you sigh.   
“My name is Matthew Downs.” he speaks into the phone.   
Suddenly an officer walks through the door, his hands up in surrender.   
“Let those people go.” his accent is much thicker than yours, southern but he’s not from Georgia.   
“Alright, you, you, you, you-” he pushes the woman and two children next to you. “The kids, get out.”   
He sounds like a man who’s finally found release, like he’s getting what he’s always wanted.   
You watch the officer talk to the robbers, and you see him fall, two shots to his chest.   
You released a shaky gasp. The man, Matthew? Who was at the phone rushes over and grabs onto you. He directs you and forces you to put her hands on the officer.   
“Keep pressure on it.”   
You nod and follow his instruction easily.   
Matthew grabs the medical bag and starts instructing you on what to do. You're on the floor, holding a cloth and putting pressure heavily on the cop in front of you. He instructs the pressure is the most important and that’s what she does.   
She’s trying to breathe, steady her hands to be helpful. The officer on the ground keeps trying to talk and you are so close to panicking that you’re about to yell at this poor man bleeding out on the ground.   
“Are you armed?” Matthew asked him.   
“No.” He murmured, hissing in pain.   
“Damn... I think we might have something of a chance here.” your eyebrows were raised in surprise at his words.   
“What?” the cop looks just as confused.   
“The girls gone and the guys off his head. He doesn’t know who to trust. We can work them against each other.” Matthew whispered to both of them.   
“Wait are you a cop?” he tries to ask, still struggling.   
“A former marine.” Matthew grunts out.   
The officer is moving too much, and his blood is all over your hands. You can’t get the metallic smell out of your nose and you’re trying to keep it together.   
“You gotta listen to me, I need you to get a message to my girlfriend.” he tried to ask.   
“All right, you can tell her yourself when you get out of here.” Matthew reassures him.   
You huff and looks at the officer with determination, “I need you to not think in only death, okay? Everything looks a little bleak right now and I really need some kind of hope to hold on to. There are already five dead bodies, don’t make it six.” you hiss out at him.   
“Only I’m not getting outta here... you need someone to cause a distraction.” he murmured trying to sit up.   
“What are you doing?!” you try to push him back down but he’s surprisingly resilient for someone who was just shot.   
“Her name is Jennifer, and she’s a federal agent. You tell her I’m sorry.” the cop tells Matthew.   
The two continue to go back and forth and you can’t bother to get yourself off the ground. You're watching this officer like he’s gone mad.   
He walks on shaky legs, hobbling over to the robber. He goads him, pushing the man. Turning his trust around on its head.   
Then the robbers walking off with him to the back, and they’ve left an opening for them to escape.   
Matthew bends down to help you off the ground and shoves you out the door, and suddenly you can breathe again. Officers swarm them and escort them off to the safety of a police barricade.   
You look around, taking in the massive amounts of vans, officers, the FBI agents, and swat team.   
You're watching them move in, trying to do their jobs. Arrest the bad guys... but you watch with wide eyes the massive explosion that destroys the inside of the bank. Shooting debris out onto the ground. It really hits you, like a massive punch to your gut, how lucky you are to even be alive.   
You’re with the rest of the survivors, huddled near one of the police cruisers, all of them waiting for medics to check them and for other cops to take statements. It’s all just a blur. Everything is happening too fast and too slowly all at once. You don’t even know what the time is or how long you’ve been trapped in that bank.   
Then through the fog of your head you see something so familiar you have to do a double take to believe it.    
Spencer.   
Your Spencer, coming out of a federal vehicle in a bullet proof vest reading FBI. You'll blame the adrenaline later, but your feet start walking away from the safety of your spot and it’s like tunnel vision. you're running, and while you hear people yelling, you can’t stop. Your only goal is Spencer, he was a lifeline in this moment. A grounding figure in your shock.   
“Spencer?” your feet pound on the pavement, the loud commotion around you fading into a buzzing sound behind you. “Spencer!” you shout at him.    
With laser focus he finds you, his face filled with relief but even more worry.   
Spencer had seen you on the cameras, and it took every fiber of his being to not immediately want to drive down to barge in for you. He knew, logically, he was better helping out Garcia and looking over the maps. Every time Spencer heard a gunshot; it was a jolt of panic as his eyes scanned the cameras making sure it wasn’t you. You couldn’t die. Spencer doesn’t think he could recover from that. You’re bright and kind and the last person who deserved to be in this kind of hostage situation.    
Every second felt like an hour and his brain was whirling a million different scenarios.    
“Y/N,” he meets you halfway, holding your arms and walking you back to safety.    
“You can’t be here, this isn’t safe.” He tells you sternly, his brow furrowed in a deep line. It’s an expression you've never seen, so serious. His eyes flashed over your body trying to check if you were okay. He freezes when he sees the blood caked on your hands. He gently grabbed your hands, and it made you look down.   
“It’s not mine.” you murmured quietly.   
Spencer sighed in relief and looked back at you with more determination.   
“Just stay with the officers, okay? They will keep you safe. I promise I’ll explain but I have to do my job.” He tells you; he’s navigated you back to where you started, and he hands you off to a medic.   
You want to argue with him, but his tone leaves no room for it and your energy is fading.    
“Make sure she’s looked at.” He told the medic in a fiercely intense tone.   
“Stay with them. I will explain...later.” he said giving your arm a reassuring squeeze before he turns to leave.    
You have no energy left to try to argue. You’re just filled with exhaustion as the medic checks your vitals. You vaguely hear him talking to you, but you can’t pay attention. Your eyes never left Spencer as you follow him. He works his way around like it's second nature.   
For a moment, you realized there’s a whole part of his life that you had no idea about... he’d never told you.   
The rest of the evening goes by in a blur, you don’t touch your phone until it’s well into the late evening. Seeing missed calls from so many people. You can only find it in yourself to call your dad.    
“Magpie? Magpie, please tell me you’re okay.” Your dad’s voice rings through, warbled like he’s about to cry. Big Joe isn’t a crier, he just never has been. A pang of guilt shoots through you because you feel guilty for not calling sooner.    
“I’m, I’m safe daddy, I’m at the station.” you whispered, your voice hoarse from the smoke and underuse.    
“Oh, thank god.” The sigh of relief speaks more than his words do.   
“I’ll be home tonight, but I don’t know when I’ll be able to leave...”    
“Come home as soon as you can sweetie.”   
“I love you daddy.” your voice shakes, and it’s watery, almost on the verge of tears.   
“I love you too. Come home safe, and I mean it.” His voice is firm, but filled with warmth and it has you cracking her foundation. Tears escaped your eyes.    
She wipes them away furiously, trying to save her waterworks for when she’s alone tonight and processing what the hell even happened today.   
By the time you hang up you see a small group entering the police station, and there's a familiar mop of brown hair.    
Spencer beelines towards you. You stand to meet him, and you’re enveloped in a tight hug and whispers you can’t hear against your neck.   
“You’re safe, you’re safe.” You hear him chanting and from how he’s holding you, you realize he’s saying it for his benefit.   
The two stand in silence, holding onto each other. You really couldn’t care about the onlookers. You almost died over a stupid bank robbery; you were going to hug your best friend.   
“So, is every day this scary for you?” you asked quietly.   
“Kind of part of the job.” he chuckled moving back to look you over. His sharp eyes trying to see if there was something wrong, if you were injured.    
“So, FBI?” you tilt your head with a raised brow. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a fed.” you teased, trying to ease the tension.   
“Behavioral Analysis Unit, specifically.” He adds.   
Your eyebrows raise, “Jesus, I need a sedative...” you murmured. “Why didn’t you tell me?”   
Spencer just shrugged, “I just needed somewhere that was for me, yeah know? Keep the work out of the personal?”    
You nodded, “Yeah well, I’d would have liked to know that when my best friends out of town, it could be life threatening.” you said with a small fake punch to his arm.    
“You worry enough about too much. Don’t worry about me.” he told you firmly.    
“That’s easier said than done.” you murmured with a frown.    
“Come on, let me take you home. I’m sure Big Joe’s worried sick.” Spencer said moving to grab your hand and lead you out.    
You just nod and follow behind him.   
-   
“Spencer, are you sure this is okay? I mean I don’t know anyone.” You asked trying to straighten out your dress.    
Spencer was behind the driver's seat in a tuxedo of his own and he was looking at your nervous gestures. He reaches over to hold your hands and squeezes.    
“I know it’s okay. Besides, you might as well meet everyone. I was going to introduce you to Garcia at the convention anyway.” He shrugs casually.     
“I promise they don’t bite; besides, you definitely know Will.” he said with a faint smirk.   
“Spencer Reid that does not count! I was applying pressure to make sure the man didn’t bleed out all over the floor of that bank!” you huff in irritation.    
“I promise you’ll get along, and if I don’t Morgan’s going to start thinking I’m taking out call girls after work.” He frowns in mild annoyance.   
“Wow, glad to know you think I'm a step up from call girl.” you said jokingly, reaching over to pat his arm. “Great pep talk Spence.”   
You move to get out of the car your giggles following. Spencer fumbles to escape the car.    
“I didn’t mean it like that!” he tried to explain.    
You put your hand up, “It’s fine, come on my nerves are definitely gone now.”   
Spencer just smiled at you, watching you smooth out your starry sky dress. The deep blue complimenting her as silver stars dangle from your ears.    
“I’ll stop while I’m ahead.” he said.    
“Good call.”   
Spencer walks you up to Rossi’s house, well, mansion. Your eyes widened a bit before turning to him.    
“Bestselling author... for multiple books.” he confirmed.    
He takes you out to the back to greet everyone’s who's there. You're distracted by the large space and beautiful displays. The flower petals on the ground, the beautiful tables, not to mention an open bar. Spencer gently guides you over to his team Hotch, Garcia, and Morgan who are gathered in a small circle.   
