#that they decided to remove the ice wall

[fruitless-vain]

In a continuation to “my neighbours 50yo sons refuse to use her driveway and always walk up mine” I built a solid two foot wall of ice and snow between our houses so that they HAD to use her driveway

Instead of doing the easy thing and just using her driveway they decided to use their snow blower to break apart the entire wall just so they could continue to use my driveway (which totally makes loads of sense 🙄)

I rebuilt the wall and they decided to then dig out a walkway in her grass pressed right against my driveway. Okay fine! On your property finally! I’ll take it! So I started rebuilding my ice wall, but we don’t have much new snow yet so it’s like three inches high, on my driveway to continue to enforce the “drag dead deer up your own property and keep your scratch risks away from my new car”

Despite them literally creating their own path on their own property THEYRE STILL WALKING UP MINE WHAT THE FUCK

To top it off they’ve parked a trailer on the road as close as physically possible to my driveway and a good three feet away from the sidewalk so backing out and driving off is such a gd process rn

[flowersforbucky]

it's nice to have a friend

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3.2k

summary: you're having the worst period you've had in a long time. bucky is determined to help you feel better.

author's note: this is a silly and smutty piece that i felt compelled to write when i got my period a few days ago!

warnings/tags: smutty, reader has a period, langauge, use of a vibrator, nipple stimulation, no use of y/n, use of a cbd gummy lol, 18+ only

Approximately every twenty-eight days, you curse the fact that you were born with a uterus and vagina. 

This month, however, you were cursing that fact a bit earlier than expected. Cycle day twenty three, to be exact. 

Your periods never start this early, but as soon as you opened your eyes at six o'clock this morning, you knew what had occured while you were asleep. You could feel the moisture that soaked through your underwear and pajama pants before you could turn on the light to see that your white sheets had been dyed bright crimson beneath where you'd been laying. 

One load of laundry with extra stain remover and as much Pamprin max strength as one can safely take later, you are curled up on the couch of the compound's living room with a cup of coffee and a heating pad turned up so high that you risk first degree burns. 

“Are you sure you don't want me to stay with you today? We can go to Coney Island another time,” Natasha tries to reason with you once again. 

“I promise I'll be okay here,” you assure her. “These cramps are killing me, I won't be any fun to hang out with today. Go, enjoy yourself. When is the next time that you'll all have a free day and weather this perfect?” You gesture towards the sunshine streaming through the living room windows. 

“If you're sure,” she caves after a few moments of hesitation. “Promise I’ll win you that stuffed panda that you wanted so badly last time.” 

“I am going to hold you to that,” you tell her in a faux-serious tone. 

After Natasha and the rest of your friends have left for their day of riding rollercoasters and eating hotdogs on the boardwalk, you turn on your comfort show and settle in for an unexciting and uncomfortable day by yourself. 

A few hours later, you decide you've sat in the same position for long enough - you can practically feel your body morphing to the sofa. You're walking to the kitchen to refill your water bottle and find something to snack on when you collide with what feels like a brick wall. 

A brick wall that happens to smell really, really fucking good. 

You step back, finding that the brick wall is staring at you with a confused look on his face. 

"What are you doing here?” Bucky asks as he glances you over from head to toe, taking in your choice of apparel - baggy sweats that are about two sizes too big for you, a cropped tank, and fuzzy slippers. You resist the urge to cross your arms over your stomach - you didn't think anyone else would be here today and the tank top you're wearing doesn't exactly conceal the period bloat you're currently experiencing. 

"I live here,” you snap, a bit harsher than necessary. “What are you doing here?” 

“I also live here,” he says, returning your attitude. You roll your eyes, maneuvering your way around where he blocks the doorway. 

��What I mean,” he continues as he turns around, following you into the kitchen. “Is why aren't you with everyone at Coney Island?” 

“I could ask you the same question,” you challenge, pouring some more ice into your cup. “Steve never shuts up about the glory days, all the time the two of you spent at Coney Island. I'm surprised you're not there with him right now.” 

He huffs a laugh, pulling out one of the barstools at the kitchen's giant island and taking a seat. “We did spend a ridiculous amount of time at Coney Island,” he admits, his voice almost wistful. He hesitates before continuing, staring down at his hands as he traces a metal crevice on his left palm.

"But I haven't been to Coney Island since the forties. Guess I'm kinda scared it won't live up to my memories of it. Plus, I had a lot of laundry to catch up on, so..” he shrugs, trailing off. 

You're taken aback by the honesty of his explanation. “Yeah, well,” you start awkwardly, turning away from him to search through a cabinet for something to eat. “I can't say that I know what it was like in the forties, but it's one of my favorite places, present day.” 

“Then why are you hanging out by yourself while all of your friends are at one of your favorite places?” 

Damn it, you curse internally. He's really not going to drop this. What should I say, that my uterine lining is falling out in clumps? 

You grab a bag of freeze-dried fruit from the cabinet before turning back to face him, trying to come up with an excuse. 

“I just didn't sleep great–” you come to an abrupt stop in the middle of your sentence as a blinding pain shoots through your lower abdomen. The bag of fruit falls to the floor as you steady yourself on the ledge of the counter with one hand, clutching your stomach with the other. 

Bucky rises from his seat in an instant, closing the several feet of distance between the two of you in one big step. 

"Are you okay? What’s going on?” His hands are both extended to you in an offer of help. 

“I'm fine,” you say through a sharp intake of breath. “It’s.. it’s just cramps. Bad cramps,” you force the words out, propping your elbows up on the countertop to relax your body weight. 

“Oh,” he says as realization dawns on him. He bends down to grab the bag of fruit that lays next to your feet, and then places it on the table in front of you. “I guess that answers my question, then,” he adds, referring to why you didn't go to Coney Island. 

“Ya think?” You stand back upright, grabbing your snack and water bottle off of the counter. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a busy day of bed-rotting ahead of me.” 

“Some exercise would help,” he calls when you're about to exit the kitchen. “Laying in bed won't do much for you. A little bit of light exercise to release some beta-endorphins, maybe an abdominal massage–” 

“Are you really man-splaining menstrual cycle pain management to me right now?” You ask, slowly turning to face him with an incredulous look on your face. “I wasn't aware that you had a medical license or that I asked for your opinion.” 

“Just trying to help, sweetheart,” he shrugs with a mischievous grin. 

“If you want to help, you can go get the Italian food that I'm craving and give me an abdominal massage yourself,” you practically spit at him. “Otherwise, keep the unsolicited advice to yourself and fuck off.” 

You turn back around and all but run out of the room before you can process the shocked, albeit pleased look on his face.  

After you've closed your bedroom door behind you (with perhaps a bit more force than necessary), you sink into the fresh sheets on your bed and shove several pieces of apricot into your mouth. 

Rationally, you knew that Bucky's advice was solid, and that he was just trying to get a reaction out of you. That's just the kind of friendship that the two of you have. Sarcastic, teasing and occasionally… tension-filled. 

You definitely didn't help the matter by telling him to massage your abdomen, but what does he expect when he suggests something as horrible as exercising during a time that you simply want nothing more than to melt into your mattress? 

Your cell phone chimes from the pocket of your sweatpants. You dig it out and look at the text displayed across your lock screen. 

Bucky Barnes: What kind of Italian food, specifically? 

You would never admit it to him, but the corners of your mouth tug upwards into a smirk as you read his message. 

You type: Don't you have a lot of laundry to catch up on? and press send. The message is marked as “read” right away. 

He types. And types. And types some more – until those three dots indicating a message in progress disappear. 

Whatever. You click your phone off and toss it somewhere in the covers around you. 

The next couple hours are spent sitting under the near scalding stream of your shower, and then reading on your Kindle in the dark. As jealous as you are that your friends are undoubtedly having a blast today, you honestly don't mind your current situation - aside from feeling like your organs are being pulled out of your vagina, you hardly ever have days with zero obligations other than to just relax in whatever way you see fit. 

A strong knock on your door causes you to lose your place on the page. 

"You didn't give me a legitimate answer so I hope you like gnocchi, or eggplant parmesan, or traditional lasagna, or extra breadsticks..” 

“You know, it's not funny to joke about carbs to someone when they are–” 

You come to a stop in the middle of your sentence when you swing your door open to see him holding several plastic bags. An aroma of garlic and herbs hits you in the face. 

Oh. Not a joke, then. 

He extends one of the bags to you with his big, blue puppy dog eyes. You take it from him, opening the door further as an invitation to enter your bedroom. 

"Consider this a peace offering,” he says, placing the other bags of food on your bed and perching awkwardly on the edge of your mattress. You close the door behind you, walking back to where you had previously been lounging on the bed. 

“I'm sorry for being a smartass,” he adds more genuinely. “I just.. didn't like seeing you in pain. That's all.” 

“This is far from my first period,” you shrug, not meeting his stare. “You get used to it after a while. But consider yourself forgiven.” 

He gives you a small smile when you finally look up at him. He grabs a smaller bag that you hadn't noticed him carrying, one that is visibly less full than the others. He reaches inside, pulling out a small jar that he hands over to you. 

Your brows furrow as you inspect it closely. “CBD gummies?” You ask, your brows now raising quizzically. You open the jar, popping one of the pink, cube-shaped gummies into your mouth. “Watermelon flavored CBD gummies?” 

You notice the faintest trace of blush bloom across his cheeks. “I take them sometimes to help me sleep,” he starts, fiddling with some of the beading on your comforter. “But they can help with all different kinds of pain too, so I just thought you might like some.” 

You close the jar, placing it on your bedside table before reaching over and grabbing his flesh hand in yours. “Thank you, Bucky,” you say, giving his hand a squeeze and then releasing it. “Really. I appreciate all of this.” You try to ignore the jolt of electricity that buzzes through you when your skin comes in contact with his. His hand is both softer and warmer than you would have imagined. It brings you back to the last words that you spewed at him in the kitchen earlier. 

"A shit ton of pasta and CBD gummies,” you snort a laugh. “Would I be pushing my luck if I asked for that abdominal massage too?” You say it in a way that sounds halfway serious, halfway joking. 

“If that's what you want,” he says lowly, turning to angle his body towards you on the bed. “Then just say the word.” 

The air in your room suddenly feels suffocating. 

It is what you want - but you're at a loss for words. So instead of a verbal response, you scoot over to the middle of the bed, closer to where he sits on the opposite side. You lay down so that your back is flat against the mattress, your head propped up by a single pillow. 

Bucky's eyes widen in surprise, but he quickly wipes the look of astonishment from his features. He moves so that he's sitting directly next to your legs, giving him a proper angle to put his hands on your lower stomach. 

You're wearing the same sweatpants and tank top from earlier, having thrown the outfit back on after your shower. The loose sweatpants hang low enough to expose your hip bones and the edge of your underwear. 

The intimacy of the entire situation hits you the second that his hands make contact with your skin. 

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmurs, perhaps sensing your nerves. “Or if I do anything that doesn't feel good.” 

Your eyes shut instinctively at the polar opposite sensations of his flesh and vibranium hands. Skin and metal, fire and ice.

“I will,” you assure him. Your words come out breathier than intended. 

There's an immediate relief in your lower stomach as he rubs languid circles across your midriff. It's a feeling beyond pleasure as the cramps fade the more he touches you. 

His vibranium pinky dances along the waistband of your underwear, causing goosebumps to spread across your skin. You try to focus on the relief he's bringing you - not the fact that you're wearing a thin tank top that leaves so much of your skin on display, giving him a clear view of the goosebumps that he's caused. 

He continues with the precise motions until the pain in your abdomen has faded nearly entirely - you feel so good that you can't stop yourself from letting out the smallest moan when his flesh hand applies just the right amount of pressure near your pelvis. 

You know he heard it - there's no way he didn't. Just as you know there's no way that he doesn't notice your fully hardened nipples through the thin fabric of your tank top. 

You keep your eyes closed, terrified to meet his gaze in this state. You dread the moment that you feel his hands pull away from your skin. 

"You know,” he starts, his voice possessing a strained edge. “I don't think this is good enough for you.” 

Your eyes shoot open, looking at him in a nervous confusion. There's a glimmer in his eyes that you can't quite pinpoint - his stare trailing to your bedside table on the opposite side of you. “But I think I do know what could make you feel much better.” 

“What are you talking about?” Your voice quivers as you follow his stare. You're not sure what he's looking at - all that sits on your nightstand is the CBD gummies he had just given you, your Kindle, a few books, a bottle of lotion, and the Himalayan salt lamp that paints you both in an orange glow. 

He smirks before leaning across you - keeping his vibranium hand pressed firmly on your belly as he uses his flesh hand to pull open the drawer of the small table. 

“Hey! What are you–” but he retrieves the object he’s looking for before you can finish questioning him. You freeze at what he's holding in his hand. 

Your vibrator. Your glittery, lavender colored vibrator. 

“How the fuck did you–” 

“Do you think I can't hear you using this from across the hallway late at night?” He grins smugly. “That I can't hear your little whimpers when you think everyone's asleep?” 

Your face heats up a hundred degrees. You don't know whether to be infuriated or massively turned on. 

Both. You're definitely feeling a mix of both. 

He clicks the power button, turning on the device to its lowest setting. He watches you for a moment, giving you ample time to tell him to fuck off.

Instead, you once again relax against the pillow, your body going limp for him. You spread your legs the slightest bit. 

He takes this as his signal to proceed. Not taking his eyes off of your face, he trails the head of the wand from your lower stomach and over the fabric of your sweatpants until he reaches the apex of your thighs. Your nipples pucker once again, your thighs clenching around the tip of the vibrator. 

Bucky moves the device in a circular motion, making your back arch off the bed and your head tip back. 

How is it that it feels better when he massages you with it through your fucking pants than it does when you use it on your bare pussy? 

You hear the clicking of a button again, and the force of the vibration over your clothed cunt increases. You grind down on the device, desperate for friction. 

Bucky watches you with something akin to pride on his face. 

“You know how I told you to tell me if I do something you don't like?” He asks as he pushes the head of the wand directly down on your clit with the perfect amount of pressure. 

“Yeah,” you answer - it comes out like a moan that you'd hear in a porno.

“Good girl,” he praises. “Remember that.” 

Before you can clear your head enough to wonder what he means, he's tugging up the cotton fabric of your tank top and exposing your breasts. 

You gasp at the sensation of the cool air blowing from the AC coming in contact with your already hard nipples. Bucky leans forward, keeping the vibrator on your core, and captures one of your nipples in his mouth. 

Your hand immediately goes to his hair, tugging the soft brown locks in your fingers to keep him in place. His free hand grasps your other breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers. 

The combination of pleasure radiating from your pussy and his hand and mouth on you is fucking perfect. Fucking perfect, and all too much. 

You clench your thighs together, riding against the vibrator until you feel warmth spreading through your lower belly. 

“Oh my god, Bucky,” you moan - he groans when you say his name, the vibration sending you tumbling over the edge. You come hard, possibly harder than any other orgasm you've had in your life, thoroughly soaking your panties. 

When you've finished writhing beneath him, Bucky pulls back, removing both his mouth and the vibrator. He clicks the device off, tossing it towards the foot of your bed. 

You're panting, staring up at the ceiling, trying to process what the fuck just happened when you hear Bucky let out a low chuckle. 

Your eyes snap to him, finding that he looks thoroughly pleased with himself. 

"Can't say that's how I expected the day to go when I decided to sit this Coney Island trip out,” he sighs. 

“You can say that again.” You sit upright, bending your legs and crossing them at the ankles. You lean forward, tugging your shirt back into place before pulling one of the bags of food to you. 

"We should go sometime soon. Together,” you add, somewhat nervously. You aren't sure why - the guy just gave you the best orgasm of your life (and barely even touched you). 

“Are you asking me on a date?” that sly smile reappears. 

You shrug. “Yeah, I suppose I am.” 

"Then my answer is yes. But only if you share some of this food with me.” 

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist

thanks so much for reading!!! can anyone tell that i really fucking love food by how often i incorporate it into my writing? 😅

[please-destroy]

Mittens

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

.

Tony laughed loudly when he first saw the grey woollen hat. 

It had a white pom pom on the end and Tony snorted when he caught sight of it bouncing.

Natasha paused momentarily and her eyes flickered over to him, sipping coffee as he read over a Stark Pad.

‘Sorry.’ He grinned unashamedly. ‘It’s just not very Black Widow.’

Natasha rolled her eyes pointedly, before letting your hesitant tug on her hand pull her away.

In the elevator, you watched the quiet embarrassment roll through her. Natasha regarded herself in the mirrored walls as you descended the skyscraper. Her eyes lingered on the hat. 

Her gaze wasn’t critical. You almost wished it was. There was something childish in her vulnerability. You read the indecision in the way she bit her lip. 

Your heart seized with a strange sadness. You’d never really seen how Natasha viewed herself, not until then. Tony’s comment had thrown her completely off.

Just before you reached the ground floor, Natasha’s hand raised to remove the hat. You instinctively lifted your fingers to brush her wrist. She froze at your touch.

‘Leave it.’ You murmured, taking the moment for a brief kiss of her cheek. ‘You look great.’

Her voice was husky in uncertain disagreement.

‘I look ridiculous.’

‘You look cute.’ You promised truthfully, your lips lingering next to her cheek. ‘That’s not a crime.’

Natasha took a small breath and you heard the shakiness of it. Your arm wrapped around her side. 

You met her gaze in the mirror, just before the doors parted.

‘Cute.’ You repeated, enjoying the way her eyes sparkled as her smile returned. 

.

You couldn’t be certain, but you had a suspicion that the moment in the elevator didn’t leave Natasha’s mind. You knew for sure that it didn’t leave yours.

You settled together into your planned day of Christmas shopping as you wandered through the cold, busy streets. You passed a clothes store with a large winter sale on, and both slowed down to peer into the window. Inside the store, you walked thoughtlessly in sync. Together, you roamed through the aisles with that easy familiarity that comes with time. 

When you found the mittens, you held them up questioningly to her. They were the same silver grey as her woolen hat.

Natasha’s face smoothed immediately. You watched her begin to dismiss your suggestion automatically as a joke. 

Then, you saw the same lingering uncertainty return to her face.

‘I don’t know.’ She admitted suddenly and her voice was raw. 

Customers weaved around you, uninterested in anything but the retail deals on offer.

‘I’ve never had mittens before.’ Natasha told you, unwarranted embarrassment flitting into her expression. 

Your stomach flipped and you didn’t know why. Maybe it was her shyness at such a minor secret.

‘Then, these are a must buy.’ You determined with sudden decisiveness, taking her hand and leading her to the checkout.

.

The cashier easily read your relationship as you approached the counter. Despite the bustle around you, she gave you both a small smile, handing the mittens purposefully over to Natasha.

Maybe it was the cold, but Natasha’s cheeks were glowing pink before you’d left the store.

Her woolen mittens matched her hat. Her pleased smile matched her eyes.

That was when you decided that the day was going to be something else.

.

Natasha’s brow furrowed in confusion when your course altered. You led her purposefully across the busy street, away from the storefronts. 

She first protested as you weaved through the pop up stalls, selling anything from winter themed street-food to Christmas tree baubles. She reminded you about the presents that you both still needed to buy.

As you approached the ice rink, Natasha stopped in her tracks entirely. She stood a few feet away from you with wide eyes.

Her head shook slowly. 

‘No.’ She whispered, her mittens slipping self consciously into her coat pockets. ‘I don’t know how.’

You shrugged, keeping your eyes steady on her.

‘We don’t have to.’ You promised, never wanting to scare her. 

You closed the distance between you carefully. Natasha’s lips were pressed together. The same nervous indecision worried her expression. 

‘I don’t know how.’ She repeated in a small voice, the words almost an apology.

You brushed her shoulders gently.

‘That’s not a crime.’ You hummed softly. ‘Do you want to try?’

Natasha’s stare was sudden and piercing. There was something unashamed now about her exposed vulnerability. She didn’t mind that you had seen her quiet fear.  

Pride stamped your chest as you realised that Natasha knew you were on her team.

You anticipated her answer before she said it.

Before anything else, Natasha was brave.

‘Okay.’ She determined, a soft mitten seeking out your own gloved hand.

.

The next few minutes moved with surprising simplicity. You brought back the skates from the rental desk.

You laced up your pair quickly, excited to get on the ice.

Natasha started laughing gently beside you.

You looked over and caught her grin. Her eyes sparkled with mirth. She raised her mittened hands helplessly and you started smiling too.

You knelt before her, tying up her laces with extra care. 

‘Thank you.’ Natasha murmured as you finished. You glanced up, surprised by the rush of warmth you felt from her gaze. 

A mitten brushed your cheek softly, and you felt your smile widen at the touch.

.

As you stepped onto the ice, Natasha’s grip was tight on your hand. 

The fairy lights above threaded together like a wedding arch.

You took an extra step forward, ready to skate. 

Natasha hesitated and you turned around, ready to skate slowly backwards as she practiced.

Your breath caught as you watched the lights sparkle in her eyes. The green and gold dappled together and Natasha seemed ethereal.

You could read the worry on her face before she said it aloud.

There was something inexplicable about the glowing softness of her. The woolen hat, the ringlets, the reddened cheeks.

Natasha’s lips parted as she exhaled anxiously.

‘I love you.’ You told her, because it was the only thing to do.

Natasha’s breath caught and her eyes sparkled impossibly more.

‘That’s not a crime.’ She considered aloud, her grin teasing.

You kissed her gently, wanting to live in this moment forever. 

She tasted much warmer than you’d expected. 

When your lips parted, Natasha hummed in satisfaction. Her forehead affectionately touched yours. The feeling of being entirely wanted spread over you like a blanket.

Natasha wobbled on the ice, but you held her steady. 

Christmas music crackled over the overhead speakers.

For a moment, there were only the bright lights and the pair of you. 

Then, with alarming speed, two teenagers skated past. You both startled.

Natasha sighed gently as she extricated herself from your hold. 

‘Come on.’ She said, taking your hand resolutely in her mittened one.

‘It’s time to go fall on my ass.’

[rafey-baby]

sweet treat 4

construction worker!rafe and shy!reader spending their day off together (as one does) but rafe simply can not keep his hands off her, can he? And maybe she just really needs him...

c/w: fluff, rafe being a tease, semi-public thigh riding, 18+ mdni!

wc: 1.9k

part 1 part 2 part 3 & part 5

ugh i have such a soft spot for him

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It’s a tranquil Tuesday; they’re strolling around town and soaking up the last lemony rays of the August sun before autumn drops all the marmalade leaves and brings a chilly breeze along with its visit.  

The balmy weather of the sunlit afternoon coaxes her to remove her cardigan; a featherlight fabric she brought in case the wind decided to pick up. However, she doesn’t need it, not when it’s so pleasantly mellow and thermal. Without a word, Rafe reaches an arm out and plucks the piece of clothing from her, nonchalantly throwing it over his shoulder and holding it for her.  

She mumbles out a soft thank you, and even if the thin material really doesn’t weigh a thing and it wouldn’t have been that much of a bother to hold onto it herself, she still feels all gooey inside from the attentive sentiment.  

They have lunch at her favorite place; a small picturesque restaurant with leafy vines and scarlet roses trickling down the brick wall as they sit outside on a little patio, enjoying their meals with cheery bluebirds chirping and the passing laughter of pedestrians on the lively streets as their background music.  

When their tummies are full of yummy food, they decide to get ice cream. But as they’re padding along the pavement and she’s licking her cone contently, some of the sweet treat drips down her chin without her noticing.  

“You’re so messy,” Rafe tuts and reaches out to grab her jaw in his hand, tilting her up to face him. 

“What would you do without me, hm?” he murmurs out as he swipes a thumb under her bottom lip; catching the cold dessert and tucking the digit into his mouth, humming when strawberry ice cream melts on his tongue. 

Her eyes round out at the nearly obscene sight.  

“Mm, that’s good. But mine’s better,” he thinks out loud, laving his tongue over his own mint chocolate chip flavor.  

He notices her gaze lingering, the corners of his mouth tugging up. “Want some?” 

“Um…no. It tastes like toothpaste,” she complains, trying to clear her suddenly foggy head.  

“Yeah, but in a good way,” he grins. 

“There’s no good way for ice cream to taste like toothpaste,” her brows crease. 

