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randominchident · 3 days ago

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from friends to this

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. max verstappen x reader ⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

you've been friends with max for as long as you can remember, it takes a redbull engineer asking you out for both of you to realise you want more. (so much softness and longing)

alternative ending possessive version can be read here

You couldn’t remember the exact day you two had become friends. It was some day in middle school, you were sure of that. But the details had blurred over the years. It felt like you had always known each other.

Max had always been in your life.

You had always been in his.

Sitting in each other’s orbits just felt natural—though entirely platonic. That was the part others struggled to understand.

It was laughable the amount of times waiters had brought candles to your dinner table, 'for the mood', assuming the two of you were on a date. You'd stop correcting them after the third time it happened. Besides, it was fun to laugh about. To joke about how much you'd annoy each other if you really were a couple.

"You snore like a bear," you said, laughing over a glass of red wine, "I pity your future girlfriend."

"Doesn’t seem to bother you too much."

“For a free hotel room, I’ll put up with anything.”

He laughed.

After all these years of sporadically sharing hotel rooms, late night drives, unlimited paddock passesand crude jokes—you two had stayed simply good friends. He'd held you through bad break ups and you had held him through every DNF and every crash. You knew eachother like the back of your hand. Friends for life, that was what you always said.

Until things started to shift. Slowly. Subtly. So gently that neither of you really noticed.

It was Free Practice.

Rain had settled over the city days ago and showed no sign of stopping anytime soon. The paddock was chaos—engineers scrambling to keep tires warm, trainers trying to keep drivers from catching colds.

Max stood calm in the middle of it all. You watched him, helmet in hand, exchanging quiet words with GP. It was always a strange sort of magic, how he could look so at home in the storm—like it was made for him.

You smiled to yourself.

He’d be fine today. You knew it.

“So, how long have you been together?”

The voice broke you from your thoughts.

You blinked, turning to find Marcus—one of the newer engineers—looming beside your seat. Tall, a bit cocky, but charming in a way that probably worked for him.

“What?” you asked, unsure if you’d misheard.

“You and Max. Been together long?”

You snorted. “Oh. No. We aren’t together. Just friends, y’know?”

It wasn’t the first time someone has misunderstood your relationship with Max. Hell, it wasn’t even the first time someone from Red Bull had made the mistake. Marcus glanced back toward Max, then returned his gaze to you with a slow smirk.

“Damn. And here I thought I had no chance.” He grinned. “You free tonight? I’d love to take you for a drink.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Your brain fumbled for an excuse, but none came fast enough.

“Sure,” you found yourself saying. “Why not.”

Barely a few minutes later, Max is by your side, throwing a tyre blanket over you to keep warm.

“It’d be unfortunate if you died of hypothermia before you saw me win on Sunday.”

“Yeah, what would you do without your only supporter cheering in the crowd?” You joked, burrowing into the blanket and sighing from the sudden warmth.

“I’d be lost without you,” he said, mock-solemnly. But there was a warmth in his voice that caught you slightly off-guard.

Max had told you to wear an extra jacket this morning. You had ignored him. He was pretty smug about it, but it didn’t stop him from trying to warm you up—even going as far as to offer his own jacket. As if he wasn't also standing out in the cold.

“Dinner tonight?” He asked, sipping on his water bottle and moving to sit beside you.

“Uh, I’ve got plans actually.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Plans? With who?”

“Marcus,” you answered, feeling a strange knot form in your stomach. “He asked me out for a few drinks.”

“Oh.”

Max didn’t say anything for a moment, but his gaze flickered briefly to Marcus, cold and stiff, before returning to you. There was something unreadable in his expression.

“Well,” he said, his voice casual but slow, jaw tight and face still, “He seems… nice. I guess.”

You smiled slightly, though it didn’t feel true. You were unable to keep the small flicker of guilt from beating in your chest.

That night, as you found yourself in the dimly lit bar, nursing a glass of wine with Marcus, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was... off. Not with Marcus, exactly. He was a decent guy—charming in that way that could probably win anyone over—but the whole time, you couldn’t stop thinking about Max.

Suddenly a text came through. You knew who it was before you even checked.

Going ok?

Marcus leaned over to see the message. He scoffed slightly, “I thought you weren’t together?”

“We aren’t.”

“Then why is he checking on you? Need his permission to go out?”

“Of course I don’t. He just…” you weren’t sure how to phrase it. “He just likes to know I’m ok.”

Another text came through, you angled your phone towards your chest so Marcus wouldn’t see:

I can pretend to be sick if you want to leave.

Then another:

I can see you reading these… is he that boring?

You laughed slightly and put your phone away.

It was ridiculous. You were here with someone else. Yet Max’s face kept slipping into your thoughts, his teasing smile, the way he always seemed to have your back without even trying. The way he cared so effortlessly. Always checking to make sure you were safe, you were happy.

When the evening ended and Marcus walked you back to your hotel, you could tell he wanted to kiss you. But a pit formed in your stomach at the thought of it. So you just smiled, thanked him for a nice night (not a great night, but a nice one) and quickly walked into your hotel room.

Being alone again was a breath of fresh air.

The next day, quali day, you found yourself wandering the paddock, watching the flurry of activity around you as everyone prepared. Max was in his element, once again, focusing completely on the task ahead. But when he saw you, that familiar, soft smile curved across his face.

“Survived last night?” he asked, walking over to you, his voice a mix of teasing and genuine concern.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the tiny smile that tugged at your lips.

You rolled your eyes, though the corners of your mouth tugged upward despite your best effort. “Barely. I think I hit my lifetime quota of polite smiles. I can only listen to guys explain their workout routine for so long.”

Max let out a low laugh. “Sounds fucking borning.”

You bumped his arm with your elbow, the familiar rhythm of your banter helping smooth the awkward edge that had hung in the air since last night. “Maybe I just have high standards.”

He tilted his head, eyes steady on yours. “Maybe you just went out with the wrong guy.”

The words hit you in the chest harder than you expected. You opened your mouth—half to laugh it off, half to challenge it—but nothing came out.

Max seemed to catch himself, blinking once, then glancing toward the garages like he hadn’t said anything at all. “Anyway,” he said, softer now, “Glad you survived.”

“I always do,” you replied, your voice not quite as light as you meant it to be.

Another pause. A quieter one.

Then he asked, “Did he try anything?”

You looked up at him, surprised by the question—not because he asked, but because of the way he asked. Not teasing. Not brotherly. Just… careful. Like he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“No,” you said. “It wasn’t like that. I don’t think I wanted it to be.”

Max nodded once, but didn’t say anything. His jaw ticked slightly. You noticed.

Before you could decide what it meant, one of the Red Bull crew called his name from across the paddock, breaking the moment in two.

He started to walk off, then hesitated. “You’ll be watching?”

“You even have to ask?”

He smiled at that, something warmer than victory flickering in his expression.

And just like that, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you standing there with a hundred unsaid things heavy on your tongue.

Max dragged the car to pole, of course.

By the time the final times were locked in, your voice was hoarse from cheering and your heart felt like it had been running laps alongside him. You waited until the press was done pulling him in every direction before slipping backstage near the motorhome.

He spotted you instantly, eyes lighting up under the brim of his cap. “There she is.”

You didn’t hesitate. You threw your arms around his neck and held tight, letting him feel the full weight of how proud you were. “You killed it out there.”

He laughed into your shoulder. “You think?”

“I know.”

When you pulled back, his hands lingered at your waist, grounding you. The smile on his face softened as his gaze dipped lower, hovering somewhere near your mouth.

You swallowed. He didn’t say anything else—just gave your hip the lightest squeeze. You thought he would step back, like he always did after a celebratory hug. But instead he stayed there. His eyes remained locked on yours.

“What?” You asked.

“Nothing.” His eyes flicked to someone behind you, then back to you.

“Nothing,” Max repeated, but there was a flicker of something in his voice. Something restrained. “Just… you’re here. That’s all.”

You huffed out a small laugh, though your heartbeat was climbing at a concerning rate. “Where else would I be?”

He didn’t answer that. Didn’t need to. You both knew where he was thinking of—across a bar table from a different guy, smiling politely, checking your phone too often.

Someone called Max’s name again—sharper this time. He blinked, like surfacing from deep water, then slowly stepped back. His hands dropped from your waist. You tried not to feel the loss of warmth too acutely.

“I’ll see you later,” he said, already backing away.

You nodded, watching him go. The moment, so suddenly, over. The warmth of his hands on your hips lingering after he had gone.

Later that night, you found yourself standing in the hallway outside Max’s hotel room, quietly debating whether or not to knock. He had texted earlier—Movie? My room? Just us?—like it was the most casual thing in the world.

But it didn’t feel casual.

Not anymore.

You knocked.

The door opened almost instantly. He must’ve been waiting.

He stood there in sweatpants and a hoodie, barefoot, hair still slightly damp from a shower. Your gaze dropped instinctively to the nape of his neck, the clean skin of his collarbone and familiar freckles.

He stepped aside without saying a word, and you moved past him into the room.

It was quiet inside, dim and warm. The curtains were drawn, a movie already paused on the screen—some familiar, ridiculous action flick with explosions every other minute. You smiled.

“Got snacks,” Max said, moving to the side table. “But no wine. Sorry.”

“Guess I’ll survive,” you said softly, taking off your jacket.

He sat on the bed, remote in one hand, and gave you a small smile that was all shyness and something a little deeper. “You coming?”

You joined him, sitting close enough that your shoulders touched.

The movie played.

You tried to focus, really, you did. But the warmth of his leg against yours, the way his fingers occasionally brushed the comforter close to your hand—it was pulling all your attention away from the screen.

And then it happened. Slowly. Like everything else with him.

Your head dropped to his shoulder.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just let you stay there. Like he’d been waiting for it to happen. Hoping it would. You felt, more than heard, the breath he released. It ghosted across your hairline.

“I missed you last night,” he said, barely a whisper.

Your heart stuttered. “You knew where I was.”

“Doesn’t mean I liked it.”

You turned your head to look up at him. He was already looking down at you.

A beat of silence stretched between you. His hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure he was allowed to.

So you reached first.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, tugging him a little closer.

“I saw you walking back with him last night,” Max went on, his voice rougher now. “And all I could think about was how he got to be the one beside you. Even if it was nothing. Even if it didn’t mean anything. I hated it.”

The silence stretched out.

“I didn’t kiss Marcus,” you said, “because I couldn’t stop thinking about how it would feel if it were you.”

He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering down to your mouth. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

“I do.”

Another breath. Then, finally, his hand rose to your cheek—tentative at first, almost reverent. Like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you this way. His thumb traced just below your cheekbone, and his eyes were full of something deep and aching.

When he kissed you, it wasn’t sudden. It was slow. Careful. Like he’d been dreaming about it for so long he didn’t want to get it wrong. His lips moved against yours with a kind of quiet desperation, like he was pouring years of longing into the space between you.

You melted into him instantly.

And when you finally pulled back, breathless and heart thundering, Max rested his forehead against yours, eyes still closed.

“I’ve wanted that for so long,” he whispered.

“I know,” you whispered back, smiling. “Me too.”

He opened his eyes, and they were softer now. Unshielded. “Please tell me this isn’t just for tonight”

“It’s not,” you said. You knew then, as you think you knew years ago, that this was it for you. Max was always where you were meant to end up.

hope you enjoyed <3 i've never written this trope before so apologise if it dragged a bit! as always requests are open!

#f1 #f1 fanfic #y/n #max verstappen x reader #formula 1 #f1 x reader #max verstappen #max vertsappen fic #mv1 #mv33 #red bull racing #red bull f1 #boy best friend #friends to lovers #friends to more

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hillbillyoracle · 1 day ago

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This post got me thinking. Like really churning. I just started working through Momento Mori by Joanna Ebenstein and this post kicked up some realizations for me.

Most of my major experiences with death happened before the age of like 25. Some were the ones you "expect" like grandparents and others were friends in my scene who either OD'd or straight up disappeared. My more recent experiences were supporting my partner through 3 deaths in the family in 3 months - one a cousin that was a few years younger than her that accidentally OD's leaving behind her children. Another was the grandmother who was her rock growing up in a chaotic household and who steadfastly included me at family gatherings when my partner's mom and sister would ice me out. All passed suddenly.

I think the only thing that is universally true about grief is that everyone goes through it differently.

Because so much of what these replies held up as "this is what you say" and "this is what you do" - I fucking hate that stuff (even though I admit I default to it) as much as or more than so many people here hate the religious comments (which I usually don't tend to mind personally).

To me:

"I'm sorry for your loss" = "I am having the correct feeling about this."

"I can't imagine what you're going through" = "I can't relate to you and I'm putting distance between us to feel better about it."

"How are you doing?" = "Share something vulnerable with me so I feel like I helped you."

And you could say I'm hearing that wrong, and I get that I likely am, but that's what those words mean to me. And when I'm grieving I've learned I can't really access that part of my brain that better attunes me the "proper responses".

I also do not want someone to feel angry with, I do not want my anger fed at all. I want help dissolving it because if I don't it'll fully consume me and that's even worse than the grief for me, to have all the good in me burnt up while I'm still alive because that's my personal experience of anger.

Which is all just to say, it has nothing to do with religiosity in my experience - there's simply no "correct" response you can rely on for all people. In words or in deed.

And that is what makes experiencing grief so hard - everyone gives you what they got and often it's a reflection of their own stunted relationship with death, yes even the atheists, and it often sucks.

And trying to comfort someone in grief sucks - how do you use words and actions to reach them when communication of any kind is so highly individual and this individual might not be able to tell you what they need and want to hear/have done?

If you go "no actually they're using the wrong words/actions, these are the correct ones", you wind up doing the very same things as the people who've pissed you off.

Or at least, that's what I found when I dug into it.

I try to be forgiving when I'm grieving but I fall short. I don't expect someone grieving to be forgiving if I miss the mark, but I appreciate it immensely when they're able.

My favorite things to hear when I'm grieving are ones I know some other people hate:

"I miss them so much."

"Remember when they..."

"I thought about them today."

"I wonder what they'd say about..."

"They would have loved this."

"I had a dream about them."

Releasing the idea that there was a correct thing people could say to me and I would feel a little better (or ensure I wouldn't feel worse) let me grieve how I needed to grieve. It let me support in ways I could better sustain over the long term (because boy howdy if grief isn't long term).

Anywho, a heartfelt hug and virtual cup of tea to anyone else reading this and going through it. On other side. Solidarity friends.

it's been a year so i feel more comfortable talking about it..

when you're atheist and you lose someone, religious people don't really know how to interact with you. it's fine, we have different worldviews.

'He's in a better place, now.'

Sorry auntie, but I don't believe that. I believe that his brain stopped working at 5h55pm on december 11th 2022, and that's it. Nothing after that.

It makes grief very difficult, because not believing in god or the afterlife also means accepting that you will never, ever see that person again. That's it. The end. Nada mas.

But, back to the aunties and other faceless people gravitating in the grey blurry waters of your awareness.

They tell you 'He's with god now' and you tell them 'Yeah I don't believe that' and.

they. get. annoyed.

Here I am, gutted open, the worst day of my life, barely holding myself together, and they! Get annoyed that I won't smile and entertain their point of view!

Another faceless person tried to heal me with cristals. She also got annoyed when I told her I didn't believe in that.

I usually don't really mind religious people. It's fine, we have different worldviews. I think I'm right but so do they. As long as they're good people, I don't judge them for their faith.

I'll even be grateful for them trying to console me. I get that you're trying to give me strength and love. Thank you.

But I'm going to be true to myself, yes even when I'm mad with shock and grief. And I still can't believe they got annoyed that I didn't play along to placate them, on the worst day of my life.

(I wanted to share because I've never heard anyone talk about atheism and grief, and the loneliness that comes out of it.)

#I'll be churning on this for a while

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reidrum · 1 day ago

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darwinism

A/N: being really brave and posting this bc i wasn’t sure about it but i hope u like it! a reminder to show love to ur favorite writers/creators :) scheduling this post while im omw to halsey’s opening show tonight BUT we hit 3k and that’s so insane to me that people want to read my silly little stories thank you thank you thank you

summary: the you that broke up with spencer to follow your dreams in london isn’t the same you that returns a year later

cw: spoiler content warning at the end of this post! angst, hurt/comfort, bau!reader, ex!spencer, implications of past trauma, descriptions of torture, medical jargon, cm typical violence, throwing up, spencer is kinda mean but he loves you i promise

wc: 6k

The familiarity strikes you like a knife as you walk through the doors of the BAU. Over a year since you’ve been here and it seems nothing has changed—Hotch still surveills from his office atop the landing, Emily and Derek sit opposite each other. Even your desk has remained untouched and the way you left it, still next to the desk you’d begged to be next to.

A year since you left it all behind in pursuit of furthering your career, a shiny new position across the pond at Interpol. A year since you left behind the only family you had in D.C., the BAU. A year since you left Spencer, the love of your life.

Before you left, Spencer thought everything was going great between you both. You seemed happy, content with his company and love. Falling in love with a colleague, especially in his line of work, has its risks but he’s found that having you will always outweigh any consequence or worst scenario his mind can think of.

Spencer would never tell you they actually offered the job to him first, but he turned it down so he could stay with you. He still remembers the fight you had the night before you left, how he couldn’t understand why you would risk throwing away what you had. You knew he never would, with his multiple degrees and high caliber of success he didn’t need that extra validation. To be a mere mortal in the presence of such excellence is humbling and harrowing.

So you left.

You love him, you really did—still do. Nothing about where you were in the world would ever change that. Making the decision to leave was the hardest but you knew it would be better for your career. Spencer might never comprehend how easily you made that decision to take the job in London when it seemed like the hardest thing for him. How could he, when everything he encountered with his Midas’ touch of knowledge only served to expand his beautiful brain. When you left and parted ways, it was for good.

The thing is though, you’re back.

No one actually knew you were coming back until a week ago, when Hotch announced your return to the team as soon as you landed. The job offer was a permanent one and the details are unclear as to why you did come back so early. Bunch of sealed, redacted documents. All Spencer knows is that you are home and back here with him. Maybe not with him, but you were here and that counts for something.

The desk next to yours is empty but clearly occupied, the satchel slouched over on the ground with a cardigan haphazardly thrown over the back of the chair. You walk up to yours and see it practically untouched, up kept even. You sling your bag off the shoulder and take inventory of your desk, your name plate and tchotchkes aligned.

You don’t hear the footsteps coming up behind you.

“Hey.”

You still at the voice and turn slowly, “Hi, Spencer.”

He takes a good look at you, the first one he’s gotten to have of you in over a year. You look the same more or less. Your hair is longer, you’ve lost weight, you stopped wearing makeup. There’s something else surrounding you unspoken, he can’t place his finger on it.

“It’s um, it’s good to see you.” he nods awkwardly, trying not to cringe inwardly as he attempts normality.

“Likewise.” you hum.

Hotch calls your name from the landing, “Welcome back. I need everyone in the conference room in two minutes.”

You both nod, each secretly glad your interaction was cut short.

Derek rounds your desk and opens his arms, “Good to see you, pretty girl. It’s been too quiet without you.” You try not to let your heart squeeze over the term of endearment, a stem of his nickname for Spencer coined specially for you after Derek had figured you both out.

You squeeze him back, “Missed you too, Morgan.”

Emily loops her arm through yours as you pull back from Derek, slowly starting the walk up to the conference room. “How was London? Was the apartment okay?” Former Interpol agent perks, Emily had her own flat in London she so graciously lent to you.

“All good, Em,” you say softly, slowly trudging up the steps, “I’ll show you pictures later.”

Emily continues talking as you both get further out of earshot from Spencer, whose eyes follow until you disappear into the room. There really is something different about you that he can’t quite figure out yet, no way of even proving that something is wrong–just a sheer feeling of knowing you from the way you’ve imprinted on him. He decides it’s probably just jet lag.

“You alright, kid?” Derek nudges him, “Must be a lot for you,”

He forgot he was even still down here, “Yeah, fine. We should go,”

—

The first time Spencer noticed he didn’t think anything of it.

It’s paperwork week after a long few weeks of traveling, to everyone’s delight. In desperate need for caffeination you grab your mug from your desk and trudge to the break room to make yourself a coffee. You place a pod into the slot and press start, the machine whirring to life as it prepares to brew your lifesaving coffee.

You’re about to bend down to the cupboard under the table when you hear footsteps.

Spencer slows as he walks in, not wanting to startle you, “We moved the sugar by the way, it’s above the sink now.”

“Oh, thanks.” you mumble. You reach a hand up to open the cupboard, hiding a wince as you stretch up.

He clocks the change in your face immediately, “Are you okay?”

Your eyes widen as you come back down and school your face back to normal, “Yeah, why?”

“You look like you’re in pain. Did you get hurt or something?” he prods, eyes looking questionably between your face and your waist. Your shirt raises slightly and he can see the tail end of what looks like a nasty scar. He attempts to walk closer but with hypervigilance on your side and great timing by the coffee machine you grab your coffee and side step him towards the door.

“Oh did I? Must’ve stretched weird this morning.” you say from the door.

“You stretch now?” he humorlessly chuckles.

“It’s important to stay limber,” Your hand subconsciously rests over your abdomen, unnaturally to the side as if you’re covering something. “Got to go, bye.”

He watches you duck out of the room, “Um, bye?”

Weird, he thinks. You didn’t even end up taking the sugar, the evidence of it still scattered on the counter. You were so quick to leave but Spencer lets himself entertain the idea that you wanted to leave so fast not to get away from him, but because he noticed a crack in your facade.

He tries to school his own face back to normal as he returns to his desk and drops two sugar packets on yours.

–

The second time he notices, it nearly breaks his heart.

It’s a hot day in the Houston precinct where you and Spencer tackle the geographical profile while the rest of the team works out the victim’s details and witnesses. It was a no brainer to pair you two together, you’d been doing geographical profiles since way before you ever got together. It’s how you both fell in love, actually. Countless hours hunched over a map, late night conversations getting weirdly philosophical, something about the way you worked together just clicked. Like you completed something he didn’t know he didn’t have, something he didn’t know he craved so subconsciously.

You made sense to him, you always do.

Things are little different post your breakup, your skill sets are still above par for crafting the geographical profile, and therefore it only served to make sense to pair you both again. He knows it’s for the better, you’ll always make sense to him—even in times like this.

You’re more defensive than he remembers, more meticulous and stubborn than his darling girl who left him. You were always stubborn, but here you were finding faults in everything. The attack sites are too scattered for an accurate comfort zone, you’d argue. The victimology doesn’t add up, you’d jab.

Since you left Spencer’s patience has diminished dramatically, even for you now as he’s about to discover. Normally he’d welcome your counterpoints with respectful criticism and counters while you both talk it out. But right now you’re arguing like you simply want to be right, like you need to be right.

“You’re being ridiculous.” Spencer sighs, “The unsub clearly is frequenting these places for a reason, and it matches the victimology perfectly. How can you not see it?”

“It doesn’t add up!” you jab, “He’s kidnapping high risk victims in a high risk environment, that goes against what we think he’s even killing for.”

His voice raises, “What he’s killing for doesn’t even matter if we can’t predict where he’s going to strike next! The next body could surface tonight, we don’t have time to be childish like this.”

“Childish? Suddenly my analysis is childish? Fuck you, Spencer.”

“Okay, look I didn’t mean—“ He reaches his hand above your figure to grab the marker atop the white board.

A normal motion for him.

But you flinch, hard.

Spencer rarely if ever yelled at you when you were together, he certainly and definitively would never lay his hands on you. Any argument you had with him was resolved civilly, safely. Even when you get disciplined at work by Hotch or Strauss they go easy on you, a stern warning and a passing Be Better.

What you did now is stitched from his nightmares. The sharp yelp you let out will ring in his ears for who knows how long. He can’t figure it out, he’s not sure if he wants to. You’re part of a team of profilers, trained to analyze micro expressions and behaviors to predict what happened. Spencer knows what it means for the way you reacted, his training clearly outlines it.

Previous trauma suffered. Reflex response. Learned.

Wherever you learned that response, it cannot be from him—it’s impossible. It’s offensive. It makes him sick to even think it could come from him, even sicker to think about where it did come from. This wasn’t you, not the you that Spencer knew and loved.

Yet you flinched, and to his horror you’re now shaking.

He says your name like broken glass, “I…I wasn’t going to hurt you. You’re shaking, I…” He tries to move closer again, like he did in the break room, and instead of ducking out you back up and bump into the whiteboard, startling yourself further.

“N—Nothing, I’m fine. It’s fine. I…need to go get some air.” you stutter, the jitters clearly consuming you.

You run out of the precinct before he can say anything else, evading Emily’s calls and JJ’s brush of your arm as you leave.

Spencer lingers on the ghost of your figure as it haunts the door, and turns to the rest of the team sporting matching confusion. “You all saw that right?”

Morgan nods slowly, “Something’s up with her.”

“I know,” he rasps, “I’ve never seen her look so scared.” The look on your face will surely haunt him every time he blinks.

JJ speaks, “Do you think something happened in London?”

It had to, Spencer thinks. You were not like this before you left. Not skittish, not hypervigilant of your surroundings—fearing a familiar hand.

The team looks to Hotch, knowing if someone knew it would be him. “Her records are sealed,” he mumbles, feigning professionalism yet unable to hide his concern for you, “Interpol informed me it was a need to know basis, and we were not cleared for that.”

“But she’s not okay, Hotch.” Spencer protests.

Hotch gives him a stern look, but his eyes soften in understanding, “I know, we can figure this out when we get back. For now, let her cool off and let’s focus on the case.”

Everyone exchanges uneasy looks and begrudgingly returns to their tasks.

When you return the team offers you the grace of pretending what happened didn’t even exist. You’re inwardly grateful, you know it doesn’t show on the outside. Spencer keeps an eye on you but maintains his distance lest you get triggered at his hands again. He wouldn’t survive watching you react to him so viscerally, in a way that couldn’t be further from the love he showered you in.

It’s in this moment Spencer realizes he misses you. When you left he obviously missed you, but in a way in which he knew you would return home eventually. You broke his heart by leaving, but he knew you would come back to the BAU, where you belonged. A you he honestly believes he took for granted, because it looks like that you didn’t make it home to him. Right now, he’s missing that you. The you before London.

—

The third time he realizes, he acts on his own–you didn’t even have to do anything.

He knows something happened in London. He just can’t figure out what it is, but he’s going to.

Spencer should feel bad asking Penelope to hack into your medical records. He can’t find himself to actually care though after seeing that stab wound on your hip, and how quick you were to brush it off like it was nothing. It was massive, and by the position of it had to have required some medical intervention. When he got shot in the knee all they needed to do was stabilize his leg from the outside with a brace, yours looked dangerously close to a lung.

“Is there a reason we’re violating her privacy like this? She’s my friend, I feel icky.”

“Garcia, please.” his tone holding something deeper.

She glances at him and returns back to typing, breaking down the many firewalls of the bureau medical records.

“And…done.” a flurry of documents floods her screens, Spencer leans in closer to read them but she whispers under her breath, “Oh my god, my sweet girl.”

“What is it?”

Garcia pulls up your medical record from London, and makes the sheet bigger. The glaring title reading Emergency Room Admit. He reads the preliminary injuries of stab wounds, bruises, mild concussion.

Emergency services were called to a warehouse where you were unconscious and bleeding out. You still weren’t conscious when you were admitted, and they had to resuscitate you after you’d coded in the ambulance en route. They took you to emergency surgery, your broken ribs causing major arterial damage in your abdomen. Line after line listed another injury, another note where they performed a life saving measure on you. He couldn’t believe it, how had all of this happened and no one knew about it? How he didn’t know about it?

“She was attacked.” he mumbles in disbelief, poison hanging on the tip of his words.

Penelope says through watery tears, “How could they not tell us? This says it was nearly nine months ago.”

“I don’t know,” he breathes out shakily, “but something still feels off.”

Everything he was thinking and felt becomes obsolete as he scrolls further down to see a note that takes the final blow for him.

Miscarriage due to sustained injuries. Pt suffered stab wounds to the lower left quadrant of the abdomen, fetus not viable upon admission.

No.

No, that can’t be right.

The nausea builds in the back of his throat as he processes. He looks at the dates of the report again and anxiously does the math in his head. If your assault happened only three months after you left then—No.