Before Spencer can introduce you Morgan’s already looking you up and down.   
“So, you're the little friend Reid wouldn’t tell us about?” He points at you before returning his hand to his pocket. Morgan’s charming and mischievous smile on his face.   
There’s a gasp, and Garcia gives a small, excited jump, “The bookstore girl!” She almost shouts at you. “You’re gorgeous!” She moved to hold your hands and made you do a small spin to look at your dress. “So sparkly, I like!”   
Morgan leaned over to Reid, “She might have already started drinking...”   
“Can’t believe you’d keep us a secret Reid.” Hotch teased, his arm resting around Beth’s waist pressing her closer to his side.   
“You’re all vultures, every single one. No privacy with you guys.” Spencer told them shaking his head.   
“You’re lucky you lasted this long, if I had known just a little more, I could have looked into her.”   
“That's... exactly what I’m talking about Garcia...” Spencer sighs heavily.   
“I’m Y/N, it’s really nice to meet you guys.” You introduce yourself with a smile and a small laugh.   
“So, a bookstore?” Morgan raised his brow in question.   
“Yeah! I co-own the Midnight Owl. It’s a bookstore and cafe that is open late nights to offer a space for book loving insomniacs like myself.” you said cheerfully.   
“That explains how Reid met you.” Rossi’s voice drifts in as he comes up to meet Spencer’s new friend.   
He extends his hand out to shake yours. “David Rossi, nice to meet you.”     
You give him a warm smile, “Thank you for hosting, your home is beautiful.”   
You leave Spencer for a while going to walk off with Penelope as the blonde leads you to the open bar.   
“How long have you been friends with Reid?” she asked.   
You take a sip from your drink and think, “Three years, going on four.”   
Penelope’s brows go up, “Oh he’s been keeping you a verrrrrry big secret.”   
You roll your eyes, “Well he regretted to inform me his day job was being an FBI agent.”   
“Does it matter?” The blonde asked tilting her head.   
You could feel Penelope’s piercing protective gaze on you. You shake your head. “No obviously not. He’s my best friend. I just... will probably worry ten times more about him now.” you admit.   
“They’re the best team I know.” Penelope tells you softly.   
“Won’t stop me from worrying, but thanks for trying.” you give a half smile before taking another sip.   
“I worry too, constantly.” She stage whispers to you.  
You bubble into laughter and the two make their way back over to the small group.   
Other groups of people were trickling into the back yard filling up space and chattering.   
Spencer’s nowhere to be found with his coworkers and you try to search for him, finally finding him crouched next to a small blonde child. You excuse yourself and make your way over.   
You tilt your head as you watch Spencer roll a ring between his fingers in front of the child and make the ring disappear and reappear before the boy's eyes. 
“Go on Henry,” he ruffles the blonde’s hair, “Time to go be the ring bearer. It’s a very important job.” Spencer ushers Henry off.   
“You just keep surprising me.” you whispered walking over to him.   
Spencer shrugs, “There’s a lot to find out.” he replied.   
“Have you always been this good with kids?” you asked.   
Spencer smiled, “I love them.” The way that he says it, you can see how much he wants that. To be a dad. To be in love.   
“I think you’ll make a great dad one day, if that’s anything to go by.” you tell him.   
Spencer just brushed the comment off and led you over to the altar.   
“Who knows, maybe one day.”   
56 notes · View notes
the-winter-spider · 20 hours ago
Text
Red | One Shot
Bucky x reader AU
Word count: 9.4k
Warnings: Angst sorta
A/N: Just was hanging around in my docs
Purple
The rain outside had slowed to a drizzle by the time the bartender placed another drink in front of you, unasked but not unwelcome. You curled your fingers around the glass, watching the condensation bead and trickle down to the counter. In the corner of your vision, he was still there, watching—not in a way that felt predatory, but in a way that made you hyperaware of everything. The tilt of your head. The way your fingers trembled slightly on the glass. The flutter of your scarf in the breeze sneaking through the cracked door.
“Another round?” the bartender asked, jerking his thumb toward your almost-empty glass.
You nodded, grateful for the distraction, but when the man in the corner stood, your breath caught.
The sound of his boots against the wooden floor carried through the room like a countdown, slow and deliberate. You kept your gaze locked on your hands, trying to steady your nerves, until he was there. Beside you.
“You look like you could use better company than that drink,” he said, the roughness of his voice softened by something faintly teasing.
You glanced up, and there it was again—that pull, that undeniable gravity. “And you think you’re better company?” you shot back, trying to keep your voice steady, trying to pretend his presence wasn’t unraveling you thread by thread.
He slid onto the stool beside you, leaning back like he’d been sitting there all along. “You tell me.”
The ice in your glass melted as the conversation deepened, its edges smooth and warm, much like his voice. He asked simple questions at first—the easy kind, the kind that let you pretend this was just another stranger making small talk. But as the minutes passed, the space between you seemed to shrink, the questions becoming sharper, more pointed.
“Why here?” he asked after a while, motioning to the bar around you.
You glanced around, taking in the dim lights and peeling wallpaper, the faint hum of music struggling against the noise of the room. “The rain,” you admitted. “I wasn’t planning on stopping. This just…happened.”
He nodded slowly, his fingers drumming softly against the counter. “Funny how things happen, isn’t it?”
“And you?” you asked, your curiosity finally outweighing your nerves. “What’s your excuse for being here?”
He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe I wasn’t planning on stopping either.”
What struck you most about him wasn’t what he said, but the way he didn’t speak. The moments of silence between his words were heavy, charged with something unspoken but palpable.
It wasn’t the kind of silence that made you feel like you needed to fill it. It was the kind of silence that made you want to stay.
“People don’t usually stick around when I stop talking,” he said after one of those silences stretched long enough to make the bartender glance over.
You smiled faintly. “Maybe I’m not most people.”
His eyes flicked to yours then, sharp and piercing, and for the first time, you thought you saw something crack in the façade he carried so carefully. Something vulnerable. “No,” he said softly. “You’re not.”
The red scarf had become your anchor, your fingers twisting and untwisting it like a lifeline. When he noticed, his gaze softened, and he leaned in just slightly.
“Nervous?” he asked.
You laughed softly, though your chest felt tight. “Should I be?”
“Probably.” The word was heavy, weighted with something unspoken, but his tone was lighter—almost teasing. “But you don’t scare easy, do you?”
You hesitated, unsure of how much of yourself to reveal to someone who already seemed to see too much. “Maybe I’m just good at pretending,” you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended.
He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly, like he was studying you. “Or maybe you’re braver than you think.”
The words shouldn’t have affected you the way they did, but they hit like a fist to the chest, leaving you breathless.
Time moved strangely when you were with him. Minutes stretched and contracted, the room around you fading into a blur until it was just the two of you, caught in the strange, magnetic pull that had brought you together.
The rain had stopped by the time you noticed how late it had gotten, the room quieter now as patrons trickled out into the damp night. You pulled your scarf tighter around your neck, reluctant to leave but knowing you couldn’t stay.
He stood when you did, his presence a shadow behind you as you moved toward the door.
“Be careful out there,” he said, his voice softer now, almost gentle.
You turned to face him, the red scarf catching the faint breeze sneaking in from outside. “I could say the same to you.”
For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable. And then he nodded, his lips twitching into a faint smile.
“Maybe I’ll see you around,” he said, though it didn’t sound like a promise.
You stood there for a long moment, your heart racing as the distance between you grew. And when he stepped back into the shadows of the bar, disappearing as quietly as he’d appeared, you felt like you’d lost something you hadn’t even known you were looking for.
You stepped out into the damp night, the world strangely quiet around you. The red neon of The Red Star Lounge flickered behind you, its glow painting the pavement like blood.
You walked slowly, the chill creeping back into your skin despite the warmth of your scarf. And as you turned the corner, the realization settled deep in your chest.
Whatever had started tonight, it wouldn’t end well.
But maybe, just maybe, it would be worth it.
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Green
The days after your first time meeting Bucky were a blur of stolen moments and quiet intensity. He was everywhere—every corner you turned, every crowded space you slipped into. He’d somehow become woven into the fabric of your days, and time itself seemed to shift around him.
You caught his glances in places you hadn’t expected to see him, like the coffee shop down the street or the bookstore you thought no one but you ever visited. His presence lingered, felt before seen, heavy and magnetic in a way that made your pulse quicken.
It wasn’t love—not yet. It couldn’t be. You’d only just met him. But it was something wild and unstoppable, like a spark catching dry kindling. The kind of connection that was as thrilling as it was terrifying.
You hadn’t planned on running into him again so soon. The market was bustling, filled with the warmth of laughter, the clink of cups from a nearby café, and the chatter of vendors calling out deals. You’d come to escape the growing restlessness inside you, hoping to lose yourself in the ordinary rhythm of the crowd. But then, as if summoned by your thoughts, there he was.
“Hi,” came the familiar, gravelly voice from behind you.
You turned, your breath catching for just a moment. There he stood, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his steel-blue eyes fixed on you in a way that made the bustling market fade into the background.
“Hi,” you replied, the word softer than you intended, like a whisper carried on the breeze.
A small smirk tugged at his lips, and for a moment, you could swear the space between you felt electric. “We keep running into each other,” he said, his tone teasing, but there was something deeper beneath it—something unspoken.
“You’re everywhere,” you said, almost accusing, though your lips curved into a faint smile.
He tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Is that a bad thing?”
You hesitated, the playful edge in his voice sending a flutter through your chest. “You tell me,” you said, your voice steadier now, though your heart was racing.
His smirk widened just enough to make your stomach flip. “I think it depends,” he said, stepping just a fraction closer, his presence filling the space around you. “Do I bother you?”