“There is, alright? Here, try it,” and instead of offering his cone to her like a normal person, he dips his thumb (the one that was just in his mouth) into the frozen delicacy and pushes it past her lips before she has the chance to refuse.  

A surprised noise escapes her throat when he presses down on her tongue, letting her get a proper taste of the minty sweetness. He lingers for a moment too long when there’s an itch in his lower abdomen from the sight of her sucking on his thumb; an urge to tuck another digit in and push in deeper, make her gag around his fingers.  

He clears his throat in order to shake the thoughts away, pulling his thumb out from her greedy little mouth, no complaints or grumbling about toothpaste following after. She solely blinks up at him with her doe eyes all dumb, seemingly having lost the ability to speak.  

“It’s good, right?” He asks, a mocking lilt to his tone. 

“Mhm,” she manages out, brain mushy and mind clouding over with a starry haze that seems to follow her for the rest of their walk, merely nodding and humming out responses to his questions. He finds all this entirely too amusing, unable to wipe the taunting smile off his face.  

When a group of people pass them by on the narrow sidewalk, Rafe settles a heavy palm on her waist, pulling her closer and preventing her from stumbling into them. However, instead of removing his hold on her altogether after they’ve successfully bypassed them, he opts to slip a warm hand in the back pocket of her jeans; tugging her to his side. And she really can’t withhold a stupid smile from pulling at her lips or the way her cheeks dust over with a plum tinge.  

He continues on with whatever story he was telling her (she stopped listening halfway through the moment she felt his touch on her) as if this is all completely mundane for him and they aren’t walking around like an enamored couple right now.  

Then, as if for good measure, he mindlessly squeezes her ass with the hand stuffed in her back pocket, making her look up him, but there’s merely a lazy grin hanging on the raspberry mouth she remembers all too well kissing just the other day on his couch.  

Her cerebrum short-circuits and she has half the mind to scold him. After all, they’re in public and he’s groping her rather immodestly. However, how is she meant to do that when he gazes down at her and his eyes mirror cerulean droplets of early morning dew underneath the amber glow of the waking sunbeams?  

“So, what do you think?” His question suddenly reaches her eardrums.  

“About…what?”  

An amused chuckle tumbles from his throat.  

“Said your boss wanted to renovate the cafe, right? Could help with that, give her a discount and shit?” 

“Oh. That’d be— great, yeah. I’ll make sure to…let her know,” she barely manages the words out because his palm resting on her ass is making her thighs press together and it’s getting more arduous to inhale and exhale like a regular human by every passing second.  

Once they’re back in the shelter of his truck, instead of starting the engine, he turns to look at her. She shifts ungracefully in the leather seat, trying to ignore the ache deep in her marrow that’s been bothering her their whole way back. He’s wearing shorts and her eyes zone in on his legs, heavy lids blinking sluggishly as she avoids his piercing stare. 

“You want something?” 

“Hm? Oh, no… what— what do you mean?” She stutters.  

“You don’t think I see the way you keep looking at me?” He rasps out, brows raising. “Been feeling a little needy after you sucked on my thumb, have you?”  

“I…um—” 

“Bet you’re so sticky right now. Shit, must be uncomfortable at this point, no?” His face creases in mock concern as a faint whine leaves her. 

“C’mere,” he encourages, patting his thigh.  

“O— okay,” she clumsily wobbles over the console, settling on his lap.  

“Didn’t tell you to sit there, did I?” He says before he’s lifting her up and then setting her back down until she’s properly straddling his thigh. “Now that’s better, isn’t it?” 

“Rafe…someone could see us,” she suddenly remembers, turning her head around, peering through the car window at the busy parking lot, people striding along the pavement; girls in bikinis carrying towels, couples laughing and chatty families all thriving under the beaming sun.  

“Honestly don’t really give a shit. Why don’t we just…let them see how much of a dirty girl you are, yeah?” He grins at her; showcasing pearly white teeth and making her whine in response.  

With her eyes flitting to the window once more, she inspects the seas of people loitering about, but she doesn’t think anyone’s noticed them yet. However, she doesn’t have any more time to observe them before he’s yanking her back to face him, fingers digging into her jaw.  

“Look at me,” his brows furrow, seemingly upset that her attention isn’t on him. 

“Sorry, I just...” 

“Relax, alright? They can’t even see your face, just a horny slut humping my leg,” he reassures her, mushing her cheeks together and smudging a sloppy kiss on her puckered lips when she drags out his name, flushing in humiliation.  

“Why don’t we take these off, hm?” He mutters, not even bothering to wait for a response before he’s dragging down the zipper of her jeans. Then he’s tugging them down her legs, leaving her in just a flimsy pair of underwear.  

She gasps, eyes rounding out when she feels his firm thigh against her drippy cunt, relieving some of the tension in her limbs.  

“This shit gets you off, doesn’t it? The fact that anyone could just look through the window and see how fucking desperate you get for me?” He asks, something mean glinting in his gaze. 

“Go on then, if you want it, gotta work for it, yeah?” He’s lazily leaning back against the seat, long legs spread out and a smirk painted on his face as he simply gazes at her.  

She doesn’t think she’s ever felt more embarrassed, cheeks burning when she gives a tentative roll of her hips against him, whimpering out because the fabric between them is not only paper thin but also soaked through at this point.  

“There you go, Sweetheart. That feel good?”  

She mewls, nodding all frantic; rutting against his thigh some more. Then he’s plucking at her panties, pulling the sodden material to the side, allowing for her to really feel the sturdy muscles there; skin to skin.  

She’s becoming louder and louder as her swollen clit keeps occasionally bumping against him, making him smear his mouth on hers; muffling her whining in the process when her thighs begin to grow sore.  

“Rafe…I’m tired— can you…” she complains.   

“You’re tired? What if I’m tired too?” There’s something in his mocking question that tells her he’s anything but.  

 “Rafe, can you just— can you help?” 

“Where’d your manners go, hm? Why don’t you ask nicely?”  

“Rafe please, I need to…can you help me please I need you to— need you to help,” her distressed eyes are becoming watery and he chuckles, low from his chest. 

“You don’t even know what you’re saying, do you? Get so dumb every time we do this. Couldn’t even fuck you properly before you passed out on me that night in your bed, remember?” 

“Hey, that’s not fair. I was so sleepy—” 

“What’s not fair is me constantly having to do all the work while you just whine like a helpless baby,” his voice is condescending, making wet droplets stain her cheeks.   

“I’m sorry, don’t mean to...”  

“I know, Sweetheart. I know,” he says while gripping at her hips, supporting her weight and dragging her over his solid thigh, making her moan out loud.  

“Can’t do anything yourself, can you? Need my help with everything, yeah?” His rugged paws roll her hips against him, hard, again and again.  

“Mhm. Need you—” a loud noise leaves her throat when he pushes his leg up against her; forcing her puffy clit to harshly rub against the skin that her weepy cunt has made so wet, to the point where he can feel it whenever she glides against it. “Rafe, I’m gonna…” 

“Yeah? Gonna come? Soak my thigh more for me?”  

She whimpers when he presses her down firmer. 

“Shit, Sweetheart. Look so fucking pretty like this,” he mutters out, blue gemstones fixated on her trembling form before the knot in her stomach begins to loosen, the piece of yarn snapping as she begins to unspool in his arms, crying out because she feels so delighted she doesn’t know what to do.  

“There you go, just do anything I ask, don’t you?” He murmurs when her head drops against his steady chest as he rakes his fingertips through the strands of her hair; blunt nails scratching at her scalp.  

There are stars in her eyesight, nearly a full-blown galaxy and she thinks she could die happy right now; his strong grip steadying her and making her feel like nothing else matters. There’s only this moment. Him and her.  

She wants to stay in the safety of his hold for evermore because she’s positive the only reason her poor heart is beating in her ribcage these days is because of him.  

As an afterthought, she wonders if maybe she’s just in love.  

[reiding-writing]

Hey can i ask for cold!Reader where someone calls her heartless and stuff like that, cuz u know, she has that reputation, and then Spencer finds her crying and comforts her?? cuz she has feelings but it is hard to show them

BREAKING THE ICE [ONESHOT]

/ˈbɹeɪkɪŋ ðiː ɑ́js/

Sometimes people just cry, there doesn’t really have to be a reason. But when you have a reputation for being cold and uncaring, being emotionally vulnerable with other people isn’t very easy. Spencer doesn’t care though, he’ll get through to you either way.

spencer x cold!reader | hurt/comfort | 2.3k I series masterlist!!

WARNINGS: fem!reader, depictions of a panic attack, reader is a lil mean to spencer but it kinda comes with the territory

a/n: cold!reader is my roman empire i love writing emotionally complex characters man (i also feel the need to let everyone know that this fic was originally called ‘micheal in the bathroom’)

main masterlist!! ⋆｡°✩ part two!!

You hated crying.

You hated the way it made you look, with tears staining your cheeks and a blotchy complexion from your fluctuating temperature, the way your shoulders trembled like a leaf in the wind.

You hated the way it made you feel, your throat tight and constricting your airflow, your head pounding with an impending headache from your irregular breathing and the constant dread at the idea of somebody finding you in the state you were in.

The worst part was you didn’t even have a valid reason to be crying. You hadn’t gone through a life-altering trauma, you hadn’t lost anyone, hell you hadn’t even had a mild inconvenience today; But here you were, crying in the unisex toilets during your lunch break, because apparently the gods had decided your life wasn’t miserable enough already.

Your hands gripped the edge of the sink like it was your only anchor to the physical world, your hands tensing so hard that your knuckles were turning white and the tips of your fingers were beginning to ache.

Your laboured breathing was echoing through the stalls, reminding you of just how pathetic you sounded and only amplifying that sinking feeling in your chest that decided to invade your mind for no apparent reason and rip your brain to pieces until the only thing you could think of was how horrible you felt.

You weren’t just crying anymore. It was like your body was trying to tear itself up from the inside out. And there was no reason for any of it.

Then there was a soft knock on the door, almost quiet enough that you couldn’t hear it over the sounds of your own anguish.

It was to be expected at some point you suppose, you’d locked the outside door instead of just locking yourself in one of the stalls, providing you with complete privacy for your breakdown but also inconveniencing the rest of the office by taking up twelve stalls instead of just one.

Still, you weren’t ready to unlock the door yet. There was no way in hell you were going to let one of your coworkers walk in and see you bent over one of the sinks like the pathetic failure you felt.

You had a reputation to uphold. They could find another bathroom to piss in.

You weren’t ‘heartless’ by any means, but you were strong, and that is what your coworkers needed to see, not this.

You didn’t mind being called an ‘ice queen’ by Morgan every morning if it meant that they didn’t see you like this. You didn’t mind keeping a barrier up between you and the rest of your team if it meant that you didn’t break down in front of them. But god sometimes you wished they’d see you as more than a wall of stone with no emotional capacity so that you could actually have someone to lean on in moments like this one.

But you suppose that half of it is your fault. They wouldn’t see you as some emotionally removed robot if you weren’t presenting yourself like that in the first place.

There’s another knock at the door, joined by a voice this time, Spencer’s voice, and it was calling your last name.

He was literally the last person you wanted to see.

Of all the people on the team, Spencer had been the one to slowly chip away at the obsidian shield you protected yourself with, and with no force whatsoever. He’d settled for taking place besides you and letting you acclimate to him in your own time. He never pried or pushed, he respected your boundaries and your wish to not get emotionally attached, and he never judged you for how you presented yourself to the world.

He was the best type of person that you could surround yourself with, and that made him the worst type of person for you to see right now.

You’re trying to compose yourself, not make your emotional rampage worse at the hands of someone so caring that your walls may as well be made of glass and have them shattered the second his breath hits their surface.

The knocking doesn’t stop whilst you mentally curse Spencer’s kindness in your head, nor does his voice, but he’s transitioned from calling your last name to calling your first. It’s not helping.

“I’m fine Reid,” You strain your voice so it doesn’t crack under the weight of your emotions, closing your eyes so you don’t have to face your reflection in the mirror. “Just give me a few minutes.”

“Are you sure?” You can hear the concern lacing his voice even through the way it’s muffled by the two inches of wood between you. “The average time taken by women when going to the bathroom is 4 minutes and 39 seconds, you’ve been in there for over 12 now,”

Curse Spencer Reid and his inherent ability to make everything logical.

“I’m fine.” Even in a state of absolute distress you still manage to push absolutely everyone away.

“I really don’t want to pry but you don’t sound fine,”

“Reid, leave it.” You know he’s not going to. He might stop trying to verbally get you to admit your feelings, but you know for a fact that when you open that door he is going to be waiting for you on the other side.

You’d given Spencer a bit too much leeway in not enduring the wrath of your psychological defences, and now he’s slowly becoming impervious to your dismissals.

He’s not as intimidated by you as he was four years ago, and it is not doing wonders for your attempts at keeping people at an arms-length.

You’re going to have to face him eventually.

You take in a deep breath as you resign yourself to your fate, inhaling until you can feel the pressure of your lungs against your diaphragm and letting it out slowly through your mouth, forcing your heart rate to slow to an acceptable level as you swipe your index fingers under your eyes to rid your cheeks of the mascara stains painting your face.

You glare at yourself in the mirror as you try to make yourself look presentable again, wetting your hands and pressing them to your cheeks to cool down your face and fixing the wrinkles in your shirt from having been bent over in an awkward position for so long.

You’d say it worked to an extent, and the natural narrowing of your eyes in your resting expression helped to hide the pink irritation from you rubbing them constantly over the last ten minutes, but you worked with profilers, so you’re sure they’d be able to see right through you.

Alas, you’d made your bed by crying in the office bathroom in the first place, now you had to lie in it.

The clicking of the lock as you open the door stirs Spencer’s attention, and he stops leaning against the wall with a furrowed expression to stand straight in front of it like a pet waiting for their owner to come home.

You’re fairly confident in the stability of your emotional state as you open the door to enter back into the office, and that confidence is immediately ripped away the second you meet Spencer’s eyes.

The look on his face is nothing less than absolute concern for you, and it causes the wafer of your remaining emotional shield to disintegrate as soon as those hazel eyes lock onto yours.

You swallow back a lump that rises in your throat at his gaze, averting your eyes from him as you feel them prick with tears again and turning your body back in the direction of the bathroom you’d emerged from, fully intent on locking yourself back in there for as long as it takes for you to get yourself under control.

You cannot believe you just allowed Spencer to see you like that.

“Hey-” Spencer catches the door with his foot as you try to close it on him, most definitely causing him pain in the process from how quickly you tried to slam it behind you. But his expression didn’t show that, it continued to show that soft, sweet kindness that was entirely concerned for your well being. “You’re not fine…”

“No shit Sherlock-” You take in a sharp breath through your nose as you speak, your tone harsh and icy as you turn your head over your shoulder towards him. He knew it was an emotional defence mechanism, but it still stung just a little.

Spencer sighs softly as he follows into the bathroom after you, locking the door after him like you had done earlier to provide you with at least a bit of the privacy you desired. He wasn’t exactly sure to to approach the conversation about what you were feeling with you, afraid that if he misstepped he’d only push you further into your emotional pit of solitude.

“Did you know that a person’s emotional state is best presented in what they wear?” Resorting to statistics was always the first choice. “Studies have shown that the type and material that a person’s clothes are, as well as they way they’re worn, correlate with the type of emotions they are feeling,”

You’re wearing a shirt and slacks, which most would agree was fairly typical office attire, he was wearing almost exactly the same. But you’d undone an extra button on your collar today, presumably to try and help alleviate the restricting feeling against your throat, and your slacks were wide-legged instead of straight-legged like usual which was likely again to try and help with the constriction you were experiencing.

If he had to wager a guess, he’d say you woke up on the brink of an emotional breakdown today, which meant that it wasn’t caused by something that had happened during the day. That usually left the only explanation as something much deeper at play than just some off-hand experience.

“And let my guess, my clothes are displaying complete patheticness?” You gesture your hands exaggeratedly as you turn around to face him once more, the tears rolling down your cheeks illuminated underneath the overhead lighting. “Because that’s how I feel right now,”

“Being upset doesn’t make you pathetic at all-” Spencer sounds genuinely offended at the idea of you finding yourself pathetic for feeling regular human emotions. There was nothing wrong with crying or being emotionally overwhelmed. “It’s a beneficial part of human nature,”

“It doesn’t feel very ‘beneficial’ to me,” You lean your lower back against the line of sinks as you continue to blow of his attempts at opening an emotionally vulnerable conversation with you, but you also weren’t completely shutting him down either.

Spencer takes a step closer, his eyes still filled with genuine concern. "I know it might not feel like it now, but allowing yourself to feel and express these emotions is healthy. It's okay to not be okay sometimes."

You let out a shaky sigh, feeling a bit of the tension ease out of your shoulders at his words. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was time to stop pretending everything was fine when it wasn't. "I just... hate feeling like this," you admit quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer nods in understanding, his expression softening even more. "I get it, I really do. But you don't have to hide what you’re feeling because you’re trying to protect yourself. I'm here for you, whatever you need."

His words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment you feel like your mind is just going to give in and forget everything that had become a staple of your character so that you could feel that emotional connection that you knew was going to be good for your mental health.

But if wasn’t exactly that easy.

You offer him a small, tentative smile, grateful for his unwavering support even though you weren’t going to actually take it. Not entirely anyway. "I appreciate that,"

He returns your smile with one of his own, small and awkward and the perfect encapsulation of Spencer’s character. “Of course,”

He knew you weren’t just going to magically change your personality and start emotionally leaning on him, but he was glad that you were acknowledging his efforts in at least trying to be a pillar of support for you.

You’d stopped crying now, so that was a good sign in itself that the conversation had benefited you in some way or other, and for now, that was enough.

You could think about the complications later.

part two!!

[lolxdswag123]

Aftermath of a Mission

Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Summary: y/n and Peter are used to decompressing after a mission together. This time, it isn’t so easy. What happens when they both have to figure it outout on their own?

warnings: crying, some angst, accidental pulling out of hair, slight ptsd

——————————————————————————

Exhausted. Aching. Bored. I couldn’t focus on a word that Dr. Banner was saying during our debrief. All I could do was sit back and stare at the wall until it was over.

I wasn’t even sure why I had to attend these meetings as I wasn’t technically even an Avenger. My dad insisted that I sit in because it’ll be useful to me in the future.

I tapped my foot, checking my watch, anxious to leave the conference room. I glanced across the table to my best friend, who looked just as exhausted as I felt. I definitely zoned out looking at him, because the next thing I noticed was him looking back at me with furrowed eyebrows, as if asking what’s wrong.

I let out a yawn in response, shooting a glance at the door and hoping he could read my thoughts. I just wanted to get out of there.

Missions can be fun sometimes, but the recovery is most certainly not. I’d typically spend about a day in bed before I could finally start functioning as a normal human being again. Usually that day in bed is spent with my best friend.

It started after a particularly rough mission about a year ago. Peter wasn’t even going out with us yet at that point, but he had just been sick— and we both desperately needed rest. I had gotten a minor injury to my ribs, and Peter being the sweetest best friend in the world decided to come check on me and bring me ice. He ended up falling asleep next to me for about 15 hours. My dad threw a tantrum.

Ever since then— as long as we’re sneaky enough— it has become a habit for us after we come back from missions. And maybe a few other occasions as well.

It was just easier to sleep next to someone else. Especially after the mental and emotional strain that missions bring. Being with someone who brings you comfort makes all the difference.

I swear I was already half asleep by the time the meeting finally ended, moving extra slowly as I got up and exited the room. I latched onto Peter's arm, leaning most of my body weight on him as we headed to the elevators.

Steve and Nat stayed behind, somehow still having more to discuss. They were nuts.

We entered the elevator with my dad and Thor. They each pressed their respective buttons, going to the floors of the compound that their rooms were on. I reached out as well, pressing the level 3 button for my room.

My dad stood up straight, moving in front of the elevator panel before glancing over at us and speaking, "Where you headed, Pete?"

Peter didn't have a real room at the compound yet, so he really should've been headed to the showers on level 1. Although, for the past year he has just been showering in my bathroom- not to my dad's knowledge of course.

"Uh-mm," he choked out smoothly.

I shook my head, speaking for him, "He's just going to shower in my bathroom, dad."

I could feel Peter tense against me, clearly afraid of my dad's reaction.

My father dramatically turned his head, using his palm to bang on his ear a couple times, before removing his ear piece all together and saying, "I'm sorry, I must have misheard you. It sounded like you just said that Spider-boy is showering in your bathroom."

I rolled my eyes, sighing, about to speak back when Thor spoke up, "Ah, Stark, let them have their fun. On Asgard I had many women bathing in my chambers by that age." He said, patting my father on the back.

I rolled my eyes, knowing Thor's comment is no help at all.

My father shook his head, facing me and sticking a scolding finger out at me, "You are not showering with your little boyfriend under my roof. Understood?"

I blushed, hating his phrasing. The elevator stopped, and Thor stepped forward, nodding awkwardly to us before exiting.

When the doors closed again, I rolled my eyes, turning to my father again, "First of all, we're not showering together," I said, using air quotes, "And second, he isn't my boyfriend. It's just easier to have someone there after these missions, you know that better than anyone, dad."

I crossed my arms, awaiting his response.

He shook his head, "Nope. Not today, kid. Pete, I'll escort you to the first floor showers."

The elevator door dinged, and it was my turn to leave. I glanced up at Peter, hoping that he would find a way to come back to my room later. He gave me a nervous look, so I wasn't too sure he would.

I squeezed his hand, exiting the elevator without looking back, but I could hear my dad mumbling something about "no spider-babies" as I walked away.

After a much-needed, very refreshing shower, I sat on my bed in my towel, feeling the weight of the past few days lingering over me like a storm cloud, ready to let loose at any moment.

Usually after missions Peter and I would immediately come to my room, and everyone was too exhausted to even pay attention. Today however, the debrief had taken so long that there was no easy way for us to come back together.

It felt lonely. I had a heavy feeling of emptiness in my heart. I hadn’t realized how much I’d gotten used to his presence at times like these. Even with the winding down after we got back— he had always been there. We’d sit in eachother’s comfortable silence, he’d comb my hair for me, we’d patch up eachother’s wounds, and then we’d fall asleep together.

I was embarrassed by how much this was affecting me. I was a Stark, I should’ve been okay being alone. And yet, I could feel tears stinging my eyes as I sat there, trying to comb out my own hair. My hands were shaking from a mixture of fatigue and frustration, making it even more difficult to get through the knots. Peter had always been so gentle.

My comb got stuck on a particularly tough knot. I tugged, causing clump of hair to come out, and I couldn’t hold back anymore. I instantly started sobbing.

I could feel my body trembling, desperately needing sleep and desperately needing company. I threw on the first clothes that I could find, knowing I looked crazy, and headed out into the hall in search of my best friend.

I cried, wiping my tears with the sleeves of my shirt, and shifted uncomfortably with the feeling of wet hair on my back. I felt overstimulated if the feeling of overstimulation was on steroids and a red bull.

I heard footsteps from the other end of the hall, and I sniffled, my voice cracking as I called out, “Peter?”

I felt pain in the side of my head, and I reached up to be reminded of the broken strands of hair that were now hanging sadly to the side. I sobbed again.

I didn’t hear a response, so I called out again, “Peter?”

Peter didn’t round the corner. Bucky did. I wiped my tears, knowing that I looked like a mess, and attempted to force a smile at him.

He frowned, running his hand through his own wet hair. “Oh, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” He asked gently, reaching out to me.

I immediately felt the lump in my throat grow as tears began streaming down my face again. I didn’t trust my words, so I just shook my head, looking at the ground.

“Do you want me to find Peter?” He asked gently, resting his hand on my shoulder.

I nodded, swallowing hard and trying to find my words. “Please,” I whispered.

He nodded, stepping forward to wrap me in a hug. I cried into his shoulder. It did give me a sense of comfort to be with anyone at this point. I knew I was just so over exhausted that my feelings were all messed up, but I knew I really needed Peter.

Bucky rubbed my back, trying his best to comfort me before slowly pulling away. “You gonna be okay if I go look for Peter?”

I nodded, wiping my tears again and said, “Thanks, Bucky. You’re the best.”