All the questions begin to swirl in Spencer’s mind. Did you know you were pregnant? You didn’t tell anyone it seems, and then you chose to still stay in london for another nine months even after the incident. It made no sense, an event as traumatic as what he read you went through should have sent you right back home. Right back to him.

The nausea catches up to him and takes over his body, hurling into the nearest trash can he can find. Penelope, through sniffled sobs, attempts to rub her friend’s back as soothingly as she can.

He wipes his mouth, “I need to talk to her. Is she still at the same address?”

“Spencer, I don’t think—“

“I don’t care what you think, Garcia. Tell me where she is.” he snaps.

Penelope widens her eyes in shock at his outburst, knowing she can’t blame him for how he’s reacting. “Y—Yeah, same address.”

He speeds out of the room, stopping by the bathroom to rinse his mouth and splash water on his face. His hands rub harshly down the sides of his face as he stares at himself in the mirror. All the color is drained from his face, nowhere in sight of returning. He doesn’t know what to feel–let alone what to think. He’s angry, hurt, confused. He’s not expecting to feel scared, yet he’s not sure what he’s scared of.

In Spencer’s life his role has always been the protector, the parentified child that had to grow up too fast to care for their sick mother. He wouldn’t have it any other way, some help would have been nice, but his 187 IQ served him better than others would in his position. Perfection, as his mother fondly called him. All he’s ever known is to protect, joining the FBI helps him continue to actualize this ability he’s honed. Meeting you gave him purpose to protect–a conscious choice he could make that wasn’t a result of his circumstance. A choice to protect you, because he loves you.

Yet his choice to let you go, to not follow you, has led him to face this awful consequence at the cost of your safety. Right now, he feels like anything but a protector.

Spencer gets in his car and drives to your apartment complex, parking in the same vacant spot he always did when he came over each time. He climbs the stairs fast and knocks harshly on your door, hearing you shuffle a minute later and opening it. “Spencer? What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.” he says urgently, moving past you to get inside.

You furrow your brows at his intrusion and mumble, moving aside passively, “No please, come in.”

You lock the door and walk towards your living room, where Spencer is pacing back and forth running his hand stressfully through his hair. He makes no effort to speak first, still in his head about everything.

“So, are you going to tell me why you showed up here?”

“I know what happened.”

You tilt your head, “What do you mean?”

“In London. I know what happened to you.”

Your face drops instantly and suddenly the world stops. All your windows are closed but a sharp and brisk chill runs up your spine, goosebumps erupting all over you as a pathetic defense against what feels like a vocal attack. Trapped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you say under your breath.

He stops pacing and faces you, “No?” he steps closer, “That’s why all your medical records are sealed shut?”

“You looked at my medical records?”

“I had to, you weren’t telling me anything.”

“Maybe because I didn’t want you to know.” you yell, “Those are private documents.”

“I don’t know how I didn’t notice it at first—you were in pain reaching for the sugar in the cupboard, suddenly you don’t wear anything shorter than pants and a long sleeve. The big scar on your torso.”

“That doesn’t mean anything—“

“You flinched. The other day.”

You falter, “What?”

“We all pretended it didn’t happen when you came back, but you know what happened. I raised my hand for something and you flinched.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” you repeat less convincing this time.

He steps closer, trying to hide his hurt when you take a step back as well, “I think you know exactly what it means, and it scares you that I know now too.”

“You’re not supposed to know.”

“Why not?”

“Because no one’s supposed to know! I had them sealed for a reason.”

“So you were just not going to tell any of us you were attacked?”

Your face contorts, “I had to do what was safe for me. You may not understand my choices but I was counseled into believing this was the best option for me.”

“Counseled,” he laughs humorlessly, stepping towards you and staring you down, “Did this counsel inform you that notifying the father of your miscarriage wasn’t necessary?”

The bile rises in your throat, the room unhinges upon its axis as it begins to spin. “N—No, that’s not—“

“Did you tell anyone?” another step, “Were you ever going to tell me it was mine?”

“Spencer you don’t understand.”

He flails his arms in anger, “No, I fucking don’t! First you leave me behind like I meant nothing to you, but then you were pregnant with my child. You didn’t even care to tell me! I wanted a life with you, I loved you. And you just left.”

You stare at him in silence, unable to think of anything to say.

“How could you not tell me?” he whispers brokenly, “I thought you trusted me.”

“I couldn’t tell you, you have to know that.”

“You couldn’t or you wouldn’t?” he pricks.

The tears well up in your eyes, “That’s not fair.”

“No? You don’t think so?” He knows he’s being mean, he can’t help it—he was supposed to protect you, even if you wouldn’t let him. His guilt is rearing its head in an ugly manner. “Was the baby even mine? Or is there something else you’re also not telling me?”

The hurt splays on your face clear as day, “Why are you being like this?” you mumble.

“I just want answers,” he exasperates, carding a stressed hand through his hair, “I want to know why you felt like you couldn’t tell me, or any of us, that you almost died nine months ago and kept living in London until now.”

Your mouth is entirely dried up, your eyes burning deeply. How long you’d been running and carrying this weight alone on your shoulders starts to reveal itself when your exhaustion finally catches up to you, begging you to wave the white flag and surrender.

You take a deep and shaky breath, “My records were sealed because it was an Interpol agent that attacked me.”

Spencer is stunned into silence. Interpol agent?

Someone turned on the bureau—turned on you, and decided you would be the scapegoat for the brass’ wrongdoings. Someone you trusted laid their hands on you, and caused you such irreparable damage you felt compelled to carry it alone if the agencies had anything to do with it.

He’s nearly shaking with anger, “We need to report it.”

“I can’t.”

“He hurt you!”, he looks at you with disbelief, “We have to make sure they’re held responsible for it.”

“Spencer,”

“I don’t know why you’re so against it, you should know how important it is to make sure people like him don’t get away with this—“

“Spencer,” you plead.

He stops, finally meeting your eyes and faltering when he sees the tears welling and red rims forming. He takes a sharp breath, “You did report it…didn’t you?”

You can’t help the way your face drops, “I did, yeah.”

Spencer couldn’t believe it. Actually he could, he knows very well the statistics of women getting justice for assault crimes against them and how the odds are rarely stacked in their favor. Still, he feels appalled to think that the same system that he works to uphold—the same one you work for—has failed you so terribly.

If you reported it, then that means you knew your attacker.

“They didn’t know Mark was working both sides until he took me.” you whisper shakily.

Mark, the one who’d been your mentor when you were offered the job. Spencer remembers conversing with him when he was still in talks for the job too,

Spencer knows it should’ve been him instead of you. If he had just taken the job, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten hurt. If he didn’t love you as much as he did to not leave you, maybe you’d be here—safe—while he worried about you from over there. The light that guides him home every night would still be shining in your eyes, and he wouldn’t be stranded in the middle of the dark ocean wondering what you would look like with the swell of his child.

How you looked, with the swell of his child.

At first Spencer is angry—at himself, at you, at the bureau for letting this happen. Then he’s just sad, over what could’ve been, what might be. Spencer would always joke that your stubbornness would lead to your downfall if he couldn’t help it. But you shut him out entirely, left him in the dark wondering if you even still loved him. Repetitively thinking about how easy it was for you to leave him alone back in Quantico. You were always too independent for your own good. It’s then another cold guttural realization stuns him—you were all alone when this happened.

“Oh, angel.” his voice cracks.

At this point, you’re just trying hard to keep it together. You weren’t expecting to have to reopen this wound again, although you should be considered a fool for thinking you could hide it from the very person you sealed it up for. You’re stubborn to a fault, constantly desperate for complete and total control over your life. Paining yourself is a valiant effort you invoke to protect others from the torturous reality you’ve spun for yourself. It seemed like the best option.

After all, a self inflicted wound is enough control for you–if you’ve already hurt yourself another cut can’t cause worse damage. Most people would show mercy at some point, not willing to cross the lines of depravity to wound you so badly.

But you? Crossing the line leads you right back to yourself, a circle even. Boundless to the restraints of humanity and unfiltered to the consequences of shame and guilt.

It’s why not telling Spencer was doable. Keeping it from him hurt you more than anyone could ever begin to comprehend.

If nothing in this world can be created or destroyed then the pain you feel must be arbitrary, a remanifestation of your own being returning back to where it came from. Angry to be disturbed in the first place, entitled to return home.

Everything will always go back to the way it was.

Even Spencer.

Even you.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to tell you,” you sniffle, sitting down on the couch “I really wanted to.”

“So why didn’t you?”

You whisper, “I was so embarrassed.”

He dares to step closer, “Why embarrassed?”

“I—I know they offered you the position before me,” his eyes widen as you continue, “I was so mad at you at first because you didn’t tell me, and then I realized why you didn’t take it and I felt so shitty about it. But I needed it, you know? It was supposed to be good for my career! I don’t have fancy degrees and publications and the reputation you have. You know how hard I’ve worked to get to this point? But I kept feeling like I couldn’t measure up, wouldn’t measure up no matter how hard I tried.”

“Measure up to what, baby?”

“You!” you wail, “I wanted to prove that I could do it, on my own.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me or anyone. You never did, you know that.” he says tearfully, finally taking a spot next to you.

You sniffle, “Well, I didn’t think I could. I felt so out of my element when I got there, Spence. But then Mark started watching me, helping me out where he could. He told me he saw potential in me, and made himself my mentor while I was there.”

His blood boils at the mention of Mark but lets you continue. “I…I trusted him. He said he wanted to help me, that he understood what it was like coming fresh from the States.”

“But then,” your face crumples, Spencer’s hands itch at his side to reach out for you, “I was walking to my car one night. I stayed late, because I was finishing a case study. Next thing I knew, there was a bag over my head and I couldn’t breathe.”

Spencer subconsciously inches closer, his hand ghosting the expanse of your body. “Then what happened?”

“When I woke up I was in a warehouse, they tied my hands to the chair I was sitting in. And I waited for someone to come in. Then I saw Mark.” you whisper.

His hand moves to bravely rests on yours, knowing you need all the courage you can get right now. “Was Mark the one who hurt you?”

You nod erratically, “He thought I knew something about the Silk Road, that trafficking network.”

Spencer remembers investigating the Silk Road affairs, they were slowly but surely getting every single person involved in it. You were a big help when you were here, able to pinpoint when and where these people might be hiding.

“I was telling him the truth, there wasn’t anything I knew about active Silk Road members,” you strain, “He didn’t believe me, and it wasn’t what he wanted from me anyway.”

His other hand rests on the couch ledge behind you, “What did he want, baby?”

You let out a soft whine, “I had a contact in London who knew the password to the Silk Road database. I met with him before my first day, and he told me.”

His fingers ghost your shoulder and you don’t move to his relief, letting his touch be more intentional. “But Mark knew you met him.”

You nod, “He knew I knew the password. That’s what he wanted. I—I wouldn’t give it to him, it was too dangerous to let him have it.” A sob breaks through your voice, “Everytime I said no, he’d hurt me.”

You gently pull your shirt up to reveal the scar he saw in the break room that day, but you pull it further up to reveal a few more scars and bruising that still hadn’t faded.

His breath catches like a fish on a hook. “Oh my god,” Each scar is meticulously placed, intentional. The scars have mostly healed, but the remnants of the marks are so expansive it physically pains him to think about what you suffered when they were inflicted. This wasn’t supposed to happen to you.

The guilt settles in him like a rock when he thinks about how strong you had to be to survive this. All alone in a new country with no one you could trust anymore. You’ve always been a different breed of strength, something he marveled at about you. But you’re still in the fight or flight mode of standing strong in your surroundings. A prey who knows the predator routine all too well, knowing the second you falter is when they strike.

He tucks your head into the crevice of his neck—you don’t need to be strong anymore, he’s here now.

“It looks worse than it feels, I swear.” you tug your shirt back down, “I really didn’t know I was pregnant until I woke up in the hospital, Spencer. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey no,” he shushes, closing the distance between you to gather you in his arms, “don’t even think about that okay, I’m not mad.”

“I should’ve told you.” you cry.

“I know why you didn’t, it’s okay. You were just trying to protect yourself.” Spencer hushes, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“I wouldn’t let you,” you lament, “I shut you out.”

His hand gently runs up and down your spine, “I’m not mad at you, angel.”

“You should be.”

Another question burns his tongue, “Why didn’t you come home?”

“I wanted to, but…when I tried to report it they acted like they already knew. And I told them what happened to me, what he did, and all they said was that they’d look into it. I saw him at work the next day. I transferred to a different building the day after.” you recount, “I think there’s more Interpol agents working both sides, Spencer.”

“Does Mark still work there?”

“Yeah, I think so…What are you doing?”

He grabs his phone and opens his message thread with Penelope, drafting a text about calling the team and booking flights, “I’m telling Garcia to find flights to London.”

Your eyes widen, “Why would you do that?”

“Because I’m going to kill him.”

“Spencer,” you chide.

“And once the rest of the team finds out what happened I’m sure they’ll be on board with it too.”

“Please don’t do anything. I don’t want to cause any more trouble. It was nearly a year ago now, it’s okay. ” you mutter.

He pauses typing and sets his phone back down, scooching back to you and holding your face to his, unable to break eye contact with him, “No it’s not,” he says sternly, “what happened to you was not okay. Do you understand?”

“But–”

“No. You can’t do that. You won’t. This isn’t some sort of inconvenience we move past. You were taken advantage of, and someone hurt you. You did not deserve that at all.”

You pause and look at him, the tears spilling over down your cheeks. You’d spent the last year in solitude convincing yourself that it was all your fault. Your ambition was too strong, you were too eager, you should’ve been tougher. You lived a truth in which you were the problem. Spencer wasn’t there to remind you otherwise, but he’s ready to spend forever making up for lost time. “I…I didn’t deserve that.”

His eyes soften and his thumbs move under your eyes, swiping gently, “No, you didn’t.” A few more quiet sobs leave you, “So why did it happen to me?” you ask meekly.

“I don’t know, angel. I really don’t.” he smooths your hair back, “I’m going to make it better, though. It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

You nod and hug him tighter, letting a few more tears fall and stain his shirt. “I should be the one to tell the team, I know they’re probably wondering too.”

“They were really worried about you.”

“I’m sorry for worryin—“

“Shh,” he presses a kiss to your forehead, “No more sorrys, okay?”

“Okay.” you curl into him.

“For the record,” he hesitates before he speaks, “I’ll always worry about you. Even if we’re not together, in different universes, or whatever. I’ll always take care of you, and I’ll always love you.”

“I thought you hated me.” you whisper.

“Impossible.” he kisses another part of your face he can reach.

“I love you too, thank you.”

For being here. For saving me. For still loving me.

“He’s going to pay for this, I promise.” You open your mouth to protest and Spencer continues, “He will get what’s coming to him. We’re going to make sure of it.”

You nod softly and listen to his heartbeat. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything, baby.”

“You know I did die in the ambulance for a few seconds.” you whisper quietly.

He swallows, “I saw that in the report. I’m so sorry, sweet girl, that must have been so scary. I know what that feels like.”

“Did you…see anything, when you died?”

From when he almost succumbed to the hands of Tobias Hankel and his father. “I saw a light, it felt warm. Enveloping. Why, did you see something?”

“Yeah,” you tuck in closer to his chest, “I saw you.”

spoiler cw: pregnancy, miscarriage, reader is tortured, reader sustains injuries

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x bau!reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #dr spencer reid

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billieswh0r3 · 3 days ago

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✩︎ 𝐟𝐚𝐧 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬

𝐬𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬 : just two music stars fan girling over each other.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : billie x fem!reader, just fluff, maybe a few nicknames and curses but other than that just fluff :p face claim is gracie abrams so if you dont like her then..this isnt a fic for you.

𝐚/𝐧 : this draft has been sitting for a long time and i just re-read it and i fell in love with it again so here it is, also its a bit small but— something is better than nothing.

𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠.. 𝐟𝐚𝐧 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬

✩︎✩︎✩︎✩︎✩︎✩︎✩︎✩︎✩︎✩︎✩︎✩︎✩︎✩︎✩︎✩︎✩︎✩︎✩︎✩︎✩︎✩︎✩︎✩︎✩︎✩︎✩︎

‘so miss eilish, we saw that you attended a ___ concert recently. we didn’t know you were a fan of hers.’ the interviewer smiles at billie the sentence falling from her lips her eyes glistening with curiosity.

‘uhh— yeah i did, i’ve been a fan of hers since her debuting ep and you know going to her concert was such a surreal thing because i take a lot of— not inspiration but yeah inspiration’ billie lets her head drop as she stumbles over her words letting her giggles slip past her lips before looking up fixing her glasses.

‘she’s just an angel— shes so pure and everything she does is too its fullest and she deserves everything that comes to her’ billie smiles genuinely at the interviewer feeling her cheeks heat up slightly.

‘have you ever met her? seems like your very fond of her.’ billie immediately looks around the venue nervously her lips parting slightly. ‘she’s not here right..?’ billie mumbles softly into the microphone— the crowd lets out more laughs and more giggles spill from the interviewers lips as she shakes her head.

‘okay good— i would like shrink into myself.’ she brings a hand up over her nose to semi hide her face as she feels the heat leave her cheeks.

‘she’s actually been on the show and she actually brought you up’ the interviewer smiles pointing to the screen signaling to give the attention to the screen.

𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐫

‘who’s someone you’ve always taken inspiration from musically wise’ the camera then pans to you. your dressed in a stripped dress shirt which is only buttoned on the second button, a pair of loose low rise jeans hanging from your hips, and simple black and white vans.

you gasp a smile immediately finding your lips as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear sitting up straighter in your seat. ‘billie’ you say without hesitation smiling sheepily at the camera.

‘eilish?’ you nod eagerly your legs beginning to kick at the thought of her being a topic you get to talk about. ‘yeah i love her so much— shes was actually my number one artist this year’ you nod before your eyes widen grabbing at your necklaces showing an original blohsh hanging from your neck.

‘i mean i’ve been a fan of hers since i was 14— i remember hostage being my shit when i was in like 8th grade, like that woman possesses a power over me that she doesn’t even know about’ you gush smiling widely your cheeks hurting from how hard you are smiling.

‘i actually went to her concert like the beginning of this month’ the video then fades you looking at the camera screaming ‘the greatest’ lyrics before turning back to the stage holding your arms out acting like billie is singing to you.

when the video fades back into the interview theres you with a huge smile playing on your lips. ‘best fucking night of my life, i cried the entire time’ you say feeling your cheeks and ears heat up shying a bit.

‘so to say your a fan of hers would be an understatement.’ you nod soft laughs slipping past your lips your legs still kicking.

‘i mean— she was my gay awakening, me and my friends have an inside joke cause all the girls i date, look like billie’ the crown laughs a bit as you look at the interviewer clearly sensing her wanting to ask another question.

‘billie does follow you on instagram though correct’ again you smile widely nodding eagerly bringing the mic up to your mouth. ‘yeah she does— the day i found out she followed me was through my friends’ you nod tucking hair behind your ear. ‘and you know me being a small artist at the time didn’t believe it and when i did finally see it i almost passed out— i mean like for me the girl ive been looking up to and admiring for ages…noticed me i was star struck’ you finish off with a soft smile letting your hands fall into your lap.

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

as the video fades away the crowd is cheering as billie is softly clapping as she looks at her lap with a grin eating at her face.

‘so seems like you aren’t the only fan girl in this situation.’ the interviewer teases as billie finally looks back up adjusting her hair and glasses before bringing the microphone to her lips.

‘um— no words..i mean she’s perfect— she’s truly angelic and seeing someone like her look up to someone like me is beyond me when all i ever did was look up to her’ she looks sheepishly at the camera giving it one of her looks knowing the the interview was almost over.

'so it seems that you wish to meet her one day.' billie looks at the interviewer a soft smile playing on her lips and she sends a soft nod towards her.

'yeah hopefully one day— and hey, ___ if your watching hit me up mama' she says sending a playful wink towards the camera before she erupts into giggles hiding her face behind her hands.

'your heard it here first folks— now we'll be back after this commercial break'

𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

yourname.offical

❤︎7.M ❏︎ 16.8. ⌲︎397K

yourname.official - so pretty girl just won iheart radio album of the year literally sobbing im so fucking proud 😭😭❤️ this album changed me in ways that i could not even put into words. congratufuckinglations @billieeilish you deserve this more than anyone i know, i guess you could say im a proud girlfriend.

comments limited

billieeilish - crying thank you precious girl

billieeilish - kisses mamas, your not supposed to be making me cry

↳︎ yourname.offical - oops ☹️

sabrinacarpenter - 👏

yournamelover - soft launch??

#billieswh0r3 #lesbian #wlw post #billie eilish #wlw blog #wlw #need that #hmhas billie eilish #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x you #billie eilish imagine #billie fan #billie eilish fic #billieeilish #billie x reader

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silens-oro · 2 days ago

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Well Enough Alone: Part IX

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk) Prologue Cut the Loss (companion piece) Part I Part II Chicken Hawk (companion piece) Part III Part IV Trespassing (companion piece) Part V Part VI Slowly We Unfurl (companion piece) Hold on to the Thread (companion piece) But I'll Always Remember (pre-WEA companion piece)

Masterlist Pope Cody Playlist GirlDad!Pope Baby AU Masterlist

General Synopsis: Everything comes to a head. Word Count: 5.9k Content Warning: typical animal kingdom warnings, heavy angst, mention of miscarriage, murder, Baz & Hawk straight up beefin'. AN: Don't ask me how I wrote this entire thing today because I do not have an answer for you. Here's a lil Friday treat since you all have been so kind. Also, "treat" is used very loosely here because this one is going to hurt 🤭 please comment & reblog :)

Pope didn’t come home at all that night and Hawk didn’t wait up for him. She set an alarm before falling asleep in the vast emptiness of her bed so she could wake up with enough time to make Lena some breakfast before school, and then promptly passed out at 4:30 that morning. Pope usually handled anything early in the morning since he was up anyway, but in his on and off absence the last couple of weeks, Hawk took the reins just like she did this morning. She fell back into the routine she had with J when he was Lena’s age, and she came to the realization that she truly missed those years.

Nicky helped carry Lena out to the car for Hawk since her ribs were still giving her trouble, and Lena only cracked her eyes open for a moment when Hawk was buckling her into the backseat.

“I get to go with you and Uncle Pope tonight?” Her tiny voice mumbled out.

“Of course you do, sweetpea.” Hawk replied sweetly. “I’m so sorry you had to go through this tonight. To make up for it, how about some pancakes in the morning before school? I’ll even do some with chocolate chips. Sound good?”

“With the smiley faces?”

“Absolutely. Can’t have chocolate chip pancakes without smiley faces. That’s just not right.” Hawk joked with a grin. Lena sleepily smiled back and nodded, her eyes fluttering closed as she lost the uphill battle with the sandman. Hawk gently closed the door before meeting Pope at the driver's side with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Thank you for coming to get her.”

“You know me –someone calls my phone and I answer.”

“Hawk-”

“-It’s just weird how you answered J’s call, but I haven’t been able to get a hold of you all day, Pope.” Hawk was exhausted, mentally and physically and he could see it. Hawk’s eyes burned and her body ached, and that headache she tried to hold off was barreling its way forward behind her eyes every time she blinked. “Apparently you didn’t learn the last time -I’m not doing this again, Andy. I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I’m in pain. This family is driving me up the fucking wall and I can’t worry about when you’ll turn up again when you decide to fall off the face of the fucking Earth while also worrying about Lena.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t need an apology, Pope. I just need you to be present. I have no idea what the hell Baz is doing, but Lena could’ve been killed tonight for his negligence –do you understand that? And he’s bringing Lucy here after Smurf is suddenly arrested?” Hawk shook her head, looking around the trashed driveway. “Something isn’t adding up with any of this, Pope. I don’t know what Baz did to get her locked up, but you, Deran, and Craig need to be careful. He’s never been trustworthy. I know you love him like a brother, but my gut has never been wrong. I may not always listen to it, but it is never wrong. I need you to trust me on that.” He nodded, looking past her through the windshield to Lena’s sleeping figure that was slumped over in the backseat. “Smurf is a lot of things, but she isn’t stupid. We both know that. She does stupid things, but she’s calculated. She didn’t want Lucy in this family’s business for a reason.” Pope stepped forward, hesitating before pulling Hawk to him in a hug. He kissed the crown of her head and her arms draped themselves loosely around his waist. God, he needed her. Her touch, her warmth, her love. Everything about her, he would take and take and take until she refused to give.

Selfish

Selfish, his brain chanted.

“I’ll be home later, after I’m done dealing with this.” He spoke softly into her ear as he let his head fall into the crook of her neck. His lips found their home just behind her ear and he felt her breathe against him.

“Yeah.” Hawk sighed with a subtle shake of her head as she pulled away from Pope before turning to get in the driver’s seat. Pope thought back to the gun he held in his hands right before J called him, and how ready he was to end everything at that lifeguard stand on the beach. All he could think about was Cath, about the conversation he had with that detective, about the fact that she didn’t flip on them. He thought about how he was the source of Hawk’s problems as of late, whether she knew they stemmed from him or not. He ended one woman’s life that he cared about, and was actively ruining another’s that he loved.

And Lena…all of her problems, present and future, were because of a choice he made.

“Hawk,” Pope called out to her, his voice cracking as he looked at her with an infinite sadness that penetrated her heart. He cleared his throat when she held the door open, waiting for him to continue. “I love you. Both of you. Let me know when you get home, alright? So I know you’re safe.” Hawk nodded, albeit reluctantly.

Pope's behavior was off, way more off than his usual scale of what he dealt with -what she was used to. This Pope…this Pope was desolate, starved, trapped. He was drowning in a way she couldn’t recognize nor comprehend, but he refused to let her in for any kind of solace. She knew he needed it, but how can you save someone who didn’t think they deserved to breathe in the first place?

“I love you, too, Andy.” Hawk whispered. “Don’t stay out too late.”

Hawk recalled a conversation she had with Pope about kids of their own, and her chest tightened as she thought about doing all of this while pregnant. The stress alone would probably make her miscarry, and she had to bite her lip to stop from outwardly crying as she mixed the batter for the pancakes she promised Lena. The idea of bringing an infant into this dynamic -a dynamic that was only eroding by the day, made a deep rooted dread pool in the pit of her stomach because while she didn’t deserve to deal with the mess that was happening, and a baby sure as hell didn’t either.

The sound of the front door opening and closing with a click broke Hawk out of her thoughts. She took a deep, shuddering breath as she puttered around the kitchen to keep herself busy. Pope didn’t know what to say to Hawk as he approached the noise coming from the kitchen. He didn’t know what there was to say.

“Can you wake Lena up? I’m about to start some pancakes.” Hawk didn’t look at him as she turned the stove on, grabbing a pan from the drawer underneath the stove.

“J has power of attorney over Smurf’s assets.” Pope muttered as he stood out of Hawk’s way. He saw her brows scrunch together as she ladled small dollops of batter onto the griddle pan. She let them cook for a few moments, letting them start to bubble on top before she added chocolate chips in a smiley face design. “Do you know anything about that?” Pope’s tone wasn’t accusatory. He didn’t think she’d keep something like that from him, but he still had to ask.

And it still irked Hawk that he did.

“Why would I know anything about that? Why would I know anything about Smurf’s business?” She snapped at him, spatula in hand as she turned to face him.

“Baz framed her for killing Javi.” Hawk scoffed, flipping the pancakes over.

“Didn’t she?” Hawk asked sarcastically as she put the pancakes on a plate before adding more batter to the griddle. That whole situation was another mess. Hawk told Pope to let her know when it was done, and she let it rest after that. No questions, no explanations. Done was done.

“Smurf paid Javi’s own guy to do it so she wouldn’t be tied to it. Baz knew where the body was, and tied her to the scene by planting all the evidence and called it in.”

“What did I tell you? What did I tell you.” Hawk said with a shake of her head. “Were any of your brothers in on it?”

“No,” Pope sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. "And neither was J."

“Can’t say I’m surprised he finally bit Smurf in the ass. The whole ‘snake eating itself’ thing -can't say it isn't jingling my jimmies. She was smart to move things over to J before Baz knew what was coming. I’m guessing it happened when you guys pulled your little coup against her because God forbid her darling boys not follow her word as scripture. I’m more surprised that Baz didn’t think he’d be punished for it. Lord knows she’s done worse to you guys for less. I’m sure Baz had a very stable reaction to that news when he found out.”