“Should you?” you shot back, meeting his gaze evenly despite the way he made your pulse race.
“Guess that’s up to you.” His voice was low, steady, but there was a challenge in it, the kind that made you want to stay in this moment longer than you should.
The crowd around you moved on, the noise of the market dulling as the two of you stood there, caught in the pull that seemed to draw you together no matter where you were.
The moment stretched, the world around you blurring as the tension between you thickened. It was maddening, this pull, this constant feeling that he was both a mystery you wanted to solve and a danger you weren’t sure you should touch.
“Are you always this… persistent?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
He laughed softly, the sound warm and rough, settling somewhere deep in your chest. “Only when I’ve got a reason to be.”
“And do you?”
His smile faded, replaced by something softer, something that made your breath catch. “Maybe.”
The honesty in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you weren’t sure what to say, weren’t sure you could say anything at all without betraying the way he was already getting under your skin.
Before either of you could say more, someone jostled past you, breaking the moment like a stone dropped in still water. You took a step back, breaking his gaze, suddenly hyperaware of the world around you again.
“Well,” you said, pulling your scarf tighter around your neck, the movement more of a reflex than a necessity. “I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Guess so,” he replied, his voice softer now, but still carrying that magnetic pull that made it hard to leave.
You turned before you could change your mind, slipping back into the crowd, but you could feel his eyes on you long after you’d disappeared from view.
That night, as you sat by your window, the red scarf still warm against your neck, you couldn’t shake the feeling of him—the way he looked at you, the way he seemed to linger in your thoughts long after he was gone.
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Orange
The first time he took your hand, it was under the cover of night. The two of you had wandered out of town, the air crisp and the moon high above, lighting the fields with silver. You’d teased him into leaving the bar, insisting there was more to life than whiskey and dark corners. To your surprise, he followed.
“You’re relentless, you know that?” he muttered, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket as you walked side by side down the quiet road.
“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” you shot back, glancing over your shoulder with a grin.
When the road opened into a clearing, the moonlight spilling across the grass like liquid silver, you stopped. “Dance with me,” you said suddenly.
His brow furrowed, and for a moment, you thought he might refuse. “You’re kidding, right? I don’t dance.”
“Everyone dances.” You grabbed his hand before he could protest further, your fingers tangling with his. “You just haven’t tried with the right partner.”
At first, he was stiff, awkward, his steps uncertain. But you laughed, the sound soft and free, and something in him loosened. His hands found your waist, tentative but firm, and together you moved under the open sky, your red scarf trailing in the breeze like a streak of fire against the night.
His grin was shy but genuine, his guard slipping just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the man hidden beneath the rough edges.
The air around you seemed to hum, the crisp night wrapping you both in a cocoon of stillness, as if the world had paused just for this moment. The stars twinkled overhead, scattered across the velvet sky, and the quiet rustle of grass beneath your feet served as the only soundtrack to your impromptu dance.
His hand on your waist was steady now, the earlier awkwardness fading as he settled into the rhythm of your movements. You could feel his warmth even through the layers of fabric between you, grounding and electric all at once.
“You’re full of surprises,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. The moonlight illuminated his features in a way that made him seem both sharper and softer all at once—the hard lines of his jaw, the faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes as he smiled.
“Don’t get used to it,” he teased, though his voice lacked its usual edge.
“Oh, I already am,” you shot back, a grin tugging at your lips. “You’re stuck with me now.”
His laugh was quiet, almost a hum, and you caught a flicker of something in his expression—hesitation, maybe, or disbelief. Like he wasn’t used to this kind of lightness, this kind of joy.
“You really do this to everyone?” he asked, tilting his head as he studied you, his tone carrying a mix of curiosity and playfulness.
“Do what?”
“Drag them out into fields, make them dance under the stars, make them feel like…” He trailed off, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again. “Like this.”
Your smile faltered, but only slightly. “Like what?”
“Like there’s still something good in the world.” His voice was quieter now, almost a whisper, and the words felt like they carried more weight than you expected.
Your breath caught in your chest, and for a moment, the flirty banter dissolved into something deeper, something raw. You didn’t look away, though, even as his gaze burned into yours. “Maybe I just have good instincts,” you said softly. “Maybe I knew you needed this and maybe you're not just anyone.."
He didn’t respond right away, his jaw tightening as he seemed to wrestle with whatever storm was brewing inside him. But then he nodded, a small, almost imperceptible gesture. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Maybe.”
You continued to sway, the tension between you softening but not disappearing. His grip on your waist tightened slightly, not possessive but steady, anchoring you to the moment.
“You’re not bad at this, you know,” you said, breaking the silence. “For someone who doesn’t dance.”
“Don’t let it go to your head,” he muttered, but there was no hiding the faint smirk tugging at his lips.
“Too late.”
You laughed, and the sound seemed to draw something out of him—a quiet chuckle, his guard slipping even further. He spun you then, a move so unexpected and unpolished that you nearly stumbled, but his hand caught yours, pulling you back to him with ease.
“Show-off,” you teased, breathless from the movement and his proximity.
“You asked for a dance,” he replied, his grin widening. “Don’t complain when I deliver.”
After a while, your movements slowed, the dance turning into little more than a quiet sway. The night had grown colder, the stars above brighter, and the world around you quieter.
His hands lingered on your waist longer than they needed to as you pulled back slightly, your red scarf brushing against his arm.
“You’re not as bad at this as you think,” you said softly, your voice carrying just enough warmth to take the sting out of the teasing.
“Guess I had the right partner,” he replied, his tone quieter now, almost serious.
You didn’t know what to say to that, so you smiled, your fingers brushing his briefly before you stepped back fully.
“Thank you,” you said, and you weren’t sure if you meant for the dance, for following you out here, or for letting you see this softer side of him.
He nodded, his eyes meeting yours one last time before he stepped back, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “You’re trouble,” he repeated, the faintest trace of a smile still on his lips.
“And don’t you forget it,” you replied, your grin returning as you adjusted your scarf, the red fabric catching the breeze.
As the two of you made your way back to the bar in comfortable silence, you couldn’t help but glance at him from the corner of your eye. There was something about the way he walked beside you, the way he seemed both cautious and unflinchingly present, that made you wonder what was hiding behind those sharp eyes and soft smiles.
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Grey
It started with something small. It always did.
The two of you had been in his apartment, a quiet night derailed by the weight of unspoken things. You’d made a joke—a harmless, casual jab at the way he always seemed to know what was happening before you did, like he had a sixth sense for trouble. But instead of laughing, his jaw tightened, and his response came sharp and clipped.
“Maybe you shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want answers to,” he muttered, his voice low, his eyes fixed somewhere past your shoulder.
You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. “Excuse me?”
He shook his head, running a hand through his hair as if to push the thought away. “Forget it.”
But you couldn’t. You hated when he did this—when he locked you out, pulling the shutters down on a window you’d thought was finally open.
“Bucky, what the hell is that supposed to mean?” you asked, your voice rising despite your best efforts to stay calm.
“It means I’ve got enough going on without you digging into things that don’t concern you,” he snapped, his frustration spilling over.
“Things that don’t concern me?” You took a step closer, your chest tight with a mix of anger and hurt. “How can you say that? You’re the one who pulled me into this—into you. Don’t tell me I don’t get to care about what’s going on in your head.”
His gaze flicked to yours, sharp and guarded, like he was debating whether to fight or retreat. “You don’t get it,” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less biting. “You don’t know what it’s like to carry the kind of shit I do.”
You stared at him, the words hitting you like a blow. “You’re right,” you said, your voice trembling. “I don’t know. Because you won’t let me!”
The room fell silent, the tension crackling like a live wire between you.
“Maybe it’s better that way,” he said after a long pause, his voice cold and distant.
The words sliced through you, sharp and unforgiving. You turned away, grabbing your coat and scarf, your movements jerky and frantic.
“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice rising as you stormed toward the door.
“Somewhere I don’t feel like a burden!” you shot back, the words raw and cutting as they left your lips.
The rain started just as you stepped outside, a steady downpour that soaked through your clothes within minutes. You didn’t care. Your feet carried you forward, one step after another, until you were too far from his building to hear his voice if he called after you.
But he did call.
“Y/N!”
You stopped, the sound of his voice slicing through the rain and your resolve. You turned slowly, the water streaming down your face, mingling with the tears you hadn’t realized were falling.
Bucky stood a few feet away, his hair plastered to his forehead, his jacket already drenched. He looked as wrecked as you felt.
“Why are you here, Bucky?” you shouted, your voice shaking with anger and something far more dangerous—hope. “Why do you care?”
Red
“Because I can’t not care!” he shouted back, the words breaking open something in both of you.
He took a step closer, his boots splashing in the puddles, his gaze locking onto yours. “You think I don’t know what this is doing to you? To us? I’m trying, baby. I just—”
His voice cracked, the raw emotion in it making your breath hitch. “I just don’t know how to be the person you think I am,” he finished, his shoulders slumping.
For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your chest heaving with the force of everything you felt. You wanted to yell, to cry, to pull him closer and push him away all at once. But before you could do anything, he moved.
His hands cupped your face, his touch firm but trembling, his palms warm against your rain-chilled skin. And then his lips were on yours, urgent and unyielding, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the kiss.
The rain poured harder, cold and relentless, but you didn’t feel it. All you felt was him—his hands in your hair, his body pressed against yours, the heat of his kiss erasing every other thought in your mind.
Your hands found their way to his jacket, gripping the wet leather as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded. His lips moved against yours, fierce and desperate, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.
The rain poured around you, cold and relentless, but his kiss was all heat. It stole your breath, your anger, your fears—leaving nothing but the raw, unshakable truth of how deeply he’d gotten under your skin.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and ragged against your lips.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words barely audible over the rain. “I’m so goddamn sorry.”