He smiled sadly, nodding and turned back to the elevator— hopefully in search of Peter. I didn’t care if the whole compound knew how much of a mess I was at this point if it meant he would come find me.

I walked back to my room, and the tears stopped. I felt numb, and exhausted. I left the comb on my nightstand. I couldn’t deal with that now. I turned off my lights and crawled into bed, shivering with pain— physical and emotional.

I’m not sure how long I layed there. It might’ve been five minutes, it might’ve been fifteen, but eventually I heard my door open and close quietly, and soft footsteps entered the room.

I felt the covers lift up, and the bed dipped next to me. I immediately sighed with relief, feeling his arms wrap around me. I could hear his breath shaking, and I pushed him back slightly, trying to see his face in the dark.

“What’s wrong baby?” I whispered, reaching behind me to turn on my lamp. My heart broke when I saw tears on his face, and I could see his expression drop even more when he looked into my swollen eyes.

He grabbed my hands, pulling me close and whispered, “I didn’t realize how much I’d gotten used to being with you after a mission,” he took a deep breath, trying to steady his breathing, “then Bucky found me when I was talking to your dad and he told me you needed me and I kind of lost it. You know that thing that happens when my senses freak out? It was like that but ten times worse.” I nodded feeling tears start to fall again when his voice cracked, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

I shook my head, taking his face in my hands. “It’s okay, Pete, it’s okay. Are you doing okay now?”

He nodded, tucking his face into my hand. “I’m okay. Are you okay?”

I nodded, laughing and lifting one of my hands off of his face to find my broken section of hair. “I accidentally took some of my hair out.”

Instead of laughing, his face dropped in concern, and he then reached his own hands out to hold my face, “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

I shook my head, finding comfort in the warmth of his hands on my face, “You’re here now, it’s okay.”

He nodded, moving close and pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. I smiled, and closed my eyes at the soft gesture of affection.

When he pulled away, I opened my eyes and furrowed my eyebrows, realizing I must’ve missed something. “How’d you get my dad to let you up here?” I asked.

He sighed, “After Bucky told us how he found you, then I went into sensory overload, he kinda just sent me off.”

I raised my eyebrows in surprise, but didn’t respond.

“I think it hurt him,” Peter said, “hearing how upset you were.”

I nodded, yawning and moving closer to rest my head on his chest and he wrapped his arms around me. I finally felt safe again, and I felt a warm sensation in my chest.

Peter kissed the top of my head, whispering, “Get some sleep, angel.”

I nodded, hesitating for just a second. I knew what I wanted to say, we’d just never said it out loud before. I never knew if it was crossing the line past being just friends, but after today I didn’t care. I needed him to know.

“I love you, Peter.” I whispered, hugging him tightly.

“I love you too.” He answered without hesitation, hugging me back.

I smiled, sitting up to look at him, taking his face in my hands again.

“I love you,” I whispered again, seeing him smile as well.

“I love you, baby,” he whispered back, leaning into my touch.

Without thinking any more, I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss on his lips. When I pulled away, he was smiling at me with such a look of adoration that I almost teared up again.

I was about to lay back on his chest and go to sleep, but he gently took my face in his hands, returning another soft kiss to my lips. When we pulled away, we both blinked hard, looking at each other with so much love.

Finally, I laid my head back on his chest and we both fell into a deep sleep. It was almost fifteen hours later that I was awaken to my dad bursting into the room, saying, “Just because I was fine with it doesn’t mean you need to sleep together for fifteen hours. Get out Spider-boy.”

[wosoamazing]

Unsure

Lia Wälti x Mariona Caldentey x Child!R

Warnings: Injury, blood nose, concussion

Notes: Once again a shorter one, also my first time writing for Mariona and this pairing but I hope you like it. (Also sorry if it is a bit boring) 900 words

The second Mariona moves in, you retract into your shell, you know her, and Mummy has explained to you what is going to happen multiple times, but it’s still scary, you don’t know if you can trust her, if she is safe and if she won't hurt you. You don’t talk to her for the whole first two weeks of her living with you, and when she tries to talk to you, you hide behind your Mummy’s legs or a piece of furniture, by the third week you decide she is okay but you still don’t talk to her, only nod or shake your head, and it’s only when you’re in the safety of your Mum, Leah or Steph.

It’s on the first day of America camp that Mariona breaks, seeing you play with Steph or Leah hurt, Mariona wanted to be able to do that with you.

“She doesn’t like me,” Mariona says, trying to hold back her tears, she knew you’d been through a lot before you were placed into Lia’s care, way too much for someone who was only four but she just couldn’t help but feel like you hated her.

“She just doesn’t know you, until me no one she lived with she could trust. It took months for her to get to where she is with Leah and Steph, she will warm up to you, she just needs to learn she can trust you and that you're safe, and once she does it will be like a switch, it was for me and with Leah and Steph too. I promise, it will be okay,” Lia reassures her girlfriend before pulling her into a tight hug.

You were on your Mum’s shoulders as she walked beside Leah, when Leah accidently bumped into you sending you and your Mum tumbling to the ground, causing someone’s hand to smash into your nose and thick red stuff started dripping from it, making you feel slightly sick.

“Hi Pea,” you heard Leah say, and you squatted her away with a mumbled “no”, she’d been the one to push you over, Leah decided to back off and go see if she could help Lia instead.

“Niña,” it was Mariona, “do you think I could have a look at your nose? I won’t touch,” you hesitantly nodded your head and removed your hand from your face, “that doesn’t look too good, does it hurt?” you nodded again, before one of the medics told Mariona something and she nodded, “do you want to go sit in the shade over there by the wall and maybe the medics could have a look at your nose? Maybe give you something to stop it hurting?” 

“You come with?” it was the first thing you’d ever said to Mariona and she had to try and not cry, a switch had flipped in your brain and Mariona was definitely grateful for it.

“Of course I will,” you stood up and took her hand, walking over to the area she had pointed to earlier, waiting for her to sit down so you could sit in her lap.

-

You now sat in Mariona’s lap, leaning forward slightly as you pinched your nose, one of those cardboard bowls sat in front of you, so you didn’t get blood on you, Mariona held an ice pack to the back of your neck whilst her other hand rubbed soothing circles on your back.

“Stopped?” you asked as you twisted around to face her, she inspected your nose before nodding.

“Si, it seems like it, do you want to stay here?” you nodded as you repositioned yourself, so that you could curl up in her lap, your side leaning against her front.

“Is Mummy okay?” you asked

“Si, she is most likely a little hurt but they are taking very good care of her, I promise,”

“Do you want to go see Mummy?” you nodded, “We’re going to have to be quiet though, because Mummy’s head is more hurt than yours,” Mariona told you before carrying you up to their room, knowing Lia had been taken up to the room after the medics assessed her.

-

“Hi baby girl,” your Mummy said kind of funnily as you walked in.

“Hi mummy,” you whispered back, before looking at Mariona nervously.

“Do you want to lie with Mummy?” Mariona asks you softly and you nod.

“And you,” you said, keeping your voice quiet, and Mariona nodded before helping you onto the bed and getting in beside you, you curled up into Lia’s side and very quickly fell asleep.

-

“I see someone has decided you’re okay,” Lia says to her girlfriend, with an I told you so tone to her voice.

“Si, except we might now have some issues with Leah. But I don’t want you to worry about that until your head is better. How are you feeling?”

“Okay, I mean my head hurts obviously and all that stuff, and I still feel slightly sick but other than that I’m okay. How is she?” 

“She is okay, it was just a blood nose, nothing is broken, they think it was just the shock that made it seem worse,” Mariona replied smiling at Lia, “go back to sleep, and if you need anything just let me know,”

[harmonicakai]

Midas Touch

Part 2 of the "Somebody Else" series

Pairing: Soobin x Reader, Yeonjun x Reader

Summary: As you and Soobin work on becoming a more believable fake couple, you both realize your initial impressions of each other aren't as accurate as you thought.

Tropes: love triangle, unrequited love, fake dating, frat boy!yeonjun, nerd!soobin, roommates, college AU, childhood best friends

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: sexual TENSION (mdni!), swearing, yj is an asshole, mentions of masturbation and sex

A/N: Yeonjun is barely in this sorry guys :-(

"The look of you when I open my eyes So bright that I couldn’t dare to approach My heart that wants to be like you Gets colored, filled with you" —New, Yves

Your room is much nicer than Soobin’s, albeit messier. There’s clothes scattered all across the floor, and your twin sized bed is covered in stuffed animals.

“Sorry,” you apologize, piling things onto your desk chair. “I didn’t think anybody would actually be coming over tonight. I mean, not like anybody is here any other night, either.”

“That’s okay,” Soobin reassures you. He’s relieved to hear that you don’t tend to have any late night visitors. You grab one of your favorite throw blankets and chuck it at him.

“Hope you’re okay with the floor,” you say. “If this actually becomes a regular thing, I’ll work out a more comfortable sleeping arrangement.”

“I’m good with whatever,” he says. Really, he thinks that if you let him sleep in your bed with you, he’d probably explode, so this is a good thing.

“Here,” you say, handing him a spare toothbrush. “Let’s get unready.”

Soobin is mesmerized at watching your nighttime routine, but he’s especially interested in the way you remove your makeup and layer on a complex combination of skincare products. You’re even nice enough to share and guide him through each step.

“This one brightens your face,” you explain, “And this one helps with texture.”

Soobin’s never considered any of these issues before. He kind of just rinses his face with water and things work out okay for him. 

You watch him to make sure he goes in the right order, and he can’t help but notice how you’re equally as beautiful without makeup. You’ve got a silly plush headband pushing your hair out of your face, and you’ve given him one to match.

It all feels a bit too real standing at the bathroom sink together. 

“All done?” you ask, snapping him out of his daydream. He nods, and you lead him back to your bedroom.

When you get back, your roommate, Jia, is sitting in the common room eating a tub of ice cream and watching TV. She’s cool with you bringing Yeonjun around all the time, but isn’t used to seeing new faces pop up. 

“Hi,” you greet her, before gesturing to your guest. “This is Soobin. Soobin, this is my roommate, Jia.”

“Hi,” he says, giving an awkward wave. Jia gives a half grin, her mouth full, before waving and shooting you a look that says she’s going to need every detail later.

“We’ll be in my room,” you say, grabbing Soobin’s hand and dragging him along. 

While things felt blissfully domestic in the bathroom, they’re as awkward as can be in the bedroom. The two of you really know nothing about each other, except for maybe the classes you take. 

Soobin wonders if you’re just tired or you just don’t want to talk to him. For his sake, he decides on the former, watching as you switch the lamp off and turn to face the wall. 

“Goodnight, Soobin,” you say, hoping he’s comfortable enough on your floor.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replies. His heartbeat is still racing, and he spends a good portion of the night listening to the way your breathing becomes slow and steady, willing himself to match its pace. That night, all he dreams about is you.

—————-

If things were awkward right before bed, they’re even worse when you and Soobin wake up to a fire alarm. 

“Soobin,” you say, crawling out of bed and shaking him. He must be a heavy sleeper. “Soobin, get up.”

His eyes flutter open and he’s got a dopey smile when he sees you. “Huh? What time is it?”

“It’s only six, but there’s a fire alarm. We have to go outside.” You offer a hand to help him up, but he looks at you funny. “Is something wrong?”

“I can’t get up,” he gulps, glancing at his crotch. “Morning wood.”

“Nobody will care,” you huff, covering your ears in an attempt to dampen the siren. “I’m sorry. I just—I can’t stand loud noises.”

A little embarrassment is nothing compared to making sure you’re comfortable. In an instant, Soobin is up, your blanket wrapped around him like a cape as you file into the crowd of evacuating students.

“Hold my hand,” you whisper, and he doesn’t need anymore convincing before lacing his fingers into yours. To everybody, you look like a real couple. People mostly know you around campus as Yeonjun’s friend, so hopefully they’ll start to talk when they see you with another guy for once.

Soobin notices how you’re shivering in just a t-shirt and sleep shorts and wraps the blanket around you too, pulling you in to share his body heat. He’s so cozy, and his chest feels more solid than you expected. 

“Thank you,” you say, peering up at him, your arms finding their way around his waist. His hair is messier than you’ve ever seen it, but it somehow works for him. He smiles back at you, and you note his dimples and the way his eyes light up.

Choi Soobin is cute. He might not be your type, but any girl would be lucky to have him.

Even though he doesn’t really want to, Soobin heads back to his own room after the fire alarm is over. It was really sweet of him to keep you company while you waited, you think to yourself.

When Soobin gets back, Yeonjun is sitting in the kitchen, nursing his hangover with a huge spread of breakfast. 

“Look who’s back,” Yeonjun slurs, wearing sunglasses indoors. “Have fun with Y/N?”

“I did, actually. She showed me her skincare routine.”

“Is that all she showed you?” He’s lifted his sunglasses up now.

“Yes.” Soobin knows if he says more, it’ll be too obvious the relationship is fake.

“So the girl of your dreams took you to her bedroom and you didn’t hook up with her?”

“It’s not like that between us,” Soobin asserts. “I want to take my time. Treat her right.”

“Soob,” Yeonjun starts, a grin plastered on his face. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

“And what if I am?”

“I knew it!” Yeonjun leans into the couch, clapping.

“I’m going to shower,” Soobin says, walking towards the bathroom.

“Don’t take too long jacking off to Y/N,” his roommate calls after him.

“You’re gross!”

“Maybe, but I’m right, aren’t I?”

Yeonjun is right. As soon as Soobin steps under the hot water, he can’t get you off of his mind. The way your fingers felt laced through his hair, or the taste of your lip gloss. Your cute moles that your foundation usually covers up and the way you snuggled into him to keep warm.

He’s got it bad, finishing after he’s barely even touched himself. That’s the kind of effect you have on him, and he knows that if he’s going to be around you more and more, he’s going to have to learn to control himself.

When he gets out of the shower, you’re sitting on the couch, looking as beautiful as ever. Soobin stops dead in his tracks, blinking back the water that’s dripping from his hair. In an attempt to cover up his bare chest, he almost drops the towel from around his waist.

“Y/N! Hi–hey!” he stutters, his eyes wide. What were you doing here and why were you so dressed up?

“Hi, Soobie,” you smile at him, standing up and hugging him. “Ooh, bad idea. You’re getting me all wet.”

“That’s probably the only way he can,” Yeonjun chuckles. You turn and shoot him a dirty look.

“Hurry up and put some clothes on,” you tell Soobin. “I don’t want to lose our reservation.”

“Right, yes. Sorry,” he says, walking past you and into his room.

“Please tell me you’re not just messing with that poor boy,” Yeonjun sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t think he’d ever recover.”

“No, Yeonjun,” you cross your arms. “Unlike some people, it matters who I bring home with me.”

“So, you actually like him?”

“He’s sweet,” you reason, refusing to elaborate any further.

“Am I not?” You couldn’t tell if you could sense a tinge of jealousy in his voice.

“Why don’t you ask one of the other girls you kissed the other night and get back to me?” Your anger catches both you and him off guard. Usually, you’re Yeonjun’s doormat. 

You stare at each other in silence before finally looking away. It feels like hours before Soobin comes back out of his room, wearing his glasses and a white button down. It’s nerdy, but in a cute way. It’s quintessentially him.

“Ready?” you ask, holding out your hand for him.

“Yeah, ready,” he says, lacing his fingers into yours. “Bye, Yeonjun. We’ll see you later.”

“Bye,” he mutters, eyes locked on his phone screen. “Have fun.”

You close the door behind you without a word.

—————-

“This isn’t what I was expecting when you said we had a reservation,” Soobin says, eyeing the study room in the library that you’ve rented out for the next couple of hours. “I could’ve at least brought some homework to do.”

“This isn’t a study date,” you clarify. “Well, technically it is, except we’re studying each other. If we’re going to be a couple, we need to look and act like one.”

“Agreed.” Soobin’s palms are already starting to sweat. He had always thought of you as quiet and sweet around Yeonjun, but you seem so confident when it’s just you and him.

“I brought a game for us to play to get to know each other better,” you say, opening up your tote bag and digging out a deck of cards. “We’ll start with level one. What was the first thing you noticed about me?”

“You’re beautiful,” Soobin blurts out. His wording sticks in your head. Usually, people call you cute or pretty, but beautiful has a whole other meaning to it.

“Thank you,” you say, hoping he can’t see you blush. “I noticed how nice you were.”

“Or you didn’t notice me at all,” he says, staring at the floor.

“What do you mean?” you ask, looking at him in confusion.

“We’ve technically met twice. You were drunk the first time, and you didn’t really remember, so the second time we met, you thought it was the first. I had to reintroduce myself.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.” He thought you were beautiful even when you were blackout drunk.

“It’s okay,” he shrugs. “It gave me a second chance to make a good first impression.”

“And you did,” you assure him. “All of Yeonjun’s friends are dicks, so it was really nice to meet one who isn’t.”

“I don’t think me and Yeonjun are friends,” he mutters.

“You don’t?” It had never occurred to you that Soobin didn’t like Yeonjun.

“Does it seem like we’re friends?”

“Well… no, I guess not,” you say, looking back at the deck in your hands. 

“He’s kind of an asshole,” Soobin laughs. He’s right, you think to yourself, but it’s not something you’ve ever been willing to accept.

“He wasn’t always like that,” you quip back. “He used to be really sweet. I don’t know. Something just changed between highschool and college. He wanted to be cool and went on this whole journey to reinvent himself.”

“So, he’s completely different, but you’re still in love with him?”

You have no idea how to answer that question. Soobin knows he shouldn’t have asked it.

“Let’s skip to level two,” you change the subject, digging through the cards. “What's the most attractive thing I do without realizing it?”

Soobin swallows hard. He thinks everything you do is attractive. Even the way you’re looking at him right now, the corners of your mouth slightly upturned, makes his heart beat faster. He weighs his options. “You’re bossy.”

“You like that?” you laugh. There were so many other things he could have picked about you.

“Yes. You know exactly what you want and you aren’t afraid to tell me. It’s–it’s very attractive.”

“Fair enough.” You lean back in your chair, eyeing him up and down. “You have nice hands.”

“Really?” he says, looking at them. “Nobody’s ever told me that.”

“Dude,” you say, taking one into your grasp and comparing it to yours. “They’re huge. It’s hot.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, pulling his hand away and hiding his face.

“Did I say something wrong?” you ask him. He looks up at you, surprised.

“No! I’m just, I’m not used to being complimented. Especially not on my appearance.” It’s never occurred to you that some people don’t get showered with comments on how good they look all the time, especially someone as handsome as Soobin. 

“Soobin,” you say, locking eyes with him. “You are very attractive. From one pretty person to another, okay?”

“Okay,” he laughs awkwardly. “It’s hard to argue with that.”

“You know what?” You set the deck of cards down on the table. “Fuck the game. Let’s do something more fun.”

“Like what?”

“Kissing lessons,” you grin.

“What!?” Soobin looks terrified. He checks behind his shoulder to make sure the room’s blinds are shut.

“If we want to make Yeonjun jealous, you’re going to have to look like you can kiss me better than he can. That’ll really get on his nerves.”

“Was I… bad at kissing the other night?”

“No, but you were a little desperate,” you explain.

“Sorry.” He’s looking away again.

“Stop apologizing to me. I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

“Oh. Then why do I need lessons?”

“Listen, I’m all for my fake boyfriend seeming obsessed with me, but if you keep kissing me like it’s the end of the world, it’s not going to seem like we do it on the regular.”

“Makes sense.”

“Exactly. So, let’s practice. We’ll start easy with cheek kisses. Don’t flinch.” You lean over and place a quick kiss on Soobin’s cheek, and he does his best to stay still. “See, was that so hard?”

“I guess not,” he breathes out.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “You guess?”

“It wasn’t,” he clarifies. “What’s next?”

You grab both of his hands and pull him to his feet. “Hug me like you missed me.”

He doesn’t need much more instruction, wrapping his arms around your waist until there’s no space between the two of you. “Now what?”

“Kiss the top of my head.” Soobin places a gentle kiss at the crown of your head, your shampoo smelling like citrus. You look up at him with a smile.

“Good job,” you say. “Now my forehead, and then my cheek, and then my nose.”

One of his hands moves to cup your face, following your instructions carefully. Once he’s placed a kiss on the tip of your nose, he doesn’t pull away. “And your mouth?”

You nod, leaning in until your lips connect. He’s more cautious this time, making sure it doesn’t seem like he’s trying to swallow you whole. 

“How was that?” he asks, breaking away. 

“It was nice,” you say. “Maybe a little too gentle.”

Instead of replying, Soobin pulls you into another kiss, his grip on your waist tightening and his mouth open. “Better?”

“Better,” you affirm before kissing him again. Your hands slip into his hair, tugging on it slightly. Soobin leans further into you until you’re pressed against the blackboard.

His tongue finds its way into your mouth and to your surprise, you whimper. And just like that, Soobin is hard, all of his nervousness melting away to focus on pleasing you. He pulls away, his lips kissing their way down your jaw and onto your neck.

“Does this feel good?” he asks you, sucking on the sensitive skin. The best answer you can give him is a strained moan. You pray he doesn’t leave a mark.

“You—you’re a fast learner,” you stammer. One of his hands brushes the hemline of your shirt, prompting you to snap into reality and push him away. “That was good. You did good.”

Soobin steps back, his body no longer keeping you upright. You both do your best to regain your composure, wiping your lips dry and fixing your hair. 

“I have a good teacher,” he says, suddenly feeling awkward again. He prays you don’t notice his hard on, even though it was just pressed up against you. Except it’s all you can think about.

If it were anybody else, you’d probably laugh and tease them about it, but not Soobin. You had no idea how much you’d enjoy this. Sure, kissing him while drunk and heartbroken at the party was fun, but this was different. 

“Well, I think we’ve had a successful day,” you say, quickly gathering the cards off the table and shoving them into your bag. “I have to run. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Oh. Yeah, okay,” he smiles, his stupid dimples showing. “I’ll see you later, Y/N!”

And with that, you’ve slammed the study room’s door behind you, willing yourself to think about literally anything or anyone else on the way back to your dorm.

—————-

Taglist: @orangesodafoam @deezbutz28  @ur-mother-realnotclickbait @internet-folks @darlingz99 @foxyjun @stardustmooncakes @giaalorine @niningtori i @goquokka @csbenthusiast @moarmyjkhk @lizdevorak @sooberryworld @lonelybutterflytae @midnight-mochii @theresawtf @nowadays56 @jjklvr9 @baekberrie @philijack @lixpixstix @reiheis @thewintermer @yoseicour @matcha-binz @choizzn @amoryeonjun

P.S.: Please shoot me an ask or a reply if you’d like to be added to (or removed from) the taglist! Also, I struggle to keep up with different lists for individual members, but if you really don’t want to be tagged on all of my works, just let me know and I will do my best to keep things separate <3

[metyouinthehallway]

𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐄𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫

Hockey!Matt x fem!Reader

Summary: Matt teaches the reader how to Ice skate!

Warnings: fluff, use of pet names.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Matt glides with ease across the ice rink, as he circles around the perimeter once, he chuckles when he sees you still struggling to balance yourself.

“C’mon, you got it pretty.” He smiles at you, holding out his hand for you to take. Your gloved fingers intertwine with his as Matt leads the two of you around the ice rink.

“It’s like riding a bike, gotta find your balance.” He slowly lets go of your hand and your first instinct is to cling onto the side walls. The cold air of the indoor arena tints your nose red and you can bet that you’ll need to moisturize thoroughly tonight.

“Not as good as you are, Matt! Hold my hand again.” You squeal, not daring to lift your hand from the stability of the wall. Matt chuckles at your plea, gliding over to you again.

“Here, I’ll lead, you let go when you’re ready, yeah?” He takes the lead, skating backwards as he pulls you along with him. You look down at the ice you’re cutting through, watching the way Matt’s skates move, how they effortlessly coast along the shiny surface. You try your best to mirror his movements, weaving your legs in and out.

“Hey, I think I’m getting it!” You smile at him, proud of yourself, you decide to let go of him only to skate right back over to the wall that you were previously gripping on.

“It’d be even more fun if you came out to the middle, ya know?” He tries to convince you to stray out of your comfort zone. You slowly push off the wall, wobbling across the rink with your arms out at your side.