“He’s pissed, and it put a target on J’s back.” Hawk hummed in response.

“How do you feel about it?”

“I think she was right to take Baz off of the accounts. She’s not just punishing Baz -she’s punishing all of us. She knows J isn’t going to let go of anything without her saying so while she’s locked up. He wanted to sell everything and split it.”

"And you don't?"

"No. If he's lucky, she stays in there until she's dead. But Baz isn't lucky."

"No he is not." Hawk added her two cents. “Baz shouldn’t have crossed mommy dearest.” She said with a shrug. “If J signed those papers, then he’s well aware of the consequences that may pop up -and I’m sure Smurf told him as much. If he thinks he can handle doing the shit you guys do, then I can’t stop him.” Hawk plated the first set of little pancakes along with some cut strawberries for Lena. “Now can you please wake Lena up before her food gets cold?” Pope was thrown by her nonchalance, especially towards J. He watched her move around the kitchen for a moment, but did as she asked, trying to not rock the boat that was slowly taking on water once again.

A couple days had passed and Pope was still tiptoeing around Hawk. She wasn’t unwelcoming or rude, but she let him know loud and clear that she was frustrated with him. She didn’t let it show while Lena was in the room with them, but when it was just the two of them, it was abundantly clear.

Pope wanted to touch her, to hold her, to be held by her. He knew she was still having nightmares, that she wasn’t sleeping at night like she used to. He saw it on her face day in and day out that she was struggling, but she wouldn’t talk to him about it because she felt like she couldn’t talk to him about it. He was emotionally unavailable as of recent and she felt like she was adrift out at sea without so much as a goddamn paddle.

Hawk would busy herself at the shop when she wasn’t with Lena. That was the place she haunted when she would have normally been home because there was nothing there for her while Pope was MIA and Lena was with Baz or at school. Making arrangements and bouquets, re-potting houseplants and getting plants ready in the greenhouse to move up front to the storefront kept her mind and hands busy in a way she desperately craved as an escape from reality.

She’d have to catch herself on days she leaned a little too hard into being mean -not just to Pope either. This funk Hawk had been in was pushing her into a decline she was starting to see for herself and she didn’t like it for a single second, but there was only so much a person could bend before they broke. She gave, and gave, and gave, and gave, but sometimes it felt good to not give -not because she couldn’t, but because she didn’t want to.

Hawk knew she needed to speak with someone about all of this -a therapist preferably, but how could she frame the mess that was her life without giving the real context of what it was?

Pope and Hawk dropped off Lena that morning at school, then headed to Smurf’s. Hawk didn’t have a good feeling about whatever they were going to walk into with this family meeting, but Pope asked her to be there. He knew she didn’t want any involvement in the politics of the family, and she hadn’t been part of a family meeting since Pope got arrested, but he had seen first hand what was going on with Baz -that he was up to something- and he needed her there with him.

Now as she sat on the red sofa in the den next to Pope (purposefully not thinking about what she had seen happen on the cushion she occupied during that house party), his hand rested on her thigh, she would’ve rather not been involved at all. Her eyes caught J’s and she nodded to let him know that she knew. He gave a nod back, his eyes meeting Baz’s when he stepped between them.

“What’s she doing here?” Baz motioned to Nicky.

“Weird question." Hawk spoke up before J could answer. "What’s she doing here?” Hawk gestured to Lucy with an incredulous laugh, who only looked at Hawk with a smug tilt to her lips. Hawk only grew more irritable as the days passed and she had no tolerance for whatever Baz was about to pull.

“I asked her to be here.” Baz replied simply.

“Interesting.” Hawk said, keeping her eyes on Lucy.

“I invited Hawk. I’m sure J invited Nicky.” Pope shrugged as he spoke.

“I did.” J confirmed, silently thanking Pope for speaking up.

“Fine.” Baz paced the den between Hawk and J. “Smurf gave J her power of attorney, so now J controls all the properties, the investments, the bank accounts, this house, the titles to our cars, everything. Everything that we earned that she stole from us.” Hawk’s eyes glanced at Pope, but he was watching J. “She gave it to J because she doesn’t trust us-”

“-She doesn’t trust you.” J spoke up, his words clear. Hawk felt pride when he looked Baz directly in the eye as he spoke without a single stutter. Hawk didn’t miss the look Baz shot at him as he tried to continue to manipulate the situation back in his favor. He was trying to turn the brothers against J, Hawk realized.

“Didn’t trust us to keep it safe for her. She thinks it’s all hers, not ours. What do you plan on doing with it, J? Hm? Everything that we earned —sweated over, bled for— hmm? Planning on selling it, like we all wanna do?”

“Like you want to do.” J corrected Baz. Hawk could see the veins in Baz’s neck starting to bulge with every push back that J gave him, and that his brothers weren’t stepping in didn't help either. Everyone was curious to see how this was going to play out. For all of Deran and Craig's flaws, they weren’t completely stupid -Deran least of all. He could see the forest through the trees, and Hawk could see that he was miffed that Baz didn’t include any of them on this. And if Deran wasn’t on board, then neither was Craig because where one went, the other inevitably followed.

“Oh, is it just me? Am I the only one who wants to sell it?” Baz circled the room. “Pope? Deran? Craig?” Hawk couldn’t stop the snort that escaped her, as hard as she tried. Pope’s hand squeezed her thigh in warning, but the second Baz spun to confront Hawk, she placed a hand on Pope’s flexing forearm.

“Something funny?” Baz directed his irritation to Hawk.

“I mean, yeah.” Hawk outwardly chuckled this time, not holding it in. “I’m laughing because you really thought you out-manipulated the master of manipulation, Baz.” Hawk crossed her arms over her chest as she sat back, her grin never faltering because she knew it would make him unravel. “Smurf will always be five steps ahead of you because she knows you think you’re smarter than you actually are. This dog and pony show-” She motioned with her hand, “-will only get you so far when you’re not looking at the whole picture. Even I know that.” Baz’s eyes turned into slits as he glared at Hawk.

“Were you in on this with them?” Hawk shook her head, her grin fracturing the facade he put up because she knew exactly what to do to get a rise out of him and it seemed that J had picked up on it too in her absence.

“I didn’t need to be. And I also don’t need to be a goddamn genius to know that Smurf is like a roach. Unless you take her out for good, you’ll never ever get a leg up on her." She held her hands up, "But what do I know?”

“You think you’re so goddamn smart, huh?” She shrugged, leaning into Pope’s side as she crossed her legs.

“I’d say I’m smart enough to not put my bloody feet in a piranha tank, yeah, but some people just don’t learn their lesson when it comes to getting bit, do they Baz?” Pope squeezed her leg again, but he still didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to speak for her or defend her honor, they all knew that. She always held her own when she needed to when it came to the boys of this family -it was Smurf who made her shrink back down to size.

“Well you keep finding yourself back in this fucking house, Hawk, so I’d have to agree with you.” Baz spat. He was fuming and everyone in the room could see it. Hawk leaned forward, still smiling at him knowingly.

“Whether I’m inside of this house or not, my life doesn't start or end because of Smurf, Baz. You, as you've just learned, can’t say the same.” Hawk felt Pope pull her back into his side and she let him.

“Why didn’t you tell us about what you were planning to do with Smurf?” Craig broke through their bickering. Hawk was right -they were upset he didn’t include them, but it went deeper than that. If Baz was holding out on something as important as this, then he’d hold out on other things too -that's what it all came down to with them.

“I didn’t think you were strong enough to go through with it.” Baz tried to sound like he cared, that he did it for their own good, but that bit had been thrown out the window. Deran scoffed.

“Strong enough? Screw you, Baz.” He spoke up, picking at the label of the beer bottle he was holding. Hawk could see Baz’s hackles rise as he continued to get pushback from around the room when he was expecting everyone to fall in line.

“Yeah, strong enough.” Hawk couldn’t help but feel vindicated as Baz started to bicker with Deran and Craig. Her knowing look when she caught J’s eyes gave him a boost of confidence that he’d hold onto. “Little Deran running away every time mommy hurts his feelings.” Baz taunted.

“Careful, Baz. Pissing off the only people who were in your corner might not be the way out of this.” Hawk teased, enjoying the show. Lucy watched her with understanding in her eyes as she realized that Hawk had more power with this family than she initially realized. Especially if she had Pope in her corner.

“Enough.” Pope muttered into Hawk’s ear. Her hand met his and she gave the top of it a squeeze.

“And you,” Baz motioned to Craig, still going on his tirade. “Smurf looks at you sideways and you snort ten grand up your nose.”

“Where’s the rest of what I helped you steal from that storage unit?” J spoke up again, pushing Baz further into the proverbial corner. Bingo, Hawk thought with a brow raised. Her eyes darted from J to Baz, with her interest piqued.

This also got the attention of Pope, Deran, and Craig.

Baz you stupid, stupid bastard, she thought.

“It’s safe, don’t worry about it.” Baz tried to play it off, but J wasn't going to let him get away with what he was trying to do.

“But what was in those safes, huh? There were five of them.” Pope, Craig, and Deran were not aware of the other safes and that was very clear on their faces. Oh, J was good, Hawk thought.

“What, you think I’m holding out on you?” Baz scoffed, challenging J to continue. J could feel Hawk’s eyes on him, egging him to keep pushing. J was smart, Hawk already knew this, but he seemed to have picked up the manipulation tactics that Baz thought he had.

“Yeah, I do.” That accusation, especially because it was said in front of everyone, was enough to push Baz over the edge. Baz knew he had lost what little support he had in the room, and if there was one thing he wouldn’t tolerate, it was being outsmarted by a kid.

“Who the hell do you think you are, you little shit,” Baz pushed J and J stood up to confront Baz face to face.

“She didn’t trust you, but she trusted me. And was she wrong? She’s in prison because of you, Baz!” Baz scoffed, then immediately went to hit J. Hawk flew off the sofa, but was quickly wrangled by Pope wrapping his arm around her waist. Her legs were fully off the ground, kicking as he pulled her down onto his lap with a grunt, his other arm caged around hers to keep them down at her sides so she didn’t start swinging.

If Pope let Hawk loose, he knew she’d kill Baz with her bare hands.

“Keep your hands off of him!” Hawk spat at Baz while Deran and Craig got in the middle of J and Baz. “Let go of me!” She shouted back at Pope, but his muscular arms didn’t sway from their purpose.

“Calm down. Now.” He growled in Hawk’s ear. Once Baz was pulled away from J, she settled down in his hold. “Enough!” His voice broke the fight up as everyone caught their breaths. Hawk pushed her way off of Pope and went to check on J as he sat back where he was originally, shouldering Baz on her way over.

“Enough!” Pope repeated as he stood up, eyeing Baz, then landing on Hawk. He walked straight past her and out of the den shaking his head. Hawk touched the top of J’s head before following after Pope.

He stalked through the house and out the front door with Hawk trailing behind him.

“I didn’t ask you to come so you could stir the pot.” Pope fished the keys to his truck out of his pocket, pressing the unlock button as he turned to face Hawk.

“Then why did you ask me to come?” She asked, arms wide.

“Because I knew she’d be here.” Pope’s face held frustration, redness creeping up his neck and over the points of his ears. “Whatever he’s doing, she’s behind it.”

“Well yeah, anyone with two functioning eyeballs can see that much.” Pope just stared at Hawk, his jaw clenching in irritation before he just shook his head and climbed into the truck. Hawk took a deep breath before walking to the passenger side and hoisting herself up.

Hawk awoke the next morning to Pope standing in front of the bedroom slider, naked as the day he was born as he watched the ocean in the early morning hours. He turned to glance over his shoulder when he heard the rustling of the comforter, but turned back when he saw Hawk had no intention of getting out of bed just yet.

“Come back to bed,” She beckoned him, scooting over and lifting the covers so he could slide in front of her. It was an invitation he didn’t think he’d get from her, not after the way he’d acted recently. Still, she was trying. Pope sighed, and his feet were moving before he realized it. He climbed into the bed, rolling over so his back was to Hawk. She wrapped her arm over his torso and his hand grabbed hers. He loved to be held, and she loved to hold him. This was comfort. Their legs tangled together and Hawk laid tender kisses on his neck and shoulder, connecting each freckle together as she went.

“We’re both struggling right now, but we’ll work through it. We always do.” Poe’s eyes clenched shut as Hawk spoke. He bit his lip to stop any sound from coming out as she continued to kiss his bare skin. God, Hawk didn’t know how wrong she was.

The buzzing of Pope’s phone from his bedside table woke the couple up later that morning. They had rotators over to Pope’s side at some point in the morning and Pope was now spooning Hawk. She groaned as he reached over her to pick up the phone, pushing her face into his pillow so she could get a few more minutes of sleep. She could hear the automated call of an inmate that she was all too familiar with and assumed it was Smurf calling.

Hawk felt Pope tense behind her, his words mumbled as he spoke. He ended the call without a goodbye and got out of bed in a hurry.

“What happened?” He went into the closet and threw clothes on. Hawk hopped out of bed, throwing on a t-shirt and a pair of discarded shorts -forgoing a bra or underwear so she didn’t lose track of him as he moved from room to room. “Andy!” All Pope could do was try to get himself out of this house and away from Hawk.

Baz knows, Pope. His entire world was about to crash around him after he heard those three words from Smurf, and he wanted to be as far away from Hawk and this house as he could be so he didn’t leave the mental scars behind that he knew would result in what was about to happen.

“What the hell is going on with you lately?” Pope ignored Hawk’s question, sidestepping her to go back into their bedroom. She followed closely behind him as he went into the closet again, rifling through a duffle bag that he kept on the top shelf in the back of the closet, before he pulled out a pistol. “What the fuck is that and why is it in my house, Andrew?!” Hawk pulled Pope’s shoulder, twisting him around to look at her. His eyes were freaked out, scared, but he kept his mouth clamped shut.

“Don’t do that.” Hawk shook her head. “You promised me you’d talk to me when something happened! What did Smurf say to you?” Pope swallowed, opening and closing his mouth a few times before he got any words out.

“This isn’t something I can talk to you about.” Pope ground out, pushing past Hawk to exit the bedroom. “I need you to trust me on this.”

“All I do is trust you, Andy!” She followed once more, jogging to catch up with him. “If something’s wrong, I need to know!”

“You don’t get it! You will never speak to me again, Hawk. You’ll never look at me again. You’ll never touch me again.” He pushed his feet into his boots, tying the laces quickly, before he grabbed the keys to his truck. He tried to shut the front door between them, but Hawk’s reach was quicker. She ran out of the house barefoot to stop him from leaving.

“Andrew!” He shook his head when Hawk threw herself between him and the door to the truck. “Stop!” She screamed as she put her hands up to his chest, pushing him away from the pickup. His sunglasses were forgotten inside and Hawk saw the absolute anguish and agony that stormed within his eyes as he looked down at her, mouth trembling as he barely held himself together. Her hands cupped his face sternly, not letting him escape without having to physically pry her off.

“I’ve done something.” His chest was heaving and Hawk could see his foundation crumbling before her. “I’ve done something so unforgivable that I don’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you. And now I’m facing the consequences of it -as I should.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“You were always better off without me. Always. I wanted you so bad, Hawk, more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life, but I didn’t want to ruin you. You have to understand that.” His voice was thick with unshed tears and raw emotion that he had been holding back for god knows how long.

“That’s not true. You’re not ruining me-” Hawk reassured him, her voice shaking as she pulled his forehead down to hers. She felt him tremble, losing control of himself in her grasp.

“It is true!” He shouted through clenched teeth. Hawk flinched, but didn’t retreat from him. “Everything I touch turns to poison, Hawk. Everything. You’re not an exception because I was born bad and will always be bad.”

“Stop!” Her eyes looked into his as he tried to pull himself away, but her grasp on him was unrelenting. Her nails left little crescent shapes in his cheek and he only pushed himself further into them because he needed the physical pain to keep him present. “Look at me! You need to tell me what the fuck is happening, Andy. What did you do?” He shook his head, eyes clenched shut.

“I have no right to ask you for anything, Hawk, but if something happens to me-”

“-Andy-”

“-if something happens to me,” He spoke louder, “-will you look after Lena?” His breathing was labored and Hawk feared he was going to pass out if he kept this up.

“Pope-”

“Please!” He shouted again, eyes shifting manically. “Please, I need to hear you say it, Hawk. Will you look after her if something happens to me? We’re all she has…”

“Of-of course I will. You know I will. What is going to happen to you?!” The sound of a vehicle pulling into the driveway broke Pope and Hawk apart. Pope physically shoved her towards the front door, her feet stumbling over each other from the force of it. Hawk looked at Pope like he struck her. Pope never put his hands on her like that and Hawk was almost about to fight back when he turned to her.

“Go inside now!” Pope demanded. “No matter what you hear out here, you don’t open the door, do you understand me?” He was scared, for her or himself she couldn’t tell, but his eyes begged her to not argue and to just listen. “I love you.” His voice cracked. “I’ve always loved you, Hawk. Always.”

“Andy-”

“Get inside. Now.” His voice boomed just as Baz hastily parked his Jeep and jumped out, leaving the door wide open with his sights on Pope, gun pulled out and pointed at him. “Now, Hawk!” Hawk felt like she was going to throw up. Her fight or flight instincts kicked in, but she didn’t know what they were telling her to do. Pope turned his back to Hawk, facing Baz head on.

“Go inside, Hawk!” Baz yelled at her, his dark eyes were clouded with anger and destruction. His gun was at the ready with the intent to kill and Hawk stupidly took slow steps back down the walkway towards Baz and Pope.

“Baz, put it down.” Her voice shook as she held a hand out.

“Did you know?” Baz yelled at her, his eyes narrowed, but never taken off of Pope.

“She doesn’t know.” Pope whispered, shaking his head. “Go inside, Hawk, please.” He begged, looking over his shoulder desperately. Hawk saw the shine of tears that lined his cheek, the red of his bloodshot eye that was visible to her, the way his jaw trembled. “We’ll do this, but not in front of her, Baz. Please.”

“Put the gun down, Baz!” Hawk begged, trying to diffuse the situation.

“He killed Cathy, Hawk.” It felt like the air was knocked out of Hawk. Her jaw fell as she looked between Baz and Pope. Her brain and her heart denied what Baz was saying, but with every second that passed that Pope didn’t deny the accusation, her eyes settled on Pope’s back in horror.

“She didn’t suffer.” Hawk collapsed onto the raised stone barrier that lined her walkway when Pope spoke. She knew Cath was dead, in her heart of hearts she knew she was, but Hawk didn’t think it was because of Pope. She wouldn’t put it past Smurf, but Pope? Her Pope? “We thought she was…talking to the cops.” He explained weakly.

No, no, no, no, Hawk’s ears rang. No, no, no, no-

This man who she knew her whole life, who she let into her home, into her heart and her life -who she would’ve defended to the death in a heartbeat- had betrayed her.

He betrayed Catherine.

He betrayed Baz.

He betrayed Lena.

The pieces of this fucked up puzzle were starting to fall into place as memory after memory punched its way to the forefront of Hawk’s mind. From Pope’s disappearances early on, to pushing her away, to his sudden attachment to Lena. His detachment the last couple of weeks came to mind, and Hawk’s heart shattered as she put the timeline together.

“Pope-” A devastating sound broke free from Hawk, her brain shorting out as it tried to process what was happening. Pope’s chin was tucked into his chest, his eyes clenched shut.

“Cathy didn’t deserve any of this. I cared about her. You knew that and you still took her from me.” Hawk’s heart clenched as she listened even though her mind was telling her, screaming at her to go inside. She had no idea that Pope and Cath were involved in any capacity, but there were long spans of time where she wasn’t present in any of their lives. This happened to be one of them. “You took Cath to punish Smurf because Smurf didn’t want you to have Lucy, but you punished me too! You would’ve taken Hawk if she gave you the time of day because that’s what you do. You never thought about me!” Pope shouted, voice raw. “Not one of you ever thought about me!” Pope turned, pointing to Hawk, “Except for her.” Hawk’s head shook in disbelief, tears cascading down her cheeks.

“Smurf said she was talking to the cops,” Pope sobbed, turning back to Baz. Any fight he had left in him vacated his body in that moment. His confession had taken the weight of the universe off of his shoulders and for the first time in a very long time, he was ready to pay for what he did. “-but she wasn’t. Smurf said she was, but Cath didn’t say anything to them!”

Hawk’s encounter with the cops who came by her shop rammed into the front of her mind like a head on collision. Had Smurf caught wind of that, would she be in the same boat as Cath? Hawk brought a trembling hand over her mouth.

For the first time since Hawk met Pope, she felt fear when she looked at him -at what he was capable of. If Smurf told him back then to get rid of her because she was a danger to them, would he? Hawk didn’t think he’d do it now -not after everything they’ve been through, but back then…her stomach clenched and bile climbed up her throat.

“So do it.” Pope begged Baz. “I want you to do it. Please.” He had given up entirely, the immense amount of guilt he harbored had eaten away at the structure that held him together as a person and he was just done. “Please. I’ve lost everything already.” He whispered. Hawk couldn’t take it anymore. She lifted herself up and stumbled her way to the front door in a daze, chest heaving as she tried to breathe through the agony that wrenched itself around her chest and squeezed. She didn’t make a sound as she shut the door behind her, twisting the deadbolt behind her and sliding down the door on the inside, sobbing for Cath with everything she had.

I'm starting a Baz is a Bastard club if anyone wants to join.

#pope cody #pope cody fic #andrew pope cody #Andrew Pope Cody fic #animal kingdom #animal kingdom fanfiction #animal kingdom fanfic #animal kingdom tnt #animal kingdom imagine #shawn hatosy #well enough alone universe #angst

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elixirfromthestars · 23 hours ago

Text

This was so endearing and soft, I am sobbing 🤧💕💕

More under the cut ᯓᡣ𐭩

He sighed deeply, rolling toward you and smiling as your kisses moved around to his collarbone. And he hummed in pleasure. “Good morning, handsome.”

^ he deserves to be woken up like this every. single. day. 🙂‍↕️🩷

“What if I just wanted to wake up my favorite guy with kisses on his birthday? Is that too much too ask?” Bucky turned his face into his pillow, trying to hide his face under his arm. “You remembered.”

^ I don’t think it’s too much to ask at all 🙂‍↔️💓🤭💓

Now there was you. Curling into his side like he was something worth waking up to. Pressing kisses to his body like it was something to be worshipped. And for the first time… in a really long time… he didn’t feel like this day was a curse. Bucky rolled over pulling you into his arms, burying his face into your hair.

^ the fact that he’s finally having a good birthday 🥺🥺🥺 I could cry 😭🩷

Overall, I adore that he had such a sweet and peaceful birthday like he deserves that and so much more 😭🩷🩷 I love that they stayed in and just enjoyed their time together, so he could enjoy his birthday for the first time in forever without the added pressure that comes from a birthday when you involve other people or going out. 🥺 This was so perfect for him, and the reader loves him so much and knows him so well. 🤧💗 I could honestly write a whole essay on why this was so lovingly perfect 🥹💕

A custom-made dog tag— he had once told you that he had lost his and he wondered if he still had them, he would have had something of his past to hold on to. A tiny compass— you pointed at it and said “because no matter what, you can always find your way home now.” A key— “that’s for my place, so you can let yourself in at any time.” Bucky’s eyes had practically fallen out of their sockets. Immediately he clipped it onto his keychain. A wooden carving of a wolf which had been painted white— “Sorry, I’m not very good at that.” An old, slightly worn photograph of him from the 40s— one where he was smiling, young and carefree, before the world had taken so much from him.

^ THE GIFTS!! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?? 😭🩷🩷

His name was scrawled across the front in Steve’s characteristic cursive handwriting.

^ A LETTER FROM STEVE?? 👀👀

The effort that the reader put in to get a letter to Steve so Steve could send one back just for Bucky is like one of the sweetest acts of love and kindness and I’m so soft for these two right now like I can’t 😭🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

He shut his eyes. He swallowed back the lump in his throat. But it was no use. A broken sound slipped past his lips. But you were there. Your arms wrapped around him, pulling him close as he finally let go of all the things he had been holding inside for so long. His shoulders shook with the weight of everything; the grief, the love, the years that had separated them, the trauma he had suffered. It all came crashing down at once. The dam he had built had been taken apart within moments, with a simple sheet of paper and a few strokes of a pen.

^ Our poor boy 😭🩷 I’m so happy the reader is there to hold him through this 🥺 He needs to let it all out and heal ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

So, I know you’re not big on birthdays. Hell, you’ve skipped more than most people have lived through. But that doesn’t mean they don’t matter. It doesn’t mean you don’t matter. You’re still here, Barnes. After everything, after all the shit life has thrown at you, you’re still standing. And that? That’s worth celebrating.

^ Sam’s letter was so him and endearing in his own way, but this part right here stuck with me the most 🥺🩷 What an important reminder to give Bucky to hold onto because yes, he’s still here, he’s found love, he’s starting to find a more peaceful existence, and he deserves to celebrate that 🩷

Bucky’s lips twitched. His hold on you tightened slightly before he finally let you go. Letting you lead him to bed. As he curled up beside you, your body pressed against his, he let his eyes drift closed. His heart was a lot fuller and his soul a little lighter. He felt safe. And for the first time in a long time, Bucky Barnes fell asleep knowing he wasn’t alone.

^ What a beautiful ending, I’m sobbing 😭🩷🩷 This is exactly what Bucky deserves after all the hardships he’s been through like, just to be able to finally sleep feeling loved and cared and appreciate and— ahhhhhhhh 😭🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

Oh, Skittle, this was such a heartwarming read 🥺💖💖 I can only hope Bucky truly gets such sweet & soft birthdays in the future 🤧🩷🩷 He deserves all the soft & gentle love and you perfectly encapsulated that in this fluffy birthday fic 🥺🩷 Apologies for my feedback coming at such a late time, life does what it does best and got in the way 🥲 Thank you so much for submitting this beautiful fic to my writing challenge!! 🩷🩷

Good Morning, Handsome

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Bucky never makes a big deal about his birthday—too many lost years, too many ghosts. But this year is different. This year, he has you. A quiet day, a box of small, thoughtful gifts, and an envelope that shouldn’t exist— a letter written across time, waiting for him to find it.

Prompts: "First birthday with partner" for @avengers-assemble-bingo’s 108th Birthday Celebration (shout out to @buck-star for giving me a square) & “I have loved you from the moment I laid my eyes on you.” for @elixirfromthestars’s cinema writing challenge 🎥

Warnings: Emotional gut-punch but with soft, healing moments, letters from Steve & Sam that will make you feel things, Bucky crying (and being held through it), cuddling, domestic fluff, and birthday kisses

Word Count: 2.6k

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As he stirred, the first thing he noticed was the feeling of something warm pressed against the back of his shoulder. Soft lips, brushing repeatedly along his skin. Gentle. Unhurried. The sensation roused him slowly from sleep. It was still early, but the sunlight poured in through the cracks in the blinds. The world around him was still hazy and quiet.

He sighed deeply, rolling toward you and smiling as your kisses moved around to his collarbone. And he hummed in pleasure.

“Good morning, handsome.”

Bucky's lips twitched into a slow and sleepy smile before he even opened his eyes. He hummed quietly, shifting under the blankets. His voice was still raspy from a full night’s sleep.

“S’too early early for this kinda sweetness. What’s going on with you, doll?”

You chuckled softly, running your nose along the slope of his neck until you hit his jaw, leaving a soft kiss every couple of millimeters. You whispered in his ear.

“It’s never too early to remind you that you’re the most handsome man I know.”

He finally cracked open one eye, his smile turning into a lazy smirk.

“Flattery this early? You can’t even function before 8am. What are you up to?”

He narrowed his eyes at your grin, watching as you propped yourself up on an elbow and rested your chin on his shoulder.

“What if I just wanted to wake up my favorite guy with kisses on his birthday? Is that too much too ask?”

Bucky turned his face into his pillow, trying to hide his face under his arm.

“You remembered.”

He could feel pressure on his shoulder as you attempted to get him to turn back to you, so you could see his face.

“Of course I remembered. And I know birthdays aren’t really your thing, but… I just want today to be good for you.”