Your hands loosened their grip on his jacket, falling to your sides as you searched his eyes. “Then stop pushing me away,” you said, your voice trembling. “Stop making me feel like I’m not enough.”
His eyes closed briefly, his jaw tightening as he nodded. “I’m trying,” he said, his voice raw. “I swear I’m trying.”
You exhaled shakily, the weight of his words pressing against your chest. “Then let me help you,” you said softly. “Whatever it is, Bucky, i can take it….But you have to let me in.”
His hands dropped from your face, his gaze falling to the ground. For a long moment, he said nothing, the silence filled only by the sound of the rain.
“Okay,” he said finally, his voice hoarse but steady. “Okay.”
The rain had slowed to a drizzle by the time you made your way back to his apartment, walking side by side in silence. His hand brushed against yours once, then again, before he finally took it, his grip firm and grounding.
Neither of you spoke as you stepped inside, the warmth of the room wrapping around you as you shed your soaked coats and shoes.
“I’ll make some tea,” he said quietly, his voice still rough around the edges.
You nodded, watching as he moved to the kitchen, his shoulders still tense but lighter somehow. The storm wasn’t over—not completely.
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White
It didn’t take long for you to realize that Bucky wasn’t like anyone else you’d ever loved. He carried his past like a weight around his neck, a shadow that followed him even in his brightest moments. He never talked about it—not in words, at least. But it was there, in the tension that gripped his shoulders when he thought no one was watching, in the way his eyes sometimes drifted to the distance, as if he could still see ghosts in the corners of his mind.
One night, as you traced the faded scars on his knuckles, the storm of his silence felt unbearable.
“Where did these come from?” you asked softly, your thumb brushing over the jagged lines etched into his skin.
He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Bar fights,” he said, his voice laced with forced nonchalance.
“Must’ve been some fight,” you murmured, your fingers lingering on the edges of his scars like you could smooth them away.
He shrugged, but the movement was tight, deliberate, like he was trying to shrug off more than the question. His smirk faded, replaced by something far heavier. “I wasn’t always… the guy you see now,” he said finally, his voice quiet, almost hollow.
The air in the room shifted, the words lingering between you like smoke, impossible to clear. You didn’t press him. You’d learned by now that he wasn’t the type to offer up pieces of himself freely. He kept his pain buried deep, beneath layers of charm and bravado, but in the quiet moments—when the walls came down—you could feel it.
The silence stretched, heavy but not empty. You studied his face, the hard lines of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble, the way his lips pressed into a thin line like he was holding back words he didn’t trust himself to say. His eyes, always so sharp and clear, seemed distant, as if he wasn’t in the room with you anymore but somewhere else entirely.
“You don’t have to tell me,” you said softly, your fingers still resting against his hand. “But you don’t have to carry it alone, either.”
His gaze snapped back to you then, sharp and searching, like he was trying to decide whether you meant it.
“Some things aren’t worth sharing,” he said after a long moment, his tone guarded but not unkind. “They don’t make anything better.”
“Maybe not,” you said carefully, leaning back slightly to give him space. “But sometimes saying it out loud makes it hurt a little less.”
He laughed softly, but it wasn’t a laugh meant to comfort—it was bitter, self-deprecating, the sound of someone who didn’t believe a word you’d said.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he muttered, shaking his head.
“Then tell me,” you challenged, your voice steady even as your heart pounded. “Show me.”
He looked at you then, really looked at you, his expression a mix of disbelief and something darker—fear, maybe, or anger. For a moment, you thought he might snap, might push you away entirely. But instead, he let out a long breath, his shoulders sagging under the weight of whatever he was holding.
“I’ve done things,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “Things I can’t take back. Things I don’t want to take back because… because I thought I deserved them.”
The confession hit you like a punch to the chest, but you didn’t flinch. You stayed where you were, your hand still resting on his, grounding him in a way you hoped was enough.
He looked down, his jaw tight, his voice rough as he continued. “You want to know where these scars came from? Fine. Some are bar fights. Most of them are from being too drunk to care what happened to me. Or too angry to stop swinging when I should’ve walked away.” He paused, his eyes flicking back to yours. “And some of them are from people who thought I deserved worse.”
Your breath hitched, but you didn’t speak. This wasn’t the time to offer reassurances he wouldn’t believe. This was the time to let him speak, to let the floodgates open.
“I wasn’t a good person, darlin’,” he said, his voice breaking just slightly. “I was reckless. Selfish. I burned bridges with everyone who ever gave a damn about me, because it was easier to burn them than to admit I needed them.”
He let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You look at me like I’m someone worth saving, but you don’t know what you’re saving me from. And I don’t know if I want you to.”
Your hand tightened on his instinctively, and he looked at you like he was waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you leaned forward, your voice quiet but firm.
“You’re not that person anymore, Bucky.”
His laugh was bitter, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “And what makes you so sure?”
“Because I know you,” you said, your words steady even as your chest ached with the weight of what he’d shared. “I know the man you are now. The man who stands up when he’d rather run. The man who cares about the people in his life even when he’s scared he’ll lose them. The man who looks at me like… like I’m more than just another person passing through his life.”
His breath hitched, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart pound. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” he murmured, his voice low and broken.
“Don’t I?” you replied, leaning closer, your hand still on his. “You think I don’t see the cracks in you? The scars you’re trying to hide? I see them, Bucky. I see you. And I’m still here.”
For a moment, he said nothing, his chest rising and falling with the force of his emotions. And then, slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek.
“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice trembling.
“Maybe not,” you said softly, leaning into his touch. “But I’m not going anywhere.”
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Pink
Not everything was heavy. There were moments of lightness, too—moments when the weight he carried seemed to lift, revealing the boy he must’ve been before life carved him into the man he’d become.
Like the time you convinced him to teach you how to ride his motorcycle.
“This is a terrible idea,” he said, his hands firm on your shoulders as you perched awkwardly on the seat. His jacket was slung over the handlebars, leaving him in a worn t-shirt that clung to his frame in the afternoon heat.
“You’re just saying that because you’re scared I’ll be better at it than you,” you teased, glancing over your shoulder with a grin.
He rolled his eyes, though the corners of his mouth twitched. “No, I’m saying it because I like this bike, and I’d rather not see it flipped into a ditch.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” you said, sticking your tongue out at him before turning your attention back to the bike. “Just tell me what to do.”
“Fine,” he relented, stepping around to stand beside you, one hand resting on the handlebar. “First rule: don’t panic. Second rule: listen to me.”
“Was that not the first rule?”
He smirked. “It’s the first and second rule. You like to improvise, and I’m not interested in seeing where that gets us today.”
You weren’t good at it—not at first. Your balance was all wrong, your movements jerky as you tried to adjust to the unfamiliar weight of the bike beneath you. The engine purred, vibrating against your thighs as you gripped the handlebars too tightly.
“Loosen up,” Bucky said, his voice even as he kept one hand on the back of the seat to steady you. “You’re not wrestling it into submission.”
“Easy for you to say!” you snapped, your voice high-pitched with nerves as the bike wobbled forward.
His laugh was low and infuriatingly calm. “Relax, you’re not going to die. I’ve got you.”
“You better,” you muttered, biting your lip as you tried to focus on his instructions.
By the time you’d tipped the bike over for the second time—mercifully without actually crashing—your cheeks were flushed, half from embarrassment and half from the adrenaline coursing through you.
“Alright, maybe this was a terrible idea,” you admitted, throwing him an exasperated look as you struggled to right the bike again.
He was already laughing, the sound deep and unrestrained as he grabbed the handlebars to help. “Told you,” he said, grinning wide enough to show his teeth.
“Don’t gloat,” you shot back, but your own laughter bubbled up before you could stop it.
By the time you got the hang of it—coasting in a slow, wobbly circle while he watched from a few feet away, arms crossed and smirking like he was witnessing a miracle—you were both laughing so hard you could barely breathe.
“Look at me!” you shouted, your voice triumphant. “I’m doing it!”
“Don’t get cocky,” he warned, though his tone was light. “You’re still going about five miles an hour.”
“That’s five more miles an hour than you thought I’d manage,” you called back, steering carefully toward him.
When you finally stopped, dismounting with all the grace of a baby giraffe, you stumbled into his arms, laughing uncontrollably.
“Okay, okay,” you gasped, your forehead resting against his chest as you tried to catch your breath. “Maybe you’re the expert.”
“Told you,” he said, his laugh rumbling against your ear. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, holding you steady as your knees threatened to buckle.
“You know,” you said, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, “you’re kind of a good teacher. Strict, but effective.”
“Don’t let it go to your head,” he replied, though there was a softness in his eyes that made your heart flip.
In those moments, you forgot about the shadows lurking at the edges of your relationship. You forgot about the way he sometimes disappeared into his own head, shutting you out without warning. You forgot about the way doubt sometimes crept in, whispering that you’d never be enough to pull him out of the darkness he carried.
In those moments, it was just him and you. His laughter, his warmth, the way he looked at you like you were the brightest thing in his world.
“You’re trouble, you know that?” he said suddenly, his tone light but his gaze lingering on you a moment too long.
“So i've been told,” you replied, smirking “But here you are”
His lips quirked into a faint smile, but something flickered in his expression—something unspoken but undeniable. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Here I am.”
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Black
Bucky’s past was a shadow that followed him everywhere, slipping into the quiet moments between you, seeping into the cracks of your conversations, and weighing down the lightness you fought so hard to hold onto. He never told you the full story, but you’d pieced together enough to know it was dark, messy, and full of mistakes he couldn’t forgive himself for.
He’d let pieces of it slip, in fragments so small they barely felt like enough to build a picture. The late nights when he’d sit on the edge of the bed, his back to you, head in his hands as he tried to keep his breathing even. The scars on his knuckles, his ribs, the faint burn marks along his forearms he never wanted to explain.