“Okay, shh, I think I’m doing it.” I silence him, even though he barely said a word to me. Matt does a few circles around me before coming up behind me, placing his hands on my hips to help balance me.

“There ‘ya go, doing so good.” He coos at you, helping to guide you across the ice rink. It was just the two of you, the cold atmosphere making his touch feel so much more serene and intimate.

“How did you do this for four whole years?” You inquire, genuinely curious as to how he didn’t fall on his ass multiple times throughout his high school hockey career.

“It’s call practice baby,” Matt lets out a breathy chuckle at your comment, maybe he’ll teach you how to play a bit of hockey next time. “You’ll get used to it, promise.” He slowly lets up from your hips, watching as you skate across the ice, growing more confident in your movements.

After a mere hour of skating around, you mutually agree to call it a night, Matt helping remove your skates. The two of you stop for hot cocoa on your way out before he starts to drive back to his house.

“Have fun?” He asks, turning his attention to you for a moment.

“I think I’m ready to compete in the Olympics for ice skating actually!” You joke, sipping on your cocoa. Matt reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers with his and resting on the center console of the car.

“Mm, I’d support you every step of the way, pretty girl.” He gives your hand a light squeeze, brining your knuckles up to his lips for a chaste kiss.

It’s little dates like this that make the best memories with him, you didn’t want to imagine a world without Matt in it.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[emberfrostlovesloki]

11:11 [Emily x Reader]

Photo Credits: Left (@cheekycatlady) Center (@lockscreens-n-shit) Right (@@viciousclothing)

Prompt: Penelope and Derek play matchmaker after Emily meets the captivating and alternative reader who’s allegedly off the market at a shop where Prentiss is buying a gift for Garcia. A few weeks later, Emily and the reader have the chance to have what they’ve dreamed of for so long, a relationship, but will their differences and fears be too much to overcome? 

Pairing: Emily x Non-BAU!Reader, Fem!Reader, Alnterative-Goth!Reader. The reader uses she/her pronouns 

Category: Fluff/comfort

Word Count: 8.9K 

Content Warnings: Language, unwanted attention (reader and Emily), if I missed any, please let me know. 

A/N: Hi all! I hope you are all doing very well! This fic is for the amazing @imagining-in-the-margins’s Pride Writing Challenge! I used the dialog prompt “Are they… flirting?” “Big time.” This fic is a lot more fluffy than my usual stuff, but it was nice to just write something romantic for Emily. The reader is described as a goth and a fan of horror, but if those are not your aesthetics, you can swap those parts out for what you like. I do mention a horror film scholar, but I try to explain her ideas accurately. Emily is a gem of a character and I hope I captured her well in this fic. Please be kind to yourselves this week and do something you love, you are so special. If you enjoy this fic, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! Love Levi - ❤️

List with all stories 

y/n = your name 

y/c = your complexion 

y/f/d = your favorite drink (alcoholic, non-alcoholic, soda, you decide) 

Emily pulled into the small strip mall a thirty-minute drive from her house. It wasn’t what she’d expected exactly. It seemed… boring. Em sighed and thought, ‘Aren’t all strip malls boring? This is a strip mall, not a strip club, and you're here for Penelope, not you.’ With a hint of a smile, Prentiss got out of her car and pulled her purse and iced coffee from the front seat cup holder. She yawned and put her glasses on as the mid-afternoon sun glared down on her. She had stayed up late from another mid-date last night, thus the tiredness. It hadn’t been bad per se, just boring. After talking about shared interests, the man she’d seen started talking about his exes and how Emily reminded him of each of them. The only good thing about the man was that he’d taken them to a nice bar and promised to pay the tab. So Emily had gone overboard with her drinks. When she’d gotten a glass of the nicest champagne on the menu, she realized she could just sit and listen to this man ramble on and call it performance art the next day. However, even the Advil she’d popped last night after she’d gotten home hadn’t cured her hangover. 

The little bell on the door rang as Emily entered the store. It took a second for her to put down her coffee on a small table by the door with some pamphlets encouraging a yarn crawl next month and remove her sunglasses to see the inside of the store properly. Prentiss was here to get Penelope a small gift after she’d admitted to feeling down after a rough case. It seemed Garcia’s girlhood hobby of crochet had come back to life after she’d seen a cute sweater online, so Em was going to get her some good quality supplies, or at least a gift card if she couldn’t pick out what felt right in the store. The fiber arts weren’t really her thing, and as she saw the front display, pastel rainbows of yarn skeins, and a sample shawl to celebrate Pride Month along with a variety of needles and hooks on the adjacent wall, she felt lost. More lost than if she was at a crime scene. 

The soft, “Can I help you find something?” had Prentiss whip around on her heel and see the woman she hadn’t noticed as she walked into the store. Em blamed her hangover, but couldn’t say the same for when she opened and closed her mouth once or twice as she took in the employee behind the counter. Perhaps Emily had expected a little old lady or a mom type to work at a place like this, but she hadn’t expected a young woman standing in all black and what could only be described as vampiric-looking makeup and accessories. The words, whatever she was trying to say or might have said to this type of person escaped her. 

The woman behind the counter seemed to flush, but it was hard to tell with her dark blush, given her y/c and intentionally washed-out tired look. It was the type of look Spencer had unintentionally. The employee looked behind the counter to get the pretty woman’s eyes off of her for a moment. y/n hadn’t expected to be visually dissected this afternoon. She wondered if she had something in her teeth and how embarrassing that would be in front of someone as pretty as the statuesque woman on the other side of the counter. 

Emily finally recovered and coughed slightly, now her blush of embarrassment flooded her cheeks as she said, “I’m sorry. I suppose I didn’t see you there when I walked in. I haven’t been to a place like this before. I’m trying to get some things for my friend. She’s into crocheting I think. I googled yarn stores in town and apart from the big craft store this is the only one that came up…” Em stopped talking when she realized that she was rambling and the woman moved from behind the counter letting out a chuckle. It looked strange on someone who dressed so severely. y/n said, “Well, welcome in. I can show you around and make some recommendations if you’d like. Does your friend have a favorite color? Do you know if she wants to make something in particular?” Emily let out a sigh, relieved that her behavior and lack of knowledge weren’t mocked. She guessed that there wasn’t a ton of gatekeeping in the crochet community, but she didn’t know. Em swallowed and said, “Well my friend loves pink or any bright colors. As for her projects, I only know she likes working with bigger threads. She says it makes the projects go faster?” 

y/n nodded. This poor, but beautiful woman was out of her depth here. However, y/n never judged. Knitting and crocheting wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea. Often people just thought it was for the geriatric, though that was far from the truth. y/n had to correct the woman, she couldn’t stop herself as she said, “Yarn.” The customer looked up and said, “Huh?” softly, and y/n felt herself heating up again as she said, “It’s yarn, not thread. Sorry I can’t stop myself from correcting people when they say that. I’m, y/n. What’s your name?” y/n didn’t mean to sound condescending as she corrected the woman, it just slipped out. She tried to recover herself by asking the woman’s name; she was striking. 

Thankfully, after a split second, Emily extended her hand and said, “Emily. I’m Emily. It’s nice to meet you y/n, and don’t apologize. I’m sure I sound like an idiot, so correct me as much as you need or feel like it. I won’t be offended.” y/n smiled and shook Em’s hand twice already enjoying her sense of humor. Emily couldn’t help but look at y/n’s long dark nails that matched her clear glossed, blood colored lips. y/n let Emily’s hand go and pointed toward the back right side of the store and said, “I think this side of the store is what you’ll be looking for. It’s our DK and bulky weight yarn section.” Em nodded like she understood what that meant and followed behind y/n looking at all the pretty skeins and knit and crochet samples on display. Even though Prentiss never thought this would be her niche, it was a very calming and pretty environment. It helped that the playlist that was on in the background had already played music she liked. Emily looked back for a moment at the comfy-looking chairs by the window and could picture herself sitting there for a few hours. 

Emily came back to the moment and realized she was getting distracted. She was firmly in the right section now as the yarn on the shelves looked like Penelope would love them. There was hot pink, yellow, and some purple yarn with sequins already threaded in the yarn. Emiy’s eyes looked around and y/n said, “I’ll let you look around for a bit. The yarn on the middle shelf is our most popular, but if you’re looking for something that’s a bit more affordable, because this stuff can get expensive pretty fast, is on the left and it’s still good quality too.” Emily nodded. She hadn’t even looked at a price tag yet. Money hadn’t crossed her mind. She had been too busy looking at the pretty colors, chairs, and sales assistant. y/n brushed past Em and back up toward the counter and said over her shoulder, “Hollar if you have any questions or if you need anything.” Prentiss turned her head and said, “Thanks,” as she watched y/n move back toward the front counter, her high-top Doc Martens giving her an inch in height that she didn’t have naturally.  

Em tore her eyes away once y/n was just out of sight. It wasn’t a big store, but the shelves that housed the yarn made it impossible for her to see y/n. Emily now turned to the skeins of yarn and picked up the hot pink skein that had first caught her eye. y/n’s comment about price made her look at the price tag, and Prentiss whistled under her breath. ‘$35.00 for some yarn?’ she thought. ‘What are they doing hand-picking sheep and making them eat strawberries until they turn pink?’ That sarcastic line of thinking did take her to the real conclusion, however, that unless yarn was cheap and mass-manufactured in a store, it must take a lot of time and effort to get that kind of color and quality. With the prices in mind now, Emily picked between five yarn colors that looked like Garcia’s favorites and picked her top three from the bunch. She decided on the hot pink, the purple sequined yarn, and a lime green tucked in the corner of a shelf. Happy with her choices, Emily moved around the store to look at the rest of what was there. As was natural for Prentiss, she was drawn to the jewel tones and more delicate yarn. The deep and rich colors reminded her of fall, her favorite sweaters, and hot lattes. She let out a sigh of longing for it to be cool again. For a second she felt eyes on the back of her neck, and she turned her face up sharply to see y/n just move her head toward the front door as if she was expecting someone to walk in. Emily turned her head again and bit the inside of her mouth. Why was y/n so cool? She tried to pinpoint why the woman at the front was having such an effect on her. 

She attributed it to three things. The first was the attitude. y/n had a very nonchalant attitude -- one that said that anything could happen and she wouldn’t be phased. Secondly, there was the confidence to wear what she wanted. Not that Emily had a choice, she was forced into the confines of business casual, but even if she wasn’t, she wasn’t sure she’d have the confidence to wear what y/n was. Lastly, y/n just seemed to be a really good person. It was based only on a feeling, but being an FBI profiler did have its advantages like getting a good reading on people. Prentiss let out a sigh, she was being silly and she knew it. She took one last look at some of the items displaying what the yarn could make and do before she moved to the counter. y/n smiled at Em and said, “Those are some pretty colors, I bet your friend will love them!” Prentiss nodded and said, “I’m sure she will. I’m happy I know about this place now, this could be good for gifts for some people I know.” Emily paused before asking, “Do you own the shop.” y/n chuckled and nodded her head no replying, “No. I just work here part time. I kind of grew up here though. It’s very special to me.” Em could tell. She wanted to ask more, but it would be awkward, so she didn’t. 

y/n sensed the shift in conversation and said, “Alright, well do you want these wound into cakes, or do you want to keep them in skeins?” The look of incredulity on Emily’s face had y/n laugh, pick up the pink yarn, and say, “So see how this is twisted into something that’s easy to hold?” Prentiss nodded yes, not having even thought about that. y/n continued, “So in order to work with this yarn, you have to unwind and rewind it into a ball, or you can use a machine to create what’s called a yarn cake. It’s easier to work with, but you, or your friend, can to this at home too.” Emily bit the side of her mouth and couldn’t think about what Garcia would want. She went on the safe side and said, “I think I’ll just take them as they are for now. If she brings them back would you still wind them for her?” y/n replied, “Yes, of course. I’d be happy to. She or you can come in anytime.” Prentiss looked up at y/n a bit surprised by the woman’s tone, and y/n winked at her. Again, Emily found herself a bit speechless and y/n continued like nothing had happened, “Okay, can I get anything else for you? Some hooks of needles, or is it just the yarn today?” 

Emily recovered just a bit out of breath, and said, “Um, that’s it. Thanks. You helped me a lot.” y/n smiled and said, “I’m happy to help. It is literally my job, as much as I’d like to just sit here and knit or read, life seems to have other plans.” There was a pause, like y/n was thinking about something and continued putting the yarn in a plastic bag before saying, “Because it’s your first time here I’m going to give you some free stitch markers and a crochet hook size gauge.” Emily nodded her appriciation. She could guess what the stitch markers were for, as for the guage device, she didn’t, but she was sure that Penelope would. Em took a closer look at y/n who was looking at the screen to ring up her total. The shape of y/n’s face and lips were alluring. Her dark eye shadow and long lashes fluttered open and closed as she concentrated. y/n caught Emily looking for a split second but looked back at the computer, a ghost of a smile on the edges of her lips. The small interactions between the two of them sent a thrill through Em. When y/n had given Prentiss her total, she handed over her card and in a moment, they were done. y/n handed Emily her bag and said, “Thanks for stopping in. I hope I see you again soon.” Prentiss nodded, moved toward the door, and said, “Thanks. Me too, y/n.” With that, Emily left the small shop and walked back into the sun. Prentiss made it to her car and sat down, putting her sunglasses back on. As she turned the key in the ignition, in the very back recesses of her mind, she hoped she’d see y/n again tonight in her dreams. Em heaved a sigh and decided she’d grab a smoothie or a juice on the way home, her hangover long forgotten. 

Penelope was thrilled when she opened her impromptu gift from Emily the next week. Garcia’s smiles, thanks, and hugs would make anyone feel good, Em believed. This was helpful to Em as she felt the loneliness of life creeping back into her bones. She really wasn’t one to believe in biological determinism, but the more old friends and co-workers from school that started getting married, or more likely, having babies, the harder it was to come home alone all the time. Alone to an empty apartment, and an even emptier bed. She sighed into Penny’s hug, hoping the feelings would stick for a while. It’s not that she was desperate for attention, or heaven forbid a child, but she wanted someone to be with, to share her bad jokes with, or rest her head on. Of course, Emily knew she could do this, life, by herself, she just didn’t want to. Emily pulled back as Garcia asked, “Where did you get these, there’re so beautiful. I want to get like twenty more skeins. God the color saturation is perfect, p e r f e c t, Em. you know me so well.” Emily smiled and said, “It’s this small shop on my side of town. I was shocked that you hadn’t been there before.” Pen sighed and said, “Well to be honest I have a huge yarn stash already, so I decided to just try and use up what I had a home, but now that you’ve gotten me this stuff, I have an excuse to go and get enough new yarn in the same colors so make a sweater.” Prentiss chuckled at her ability to influence Penelope’s financial choices, but it was all in good fun. 

That good fun had Prentiss and Morgan in Garcia’s car two weeks later moving from brunch toward the yarn store. Prentiss’s thoughts flashed to y/n, and she wondered if the pretty woman would be working today. She hadn’t expected to be back to the store this shortly, but the idea of a space to just relax and be from her first time at the shop flashed in her mind, and of course, if y/n was there, it would be nice to see her again too. Emily was sure Penelope would take Derek around the shop for a good hour, much to Morgan’s faux chagrin at his ‘time being wasted.’ 

The trio arrived at the yarn store, Love and Needles, and Morgan made a quip about the kind of love the patrons got. He, as Em could tell, had very much made the assumption she had about knitting as a hobby before she’d gone into the store and seen y/n. That the clients were old. Emily was please when she stepped in to see y/n sitting at the desk. Penelope had already started a lively conversation with her and Derek was standing back a few steps his mouth open in shock. 

y/n looked past Garcia at Morgan and gave him a small smile, showing a flash of her teeth which had the strong agent close his mouth quickly and stand up straighter. This made Emily duck her head as she felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She raised her head when y/n said, “It’s nice to see you again, Em,” with a small wave of her hand. Derek’s eyes danced between Emily and y/n and he tried to hide a small cough but didn’t do it well. Prentiss elbowed him in the ribs, and he stopped making noise. Emily rolled her eyes and Penelope retook over the conversation they had started and said to y/n, “Well I’ll come back and harass you about those shoes in about an hour. For now, I’m going to oooh and aaah at yarn, and probably spend my whole paycheck too.” Garcia took a split second to look at Emily and the blush that was still painting her face read and took Derek by the hand and said, “You, Mr. Morgan, with me. Maybe one day you’ll date a knitter, and you can impress her with your knowledge of the fiber arts.” Derek raised his hands in surrender and let Pen lead him farther into the store.

Emily looked after her friends, not sure to follow, stay planted, or maybe test out those comfy-looking couches by the window. She was pulled from her thoughts as y/n said, “So, how have you been? I think your friends are keen by the way. I wish I had some like that.” Em let out a small breath and replied, “Yeah, In terms of how friends go, they’re about the best you could ask for.” Prentiss cocked her head to the side, wondering why, and how it was possible for someone as magnetic as y/n to not make friends. Emily remembered the first half of y/n’s conversation starter and said, “And I’ve been okay. Nothing too exciting. Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork, and a few bad dates. How about you?” 

y/n gave off the vibe that she went to raves or drank red wine in a speak easy. y/n moved from behind the counter and leaned on the opposite side of where she’d just been. y/n studied Prentiss for a moment, taking in her outfit which consisted of a white shirt, corduroy pants, and a small kitten heel. It didn’t match y/n’s heavy-looking platform shoes, black tights, and dress. y/n was wearing the same makeup as the first time Em had seen her, except maybe the lips were darker today. After a moment y/n replied, “I’ve been fine. Nothing major to report.” There was another pause before y/n continued, “Maybe you could get off the apps for a bit? I found when I decided to take a hiatus it gave me some peace of mind. I had no hypothetical woman to please. I could just be me for once without any expectations.” y/n sighed and pivoted the conversation back to Emily, self-conscious to be talking about her struggles in front of someone as pretty as the tall brunette. Instead, she said, “I suppose I didn’t see you working a corporate job. I think I’d die if I had to do paperwork all the time.” Prentiss wanted to correct y/n, that she was more interesting than a corporate job. That she was a profiler in the FBI, that she knew how to shoot a gun, and spoke five languages. 

But Em stopped herself, even if y/n was on the dating market, which she had just said she’d taken herself out of, and even if she did date women, Emily could see herself pulling at strings. That her heart was moving faster than her head, and if she didn’t slow it down, she’d make a real fool of herself. She’d done that one too many times this year, losing both her sense of discretion and judgment sleeping with men most or women who gave the short time of day to fuck. They’d be gone by the morning, or she would be. Not wanting commitment, but not wanting to be alone either. It was the aloneness that she blamed the most for her choices, and she wasn’t going to repeat that now. So Emily replied, “Well it’s kind of a corporate job if you count working for the government as corporate.” y/n let out a low whistle and said, “That’s the most corporate of corporate. I don’t envy you.” There was a pause and y/n said slowly, “So, do you have any secrets you can share?” As hard as Emily tried to keep her mind off of y/n that way, she couldn’t stop herself from blushing again at how her statement could be interpreted provocatively. Just as Em was about to answer the question, the phone behind the counter rang and y/n moved to answer it. Emily could tell the way y/n was speaking, loudly and slowly, that it was an elderly client, and the conversation might take a long time, so she moved to the couches to sit down. 

Unknown to Emily and y/n, Penelope and Derek had been looking and listening to the pair for a few minutes now. When the phone call had interrupted their conversation Garcia motioned for Morgan to follow her to the far corner of the store. Once they were out of sight and earshot, Derek leaned down and whispered to Penelope, “Are they… flirting?” Pen nodded in an exaggerated manner and whispered back, “Big time.” They both leaned over to look past the displays of yarn to peak at y/n and Em and then hid again like teenagers behind a locker. Garcia said, “They aren’t even talking and you tell they're flirting. What type of Timewarp have we gotten ourselves into where Emily is openly making eyes at someone?” Derek sighed and rolled his eyes responding, “One where she probably doesn’t ever make a move. You know Em, she’s as stubborn as an ox if she wants to be.” Garcia dropped her eyes to the ground and said softly, “Yeah. It’s fun to imagine though.” Morgan nodded and replied, “Well, if it seems okay, maybe we can pull some strings? Nothing huge, but they could be friends at least. They seem to get along well, but I doubt they’d run into each other in other circles, so we might have to nudge them in the right direction?” Penelope feigned being shocked and said, “Mon Cheri, are you suggesting a blind date?” Morgan held up his hands and said, “Well not that drastic, but it Emily seems okay with a chance meeting then I don’t see how it can hurt.” Garcia faked a pout and said, “You’re no fun.” 

After another moment of snickering from the duo of friends, Morgan and Garcia moved back to the front of the store and like they’ve known each other for years, Penelope chatted with y/n sharing the best shoe, accessory, and makeup brands. Meanwhile, Derek moved to sit next to Emily. She smiled at him and asked, “So, are you ready to woo a woman with your knowledge of crochet?” Morgan smiled and said, “I’ve already done that. My mom crochets, so I at least know the difference between crochet and knitting, and that weaving in the ends is the worst part of a project which is more than most men I know.” Emily gave him a small smile and replied, “Morgan, you really are a lady's man.” Derek chuckled and gave a little salute of appreciation. 

After a few more minutes, the trio left the shop and it didn’t pass up Morgan or Garcia that after y/n had said goodbye to them, she said specifically to Em, “It was good to see you again, Em. I hope to catch you around sometime.” Everyone piled into Pen’s car with Emily taking the passenger seat while Derek smushed himself in the back. Once everyone was safely buckled up, they moved toward Morgan’s apartment first. As they sat and the Spotify played Garcia’s favorite playlist, Derek teased Emily by saying, “I didn’t know you went for the Abby from NCIS characters, Prentiss.” Em twisted in her seat and said, “Morgan give me a break. Even  you thought she was hot and you can’t deny it.” Derek let out one of his low laughs that reverberated though his chest. The kind that could make anyone laugh if they were having a bad day. Em loosened up as Derek replied, “I’m not denying it. She was hot. I just didn’t realize she was your type.” 

Emily sat back in her seat and closed her eyes as she said, “Neither did I.” She meant it to sound like a funny retort or quip, but in reality, there was a longing that neither Penelope nor Derek had heard from her before. Everyone remained quiet and just let the radio play until Penelope pulled up to Derek’s house. He hopped out of the car, then hugged Garcia though the driver’s side window, and then moved to Emily’s side and said, “Keep your chin up Em. You’re a real catch.” Prentiss thanked him; she knew she wasn’t teasing, or being facetious. When Morgan was real, he was real and that was why he was such a good friend. He was never afraid to be honest with his emotions which was a rarity in men. Derek waved at his friends and then moved into his house after calling out, “See you on Monday!”  

Once Derek was at this door, Garcia pulled away from the sidewalk and toward Emily’s apartment. There was a silence for a while before Penelope turned to Em and asked, “You doing okay? You know Morgan and I don’t mean anything cruel when we ask you about the people you like. You just hardly show interest anymore, and you used to be so excited to be going on dates, or when you found someone attractive.” Prentiss sighed and said, “Because I used to be excited about those things, Pen. I used to love the thrill of a first date, or seeing someone hot on the street, but I’ve tried so much and I just don’t seem to be anyone’s someone. I’m too bitter, or busy, or gay. I’ve been fetishized for being bi and shamed for having dated men. I just, feel like I’ve lost that spark, that rush that I used to get. To be honest, I gave myself away so much this year, that I think I need a break, and besides that, I don’t know if I’m y/n’s cup of tea either. She’s alternative, and that makes her stand out, I do think it’s very attractive, but I don’t want to fetishize that part of her either. I don’t want to put her in a stressful positon. She told me she’d taken herself off the dating market today at the store, so asking her out seems like pressing her boundaries, even if it is fun to have her wink at me.” Emily ran her hands through her hair in frustration and said, “I mean listen to me. I sound like a high school cheerleader trying to date the budding artist. It just sounds silly.” 