Gingerly, he peeked at you from under his arm. His expression softened as he caught sight of your shining eyes. Birthdays were something that he had lost to time. Buried under the weight of wars, mind control and chemically induced sleep. The more recent ones had been spent alone, years of surviving rather than living.

“You being here is already making it a good day. Stay here a little longer?”

“Of course, baby. But… only if you let me give you your gift later.”

He loved the way you absentmindedly traced shapes on his bare chest as you spoke. He couldn’t see your face, but he could hear the smile in your voice. You always made him laugh. The action somehow seemed involuntary. It burst from his lips when he was least expecting it. It was only a soft release of pleasure, against your hair and he squeezed you just a little tighter.

“You’re kinda stubborn, have I ever told you that?”

The way you teased him always brought a smile to his lips and it was always followed up by a gentle confirmation of your affection. You pressed another kiss to his collarbone before laying a cheek against his chest and sighing happily.

“You love me for it.”

“I have loved you from the moment I laid my eyes on you.”

And yeah. He really, really did.

The two of you spent the day in his apartment. Quiet. Comfortable. Happy. No surprises. No crowds. It was just how Bucky liked it. The day started out slow with morning coffee. Followed by a walk with Alpine, who suddenly decided that she wanted to spend the whole time curled around Bucky’s neck.

You make his favorite meal for lunch. He tried to help. He wanted to, but you insisted that he shouldn’t lift a finger today. That today, you would take care of him. You took care of him everyday. That’s what he wanted to tell you. But you seemed so insistent that he let you have your way. Anything to keep that smile on your face. It didn’t stop him from hovering in the kitchen, watching the way your hips swished from side to side as you danced, moving to the music playing softly in the background.

The simplicity. The domesticity. This… this is what he wanted. You were what he wanted.

The day passed in a haze of comforting and warm touches. Simple moments of affection. Loving words of affirmation. Until you brought up your gift.

The evening was coming to an end, it was almost time for bed. The two of you were curled up on the couch under a blanket. He loved having you wrapped in his arms. He didn’t want to let go, but you insisted. Wiggling until he loosened his grip. You reached under the couch and pulled out a small box. Your hiding places made him laugh. He had no idea when you had hidden it there and he was in awe of your skills.

“You already gave me a good day, doll. That’s more than enough.”

He accepted the box as you nudged it into his hands, then pressed a kiss to your temple.

“I know. But I still got you something.”

He knew better to argue when you had that glint in your eye. Not when he knew how much you cared. How much love you put into the gift… into everything you did for him. Even if he didn’t think he deserved it. Slowly, he peeled back the wrapping paper, watching your every reaction. He was certain that you were more excited than he was.

Bucky lifted the lid, his expression shifting as he took in the contents:

A custom-made dog tag— he had once told you that he had lost his and he wondered if he still had them, he would have had something of his past to hold on to.

A tiny compass— you pointed at it and said “because no matter what, you can always find your way home now.”

A key— “that’s for my place, so you can let yourself in at any time.” Bucky’s eyes had practically fallen out of their sockets. Immediately he clipped it onto his keychain.

A wooden carving of a wolf which had been painted white— “Sorry, I’m not very good at that.”

An old, slightly worn photograph of him from the 40s— one where he was smiling, young and carefree, before the world had taken so much from him.

His fingers hovered over the items, reverent and overwhelmed. Suddenly he noticed an envelope at the bottom of the box.

It was old— worn with time, the edges slightly yellowed. He took out the smaller items and trinkets and placed them carefully on the coffee table. He looked down at the envelope, eyes going wide.

His name was scrawled across the front in Steve’s characteristic cursive handwriting.

Bucky’s hands shook as he picked it up, his heart thudding against his ribs. He glanced up at you, searching.

“What—?”

“Open it.”

Bucky’s fingers skated over the writing before he turned the envelope over, staring at it like it might disappear… or just crumble under his touch. His thumb brushed over the seal before finally… carefully… he opened it.

His eyes moved over the words, slow at first, then desperate, drinking in every single letter.

Buck, If you’re reading this, then it worked. I don’t know where you are when you find this, but I know one thing— you made it. You’re still here. And I am so proud of you. I always knew you were a good man, Buck. No matter what happened, no matter what they made you do, that never changed. I’m sorry I’m not there to tell you that myself, to stand beside you like I should have. I regret that more than you know. I hear you’re running for Congress. Now I wish I could be there to see that. To see you making a difference. I’d have been your loudest supporter. You know that, right? You would’ve hated all the campaign posters with your face on them, but I’d have saved one just to annoy you. And… I hear you have someone now— someone who loves you the way you deserve to be loved. I’m glad, Buck. You deserve happiness. You deserve someone who sees the best in you, even when you don’t. I’ve worried about you being alone, but I realize I don’t have to anymore. Makes things a little easier, knowing that I left. But I’m with you, always. You never have to doubt that. And if you ever forget, just read this again. Happy birthday, pal. Steve

Bucky’s grip on the paper trembled so hard that he feared that it might tear. His breath came out sharp and uneven. His chest rose and fell as the emotions hit him all at once. Steve’s words, his best friend’s voice reached across time and wrapped around his heart. Squeezing so tight it fucking hurt.

He clutched the letter like it was a lifeline. Like it was a piece of Steve himself. You held him through it. You ran your fingers through his hair, whispering how much you loved him, how he wasn’t alone.

When the tears finally slowed, Bucky pressed his forehead against yours. His hand cradled your face, fingers caressing your jaw. His voice was hoarse. Thick with emotion. But the word that came out wasn’t what you expected.

“How?”

You shrugged. Like what you had done was the simplest thing in the world. Like the effort you had gone through was an everyday occurrence. Not a miracle you had pulled off.

“I wrote to Steve.”

“You wrote to Steve?”

He watched as your expression became a little sheepish.

“I had some help… from someone with magic.”

Bucky frowned. He didn’t want you putting yourself in danger because of him. But you continued with your explanation.

“I sent him a message, telling him about you. About us. About everything.”

Bucky swallowed hard, unable to speak. He let you finish, whispering

“He wrote back. And he left it somewhere safe for me to find now.”

Bucky thought he knew you. He thought he had wrapped his head around how you thought. The things you would do for him. The care you showed him. But this, this was something else. There were no words that could truly express his gratitude.

“Thank you. For this. For everything.”

You only smiled and brushed a tear from his cheek and pointed back at the box in his lap.

“There’s another one in there.”

Bucky looked down at the box, noticing another envelope. One much whiter and crisper than the one in his hand. He immediately recognized Sam’s chicken scratch writing. He tore it open, knowing that he didn’t need to use as much tenderness with the newly sealed stationary.

Yo, Tin Man, Before you get all emotional, let’s just get this out of the way— yes, I remembered your birthday. And no, I did not get you a gift. Because I know for a fact that you’ll just grumble about it and act like you don’t care. (Don’t even try to deny it.) But I will say this— Happy Birthday, man! So, I know you’re not big on birthdays. Hell, you’ve skipped more than most people have lived through. But that doesn’t mean they don’t matter. It doesn’t mean you don’t matter. You’re still here, Barnes. After everything, after all the shit life has thrown at you, you’re still standing. And that? That’s worth celebrating. I also know about the other letter you got. Yeah, that letter. Don’t look so shocked—your girl told me what she did. And man… you are so damn lucky to have someone like her. Someone who loves you enough to move mountains (or, in this case, mess with the time-space continuum) just to remind you that you’re not alone. So anytime you get lost in that giant head of yours, know you’ve got people in your corner. Steve, me, and especially her. You might be a pain in the ass, but you’re also one of the best people I know. And if I have to be the one to keep reminding you of that, well… guess you’re stuck with me. Take the day. Enjoy it. Maybe even smile a little. Happy birthday, Buck. Sam P.S. If you haven’t hugged her yet, do it. Right now. I’ll know if you didn’t.

Bucky felt a small laugh escape his lips disguised as a breath. The sound was still shaky but lighter than before. His fingers stayed curled around the two letters, not quite wanting to let go. His chest ached. But the pain was something new. It ran deeper than anything else he had ever felt before. He’d felt it for a while now. Every time he looked at you.

He did that now. A quiet patience shone in your eyes as you waited for him. Waited for him to come back to you. He always would.

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. He just looked at you. Then, his voice came, quiet but certain.

“You did this for me.”

You nodded, your fingers brushing lightly over his arm.

“Of course I did.”

He exhaled another small laugh and shook his head.

“You really are somethin’ else, doll.”

“Is that a good thing?”

You tilted your head to the side, a flicker of uncertainty that he knew he should squash immediately. He huffed, setting the letters down carefully beside him before tugging you into his arms. His embrace was solid, grounding. He needed to feel you, to remind himself of what was real.

“It’s the best thing.”

He loved when you melted against him. He let the steady sound of your heart and breath soothe him. Neither of you spoke for a while. Both of you wrapped up in the warmth and quiet understanding. But eventually, you tilted your head to look up at him.

“You okay?”

Bucky searched your face for a moment before nodding. He didn’t say how he felt, didn’t try to put it into words. He knew he didn’t have to. You always understood. You pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder, just like you had that morning.

“Come on, birthday boy. Let’s go to bed.”

And for the first time in a long time, Bucky Barnes fell asleep knowing he wasn’t alone.

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#elixirscinema #skittle ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚#lovely mutuals ♡🎀♡#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fic

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majestyeverlasting · 4 hours ago

Text

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 | 𝐛𝐨𝐛 𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐬

Pairing Robert “Bob” Reynolds x Female Reader Summary On a slow morning, away from the pressures of the city, Bob helps quell your fears about the future [contains fluff, mild angst, the nickname ‘Robby’, cute superpower usage, wc 2.6k] A/N I fell in love with Bob during Thunderbolts, and the events of this fic take place two years after the movie. A bit of maturing and healing have taken place—mentally and in terms of his powers. It’s my first time writing for him, so let me know what you think!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Sunlight, bedsheets, and skin. Reality itself dawned in the visage of a dream. With a lone fingertip, you trace the line of his spine from the space between his shoulder blades to where the soft linen pools at his hips. Tiny hairs rise on his bare skin as he shivers. Bob envisions your soft smile and slow-blinking eyes before he tips fully into wakefulness. When he does, your touch stills midway along his back as you venture upwards.

Instead of car engines, birds sing outside. Rather than the sweeping windows of the Avengers tower, floral wallpaper and simple curtained panes allow the sun’s rays to paint the room. There’s no agenda, no meetings, no need to rush. This is the Catskills, and Manhattan is miles away.

You were grateful the team granted you two the weekend away at one of Bucky’s old safe houses. It’s a secluded rural farmhouse surrounded by oak trees—a scene fit for the silver screen.

“There you are,” you lilt.

Bob huffs a shy chuckle. “Hi.” He swallows when you comb your fingers through his hair. “Have you been up long?”

“Ages.” He frowns at that. “I’m kidding.”

A small smile breaks across his face. If you had been waiting long, he’d consider telling you that he’d had one of the best sleeps of his life. Then it’d make sense why he wanted to cling to it just a little longer.

He’d almost lost track of all his luck since he met you. A part of him feared it was bound to fade away, but even then, he’d be alright with life having given him time with you at all. It’d been a year since you met, and he couldn’t remember goodness ever prevailing this long. As far as he knew, there was a crash after every high.

But not all people were like vices he was once used to seeking: there one minute and gone the next. You’d stumbled into Bob’s life one chilly night on West 43rd and bonded over cheap slices. Sometime between then and him walking you home, you realized you liked having him around. Without so much as trying, he made you lean in closer, laugh too loud, lose track of time.

When your fingers pass through his hair yet another gentle time, a small sound rises in his throat as your nails scratch against his scalp.

“That feels good,” he sighs.

For someone who’d never quite be able to break, you treated him as though the opposite were true. Every touch was so thoughtful and careful that even he began to believe it might be possible after all. Maybe you saw that he was a bunch of tiny pieces held together by a renewed will to live. Maybe you were the glue.

“It’s getting so long.” You playfully rake some soft strands of hair into his face, and the feathery sensation makes him scrunch his nose. “You’re gonna disappear on me pretty soon.”

Bob combs his hair back to see you again, chest filled with a warmth that refuses to stay in one place.

“I promise I won’t.” The dual meaning of his words translates through his deep, blue eyes. “Gonna come find me if I do?”

You pretend to think, as if you hadn’t already done your share of saving each other.

“Maybe,” you say.

When his lips twitch with the threat of a smile, you poke his ribcage a couple of times to coax it out. It works like a charm. Before you know it, he rolls onto his back and pulls you to lie on top of him. Your legs fall on either side of his body.

“Robby, careful,” you chuckle in surprise.

He likes the pressure, the proximity. After a few seconds, you finally relax on top of him, scooting down his body enough to rest your head against his chest. His skin is warm beneath your cheek, and you can feel the rise and fall of each steady breath. One of his hands slips beneath your shirt to draw shapes across the small of your back.

Your eyes slip closed, and like a light switch, you’re transported back to the night you first met. Fluorescent lights shine above as the two of you sit across from each other near the front window of a pizza place. The steady buzz of chatter fills the air along with the rich scent of tomato sauce and oregano. Outside, pedestrians flutter by.

It’s a memory.

You can see your present selves too, standing over the shoulders of the yous forever bound to the past. You meet Bob’s gaze, taking in his boxers and muscled torso as his own eyes rove over you.

That night, the team had let him leave without Bucky or John tagging along. The independence wouldn’t have been a big deal in another life, but it felt like a rite of passage. They were finally beginning to trust in his ability to control the multitudes he contained. He could’ve gone anywhere in Manhattan, somewhere more bustling and lively, but he’d decided to take a walk and grab a greasy bite.

As Bob looks between your past selves, he can see the nerves in his gaze and the intrigue in yours. It was possible you had seen him on TV back when the city turned void. If you did happen to know who he was, you were sensitive enough not to mention that fateful day.

The real reason you’d struck up a conversation with him was because he’d held the door for you when you first walked into the pizza place, two strangers crossing paths in the city that never sleeps. There was a certain allure you couldn’t quite pin down, a palpable energy. Something behind his eyes.

It was no secret that those who wandered at night were often looking to feel a little more alive. Perhaps you’d met for a reason written somewhere amid the invisible stars.

Upon opening your eyes, you’re back in bed with him. You prop yourself up on his chest to study him.

“You took us back,” you say.

“Sorry,” Bob murmurs. “Wasn’t trying to.”

Sometimes, when he feels safe and thinks about you, his mind will pull you two into a lifelike memory. It wasn’t a matter of control; he simply allowed it to happen without fighting against it.

You run a light fingertip down his nose. “I don’t know if I believe you.”

Bob takes your wrist and kisses the heel of your palm. “But you liked it.”

“Says who?”

“The smile on your face.” As soon as he says that, you purposely flatten your expression. A chuckle rumbles through him. “Guess I’ll stop if it’s so unbearable.”

You could easily call his bluff, but the thought still stirs a small flicker of worry within you. Bob sees it in your eyes and squeezes you to quell it. There wasn’t a single part of him you hated. Not even the scarier, messier parts that often scared people away. It was their loss. It’d be hard to come across someone quite like him again.

•••

As the record player plays a jazzy instrumental, the sound of the spatula scraping against the bottom of the pan is a gentle accompaniment. Bob’s back muscles shift as he continues scrambling the eggs. It feels like you’re a koala bear with the way you’ve secured your arms around him, but he doesn’t mind. Not when it feels like this moment was handcrafted by tranquility itself.

You didn’t get many moments like this in Manhattan. Now that you’re seeing what it’s like to have him all to yourself with no check-ins, you realize you wouldn’t mind having this forever. Except, forever seemed to stretch like an empty void waiting to be filled. And it was up to you to do the shaping.

“Do you ever think about…” you trail off.

Bob waits for you to continue, but you don’t. “About what?” he encourages. It almost hurts how patient he is with you.

You tuck your nose into the space between his shoulder blades to inhale the scent of his shirt. “Thought you were a mind reader,” you accuse in a gentle attempt to deflect. “I want a refund.”

Laughing, Bob turns off the stove and faces you. “It’s your mind we’re talking about.” There’s a sparkle in his eyes as he speaks. “Not even I can get a read on that thing.” What he means is that he’d never invade your thoughts. He never had.

He tilts his head in that disarming, attentive way of his. “What were you gonna say?” His eyes remind you of the dark stare of a fawn, ever curious and searching.

You redirect your attention to the floor. “Stop looking at me like that.”

Bob lifts your chin back up with his index finger. “Like what?” It’s a painfully genuine question. “Like I value what you have to say?”

When you remain quiet, his eyes darken, and bright ribbons of molten gold swirl through his irises. It’s beautiful in an intimidating way that makes your stomach flutter; an attempt at levity. A small smile plays on his lips as his gaze returns to normal. You bite back a reaction because you know he’d done it on purpose, knows you like it.

“Tough crowd,” he playfully mumbles. “Talk to me, sweetheart, c’mon.”

“After breakfast,” you say. “The food’s gonna get cold.”

•••

Bob hums under his breath as he flips through a box of Bucky’s old vinyl. The house itself is even older, and the way the wooden floors creak tells the tale. He studies the cover art of the albums as you sit and watch from your place on the couch. You break your silence when you’ve had enough of the distance.

“Hey, Robby?” He redirects his attention to you. “Maybe we can pause the music browsing for a sec.”

With how quickly he steps away from the box, you’re convinced he’d been waiting for you to say that. The cushions dip as he joins you on the plush sage couch.

The entire living room is cozy. It reminds Bob of visits to his grandparents’ house as a boy. He remembers weekends and summers being dropped off when his parents claimed to need a break. It became a safe space that he never wanted to leave.

With his grandparents, there was no constant clamoring, shouting matches, or phone calls from the electric company threatening to cut the lights off. He played outside in the sun with the older kids and came back inside to homemade lemonade and playful comments about him having worked up a good sweat.

When he got older, and his grandparents passed away, his escape became the dingy basements of questionable acquaintances and back alleyways that never turned a lost soul away.

Bob reaches over to squeeze your thigh. “I’m all ears whenever you're ready.”

“It feels kinda stupid now,” you admit.

“Stupid and I go way back.” He’s sincere even as he jests. “Try me.”

You play with your fingers and bite the inside of your cheek. It feels like you’re a scared kid standing on a diving board at the deep end of the pool. All attention is on you. It’s time to jump.

“Do you ever think about the future? What it looks like?” you ask, pausing for a few seconds. “If people like us get a happily ever after?”

You meet each other’s gaze.

“People like us,” he repeats slowly. You can see the gears moving in his mind.

“I’m me, and you’re… you,” you say. “There’s no such thing as normal.”

Bob hums, not agreeing or disagreeing.

You exhale. “Everything’s starting to feel so perfect.” Bob waits for you to continue. “But it feels like I’m waiting for the rug to get ripped out from under me.”

“I hear you,” he says, reaching out to interlock his fingers with yours. He's quiet for a few thoughtful beats. “I don’t know what’s down the road, but I know what’s in front of me right now,” he says.

A silence stretches between you until he breaks it again. “Back when I tried the whole therapy thing, there was this idea called dress rehearsing tragedy,” he says. “It’s when you think of the worst so much that it gets hard for the good to shine through.”

You nod as you soak in every measured word.

“That was me every time things started to look up,” Bob admits reflectively. “I’m not saying that’s you right now—hell, you practically are the sun to me.” Your lips twitch upwards when he squeezes your hand.

“What I’m saying is we get this whole weekend together.” Bob leans in closer. “So let’s just be here.”

“And when the weekend ends?” you murmur, just to see what he says.

“I promise I’m in this for the long haul,” he assures. “Whatever it takes.”

Those last words linger in the air. Bob gives you his full attention when you shift as if you’re about to speak up. Instead, you brush your thumb over the back of his hand. His eyes never leave you. It’s a glimpse into what it must’ve felt like for him to be under your watchful gaze the night you met.

“Whatever it takes,” you echo.

So much in life seemed far away for you. Falling in love was for other people, marriage was for other people, buying a house and building a life was for other people. Not for you.

Bob offers a solemn smile. “I used to be scared all the time.” He thinks for a moment. “Now I refuse to be. Out of spite mainly.”

You huff a laugh, partly amused, partly in admiration. “I swear you’re not real sometimes. Like this is all just a dream.”

Bob chuckles. “I swear I am.” He kisses your cheek to prove he’s real. “Need me to pinch you? ‘Cause I can do that too.”

A small squeal escapes you as he reaches for your side, but he lets you push his hand away. You blink up at him in surprise when he stands and extends that hand to you.

“Let’s go,” he says.

You let him pull you to your feet, a spark of excitement stirring. “Go where?”

“The lake.”

•••

There’s a breeze that complements the warmth in the air. Grass crunches beneath your shoes as you follow Bob down to the shoreline. The still water shimmers in the light of the sun. Across the way, you can see somebody paddling in a canoe. There’s a bench beneath a cluster of birch trees, but Bob walks up to the water, and you stop by his side. Leaves rustle, birds chirp.

He snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. You rest your head on your shoulder. It’s so still and quiet that your thoughts begin to settle. Bob was right. Neither of you knew the future. But in this moment, you at least know the feeling of standing beside someone you love. You know you’d be willing to fight for it. And maybe that was enough.

Bob looks at you after a while, cataloguing your features like it’s the first time. He closes the distance between you just as you’re about to jokingly ask if he’s looking for something. A pleasant warmth spreads through your body as his lips find yours. He kisses you tenderly, hands settling on your waist as you reposition yourself in front of him. Your fingers find their way to the nape of his neck, where you gently tug his hair.

Bob smiles into the kiss. Not for any particular reason, more like a culmination of things.

You pull away. “What?” you whisper against his lips, beginning to smile.

Bob’s cheeks warm as he shakes his head. “I’m just happy.”

“Me too.”

“We’re gonna be okay,” he promises.

Your lips find each other’s again.

Thanks for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all!

Bob masterlist coming soon!

ALL MASTERLISTS

#bob reynolds #robert reynolds #bob reynolds fic #robert reynolds fic #robert reynolds fluff #bob reynolds x reader #bob x reader #bob reynolds x you #bob x you #bob x female reader #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x you #robert reynolds x y/n #sentry x reader #sentry x you #sentry #void #thunderbolts

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serumandsteel · 2 days ago

Text

The Shape of Silence | pt 3

series masterlist

pairing: tfatws bucky x (f) reader

summary: after Walker blows the op, the team is left scrambling to pick up the pieces. But the real damage hits later. when you finally realise that years of running from Bucky didn’t erase the feelings, only buried them deeper. now, forced into close quarters and out of excuses, you have to face him… and everything you tried to forget. that one night in Wakanda. the night that changed everything finally comes crashing back. And this time, it just might break you.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: emotional trauma, ANGSTYY, unresolved tension, swearing... light themes of SMUTT 18+

a/n: ahhhh last chapter for my mini series! thankyouu for reading... also first time writing smut so go easy on me :) taking requests for inspo for thunderbolts bucky... im feeling I want to continue to explore this little world I have made. also would love a nickname for this reader in this series...so inbox is open!

But Bucky didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

He just stared at you.

And you stared right back, bracing for whatever came next, the confrontation, the anger, the past you hadn’t outrun.

Because nothing about this was going to go the way you wanted it to.

Footsteps thundered in the distance. Sam emerged through the dust, breath ragged, gun lowered at his side.

But Bucky didn’t look away. Not when Sam stopped. Not when the cold wind bit through the warehouse’s broken walls. Not when reality finally caught up to both of you.

He looked older, lines carved deeper across his brow, stubble clinging to his jaw like rest hadn’t touched him in days. But his eyes were the same.

God, those eyes.

Still impossibly blue. Still heavy with the weight of too many lives. But now you could see the years behind them, the grief, the healing. The hurt.

And it hit you all over again.

They were the first thing you remembered clearly from the night it all changed. The night you stopped seeing him as Bucky Barnes and started seeing him as James. Just James. Not a mission. Not a ghost. Not Steve’s responsibility.

But a person.

Three years gone. Three years of silence, of hiding and now, here you were, standing in front of the one person you tried so hard to stay away from.

Not because you didn’t care.

But because you did. Too much.

“What the hell happened?”

Sam’s voice snapped both you and Bucky out of the thoughts that had locked you in place. His eyes swept the room, landing on Walker first, who was casually brushing dirt off his shoulders like he hadn’t nearly blown the entire operation.

“You’re late,” Walker muttered.

Sam stalked closer, voice sharp. “And you’re lucky you’re still upright.”

Walker scoffed. “I took initiative. There was a window. I made a call.”

“You made a mess,” Sam snapped. “You went in loud. No backup, no coordination. You compromised the mission and almost got the rest of us killed.”

“I handled it.”

You let out a dry laugh, wiping a smear of dried blood off your hand. “Handled it? You mean the part where you charged in without a plan and I had to clean it up?”

Walker’s eyes narrowed, like he’d only just remembered you existed. “Right. Her.”

He looked you up and down like you didn’t belong. Like you were just some stray who wandered into the wrong war zone.

“Still not sure who the hell you even are,” he said. “Some off-book tagalong Sam picked up? You were real quiet until you decided to play hero.”

You stepped forward, not aggressive. Just unflinching. “Just because you call yourself Captain America doesn’t mean you are him.”

Walker stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” you said, voice cool. Controlled. “Steve earned that title. You bought it. There’s a difference.”

Bucky flinched slightly at the name, but his eyes stayed locked on Walker.

Walker took a step toward you, jaw tight. “I don’t take orders from you.”

“Good,” you said. “Because I’m not giving any. I’m just cleaning up the wreckage.”

Sam stepped in then, placing a hand on Walker’s chest. “Back off.”

But Walker didn’t. His eyes didn’t leave yours. “She thinks she’s better than the rest of us. Walks in like she knows everything. What—everyone’s just following her lead now? Because she’s good with a gun and knows how to give orders?”

His mouth curled. “Or is it something else?”

You didn’t say a word. But Bucky did.

He moved before he could stop himself.

“Shut your mouth.”

Walker turned toward him. “Or what?”

But the look in Bucky’s eyes wasn’t something Walker could hold. Wounded. Restrained. On the verge of something worse.

“Walk away,” Bucky said through clenched teeth. “Before you say something you can’t come back from.”

Walker’s mouth twisted into something smug. “Touchy.”

Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides. He didn’t swing. Didn’t raise his voice. He just stared Walker down for one long, agonising beat. Then turned and walked away, fast and stiff, like he was barely holding himself together.

Sam watched him go, exhaling hard. He shook his head and muttered under his breath, “Goddamn.”

You didn’t follow. You didn’t trust yourself to.

Instead, you stood in the rubble of a blown mission and an even more fucked-up reunion, your pulse still hammering, hands still shaking.

Walker huffed, rolled his eyes. “I’ll find my own transport.”

“Do that,” Sam said, not even sparing him a glance.

The car rumbled steadily along the broken road. Trees blurred past. Faded signage. Empty intersections. You didn’t see any of it.

You weren’t in the car. Not really.

You were floating somewhere above it, your body moving through the motions while your mind spun off into nothing. Not out of fear. Not even shock. Just… self-preservation.

You’d seen Bucky’s face. The way he’d looked at you. The way he hadn’t looked away and it had carved something open inside you that you weren’t ready to name.

So you let the world blur. Let the silence settle around your shoulders like smoke. You stayed in that space until—

“Hey.” Sam’s voice cut through the fog like a sharp edge. You blinked. Looked over. His eyes flicked back at you in the rearview mirror, concerned but casual.

“You good?” he asked. Not pushy. Just present.

You nodded once. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

He didn’t buy it, not really. But he let it slide. For now.

A few more miles passed in silence before he spoke again. Lighter this time.

“So… you gonna tell me where the hell you’ve been, or do I gotta guess?”

You smirked faintly. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

You leaned your head back against the seat, eyes fixed on the blur outside the window. “Greece. Mexico. Indonesia for a hot minute. Then some nowhere town in Canada. Mostly off-grid. Nothing stable. Just... running. Always moving.”

“Running from who?” Sam asked, one brow lifting.

Your gaze shifted to meet his in the rearview mirror. “From myself, I guess. The past. The present. I don’t even know anymore.”