“Old life,” he’d say when you pushed, the words clipped, like the conversation was over before it began.
But you could see the weight of it in his eyes, the way they clouded when you asked too many questions, or the way his jaw tightened when you pressed him about the motorcycle gathering dust in the corner of the garage.
One night, tangled together in bed, you felt the words leave your lips before you could stop them.
“Why don’t you let yourself be happy?”
You hadn’t meant it to sound so accusatory, but it hung heavy in the air between you. He was staring at the ceiling, the dim light casting shadows across his face, and for a moment, you weren’t sure he’d heard you.
Then, quietly, he answered. “I don’t deserve it.”
The simplicity of it made your chest ache. You shifted closer, your hand sliding over his chest to rest just above his heart. His pulse was steady beneath your fingertips, but his breathing was shallow.
“Who gets to decide that?” you whispered.
He didn’t answer.
The silence that followed was louder than anything he could’ve said. You felt his walls build themselves back up in real time, felt the distance between you grow even though he was right there. And that was the moment you realized just how fragile this thing between you really was.
You were falling for him—deeply, recklessly—but you couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how hard you tried, you’d never be able to love away the pain he carried.
It was a few days later when he finally said something. You were sitting on the back steps of the house, the two of you sharing a beer in comfortable silence, the late summer heat clinging to the air.
“I used to be part of something,” he started, his voice low, almost like he was speaking to himself.
You turned to him, careful not to interrupt.
He stared straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the horizon as if the past was painted somewhere in the fading streaks of the sunset. His hands fidgeted with the beer bottle, his thumb running along the condensation like it was the only thing grounding him to the moment.
“A gang of sorts,” he finally said, the words clipped, sharp, like they physically hurt to say out loud. “We didn’t call it that. We thought we were a brotherhood, a club at best. Thought we were something… loyal. But it wasn’t like that.”
Your breath caught, but you stayed silent, knowing this was fragile ground you were treading on.
“We rode together. Lived for the thrill of it. For the noise, the chaos, the speed.” He paused, his lips pressing into a thin line. “But it was never just that. It was fights. Deals. Smuggling. You name it, we probably did it—or looked the other way while it was happening.”
He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “And I was all in. I thought I’d found a family. I thought… it meant something.”
His voice cracked on the last word, and you reached for his hand instinctively, your fingers brushing his. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t look at you either.
“What changed?” you asked softly.
His jaw clenched, his gaze still fixed on the horizon. “I did. Or maybe I just woke up. Started seeing it for what it really was—a way to hurt people. A way to run from everything I didn’t want to face. And when I finally decided I couldn’t be part of it anymore…”
He trailed off, his knuckles tightening around the beer bottle.
“What happened?”
He turned to you then, his eyes heavy with something you couldn’t quite name—regret, anger, fear. “They don’t let you just walk away from something like that. Not without consequences.”
“They came after you?” you guessed, your voice barely above a whisper.
“They tried,” he said, his tone flat. “It got messy. People got hurt, people died, good people died…. And I left everything behind. My bike, my crew, the only life I’d known up to that point. I’ve been running ever since.”
His words hung in the humid air, and you struggled to process everything he was laying bare.
“Bucky…”
He shook his head, cutting you off. “Don’t. Don’t try to make it sound better than it was. I don’t deserve that.”
You wanted to argue, to tell him that everyone deserved a second chance, that whatever he’d done, it didn’t define who he was now. But you knew he wouldn’t hear it. Not yet.
Instead, you squeezed his hand, your thumb brushing over the scarred skin of his knuckles. “You don’t have to keep running,” you said, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat.
He let out a humorless laugh, his shoulders slumping. “You think it’s that easy? That I can just… stop?”
“I think it’s a start,” you said. “And I think you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
That night, after the sun had dipped below the horizon and the two of you had gone inside, you lay awake beside him, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.
You wondered about the things he hadn’t told you—the names, the faces, the details he still kept locked away. You could feel them pressing down on him, weighing him down like chains he didn’t know how to break.
And yet, despite everything, you felt hope. Because he’d told you something. He’d opened a door, even if only a crack.
But in the days that followed, the weight of his confession seemed to grow heavier. You noticed the way his eyes darted to the shadows when the two of you walked down the street, the way his body tensed every time a motorcycle engine roared in the distance.
As you sat together in the living room, the sound of distant thunder rolling through the open window, you decided to ask the question that had been burning in the back of your mind.
“Do you think they’ll come for you?”
He didn’t answer right away. His gaze was fixed on the window, his expression unreadable. Finally, he exhaled, leaning back against the couch. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Maybe. Probably.”
Your chest tightened, the weight of his words sinking in. “What would you do?”
“Whatever I have to,” he said, his voice firm, his jaw set.
The finality in his tone sent a chill down your spine. “You don’t have to face it alone, Bucky.”
He turned to you, his eyes softening just enough to let you see the fear buried beneath the bravado. “You don’t understand. If they find me, it won’t just be me they’ll go after.”
For a moment, the air between you was thick with everything left unsaid. Then he reached for your hand, his grip strong but trembling. “I don’t want you to get hurt, I cant have you get hurt”
“I know,” you said softly. “But I’m not walking away.”
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RED
It was late, the kind of quiet that made the world feel smaller, as though the two of you were the only people left in it. The rain had come and gone, leaving the air cool and clean, and the faint scent of damp earth drifted through the open window.
Bucky sat on the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, an old book balanced on his knee. You were curled up beside him, your feet tucked under his thigh, a mug of tea cradled in your hands. It was a simple moment, unremarkable in its stillness, but it felt significant in a way you couldn’t quite explain.
You watched him over the rim of your mug, his brow furrowed as he read, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His hair was tousled from the way he kept running his fingers through it, and the soft lamplight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw.
“What?” he asked suddenly, his eyes flicking to yours.
You blinked, realizing you’d been caught staring. “Nothing,” you said quickly, though the warmth rising in your cheeks gave you away.
He closed the book, his lips curving into a lopsided grin. “That didn’t look like ‘nothing.’”
You rolled your eyes, setting your mug down on the coffee table. “Maybe I just like looking at you.”
His grin faltered, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. He reached out, his hand finding yours where it rested on the couch cushion. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and deliberate.
“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low. “You keep saying things like that, and I might start believing them.”
The words were on the tip of your tongue before you even realized they were there. They spilled out quietly, almost like they’d slipped past your defenses on their own.
“I love you.”
The room seemed to freeze, the words hanging in the air between you. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for his response.
Bucky’s hand stilled against yours, his eyes widening slightly as he looked at you. “What did you say?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
You swallowed hard, your pulse racing. “I love you,” you repeated, more firmly this time.
His breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But then he shifted closer, his hand cupping your cheek as he studied your face like he was trying to memorize every detail.
“You mean that?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly.
You nodded, your hand covering his where it rested on your cheek. “I mean it, Bucky.. I love you.”
For a second, he didn’t say anything. His thumb brushed against your cheekbone, his touch warm and steady, and you could see the emotions flickering behind his eyes—fear, disbelief, hope.
Then, finally, he exhaled, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “I love you too,” he said, the words soft but sure, like they’d been waiting inside him all along.
You felt your chest tighten, the weight of his confession hitting you like a wave. You leaned into his touch, your forehead resting against his as a quiet laugh escaped you.
“Why do you sound so surprised?” you teased, though your voice was thick with emotion.
“Because I didn’t think I’d ever get to say it,” he admitted, his voice raw.
You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers tangling with his. “Well, you do,” you said firmly. “You do.”
He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you as he buried his face in your hair. You could feel his heart pounding against your own, his breathing shaky as he held you like he was afraid to let go.
“I love you,” he murmured again, the words muffled against your skin.
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Black
The cracks in your relationship with Bucky had always been there, faint at first, like hairline fractures in glass. But over time, those fractures deepened, spreading until the entire structure seemed ready to shatter. You both saw it coming. Neither of you stopped it.
The end wasn’t sudden—it was a slow, excruciating unraveling. It started with the silences, the way Bucky’s gaze lingered on the horizon instead of you. Then came the arguments, sharp and biting, words flung like weapons that left wounds neither of you could heal. And finally, the moment when everything fell apart.
The air between you was thick, suffocating, as you stood across from Bucky in the dim light of your apartment. Outside, the sun was setting, the sky painted in hues of crimson and gold, like a warning, like a fire.
“You don’t get it, do you?” you snapped, your voice trembling with frustration. “I can’t keep doing this, Bucky. I can’t keep wondering if you’re going to disappear every time things get hard.”
He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his jaw tight. “I’m not disappearing.” His voice was low, but there was an edge to it, the tension in his frame barely restrained.
“Then what do you call it?” You stepped closer, your chest heaving with the weight of everything you’d been holding back. “The nights you don’t come home? The way you shut me out? How am I supposed to love you when you won’t even let me in?”
His eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw something crack in his expression. But then he looked away, and the wall went back up. “You knew what you were getting into,” he muttered, the words like a punch to your chest.
“That’s not fair,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I didn’t know it would feel like this. Like I’m constantly fighting to hold onto you while you’re halfway out the door.”
“I’m trying!” he shot back, his voice rising for the first time. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his frustration boiling over. “Do you think this is easy for me? Do you think I don’t hate myself for dragging you into my mess?”
“I didn’t ask for perfect, Bucky,” you said, your voice shaking. “I just wanted you. But you can’t even give me that, can you?”
The tension snapped like a breaking wire. He turned sharply, his movements abrupt, knocking a glass from the counter. It hit the floor and shattered, the sound ringing out like a gunshot in the suffocating silence.