Penelope looked over at her friend and said, “Yeah, well it might feel and sound silly, but your feelings still matter. You feeling lonely and wanting someone to be with still hurts. I know that as well as anyone, even if I’m good at hiding it with all my sparkle and banter with Morgan.” Emily nodded and looked at Penelope. As opposite as they were in demeanor, they both shared the deep long for belonging somewhere. They just hid that want in different ways. Em let a small smile cross her lips as she wiped away a tear from the corner of her eye before Penny could see, and she replied, “Thanks, Garcia. Thanks for being my friend and making me laugh. I don’t deserve you.” Pen let out a bright laugh and said, “You’ll never get rid of me girlfriend. And don’t give up hope. Things change, everything changes with time.” The rest of the ride was mostly quiet as both women thought about their feelings and shared in the mutual pain that most women felt at some point in their lives. When Garica pulled up to Emily’s house, the tall agent leaned over and hugged the Technical Analyst, holding her tight, then she pulled back and said, “Listen Pen, if I start adopting cats, promise you’ll still hang out with me?” Garcia smiled and said, “Darling, I’m already giving them a name.” With that, Emily got out of the car and went inside. She turned on her record player and poured a glass of wine. She’d just bought a new book and decided to relax and read for the rest of the day. 

It was a month later, and Penelope and y/n had started spending more time together. Like most people, y/n liked the brightness that Garcia brought to a friendship, and how real she was. It was safe to say that y/n was shocked when she found out what Emily and Derek did for work. As she and Garcia walked around an outdoor mall, boba in hand, y/n said, “Wait, Em’s in the FBI? You’re in the FBI! She told me she worked for the government. I thought she meant like the IRA or something.” Penelope nearly choked on her drink as y/n said this. After coughing a few times Penelope responded, “No wonder she doesn’t get close to anyone. She’s lying by omission about how awesome she is.” y/n gave Pen a pat on the back and they kept walking. y/n started asking more questions about the team. After more window shopping and trying things on, Penelope said, “I should tell Emily to be more honest. Really.” y/n stopped in her tracks and said quickly, “Please don’t. At least don’t say I was part of it.” Garcia stopped and looked up at y/n. y/n had the corner of her dark lip inside her mouth and was wearing a face of concern. It was the first time Penelope had seen her like this. The fluorescent lights of the store made her look more ghostly than ever, her darker tones striking against her makeup and dark hair. The shine on her black shoes glistened. Although Penelope wasn’t a profiler, she’d hung around the BAU long enough to know that the quick and urgent tone from y/n meant something more. It hadn’t gone past Pen that y/n seemed to casually bring Agent Prentiss up in conversation. y/n seemed to notice her new friend's change of attitude and said, “I mean, I assume that Em has a reason for not telling me that. Like I don’t want her to think she was holding out on me. I don’t tell everyone everything when I first meet them either. It’s like when douchebags ask me the meaning behind my tattoos in an attempt to get to know me. Am I supposed to tell them my whole life story or just lie and say it’s for aesthetics because honestly, both are true? And yeah, I just don’t want Emily to feel any pressure to explain herself, at least not to me.” y/n flushed. She hated that when she got flustered she used so many qualifying words, ‘but,’ ‘like,’ and ‘and’ flowed out of her mouth like she was sixteen and figuring out her sexuality again. 

Garcia smiled and nodded. Maybe y/n didn’t see it, but y/n was down bad for Emily, and it made Pen’s heart swim. It didn’t hurt that Emily asked every Monday afternoon, when Em made a pitstop at Garcia’s office with a soda to ask if she had seen y/n at all over the weekend. It was funnier because Prentiss was much worse at hiding her crush than y/n. It was still another week before y/n texted Garcia: Is Emily seeing anyone right now? Does she like… you know… women?” Penelope let out a squeal and moved to find Derek and share the news that y/n was asking about Prentiss. Even if Morgan had kept a further distance from Garcia’s matchmaking, he loved the drama of it. The pair spitballed responses, and they finally settled on, “No, she’s currently not seeing anyone. And yes. Solid yes.” They both waited giddily for another response from y/n. It wasn’t until the end of the day that y/n said, “I want to hang out with her, but I’ve only met her twice and I don’t know a lot about her. She doesn’t have much on social media. What are some things she’s into? Music? Movies? Food?” Penelope chuckled and sent a few options: “Books, Queer Films, Lectures, Good Wine and cheese.” y/n shot back a thank you and then asked if she could steal Emily’s number from Penelope, promising that she really wasn’t a stalker or serial killer in disguise. Garcia happily replied with Prentiss’s number. 

It took y/n a week of research and building herself up before she found something that she thought she and Emily would enjoy. A local college was hosting Carol Clover, author of Men, Women, and Chainsaws to give a talk about her famous construct of the Final Girl. This would meet Emily’s love of queer film and academia and give y/n a chance to hear about the horror genre, which she enjoyed. Then there was the fear of actually texting Emily. The FBI agent had seemed so kind, and yet at the same time intimidating. Surely she couldn’t like someone as non-tradition as her? Not when she got dirty looks in public, frowning parents shielding their child's eyes from her body. Was it so profane to want to be yourself? Pushing her doubts aside y/n texted Emily saying that she had gotten her number from Garcia and that she was interested in going to a lecture next weekend and if Em would be interested in joining her. 

When Penelope heard a knock on her doorframe, she looked up to see Emily holding her phone up. Before Garcia could read what was on the screen, Prentiss said, “Pen, did you give y/n my number?” Penelope nodded and said, “Yeah, did she text you?” Em seemed to relax and say, “Yeah. I think she’s asking me out, maybe? Or maybe I’m just reading into it? She said she was on a dating break the last time I saw her, which was like last month. I kind of assumed she might have forgotten about me. I don’t know why she’d be interested in someone as boring as me?” Garcia could see the doubt in Emily’s face. The want for it to be more than just hanging out. That feeling that she and Derek could feel in the yarn shop. Em was questioning that. Even if Penelope had a good idea that y/n liked, liked her friend, she didn’t want to set her up with false hope. So with a steadying breath, Garcia said, “Em. I don’t know y/n that well. We’re not at telepathy levels of friendship yet, but I will say I don’t think she’s asking you to hangout for nothing. Like I said, things change and you won’t know if she’s trying to get to know you that way unless you go and find out. Or, you could be a stick in the mud and just tell her no, which would send a pretty clear signal from your end.” Em sighed and knew that Garcia was saying if she wanted clarity, then she needed to be clear. To take a risk. However, the hesitation was still there. To be let down again would be so hard. So painful. But not knowing, that would kill her more. If she missed someone as charismatic as y/n, then she would have really missed, so she gave herself the day to make a choice, be a coward, or give it one last chance. That’s what Emily said to Pen, and frustratingly, Penelope didn’t think that she was going to hear more about it until much later that evening when y/n texted her: She said YES! It was safe to say that both y/n and Penny spent the next hour freaking out over the news. 

Emily looked around the lecture hall. It was big and fancy, and already filling with people. Prentiss had struggled to find parking and ended up having to go into a parking garage across the street. y/n had already texted her that she was inside and had saved them seats. Em looked at the quickly filling seats. There was an odd mixture of people assembled in the modern and sleek room. There were film bros, students, and more none-descript people milling around and looking for a spot to sit. Emily let out a relieved sigh that she hadn’t over, or underdressed. She had opted for a maroon shirt and a knee-length skirt with nude tights on underneath. Unlike the last two times, Emily was wearing heals. They were black and elongated her legs. She wasn’t trying to send any strong signals that she was more than excited that y/n had reached out. Prentiss was starting to get worried because she hadn’t seen y/n yet. Em’s past fears of being stood up creeping back in her. She clutched her purse strap fiddling with the zipper. Finally, a larger man moved into the aisle, and Emily caught sight of y/n. y/n was looking around for Emily as well with a nervous glance. When their eyes met, y/n’s face brightened and she smiled and waved. Prentiss let out a breath and moved toward y/n. 

y/n had felt the same anxiety Emily had. She’d dressed down a little. She didn’t want her style to stick out like a sore thumb. She’d opted for black mary-janes and tights along with some shorts, a black turtle neck that was too hot for the weather, her toned-down makeup with a blood-red lip, and lots of silver jewelry. She hoped it wasn’t too much. y/n was less worried about her appearance as she beamed at Em. She was glorious as normal. y/n might have dressed in an intimidating way, but Emily was the one with the confidence. The one that could move through a crowd seamlessly. The power she held with just her presence. y/n thought for a moment about Emily’s job. About what she did every day to keep people safe. y/n still hadn’t told Em that she knew about her real work, but y/n expected Emily would have figured out she knew by now. And if she didn’t, then she’d let Em bring it up on her own time. For now, y/n extended her arms slightly at her sides and she and Prentiss hugged lightly. y/n breathed in Emily’s scent for the first time, floral and bright. y/n pulled back and said, “Thanks for coming.” y/n wanted to ask how her day was, and if anything interesting had happened since they’d last laid eyes on each other. And maybe why did you agree to come out with me? But all of that was made impossible by the host of the lecture tapping on the mic and the lights being lowered in the hall. Em and y/n quieted, as did the rest of the audience and everyone took a set. 

y/n was excited for the lecture, she loved horror, so getting to spend this time sitting next to Emily had the blood rush in her ears and her heart beating in her chest, even though she wasn’t sure if Em liked her like that. There was a clear energy between the two women seated near the back left of the room, like an electric current passing between them. Both Em and y/n listened with rapt attention. Emily perhaps a bit more at y/n than Clover. She loved to see y/n, so excited and happy. Plus the content was interesting even if she didn’t understand all of it. Every so often Prentiss would lean down and ask y/n a clarifying question which y/n happily answered in a whisper. There was one moment in the lecture where Clover mentioned the other characters in horror films apart from the Final Girl, the ones that die, stating, “The Final girl is chaste and tom-boyish. But the first victims are often popular or outcasts. The loner, the cheerleader having sex with the football player. And unfortunately, the queer characters. Remember, this was the 80s and even if the trope of ‘bury your gays’ hadn’t been coined yet, it was still heavily used.” At hearing this, y/n couldn’t help herself but lean over to Emily and whisper, “Wait, is this fucking play about us?” Emily almost choked trying to hold in her laughter, and y/n had to pat her on the back to help her calm down. Em was beet red at the comment and her reaction, and they both got a tut-tut from the people sitting next to them. y/n smiled and didn’t make any more comments, however, she did move her right hand out on her leg turning her hand palm up, and when Emily took it in her own, she was filled with a warmth that no turtle neck or sweater could give her. 

After the lecturer, y/n and Emily moved to a bar because they hadn’t had any time to talk before hand. Emily drove them there in her car, but it was y/n’s recommendation. As soon as Emily walked into a bar with y/n holding her hand, she knew it was a gay bar. Not that that was a bad thing, in fact, it was comforting. Emily didn’t go out much, and if she did, she hadn’t really thought to go to a place like this. On her dates, she did coffee or dinner, and no one, not even the women she’d seen had recommended a gay bar. So Prentiss drank it in. Not that it was very different from other bars, but there was more space on the floor for dancing, plus the music choices were different. While Emily was looking around, y/n led her to the bar and the bartender said, “Hey, y/n. How’ve you been. I haven’t seen you in months,” over the music. y/n smiled, and in her normal nonchalant manner, she shrugged her shoulders and said, “You know, alright I guess. How about you, Blaine? You holding up?” The man smiled and replied, “Oh, I’m good. It’s good to know you’re well. Now, what will you and your friend be drinking tonight?” y/n turned to Emily and got her order for a cosmo, and she got y/f/d. The cold glasses were ready in a few minutes, and y/n started a tab before heading to a table. 

The surface of the table was slightly sticky, but neither woman cared. They set their drinks on napkins and talked about their days, what they liked, and just life as a woman. As a woman wanting things. y/n looked past Emily for a moment as she said, “Sometimes I think wanting as a woman is a curse. Is there anything I can desire without being shamed, guilted, or ignored?” Emily frowned slightly. They were both two drinks in, and she could feel a slight buzz making her body warm and flushed. Not overthinking it, Em moved her hand across the table and placed it on y/n’s cheek, brushing the pad of her thumb down her jaw. y/n swallowed at the feeling as her stomach did somersaults. Emily watched y/n’s pupils dilate and she said, “You shouldn’t feel ashamed for wanting things. Even if other people make you feel that way.” Em paused and took a breath before saying, “I, I want to spend time with you. I have since the first day that I saw you. And I felt bad for that, and I feel bad because you said you weren’t looking, and I wasn’t honest. And even though I feel bad about that, I still wanted that and I’m not going to beat myself up about it. It’s okay to want. I’ve kept things from you too.” y/n looked at the table and then back up to Emily saying, “I wanted to be with you too. To know who you are. What makes you such a good person, so strong? And it’s okay to keep things hidden. Maybe not forever, but there’s a comfort in that. I understand.” The tone with which y/n said she ‘understood’ told Emily that y/n knew what she’d kept hidden. Her job. It felt silly now, but y/n seemed to get it and would indulge her for now. Em would tell her for sure if they kept seeing each other after tonight, but it was nice to feel so free. 

After a moment, Prentiss asked, “So is there something you want now, y/n?” y/n nodded, suddenly shy, and replied, “How about a dance?” Emily smiled and nodded, extending her hand out for y/n, which she took. The pair moved on to the dance floor which was crowded, but the bodies felt less pressed together than at a normal bar. There just seemed to be less pressure to be so close, instead Em and y/n just let loose and let their inhibitions let them move close to each other. At one point y/n helped Emily do a little twirl which she loved. After Em had straightened from being dipped down, a man tapped her on the shoulder and asked, “Might I cut in?” The fun Emily was having was instantly cut short as she said, “No. You can’t. I’m with someone right now.” Prentiss watched y/n change her face to one of disdain, it looked natural on her, pretty, ethereal even. And y/n leveled that look at the man who had cut off their shared joy. The man didn’t seem intimidated by y/n and he scoffed brushing harshly past Emily he asked y/n, “how about you, Babe? You down for a dance. You look like you need to lighten up. Maybe get laid by a real man?” y/n rolled her eyes, unimpressed and said, “In your dreams, Babe, Now if you don’t mind, you can fuck off.” The man puffed his chest, offended to be rebuffed twice, but y/n didn’t back down with her glare and finally, the man moved away muttering something about ‘stuck up bitches,’ under his breath. 

y/n moved closer to Emily and took her hands in hers, checking in. “Hey, sorry about that. I swear to God I’m like the worst man magnet. Would you check and see if there’s a sign on my back that reads, ‘Lesbian, step right up?’” y/n turned around and Emily let out a laugh, turning y/n around by the shoulders leaning in and kissing her. y/n’s eyes opened in shock, but the warmth and scent of Emily so close to her had her relax and lean into the kiss. It wasn’t super long, but Chappel Roan was playing in the background, and for y/n and Emily it was like all the hurt they’d felt for not being wanted for whatever reason washed away. y/n moved her hands to Emily’s back and preseed herself closer to Em taking in the moment so she could keep it forever in her mind. When y/n and Prentiss pulled away, Emily’s phone went off with a chirp. She flushed and pulled it from her purse. y/n was still close to Prentiss when she pulled out her phone, she stepped back to give Em some privacy. Emily looked up at her and said, “You don’t need to worry. It’s nothing super personal. Just Penelope being nosy and asking how it’s going.” y/n pursed her lips playfully and asked, “And… what are you going to tell her?” Emily shook her head and replied, ���Well, I’ll let you know when I have an answer. So far, pretty good” Em was going to say “don’t you think,” but stopped herself when she saw the time. It was 11:11 and she continued speaking, changing her train of thought saying, “Quick y/n, it’s 11:11, make a wish?” 

y/n titled her head to the side and asked, “What?” Emily moved forward took y/n’s hands in hers and said, “close your eyes and make a wish, quick.” y/n did as she was told and closed her eyes. She scrunched her face in concentration as she made a wish. y/n opened her eyes and said, “Well I did it. I haven’t done that since I was a kid.” Em smiled and said, “I’m kind of neurotic about it. Like a superstition. If I see it’s 11:11, I have to make a wish.” y/n nodded and they stood for a moment before Prentiss asked, “So, what did you wish for.” y/n chuckled and replied, “Come on now Em. you know if you say your wish out loud it doesn’t come true.” Prentiss smiled and said, “Well now I’m interested, how about you write it out for me?” y/n felt her chest constrict with excitement and apprehension. Could she? She wanted to, desperately, but it was so fast, too fast for someone like Emily. y/n looked at the woman she’d been brave enough to ask out and it was like she already knew. Em gave her a reassuring nod, and y/n moved back to their table. She pulled out a pen and wrote on her palm. y/n took a deep breath before placing the pen back in her purse and lifting her hand. 

The room was dark, the lights low as the light on the ceiling reflected off several disco balls. Emily had to lean in a bit to read the all-caps, slightly smudged: WILL YOU GO HOME WITH ME? Prentiss felt her heart swell, as she nodded her head. It was fast, yes, but it also felt right for the first time in so, so very long, Emily had waited for that, and she knew now was the time. y/n was smiling now and it wasn’t until she put her hand down that Em noticed that her nails were cut short. She moved in again and kissed y/n, her tongue sliding over y/n’s lower lip. y/n let her in, sucking in air while she could before their mouths closed around each other in a more passionate kiss. y/n let out a hum as they parted. She was half-breathless taking in air as she said, “How about we get out of here?” Em nodded, pecking y/n on the nose before taking her hand. They both grabbed their things from the table. They stepped out the door just as Teenage Dream started playing. Wish on hand, Em and y/n moved toward Em’s car, ready to find a place just for them. A place that was accepting and forgiving unlike how life had been for them before. Together, they could make that place.

Text Break Banner by @cafekitsune

Tag list: @silk-spun @i-lovefandom @potatovoyager

Want to be added to my tag list? Please check out this post (linked) 

Want to send in a request? Please check out this post, CM Request Post (linked)

[cinnajun]

ᵕ̈ ೫˚∗: keep it quiet | ktr

summary | after an encounter with your best friend’s brother in the middle of the night, you can’t help but falling in love with him—and, perhaps he can’t help falling in love with you, too.

genre | kim taerae x fem!reader, university!au (but over the summer), best friend’s brother!au, y/n is an international student from the united states (sorry for all non usa people)

warnings | alcohol, i plagiarized business proposal, mentions of sex but not explicit

wc | 3.6k

a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TAERAE!!!!! i’ve always felt like he was so best friend’s brother (+ hanbin is brother’s best friend in case u were wondering) so here’s my best friend’s brother taerae manifesto (@taerrrrrae asked to be tagged)

ft. kep1 members (dayeon is taerae’s sister), billlie members, lsfm members

i. silencieux

The moment you wake up, your head is spinning and you know you’re not drunk enough to throw up, but you sure feel like you’re going to. Kazuha is asleep with her head on your stomach, and you don’t remember when she ended up there (when you fell asleep, you know she was still playing Monopoly in the living room). To your right, Dayeon is asleep face down on the floor, snoring loudly, and to your left, Sheon and Tsuki had made it up to Dayeon’s bed.

The room is dark, which is disorienting, given you fell asleep when the fluorescent overhead light was still on. As best as you could, you removed Kazuha’s head from your stomach, trying to push yourself up off the floor. A glance at Dayeon’s Hello Kitty-themed, digital clock tells you that it’s 4:34 in the morning, which means you slept for around five-and-a-half hours.

During that time, you’d slept off a lot of the alcohol, but you were still feeling slightly buzzed—the buzz wasn’t enough to keep the hangover away, though. You must’ve drank your weight in vodka, which was not good for you, but Kazuha had insisted on you showing them what an American college kid party was like. And, since you’d been to a single frat party during your senior year of high school, you’d been able to pull it off to an extent (you ordered red solo cups and called it a day).

Deciding you needed to drink some water, you stumbled over Dayeon and emerged out into the hallway, nearly knocking into the wall as you did so. The house was empty as far as you were aware—her parents had gone on vacation, which was why you’d been able to drink all day in the first place. According to Dayeon, though, her older brother was supposedly getting home that night.

You assumed he would probably be asleep by now, so you continued on your conquest to the kitchen, practically falling down the stairs because you didn’t turn the light on. But, once you made it to the bottom, there was nothing in between you and getting your water.

Except for a boy sitting at the island in the kitchen, a mug in one hand and a phone in the other. He’d dimmed the lights in the room, which you didn’t know could happen, and he was blissfully unaware of your presence. At that moment, you registered the quiet sound of bossa nova playing as well, which meant he probably hadn’t heard you stumbling down the stairs.

You froze the moment you saw him, immediately weighing your options—you could either go back upstairs and search for water in Dayeon’s room (or just drink from the tap, which you didn’t want to do but would sacrifice if need be) or you sucked up the anxiety and got a huge cup of ice water.

You didn’t have time to decide, because he turned his head towards you, seemingly confused as to why you’d stopped. “Oh, I thought you were Dayeon,” he said, and you practically swooned.

You didn’t know Dayeon’s brother was point-blank beautiful. His voice was deep too, and you briefly wondered if he’d somehow stepped straight out from a k-drama. He was dressed like he was in a k-drama, too, wearing a black t-shirt and baggy, red sweatpants with a pair of wire-rimmed glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose.

“Um, sorry,” you replied, feeling a bit stupid. Your voice sounded foreign in your ears, and you were praying to the gods above that you didn’t sound drunk still. Taerae shook his head, offering you a reassuring smile. You nearly passed out as a dimple bloomed on his cheek, and you began to wonder how Dayeon had never told you that her brother was perfect.

“No, go ahead and do whatever you need to do. I don’t think you were expecting me to be here.”

You nodded haphazardly, taking a few steps toward the cabinets. Taerae went back to scrolling on his phone, where you quickly realized he was reading a book. You picked up the pace, rushing past him and towards the cups that were on the counter. Grabbing one, you quickly filled it with ice and water, suddenly forgetting who was sitting behind you.

Hurriedly, you chugged the glass, practically rejoicing as the ice-cold water flowed down your throat. With a content sigh, you let one of the ice cubes fall into your mouth, and you began crunching on it.

“Are you the one that’s going to be staying with us this summer?”

You choked on the ice, panic flowing through your entire body. You practically swallowed the rest of the cube whole, spinning on the ball of your foot to face him. In your drunkenness, you’d forgotten that you were going to be living at this guy’s house for the rest of your summer and hadn’t even tried to make a good impression.

“Oh, yeah, right. That would be me, yes. I’m [First].”

“Taerae,” he replied. “If you ever need anything, let me know. I have a car.”

It took everything in you to keep your jaw from dropping. The more you learned about this guy, the more insane you felt—whenever Dayeon talked about him, she spoke like he was the biggest loser on the planet. But, right now, he seemed like the farthest thing from a loser.

“Well,” you said, clearing your throat. “I’m going to go back to sleep.”

He smiled at you again, nodding. “Sleep well. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. If you’re up before me, the hangover medicine is in the mirror cabinet.”

You felt the warmth rush to your cheeks when he said that, and you rushed to put your glass in the sink and disappear from the room. “Thank you,” you mumbled, speed-walking around the island. Then, as if he was a psychic, he put his hand on the edge right as you walked into it, protecting you from the stabbing pain of a rock-hard corner. With much more fervor than the last time, you choked out another “Thank you!” before practically running up the stairs and back into the sweet escape of Dayeon’s bedroom.

ii. silencio

A couple of days into your stay at Dayeon’s house, you and Taerae found out that you both went to bed late and woke up early. As a result, your most active times were around the same time; so, the both of you often found yourselves sitting with one another.

Every night, it would be the same set-up: Taerae reading a book and drinking tea, which you found out was chamomile, while you sat across from him, working on the homework for your summer class. Then, at around 3 in the morning, you would pack up for the night. You’d then wake up before him and much before Dayeon, make your breakfast, and while you were eating, he would emerge in the morning.

You also quickly learned that Taerae had, quite literally, no flaws. Once, he sat next to you at the dining table, and he smelled like fresh laundry. On top of that, his breakfast of choice had been a piece of toast with raspberry jam which, for some reason, made you even more enamored with him.

During the day, Taerae didn’t go out much. If he did, he was going to see friends, and Dayeon seemed to be in love with one of his friends (his name was Gyuvin, and he was younger than her, which she didn’t like). She often told him to bring his friends over, but Taerae would just laugh at her and leave with car keys dangling from his hand.