You hesitated, the truth dragging itself up from somewhere raw. “I just… I can’t seem to stop. Can’t settle.” The confession sat heavy in the air.

Sam let out a low whistle. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“You keeping tabs on us all that time?” You shrugged. “Some. Enough.”

Sam nodded, casting a glance toward Bucky beside him, then back at you. “You know he was looking for you.” His head tilted subtly in Bucky’s direction.

That landed like a punch to the chest. You didn’t answer.

Sam exhaled quietly. “Just sayin’. He never stopped.”

More silence. Then:

“I thought it’d be easier,” you said, almost to yourself. “Staying away. Keeping the mess contained. But turns out ghosts follow you no matter how far you run.”

Sam chuckled softly. “Yeah, well. We’ve all got ghosts. Some louder than others.”

You offered a quiet smile. “Yours still nagging you?”

“Only when I try to get five minutes of peace,” he muttered. “And when Torres messes with my Spotify playlist.”

That earned a small laugh from you. Genuine.

From the passenger seat, Bucky stirred slightly - just a shift of his shoulders, a flicker of something like familiarity in his profile. Then, quietly, without turning around “Still listening to that god-awful Marvin Gaye remix?”

Your head snapped up. Bucky’s tone was dry. Flat. But there was a spark there, something wry and a little too familiar. Like it slipped out before he could stop it. Sam groaned. “Oh, come on. We’re not doing this again.”

You let out a surprised laugh. “You still hate that album?” Bucky finally looked over his shoulder at you, just for a second. “Wasn’t music. It was noise.”

You rolled your eyes. “It was funk. There's a difference.”

Bucky’s mouth twitched, just slightly. It wasn’t a smile, not really. But it was close. The air didn’t feel quite so heavy after that. Still tense. Still charged. But no longer choking.

And for the first time since the dust had settled in that warehouse, you let yourself believe maybe, just maybe this wasn’t unsalvageable after all.

The car rolled to a stop outside a sleek, unassuming house nestled at the edge of a quiet, tree-lined road. It was a far cry from the last safe house Sam had tucked you away in - this actually seemed to have a functioning heating system. This place was modern, updated. It would suffice for the night.

Sam was the first to speak, his tone low as he hauled his gear from the trunk. “We’ve all got rooms. One night. Wheels up at six.”

You didn’t respond. Just nodded and shouldered your duffel, every bone in your body aching as you followed them up the steps.

Inside, the house felt too clean. Too still. The kind of quiet that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed. Soft lighting. Hardwood floors. Real furniture. Like a home built for someone who didn’t wake up from nightmares or run away from their problems.

You moved through the space like a ghost. Detached. Weightless.

Sam mumbled something about grabbing a shower and disappeared down the hall. Bucky lingered. He always did.

He stood there in the low light, jaw tight, hands in his pockets. Close enough to feel the tension rolling off him, but still keeping his distance.

“We should talk,” he said, voice quiet.

You turned halfway. Exhaustion bled through your features. “Not tonight.”

“But—”

“Please, Bucky,” you cut him off, your voice flat. “Not tonight.”

He didn’t argue. Just watched you walk away. Again.

You felt the weight of his stare on your back all the way down the hall.

You knew you owed him a conversation. Hell, you owed him a thousand of them. But not like this. Not with your heart still in your throat and your thoughts scrambled beyond recognition.

You needed to get your head straight. You needed a goddamn shower. And you needed that pounding behind your eyes to ease up before you said something you couldn’t take back.

Seeing him again today had cracked something open in you.

It wasn’t just shock. It was grief. Guilt. Longing. And something else, something heavier. The slow, dawning realisation that maybe you were the one who broke what could’ve been fixed.

You hadn’t just left. You’d disappeared. Cut the cord and never looked back, or at least tried to convince yourself you hadn’t.

And now here he was. Looking at you like you were still the same. Like maybe, if you reached back, he’d still be there.

But you weren’t sure you deserved that anymore.

You weren’t sure you could even handle the fallout of what he’d say once you finally let him speak.

You shut the bedroom door behind you and leaned against it, eyes closed. Your pulse still hadn’t calmed.

You fucked up.

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure how to fix it.

Sleep never came easy anymore. But tonight, exhaustion didn’t just claim you, it dragged you under like a riptide, pulling you fast and deep into memory.

Back to Wakanda. Back to that night. The first and last night with him. The night before everything went to hell.

The night you let yourself forget. Forget the war looming at your doorstep. Forget what you’d both done. Forget the versions of yourselves that didn’t deserve this kind of softness.

You let it all fall away — and for once, you let yourself feel.

Years of tension, of glances and near-misses, of guilt and yearning, came crashing down to that single night. The one you never talk about. The one you can’t forget.

And he was there. Bucky.

Leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a thin white shirt clinging to him from the heat of the day. His hair was loose around his shoulders, wild and soft. And his eyes — God, those eyes fixed on you like you were something he still didn’t quite believe was real.

You knew this night.

You’d relived it a hundred times in your mind. Only now, in the pull of sleep, you were living it again. You’d been dancing around this for weeks. Months. Years, really.

And now you were close. Too close. Inches. Breaths. The space between you vibrated with tension, years of it, unspoken and coiled like a spring. His hand hovered near your jaw, hesitant, reverent — like touching you might make you vanish.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he said, barely above a whisper.

You gave him a sad, crooked smile. “You already have. So have I.”

Then he touched you. Rough, warm, grounding. You leaned into his palm like your body had been waiting for this. Like you were starving and this was the first real thing you’d tasted in months.

You didn’t remember who kissed who first. Only that it felt like falling. Like drowning.

It was desperate and aching — mouths crashing together, breaths stolen between kisses. Like you both knew it wouldn’t last. Like you’d already made peace with the fallout.

But for now, in this sliver of stolen time, you let yourselves fall.

His hands cupped your face, fingers slipping into your hair. The kiss deepened, messy and gasping, his tongue sliding against yours like he wanted to consume you. You tugged at his shirt, fingers skating over the scars across his chest, and he shuddered at the contact.

“Tell me you want this,” he rasped, thumb brushing your lower lip. There was fear in his voice. Like this was hope, and hope was dangerous.

“I do,” you whispered, the words falling from your mouth like truth. “I fucking do.”

That was all it took.

He stripped you down like a man on the edge — quick, trembling hands pulling fabric from skin. You yanked him close by the belt loops of his pants, grounding yourself in the hard lines of his body. You needed more. Needed him like air.

The bed creaked as your back hit the mattress, and he followed, crawling over you like gravity had its own pull.

“Bucky,” you breathed, and something in him broke.

He kissed you harder, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip, the cold press of vibranium anchoring you to the now. When he pushed inside, it was slow, deliberate. Thick and stretching, almost too much after the ache of waiting.

You gasped, body arching. He stilled instantly.

“You okay?” he murmured, forehead pressed to yours, voice so tender it burned.

You nodded, lips brushing his. “Move. Please.”

He obeyed, hips rolling, pace steady, deep. Every thrust was weighted, like he was memorizing the shape of you from the inside. You held onto him, arms wrapped tight, legs locking around his waist like you could keep him there if you just held on hard enough.

Every movement felt like goodbye. Every kiss like a memory in the making. Like you were both pretending this didn’t have to end.

“God, you feel like fucking heaven,” he groaned into your neck. His metal fingers slipped between your legs, circling your clit with practiced, focused pressure.

Your hips jerked. “Don’t stop—please, don’t stop—”

“I won’t,” he swore, voice tight with restraint. “Not until you come. Not until you fall apart for me.”

And you did. With a cry torn from your throat, you shattered, body clenching around him, mind blank with pleasure. You came hard, every nerve lit up, and he followed with a broken sound, hips stuttering as he spilled into you.

Then he held you. Just held you.

His breath was ragged against your neck. Your fingers threaded into his hair. His weight was solid over you, grounding, safe.

Neither of you said a word. You didn’t need to.

And then, it slipped away.

The heat of his skin. The weight of his body. The sound of his breath.

Gone.

You woke with a jolt, breath catching, chest heaving like you’d just been yanked from underwater.

The sheets were damp with sweat. The room was still dark, pre-dawn light barely filtering through the safehouse blinds. Your heart was pounding.

Too far. You’d let it go too far.

That dream, no, that memory — it wasn’t supposed to last that long. You always woke up before that part. Before the way he touched you made it impossible to lie to yourself. Before the sound of his voice made your ribs ache. Before your body reminded you how much it still wanted him. Before you remembered what it felt like to love him.

Because that’s what it was. That’s what it always was. Love.

And it broke you open like it was new.

You sat up fast, pressing the heel of your hand to your chest like you could shove the feeling back down. Like you could contain it this time. Like it wouldn’t ruin everything.

But it was already too late. Three years of running. Three years of silence. And still, you’d dreamt of him.

You had to get out. Now.

You were up and moving before your thoughts could catch up, shoving gear into your bag, hands shaking. No time for a plan. No message for Sam. You couldn’t stay. Not after this. Not when the truth was so loud it hurt.

You didn’t even notice the door open.

“Where are you going?” The voice behind you froze you mid-step.

Bucky.

You turned slowly, like your limbs were moving through sand. He was in the doorway, jaw tight, eyes dark and tired. He’d clearly just woken up, but one look at your face and he was wide awake.

“I—” you started, but the words got stuck.

He took a step forward. “You were leaving.”

Silence.

You didn’t deny it.

He let out a short, bitter breath and nodded. “Of course you were.”

“Don’t,” you said softly. “Don’t do that. You don’t understand.”

“Then help me.” His voice cracked on the edges. “Because I’ve been trying to for three fucking years.”

You closed your eyes, swallowing hard. “That night… I’ve tried so hard to forget it. I thought if I stayed away long enough, if I buried it deep enough, I’d stop feeling this way.”

“And did it work?” he asked, voice quieter now. Broken.

You met his eyes. “No. It didn’t.”

He took another step, like he was afraid you might bolt. “I looked for you. I thought maybe you were dead. Or that I’d imagined it all. I thought… maybe it hadn’t meant as much to you.”

“It meant too much,” you whispered. “That’s why I ran.”

“Then stop running.” His voice dropped, soft but certain. “I’m not asking for all of it. Not right now. I just want a chance. A real one. We can start over, slow, careful. However you need.”

Your lip trembled. You shook your head once, then twice, then stopped. He stepped closer. Close enough to touch. “I still want you,” he said. “Even after everything. Especially after everything.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to be with you and not fall apart.” His hand hovered at your side, not touching, but close enough to feel. “Then fall apart. I’ll be here when you do.”

You closed the distance.

Not with a kiss. Not with words. Just a lean. A small tilt of your body into his, like a truce. Like surrender.

His arms came around you, tentative at first, then tighter. He held you like you might slip away again, but this time, he wasn’t letting go.

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. But you didn’t move. And you didn’t run.

That would have to be enough, for now.

a/n: requests are open!! hope y'all enjoyed the absolute depression of a fic I wrote xx

Tag list: @inf4ntdeath @starfly-nicole @awkwardgiraffe726 @mcira @greatenthusiasttidalwave

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #thunderbolts #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader #marvel #bucky barnes smut

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scorpiossslut · 1 day ago

Text

Sweetheart Syndrome— Rafe Cameron. (Part three)

pairing: bsf!rafe x reader

summary: Rafe and reader have always been inseparable - best friends since childhood, their bond seeming unbreakable. But when Rafe's affection for her morphs into something darker, he will stop at nothing to make her his. She is blissfully unaware of the darkness growing within him, finds herself caught between love and fear, unsure of where Rafe ends and she begins. As his manipulation tightens, she struggles to hold on to the person she once was.

Warnings: possessive!rafe, borderline obsessive, crazy!rafe, violence, jealousy, thoughts of murder, unprotected sex.

3. Warning signs.

“Jealousy isn’t a feeling. It’s a warning sign.”

Song: “Serial Killer”— Lana Del Rey.

There was something different in Rafe’s silence tonight.

It wasn’t the usual detached cool or gritted annoyance. It was heavier. Coiled. Like a trigger under pressure.

She didn’t notice.

She was too busy flirting.

It wasn’t even real flirting — not to her, anyway. Just her being her usual self. Being too friendly, too oblivious. Laughing too loud. Tossing her hair. Sipping out of someone else’s cup like she owned the whole damn place.

The guy — Eli, or Evan, something with an E — had a stupid tattoo and a backwards cap. She complimented it.

Rafe watched from the shadows, leaning against a driftwood log with his jaw locked so tight it hurt.

Topper and Kelce were behind him, drinking and watching, too — but only Rafe had that still, razor-sharp expression. Like a blade not yet drawn.

“You good?” Kelce asked, eyeing him carefully.

Rafe didn’t answer.

“She’s just talking,” Topper offered, trying to keep things chill. “She’s always like that. You know how she is.”

“I know,” Rafe muttered, but his voice didn’t sound like his own.

He was barely hearing them. His eyes were fixed on her — her smile, her hand on the guy’s arm, her mouth close to his ear. She laughed at something he said.

Rafe’s fingers twitched. Topper said something else, but he didn’t catch it.

Because Leah had just touched the guy’s chest.

That was it.

⸻

No one saw Rafe leave the fire.

No one noticed when he disappeared into the tree line near the trail where Evan/Eli would walk alone later.

But hours later, news would spread fast — someone got jumped near the beach path. Broken nose. Cracked ribs. Said it was too dark to see who did it.

She found out the next morning through a friend’s story.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, sitting on Rafe’s kitchen counter, scrolling. “That guy I was talking to got beat up. Last night! Can you believe that?”

Rafe looked up from pouring orange juice. “What guy?”

“Um… the one with the stupid leaf tattoo? He walked me to the cooler?”

Rafe didn’t blink as he feigned innocence. “You were with him?”

“Barely,” she said, frowning. “He just gave me a drink and told me I should model or something dumb. He seemed nice.”

“Guess not nice enough,” he said flatly.

She tilted her head. “You’re being weird again.”

He handed her the glass. “Just saying. People aren’t who they seem.”

She took the drink, watching him with narrowed eyes. “Why do you always say shit like that?”

“Because you don’t.”

“What does that even mean?”

He didn’t answer.

She huffed and took a sip. “Whatever. You’re in one of your moods again.”

He didn’t say it, but he felt it down to his bones.

You shouldn’t have smiled at him like that.

You’re mine.

Even if you don’t know it yet.

Rafe.

I don’t even remember a time before her.

She’s just… always been there.

Bouncing into my house without knocking, getting peanut butter on my shirts, calling me “Rafey” like it wasn’t the most embarrassing thing in the world. And I let her. Even then.

She was loud, and soft, and always glowing. The kind of girl who trips over nothing and laughs like it’s magic. And I used to think she was annoying as hell.

But I also used to wait for her.

Every morning, I’d check the driveway to see if her bike was there. Every night, I’d find an excuse to text her about some stupid movie or ask if she had my hoodie — even if I knew exactly where it was.

It wasn’t love at first. It wasn’t even attraction. Not really.

I didn’t see her that way — not until I was sixteen.

I remember the moment.

She was lying on the beach with me, sun on her skin, babbling about nothing — something about watermelon lip balm and how she wanted to get a nose ring. I was staring at her. And something… shifted. Just like that.The way her mouth moved. The way she smiled without looking at me.

It wasn’t cute anymore. It was something else. Something deeper.

Worse.

I wanted to touch her hair. I wanted to pull her closer. I wanted to grab her and ask her who she really thought about when she kissed boys in spin-the-bottle.

And it got worse.

I’d check her phone when she went to the bathroom.

Just to see. Just to know.

I told myself I was keeping her safe. But if I’m honest?

I just can’t stand the idea of her thinking about someone else the way I think about her.

She didn’t even notice. She was always soft like that. Always trusting. Always mine — and she didn’t even know it.

I started following her. Not in a creepy way, not at first. Just… making sure she got home okay. Watching from across the street. Keeping an eye on who she talked to.

Then I started staying up after sleepovers — watching her sleep, just to make sure she was okay.

Nobody loves her like I do. She doesn’t even love herself the way I love her. But she’ll understand one day.

I know it’s not normal — the way I need her. The way I’d kill for her.

I don’t regret what I’ve done tonight to that douchebag. Not in the slightest.

I tried to stay calm. I really did.

But then he leaned in. Said something near her ear. She laughed.

And I swear to God, I felt my heart snap in half.

So I broke his face.

I don’t remember how many times I hit him. My knuckles are still raw. Split open. I can’t even make a fist without feeling it throb. I had to make sure she couldn’t see it. But it felt good. It felt right.

If I hadn’t done it, he would’ve kept pushing. I did what I had to do.

And if it happens again… I won’t hesitate to do worse.

#rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe x you #rafe cameron x female reader #bsf!rafe #rafe fanfiction #rafe smut #rafe x reader #rafe obx #outerbanks rafe #outer banks fic #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey

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13tinysocks · 11 hours ago

Text

My Dead Girlfriend

Good things are hard to come by in the desert, but surprisingly, not drugs. Alliances are forged over questionable motivations. A real romance takes root.

[Part one] [Ao3] [10]

11 * Sucker Punch [9k]

"My, my, my what a position:

The love of my life smokin' crack in the kitchen,

Lovely long nails and a nasty half grin:

"It's a livin'," she shrugs."

Some Kind Of Disaster Relief - The Taxpayers

"Hey." You turn on your side away from the noise. "Hey." Louder. "Goddamn it," your cot was jostled under your form, "wake up shithead."

You peel open an eye to find Tracksuit leaned over the bed. The sun pierced through the porthole. Everyone else had gone searching, leaving him on babysitting duty. His life had been threatened approximately five times that very morning and hearing you hiss, "What?" Made you particularly unlikable in the moment.

He stopped jostling the bed. Considered leaving you to get fucked but remembered- this was like being a producer. Nudge things the right way and the desired outcome should occur. His was mild entertainment and not the group eating itself alive so he said, "They sent me after you two last night."

Now you were sitting upright, bug eyed. "What-"

"I heard you two mashing pissers-"

"Excuse me?" You shot out of bed, standing unsteadily.

"-And I turned around and told 'em you were yelling at Omni Boy or whatever. I covered for you asses for like, twenty minutes. Do you know how many times I had to stop those guys from going after you? Too many. Almost beat the shit outta me and there I go thinking' you'll be smart and not super obvious. You come back, go right to sleep like you just got hit with the best dick of your life- like are you kidding?" His hands tangle in his hair. "Oooh, you're so lucky we're not full blooded dude. They would'a been able to smell that."

"We didn't-"

"I know fuckin' when I hear it, toots, don't even." His hand came to your face to shut you up, pressing to your lips, other arm securing you in place, "What I'm sayin' is, if they say shit to you about it at the fire tonight, you were laying into him but not laying him, ya hear? Cuz they ain't stupid, they know somethin' went down between you two and if I get caught lying- I'm fucked cuz I don't want those stupid assholes fighting and collapsing the caves- you know our only fucking source of water so sue me-" He stops himself from going on a tangent while you're effectively muted.

Your eyes narrow. Hands come to his wrist to peel his hand off your mouth to tell him to die. He holds firm, but not enough to hurt.

"Relax! I'm not a snitch and I don't fuckin' care. I just wanted to warn you that the next time you go romping around- be fuckin' careful, dude. If any of those guys went instead of me? They would'a intervened- we wouldn't be runnin' outta jerky, ya kno' what I mean. Nod if you get it." You nod. "Okay, alright, cool, I'm gonna take my hand away now and you're not gonna freak your shit on me."

His palm, calloused and slightly sweaty unlatches from your cheeks. The arm that held your waist in place fell away. You step back. Your head swivels left, right. Double-checking you were alone. "You heard us?"

Under the mask his brows peak. "I'm shocked nobody else did, dude. You were like," his voice pitches, hands go to his knocking knees and chest puffing perversely, "Uhhhhnggg, fuck me Markus."

"Shut up." He went ridged, quiet. Looks like your powers had returned for the day. You weren't foolish enough to make him hurt himself. He'd get back up and do you worse. Being found alone with his neck snapped on the cave floor also wasn't a good plan.

He broke free about ten second later, shaking himself off like your control was slime on his skin. "Eugh, that feels like ass."

"Don't make me do it again." You stand, stretch, feel your back crack. Find your dried underclothes neatly folded on Omni's side of the cot.

Tracksuit follows your gaze. "He's also not hiding it, awesome. I'd say it was nice knowing you assholes but- it hasn't really been."

You pick up the clothes. "This doesn't mean anything."

"That he folds your clothes like some house husband? I couldn't imagine doing that even for some bitch who gave my the messiest sloppy of my life. That's like, love, dude."

Your stomach curdles. "It's not." You check the multiple openings in the cave walls, where anyone could be returning at any time. "Keep your voice down."

"I'm not being anywhere loud as you." He snickers. "Marrrrkusss, unngggnhh!"

"Shut up, turn around."

He did. You quickly took off the top of the armor and slapped on the tank top. You were pulling off the solider pants, back to Tracksuit when the control snapped. "You gotta- whoa! Whoa! No! I don't care how nice your ass is, I'm not getting killed over mediocre pussy!"

You leap into the shorts. "You were supposed to stay turned around." You grab the pants and boots off the ground, slipping them back on. "And please, don't flatter yourself."

Though your ass was hidden under tighty-whiteys, he still watched it. "I mean, you flattered him, who is also me, plenty last night."

"Want to find out how hard you can hit yourself?" You toss the empty threat.

He caught it. "Kind of, but I don't wanna end up lookin' like Seven. Lensless, you called 'im?" He sat pressed against the wall. "Crazy son of a bitch." Out of his pocket came that pack of alien cigarettes. Nine down to six he smoked in secret so nobody would ask for a hit. He caught your eye, "You don't plan on going out today, do you? Anywhere you could go they've already mapped beyond it like, a hundred times." He pulled the curtain from his face and tucked it to his left ear. Revealing the low of his face- Mark's. "Dunno how nobody's found shit yet."

***

Sand. Lots and lots and lots of sand was shoved into every unused crevice. Mushy mold and mildew that he helped the bugs propagate, just to use as wall padding. Their super hearing was nowhere near full-blooded Viltrumite level, but he couldn't risk the others finding his personal paradise to share with you.

It'd be ready soon, if all went to plan. Just you, him, bugs, and the dark.

***

You knew you were near useless in this survival situation. They were aliens, nearly God-like. You were a doll to throw around. You yearned for normal people, to play with them the way the Marks played with you. To be in some sort of control.

You consider leaving, knowing Tracksuit would be obligated to follow. But you also consider the more you moved, the more they'd feed you of Emperor at the campfire tonight. You could barely stomach what you'd already eaten. Puking was a constant, round the corner threat.

The blue-wrapped cigarette was placed between his lips. A blur passed over his face and it was lit, glowing green at the end. He takes a drag, relaxing fully against the stone. A pillar of smoke forced out between his teeth, light gray, and smelling of coriander. He catches you staring and holds up the side of his hand, "Don't need a lighter when ya got friction."

You point at the thing. "Give me a hit."

He leaned forward, held the cigarette out to you, glowing end first. You take it in two fingers and place it into your mouth. The pale filter still damp with his spit. (You hadn't smoked in a long time / You'd never smoked) and were nervous to see how this would go. If alien tobacco would kill you or not. You don't think, feel the hold loosening, so you suck it down.

Lemongrass and rotten laundry had a baby that shit acid down your throat- that's what it felt like. You jerked, folding forward, hacking up wispy clouds of smoke and spittle. The control breaks and the cigarette is snatched away. Your hands are propped on your knees. You could only see his boots as tears stung the corners of your eyes.

"I'd whoop your ass for that," the cigarette is placed back where it belonged between his lips, "but you're kinda doin' that for me."

You'd curse him if you could.

"Dude, this shit kills like, most alien species. Didn't you look at the warning on the box?" He points at a struck-through red circle with alien looking lungs in the middle. "No baby-shit lungs can touch this shit."

"Obviously," you hack out the syllables one by one, trying hard not to puke on your shoes, "I didn't."

"No dip." It pissed you off how easily he breathed the acrid air in.

You straighten up, pounding your chest, "What's in that?"

"Uhhhh," he flipped the box in his hand, squinting behind the lenses, "a hundred percent pure Loethicainian root. Huh, thought it was laced with something else."

"You didn't even know what was in it before you started smoking it?" Your voice cracks. Throat feeling like an uncleaned chimney after one puff.

"You didn't either." The box disappeared into his pocket. His palm outstretched in front of you, "Alright, now give it."

"What?"

"You took a hit'a my shit, I'ma take a hit'a yours." His fingers flexed, "Hand it over."

You flinched back, hands going defensively to your pockets. "No way."

"I could just take it, but I'm being nice and asking."

That was true. You preferred to have some dignity, so you pulled out a bottle. "Just don't over-"

The lid was crushed off the top, thrown aside. He knocked his head back, thumb punching a hole in the bottle bottom. Cigarette held off to the side in his spare hand. The bottle was shotgunned before you could blink.

"-dose."

He groaned, threw the bottle to the floor. "Tastes like shit."

"So does that." You watch him chase the bitter cough syrup taste with a pull off the cigarette. Man had taste buds of steel.

He shrugged, "Ya get used to it. When's it supposed to kick?" He sat himself on the closest cot. Gray's. He'd definitely notice things shifted about but Tracksuit couldn't care less.

"Uhm, I thought you've done codeine before?"

"Nah, buddy Rex did, though. Guy did everything he got his hands on." He sighed, hands going behind his head, now sprawled on Gray's cot. "Miss 'im."

You stand by the cot edge, watching him smoke. Feeling no difference beside the burning in your throat. Maybe one hit wasn't bad. "That Guardians of The Globe dickhead?"

Tracksuit smiled around the cigarette. "He made it to The Guardians in your world? Good for him."

You sit, pulling the last bottle of codeine out of your pants. "Should be a half hour before that kicks in. You sure you'll be fine? That's way more than most people can take. I don't feel like eating you." Though there was enough of Emperor left to last you all a week at this rate. Hell, all of him hadn't been smoked yet. Apparently without green plants to burn there was less smoke, the process took days longer. What hadn't been cooked yet started to rot. Gray set aside the first cooked, stalest, safest jerky for you to eat. You hadn't today, though you should.

"I'm an alien." He laughs, "I'm smoking the cheapest, but deadliest smokes in the galaxy. I'll be cool."

You tell yourself you don't care, that you're just killing time but you still ask. "So Rex Splode." You'd never met the guy but there was news here and there. People he saved said he was a douche, reckless, almost got them killed while saving them.

"We slummed it together awhile." He blew smoke past your shoulder to the ceiling. "Roommates while my parents were figuring out their relationship shit. Cuz like, Dad sprung all that crazy alien-invasion shit on mom and she was like 'what the fuck?' And who would want to live with those assholes anyway? Like rabbits those two, then they'd get on my ass for bein' loud. So, Rex 'n I got ourselves this piece 'a shit place in Queens. Roaches all over the place, you should'a seen it." He talked plenty but not normally this much, not so openly. Whatever hundred percent pure Loethicainian root was chilled him the hell out.

"I lived in New York," you crack the bottle, "I know." You knock your head back. Feel the sour syrup slide cross your tongue. Your body goes slack, like all your problems have been solved when it hits your throat. You flop onto the cot beside him.

"Crazy how I never met you." He says, and you can feel his eyes on you. "And everyone else but that one dude is all over you. Makes me wonder."

You tilt the bottle forward, cut yourself off before you really wanted to. High soon to go feather-light in your dome. "If you're gonna get all misty-eyed on me I'm fucking off."

"'M not." He says, "Just wonder how it didn't happen." He keeps out the part he'd been wondering about lately. That maybe, if he'd had you, things wouldn't have gotten so messy. Rex wouldn't be dead. That Eve bitch wouldn't be alive with the resistance. His Dad would've never called the Viltrum Empire to Earth. Things would've been normal and he could've lived his life doing fuck-all-bullshit till he died in a million years. Dad made sure things didn't dice out that way.

He could hardly see how you'd change a thing. Why you and Mark Grayson seemed to be so inter-dimensionally intertwined. Was it just cuz he was biologically wired to think your ass was nice?

"Tell me about your Rex." He said instead.

You did, as much as you remembered from the papers. You mostly avoided supes, bad for business if you were caught. Worse for you if they wound up being psychic and didn't listen. Tracksuit listened aptly, smoking the cigarette down to the filter.