You both froze, staring at the pieces scattered across the floor. The sharp edges glinted in the fading light, and you couldn’t help but think how perfectly they mirrored the state of your heart.
“I can’t do this,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t keep trying to fix something that doesn’t wanna be fixed.”
His head snapped up, his eyes wide and almost panicked. “Baby, don’t—”
But you held up a hand, cutting him off. “No. You don’t get to keep doing this. You don’t get to keep tearing me apart just because you’re scared.”
You turned away from him, walking to the window where the last rays of the sun bled across the sky. The red hues painted the room, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch forever. You felt his presence behind you, silent and heavy, but he didn’t move closer.
“Do you even love me?” you asked, your voice trembling.
The question hung in the air, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, quietly, he said, “More than anything.”
You closed your eyes, a single tear slipping down your cheek. “Then why does it feel like I’m the only one fighting for us?”
When you finally turned to face him, the sight of him nearly broke you. His shoulders were slumped, his expression a mixture of pain and regret. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.
“I think you need to leave,” you said softly, the words tasting like ash on your tongue.
“No,” he said quickly, his voice thick with emotion. He took a step toward you, but you shook your head.
“Bucky, please,” you said, your voice breaking. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
He stopped, his hands clenching at his sides. For a long moment, the two of you just stared at each other, the weight of everything left unsaid hanging heavy in the air.
“Loving you is the best and worst thing i've ever done,” you whispered finally, the words cutting through the silence.
He flinched, the pain in his eyes unmistakable. But he didn’t argue. He didn’t beg. Instead, he stepped back, his red leather jacket catching the dying light like embers.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely audible.
And then he turned and walked away.
You stood there long after he was gone, staring at the shattered glass on the floor, the red hues of the sunset fading into the gray of twilight. The silence in the room was deafening, and the absence of him felt like a physical ache, a hollow space where your heart had been.
You wanted to scream, to cry, to rage against the unfairness of it all. But all you could do was sink to the floor, your knees pulling to your chest as you clutched the scarf around your neck—the same red scarf you’d worn the night you met him.
The memory of him lingered, vivid and unrelenting, like a fire that refused to be extinguished. And as the last light disappeared, leaving the room bathed in shadows, you realized that some scars never really fade.
Loving him had been a blaze of color, bright and beautiful and all-consuming. But now, all that was left was the ash.
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Dark Grey
Years later, you would still catch yourself tracing the edges of your life, searching for the faint marks Bucky had left on it. They were everywhere—small, quiet reminders that had become part of you. A fleeting song lyric. A warm breeze on a rainy day. The streak of red in a sunset that made your breath hitch.
Not all loves were meant to last forever. You knew that now. But the ones that didn’t stay still had the power to change you. Some were fleeting, like sparks that burn brightly before fading, but even when the fire dies, it leaves a mark. A scar. A memory. A piece of yourself you couldn’t reclaim.
And Bucky had left you with all three.
You moved on in the ways that mattered. You built a life filled with steady, small joys—the kind of life you never would have imagined in those tumultuous days with him. There was laughter and comfort, new love and old friends, and yet, there was always that quiet space inside you that belonged to him.
Because loving Bucky had been unforgettable. It had been red—vivid, bold, and impossible to ignore.
It wasn’t just the good that stayed with you, though. It was the ache, too—the lingering hollow of his absence that sometimes felt like it echoed in your chest.
You remembered the way his hand had felt in yours, steady and warm, even when everything around you felt like it was unraveling. The way his voice, low and rough, could calm you and set you alight in the same breath.
And you remembered the way he looked at you—like you were something he wanted to hold onto but didn’t know how to keep. Like he was terrified of you slipping away, even as he kept his distance.
You didn’t regret loving him. How could you? Even with the heartbreak, the unanswered questions, the nights spent missing him so fiercely you thought it might tear you apart, Bucky had given you something no one else had.
He’d made you feel alive.
One night, as you wandered home after a late dinner with friends, the city felt unusually quiet. The streets were slick with rain, the glow of streetlights reflecting off the pavement in golden pools. You’d tucked your red scarf tighter around your neck, the fabric trailing behind you as the cool wind nipped at your cheeks.
And then you felt it—him.
It wasn’t something you could explain. It wasn’t logical or rooted in reason. It was a pull, a magnetic force that had always drawn you to him, no matter how far apart you’d been.
You stopped mid-step, your eyes scanning the crowded street. At first, it felt silly—just your mind playing tricks on you again, filling strangers’ faces with memories of him. But then you saw him.
Across the street, standing near the entrance to a dimly lit diner, was a figure you’d know anywhere. The dark hair. The broad shoulders. The familiar slouch of someone trying not to be noticed but failing anyway.
Your breath caught. For a moment, the world narrowed to just him, the sound of your heartbeat thundering in your ears.
You hesitated, your feet frozen to the pavement. And then, as if sensing you, he turned.
His eyes found yours across the distance, and the breath you’d been holding escaped in a sharp gasp. It was him. It wasn’t a trick of the light, wasn’t your imagination conjuring his ghost again.
It was Bucky.
He stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. His hair was shorter now, his stubble heavier, but his eyes were the same—piercing, sharp, filled with something you couldn’t name.
He took a step toward you, and for a moment, you thought he might cross the street. But instead, he stopped just at the edge of the curb.
“Red suits you,” he said, his voice low and familiar, carrying over the noise of the city.
The words hit you like a tidal wave, dragging you under. Red suits you. He’d said it to you once before, years ago, as he wrapped your scarf around your neck on a bitterly cold night, pulling you close to kiss you before the wind could steal the moment.
Your lips parted, but no words came out. What could you say?
But he didn’t wait for you to answer. With one last lingering look, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, slipping away as easily as he always had.
You stood there for what felt like hours, staring at the spot where he’d been, your heart racing and your mind spinning. You didn’t know why he’d been there, why he’d said what he had, or why he’d left again so quickly.
But as the rain began to fall again, you smiled, your hand instinctively reaching up to tug your scarf tighter.
Some loves weren’t meant to last forever.
But some burned too brightly to ever truly fade.
And as you turned and walked into the night, the rain soaking your hair and your scarf trailing behind you, you couldn’t help but feel like you were exactly where you were meant to be—haunted, alive, and forever marked by him.
Because loving Bucky had been red. And somehow, you knew, that story wasn’t finished yet.
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marigold-hills · 21 hours ago
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The Dark Wizard
preview! Wolfstar Howls Moving Castle AU a tiny little bit of the next work I’ll be working on. Posting will begin in December :) massive thanks to the groupchat for checking this over before I posted, you are the absolute best ❤️
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When Remus leaves his hometown, it’s not to seek his fortune, or adventure, or – gods forbid – love. He leaves because he’s a monster, and monsters do not belong in society. They belong in the Waste.
This is how it happens.
It’s May Day. The village of Hogsmead is abuzz with excitement. Revellers and drunks, lovely dressed up ladies and dapper gentlemen circling one another, for propriety's sake staying respectable distances away. The gentlemen whistling at the ladies, the ladies pretending to be aghast by the behaviour, covertly blushing and giggling.
It’s a perfect day. Sunny, warm, bright.
For Remus, it’s perfect for a different reason.
Everyone is too busy to notice their pockets getting lighter. Too buzzed to pay attention to the man dressed in ill-fitting clothes walking too close to others. A casual jostle is just this - casual. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to raise concern.
Remus has a few pilfered wallets in a hidden pocket he sewed into a stolen vest. It’s easy, this. He’s done it for years.
“My apologies,” he smiles at a man in a soldier’s garb, whose money pouch he just appropriated. This one feels good for more than one reason - the soldier was in the process of accosting a lady who did not seem pleased to be accosted. She takes the moment he gets distracted by Remus and ducks away. Remus would like to say that he makes sure to only steal from those who deserve it, but it wouldn’t be true.
Food is food, and money is money, and both are something he needs to live. Remus can’t get a job, on account of being a monster, on account of how many days he has to take out to recuperate and travel somewhere far enough to make sure he wouldn’t let himself loose on his quaint hometown of Hogsmeade. Since his parents’ passing, this is what he’s been reduced to. 
He’s tall but can make himself look unassuming, with hair once golden-auburn and now grey from the effect of too many full moons. It’s perfect for this job, being easy to look over and hard to describe. He’s young but looks old. Feels old, too, but that’s not something for people to see.
Remus makes mistakes in this work so rarely that he doesn’t notice he’s made one until it’s too late.
He’s following a well-dressed man, waiting for an opportunity to strike. The man is exceptionally pretty, with short black curls barely skimming the tops of his ears and a gait like royalty. Remus follows behind him at a stretch, slow and careful, until they round the back of a seedy, dark pub and the man turns around like he is the one who set the trap.
Green eyes like poison.
“Trailing the Wizard of the Waste, that’s brave of you,” the man says with a voice that freezes Remus midstep.
Because he knows better than that. He knows not to go for the people who are dressed overly expensive, with rich black fabrics and shining peacock plumes in their hats. He knows chances are somebody is watching over the really rich. That the possibility of a greater payoff doesn’t compare to the risk of being caught.
And yet here he is: caught.
“Or maybe simply foolish,” the Wizard says. “You don’t look a fool, but such things can be so deceiving, don’t you agree?”
The way his eyes pierce through Remus: all he can think is he knows. Somebody knows. Remus has been found out. 
He turns and runs, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away. Remus remembers what the townspeople did the last time someone was found out. Remembers the stench of burning flesh.
He doesn’t look back once while he flees, not even when the Wizard shouts “my regards to Sirius!”, to his retreating back. 
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tagging you lovely people who had previously been interested in future works - let me know if you want to be in the list for this one as well :)
@tealeavesandtrash
@moon-girl88
@hoje--aqui
@cocoabutterandbooks
@onion-sliced-apples
@prancingpony42
@digital-kam
@remoonysiriusly
@sweetstarryskies
@a-sunset-outside-my-window
@procrastinatingstuff
@annaliza999
(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged!)