He also restated his offer to take you anywhere you needed to go several times, though it was often directed to both you and Dayeon. You found that very sweet, especially for an older brother—a lot of things about his relationship with Dayeon were picturesque. If you’d had a sibling relationship like theirs, you figured you’d be a very different person.

All in all, he was very kind, which was fatal to anybody with a conscience (especially paired with his face). If the word “beautiful” was a person, you were half convinced that Taerae would be him.

You’d be, quite frankly, utterly stupid if you didn’t try and grow closer to him. So, that’s exactly what you did—at night, when Dayeon was fast asleep and you two were the only ones left alive in the house, you would emerge from the guest bedroom and sit with him. You never spoke unless he spoke first, and generally left him to his own devices, hoping somehow that just sitting in the same room as him would make him fall madly in love with you.

Soon enough, the two of you fell into a routine. You’d sit at the kitchen counter on one of their high stools, either studying or playing random games on your computer while you listened to a podcast. Taerae would read and drink tea, listening to various types of music (from jazz to trot, which you found entertaining).

Then, you made a bold move—instead of sitting at the kitchen counter, you sat yourself down at the table, in the opposite corner. Taerae looked at you for a brief moment but didn’t say anything, which made you feel decently impressed with yourself. In your delusion, you were convinced your plan was “working,” even though you had no proof that he viewed you as anything but Dayeon’s friend. 

And then, it happened. One night, Taerae was out with his friends later than usual, and you’d felt a little discouraged in pulling your little scheme to hang out with him. But, you figured that, if you didn’t go sit down there at least for the hours you usually did, you’d look suspicious (and fall behind on your schoolwork). So, you set up shop, spreading out your books and papers across the table while you compiled them into your notes.

When he got home, it was around 1 in the morning, and you could tell he was drunk from the way his cheeks were flushed (and the fact that he didn’t hang his car keys—in fact, his keys were nowhere to be found). He nodded at you as he walked to his room, shuffling his feet and yawning. You nodded back, suppressing the smile you felt itching at your lips. A moment later, he came out, wearing the same red sweatpants and black sweatshirt that he loved so much.

You then realized that you’d never been able to watch him make his tea, so you found yourself staring at him the entire time he did—from getting out the tea bags from the cabinet to him adding a plethora of little ingredients, like honey and a single drop of cream.

Then, he turned, and you immediately averted your eyes, staring at your computer screen. Taerae sat next to you instead of sitting on the opposite side, still leaving a chair in between you two. You felt yourself tense up but tried to give the illusion of being as relaxed as possible in hopes of keeping your silly crush a secret.

This time around, Taerae didn’t read a book and sat drinking his tea. He put his music on as usual, settling on the same samba jazz he’d been listening to the night you first met. He leaned back into his chair, and you continued to fight the urge to stare at him from the corner of your eye.

“You want to know something?” he asked, a little slur to his words. You looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Depends on what ‘something’ is.”

“We barely talk,” he began, laughing at himself. “But I think about you all the time. When we’re not sitting here together, I almost feel miserable. You live in my house and I still feel like we don’t spend enough time together.”

“Woah,” you said, eyes wide. “Are you sure you want to be saying this when you’re drunk?”

“When else would I say it?” he snorted, brushing his hair out of his face. He took another sip of his tea. “I’ll probably regret it in the morning, but at least it’s off my chest. Don’t tell me how you feel. Just go back to your work.”

You cleared your throat, buffering for a moment. Then, you did as he asked, and went back to furiously typing away at your study guide. About fifteen minutes later, Taerae got up and put his mug in the sink, disappearing deeper into the house—but he left the music playing.

iii. silentium

You didn’t see Taerae until the next night. He didn’t come down in the morning, and you noticed his shoes were gone from the rack next to the door. When you asked Dayeon when she emerged from her bedroom at nearly 1 pm, she said she’d gone to get his car and ended up deciding to spend the day with his friend Matthew.

You found it hard to keep a straight face in front of Dayeon for the rest of the day, wanting nothing more than to spill out all of your feelings to her, as she was your best friend. You also knew that she would likely be less than pleased that your stupid plan to get her brother to fall in love with you worked, so you kept your mouth shut.

It was also out of respect for Taerae, too, as he was probably dying of embarrassment while he was out with his friend. And, as you expected, he arrived back to the house well after Dayeon had passed out, eyebags prominent under his eyes.

You were sitting at the dining table playing Tetris, listening to a random podcast that talked about random items and events that piqued the hosts’ interest. He didn’t go into his room or make his tea this time, just sitting down next to you (with one seat in between, of course).

You took your AirPods out and paused your game, leaning back into your chair. “Sorry,” he said, drumming his fingers on the table. “If I made things weird, that’s not cool for you, ‘cause you don’t have anywhere else to go. I’ll probably be out and about more when my parents come back.”

You stayed quiet, devising a plan in your head. Part of you was exasperated that your stupid sit-in-the-same-room tactic worked, and the other part of you was screaming in your head, banging on the walls, and giggling maniacally.

You slid into the chair that separated you two, feeling your heart pounding in your chest. Then, before he could turn to look at you, you planted a quick kiss on his cheek. You felt like a middle schooler doing that, but it was the only thing you could come up with before Taerae gave up and left you alone.

He turned to face you, eyes wide and cheeks red, like they’d been last night. For a moment, you stared at each other, not saying a word. Then, you got an idea that made your head spin at just the thought of it—it was cliche and straight out of a movie scene, but you couldn’t help but want to actualize it.

Taerae seemed to have the same idea, as he leaned over and kissed you with a sort of fervor that you weren’t expecting. You couldn’t help but return the kiss, putting your hands on the sides of his face and pulling him closer to you. He pulled away for a second, tugging his glasses off his face and practically throwing them on the table.

Taerae’s lips were soft against your own, plump and perfect to kiss. You were close enough now that you could smell his cologne, which was light and airy, and you felt like a thousand flowers were blooming in your chest. Taerae ran a hand through your hair, which nearly made you swoon (if you weren’t already swooning.

You must’ve made out for a good ten minutes (at least that’s what it felt like), hugging him close to you like if you were to let go he would disappear in a second. The only thing that managed to draw you apart was the loud sound of Dayeon’s bedroom door opening, which caused you to practically shove him away from you. You nearly fell out of your chair as you rushed to get back to your original seat, patting your hair down and shoving your AirPods into your ear.

Taerae grabbed his glasses, pushing them on carelessly while he stood from his chair and nearly ran to where he kept his tea mugs. He began making his nightly tea, although you could see his hands shaking as he filled his electric kettle with water.

Dayeon skipped down the stairs and over to you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and leaning down to hover her head above your shoulder. Then, she plucked out your earbud, putting her phone in front of your computer screen.

You prayed to every god that she couldn’t smell Taerae’s cologne on you, trying to focus on her screen. It was a wall of texts, the contact being easily identifiable as Taerae’s friend, Gyuvin. You scanned every word, bringing your hand up to scroll through them.

“He asked you out?” you blurted out, not thinking about the implications of saying that right behind her older brother. It was a panic reaction, a last-ditch attempt to get her away from you so she wouldn’t find out that you’d made out with her brother in her living room. Taerae spun around, and Dayeon detached herself from you immediately, staring at you with betrayal in her eyes. Taerae looked at her with betrayal in his eyes, too, and you suddenly realized that he knew that she had a thing for his friend.

“I knew Matthew wasn’t telling me something,” Taerae scoffed, causing Dayeon to shrink into herself. “How dare you date one of my friends? In what world is that legal?”

“Do you want a free pass to date one of mine?” Dayeon argued back, which caused you to look away with guilt filling your veins. “I’ve had a crush on him for years, I deserve this!”

You hoped that she never found out about you and Taerae.

iv. quiet

It was the night before Dayeon’s parents got home, two weeks before your dorms opened back up, and Dayeon had gone out with Gyuvin, one of his friends, and a couple of your friends. You’d been invited, but you lied and said you weren’t feeling well, thinking of the opportunity to spend the entire night, alone, with your now boyfriend.

Then, he went and ruined it. You stared at your neck in the mirror in absolute horror, looking at the red mark that was blooming on your skin. Taerae sat on the counter, watching you search through your plethora of makeup bags for the green concealer you’d bought back home.

“I can’t believe you did this to me,” you said, finally finding it in your bag of eyeliners. You immediately began dabbing it onto your neck, picking up your beauty blender and trying your best to blend it out.

“This is not my fault,” he shot back, frowning. “I barely even sucked that hard. This is on you. If you didn’t bruise so easily, we wouldn’t be here.”

You shivered, picking up your normal concealer and beginning to spread that out on the green blob you’d created. “Never phrase it like that again. And, for the record, you bit me. I felt it.”

He huffed, hopping off the counter and walking behind you, wrapping his hands around your waist. You blended out the normal concealer as well, letting out a sigh as it (mostly) disappeared. “The night before your parents come home and you do this to me. How cruel is that?”

“Maybe it’s a good thing. Then we won’t have to sneak around for two weeks, right?”

“I would rather die than have your parents assume that I’m having sex with their son, but okay,” you replied, sighing. You stared at him in the mirror, now, putting your hands on his arms. He stared back at you, putting his head on your shoulder. “Either way, I don’t like hickeys. My friends used to show up to school with them all the time, and sometimes they’d end the day with one they didn’t have at the beginning. It always grossed me out.”

“Then it’ll never happen again,” he replied, squeezing your middle. “Promise.”

Taerae kissed your shoulder, humming. “Dayeon’s getting home soon. We should go to bed.”

“Is she coming home?”

“Gyuvin texted me that he and Kazuha are bringing her back. He said she doesn’t feel well, and that she thinks you got her sick.”

“Awkward,” you giggled, nearly frowning when he let go of you. You turned to face him, and he put his hands on the counter, trapping you in between him and the ledge.

“Good night, my love,” he said, pecking you on the lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Be ready for our two weeks of hell.”

“I wouldn’t dream of anything else.”

thank you for reading !

[kenmjiro]

ೄ◌ྀ ˊˎ Scars and bad memories | Carl Grimes

Carl grimes (TWD) x Fem reader

TWS: angst, kissing, mention of child abuse

Carl was locked in his room throwing darts, he did this frequently since they let him out of the infirmary after losing his eye.

He was distant, he didn't talk to anyone except his father and Michonne occasionally, he didn't leave his room and that had me worried, I have come to see him every day, but he doesn't speak to me and barely looks at me

We had been together for 6 months before this happened, but I just don't know what will become of us anymore. It hurts me to see him like this, but I will continue fighting, because I love him and I will do everything possible to prove it.

With my legs trembling with nervousness I decided to go in, I wiped the sweat that was accumulating on my palms on my pants, I gathered my courage and pushed the door.

When I saw Carl with his back to me, he was throwing darts from the side where he had been shot, and there were no darts on the target, they had all hit the door and he seemed more and more frustrated and absent.

“What are you doing here again?” His voice sounded so cold and hard that for a moment I thought I had hit an ice barrier, and as soon as I could answer, a cruel lump of anguish had formed in my throat.

“I-I came to see little Judd.”

He didn't even look at me and continued throwing darts at him.

“She's in her room, so don't bother me.

That hurt me, but I'm not a weak girl and my duty is to help Carl, there's no time to get depressed.

“Talking to me like that won’t give you back your eye.” I knew that my comment would piss him off and I waited expecting the worst from him, that he would run me out of his room or yell at me, whatever he did to hurt me I didn't care, I needed to remove all that indifference that was consuming his feelings.

“You think I care? Go chase squirrels, you silly little girl.”

“No thanks, I already had lunch.” My sarcastic response seemed to bother him more and he began to throw the darts with more fury than before, but half of them hit the door and the rest fell to the ground.

“Do you remember when we met and I had a huge bow with me?”

“No." He cut me off abruptly, trying to silence me.

“You said it was impossible for a girl as short and skinny as me to have enough strength to shoot it, you made fun of me for days until she saw me shoot it.”

The memory seemed to have softened his bad mood; he stared vacantly at a spot on the wall and smiled imperceptibly.

“Yes, I still don't understand how you did it... You were tiny.” He gave a small, fleeting chuckle. "You still are."

Carl had spoken almost in a whisper, but since we were alone, that was enough for me. In the end he gave up throwing the darts and looked at the ground.

“I just needed my arms, correct posture...and an eye. “Carl turned around to look at me, he seemed angry, but at the same time I could see that I was getting to him.

“What are you getting at, y/n?”

“You don't need everything to shoot a bow, or a gun, or to throw darts, you just...you just have to have the way.

“Yeah? and when you lose an eye… what is the Y/n way?” Carl began to approach me in a threatening manner. " which ?!?"

“I can teach you.”

I raised my hand to caress his face, but he moved away from it as if my touch burned him.

“Oh yeah? Try it, see what you can do as a hunter.”

“First stand up straight, put one foot on the shooting line and the other behind.” With my hands I gently corrected his posture and pushed his leg so that it was aligned. “stand on your side and fix your target with your dominant eye.”

“You will say with the only eye I have left.”

His voice was bitter and sarcastic, but he was relenting.

“That's all you need, sheriff.”

I carefully took his throwing arm and told him to take it back to throw the dart, I left his side and he looked at me skeptical, but he threw, and it took him half a second to realize that he had hit right. the target. He hid his surprise and finally spoke to me without his tone of indifference and bitterness.

“Not bad hunter, now I understand how being so little you had better aim than dad.”

“You see, everything has its side... You just have to find it.”

He looked down so that his hair hid how heartbroken and sad he was, but he knew him better than I knew myself, he knew how he felt.

“And how do I find the side to this?”

She pointed to the side of his face where there was only a thick bandage.

I approached him calmly and hugged him, he didn't return the gesture, but his entire body was trembling.

“Why are you still looking for me?” His voice was barely a whisper full of pain. “I'm horrible, I can't force you to stay with me like this, please don't feel sorry for me and just leave.”

My heart hurt so much hearing his voice, so fragile, so vulnerable.

“I don't feel sorry, I love you. Please believe in me, we will get through this together, let me help you. ”

"You do not have to do it. “I’ll be fine alone… You don’t deserve to spend your life with a monster, full of scars and bad memories.”

My heart broke at his words, I separated from him and forced him to sit down on the bed in the room, it's time for me to show him my own scars, I calmly took off the blouse I was wearing and then the small tank top, leaving me only with a sports bra.

“Do you see this scar?” I said pointing to my stomach “When my uncle got drunk he was very violent, he tried to hit my mother, but she locked herself in her room and left me alone with him. "She was scared, and trying to escape I fell on a glass table... her blood must have scared him, because she left me lying there and walked away."

“and-I didn't-I had no idea…”

“and you see these marks here?” I took off the leather wrist guards I always wore. “A year before I found them I ran into a group of unpleasant people... Our leader made them angry and as punishment they handcuffed me and other kids to a fence and attracted the attention of some walkers so that our parents could see it, I I tore the skin on my wrists to free myself, I didn't even care about the pain, I just had to pull. And do you see this ugly mark?” I brushed the hair off my shoulder and showed him a large asterisk-shaped scar. “I had a small accident with Daryl when we went out to look for Beth, a guy tried to shoot me at point-blank range, luckily Daryl was able to deflect the shot and it didn't hit me.” in the heart as was his plan.”

“...Why didn't you ever show me all this?”

“Because I'm horrible... How could I expect you to love someone who carried only scars and horrible memories?” Carl looked at me bewildered and looked away.

“It’s not the same Y/n.”

“Of course... we are both full of scars and these remind us that we were stronger than what tried to kill us, we are survivors and this is our life... and I want to share my scars and my bad memories with you and I want you to you do the same. Carl, I love you and I want to experience all the good that is left in the world with you.” Without realizing it, I had walked until I was in front of Carl and I knelt down so I could look him in the face, my eyes were full of tears and my voice was shaking, “and don't think that you can decide for me, I want to be by your side... “Just… Unless you don’t love me anymore…”

He didn't let me finish and silenced my crying with a kiss. He knelt down next to me and kissed me passionately. His arms wrapped around me with strength and desperation. My cheeks were wet, but he didn't care. With his fingers he delicately caressed each one of my scars and I did the same.

“Of course I love you, forgive me for acting like an idiot, I…”

This time it was my turn to silence his lips, my entire body vibrated as the temperature rose, in desperation I lightly pulled his hair, wishing he would never leave me. When our lungs were begging for air we did not separate slightly, his lips were red and swollen from what had happened before, we both gasped to catch our breath.

“You know, it's very unfair that even with a scar like that you still manage to look so perfect.” Carl laughed lightly and leaned down to kiss my shoulder.

“Says the girl who, even with all her scars, looks like an angel.”

I blushed at his comment, it was always the same, he managed to take my breath away just with a phrase like that.

“Shut up and kiss me sheriff.”

“With pleasure, hunter. ”

The kisses continued just like the memories and the scars.

Even though we had both lost a part of ourselves and even though destiny had marked us, it no longer mattered to us, because being together we were finally complete.

[the-possum-writes]

hello everything is fine? I hope so :)

I saw that you are taking requests and decided to ask a question.

you could make marshall lee x pregnant reader but reader is pregnant with a beautiful little girl 🖤

Waiting Room Woes

❥Character: Marshall Lee the vampire king

❥Wordcount: 1200

❥Tags: SFW, tooth rottening fluff, babyfic, pregnancy, hospitals

❥Synopsis: Marshall struggles to keep his nerves in check as he sits in the waiting room while their spouse gives birth to their firstborn.

❥Taglist: @foxpearlwilder

Marshall Lee paces back and forth in the waiting lobby of the rock kingdom's hospital in restless agitation knowing that his spouse is just a few doors away giving birth to their firstborn child, he should be there right next to them as they go through this important moment together but the doctors rushed him out of there when something became complicated. So for now he waits alone.

Or atleast that was the case until Ice Queen showed up with a gift basket in hand.

"Make way for the world's greatest godmother- Marshall? What are you doing here, aren't you supposed to be in there-?" She didn't manage to finish her question since Marshall Lee silently and abruptly went up to wrap his arms around her in comfort.

"I am Simone, I am. But there were some complications with the pregnancy and I got kicked out by the doc."

Ice Queen held the basket in one hand as she pats Marshall with the other hand. "And you want me to break you in!?" Her hand started glowing with blue ice magic, a bit dangerous but Marshall knew she meant well.

"Nah, I'll let the experts do their thing." He removes himself from the hug, rubbing a hand to suppress a sniffle.

Despite her madness and less than desirable behavior towards princes and any other male in Aaa, Ice Queen gently places her gift basket in Marshall's gray hands, shaking slightly as he tries to subdue his nerves, stroking the side of his head in a comforting manner as she would do towards her penguins. "Well, in any case I'll wait with you until there's any news."

Gumball and Fionna were the next few people to shortly arrive after hearing the news of you and Marshall's delivery, they're holding their own baskets in hand where Gumball's is nicely wrapped in a pink bow and Fionna's looks like hand made and honestly quite last minute, it didn't take long for the three of them to take a defense stance once they saw eachother.

"Ice Queen!" Fionna and Cake exclaim.

"You little brat!" The older woman prepared her ice powers but she gave one side glance at Marshall and pulled back with a grumble. "We’ll settle this later in the parking lot, I'll fetch you something to drink Marshall." Is all she said before flying away to the hospital's cafeteria.

"Hey Marsh, we came as fast as we could after hearing the news." Gumball explains, putting aside his basket on the waiting room chairs while Fionna does the same so the three of them could have a well meaning group hug.

"Thanks guys, I haven't gotten any updates and it's been driving me up the wall if I'm being honest." The vampire king explains.

"In any case, we'll wait it out with you. That's what homies are for." Fionna adds in, joined in by Cake soon after.

"That’s right sugar!"

And so they waited for what Marshall felt was an eternity and that's saying something when he's lived as long as he has, but nothing in that lifespan can compare to what he's going through at the moment. It only seemed like yesterday when you gave him the news of your pregnancy, and the months following up went by in a blink of an eye with your mood swings, your cravings, the nights where he couldn't get some sleep cause you were sleeping sideways and his unborn kid was kicking his back. Okay, that one was quite memorable. It brought a smile on his face for a moment but it only made him all the more scared at the thought of loosing that kid he hasn't met yet, or you, and glob forbids the both of you.

Fionna, Cake and Gumball tried to distract him with small talk during the while, he appreciated the gesture but he couldn't pour his heart into it fully. Eventually when Doctor Prince came out to check on him did Marshall practically fly out of his seat and started asking a billion questions before the doc could utter a single word.

Doctor Prince removed his gloves as he informs with a calm tone. "I came to inform you that the baby is undead."

"...What?"

It's in that instant Doctor Prince realizes he needs to reconsider his approach towards his patients, quickly raising his hands as he corrects himself. "Oh no no no not like that, I mean it's a good thing, you're a vampire right? Looks like she took after you! she doesn't have a heartbeat but she's alright and kicking, you can go see her in the incubation room."

Marshall Lee flies in the direction the doctor pointed at him as he repeats the words in his mind. "Took after me?" By the time he reached the incubation room he came to find out what he meant, she was a small thing but easy to spot through the multiple baby containers, the only one with gray skin and a small turf of dark hair- the nurse guarding the shift allowed him inside and he was able to get a closer look at the kiddo that has been nerve wracking him for months .

And she is perfect.

She's wailing and fidgeting in her little incubator with her closed eyes but still kicking and her pudgy little hands still attempt to grasp at the air, Marshall then slowly lowers his hand so she could wrap her little digits around his larger finger, it's then that she stops crying and coos curiously in Marshall's direction as if she recognizes him by instinct. If he wasn't crying already then he certainly was quietly sobbing now, all the anxiety and nervousness that was devouring him whole just seconds ago had completely evaporated the moment she held his finger. The nurse informed him that despite the lengthy procedure the baby was in good health and had Marshall signed a few papers before he was allowed to carry her and- dear glob he feels like he's gonna cry again.

Meanwhile Fionna and Cake have their faces glued to the glass of the incubation room as they marve at the sight of Marshall's baby, Gumball looks curiously and even Ice Queen is comically wailing at the sight of her tiny goddaughter... Even though Marshall never officially gave her the title of godmother. They all wanted to get a closer look at the baby but if there's anyone who deserves to see her first it's you, you're left in your room lying in bed rightfully exhausted and still somewhat out there due to the anesthesia but you're still aware enough that you smile tiredly at the sight of Marshall carefully walking on the ground with the bundle wrapped in his arms.

"Hi dear," you greet him.

"Hey, sorry I couldn't be there with you."

"It's alright, I would've called you names by then," you chuckle weakly as you hold your arms out so Marshall can hand you the baby, immediately feeling your eyes prick up. "Hi there little one, so nice to finally meet you."

You take in the moment to hold your little one, placing your nose against the swirl of short hair on her head. "She's just like you, but so, small. I hope it's just the looks or we have a troublemaker in our hands." You joke, pulling her close to kiss her little forehead.

"I mean she kicked a lot before, I don't think we'll be getting a moment of peace from now on." Marshall plays along as well, wrapping an arm around you as he floats beside you.

"She's perfect as she is."

[deanswhiskey]

𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 - 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐥

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

summary; you and castiel build a gingerbread house together

wc; 825

warnings; none :)

authors note; short little fiction for my first cas fic 🫶

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

“i do not understand the purpose of this.” castiel said holding two walls of the gingerbread house you two were building.

your concentration broke from castiels monotonous voice. “cas, baby, there’s no purpose it’s just for fun.” you resumed icing the corners together.

earlier today, you were out running errands for the bunker, which included grocery shopping.

you stopped by the small little christmas section just to browse. you had already decorated with what little you had. what caught your eye was the display of various gingerbread houses. you hadn’t done one of those since you were little. grabbing the standard house, you thought it’d be a fun idea to build with cas.

when you arrived home, you called cas from the kitchen.

no matter how long you know cas, him flying in anywhere always gave a scare of some kind. “what is it, dear?” he said.

“look what i bought us!” you sang out, holding up the gingerbread house box. castiel only furrowed his bored and tilted his head, not understanding what that is. “it’s a gingerbread house! you get all these pieces of a house made out of gingerbread and you stick them together with icing and decorate with candy!”

cas took the box from your hands and inspected it. he opened the box and dumped out its contents onto the kitchen table and picked up the small tube of icing it came with. “don’t worry, i bought more icing; these things never come with enough.”

there were also gingerbread dough packaged up near the house kits. you hoped to make a little tiny version of you and cas; maybe sam and dream too if you had enough.