The high began to wax. Your brain felt fat in your head, skull gone, cheeks like jelly, everything easy. You'd missed being high. Angsted that the only reason you were was because of Mark. Always because of Mark.

You're looking down at Tracksuit, elbow on knee when you say, "I really hate him, you know."

"The other me?"

"Yeah." You can't get over how good he looks with a septum, even though you can't see his whole face. You wonder if there are any more piercings, any scars to further differentiate him. "Yeah, that dickhead." The words spill out, stupid, slow. "Ruined my life, that..." What's the word? "Dickhead." Yeah, exactly.

Tracksuit flicked ashes onto the ground and dusted them away. Gray would notice later anyway. He couldn't care, these details were juicy. "What'd he do?"

"He-" You look up to the porthole. Watch sand specs idly floating in the sun. Then you are there in the sunbeam. Naked, glowing, floating.

You fall hard next to Tracksuit. He jumps up, watching you twitch. "Shit!" He'd forgotten you'd taken a hit of his cigarette. That you probably had minutes left to live at best. "Shit! Hey!" He shakes your shoulders but your eyes, rolled back to your skull, don't fix. You are stiff, then twitching, stiff, then twitching.

Then you're upright like a bolt cracking your skull against his, "What?"

He is unaffected, head like a cinder block. "I thought you were like, seizing."

"Me too." You rub your pulsing forehead, the only part of your head you could feel.

His breathing, that he hadn't even realized he'd been holding, hitched, began to even. "Scarred the piss outta me."

"Me too."

"Sure you're not still seizing or whatever?"

Your muscles contract tight, tighter, then let go. "Think I'm just..." Your fingers find your eyes, push into the lids. Thinking slow. "I'm just stressed and that Loethicainian shit is making me tic." Better than being dead.

"I mean yeah, you almost starved to death and now you've got like," he counts on his fingers, "seven super crazy boyfriends. No, six, and husband guy."

"I'm not dating a guy who killed a different version of me in literally any timeline." You looked around for any broken hearted faces but find none.

"I don't think all of 'em did." He says.

"A concerning amount of them have."

His arms go out to his sides, defensive, "We've all killed people. It's not that big a deal. You're still alive."

"Not my Mark." You leave out the 'not on purpose' part. The Chicago disaster part. "He didn't kill people." You don't know why you feel the need to go to bat for him.

"Good for him I guess, but he's a giant pussy."

Your lips thin, defense came up your throat just to be swallowed because Tracksuit was right. "His girlfriend got hurt when you guys came," you start, unable to look at him and his stupid Mark face, "he wouldn't leave her. She was unconscious and probably would've told him to go help, but he wouldn't. Refused to fight you guys. I know he could've taken more of you out but he just-" You shrug, hands slapping against you thighs, "He was just a giant pussy."

You lick at the codeine bottle edge just for the taste. You recap it before you lapse into shotgunning the whole thing and dying on the cave floor.

"Wow. That's insane." Tracksuit didn't care much for humanity or anyone in his life these days, but he couldn't imagine not fighting. Deciding one person was worth the effort to ignore everything else.

"Right?" You felt vindicated. You needed him to know, "I've killed more people on purpose than he has. He won't even kill people that he knows will bust outta prison. Just, lets 'em go and-" You laughed, shaking your head, like it was no big deal, like your sad, angry little life didn't revolve around him. Who cares about Mark when you're getting high with a different Mark? Mark would've never touched a cigarette let alone shotgun codeine just to try it.

"He broke up with me." Words come out in a hot puke spray. Tracksuit's head snaps to you. Surprised you'd share anything about yourself with him of all people- seemed like you only shared to hurt the others' feelings. "It ruined my life."

He's quiet a moment before saying, "Dick that good?"

"No. I just-" Your fingers press to your eyes, head light, spinning. You knew you shouldn't tell anybody but keeping it in felt so bad. And you just wanted to feel good again, enjoy the high the same way you enjoyed Omni's fingers. Purge. "I did something for us, and it went so bad, and I just- God. He didn't want me or the baggage I came with." You felt like you were about to cry so you unscrewed the codeine for one more sip. Wouldn't kick in for awhile but you couldn't stand feeling like this.

"I'm not a snitch if you wanna spill." He offered. You accepted. Reluctantly at first, voice low so if anyone came back they wouldn't overhear. It was bad enough telling Mark Grayson how Mark Grayson ruined your life. It'd be worse if the Mark Grayson who murdered you and was still very much in love with you, overheard. They'd never let you live it down and you'd really end up killing them all, then you'd starve to death out here.

By the end, you were so high you didn't care that a few tears slipped here and there. You couldn't care much for anything at all, but at least Tracksuit was good company.

"That's majorly fucked up." He'd said when you finished. Among much more colorful commentary during your story. Calling you stupid for being head over heels for the first guy you fucked. For not finishing school. For falling for him of all people. "But, hey, we ever get back to that shithole? I'll help you whoop his pussy ass." It was the good nurtured chiding old friends did, that kind strangers do when they get high together. You knew it didn't mean anything, and you would never get to go home, but you smiled.

"I'll introduce you to Rex." You say because you don't know Rex is dead. Tracksuit doesn't either. The thought is nice, as it is impossible.

"How's that high treating you?" You ask.

"Got nothin'." Tracksuit fidgets with his pocket, thinks of pulling out another cigarette but decides against it. "Pretty sure most Earth shit won't do anythin' to me so what's the harm in tryin'? You?"

"I think." You don't think, lost a moment as your body tensed and untensed, "Whatever you gave me isn't agreeing with me but it's okay." What wasn't okay was how bored you were. Always sitting around or walking or eating dead guy meat. Lame.

You want to play, be entertained. You pull out your phone and try to find some meaningless game. Tracksuit leaned over your shoulder, watching you click through apps, a smile on his face.

"You got any tunes downloaded on that thing?"

You did, and he helped you pull them up. He had no clue what any of the words were. Who was singing. But that was okay. You lay together on Gray's cot, letting the music bounce off the ceiling and trash down onto your bodies. You were almost asleep when an angel came down, a shadow in the sunbeam.

"I thought I heard something." You lifted your heavy head.

Baldie stood over the cot. Hairless brow raised at the scene. Fabric scraps in hand.

"It's not what it looks like." Tracksuit raised his hands in mock defense. On high alert but not looking like it. "We're just hanging out, man."

"Uh, I can tell?" He would've been suspect if any other variant had been laying with you. Not Tracksuit. He was stupid and inconsequential, but friendly enough.

You sat up to talk but stop. The light frames his muscle thick form like a halo's hug. Mark's expression on his face but not Mark's face, not with all the scars. He is him but so other and so beautiful like this and the music is so nice and you are absolutely fucking blasted.

Your body tenses again. "Are you okay?" Baldie asks.

You stand up shakily, body swaying slightly.

"Hey, are you alright?" His hands go to the sides of your arms to steady you but you aren't seizing, you're dancing. Terribly. You're not happy, just high, and having recently cum. You're relaxed. Listening to music you intend to enjoy because fuck the misery.

"No." You say, "But dancing is better than just laying there while the universe dies."

"Hey!" Tracksuit said from the comfort of his back.

Baldie pauses. "You're... dancing?" He was unsure. Partly thought the movement a mild seizure.

"Guess I am."

He's taken back. Four years ago, days before the fight with Dad. He had no idea what was coming. He could feel the anxiety coming off Mom in waves, it made him edgy. But he got to your apartment, floated out the window and found you dancing with a hungry dog you'd found in the street six months ago. Skin and bones now muscle and smooth fur. You held its front paws, going back and forth in little steps while the dog's tail wagged. The other rescues crowded around your ankles.

He landed next to you with a smile. Problems off in the wind. You traded paws for his hands and you dance together slow in the studio apartment kitchenette to the same music you played now.

He smiles, nostalgic for a past you didn't know, and takes your limp hand. Opens it gently with the press of a thumb. You let it happen, staring stupidly as his marred hand slipped into yours. He pulls you in, hand set at the small of your back. Then leads you to insanely unfitting music in a waltz he could barely remember the bones of. It was more like spinning in circles while holding your bodies together but you couldn't tell. You were high and in a sun beam and he was smiling at you and the music was so nice.

Tracksuit watches. Thinking good for you, get some more dick. And then thinking, Jesus I'm gonna have to run interference for this horny bitch till we all die out here.

You're across the room now. Stepping on Baldie's feet because you're so high you can't coordinate your movements well. He thinks you're still half asleep and teases you. You laugh at something Baldie says, it's quick and you immediately try to hide the joy, but Baldie hears it and glows. Because for once, the laugh wasn't a nasty sound, but genuine.

"Hey." Maskless is knelt beside Tracksuit's head, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. "Walk with me a sec."

"Uh? Sure." He sat up.

Maskless led him out of the cave, into the desert sun and miles away while you danced on. He landed in a skid, turning hot on Tracksuit when he came down.

"You need to back off." He says.

Tracksuit paused his landing trot, "What?"

"Those guys ruined their lives for the chance to see her again. Don't get any stupid ideas that'll cost you." His finger found home in Tracksuit's chest. Honestly, Maskless didn't give two shits who you liked and didn't. He cared about keeping the peace. He cared about how he'd feel if he had William here and some douche who didn't know him was drooling to get in his pants. It was one thing for the other guys to want their ex, a whole insult for him not to even know you in his world. He wouldn't take sides, wouldn't tattle, but he'd watch and make sure Tracksuit's tracksuit stayed on for the good of the camp.

"Whoa! You've got the wrong idea." He says it, but it's not entirely true. Tracksuit had been starting to appreciate your appearance a tad more these last few days. You were a whole helluva lot nicer when you were high and not starving to death. You were also probably a decent fuck and he really needed to cum, but that wasn't here nor there. "We're on the same side here. I'm not gonna do nothin' stupid just cuz she's hot, man."

That was as earnest as Tracksuit got, but to Maskless it sounded like fuck boy bullshit. "You're going to get yourself and her killed if you keep acting all buddy-buddy. You can't lay on the same cot as her and ogle, they're not stupid."

"Dude, were you watching us? That's super fuckin' creepy!"

Maskless's jaw hardened. "I wouldn't be surprised if another one of us was watching too. You weren't subtle. I didn't watch for very long, but it was long enough to see you staring at her ass."

Tracksuit wasn't an unreasonable man, but a shortsighted one. A man who thought fists would tell the truth. "Then that's long enough to see I didn't tap it!" A fist was aimed straight for Maskless's chin. Sent him into the air. He spun, stopped the spiral a hundred feet up, face hard. Absolutely sure Tracksuit had a thing for you and absolutely sure he needed to kick common sense right up his ass.

***

The music died with your phone. After days of being used for flashlight navigation, it was bound to die. But did it really have to die at the best part of the song? You could mope but you didn't. Sleepily happy as Baldie guided you round and round.

Phantom watched from the dark. He'd picked up heat signatures from Maskless's body on the outskirts of the cave minutes ago. Knew he'd likely interfere somehow, Maskless wasn't stupid. He knew any blooming romances were a danger. Maskless should've broken you and Baldie up but instead he took Tracksuit outside. Allowed this to continue.

Phantom tells himself it's fine. You are happy. With someone else who is him, but not him.

He tries telling himself Baldie is a temporary creature of comfort. Like Omni clearly had been to you last night. None of this meant a thing.

***

"Hey." Behind him. Lensless turned. Lost again a few minutes into exploring these stupid caves. Maskless had drawn him a mini map but Lensless was never one for directionality.

Scars was there, cloaked in the dark. Wearing that same old smile.

"Hi?" Lensless was perfectly friendly back, but his body was tense. Come on, a lone meeting in the dark was a prime murder locale. He'd done it himself enough times to know.

"I think we can help each other get what we want." Scars didn't have to say it was about (Y/n). He was just as obsessed with you, the new you, as Lensless was. That was why he'd gotten so lost in the first place, he just couldn't stop thinking about you using your powers on him.

Lensless was the perfect partner for the job. Slower than Scars in every aspect. Feared and discomforting in your eyes. And he wanted you to use your powers just as much as Scars did.

***

You were floating on a euphoric cloud because you were dancing with Mark Grayson (and peaking on a codeine high). He smiles down at you, holding you. Dancing with you like he did when he came to your place after homecoming. You had been on the stoop crying with the night sky overhead, trying to keep the tears off your thrifted outfit. He'd missed the whole thing and you were majorly pissed, but he danced with you right there on the apartment stoop in his wrinkled suit. Apologies whispered into your ear, compliments as his hands ran over the clothes you'd picked for him.

His excuse was terrible, pissed you off more, but you ended up forgiving him. You always ended up forgiving him. He was your first serious boyfriend, how could you not? You took him inside. Things escalated. You didn't feel different the next morning, though you told yourself they did. That being each other's firsts meant you'd be together forever.

And now, five years down the line, you were in the same man's arms, but not really. Having just spilled your guts to also the same guy because the other guys who were also the same guy couldn't be trusted with that information. You were too high to think about it. That's what you liked about being high. Not forgetting things, but not quite being smart enough to remember.

You don't know what does it. The sun shining through his black lenses, letting you see a sliver of eye through the material. Soft, drooped with scarring but looking at you so sweetly. Or was it the gentle touch you hadn't felt in so long? Calming and grounding, but not wanting, content with the moment. His lips, twisted as they were with old wounds, smiling for you, of all the rotten people in the world- for you.

You kiss him without thought. Standing on your toes to get the angle right. His lips are opened, a question on the tongue that is soon forgotten. When he kisses back it's tentative, hesitant. Close mouthed and chaste. He wouldn't let himself taste too much of you. He knows he'll go mad if he doses on too much of your sweet belladonna. But you smile, kiss him again, and he can't resist pulling you closer.

Four years since he'd kissed you. The last one a quick goodbye peck, excited for a date the next day. He never got to see you again. Not the you he knew. You were warped and scarred compared to her, a mirror held up to himself. You were and weren't her. You understood him.

He let himself be poisoned with a kiss. Lips parting to let in your tongue.

***

Hearing you tell Tracksuit about your Mark stung. Phantom wished you could've confined in him, but he understood. He wasn't a big talker. You needed someone to bounce off of. He could do that. He just preferred it to be just you and him when he did so. But no opportunities shone through, someone was always around. Listening and watching.

But that was a bee sting compared to the gutting that was you kissing that marred thing with his name. It was a good thing, he told himself as he watched, you were still attracted to Mark Grayson as a concept. That's all this was, a proof of concept. But you just kept going and going and going. Kissing and kissing after obviously fucking Omni last night. Stabbing him in the heart as many times as you pleased. Did you even know how this made him feel?

Fine. It was fine, really. He had to think as he took deep breaths through his nose.

It was fine because Baldie couldn't be in the caves longer than a few hours without growing agitated. He kept saying he heard things but Phantom's enhanced suit didn't catch them. Baldie was cracking up. Baldie was clearly your favorite and had to go. Which was fine, because Phantom knew just where to put him.

***

He pulled away, flushed. "I'm sorry." He said, though he doesn't let you go. "Is this okay?"

You'd had a taste for blood. Were in for more, voice low and wanting "More than okay."

He leans back in and stops himself. He knew you were acting strange from the get go, but let himself ignore it because you seemed happy and that's all he wanted. He saw it now, your constricted pupils, they way you relied on him to hold your weight. He had thought you were finally trusting him but he was wrong. "Are you-?"

"High?" You finish for him. "A little." It's a lie.

He feels the kiss was a lie. Illegitimate. He wanted you plenty but not out of your head. He wanted you steady and sure. Something to even out the roaring between his ears. His touch fell away. Your body followed after him but he avoids your advance.

"I shouldn't." He knows but seeing you chase after him, eyes searching and lips parted, made him want you more. Which means he really, really shouldn't. "I'm sorry I didn't notice I-"

His teeth clack together when the fists come down on the back of his head. Body hammered feet down into the rock. You don't get to see it, already hundreds of feet above the porthole. Held by the middle where your body went slack against the arms caging you in. The pressing g-force ceased. You were far above the horizon. Above where anyone could hear you scream.

You can see his legs, coated black, going into blue boots. Feel his body pressed to your back, grip tight around your middle. Fingerless gloved hands raking across the bare skin between your tank top and pants.

"Hey," Lensless says against your ear.

"Lan-" His hand didn't just press to your lips, no, he forced his fingers into your mouth. Dusty skin lathed across your tongue, forced to the back of your throat where you gagged, much to his enjoyment.

"Much as I want you to, we're not doing that. Not yet."

He uses his hand in your mouth to puppeteer your neck. Makes you watch the fight below as it erupts into the desert. Baldie is pissed, but smart enough to know anymore underground thrashing could collapse the cave system- kill you all without access to water.

Scars is a yellowjacket blaze under the afternoon sun. Back for a surprise round two with the added stressor of you being held hostage in the sky. Baldie's distracted, keeps trying to pull from Scars to get to you and Lensless, but that's what Scars had been betting on. What they'd both been betting on.

Lensless doesn't let you go as he drops like an anvil directly into Baldie's flight path. His heels crack something in Baldie's back while Scars fist nearly punches a hole in his belly. When the impact is done, Baldie falls to the sand. Shirt torn, bruises already blooming under his skin. Blood pooling out the side of his mouth where some of his teeth had been knocked loose.

You screamed against Lensless's hand. Thrash in his hold as he climbs higher in the sky. Followed by Scars sporting a fully busted lens and a purple shiner. They matched in eyelessness, cruelty, and how much you wanted to kill them.

Lensless propped his head on your shoulder, observing your fit hopefully. "Are you gonna cry?"

Scars laughs but says, "Your little boyfriend will be fine." That gets your attention on him. So full of hatred and intent to kill. Just like his (Y/n) before it drained out between his legs. He doesn't know if things will end the same and that's why he's here with Lensless. To change you, make you stronger by sheer force. "Just couldn't have him interrupting. He wouldn't get it."

You bite Lensless's fingers hard as your jaw would allow, a growl vibrating through your body.

"So weak," Lensless says but he's shivering in delight at the attempt. "But you should quit while you're ahead. If I get too excited, I think I'll crush you." He laughs at the idea. You wet and red and all over him, makes his cock twitch.

Much as you hate listening, you do. "Good job." Lensless bumps the top of his head against your jaw. "I knew you'd listen."

"Don't praise her." Scars victorious smile melts as he stares you down. "You've been bad."

You'd ask him what he meant if you weren't murderous and gagged.

"You don't seem to get it. Those other guys, they're weak, useless. Couldn't take a bomb to the head like I can. They don't deserve you." He hovers closer, reaches between him and Lensless and holds up your chin. Fingers pressing hard to flesh.

Lensless pulls you back, out of his grip. A gesture that says 'it's not your turn with my toy, yet.' "Hey bud, you forget I'm also one of those guys?"

Annoyance flashed across Scars exposed eye. "You're smart enough to work with me." He leaves it at that, no promises of trust or friendship. Lensless grip tightens, makes your bones ache, but he doesn't pull you back when Scars reaches out. Thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "But you. You've been letting them pass you around. I get it, you're sad, you're lonely, you're looking to fill the void. And you can do that! You're your own person. I just need you to remember at the end of the day- you belong to me. Everytime you lend your lips or cunt out them?" His pointer and thumb squeeze your lip, pinching it plump and buzzing. "I see it. I feel it. I keep a tally of everytime you let them touch you, everytime you betray me. Do you know what that tally's at?" His head tilts, waiting, though you literally can't reply.

"Come on, answer him." Lensless jostles your rear with his knee.

Your hands, pressed to your sides by Lensless's arms, twitch. Scars notices, looks at them smiling. Up comes a single finger. Counting off your fuck with Omni or kiss with Baldie- he can't tell. Because it's your middle finger and he's laughing at you for daring to defy him.

"I'll take that as an 'I don't know'." He sighs, "Everytime that number goes up, know that I'm waiting for them to leave you alone or with someone weak. And they will because they all are. So I'll find you vulnerable and alone," he leaned in, pinching your lip so hard drool started to seep onto his gloves, "and make you understand how bad I feel when you're with them. And if you're not strong enough to take it, you die." He's close enough to bite your lip. For you to feel the heat of his stale breath. Then he removes himself from your personal space all at once. Skin-crawling touch gone.

"Ready?" Scars asked.

Lensless grins against your neck. "Oh hell yeah."

The flesh gag was gone, but so was the arm around your torso. You hurdled to the dunes, softer than your human body but you'd splat like it was concrete on impact. You can only see the sky, the men falling either side of you, looking bored with terminal velocity. You snap, "Catch me!"

They both hurdle toward you, two sets of arms under your back. Stopping the decent slowly, not too sudden. When you're finally stopped, your heart is hammering in your chest, you're still far above the ground but no longer falling. Not safe because the men you controlled were no longer held under your will. They grin down at you. Satisfied before both sets of their arms fall away again.

It's catch and release. They let you fall, scream a command with blood pouring out of your nose. They mock praise as they drag you back up high into the sky. By the third round, you've calmed enough to know what to do when Lensless catches you before Scars. You turn to him, grinning under the perpetual summer sun and say with a finger pointed at Scars, "Kill him."

You are dropped because in Lensless's head, he can't kill Scars while holding you. The logic and semantics work against you. And again you fall screaming, "Catch me, catch me!" But he's too fast, too far away in the atmosphere with a fist poised for Scar's throat.

***

Phantom watched the exchange. Let Baldie fall without help. Because he understood and agreed with what Lensless and Scars were doing. You did need to be stronger, needed to hold your own if you were to choose one of them. Work out that muscle of power because you'd let it go so slack in the desert.

He knew it'd happen sooner or later. You forcing them to attack each other, forgetting that morality and gravity don't mix. Scars tries to save you, he didn't want you to die even though he acted like it. Scars wanted you to suffer the slow creep of his corruption and not wilt, but thrive under it. Phantom understood this, didn't fault him for it. They were all creatures of some desire.

Scars could not dodge around Lensless long enough to catch you. Your hold had been getting better once you'd started eating again. There was no telling how long Lensless would attack. Scars was ruthless, trying to kill him but just couldn't. The fact was, Lensless was the faster of the two.

When you neared the ground, Phantom was there. Shot out of the porthole as a silent shadow, slowing you down then bringing you to a stop. Your unconscious body limp in his arms, stirring after a few seconds, as your body figured out it was still alive and not falling.

You look up at him, shaking, nose bleeding, sun in your eyes. So beautiful, weak, alive. Your hand clinging to his chest enough to bandage the wounds you'd left him.

***

They lay beside one another in the sand. Skin burst open by sheer force. Sun beating down on their bodies.

"You get it now, asshole?" Tracksuit tried not to sound winded, but he was. That gay little fucker could move.

There was no reply. Tracksuit heaved up onto his elbows, thinking the other dead and more jerky was on the way.

A few of his ribs were bruised but he breathed on. "You could've just talked to me instead of hitting me." Maskless said.

"I tried that, 'member?" Tracksuit flopped back into the sand.

"Yeah, well, you're not very good with words." Maskless said with no bite.

Tracksuit slapped him across the chest, earning a groan. "Nah, but I'm pretty good with a fist."

Maskless smacked the hand away. "Don't flatter yourself." He sat up, sand falling off his shoulders. Insides pounding. "We should get back. If the others see them together, they'll lose it."

Tracksuit ran a hand through his hair. All the gel he'd slopped through it before coming to your Earth gone clumpy and stale. "I just don't get it, man. Why can't they leave her alone? They're pushing her away by being freaks."

"Because we're us." Maskless stood, "We can't leave these things alone. You wanted something bad enough to make a deal with Angstrom Levy, so you're no different from the rest of us."

Tracksuit chuffed because the guy had a point. "I can. She's just some human."

"Would you be saying that if she was Rex Sloan?"

That name from that mouth made Tracksuit go stiff. "You creepy little fucker."

"I know if she were William, I'd be acting just as crazy." Out came Maskless's hand, offered with no smile. "If not more than some of them are."

Tracksuit considers slapping the offer away but takes the hand, pulling himself up off an aching tailbone. "I ain't you know, man."

"I know," Maskless says, though he doesn't believe it. He and Rex had a thing years back before it all went bad. There was bound to be another one of him who had the hots for that idiot. Still, he tacked on, "I see how you look at her, I get the picture."

"No, no, I mean I don't..." Tracksuit let go of his hand soon as possible.

Maskless held himself with a seriousness he didn't feel. He told himself the same thing a long, long time ago. "You'll figure it out." He hovered above the sand, "We going or what?"

***

The fireside is chaos.

You are drained dry of power and want to kill despite how your body is shaking from the adrenaline and codeine come down. Baldie wants them dead more than you do. Omni more than he. Omni held you when he heard, hand cradling your head as you tried not to lean into it. You were almost glad for the distraction Scars and Lensless brought to the group, because he was being obvious, and if someone asked you were sure he wouldn't deny it.

Tracksuit watched on, achy all over. Back to treating your personal drama like his TV after a long day. Maskless nearby considers swiping one of Tracksuit's cigarettes. Sneaking out and smoking while this fizzled out, but he had to stay. Make sure if the peace snapped that the cave didn't collapse.

Scars and Lensless revel in the jeering and suggestions of exile from Gray. The threats of death from Omni. Regrettably, they lived through your control. Scars suit was frayed, cape torn at all the edges but he was fine. Lensless's chest was exposed, skin gone purple with bruising.

After Phantom caught you, the two had played it relatively smart. Avoiding camp until nightfall, where Baldie told everyone what they'd done while licking his wounds. Only when he was proclaiming his hate for the yellowjacket and his minion did they make an entrance. Leading to the current hellscape of things.

Despite all the talk, it was Mohawk who was the first to lunge for Scars, waiting for the fight with open arms. Phantom jumped between them, just barely able to keep them off each other.

"Stop." He says.

"He could've fucking killed her." Spit flies off Mohawk's lip onto his mask.

"Please, she was fine. Aren't you, sweet thing?" The second Scars eyes land on you, Mohawk reaches around Phantom and cracks Scars in the temple. Scars cackles as he hits the ground. "You'll thank me for it later." Mohawk lunges.

Phantom grabs his ankle and throws Mohawk across the room. "Listen to me."

Listen, Mohawk does not. He flies for Scars. "I'm tired of your face!"

"We have the same face!"

The screech tears through the room. Bounces off the walls. Reverberates through your bones. Mohawk's flight waivers, he crashes in a heap, clutching his ears. The rest of them are in similar positions, groaning, hands on head.

Phantom does not apologize, he is not sorry. "I was hoping you wouldn't make me use this." He says cool through the modulator. During the second day of the ravaging of Earth he'd caught out one of the re-animen. Taken the speaker from its chest, a tiny thing that he hid in the pockets of his utility belt. Down to the core, he wanted to curl into a ball and scream, but the noise-canceling tech in his suit's ears helped curb the urge. It also helped that he knew it was coming, that he controlled the noise.

"Turn it off!" Mohawk snaps.

"Not until you listen." He says, louder, more confident than he'd felt in his entire life. Mohawk does not protest again. "You can exile them, kill them even, but it will not fix the problem. We all want her to ourselves, but we can't fracture into factions, We'll just end up killing each other and her. The best thing for her, for all of us, is to work together."

"Fuck that." Mohawk spat, the only one able to speak over the noise.

"You don't have to like it, but if you don't want her to die in the crossfire, you'll do it." Phantom is right. Feels the truth sink into the bones of everyone around him. Yet he leaves the frequency playing, "You don't want her to die again, do you?"

Mohawk doesn't. None of them do.

He turns it off when he senses no more fight in the room. He waits for Mohawk to lunge at Scars. He thinks about it, Phantom can see it in his spring-loaded muscles but he doesn't.

Scars rises to his feet, hiding the stagger Mohawk punched into him. "We'll be back." He says it as he floats towards the exit, "Remeber, I keep a tally." His eyes are on you.

Lensless went to follow, their partnership officially cemented, "See you guys this time tomorrow, cool?"

They were gone. You took a shuddering breath.

Baldie shot up to follow them. But stopped when you said, "Wait."

"Don't you want them to die for what they did to you?" He tries to keep the anger out of his voice, the accusation he wants to level at you, at the others for letting this continue.