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zhongrin · 1 day ago
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lighter......... the man you are......................
youtube
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m-e-stanley · 2 days ago
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A JINX ARC 3 CHARACTER STUDY
Arcane act 3 served as a brutal reminder to just how impactful Isha was to Jinx mental health
Season 2 starts after Jinx just killed Silco and attached the leadership of Piltover. We see her drifting, lost, till she finds Isha. Or rather, till Isha drops on her.
And then we see a visibly lighter Jinx. She jokes around, she's more sarcastic and she seems to be lighter. She didn't even want to join the Piltover/Zaun conflict. She was, maybe, content. To just live with Isha in that little hideout, playing monster Bash with Stink Maw and the others. And when she got back into fighting, she only did it because Isha was captured.
But then Isha died and when we see Jinx in the final arc, we see probably the quietest version of the character we've ever seen. Jinx has looked angry, sad, happy and even crazy, but for the first time, we saw Jinx tired. Not the physical tired, but the mental tired. She didn't even try to escape from Cait's officers and let herself be arrested after making sure Vi was okay.
She feels like she is truly a Jinx. First, in season one her bomb caused the deaths and her eventual separation from Vi. Then she killed Silco. And then Isha, sweet Isha who loved and admired her no matter her crimes, died right in front of her.
Why did Isha's death have that much impact? What was it about Isha?
There's many reasons.
Vander and Silco had already happened by then. She never truly recovered from those losses. In Zaun, there really is no time for grief, just survival. And Jinx was a bottled up character filled with grief. Grief over a childhood lost due to her attempt to help. And then the grief over the man who took her in after that, and who died at her hand. Isha was just the straw that broke the camel's back.
Or maybe it was because Isha loved her even when she became Jinx. Her childhood friends and family loved powder. Silco loved Jinx, yes. But Silco also used Jinx in his business.
But Isha? Isha looked at Jinx, what she saw as the worst version of herself, and loved her unapologetically. Admired her, modelled herself after her and followed her everywhere. That was something she never had. And then she tried so hard, so so hard to keep that feeling, only to lose it.
Isha brought life to jinx. Don't get me wrong, Jinx was always alive. But Isha brought something Jinx didn't feel in so long. Contentment. Jinx was content at that hideout with just Isha. Jinx was never the type of character to stay in one place, even when she was powder. She had a restless soul and it showed in how she was everywhere as powder and Jinx. But with Isha, she was content to just stay in the hideout. And even when it came to leaving that safe space, she only did it for one person. Isha.
She took the death of Isha so hard, she tried killing herself. And even at the end, that loss, that sense of being tired, still never left her.
Honestly I was not surprised when she let go of Vi's glove. She had already said her goodbyes in that prison. When she told Vi "you don't need to feel guilty about being happy", she had said her goodbye. She was all done with it all. She was tired. And Isha's death was the tipping point. Even there, looking at her sister, her one family left, she was still so done. So so tired of losing everyone and thinking it was her fault. She said earlier in the season that everyone that gets close to her dies. And she looked at the one last person that was close to her, Vi. She probably remembered everyone that was close to her that she lost. Their parents. Vander. Silco. Her childhood friends. And the most recent and the one that hurt the most, Isha. She thought of them, and looked at her only sister. The only person she loved who was still alive and thought, maybe if I'm gone, she could be happy. And she went into the dark unknown.
That shows that despite everything she had been through, Jinx still could love, in her own way. She was not a perfect character. She made mistakes, was impulsive, sometimes cruel and even violent. But she was the a product of her environment. Zaun was fucked and so kept on producing fucked up children growing into that fucked up society and becoming fucked up teenagers and adults who eventually gave birth to kids and the whole cycle repeats itself.
Maybe Jinx is still alive. Maybe she's dead
But there's one thing that's for sure
Jinx is done with Piltover and Zaun. There's nothing left for here there but voices and ghosts and the one sister who she has said her goodbyes to.
It's time for Jinx and Powder to rest
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cardinalcanis · 2 days ago
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Wheel of fortune: part 1.
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"Hey kid? Wanna go down this ride as I make my OC miserable?"
[Next]
Summary: Cato discovers a well kept secret between the primarch and his right hand man.
Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x Ovidius Sulla (M!OC)
Tw: Cato, violation of privacy
Word count: 707
Tag squad (let me know if you wish to be tagged on stuff): @druidwolf21 @wolf-feathers12 @artemisareia @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus
@gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @kit-williams @egrets-not-regrets @jaghatai-khock @horuslupercal
@moodymisty @lemon-russ @thisuserislilsilly
@sinistermojo @beckyninja @justallll @ms--lobotomy @pluvio-tea
@cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @finchly-tintinnabulation
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Cato Sicarius strode through the hallways of the Macragge’s Honor  with military precision in each step. He had a simple task: deliver a set of vital documents to Primarch Roboute Guilliman. But as he approached the Primarch’s private quarters, an inexplicable sense of foreboding began to settle in his gut.
Sicarius reached for the door, hesitating momentarily, finding it slightly open. He should have knocked anyway, as Guilliman’s privacy was sacred. Something about the atmosphere emanating the room felt charged, he readied his gun in one hand, he had outlived enough tricks of the warp to identify when something was off. What if the Primarch had been secretly attacked during the recent warp jump? 
The commander of the Victrix Honour Guard’s training kicked in as he readily peered through the opening, just as if ambushing the enemy in the field. The sight that greeted him was unexpected, nothing in the Codex Astartes had prepared him for it.
There, on the edge of Guilliman’s grand, well-ordered desk, sat Ovidius, his disgusting mechanical hands wrapped around the Primarch's shoulders. Guilliman was sitting on the floor over his knees, the only way they could make it so their heights sort of match. Seeing his gene sire on his knees in front of a human overfilled Sicarius with scorn, this, this must be some ruinous corruption. 
The warmth of their closeness radiated between them. Sicarius’s breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding with disbelief. In that moment, Ovidius leaned in, pressing his lips softly against Guilliman's in a tender kiss, their eyes momentarily closed as they gave themselves to the moment. His disgust grew as he saw how the Primarch melted and surrendered to the Head Logistician’s touch, weakness, that man is planting weakness inside his gene sire. 
There were so many feelings competing inside him; shock, a visceral jolt of confusion and anger. How dare they? The thought flared within him like a bolt of lightning, illuminating the shadows of jealousy and betrayal that lurked in his heart. As he stood frozen at the threshold, he found himself grappling with a tide of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.
There was an undeniable sincerity in their connection, an authenticity that radiated from their shared gaze. Ovidius’s usual anxious demeanor melted away in Guilliman’s presence, replaced by a radiant trust that made Sicarius’s chest ache and stomach churn. The Primarch, the demigod, seemed lighter, almost human, in that fleeting moment. Impossible, Guilliman is not human, whatever this is it’ll only bring them ruin. 
Sicarius clenched his fists as the kiss lingered in the air, a silent promise between them, and as Ovidius pulled away, a shy smile graced his lips, illuminating his features. Guilliman’s eyes softened, a glimmer of affection and vulnerability that should not have a place in a being such as a primarch. How long has this been going on? How did it start? He had seen how competent the Head Logistican was at his position but there was something he couldn’t shake off. He knew mortals and how all they change and twist after having a taste of power. That’s why The Son of Ultramar reinstated the tetrarchs among his gene sons, so they would rule without the corruption that inhabits normal human hearts. The Avenging Son was powerful, and Ovidius had gotten just a taste of what that power was, the bastard wanted more. 
He leaned away from the open door and placed the gun back into its holster. Composing his emotions he would politely knock on the door. 
“My Lord, it is I, Cato Sicarius. I bring you updates from the situation on the western front.” he said, masking his disgust with many layers of cold formality. 
It took Roboute Guilliman a bit longer than usual to respond, Cato’s expression twisted as he waited. 
“Commander Sicarius, you may come in.” His gene sire’s voice answered in its usual tone, away from the human he was playing as. 
He entered, the room had shifted, with Guilliman back behind his desk and the Administratum leech sorting paperwork in a far corner. Cato wondered not for how long this charade had been going on, but how he would stop it. But not now, he must pretend nothing happened.
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gallaghersgal · 2 days ago
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WILD & FLUORESCENT, lip gallagher
c5. of BORDERLINE, lip x bsf! reader (nickname: MK)
TAGS & WARNINGS → MATURE 18+. underage drinking, smoking (🚬), kissing!!!!! theyre kissing in this one guys. mostly fluff, a bit of emotional angst. but this is just the clubbing & graduation chapter, really!
CHAPTER SUMMARY → the last two months before graduation are a whirlwind, but you take all of it in stride. teetering on the edge of friends and something more, lip is by your side for all of it.
A/N → final chapter is here!! but don't worry, there is much more mkverse content to come. stay tuned!!
WC → 2.1k
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After convincing Ian to drive the three of you downtown for the night, You, Lip and Adri pile into your car. You let Lip sit in the front seat to guide his brother, still newer at driving at only sixteen. Though, you remember a time when he’d driven a truck that Frank had… acquired. All the way down to the docks and back, at twelve. To say Fiona was pissed? That would be the understatement of the century.
You peer around the headrest, craning your neck while the car rolls to a stop in a crowded city lot. A deep color lines your lips, and you apply a shiny gloss on top. For a moment you glance at Lip, your heart quickening when you see he’s already looking at you. 
“Look like a whore,” he teases, drawing a giggle from your lips. You don’t mind it. You know he’s just being coy.
“Yeah well,” you gesture at his half undone button up, “could say the same about you.” You swat the back of his head with one hand before retreating to step out of the car.