“c’mon, let’s get working!” you said, which led you to right now.

“why use stale cookies to make a house? why not cardboard? or wood?”

you sighed, removing yourself from the house. you set the icing down and took a heavy glass and propped it on the inside of the walls so it could rest and cas could take his hands off.

you gently took his hands in your, “honey, it’s just a silly little tradition around the holidays,” you giggled, “it’s supposed to be fun. it stays up just like any decoration.” cas starts to understand, he smiles. “okay?” cas just nods. you reach up and give him a kiss on the cheek. he loved how gentle your kisses were, wether it be on the cheek or on the lips.

the two of you finished the house. it was beautifully messy. castiel took the liberty of decorating the side of the house.

he didn’t necessarily understand how to use a piping bag at first but he got the hang of it. he also loved the gumdrops, even stealing a few.

you giggled when he had accidentally wiped some icing on his cheek. you reached up and licked the little bit off; castiels cheeks flushed pink, not expecting that, at all.

“i have an idea!”

“what is it, pretty,” cas said

you blushed at the nickname before continuing. “we should make each other out of gingerbread people, i’ll make you and you make me!”

castiel nodded and smiled at the idea. you grabbed the dough and you and castiel began the roll out separate pieces. you took the cookie cutter and you each cut out like gingerbread people. there was enough left so you decided to make wing for castiel, sam, and dean.

the cookies went into the oven for a bit before you took them out. they had to cool off so you and castiel sat down and finish what little candy was left. you introduced the idea of tossing something his way and catching it in his mouth; castiel had gotten really good at it.

the cookies cool and you began frosting. you separated the icing so you can use it different colors. the both of you worked very hard on creating little gingerbread versions of you; and sam and dean.

when you finished, you presented them to each other. castiel smiled at his frosted wings. castiel had made little gingerbread you wear your favorite shirt.

after presenting them, you had put it on display, making your gingerbread people hold hands. sam and dean were set up too, on the opposite side of you two.

you took a step back and admired your messy little gingerbread house, it was perfect. castiel took his hand in your and smiled at the house too. you glanced up at him, “shall we go set it up?” castiel nodded, kissing the top of you head before grabbed the tray it was on.

the two of you headed to the living room and the two of you decided to set it on top of mantle.

“can we do this every year? can it be our tradition?” castiel looked down at you.

“of course, cas.” you smiled.

the two of you stood and admired your little family of gingerbread.

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

[batmanlovesnirvana]

Chapter eight | back to black.

masterlist.

pairing : battinson x fem!oc (can be read as x reader)

words : +7k

A/N : FUNERAL DAY !! I originally planned for this chapter to be 10k words, but it felt like too much, so I decided to split it into two parts. I’ll post the next part soon after this one! As always, feel free to leave a comment—I love hearing your thoughts!

cw : Bruce being a simp, Maryam and her sisters making fun of him, I forgot what else, 18+, thriller, medical procedures, angst, mental health issues, depression, ptsd, noire, canon-typical violence, POV alternating, gritty, horror, illness, slow burn, action, fluff, mutual pining, forced proximity, crime families, crime, fighting ect… read at your own risk !

THE CAVE FEELS MORE LIKE A TOMB than a workspace, cold and silent, echoing only the low whirring of Bruce's gadgets. 

Beneath Wayne Tower, Gotham's pulse feels distant, dulled by layers of concrete and steel.

At his workbench, as usual, Bruce sits alone, bathed in the soft blue glow of multiple screens. His face is as unmoving as stone, but his eyes burn with an intensity that belies his calm. 

On the screen before him, the footage replays—not of Gotham's criminals, not of the streets he prowls, not even of Selina's contacts or his enemies. But her. Maryam.

Maryam—like the Virgin Mary, but nothing so innocent, nothing so untouchable. Maryam is fire and ice, contradiction and certainty, strength and vulnerability. She is as untamed as the storm and as steady as the mountains. 

He knows it well, and yet, even after all this time, she's still a mystery he can't solve, a puzzle with pieces he's terrified to touch.

The screen freezes on her face, capturing her in mid-sentence, her expression twisted not in anger, but in something deeper—hurt. Her brow is furrowed, and those striking hazel eyes, that impossible green-gold, blaze with a betrayal that lances through him like a blade. Her lips, poised to unleash a torrent of words she'd held back, are pressed tight in defiance. And all he can do is stare, feeling the sting of his own stupidity.

Valuable. 

He'd said it as if it were a compliment, as if it justified the risks she took, as if it somehow explained the place she'd carved out in his life of shadows and secrets. But he hadn't anticipated her reaction, the flicker of hurt that had flashed across her face, the way she'd recoiled, as though he'd reduced her to a pawn in his endless game of vengeance.

His hands, fingers tense above the controls, curl into fists as her words echo back, slicing through the silence of the Cave like a ghostly accusation.

"Just some asset to monitor, a liability to contain—like a ticking bomb?"

He could see her in his mind, fire in her eyes as she spat the words at him, her voice trembling with fury, her frame taut with unspent energy. And he'd felt that pang, deep in his chest, as if something inside him had cracked, letting in the tiniest sliver of vulnerability, one he'd locked away long ago.

He remembers the way she looked at him, her gaze searching, peeling back the layers of his resolve with an intimacy he wasn't prepared for. "I'm not just... valuable. I'm a person. I bleed, I hurt. And you... you can't just..." She'd hesitated, her voice wavering, raw with something achingly human. "You can't just treat me like I'm another cog in your mission."

She'd left him speechless. 

He, who always had an answer, who prided himself on his ability to read people, who knew Gotham's darkest corners like the back of his hand—he had nothing to say. 

Because she was right.

He'd built his life on walls, fortress upon fortress, a castle to keep everyone out, and her words had broken through like a wrecking ball.

He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table, burying his face in his hands. 

And for the first time in years, he feels the weight of guilt, sharp and foreign, pressing into him like a blade he can't remove. He'd made a vow to never let anyone in, to keep his mission above everything, and yet here she was, tearing down his carefully constructed armor with nothing but her honesty.

He's so absorbed that he doesn't notice Alfred's quiet approach, the soft click of his footsteps as he stops a few paces behind. 

After a moment, the butler clears his throat gently, breaking the silence. 

Bruce doesn't turn, but his body tenses, the mask slipping back into place, though the rawness lingers in his eyes.

"Enjoying the view, sir?" Alfred asks, his tone laced with mischief as he steps into the dim light.

Bruce clenches his jaw, not answering his guardian, the words swirling in his mind—valuable, asset, liability. He feels the weight of them now, heavier than ever.

He'd built walls so high around himself, walls no one—not even Alfred—could breach. But Maryam... she had found a way through, dismantling his defenses piece by piece, forcing him to confront things he'd long since buried. 

Things he swore to himself would never resurface.

"Looks like you upset her," Alfred says softly, "Again." he says putting his arm behind his back, inspecting the screens before him.

Bruce exhales, shifting in his chair, his annoyance barely concealed. "It's not... like that, Alfred." His voice is low, roughened by something that sounds almost like regret. "She just... she has this way of getting under my skin."

Alfred chuckled softly, moving closer and crossing his arms as he leaned against the edge of the workbench. "Under your skin? Good heavens, I'd say that's quite the understatement, Master Wayne."

Bruce didn't reply, his eyes fixed on the monitor. 

The screen showed Maryam's face frozen in a moment of hurt, her emotions laid bare. That expression gnawed at him, more than he cared to admit.

Alfred caught the flicker in his young master's gaze and raised his brows, making his point.

"Not many people would stand up to you like that."

Bruce frowned, his jaw tightening as he turned his gaze back to the screen. "It's not about standing up to me," he muttered, his voice so low it was almost a gravelly whisper.

But Alfred, as persistent as ever, pressed on. "Oh, I think it is. That kind of anger comes from caring, Bruce. Even if you didn't realize it at the time."

Bruce let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. Stubbornness radiated off him like armor. "She misunderstood."

"Did she? Or did you just say the wrong thing?"

Bruce's jaw tightened further, his teeth grinding almost audibly. "She doesn't understand what I'm trying to do."

"And whose fault is that, hm? Communication has never been your strongest suit, sir."

Bruce didn't respond, the tension in his body evident in the way his hands gripped the computer mouse and his knuckles whitened.

Alfred watched him in silence for a moment before speaking again, his tone softer now, more measured. "People aren't tools, Bruce. She said it better than I could. They're not assets to be managed or risks to be calculated. Especially not someone like her."

Bruce's gaze faltered for a moment, his mind replaying the moment on its own, no longer needing the footage. He could hear her voice, see her expression, feel the weight of her words. The hurt in her voice cut through him like glass, and her defiance still lingered in the space between them.

Was she wrong to be angry? No. If anything, she'd been right. He had reduced her to a tool in that moment, another pawn in his endless war. But Maryam wasn't a tool. She wasn't a pawn. She wasn't like anyone else.

She had her own battles, her own scars. And yet, she had stood before him, unflinching, demanding more. Demanding better.

And he had failed her.

"If you truly believe she's valuable," Alfred said quietly, "perhaps you should show her why."

Bruce finally turned slightly, his eyes meeting Alfred's briefly. The butler gave him a small, encouraging smile.

"You'll have another chance, I'm sure," Alfred continued. Then, after a pause, he added, "Didn't you tell me that she seems familiar—?"

"She's a medical examiner. Nothing else."

There it was again—his stubbornness, a trait they both shared. Or was it something else? More like fear. 

Fear from a man who claimed to have none.

The thought of letting someone in, of opening even the smallest part of himself, was too much. Too dangerous.  It wasn't practical; he told himself that over and over. There wasn't time for it.

The butler sighed, shaking his head, as though reading Bruce's thoughts. "You keep telling yourself that, sir."

Bruce didn't reply, his gaze drifting back to the darkened screen. The weight of his choices, of his words, hung heavy in the cave, like a storm cloud refusing to dissipate.

A beat of silence passed before Alfred's voice cut through, pulling him back to the present. "Shall I take it as a good sign," the butler asked, a faint smile playing on his lips, a touch of humor in his tone.

Bruce furrowed his brows, not understanding. "What?"

Alfred gestured toward him. "Your attire." he clarified, raising a brow. "Is Bruce Wayne making an actual appearance?"

Oh, that.

Bruce glanced down at himself. He was, indeed, dressed in a suit—formal and impeccable, though he had barely noticed the effort it had taken.

Blinking as if shaking off the question's sudden intrusion, he straightened, rolling his shoulders to cast off the weight of his thoughts.

"There's a public memorial for Mayor Mitchell," he explained, his voice steady but cool. "Serial killers like to follow the reaction to their crimes—Riddler might not be able to resist."

"Oh, that reminds me." Alfred reached into his waistcoat pocket, producing a folded piece of paper. "I took the liberty of doing a little work on this latest cipher..."

Bruce finally turned from the screens, the faint screeches of bats echoing from above as he focused on Alfred. The butler unfolded the paper, gesturing to the symbols.

"I'm afraid his Spanish is less than perfect, but I'm fairly certain it translates to, 'You are el rata alada.'"

Bruce took the paper, his brow furrowing as he studied it. "'Rata alada'... rat with wings?"

"It's slang for pigeon," Alfred explained. "Does that make any sense to you?"

Bruce nodded slightly, his mind already working. "Yeah... a stool pigeon."

Before the thought could deepen, Alfred's sharp eyes caught something else. "Where are your cufflinks?" he remarked, gesturing toward Bruce's bare cuffs.

Bruce muttered distractedly, "Couldn't find them," his attention still fixed on the cipher in his hands.

Alfred sighed and pulled a pair from his own pocket, stepping forward. "You can't go out like that—"

"Alfred, I don't want your cufflinks," Bruce snapped, irritation flickering in his voice as he glanced briefly at the older man.

"You have to keep up appearances," Alfred insisted, his tone calm but firm as he took Bruce's wrist and began fastening the cufflink. "You're still a Wayne, after all."

Reluctantly, Bruce let him.

As Alfred worked, Bruce noticed the monogrammed 'W' on the cufflink. He raised an eyebrow and let out a small, wry chuckle. "What about you? Are you a Wayne now?"

Alfred smiled faintly, moving to secure the other sleeve. "Your father gave them to me," he said quietly, the words heavy with unspoken emotion.

Bruce paused, the statement catching him off guard. 

He looked at Alfred, his expression softening slightly. But Alfred, ever the professional, broke the moment with a lighthearted smile. "I'm just loaning them to you—I want them back."

The billionaire nodded, a rare, fleeting warmth passing between them before he turned away, the weight of their conversation still lingering in the cave air.

The sun had barely risen, casting a dim, gray light over Gotham as Dr. Halimi adjusted the collar of her tailored black coat, her eyes scanning her reflection in the mirror. The soft morning light filtered through the small windows of her apartment, bathing the room in a quiet, muted glow.

She took a step back, her gaze moving over the sleek lines of the black coat, which hugged her figure with an austere, precise elegance. The cut was sharp, the fabric smooth, cinching at the waist and falling just below her knees—a perfect balance of timelessness and severity. She smoothed the lapel with practiced hands, tugging at the waist one last time before letting her eyes rest on the black veil pinned to her pillbox hat.

The veil draped softly over her high cheekbones, adding a quiet touch of drama to her otherwise composed appearance. It rested at a slight angle, lending her a timeless, classic look, while her caramel hair was half-up, the rest falling in soft waves down her back.

Sherine had teased her about the veil, calling it "a bit much," but to Maryam, it felt like the only choice. It was right for today—appropriate, even necessary.

Her black high heels clicked sharply against the hardwood floor as she stepped back once more. The impracticality of them was a minor sacrifice for the sake of elegance. She adjusted the pillbox hat once again, smoothing the veil, allowing herself a fleeting moment to indulge in the kind of grace she rarely had the chance to embrace.

Maryam wasn’t one to lean into vanity—not because she didn’t enjoy it, but because her line of work didn’t exactly leave room for it. But today... today was different.

Her eyes dropped to her hand, where she held her mother’s brooch—an old, delicate thing, with silver vines curling around soft pearls. She ran her thumb over its familiar curves, feeling the weight of its history, its stories, pressed into her skin.

It was a relic, a link to a past long gone, and for years it had been tucked away in a velvet box beneath her bed. Pinning it to her coat had felt like the right choice—small, subtle, and close to her heart. But now, doubt began to creep in.

Would it draw too much attention? Invite too many questions? She wasn’t sure if anyone here would recognize it—or what it would mean if they did. For a moment, she considered leaving it behind.

Just then, Sherine yawned from the hallway, adjusting her earrings in the mirror. Dressed in a sharp black dress and high heels, she looked every bit the polished, worldly journalist and archaeologist she was.

She'd flown in from Metropolis just for this, bringing with her an extra pep in her step and an almost comical disbelief at Gotham's perpetual gloom. Despite being a Gothamite herself, it seemed that Metropolis had rubbed off on her.

"Okay fine, I admit it, the veil looks amazing," Sherine's voice broke through Maryam's thoughts as she stepped further into the room, reaching out to touch the delicate fabric. 

The doctor quickly slapped her hand away, and Sherine rolled her eyes in exaggerated annoyance.

Maryam smirked, smoothing down the veil with a delicate hand. "Thanks, it's called 'honoring tradition,' Sher."

Her sister raised an eyebrow. "Right. A tradition you remembered just for today, I see. You look like you're about to attend a royal funeral."

"Close enough," Maryam retorted with a dry laugh, checking her reflection again. "Besides, with Bruce Wayne rumored to make an appearance, it might as well be. Gotham's royalty, gracing us commoners with his presence."

"Ah, yes. Mr. Wayne," Sherine replied, practically snickering. "The hermit king himself."

Maryam shot her sister a sideways glance, a smirk tugging at the corners of her otherwise serious expression. “Can you believe it? Word is, the elusive Wayne heir might actually make an appearance today,” she said, raising an arm dramatically and waving it like she was unveiling a grand banner.

Sherine scoffed. "Nepo baby royalty. It's ridiculous, really. His family practically built Gotham—and I don't mean that in a good way. He's the poster child for unchecked capitalism."

Maryam chuckled, shaking her head. "You're not wrong. The Wayne legacy is all around us, and yet he hides away like some... Gotham myth."

"Not unlike Falcone," Sherine added, raising an eyebrow. "Though between the two, I think Falcone's the scarier recluse."

The mention of Falcone brought a flicker of unease to Maryam's face. "Do you think he'll show up?" She asked, more to herself than to Sherine. The thought of Falcone coming out of his shadows was unsettling, to say the least.

"Not a chance," Sherine dismissed with a wave of her hand. "That man's probably hiding under a dozen layers of security and shadows."

"Still, I wouldn't put it past him. He's got his hands in everything in this city."

"Not more reclusive than Bruce Wayne, though," Sherine snorted, reaching for her clutch. "At least Falcone actually does something—however terrible it is."

"If he shows up with his son Vittorio, I swear to God, I'll—" Maryam began, spritzing a hint of her favorite perfume on her wrists.

"You will do absolutely nothing," Sherine cut in, standing beside her and fussing with her hair in the mirror, her vibrant red waves catching the muted morning light. "You don't want to start anything, especially today. It's the mayor's funeral, for crying out loud."

"Oh, I'm serious, Sherine. I went out as the Wraith just two nights ago and yesterday as a civilian, and still nothing. Nothing! If Vittorio even glances in Alma's direction, they're going to find out exactly what I'm capable of," Maryam muttered, her eyes flashing with a hint of defiance as she twisted off the cap of her perfume.

Sherine raised an eyebrow. "And that's exactly why I'm reminding you to keep it together. This isn't some Gotham street brawl—it's a funeral. Dignity, remember?"

Maryam scoffed, setting the perfume bottle back on her dresser. "Falcone is the last person who deserves any respect. And his son? The only thing he got from his father is that insufferable sense of entitlement."

Sherine just sighed, too tired to argue with her stubborn sister. "You're impossible," she muttered, shaking her head.

Maryam responded with a faint, tight smile, but her eyes flickered back to the brooch now sitting quietly on her dresser.

She picked it up, her thumb tracing the delicate silver vines and tiny pearls. It felt almost too precious for a day like this—too bold, too revealing of a heritage she'd rather keep hidden.

Sherine noticed her hesitation. "Are you really going to wear that?" she asked, softening her tone, then quickly added with a grin, "Actually, I hope you do."

"I don't know," Maryam murmured, uncertain.

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Just wear the damn brooch," Sherine said with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "No one here is going to recognize it. The average Gothamite probably thinks the Romanovs are a brand of vodka."

"Not everyone's that ignorant of history," Maryam replied with a hint of amusement.

Sherine smirked. "Maybe not, but Gotham has its own blind spots. Who's really going to scrutinize your jewelry today?"

Maryam took a deep breath, her fingers hovering over the brooch before slipping it back into its velvet box, closing the lid firmly. "I just... don't want any unnecessary attention."

Sherine shrugged, looking Maryam over. "Fine. But you're still the most elegant one there, veil and all. That coat is practically regal."

Maryam's gaze lingered on the box, feeling the familiar tug of unease. She'd nearly decided to leave it behind... but, almost on instinct, she pinned the brooch to her coat, the weight of it settling against her heart.

"Yeah, fuck it," she said with a finality, sliding her clutch under her arm."So, are you ready? We need to pick up Aunt Meysa and Alma before they complain that we left them to fend for themselves."

"Oh, trust me," Sherine replied, laughing as she slipped on her coat. "Aunt Meysa is probably lecturing Alma as we speak. You know Alma's in hiding mode—poor thing can't even escape her law books without Aunt Meysa giving her a full interrogation."

Maryam smiled knowingly. "It's probably good for Alma. Keeps her grounded."

As they made their way out of the apartment, Maryam's heels clicked against the floor with a steady rhythm, each step seeming to amplify her resolve. 

Sherine chattered beside her as they descended the stairs and headed to Maryam's car, parked just down the block. The streets were already buzzing with Gotham's peculiar mix of early risers and the last stragglers of the night.

Sliding into the driver's seat, Maryam took a deep breath, her fingers gripping the steering wheel. Her sister glanced over, reading her sister's tension.

"Hey, it's just a funeral," Sherine said, trying to sound lighthearted.

"It's Gotham," Maryam corrected, a hint of grim humor in her voice. "Funerals here are never just funerals."

Sherine laughed. "Alright, fair. But come on, it's the mayor's funeral, not some mob boss's funeral. How bad could it be?"

Maryam shot her a look that clearly said, You should know better by now.

As they drove, Sherine’s phone buzzed incessantly, its ringing filling the otherwise quiet car.

The name "C" flashed on the screen, and Maryam caught the subtle twitch of her sister’s eye— the same one that always appeared when this particular contact reached out. The phone rang again, and Maryam couldn’t help but glance at her sister, who tried to hide the faint blush creeping up her neck.

They exchanged a quick glance, and both reached for the phone. Sherine, always quick, made a grab for it, but Maryam, with a mischievous grin, was quicker.

She snatched the phone away before Sherine had a chance to react.

"Ooooh, who is this, dear sister?" Maryam teased, unlocking the phone and scrolling through the messages. "Hmm? Someone special?"

"Nobody!" Sherine snapped, her voice tight as she stretched for the phone, but Maryam held it out of reach, enjoying her sister’s discomfort.

Maryam clicked on the contact photo, revealing a handsome man with black glasses, a shy smile, and messy black curls that fell just above his forehead. It looked like one of those professional photos you’d put on a company badge.

"Ooh, very cute. Very your style. Very glasses, very nerdy... very American," Maryam mocked playfully.

Sherine blushed deeply, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. "Khalas, Maryam! We’re gonna have an accident!" she scolded, her voice sharp as she tried once again to reach for the phone, but Maryam pulled it away.

Maryam continued scrolling, her fingers dancing across the screen. "Come on, tell me his name, and I’ll stop."

Sherine sighed in defeat. "Okay, fine! Clark, his name is Clark!"

Maryam raised an eyebrow, clicking her tongue. "Very American," she said with a grin. Sherine’s face reddened further, and her voice hardened as she reached for the phone again.

"Maryam."

Maryam sighed, finally giving in and tossing the phone into Sherine’s lap. The car remained perfectly still— Maryam was too precise behind the wheel for anything to disrupt their calm drive. The silence lingered, but Maryam wasn’t quite ready to let it settle just yet.

With a small smirk on her lips, Maryam reached for the radio, her red nails glittering as they stopped at a red light. She glanced at her sister, then at the road, before breaking the silence.

"So?" she asked, her voice laced with curiosity and mischief.

Sherine let out a long sigh, her voice softening as she glanced at the passing streets. "Ugh, yes, he's very American. From Kansas, farmer’s son and all that," she muttered, her tone losing some of its usual edge. "And... yeah, he's very attractive, to put it simply. Clark Joseph Kent. That's his name. He works at the Daily Planet as a journalist with me."

As Sherine spoke, her voice steadied, but Maryam could hear the quiet vulnerability slipping through her words. Sherine always said a person's full name when she was crushing hard on them.

"We're just friends, okay?" Sherine added, biting her nails nervously as she stole a glance at the road. "I mean, what am I even saying? Just colleagues. He's... he's interested in someone else." Her gaze drifted out the window, and Maryam caught the subtle clench of her sister's jaw, the silent struggle to hold back her feelings. "I met him three months ago and made him visit our place of work per Perry's order. That's all there is to know. We work together, and that's it." It was almost as if she were trying to convince herself.

Maryam raised an eyebrow, her smirk never wavering. She knew her sister too well. Sherine could pretend she didn’t care, but Maryam could see the truth beneath the layers of nonchalance.

But she also knew when to stay silent and let her sister talk in her own time.

"You better not tell anyone about him," Sherine said quietly, her voice carrying a hint of caution.

Maryam turned the wheel to the left, steering them through a turn, and made the motion of zipping her mouth with one hand. "Your secret’s safe with me," she teased, her smirk still in place.

They pulled up in front of Aunt Meysa's building, where both Aunt Meysa and Aunt Jamila were already waiting at the curb. 

Aunt Meysa, the picture of elegance, stood tall in a somber black dress, her usual veil draped gracefully over her greying hair. She raised an eyebrow, her usual approving expression settling on her face.