Your head was pounding. You were well into come down. Regretting and not regretting the dancing from earlier that killed your only flashlight. Regretting and not regretting the kiss. "I do, but if anyone's killing them, I am."

Baldie shifted uncomfortably. He didn't know if you could.

"I-" His lip twisted. How could you want those two alive even a second longer? Why? Did you favor them? Like the harassment? Is that what he should be doing instead of being soft and kind? Would you like him without drugs then? The anger chewing at his insides is surprising and sharp.

He shot into the caves to angst alone in the quiet, familiar enclosure of darkness. Even though he knew it'd make him worse.

You try to rise to your feet before falling back down wobbly. Head falling to your hands. Gray quietly brings the basin of freshly boiled water to your side for you to drink. He and Omni hover within reach but say nothing.

Phantom disappeared into the caves behind Baldie not long after. Nobody noticed. All so fretful over you, minds racing with options. But if they really cared, they'd be doing what he was doing. Approaching Baldie from behind.

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empyrealix · 4 hours ago

Text

⊹ ࣪˖ GUILTY AS SIN? | #CL16

pairing. charles leclerc x wolff!reader

genre. angst; some fluff

synopsis. days after you showed up in the paddock wearing charles' shirt, toto wolff is still not talking to you. it tears at you, him, and your relationship with charles. tired of living life scared you'll disappoint toto, you show up to the paddock holding charles' hand.

warnings. none; guest appearances from carlos and george

word count. 3.1k

note. this is the second part to ‘but daddy i love him’. this makes sense if you haven't read that, but reading the first part provides context for a lot of the things happening in this part. i want to write drabbles set in this universe, so if you have requests/ideas, please send them <3

MASTERLIST ; part one ; requests open

LOVE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE EASY; loving Charles had—since the beginning of your relationship—been as easy as breathing. Until reality eventually caught up. The love you held for Charles had not become more difficult since that fateful moment when you walked onto the paddock draped in Charles’ jacket; everything around it had become more complicated—more difficult—ever since then.

Toto’s voice still rang in your ears; his voice lingered in your mind like an echo you couldn’t get rid of—“Can someone explain why my daughter is wearing Leclerc’s Ferrari jacket?”. You remembered freezing in your tracks, glancing over at Charles—who looked just as much a deer in headlights as you; then Toto’s narrowed eyes. The events which followed passed by in a blur; silence; you opening your mouth to explain; disappointment radiating off Toto; his silent—sharp—”I don’t want to hear it.”. That had been the end of it; Toto had stridden past you and disappeared into the Mercedes garage; Charles had gently placed a hand on your lower back and led you to the Ferrari motorhome, where he left you with a kiss to your forehead and a promise that everything would be okay.

George passed by—he stopped to chat for a few minutes before realising he was late to a strategy meeting and had to sprint across the paddock. Then Carlos walked by, he pulled out a chair opposite you—his navy Williams t-shirt contrasting against the bright red of the Ferrari motorhome—and sat down; he handed you snacks stolen from the Williams motorhome wrapped in a napkin—they were slid over the table as if they were contraband.

“You know there’s snacks here, right?” You laughed, even though the laugh didn’t reach your eyes; Carlos noticed, he tilted his head, smiling at you.

“Yes, but they’re not as good, no?”

The former Ferrari, now Williams, driver nodded towards the snacks wrapped in a napkin sitting on the table in front of you, encouraging you to unwrap the snacks and eat one—you did. Inside the napkin was an assortment of grapes, chocolate, and cookies; you muttered a thank you to Carlos which he waved off, telling you that it was nothing. He sat there for a while, telling jokes; you tried to laugh at them, but the laughter never reached your eyes; it was all an act and Carlos could clearly tell.

“It’s going to be okay, you know. Toto might be pissed now, but we all know how much he adores you; he’ll accept it eventually.” Carlos’ voice was soft—comforting—as it reached your ears. You pressed your lips together, nodding solemnly.

“What if he doesn’t?” You didn’t want to admit it outloud, but the thought had pierced through every corner of your brain ever since that morning—ever since Toto had stormed off to the Mercedes garage with a “I don’t want to hear it”. Carlos stood up from his chair—he had to go to a meeting which was far less important than you—still, he didn’t have much of a choice.

“Then maybe he is not who you thought he was.”

That had been days ago. You hadn’t spoken to Toto since; it was strange not speaking to him. You had gone back to Vienna after the race; you’d walked by the café you’d gone to with Toto for years ever since you were old enough to ask the barista for a hot chocolate—”Ich hätte gern eine heiße Schokolade, bitte”. A peculiar feeling—longing, perhaps—coursed through your veins, settled deep in the very marrow of your bones, at the sight of the table you and Toto used to occupy being empty. Usually when you walked through this part of Vienna, it was to meet Toto at this café; he would always sit and wait when you walked in—books clutched in your arms—he’d meet you with a smile and a comment about how the books made you forget about life again—that was true sometimes, other times it was because Charles distracted you, made you forget that there was a world outside the bubble which only contained you and him. You never told Toto this; you’d smile at him and tell him that ja, papa, it was the books again. The memory felt faint; the more you tried to reach for it, the fainter it became until it was like a sun faded cassette tape someone had left out in the sun for too long.

You hadn’t seen Charles since the end of the race weekend. You went with Charles to celebrate Oscar’s Grand Prix win with the rest of the grid; your heart hammering in your chest—joy encapsulating you—as Charles wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you to him, kissing you in front of everyone in the middle of the dance floor; he had stuck close to you the entire evening, just as you had stuck close to him––now you were in two different countries, miles separating you. You missed Charles’ presence—his laugh, his small touches. He suggested you come with him to Monaco after the race; you declined, worried that you would inevitably run into Toto there—”Chérie, you can come stay with me in Monaco.” he’d pleaded, almost begged, looking at you; you shook your head, watching as his eyes filled with tears, as his bottom lip wobbled. Walking through the Viennese streets, you regretted every action you had taken, every word spoken, during that exchange. You had spoken to Charles occasionally and briefly ever since; it was as though a chasm had opened between you—one that neither of you knew how to close. The last exchange you had was Charles asking if you were going to the next race—Monza—you’d told him no, claiming that you were buried under schoolwork—that had been a lie; you weren’t buried under schoolwork, you just didn’t want to go to the paddock; didn’t want to face the disappointment Toto’s entire being would exude the moment he laid eyes on you. If you went, you would—for the first time—go as a guest of Ferrari and not Mercedes; there was something bittersweet over it.

Charles waited outside your flat when you arrived back home; he gently pried the bags you were carrying from your hands—warmth bloomed where his fingertips made contact with your skin. He smiled softly at you, muttering a quick “hi”, which you returned; he shuffled into the flat after you, closing and locking the door behind him. His presence in your flat felt familiar—welcome. During the months of your (secret) relationship, Charles spent many days in this flat; playing the pianoforte you never knew why you had—you couldn’t play piano—putting away groceries; laughing; smiling; kissing you whenever he could. Before you could say anything, Charles had slipped out of his shoes; his humming fluttered through the air as he put the groceries away.

“Charles? What are you doing here?” At the sound of your voice, Charles looked up from the grocery bag he was digging through—one hand cradling a bag of flour. He paused, his eyes searching yours. He turned, opening the cabinet you kept your flour in before turning back to you and sighing; his hands flattening against the countertop.

“I wanted to see you. We’ve barely talked since the race and when we have talked, it has been brief. Mon ange, tell me what’s going on; we’re in this together.” Charles’ voice had grown steadily quieter as he spoke; you could only stare at him, blood coursing through your veins, your heart hammering in your chest. Charles took a step towards you, then another, then his arms wrapped around you—his scent surrounding you—one hand placed on your back, the other on the back of your head; pulling you into him. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in the junction between his neck and shoulder. The tears flowed slowly at first; Charles didn’t speak, he just held you, waiting for you to speak, even though the feeling of your tears wetting his skin broke his heart—tugged painfully at strings attached to it. He wanted nothing more than for you to be happy.

“It’s papa. I love you, I do. I just feel like I’ve disappointed him.” You stumbled through the sentence, unsure of how to express your feelings, how to word them in a coherent—understandable—way. Charles understood; he knew you better than anyone—he would always understand what you were trying to tell him, even though it was veiled, slurred, or incomprehensible.

“You can’t live your entire life scared that you’ll disappoint him. He talks about you all the time when you’re not present; he’s so proud of you, of everything you’ve achieved. This—our relationship—shocked him, but he’ll come around eventually. He’s not unreasonable. I think the way he found out was jarring for him, unexpected. He’ll come around, chérie, I promise.” Echoes of Carlos’ words rang through your mind as you listened to Charles speak. You didn’t want him to be right, but he was—you couldn’t live life scared of disappointing Toto. Charles cupped your cheeks, his thumbs wiping away the remaining tears—his touch was soft, gentle, as it always was. You wanted desperately to believe him; your mind screamed at you to forget every worry you had bottled up since you started dating Charles. You nodded, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth—gnawing at it. The more you thought about it, the clearer it became that Charles was right; Toto would accept it eventually. He had no other choice.

“Where are you going?” Your voice was still shaky—raw—from crying. You vaguely gestured to the bags Charles had left in your entry. Charles, for a moment, glanced from you at his bags; his hands still cupped your cheeks, your bodies still pressed impossibly close together.

“The race. I just had to see you first, since you’re not coming.” Charles’ voice was tinged with hope—hope that you may change your mind and attend the race with him; there was no one he wanted there more than you. He often joked—as you laid beside him, his fingers drawing patterns on your skin—that you were his lucky charm; he insisted that he performed better whenever you were in the paddock. You weren’t sure you believed that claim.

“Is it too late to go with you?” Charles’ eyes lit up, his lips widening into a smile as he shook his head, rambling in French—various combinations of “non, mon ange”, “il n'est pas trop tard”, and “j'adorerais t'avoir là”.

If anyone had asked you later what thoughts coursed through your mind as you agreed to go to the race with Charles, you wouldn’t have been able to give them an answer—the spur of the moment decision was inexplicable even to you; perhaps it had been the hope in Charles’ eyes, in his voice; or maybe it had been something else entirely—you were not sure. Charles pressed his lips against yours, pulling you closer. You led Charles down the same hallway he had walked through time and time again, pulling him into your bedroom. He stood by your bed—which he had been in more times than you could remember—putting items of clothing into your open suitcase as you handed it to him.

Standing outside the paddock gates, Charles entwined your fingers. This time—unlike the last—you wore your own clothes. Your heart hammered in your chest; Charles squeezed your hand, smiling softly at you. Whatever happened beyond the paddock gates, you would face together. The entire paddock stilled as you walked through the gates; Carlos smiled at you as he walked by; Charles pulled you closer to him as you made your way across the paddock.

Toto paused as he saw you and Charles walking hand-in-hand through the paddock, smiles plastered on both your faces; he sighed, his hand coming up to rub his temples. He pulled his lips into a thin line, greeting both you and Charles when he walked by you. You stopped, opening your mouth to say something; when no words formed, you closed it; your lips pulled up into a tight smile—Toto would recognise that smile anywhere, it was the same tight smile he wore when he had to be polite. He watched—from the Mercedes motorhome—as Charles kissed you— your forehead, your cheeks, your lips—before running off to a meeting. The day was littered with small, affectionate touches between you and Charles and conversations which left you beaming—smiling so brightly and so much that your muscles hurt.

“This went well?” You looked up at Charles, who had sat down beside you on the couch; he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

“It did.” Doubt still gnawed at you; crawling up your throat, clenching around your heart. Toto’s greeting had been brief, but it had been more than you’d talked to him in a week. He looked tired; bags had appeared under his eyes; he looked older than he did the last time you saw him—this was clearly taking a toll on Toto too. Charles pulled you closer to him, slinging his arm around your shoulder; brushing a lock of hair away from your face—you smiled at him, kissing his cheek. You couldn’t help but look over at the Mercedes motorhome—Toto was nowhere to be seen. Charles noticed the glances you would—periodically—throw in that direction; he nudged you gently, his eyes filled with a softness he only held for you.

“What’s on your mind, mon amour?”

“I think I want to go talk to papa.” You gnawed at your bottom lip, your gaze fixed on the motorhome across the paddock.

“Go.” Charles gently urged you. He could see—he had seen, this past week—how much this argument—which wasn’t really an argument—tore at you, threatening to rip you apart. You and Toto had always been close—Charles had discovered this on numerous occasions, from how you talked about your childhood with Toto to how you told him you couldn’t go on a date with him once because you had your monthly coffee date with Toto.

You left the Ferrari motorhome headed for the Mercedes motorhome. Stepping through the sliding doors, you saw George sitting in the cafeteria alone; he looked up as the doors slid open. A smile spread across his lips at the sight of you.

“Welcome back, you here to see Toto?” You swallowed thickly, nodding. George smiled, pointing in the general direction of Toto’s office, “Last I saw him, he was in his office. Good luck!” You shook your head, scoffing at him, muttering something about how you didn’t need luck to speak to Toto; that was a lie—you needed all the luck you could get.

Toto’s head shot up when the door to his office opened; the last person he expected to see stood on the other side of it—one hand clutched the door handle, only letting go when Toto gestured for you to come inside. He closed his computer, folding his hands on top of it.

“Schatz.”

“Hi, papa.” You sank down in a chair opposite Toto’s desk, his eyes followed your every move. On your way over, you had planned exactly what you wanted to say, but as you sat in Toto’s office—Toto sitting opposite you—your mouth dried, every word you had prepared disappearing into thin air; you had never felt like this with Toto—you had always been able to tell him whatever was on your mind. It was a strange feeling; one you didn’t revel in. Toto patiently waited for you to speak—he had a meeting, but you were far more important than the meeting; the meeting could be rescheduled.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Charles; I just didn’t know how to. I should’ve told you. I’ve thought a bit since then, and it wasn’t fair to you to find out the way you did.” Toto listened intently to every word pouring from your lips, “I love Charles, I’m not going to apologise for that. Charles is one of the nicest, kindest, people I’ve met and he treats me so well. You don’t have to like it, I’m not asking you to, you just have to accept it and stop being upset with me for, what, falling in love?” Your heart hammered in your chest, sweat beading on your forehead, your hands grew clammy; you tried to wipe them on your jeans, but it did nothing. Toto sighed softly.

“I’m not mad at you for falling in love; I’m upset you didn’t trust me enough to tell me, schatz. I’m upset I had to find out from you walking into the paddock in Leclerc’s shirt.” He looked at you for a moment, before glancing out the window; the Ferrari motorhome was clearly visible from where he was sitting, “I see how happy he makes you; how happy you are when you are with him. He’s one of the better drivers you could have chosen.” He laughed softly, his mouth quirking up into a smile, his crows feet appearing around his eyes. At the sound of Toto’s laughter, you couldn’t help the giggle that burst from your lips. You stood from your chair at the same moment Toto did; he pulled you into a hug.

“I’m sorry, papa.” You mumbled into the white button-up he always wore to race weekends.

“It’s okay. Tell that Leclerc kid that if he hurts you, he’ll have to deal with me.”

It was with much lighter steps that you walked back to the Ferrari motorhome. You found Charles exactly where you had left him—sitting on the couch—only this time, he was playing some game on his phone. He looked up when he heard steps; a smile etched itself across his face, his eyes filling with joy, at the sight of you; he—immediately—noticed a lightness in your steps, one that he had dearly missed. He stood up to meet you halfway—in full view of the Mercedes motorhome—you wrapped your arms around him; Charles had to take a step back to stop from stumbling from the force with which you hugged him.

“How did it go?” He could feel your smile—the smile which he loved so much; which he would do anything to see—break out across your face.

“It went well. I apologised and he said he was never upset at the idea of us dating; he was just upset because of how he found out.” You had to stop, a giggle forced its way up your throat, “he said that if you ever hurt me, you’d have to deal with him.”

Charles groaned, dropping his face in the crook of your neck. You threw your head back, laughter bursting from you at Charles’ ticklish kisses pressed to your neck.

“Good thing I’m not planning on hurting you, then.”

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piastrisun · 2 days ago

Text

maybe that’s what we need.

─────⠀ don’t smile series: part three.

pairings: lando norris + singer female character.

summary: for the first time in six months, it feels like marlene and lando are ready to find what’s next.

faceclaim: sabrina carpenter.⠀warning: none.

notes: it took me a long time to upload this part, don't hate me. next one will come sooner i promise!!

previous part ⠀ ⠀series masterlist ⠀ ⠀next part

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

WHITNEY’S CHATS: MAX FEWTRELL.

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

MARLENE’S HISTORY.

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

MARLENE’S CHATS: LANDO NORRIS.

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

liked by whizzy, taylorsversion and others

misscommunications i’m ghosted by the love of my life this is so good for me actually ❤️❤️

view all comments

misscommunications also i found this pic on pinterest, isn’t it silly and nice

jennaortega you’re so cute 😭😭 if he doesn’t take you back i will

whizzy HE DOESN’T HATE YOU YOU’RE JUST HOT AND SAD AND OVERTHINKING I PROMISE

misscommunications YOU DON’T KNOW THAT

smoothoperator why does this feel personal and aggressive

palomita realest woman alive

pinkponyalbono your username explains a lot about this

taylorsversion i’ll bring the wine and the scissors (for his sweater you still have)

misscommunications but i love that sweater 😭💔

thegiverreal not anymore

oscinha i didn’t see anything. i don’t know anything (but also… yikes)

misscommunications just remembered i’ve his friends here too, if you saw this no you didn’t 😘

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

MARLENE’S CHATS: MADISON BEER.

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

misscommunications added to their story.

replies to your story:

pinkponyalbono i don’t wanna takes sides or anything but i’m texting him bc what the hell

misscommunications DON’T DO THAT

madisonbeer do you want me to egg his house ❤️

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

♫ ⠀ Frank Ocean ﹒ Godspeed

liked by username, username2 and others

landonorris vibing

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username body so tea he had to be british

username2 🧡

username3 fire song choice

username4 GIMME THAT

maxfewtrell i can’t take it anymore

username5 not him using frank ocean to cry in public oh my god 😭😭

username6 he is in his DIVORCE and they weren’t even married

username7 delete before i start crying too pls

username8 well hello beautiful

username9 you know who has a flat in london 👀

username or maybe he’s visiting family??

username9 not for me ❤️

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

MARLENE’S CHATS: MADISON BEER.

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

liked by marlene, username and others

nprmusic #tinydesk • @/marlene has been capturing hearts with her charming lyrics, especially through her latest singles. 🎹

don’t miss the chance to see one of the most talked-about artists of the year. watch it on youtube now!

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marlene 🤍🤍

username you said what we’ve been saying about her for months

username1 ARTIST OF THE YEAR 🩵🩵

username2 oh i’m so ready

username3 if this doesn’t get her a grammy, then i don’t know what will

madisonbeer my talented girl

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

LANDO’S CHATS: MAX FEWTRELL.

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

liked by notmaxpls, opiastrix2 and others

livelovelando she sang “i want you to miss me” again like it wasn’t the only thing i’ve been doing for six months. anyway i’m fine!!! doing amazing!!!! ha ha ha ha h a h a h h a h a h a h

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oscinha blink twice if you’re crying

danielricciardo classic rule about dating a singer mate

pinkponyalbono imagine getting cooked like this in 4K. couldn’t be me 😁😁

whizzy you could always text her back, you idiot. just saying

livelovelando text her back?? she didn’t even reply to me

whizzy girl what

livelovelando i didn’t understand shit

smoothoperator did you actually watch the performance or just the pain compilation version in your head

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

MARLENE’S CHATS: WHITNEY PEAK.

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

MARLENE’S CHATS: MAX FEWTRELL.

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

LANDO’S CHATS: MAX FEWTRELL.

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

liked by whizzy, keeeegan and others

livelovelando texting her again. what if she leaves me on read again, what if she doesn’t, what if i cry, what if i throw up, what if i say “hey” and she BLOCKS me. anyway wish me luck ig x

view all comments

notmaxpls i swear you were this nervous when you texted her the first time

jorgitorussell do it loser

whizzy wait WHAT text WHO

livelovelando STOP YOU’RE SCARING ME AND IM ALREADY NERVOUS

whizzy KSMMSSNNS PARENTS ARE GETTING BACK TOGETHER

notmaxpls 💃💃💃💃

keeeegan TEXT HER YOU COWARD

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

LANDO’S HISTORY.

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

misscommunications added to their story.

replies to your story:

whizzy BITCH. OPEN. THE. TEXT.

madisonbeer if u don’t reply i will!!!!!!

chappellroan i’m framing this bc i love you 🤍🤍

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

MARLENE’S CHATS: LANDO NORRIS.

#piastrisun: work #piastrisun: don’t smile #f1 x reader #lando norris smau #piastrisun: smau #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #lando norris x you #lando norris x oc #lando norris fluff #lando norris fic #lando norris fanfic #lando norris angst

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httpsdana · 2 days ago

Note

Hiii lovely!! Hope you’re doing well! I was wondering if you could write this for me? I adore when you write soft and comforting things, it honestly feels like this request is so your vibe.

The reader is a med student going through a really intense phase. She lands a hospital internship, but it’s on the night shift — which means long nights and a whole lot of exhaustion. After one of those shifts, she goes straight to Kenan’s place. Hours later, she wakes up to soft morning light pouring through the window and the most comforting smell coming from the kitchen. Still half-asleep, she gets up slowly… and that’s when she sees it: Kenan, back turned to her, those broad shoulders on full display, shirt casually thrown over a chair, making lunch like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Just… a quiet, beautiful moment.

Thank you so much in advance! I think you’re amazing. 💓💓💓

After the Shift~Kenan Yildiz

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

・❥・a/n: when one of my fav mutuals requests smth yk i have to write it asap. I hope you enjoy this my love <3

She barely remembered the ride to Kenan’s place. Just that her hands were shaking when she took off her hospital badge, and her feet ached in a way that went straight to the center of her chest. Night shifts bled into mornings slowly, and her brain hadn’t shut off once in twelve hours. Maybe even more.

She’d texted him something short. Coming over. That’s all she had the energy for.

He opened the door within seconds of her knocking, like he’d been waiting. His arms were around her before she could speak. She barely got her shoes off before he was guiding her to the bed, murmuring something she didn’t catch, brushing her hair back from her face.

Then he kissed her temple and helped her out of her scrubs. Another kiss on the top of her shoulder when she sank into the bed, pulling his hoodie over her body. One more at the corner of her mouth before she closed her eyes.

Then sleep came in seconds.

She woke up slowly. Heavy-limbed and warm, wrapped in the kind of warmth she hadn’t felt in weeks. No beeping monitors. No stretchers. Just the faint sound of birds outside and…something else.

Her nose twitched immediately.

What was that? Garlic? Onion? Olive oil? Something cozy and like home. It didn’t belong to a hospital cafeteria or her rushed takeout meals. It smelled like love.

She pulled herself with a quiet groan, rubbing her eyes, trying to blink the sleep away. Her scrubs were folded neatly over the desk chair. Her phone was plugged in beside the bed. And she was still wearing his hoodie that was soft against her bare skin.

She moved down the hallway barefoot, guided by the sound of the stove and the low hum of something playing from a speaker. Jazz? Or something with piano. She didn’t know he listened to this kind of music in the mornings.

And then she saw him.

Kenan stood there in the kitchen, shirtless, loose sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His back was to her, broad and relaxed like usual, the curve of his spine soft in the light. His hair was messy in a way that made her want to run her fingers through it just to put it back in place.

A dish towel hung on his shoulder. He had a wooden spoon in one hand, and the other rested on the counter, absently scrolling something on his phone.

The pan sizzled as he stirred. There were fresh herbs on the cutting board. Bread in the toaster. A pot of coffee brewing on the counter, the rich scent reaching her like it had missed her too.

She didn’t say anything. Just leaned against the doorframe, arms folded loosely, just watching him move. He looked so at home here, so quietly competent, like cooking was just a way of how he loved.

It wasn’t until he reached for a plate that she spoke.

“You always look this good when you’re cooking, or did I just catch you on a lucky morning?”

He turned, surprised but then he smiled when he saw her. An easy, a little crooked, sleepy around the edges, kind of smile.

“You’re awake,” he said, like it was an achievement.

“Barely.” Her voice was hoarse from sleep. “How long was I out?”

He shrugged. “A while. You needed it.”

She walked toward him slowly. He didn’t move until she was standing right behind him. She slid her arms around his waist, pressed her face between his shoulder blades, and just…stood there.

He reached for her hands and held them where they rested against his stomach.

“I missed you this week,” he said quietly.

“I missed everything this week,” she murmured. “You especially.”

He turned, gently untangling her arms so he could face her. His hands cupped her cheeks like she was still something delicate he didn’t want to break.

His thumbs brushed over the dark circles under her eyes. And then he kissed her slowly. He wasn’t in a rush. He wanted her to feel it in every nerve ending. It wasn’t urgent, just deep. Familiar. Real. Her fingers curled around his wrist, and she kissed him back like she’d forgotten how much she needed this, him, to feel human again.

“You haven’t been eating right,” he said. “Your fridge was empty last time I checked.”

“I’ve been-”

“Busy. I know.” He didn’t say it like a complaint. Just a fact.

Then another kiss, this time at the corner of her mouth, lingering just long enough to make her smile. He kissed the spot beneath her eye, then her temple again, as if he could press away all the exhaustion she’d built up in silence.

He turned back to the stove again, hands moving like it was second nature.

“Go sit down. I’m almost done.”

She did. And for once, someone else was in control. And he wasn’t rushing. He was taking his time, cutting tomatoes with precision, plating eggs and toast like it mattered. Like she mattered.

He brought the plate to the table and set it in front of her with a soft “Here.”

And she looked at him, her eyes soft with affection. And he leaned down and kissed her again, upside down this time, like something out of a lazy morning dream. Because he had missed her. Oh so much.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“For this. For you.”

He nudged her nose with his, then kissed it, then her mouth again, just because he could. Because she was here. Because he’d been waiting for this moment all week.

And as she picked up the fork and started to eat, he pulled a chair beside her, one hand resting lightly around her shoulder, thumb brushing over the fabric of his hoodie.

And she felt it again, that ease in her chest. The quiet knowing. That this wasn’t just comfort.

It was love.

my taglist: @barcapix @paucubarsisimp @spidybaby @mxryxmfooty @n0vazsq @joaosnovia @ilovebarcaaaa @f1lover55 @jajajhaahaha @universefcb @mariejuli (lmk if you want to be added!!)

#football #footballer imagine #football x reader #football imagine #football blurb #football one shot #juventus fc #kenan yildiz fluff #kenan yildiz oneshot #kenan yildiz one shot #kenan yildiz imagine #kenan yildiz fic #kenan yildiz fanfic #kenan yildiz blurb #kenan yildiz x reader #kenan yildiz x you #kenan yildiz #kenan yıldız

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sahrberrii · 14 hours ago

Text

MEET gym rats (real not fake)

from 𓍯𓂃 A LITTLE WHITE LIE, h. iwaizumi

⏦ﾟextra scribbles

˒ iwaizumi ⋮ yn’s childhood best friend who’s been in love with her ever since he can remember. he’s currently doing his sophomore year abroad in cali and is a few weeks from coming back to japan. when yn told him she started dating atsumu he lowkey hated himself a little for not asking her out before but the distance made it a bit hard anyway. before moving to cali for his year abroad, he was roommates with oikawa. he forcibly got added to this group chat but thought it would be a good way of implementing what he’s been studying anyway so why not? for one of his birthdays, he got gifted a matching keychain w yn and finally put it to use when he travelled to cali, and it never leaves his bag now but she doesn’t know. he got yn a ton of gifts though he’s not sure if he’s gonna give them to her because he’s scared. HES SO DOWN BAD if that wasn’t already clear.

˒ atsumu ⋮ the sole reason for iwa being in that gc, he did not leave iwa alone till he got his number (he forgot he could ask yn for iwa’s number). he lowkey thought iwa looked so cool exercising and like he owned the place and wanted advice from him!! after knowing that iwa is the same guy yn has been gushing over and seeing how he acts around her, he decided that he’ll torment iwa by pissing him off and using the fact that he’s dated yn to annoy him. devil’s advocate dare i say. got to know oikawa through the vb team!!