Lip and Adri do the same, and the boy shrugs as he walks around to the drivers side where you are. The front window rolls down and Ian peeks out, “hey man, y’said you’d give me a ten for this.”
An unlit cig hands from his mouth as Lip pats his pockets for a lighter. You hand him yours when he’s unsuccessful. “Did I though?” Lip responds to his brother, “cause, I don’t remember that.” 
Adri fishes a ten five from her purse, then holds her hand out to Lip. “Come on, pay up.” He rolls his eyes at her but obliges, five dollars wasna sacrifice he could make. Adri hands the money to Ian with a pat on his arm, “thanks Ian, drive safe okay?”
He smiles and nods, rolling up the window before pulling away. Lip eyes her as the three of you walk towards the entry line. “You know AJ, there’s no use in hitting on my brother–”
She laughs in disbelief, “what? No, Lip–oh my god–I play for the other team too.” Lip’s eyes widen in surprise, his wit silenced, and Adri nearly doubles over. 
“Oh yeah?” Lip asks, “good to know.”
“Yeah. If I was going for anyone in your family, it’d for sure be Fiona,” she tells him, and then it’s Lip’s turn to stumble from the intensity of his laughter as you approach the end of the line. 
You check your reflection in the window of a closed shop, “If I don’t make out with someone fine tonight, I’m throwing a fit. Seriously.”
Still recovering, Lip pants out, “you look pretty like always MK.”
You raise an eyebrow in response, “really. ‘Cause earlier y’called me a whore.”
“Mm-hmm,” he nods, taking a drag from his cig before exhaling the smoke away from your face. “A pretty whore, yeah. What’s it Adri said, slutty chic?”
At his comment, you remember his words this morning. 
Lip and Adri wait for you outside the corner store as you get your picture taken for a new fake, dead set on getting a good one. This could last until your actual twenty-first birthday. When you finally emerge Lip takes your newly updated card from your hand, inspecting it closely. “You definitely got a discount ‘cause y’r hot. Mine cost like, twenty dollars more and wasn’t half as nice as this shit. But it scans, so I can’t complain.”
Adri eyes you at the comment, lifting an eyebrow behind Lip’s back. He’s indecisive in that way, always half hitting on you but never making a move. It drives you up the wall.
Why does Lip Gallagher have to be so infuriating?
You dismiss him as Adri pulls three smirnoff shooters from her purse. “Fuck! Forgot I had these in here still, meant to take them in the car.” She quickly passes you one each, unscrewing the top to her own. 
“Wait, I wanna make a video,” you tell her. “For our future selves.”
“Of course you do,” Lip complains, but there’s a smile on his face as you prop up your phone. 
You step back between the two of them, raising the small bottle. “Cheers! To… uh–”
“To your twenty-first,” Lip supplies with a smirk. He throws an arm around your shoulders after uncrewing his shot. “And to many, many more.”
“Many more!” Adri toasts, grinning as the three of you clink the bottles and down the shots. 
A bit of a lightweight, you’re feeling the shot by the time you approach the bouncer. By batting your eyes and flashing your ID while telling the large man how excited you were to finally get to try adult things, you distract him enough that he doesn’t check Adri’s ID. Only when the two of you make it to the bar and look back for Lip do you notice he’s still outside the door. He peers around, scowling at the two of you for abandoning ship while he’s left to shell out the cover fee. Thank god you’d known not to pick somewhere too fancy, a little divey club with a dated soundtrack and cheaper drinks. He only had to give the bouncer fifteen before he was allowed inside. 
You offer to buy him a drink as an apology but he refuses, placing a ten on the bar. “I’ll have the three for ten shots, just pour something y’think these girls would like?”
You watch the bartender shoot him a grin before grabbing a bottle of house made strawberry syrup. He rimmed three shot glasses with the syrup before pouring rum and a splash of lemonade. He passes them over and Lip hands the shots out, “on me,” he says with a grin as he elbows you. 
The rum goes down the hatch with ease–it’s your favorite liquor–the bartender made a pretty accurate guess. While you shake off the burn of the shot you hear music that you immediately recognize. You place the plastic cup down on the bar and grab your friends’ hands. “Come on!”
You drag Adri onto the floor, grinning when she takes your other hand and the two of you twirl around. Your hand had slipped from Lip’s as he stayed by the bar, ordering drinks. You pray to god he’s putting them on separate tabs. Lip wades through the crowd with three plastic cups in his hands. He passes two fruity cocktails to you and Adri before gulping down half of his own whiskey sour, his hips beginning to sway to the beat. You twirl around on your own, surprised when a warm hand lands on your hip. 
From behind you Lip murmurs, “this ain’t weird, right?” He guides you to face in Adri’s direction, shes lost in some girl’s eyes. 
You stammer out, “n-no ‘s not–” before he’s swaying you to the beat. He downs the rest of his drink, placing the empty cup on a ledge to your right. Two hands now guide you to face him, looking like the cat that got the cream the way he’s grinning at you.  
And it isn’t weird, really. You’ve always had this unspoken thing between you. Always flirted with the edge of friendship and something more. Regardless, you’re comfortable with it. 
The night goes on just like that, Adri swaps kisses with the girl, smudging a nice shade of brown all over her own lips. You stumble out around two-thirty in the morning, clinging to Lip’s side as Adri hops in a cab home. She offered the two of you a ride to the station but it was in the opposite direction, and Lip insisted the two of you could walk the two blocks there. 
“C’mon MK, lets get you home yeah?” Lip says, his arm holding your waist securely. 
You focus on your steps, blurry eyes pulling away from Adri’s cab as she leaves. You look up to see Lip’s sparkling blue eyes turned toward you, and you’re grateful to the cool wind for excusing the flush on your cheeks. 
“Thanks,” you slur, heading down the street. It’s a short walk which you fill with comfortable silence until your tired body is collapsing into a seat on the L. Within seconds your head finds Lip’s shoulder, drawing a chuckle from the boy. “Lip?” you ask softly, looking up at him.
He smiles graciously, his lips curving into a tipsy grin. “Yeah? Wha’s up kid?”
Your flush worsens at the soft nickname and gentle tone of voice he uses. “Will we be best friends forever?” you ask softly, feeling childish. But you need to know, and they always say drunk words are sober thoughts.
Lip’s smile dips and for a second you fear the worst, but his gentle hand moves to ruffle your already messy hair. “Oh yeah, no doubt about it,” he murmurs. Before you know what’s happening he’s kissed your head. A soft peck right on your crown. 
You stare up in awe, and as if moving on their own you see your fingers tangle in his curls. You pull him down until his lips are on yours, teeth knocking but you don’t find it in you to care. He tastes like the whiskey sours he’d been sipping on all night, smooth bourbon mingling with the acidic taste of a vodka cran on your tongue. 
After a moment you come to your senses, kissing him like this on a public–although empty–train. “Fuck! Lip, ‘m s-so sorry, jeez–”
He cuts you off with a soft finger running over your bottom lip. He traces up to the corner, lifting it into a pretty curve until you’re smiling on your own. He kisses your smiling lips, then murmurs, “‘s okay, y’know. We can be friends who kiss.”
You can kiss Lip Gallagher. Whenever you want. You’re too elated to care about the friendly label. 
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Graduation rolls around in due time. Lip looks good in his cap and gown, khaki shorts and a crisp button down underneath. He has you tie his deep blue tie for him, up in your bedroom before heading off. He kisses you in the proximity, holding your cap flush against your head as his own knocks it backwards. All while Caroline and Ian wait downstairs. 
The four of you ride in your car over to the school, and you hold back your tears in the parking lot as you hug your little sister all, dressed up to sing the National Anthem at your graduation. You sit far from Lip during the ceremony but find each other afterwards, walking to the front of the school arm in arm to take a few pictures. Adri surprises you on the way, catching up after sitting right in the front for the best view. You shriek with laughter as she hugs you, you hadn’t even seen her. The three of you take a picture together, Adri sandwiched between Lip and yourself. When you look back at it, you see Lip smiling like the sun in your direction. 
When everything is done and your camera roll is sufficiently full of graduation shots, your little group disbands. Lip says goodbye to his own family, Fiona needing to return to work and Veronica taking the kids back home. You hug your parents tightly, taking one last photo with them by the school sign before they head off. Adri takes a hint from the glance you shoot her, and offers Caro and Ian a ride in her jeep, with the windows down. Of course they say yes. 
That leaves you and Lip alone in your car. You shift into reverse, and when you turn your head to check behind you, he catches your lips with his own. Just a peck, you wish it was more. “You’ll call me every Friday when I’m in Mass, yeah?” he asks, face still close to yours. 
“Of course I will,” you murmur. “I’ll update you on everything.”
“Everything?” he questions, as a smirk plays at his lips. 
“Yeah, everything. Promise.”
You hold out your pinkie, and he does the same. You lock your fingers in the same way you would as kids, swearing to be friends forever. Distance won’t break this bond, right?
“Even your hookups?” Lip asks, drawing his pinkie back from yours. “I want it all, y’know. Girl talk and everything.”
You laugh at him before turning your gaze forward again. “Yeah, right. No fuckin’ way I’m telling you about my sex life. I’ll have Adri for that.” 
He laughs too, goodnaturedly, and clicks his seatbelt on when you glare at him. “Well, I’ll be tellin’ you ‘bout mine, so just know that. Dunno if I’m gonna make too many friends with those mathlete pricks and daddy’s money jagoffs,” he scoffs. 
You roll your eyes, “yeah, I’ll be your phone diary, ‘kay?” From the corner of your eye you can see him smile.
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THX 4 READING → the final installment of borderline is dedicated to mkip nation; @notsonian, @ariiireads, and @dearpyramus. beta'd by the lovely @carmybrainworms <33
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