"Masha'Allah," she said with a nod, her eyes scanning their outfits. "You both look presentable, thank goodness."

Maryam smirked, fighting back a laugh. "Shokran, Amti Meysa."

Beside her, Aunt Jamila let out a low chuckle, her lips pulling into a wry smile as she cast Maryam and Sherine a quick, assessing look. "Almost like they didn't grow up running around in dusty alleys."

Maryam only hummed in response, stepping forward to kiss the cheeks of her two aunts in turn.

Just then, Aunt Meysa cast a sharp look back toward the building entrance. "Alma's coming down," she announced, a hint of exasperation in her tone. Her gaze flicked to Maryam. "You know she's ignoring you, right?"

"Isn't she always?" Maryam replied, shrugging lightly.

Sure enough, Alma appeared in the doorway moments later. She wore a simple black dress paired with an elegant coat and high-heeled boots. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and her gaze remained downcast, deliberately avoiding her sisters.

"Ah, finally!" Aunt Jamila clapped her hands, her tone hovering between amusement and reproach.

Sherine leaned out of the car window with a grin. "Ready to face the lions, Alma?" she teased as Alma climbed into the backseat, her expression resigned.

Alma rolled her eyes, folding her arms tightly. "Like I had much of a choice," she muttered, shooting Aunt Meysa a half-hearted glare.

Aunt Meysa arched an eyebrow, her voice thick with her Arab accent. "I swear to God, girls, I don’t want any problems. I’m warning you!"

When they finally pulled up in front of Gotham’s City Hall, the scene outside was pure chaos. The streets were teeming with people, their chants rising in the air—"No more lies." Banners with the Riddler's ominous symbols waved above the crowd like a dark omen.

"Shouf," Aunt Meysa gestured toward the crowd, her head tilting slightly, eyes narrowing in disbelief. "What is this?" she demanded, clutching her veil tightly as she observed the scene with sharp, calculating eyes.

No one responded right away. The atmosphere was heavy with tension as they all stared out at the gathering, unsure of what they were witnessing.

Suddenly, a cop tapped on the glass, pulling Maryam from her thoughts. She snapped to attention, rolling the window down with a slight hesitation.

"Hello, names please," the officer said, his tone bordering on a command as he looked at them expectantly.

"Ben Halimi, sir," Aunt Jamila replied smoothly, handing Maryam an envelope with the invitations.

Maryam passed the envelope to the officer, who took it and quickly skimmed the contents. "Alright," he said with a nod, pointing toward a nearby parking lot. "This way, please."

As they parked, the air felt thick with humidity, the wet pavement reflecting the city’s lights. The sound of heels clicking against the slick ground echoed through the otherwise quiet street. Aunt Meysa led the way, her steps measured and dignified, her head held high as always. Sherine, Maryam, and Alma followed closely behind, the weight of the evening settling over them in the form of a quiet procession.

"Why didn't we get the same service?" Aunt Meysa asked, casting a critical glance at the sleek, elegant cars pulling up nearby.

"Because we're peasants, Amti," Maryam quipped without missing a beat, her tone dry and laced with humor.

Aunt Jamila laughed, her eyes sparkling. "Maryam, you look like royalty. We should've had the same treatment," she teased.

Maryam gave a mock grimace, her lips curling into a wry smile. "Yes, of course. And maybe we should've brought our butler too, right?" she retorted, which earned her an exaggerated eye roll from her aunt.

As they approached the entrance to City Hall, Maryam’s eyes scanned the crowd, noting the sea of black suits and dresses, the low hum of conversation, and the occasional camera flash from the paparazzi. Her gaze landed on Warda and her husband, Ryan, standing near the grand staircase. They were mostly overlooked by the flashing cameras, an odd relief in the sea of attention.

Warda stood with her hands gently resting over her growing belly, radiant even in mourning attire. Ryan hovered close beside her, one hand protectively on her back, his gaze sharp as he scanned the bustling crowd.

Aunt Jamila waved at them, her expression softening into something warm and affectionate. She shuffled over to greet them while other attendees glanced their way. Sherine offered those onlookers an awkward smile, but Maryam merely raised a brow, daring anyone to say something.

"Finally! We've been waiting for you. Rania's been fussing—"

"We know," Alma interrupted, her tone curt as she slipped her hands into her coat for warmth. "We saw the messages in the group chat."

"Feeling alright?" Maryam asked Warda, her instinct as a doctor surfacing as she nodded toward her sister's rounded belly.

Warda smiled gently. "Just fine. Ryan's the one fussing over me, though."

Ryan shook his head with an amused smirk, but Maryam chuckled, looping her arm through her sister's. "That's what husbands are for."

In Gotham, even a funeral felt like a performance, and Maryam couldn't help but wonder what kind of show was waiting for them inside.

She didn't have to wonder for long.

Not far from them, Carmine Falcone emerged from a sleek black car, flanked by his usual bodyguards. 

He extended a hand to help a striking woman out—a companion for the day, no doubt. Behind them, his son, Vittorio, followed, phone pressed to his ear, his sharp gaze scanning the crowd with calculated precision. Maryam heard Alma shift nervously behind her.

"Is that—" Ryan started, narrowing his eyes.

"The Falcones," Maryam muttered, an unexpected flare of anger tightening her jaw.

"No, I meant Bruce Wayne," Ryan clarified.

"Oh my god, yes!" Warda whispered, her eyes lighting up with excitement.

"He's even more handsome in person," Aunt Jamila added, squinting like she was assessing a priceless possession.

"Look, Maryam! Go talk to him!" she urged, her voice practically bubbling over with enthusiasm.

"Don't be ridiculous, Amti," Warda replied in Arabic, trying to suppress a laugh.

But Maryam wasn't paying attention. She hardly noticed the paparazzi shouting for Wayne or her family's chatter, because at that moment, Vittorio's eyes locked with Alma's. Alma immediately turned her head, a blush creeping up her cheeks, while his jaw tightened visibly.

Sherine squeezed Maryam's arm. "Mar—"

"Don't you dare, Maryam! You'll embarrass me!" Alma hissed, but her words went ignored.

Maryam shook off her sister's grip, her focus narrowing as she strode confidently toward the Falcones. Aunt Meysa's voice trailed after her, sharp with disapproval. "Where is she going? We're supposed to go inside!"

But Maryam didn't stop. Every step she took drew attention. As she closed the distance to Gotham's notorious crime family, one of Falcone's security guards stepped in her way.

"Ma'am, what do you think you're doing?" he asked, his tone cold and dismissive.

Maryam pointed at Vittorio, her eyes burning with intent. "I need to speak to him."

Carmine's dark-rimmed glasses gleamed in the dim light as he turned his attention to her. His gaze, a mixture of curiosity and quiet menace, lingered on her before he spoke, his voice a low rumble. "And who might you be?"

Without flinching, she met his stare, her voice steady. "You should ask your son."

Vittorio said nothing, his gaze dropping away as he clenched his jaw and slid his phone into his waistcoat pocket. But Carmine didn't wait for an explanation. His sharp eyes flicked over Maryam's shoulder, settling on her family. His gaze lingered on Alma, and a knowing smirk tugged at his lips.

"They weren't lying when they said you girls were a sight to see. Beautiful," he murmured, his tone as smooth as it was unsettling.

A shudder rippled through Maryam, her unease deepening.

Then, from behind him, came a laugh—loud, brash, and unmistakably familiar.

Oz Cobblepot. Of course.

The sudden jolt of recognition struck Maryam. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. 

What did he mean by that? The way he spoke, like he already knew them—knew her—made her uneasy. Before she could find her voice, Carmine slipped his hand under her arm, his grip surprisingly gentle, almost as if she were fragile porcelain.

"Take a walk with us," he said, guiding her forward.

Still in a daze, Maryam let herself be led, her feet moving almost automatically as they began climbing the stairs. 

She glanced back, catching the confused, wary looks of her family. Aunt Jamila's eyes narrowed, a mix of concern and indignation flashing in them. Alma, on the other hand, seemed like she wanted to vanish into the ground. Aunt Meysa's stern expression softened, her lips pressing into a tight line, as if she wanted to call Maryam back but couldn't bring herself to.

As they ascended, Maryam's heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing with questions she couldn't yet voice.

Bruce gripped the steering wheel, his gaze narrowing as he scanned the city hall ahead. 

The city hall loomed ahead, its steps swarming with mourners and a sea of makeshift memorials. Flowers, candles, and angry placards blurred together in the drizzle, the wet pavement reflecting glints of firelight and the oppressive gray sky.

People were chanting "no more lies" people who at first thought were mourners but needed people who were protesting.

Among them , a group of hooded men caught his eye, their scrawled question-mark signs mimicking the Riddler's mark. 

Always lurking, he thought grimly.

Not far from him, another protestor waved a sign reading "Who Else Dies for Gotham's Lies?"

His blood chilled at the sight.

The honk of a traffic cop jarred him back to the present.

He avance with his car in the traffic before he could even down his window, an officer was already double-tooking through it when he recognized Bruce, his stoic professionalism cracking into something close to reverence. "MR Wayne over here!" he pointed to the place where valets were waiting down the stairs of the city hall the cop waved him forward.

The valet opened his door, and Bruce stepped out, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored suit. The murmurs started immediately.

"Is that the Bruce Wayne?"

"Bruce Wayne's here!"

The paparazzi swarmed, shouting over each other as camera flashes exploded around him. Bruce reached for his wallet, barely paying attention.

Then he saw them.

Carmine Falcone stepped out of a sleek black car, his phalanx of bodyguards forming a protective shield around him. 

He moved with a calm, deliberate arrogance, the kind that only a man like Falcone could carry off. Bruce's eyes narrowed as he watched him reach out a hand to help someone step out of the car.

A slender leg, clad in a high-heeled boot, emerged first. Bruce's stomach tightened. The boots were strikingly similar to the ones Annika and Selina favored in the club. The woman followed, her face obscured by a hat, her movements poised and deliberate. For a moment, Bruce's mind reeled. Was that Selina?

But before he could process further, his attention snapped to something—or someone—else.

Maryam Ben Halimi.

The haunting of his dreams. 

Her face appeared in his line of sight, pulling his focus away from the unfolding scene. He recognized immediately despite her elegant veiled pillow box hat. She stood a short distance away, surrounded by a cluster of women—a pregnant woman, likely her sister, stood closest to her, her husband at her side. Maryam's hand rested gently on the woman's arm as she spoke, her expression soft but firm.

Bruce's hand, mid-motion to hand cash to the valet, faltered. 

The noise of the crowd, the paparazzi's shouts—it all faded into a dull hum. 

All he could see was her.

Even in the somber atmosphere of a funeral, she looked radiant. Her dark attire was elegant, almost regal-- like royalty, a stark contrast to the gritty chaos around them. 

For a fleeting moment, Bruce forgot why he was here. 

He forgot everything except the way she held herself—graceful, poised, utterly captivating.

Then she moved.

Bruce's brows furrowed as he watched Maryam break away from her family, her stride purposeful, graceful. She was heading straight toward Falcone.

What is she doing?

His pulse quickened as Carmine turned, his sharp eyes narrowing with interest as Maryam approached. The woman on his arm seemed momentarily forgotten.After talking for a few minutes, Carmine slipped his arm under Maryam's, his demeanor shifting to one of calculated charm as he began leading her up the steps to City Hall.

Bruce's stomach dropped.

No. No, no, no.

Before he could think, his body moved on instinct. 

The crowd was thick, a crush of mourners, reporters, and onlookers. Cameras flashed, and the paparazzi's voices rose in a cacophony around him, but he heard none of it. His eyes were locked on Maryam and Falcone, his focus razor-sharp.

He couldn't call out to her. No, that wasn't an option. She didn't know him—not as Bruce Wayne. To her, he was a stranger, a man with no place in her life.

And yet, none of that mattered. The only thing driving him forward was the unshakable instinct to pull her away from that man, to shield her from whatever danger lurked behind Falcone's veneer of charm.

As he closed the distance, the bottleneck near the entrance to city hall became a wall of bodies. Falcone's security detail fanned out, forming a human barricade between the mob boss and the growing crowd.

Bruce's jaw tightened, his frustration mounting as he tried to maneuver closer. Two bodyguards stepped into his path, their imposing forms blocking his view. His gaze darted past them, landing squarely on Maryam.

She turned then, her veil shifting slightly as her hazel eyes caught his. Bruce felt a jolt run through him. Her gaze met his directly—steady, searching. She took a shallow breath, her eyes narrowing as though trying to place him. Recognition? No, it couldn't be. She didn't know him. Not like this.

Still, he couldn't look away. 

It was as though the crowd, the noise, the chaos around them all melted into nothing. She held his gaze, her expression unreadable, while he stared back, caught in the moment.

It was only when one of the bodyguards slammed a hand against his chest that he snapped back to reality.

"Hey, hey—give us some space here, slick," the man growled, shoving Bruce back a step.

Bruce bristled, his frustration threatening to boil over. His piercing glare bore into the man as he fought the urge to push back harder.

The commotion finally drew Falcone's attention. The crime boss paused on the steps, his grip still resting lightly but possessively on Maryam's arm. He turned toward the scene, his eyes glinting with amusement as his thin lips curled into a smirk.

"Watch it, fellas—you've got the prince of the city there!" Falcone's drawl was smooth, mocking, every word dipped in condescension.

The bodyguards hesitated, exchanging glances before loosening their grip slightly at Falcone's signal.

Bruce stood rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on Maryam as if the sheer force of it could dissolve the distance between them. For a moment, something flickered in her eyes—uncertainty, hesitation, or perhaps a fleeting recognition that vanished as quickly as it came. He didn't know, couldn't know. 

But it pierced him all the same, an ache he wasn't prepared for.

The woman with the hat and the heels that had first caught his attention—the ones so similar to Selina's—turned as well, revealing not Selina, but Carla, the girl from the club. 

The realization barely registered; his focus was elsewhere.

"Some event," Falcone drawled, stepping forward with a smug grin. "Brought out the one guy in Gotham more reclusive than me. To what do we owe the honor, Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce didn't answer. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Maryam. She stood beside Falcone, her posture stiff, her body tense, but her expression now unreadable. If she was afraid, she didn't show it. Instead, her composure was as calculated as a blade—poised, sharp, and ready.

Falcone noticed. He followed Bruce's gaze back to Maryam, his grin deepening. Then, in a move so deliberate it felt like a taunt, he slid an arm around her waist.

The effect was instant. Maryam's shoulders tightened, and though she didn't flinch, the discomfort was plain in the set of her jaw. Bruce's fists clenched at his sides, a surge of anger coursing through him. He stepped forward again, but the bodyguards moved in, one of them shoving him back with a heavy hand.

"Easy there, Wayne," Falcone said, raising an eyebrow, his voice laced with mockery. "We're just having a little chat." He turned back to Maryam, his expression almost playful. "Do you two know each other?"

Maryam's hesitation was barely perceptible, a single heartbeat of silence before she answered. "No," she said, her voice steady but tight. She looked away from Bruce, breaking the connection between their gazes. "He's a total stranger."

The words landed like a blow. Bruce's chest tightened. But weren't they true? She didn't know him—not here, not like this. Outside of the cowl, he was nothing to her. A stranger. He reminded himself that he couldn't fault her for that.

And yet, the sting remained.

But Bruce didn't falter. His gaze stayed locked on her, even as she avoided his. The tension between him and Falcone thickened, an unspoken challenge simmering just beneath the surface.

"Let her go," Bruce said quietly, his voice low and even, each word a deliberate act of defiance.

Falcone's smirk deepened. His hand on Maryam's waist tightened ever so slightly, a gesture so subtle it might have gone unnoticed. But not by Bruce.

"Why don't you run along, Wayne?" another voice interjected, this time Vittorio's, dripping with false civility. "This is family business."

Bruce ignored him, his eyes narrowing at Falcone. "I thought your father never left the Shoreline," he said coldly, his tone cutting. "Aren't you afraid someone'll take a shot at you?"

Falcone's smirk didn't waver, but his eyes darkened. "You mean now that your father isn't around?" He turned slightly, calling over his shoulder. "Oz, you know Bruce Wayne?"

A gravelly voice answered, "Whoa—s'that right?" Oswald Cobblepot emerged from the shadows, his calculating gaze sweeping over Bruce from head to toe. He looked unimpressed, but the sharp gleam in his eyes betrayed him.

Falcone chuckled, turning his attention back to Bruce. "His father saved my life, you know. I always tell the story to Vittorio here." He clapped a hand on his son's shoulder, but Vittorio didn't react, his cold gaze fixed on Bruce as he dragged on a cigarette.

Falcone tapped his chest. "Took a bullet right here. Couldn't go to a hospital, so we showed up on Dr. Wayne's doorstep. Operated on me right there on the dining room table. Kid here saw the whole thing." His grin widened. "You don't think that meant something?"

Bruce's jaw clenched. He wanted to fire back, but Maryam's voice cut through the tension.

"I should probably go," she said, her voice steady but edged with tension. She stepped away from the group with a fluid grace that bordered on defiance, her grip tightening around her clutch. Falcone didn't even acknowledge her departure, his attention still fixed on Bruce.

Her heels clicked sharply against the pavement as she moved, the sound cutting through the charged air. For a brief moment, she turned her head back toward him, a flicker of something in her eyes—uncertainty, or perhaps contemplation. Her brow furrowed, a brief pause in her otherwise composed demeanor, as though something was weighing heavily on her mind.

Then, with a final, decisive glance, she hurried into City Hall, blending into the crowd, her figure swallowed up by the throng of people.

Bruce's eyes followed her until she disappeared inside. 

Then, finally, he spoke. "It meant he took the Hippocratic Oath."

Falcone's laughter was sharp and derisive. "Hippocratic Oath, huh? That's good."

Vittorio, his silence thick as always, flicked his cigarette toward Bruce's shoes, a subtle yet pointed gesture. Bruce didn't so much as blink.

"'Scuse me," he muttered, brushing past them without a second glance.

His focus was singular now.

Maryam.

previous chapter | next

Oooooop 👀👀

I know this might be a bit cringey, but I can’t help myself—I just love doing it! So, here’s what I envisioned for Maryam’s outfit in this chapter :)) :

[ Translation ]

Amti : aunt.

Khalas : stop.

[penvisions]

weather permitting {by the grit of sandpaper}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x Patrol Partner! Reader

Summary: A summer storm catches you off guard.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: canon typical language, pining, requited unrequited feelings, joel is so soft in this, heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, confessions, lots of feelings, reader is afraid of thunder, reader has astraphobia, extreme weather, teasing banter, SET BEFORE THE FIRST CHAPTER

A/N: reposting @jessthebaker and their emoji request for the final chapter celebration in a separate post, lovely reading to y'all until the chapter comes out!

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“This pressure in the air is…” You trailed off as you gazed up at the darkened sky. The deep, moody gray having crawled across the sky to blanket the sun. Lightning burst to life on the horizon, making you freeze atop Lowry. The sweet horse so attuned to you that she paused in her slow, meandering steps.

Thunder boomed, echoing across the open plains, startling you even as you waited for the sound with held breath.

“We should head back, storm’s comin’ in fast.” Joel regarded you atop his own horse, Kiana. She whinnied, not liking the direction he was turning her toward with gentle motions of the reigns. The hush of rain on the horizon was loud as it moved toward you both. Wetting the plains with fat droplets that  did nothing to quell the humidity that had made the air dense and hard to breath. Intensifying the heat of the mid-summer day.

“Yeah, good call.” Following his lead, you steered Lowry to turn around. It had been too slow a realization on both your parts, clothing soaked and sticking to your skin and weighing down your hair as you closed the distance back toward the settlement. With a piercing whistle just as you crested a slippery hill, Joel let the guards on duty know that you were back.

Laughter bubbled up from them underneath their makeshift protection against the rain atop the tall, foreboding wall that protected your town. You couldn’t help but share in their good moods despite the sudden shift in weather when you and Joel finally found yourselves underneath the eaves of the stables.

His graying curls were soaked, one of them so affected it looked like a ringlet as it fell over his forehead and flopped with his every move. Heat bloomed in your chest when he tossed you a mild glare, but the sparkle in his dark eyes told you he didn’t mind it so much.

“Alright, I get it, I look like a drowned rat.” He shoved at you lightly as you dismounted and began to tend to Lowery. She knickered before she shook out the water from her fur without warning. Kiana imitated her, pelting you both.

“Alright, enough.” His quiet command had the two horses baring their teeth in a true flehmen response.

“That the worst weather you been caught in?” You removed your wide brimmed hat, grateful for the little shield it had made over your hair and face. Until the horses had decided to mess around, picking up on the easy going mood despite the rain.

“Nah, worst would be a snowstorm back in Boston. QZ hadn’t been prepared for it, we lost what little power we had for nearly two weeks.” He easily spoke as he began to tend to his own horse, rich velvet voice soothing with the backdrop of the hard rain. “Before that it had been…fix or six years ago when I was out on a run. Nearly got picked up by a tornado as I sought out shelter where I could.”

“Oh geez, that’s intense.” You hung up the saddle just outside of Lowrey’s nook, closing the tall door behind you and ensuring the lock latched shut.

“What about you?” You turned from where you had offered the appaloosa a handful of hay. The tickle of her soft, velvety muzzle bringing a smile to your face. Joel was hanging up his own saddle, detaching the supplies he had fastened to it. His shot gun still secured across his broad shoulders.

“Hands down the ice storm that hit my city before the year before the Outbreak. Entire thing shut down because ice was built up about three inches thick on every roadway and street. Then it hailed and snowed for a week straight. Took forever for it to thaw out with the temps below freezing for so long. It was a bad winter, that’s for sure. But we never lost power, thankfully.” Walking side by side, you stoon just inside the stables with the man. Both of you staring out at the sheet of steady rain coming down from the even darker sky. It looked like dusk, even though the day had been new and the sun had just risen a few hours ago.

“Chicago?” He looked over at you, eyes roving over your profile. He noticed how your long lashes stuck together, the way your clothing stuck to your skin. Stepping away he rummaged around the collection of items stored around the doorway. With a grunt of appreciation at his stroke of good luck, he presented you with a worn umbrella.

“Yeah, born and raised.” Your eyes held long felt emotions as you shook your head at his offering. With a tug, you secured your leather hat back atop your head. Fingers tipping the brim, you dismissed him. “Got my hat, you need it more.”

“Why don’t we share, sweetheart?”

“Joel Miller’s gonna walk me home in the rain.” The teasing tone of your voice may have been lost in the way your voice lilted but he didn’t seem to show if he noticed.

“Someone’s gotta protect you from the thunder.” A raised eyebrow, a challenge from the handsome man had you feeling weak in the knees. He was teasing you, he was actually being friendly with you and your stomach flipped. It had been so long since anyone outside of your extremely small circle had felt comfortable enough around you to do so.

“Y-yeah, I’m not the biggest fa-fan of loud noises.” One of your hands rubbed at the back of your neck, heat filling your cheeks as you realized he had noticed your twitch of every boom as you made your way back to the settlement.

“Don’t worry, I gotcha. But once the ice forms, you’re on your own.” His lips quirked up in a grin as he opened the umbrella and sidled back up beside you. With a small brush of your shoulders against his in silent retaliation, you both stepped out from under the safety of the stables and into the rain.

taglist: @joelsgreys @morning-star-joy @sawymredfox @pascalpvnk @littlemisspascal @merz-8 @orcasoul @sabmat @dreamingofleon

@keylimebeag @picassopedro @tuquoquebrute @alejaa-a @jessthebaker @joeloverture @joelscruff @swiftispunk @tightjeansjavi @undercoverpena @corazondebeskar @honeyedmiller @novas-dreamworld @slugz-writes-shit @hiroikegawa @dugiioh @persephone-girl @furiousmushroom @copperhalfcent @lizlil @hiddenbabynyc @part2joelmiller @formulafun @noisynightmarepoetry @sofiparallel @blueberrylemon7 @maryrhodalouandted @joelsdagger @fluff-lover

@communism-bitches @slugz-writes-shit @mosssbawls @vie-is-punk

@ohhellotherebumblebee @koshkaj-blog @r4vens-cl4ws @picketniffler @joeldjarin