˒ oikawa ⋮ shared a dorm with iwa before he left for his year abroad and now mostly hangs in shobokukags dorm. he knows of iwaizumi’s feelings and has tried to push him a multitude of times to confess but to no avail (iwaizuimi is very stubborn and very scared). he feels like throwing up after every yniwa interaction he witnesses because they’re so blindly in love with one another but so blindly oblivious. oh and he was friends w yn before she left so they were a trio. he’s a part of the uni vb team.

˒ kags ⋮ shares a dorm with bokuto and hinata and can’t tell if he likes it or not (the only good thing is that these 2 are willing to go practice at 4am). plays in the uni’s vb team and hates that he has to study in order to play but maybe it’s all worth it. met yn a few times as well and they talk every now and then. he, too, thinks it’s stupid how iwa and yn have not dated till now because even a person as romantically oblivious and uninvolved as him can see that they’re made for each other.

˒ shoyo ⋮ he thinks being in a dorm with kags and bokuto is the best decision of his life. plays for the uni volleyball team as well and is often at yn’s dorm bc noya invites him.

˒ bokuto ⋮ the second sole reason for iwaizumi being in the gc. iwaizumi thinks he has so much potential but sometimes is so annoying (just too loud). again met yn a multitude of times because of akaashi sharing a dorm w her. he plays on the vb team as well!!

taglist (open, comment to be added) ⨾

@kameyyy @ayatakanosstuff @megumismyhusband @mayyhaps

@biancaackerman @binkibuns @ihsoti @megapteraurelia

@silkloom @nanasrkives @cupidsblonde @whoevenisjessica

#sahri scribbles 𓇼 #𓍯𓂃 A LITTLE WHITE LIE #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi x y/n #iwaizumi hajime x you #iwaizumi hajime x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you #iwaizumi hq #hq iwaizumi #haikyuu!! x y/n #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! x reader

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iwantmyprizepet · 1 day ago

Text

𝒱𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓈𝒽 ℐ𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝒴𝑜𝓊 - 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 7/?

Summary: You don’t miss Agatha at all while she’s away on her business trip. Not at all. She probably didn’t miss you either…unless.

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: This was supposed to be 9k but my brain could not handle editing it. My side gardening job is starting up for the summer so I am working long hours six days a week. I am also in a cover band and we have a bunch of local gigs that are popping up. AND I’m in a wedding next month. I am drowning lol. If my updates become a little more spaced out and shorter please pleaseeee bear with me and don’t lose interest. I BEG. I appreciate all of you who show love for this. Hope you’re all doing good.

- Mich :) (If I made any mistakes please forgive me)

AO3 Previous Part

My Royal Taglist: @6stolenangel9 @ahintofchaos @morgananyx @coffeemelko @xblinkx2

/////

Sunday was an eventful day of bringing home my parents Christmas tree.

As predicted, it was it’s usual near disaster getting into the house.

My dad only had a little bit of height on me. Us fighting a ten foot tree every year was comical to say the least.

I’d beg for them to get a shorter one every time, but it never worked.

By the time we finished with lights and ornaments I was drained. Pine needles in every pocket and sap sticking everywhere.

When I got home with my own tree it was all I had to get it up the stairs and in the stand.

I lay awake thinking of Agatha, of course.

I’d obsessively checked every flight leaving airports nearby for Chicago to make sure she landed safely.

It crossed my mind to ring luxury hotels in the Chicago area. See if there was an Agatha Harkness on their guest list. The word stalker rang through my head stopping me.

I could not get the damned woman out of my head.

Monday was a cloud covered morning that brought a few inches of snow.

I decorated my tree and the small one I had got for the cafe.

I admired them for a few minutes outside after the sun set. The whole street was like a Christmas wonderland. All the holiday lights bright against the snow.

I tried not to think about how nice it would be with Agatha by my side. Huddled close in the cold outside. Her wavy hair collecting specks of snow. I thought about it too hard before I went back inside.

I was used to not seeing Agatha on my day off so it wasn’t as nagging and slow.

Tuesday on the other hand was like a snails crawl.

The snow had let up Monday night, but what fell still deterred customers. That mixed with knowing I would’t be seeing Agatha had the clock ticking backwards.

I didn’t even know when she’d be back. I didn’t think to ask. No, instead I just said okay over and over again.

It was so easy to remember our last encounter while at work.

My chest felt near caving in at the memory of our hug. How tight she held to me, every time her breath fell on my neck and god that perfume.

The shirt I had on that day still lay dirty on top of my washer. Her perfume lingered on the chest of it. I knew it was insane, but I couldn’t stop myself from smelling it since that day.

Tuesday bled into Wednesday in a dull way.

Sally tore in with her usual vigor mid day.

“Hello crew!” She jovially threw our way.

All three of us sent her a greeting back. I held up an empty cup to her as a silent question, she nodded.

“Listen, about the holiday party. Would any of you be opposed to pushing it up to next week instead of the week of Christmas? Rachel surprised us with a trip to the mountains and we leave next weekend.”

I turned to Chloe and Janice. Chloe gave a head shake and Janice shrugged unbothered.

“Shouldn’t be a problem. What day?” I replied fixing her usual drink.

“I don’t know maybe Thursday or Friday next week? Up to you guys.”  “I’d prefer Thursday if that’s okay.” Chloe chimed in absently while on her phone.

“That’s good for me.” Janice said from the window.

I turned to Sally and handed her the drink. “Thursday then?”  She gave two thumbs up with a wide smile. I laughed leaning on the counter.

We always had an annual Christmas party on the strip. Chloe brought Brooks, Janice sometimes would have her husband or kids come. Sally’s husband and daughter, Ben and Rachel usually came too.

We invited Dennis every year, but he never showed up.

Then there was Edgar and his crew, Anne and Greg from the antique shop and Lilly with her employees from the little trinket store.

We did a yankee swap, fifty dollar limit and everyone brought a food dish.

It was the easiest to do it in the cafe so that’s where it ended up every year.

“Alright, we’ll do it after closing how’s around five sound?” I suggested.

“I’ll get the word out.” Sally said sliding over a five. “You should invite your new friend.”

She seemed to try to ease it out casually. A giddiness lingered behind her words that gave her away.

“Sorry?” I asked playing dumb even though I knew who she was talking about.

“Miss. Maserati, she’s here quite often lately.” Sally said nearly bubbling over with each word.

I rolled my eyes and turned a glare to Chloe. Her face also gave her away instantly.

“By any chance has this one aided in your knowledge of, as you put it Miss Maserati?” I turned my glare on Chloe back to Sally.

Chloe snorted and Sally held her hands up.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Just an observation.” Sally played innocent picking up her coffee cup.

“Lies.” Broke out from Janice. “These two are like gossip girls about you when you’re not around.”

I gasped deepening my glare on the two.

“Janice!” Chloe scolded earning a chuckle from her.

“That’s my cue, bye ladies.” Sally called already out the door.

It was all a playful exchange, though I was a tad annoyed at it.

“At least I know someone tells me the truth around here.” I said shooting a wink to Janice who in turn gave me thumbs up.

“Oh, shut up.” Chloe laughed shoving my shoulder. “You should invite her though.”

I shook my head as I turned to walk away. “We’ll see about that. I’m taking five.”

“Yeah, yeah just walk away.” A towel hit my back right before I made it to the door.

——————————————————————————

I found myself plagued by the idea of inviting her now.

It wasn’t like it was some serious thing. Just a casual party with friends.

I would be lying if I said it didn’t bother me that everyone else always had someone to invite but I never did.

I decided by Thursday night I’d invite her. If she said no it would be fine. If she came it would be fine. No big deal either way.

I really had hope she’d come breezing in on Friday. When I flicked the open sign off, I felt a bit dejected.

All week every time the bell chimed my head shot to the door. It was never her.

It was my own fault. If I had just asked when she’d be back specifically, this wouldn’t be a problem. On the edge of my seat like a schoolgirl waiting to see their crush.

I set off for the grocery store after work. It wasn’t too busy surprisingly. I took the long way home to drive around and see the Christmas lights around town.

When the cafe came back into view, my heart nearly leapt into my throat.

Parked right in front was the owner of my thoughts. Agatha Harkness.

I pulled into my parking spot on the side of the building.

She still sat in her car as I got out of mine. I wondered if she’d even seen me pull up.

I was second guessing if it was even her, even though I had memorized her license plate.

I heard her door shut behind me as I pulled the groceries from my trunk.

My heart and stomach were fluttering something awful.

I closed my trunk and placed the two paper bags on top.

Turning around, she was already halfway up the drive smiling. She wore a loose cream suit, slightly darker turtleneck underneath. A big gold earring stood out in front of the hair tucked behind her left ear, which as usual, was perfect and wavy. A gold necklace lay against the collar of her shirt.

I on the other hand wore jeans and a t shirt under a jacket. Dreadfully dull next to her.

“Hey, you.” I greeted leaning back on my car, arms crossed.

I was trying extremely hard to play it cool.

“Hey, yourself.” She greeted back in that low voice of hers.

I had to stop myself from letting out a groan. I wanted to climb into her arms and not let go. I missed her so much. Again, I found myself holding back saying it.

She stopped just a foot in front of me. 

“I was ready to leave. I wasn’t sure if or when you’d be back.”  I wanted to reply, well if you’d asked for my number this wouldn’t be a problem would it, but I didn’t.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t.” A much easier statement.

Her smirk sharpened her eyes. “I landed late last night, but I had a dreadful meeting that lasted far too long today.”

I nodded shifting on my feet. “I was just about to start dinner. Would you like to stay?”

Her smile grew and she nodded. “I’d love to.”

“Why don’t you pull in behind me. People drive like ass holes after dark on the street. Wouldn’t want you to lose a mirror.” I suggested it casually.

Really I just wanted a minute to make sure my place wasn’t too out of shape. It wasn’t a lie though. Kids treated it like a drag strip at night.

“Okay.”

Something in the look she shot me had me thinking she knew.

“I’ll leave the door open.” I called to her after she turned.

I made my way upstairs as calmly as I could.

Luckily I had just done a good clean Monday. I spritzed a room spray and folded the blanket at the bottom of my bed.

The sound of her car door closing jolted me.

Shooting to the bathroom I looked over myself, my hair felt messy from the wind. I felt incredibly bland looking today. I did the best I could to straighten out my hair and popped back out just as she walked in.

It felt just as surreal as the first time seeing her in my house.

“Hi.” I breathed out on a smile.

“Hi.” She laughed lightly dropping her purse on the table near the door.

It was so effortless. Like she’d done it a thousand times.

I started taking the groceries out of the bags.

“What’s on the menu tonight, chef?” Agatha asked stepping into the open kitchen.

“Oh, just a quick gnocchi dish. I hope that’s okay.” I replied walking an armful of groceries to the fridge.

“Perfect.”

My nerves started to grow by the second. She eyed me the entire time I put everything away.

Her scent seemed extra potent today. I wanted to float on it into her arms.

After placing everything I’d need for the recipe near the stove I turned and walked to her.

“Can I get you a glass of wine?”

I stopped myself just a few inches from her. I almost didn’t stop.

She nodded on top of one of her dangerous Agatha looks. Dangerous in the way it had me in danger of doing something stupid like kissing her.

“Red or white?” I asked walking over to the bottles.

“White.”

I turned the record player on and placed the needle to the vinyl that already lay there.

Hozier’s Wasteland, Baby.

I realized upon looking at my wine selection, most of it was probably below par for what she was used to.

I decided on the forty dollar bottle I picked up a few months ago. I’d been saving it for a special occasion and well, it certainly was.

I popped the cork and grabbed two glasses pouring a good amount in both.   I turned with both glasses and nearly bumped into her. I don’t even know how she’d gotten right behind me so quietly.

My chest ached to fall into her. I was starting to lose track of how often that was happening.

I held her glass up and she took it, warm hand sliding over my own.

“Cheers.” I said quietly holding my glass up.

“Cheers.”

Our glasses clinked, eyes locked as we took a sip. I broke away walking past her back to the kitchen.

It didn’t take long to finish cooking.

Agatha sat on a stool at the island after I told her three times I didn’t need help. Her being close while I cooked wouldn’t help us eat any faster.

Conversation flowed so easily. Anytime there was a silence it was comfortable.

Agatha poured us another glass of wine while I plated the food.

She even made eating look elegant. I had to keep reminding myself to eat my own food and not stare at her. Agatha complimented the dish up and down heating my face slightly.

She tried to clean the dishes but I scolded her away.

“I’ll do them later go sit down.” I said nudging her.

She held her hands up with a laugh and made her way over to sit on the couch.

I followed behind her contemplating my move. Should I sit on the opposite end? Maybe just sit on the chair instead.

Her bold decision to sit on the middle cushion of the couch made up my mind for me.

As I sat to the side of her, she turned towards me tucking her knees up just on the edge of my lap. Her elbow fell to the back of the couch propping her head up.   We eyed each other, Shrike softly playing in the background. Her eyelids seemed to be growing heavier.

I reached out running my finger under her necklace. It felt like I had permission to do it now after the last time.

“You look tired.”

She made a soft hum in response between a smile and closed her eyes.

“I do need to go. I’m stalling.” She admitted quietly, eyes opening again.

I let out a low sigh and mirrored her resting my head on my hand.

“Oh, that reminds me.” She stood suddenly walking to the door. “The souvenir I promised you.”

I laughed watching her rifle through her purse. She turned holding a long black box causing my face to drop. She remained smirking walking back to me.

After sitting down she held it out for me to take. It took me a second, but I eventually did.

Slowly, I opened the box and was met with the sight of a silver chain. I wasn’t positive on the price, but I knew it was more than every piece of jewelry I’d ever owned put together. It looked diamond cut, shimmering and fucking gorgeous.

“I noticed the rings you always wear are silver. I figured you’d prefer this to gold.” She broke the long silence. “Well, technically it’s white gold but all the same.”  I shook my head and closed the box.

“Agatha.” I looked up to her feeling uneasy. “Souvenirs are supposed to be tacky little things from an airport. This is not a souvenir. I can’t take this.”

I was exasperated trying to get her to take it back.

She let out a loud laugh throwing her head back. “That’s just what people do last minute when they haven’t thought about you for a minute while away.”

I swallowed hard under her blue gaze.

She continued on my silence. “I in fact did think of you, often.”

The buzzing in my chest felt near explosive.

“It’s too much. I can’t take it. I don’t even wear jewelry often. Just the rings.” I held it back to her. “Resell it or keep it or give it to someone else maybe I don’t know.” 

It was all rushed out a stutter coming out here and there.

I had a hard time accepting gifts in general from anyone. Never mind a random gift like this from her.

She let out a long sigh and grabbed the box

“Listen.” She said it softly but it was very much so a command. “I got this specifically for you.” A pause as she opened the box and removed the chain. “I won’t be reselling it or giving it away and I don’t need it.”

She stood unclasping the chain.

“Agatha.” It came out in a pathetic way.

Her hand touched the side of my neck to brush my hair to one side.

I could barely breath, still as stone.

She slid the chain around, both hands at the back of my neck fastening it. A chill shot down my neck dispersing electric through out.

“There we go.” She said just above a whisper moving my hair back.

She shuffled, standing right in front of and above me looking down. Her hand reached out, fingers snaking under the front of the chain. Just like I’d done to her a handful of times now. Her fingers moved back and forth, knuckles pressing to my chest.

My heart was hammering as I looked up at her. Her lips pursed with a smile as she pulled away.

God, it was like I was being forced to think of nothing but kissing her.

“I should go.” She turned on her heel.

I shot up, jewelry box falling to the ground as I moved quickly causing her to turn back.

I slammed into her wrapping my arms around her shoulders tight. She followed suit arms wrapping around my waist just as hard.

“I missed you.” The words I’d been wanting to say since she left, finally slipping out in a whisper.

Her voice was just shy of my ear. “It’s quite mutual, darling.”

My heart pounded under my chest. A few moments passed around our warm embrace before she pulled back.

“I really should go.” She said under hooded eyes.

I placed my hands on either shoulder and nodded.

Slowly she dragged her hands from my back, to the sides of my waist and let go. I forced mine from her shoulders and she turned towards the door.

“Thank you for dinner. It was wonderful.” She said as she slipped her purse on.

I nodded with a smile as I walked over to her. “My pleasure. Thank you for the as you call it, souvenir.” I added a bit of sarcasm on the last word.

She laughed head tilting down.

I clasped my hands behind my back, halting them from tugging her in for another hug.

“Goodnight.”

“Night.”

I wanted to say here take my number and let me know when you get home safe, but I didn’t.

She pushed through the door and disappeared down the stairs.

I watched on from above until her tail lights disappeared.

The voice in my head still nagged that there was no way she felt something for me. Me of all people in the world.

For the first time though, there was a little glimmer in the corner that thought…maybe.

——————————————————————————

Saturday came and again I was left wondering if or when I’d see her. She really did have all the power in so many ways.

I clipped the chain around my neck this morning as I got ready. I stared in the mirror debating how to wear it. I’d never liked the way I looked in a necklace.

I ultimately decided to tuck it under my shirt. Despite it being visibly hidden, the weight of it was on my mind all day.

I planned to ask her to come to the holiday party today if I saw her. My nerves were haywire thinking about it.

First order of business would be another hug. It was becoming addictive being wrapped in her arms. Which was concerning considering it’d only happened twice.

She pulled up minutes before closing.

Instead of staying on the street, she backed up into the empty space behind my car. I tried to tame the smile it left on my face with no avail.

I figured she was waiting outside after a few minutes passed.

After closing up I locked the door, turned and rounded the building.

Her car still ran as she sat in it on the phone. The annoyance she wore on her face melted away into a smile when she saw me. My own instantly chased after hers.

She rolled her window down as I approached the car.

“Hold for a minute.” She barked at whoever was on the phone.

She silenced her end of the line before turning to me.

“Sorry, this is just going to be a few minutes more.” Her arm lay on the open window as she leaned out of it slightly to meet my gaze.

Smiling down to her I gathered up some confidence.

Reaching my hand out, I placed it gently over her arm and ran my thumb back and forth. I could feel the muscles tense underneath my palm. Her fingers applied a pressure to the door, veins showing clearer.

“No worries. Doors unlocked.”

I turned on my heel and walked away heading for the stairs not waiting for an answer. She was silent for a few seconds before her window began rolling up and she continued her phone call.

I quickly lit my favorite candle when I got inside. I freshened up and threw on a new shirt. With a quick swipe of deodorant and a small spritz of perfume, I sat on the couch.

I was going for laid back and chill. Not at all excited for her to walk through the door.

When she did I instantly ruined it by standing and walking over to her.

She stood at the door after shutting it behind her as I walked over.

“I didn’t know if you were busy tonight. I can leave if you have plans.”

There was no possibility she was nervous. The idea that I could make someone like her nervous was just not possible.

If it was at all plausible though, she certainly seemed like she could be a touch nervous.

I felt a smirk of my own fall on her as I stopped just a foot ahead of her.

“No plans.” I held myself back from yelling about phone numbers again. All of this guessing and not knowing was such a waste of time.

I couldn’t bring myself to ask her. I don’t know why.

“Good.” Her usual control slipped back as she placed her purse on the table. Just as she had last night.

Her gentle eyes lured me in to tick off the list in my head. Hug and invite in that order.

I changed it up this time around and did something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.

Finally, I let my head fall into the top of her chest and wrapped my arms under her own.

Her arms responded instantly wrapping around me firmly. Her cheek fell against the top of my head and I couldn’t help the way I nuzzled closer to her with a content sigh.

It could have been a shiver I felt ripple down the back of her neck, but I doubt it was.

The fingers that held a special place in my head started skating softly across my back.

I swallowed a noise that almost rushed out. An indecent noise.

“How was your day, darling?” She asked softly, fingers still running against my back.

“Just another day. Nothing bad, nothing worth doing a backflip over.”   I was careful of every syllable that came out, worried I’d let a groan slip from the feelings she was tracing into me.

She laughed lightly.

“How was yours?”

“Annoying.” Her sharp tone changed for the next two words. “Better now.”

It felt unhealthy the flips she was regularly making my heart do.

Reluctantly I pulled away and walked to the couch gesturing her to follow.

I sat in the same spot as last night hoping she’d do the same. She did.

“I’m buying dinner.” She turned to me after the statement. “What are you in the mood for?”

I shrugged as she pressed her leg further into mine.   “I’m up for whatever.”

 “So, escargot and caviar?”

I figured it was just to tease, but I couldn’t help the disgust it scrunched on my face.

Agatha laughed and got up walking over to her purse. When she turned back I nearly flatlined.

A pair of glasses rest on the bridge of her nose now as she scrolled on her phone. I forced my jaw to close as she walked over.

She sat back down next to me completely unaware of the toll it was taking on me.

Her left leg crossed over her right, the back of her calf now resting across my knees. My eyes traveled down her leg and back up to her face.

Her gaze remained on her phone.

I found myself struggling to breathe. My fingers flexed and tensed wanting to reach out and touch her. I felt trapped behind her leg and I didn’t mind.

I knew it was probably likely she could see me staring out of her peripheral. At the very least she could certainly feel my fiery gaze on her.

The glasses were all I could focus on. They were plain and simply, so fucking hot.

“There.” She said locking her phone.

Her eyes dragged up to mine as I was trying to reel it in. She stilled upon meeting my eyes, head dropping as her fingers pushed the glasses farther down her nose.

It was perfectly evil the grin that took over her face.

She knew.

There was no way she didn’t know.

She brushed her leg against my knees. “Everything okay?” 

Oh my god she definitely knew. The way she asked the question sealed it. Still I had to try and pull myself out of it.

I cleared my throat still unable to take my eyes off of her dropped gaze.

“Yes. I’m fine.” It was the most unconvincing thing I’ve ever said in my life.

She nodded, smirk unchanging if not deepening.

“Okay.” She removed her glasses, hands tucking the arms in and resting in her lap. “Food will be here shortly.”

My eyebrows pinched in. “Did you actually get snails?”

She laughed again head falling to the back of the couch. The vein on the side of her neck was poking out.

“No, don’t worry.”

She rolled her head on the couch to gaze at me.

She was just fucking perfect.

Her hand reached over to me stilling my heart. Her finger snuck behind my neck and under the back of the chain she gave me. Her pointer rolled underneath the necklace and over my skin untucking it from my shirt.

“Here I was thinking you didn’t have it on.” She said it low, head still on the back of the couch.

I looked down as her hand fell back to her lap.

“Yeah, I just tucked it under. I’ve always thought jewelry looked weird on me.” I admitted honestly with a chuckle.

“It doesn’t.” She looked at me like, well how I imagine I look at her sometimes.

I nodded feeling a blush creep in forcing me to look away.

Her leg still lay over both of mine, pressed into them warmly. After a brain breaking hesitation, I reached out resting my right hand over her knee.

I didn’t look over to her, but she didn’t seem to protest it. I brushed my thumb on the top of her knee cap. Adrenaline rushed so fast underneath my skin it was dizzying.

Wordlessly I felt her shift next to me. In a blink her head fell to my shoulder. It spurred me on to squeeze her knee gently. A sharp breath pushed off her lips across my neck.

We sat in the silent unspoken until the delivery came. She pulled away slowly when the door bell rang.

I stood up as she answered the door. Answered the door at my house, like it was totally normal.

I reminded myself I needed to ask her to the party as I watched her. She had a very perfect way of distracting me.

To my surprise she turned away from the now closed door with a pizza box.

“What can I get you to drink?” I asked her as she carried the takeout to the table.

“I could go for a glass of red tonight, if you have any.”

I puffed out some air and walked over to the wooden hutch I kept my liquor on.

“The bottle from last night was definitely the most expensive I had. Might be a downgrade from that.” I admitted grabbing my personal favorite cabernet.

“I might have mentioned that I’m not picky.” She was closer now. “I’ll even take boxed if that’s all you have.”

I laughed popping the cork. “I’m usually not that bad.”

Her hand pressed to my back, now hovering next to me as I poured two glasses. The wine pour turned a bit sloppy. She didn’t comment on it.

“For you.” I held out her glass turning into her.

“Thank you.” She grabbed it and turned dropping her hand from my back.

“So…pizza.” I said walking over to the table.

She hummed smiling as she sat. “I tried this for the first time a year ago and I’ve been hooked. The ingredients change with the seasons.”

“Cool.” I shook my head. Cool? What the fuck kind of response is that.

I sat down next to her at the table as she held her glass up.

“Cheers.”

I smiled at her and clinked my glass into hers. “Cheers.”

After a sip I took a bite of the pizza and yep. It was easily the best pizza I’d ever had.

The invite to the party nagged in the back of my head as we ate.

We finished up and moved back to the couch. I decided to ask her quick in case she decided to do something like put her leg on mine again.

“Hey.” I fiddled with the throw on the back of the couch. “I have a question.”

“Okay.”

I looked up to her patient eyes.

“So every year we uhm, we have a holiday party. Everyone that has a business on the strip get’s invited.” I cleared my throat trying to stop my leg from bobbing. “It’s just a casual thing. Everyone brings some friends and family. We have it downstairs after closing. Just was wondering if you’d want to come?”

I turned back to her having looked away halfway through my spiel. Her silence and unreadable expression had me spewing words out again.

“You can say no obviously. You won’t like hurt my feelings or anything, it’s okay. It’s also this Thursday which I know is last minute. We do a gift swap. Fifty dollar limit. So if you wanted you’d have to get a gift which I still have to get mine. We’ll have food too. Everyone brings food so you could eat? It’s fine though if you don’t want to go. I know you’re busy and maybe hate the holidays so it’s okay.” 

A shushing sound eased out of her mouth. I froze remembering the dream in which she did exactly that.

“I’d love to go.” Her leg fell over mine again as she said it.

It took far too long for my brain to process what she said. “Oh. Good.” I nodded when I finally caught up.

“What time on Thursday?”

“Five, an hour after closing.”

She pushed in a little closer, head leaning on the back of the couch again. Her scent and warmth tucking around my senses.

“Maybe I’ll have to come early. Help get everything ready.”

I smiled, heart hammering as I nodded.

Reaching her hand up towards me, she rested her hand to my cheek. My eyes fluttered for just a second as I pushed into it. Her thumb brushed back and forth.

I tried to remain calm as she watched me. I knew I looked completely swept away to her touch.

Her eyelids blinked heavy and slow as she held my gaze. She pulled away, swiping the side of her pointer finger down the bridge of my nose.

I felt on fire.

“I should go.”

I nodded afraid my words would betray me. I wanted to beg her to stay just a little longer.

She stood and I followed. She surprised me at the door and pulled me in for another hug.

Her right arm strapped across my shoulders as her left hand held the back of my head. I let her hold me up as I sunk into and round her.

“I’ve got a bit of a busy week. I might not be around that often.” As she said it I held her tighter. She continued. “I might not see you until the party.”

My chest ached at the idea of it.

The hand pressed to the back of my head moved, trailing her nails from the side of my scalp to the back gently.

It was barely there. Almost just an excessive breath, but it pulled some sort of noise out of me. I couldn’t fight it and the both of us paused any movement after it. I was glad my face was hidden in her shoulder from how hot it was getting.

To my relief, after a brief few seconds she did it again pulling me tighter across my shoulders.

Agatha Harkness was going to be the death of me.

Daringly, I dragged my right hand up to the back of her head and trailed my fingers up and down softly through her hair. The hum she let out was long and low. My stomach tensed at the warmth it shot through me.

She pulled back abruptly leaving me chasing her as she backed away.

She reached up and grabbed my chin between her finger and thumb.  The grin she wore was diabolical, shooting right through my entire body. She brushed my chin with her thumb before dropping it and turning to grab her bag.

I couldn’t think of anything to say. I just watched as she prepared to leave.

My thoughts were clawing to break free as I remained silent. I wanted to kiss her right up against the wall. Drag her to my bed just several feet away. Feel her skin under mine. I held back a noise of protest as she opened the door.

“Goodnight, darling.” She said it over her shoulder.

“Night.” I mumbled out staring foolishly.

A knowing look rest on her face as I fought to try and say something more. She let out a breathy laugh and walked out shutting the door behind her.

I felt a wave of embarrassment letting her see how much she broke my brain.

I watched her as she pulled out of the driveway.

I’d hoped I would see her before the party. If anything just to redeem a little of my dignity.

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha x reader #agatha x you #soft agatha #agatha harkness fluff #agatha harkness x reader

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