#to ask them if i could just like. feel bad. noticeably

[em1i2a3]

When The Sun Hits

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Avengers!Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Bob are starting to test the waters among rampant growing suspicions from the rest of the team (This is a continuation of “Carry The Zero”)

Warnings: AHEM! 18+ Minors DNI! Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts just because of Bob’s involvement (there’s no mentioning of the plot from Thunderbolts or anything just character involvement ex. Bucky, Yelena, Alexei, Walker etc.), Fluff, References to Sex and/or Sexual Acts, Bob…Is a warning lol. There’s a little bit of self-depreciation in this, talking bad about oneself, but nothing too extreme on that front.

Smut Warnings: Grinding, Teasing (kind of on the brink of edging?) Unprotected P in V Sex (Wrap it up y’all…Or Y’know…Take precautions at least lol), Oral Sex (fem receiving), Fingering, Spit Swallowing, Handjob, Praise/Worship Kink. Soft/Submissive Bob (if you squint) (Hopefully I didn’t miss anything),

Author’s Note: I got this out as soon as I possibly could, thank you so much for the activity on the last post :) y’all are frickin awesome. I hope you enjoy this new part of this story, because I’m going straight to horny jail *boink boink* lol (also whoever made this gif you deserve all the fucking flowers <3)

Word Count: 16,150

Two weeks later you found yourself on the training mat, slicked with sweat, and out of breath.

You wiped your forearms across your forehead, chest rising and falling as you rolled your shoulders to relieve some tension that seized up your back, steadying your stance again, angling yourself carefully so your sight was trained on both Yelena and Bucky.

“Ready?” Yelena asked, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet, her curtain bangs bobbing with each movement, preparing herself to pounce.

“As I’ll ever be,” You muttered, exhaling hard through your nose, tasting the remnants of blood that you had spit out two rounds ago after taking a pretty hard slap to the face. You kept your mind clear though, because if you focused on anything else in that moment, you’d lose miserably, or get hurt again, which was something that you didn’t want at all, especially after you were benched for a week after you injured your shoulder.

It was two against one today, which was entirely unfair, but also part of the challenge. Bucky called it ‘awareness training.�� Yelena called it ‘fun.’

They flanked you like wolves attacking a wounded animal. Yelena moved first, sharp and precise, going for a low sweep with her leg. You jumped and dodged it easily, pivoting to avoid Bucky’s right hook. He was heavier on his feet, but that didn’t mean he was slower in any sense. You ducked beneath his next swing and caught Yelena’s wrist before she could even capitalize on your evasion, using her own momentum to send her stumbling back, giving you some space to breathe.

”Not bad,” She huffed.

”Not done yet,” Bucky growled, before charging at you again. You anticipated him this time, moving back just enough to throw him off rhythm. He came at you with a series of jabs, but you blocked them all, even the ones that were enhanced by his vibranium arm, which surprised you even. You parried with a side kick that landed square against his hip, catching him off balance. This granted you a window to turn back towards Yelena, who had just regained her footing.

She came in full force and you barely had time to register her moves. You raised your arm to shield your face from her fist, feeling the impact ripple along the muscle just below your biceps, before striking in the open space she left, right at her ribs, which made her take in a sharp gasp of air.

You didn’t mean to, but a little satisfied smirk played on your lips, like you had the upper hand, like you were finally going to win…Then Bucky swept your legs out from under you with a move so clean you barely noticed the impact.

You hit the mat with a hard exhale, the wind knocking out of your lungs as your back hit the floor. The fluorescent light shined down into your eyes, almost blinding you, and in a blink, Bucky was standing over you, looking down with his hands on his hip.

”You got cocky…And let your guard down for the third time.” He muttered, with a small grin plastered on his face.

”That…” You breathed, trying to recoup the air you lost from slamming into the mat, “Was a cheap shot,” You added, blinking up at him, seeing the way his hair framed his face as he shook his head at you. Without another word, he extended his hand out to you, and you took it, fingers gripping his forearm as he hoisted you to your feet in one swift movement. You staggered slightly when the room tilted for a split second, your balance thrown from the impact you took that still surged through you with little aftershocks. Bucky steadied you instantly with a firm hand on your elbow, eyes scanning over your face.

”You alright?” He asked, with concern lacing his voice, trying to determine whether or not you needed another med bay visit. You gave him a nod.

”Yeah, yeah, just a bit dizzy from that slam, but I’ll live.” Right before Bucky was going to respond, Yelena cut in.

”Alright you two. Water. Now. Before I pass out from sweating so much.” She didn’t wait for either of you to agree, she just turned toward the bench on the far side of the room, and snatched up three water bottles from the crate nearby, which were already chilled. She tossed one to you and to Bucky, beckoning the both of you to join her in a nice break.

The three of you dropped down onto the bench with soft grunts and groans harmonizing the air, as you dragged the back of your arm across your forehead to wipe the beads of sweat off it. You were beat, that was for certain. You could already feel a new set of bruises forming on your body, especially where you had landed on your ass just moments ago, and that was just another thing you were going to have to tend to for the next few days.

You twisted the cap off your bottle and took three large gulps from it, feeling your chest go cold from how quick you chugged. Your sweat-slicked shirt clung to your spine, but the introduction of the drink was finally managing your body temperature, as your pulse began to slow down, easing the rhythmic thumping that echoed through your ears. You put the cap back on, and placed the bottle against your forehead with a sigh, watching your teammates settle down–Yelena beside you, Bucky on the bench across the way. That’s when you felt it…The subtle tension in the air, the silence that lingered just long enough that it made you suspicious.

Bucky lifted his brows sharply at Yelena, like he was daring her to speak first, like they had been planning on asking you questions all day but didn’t know how to approach the subject. She shook her head just once, staring at him with pointed daggers, almost like she was saying that it was his idea so he should be the one to say it. He let out a defeated sigh.

“So…Uh…” He started, scrunching his nose like the words that were on the tip of his tongue tasted weird in his mouth, “How’s it going with Bob? Y’know…Rooming with him and all.” The question caught you off guard, but the awkwardness from Bucky gave off the sense that he was asking this more because everyone else around him was talking and making up their own theories, and he just wanted to get the answers once and for all.

That didn’t mean the question didn’t spike your heart rate again though. Just the mentioning of Bob made you immediately go on defence mode, not just because of what was going on between the both of you, but because you both wanted this to be private until further notice. Neither of you were prepared for the team to know about your late night rendezvous, or how deep the connection really went. It was your little secret and you preferred to keep it that way.

“It’s okay…” You answered, trying to cover up the stutter in your words, “He’s definitely one of the easier roommates I’ve had to be honest. Super quiet, keeps to himself. It’s great.” You avoided Bucky’s gaze, your eyes focusing on the water bottle in your hands before glancing over at Yelena, who was already squinting at you.

”Super quiet, huh?” She repeated, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards, like she didn’t quite buy what you were putting down. You looked over at Bucky too, now seeing that he was watching you as well with one elbow propped up on his knee so he could rest his chin on his fist.

“Yeah, super quiet, he just reads and sleeps basically, nothing more, nothing less. What’s with this line of questioning? You two roleplaying as detectives or something?” Bucky huffed through his nose, a mix between a laugh and a sigh.

”We wouldn’t have to be detectives if you weren’t so secretive…” You raised your eyebrows at Bucky, attempting to hold onto your fake innocence, trying to make it seem like they weren’t somehow onto you, even though there was no possible way they could know anything that was going on in your shared room…Not unless there were cameras, but that was definitely not the case…Because you looked for them.

“Me? Secretive? I don’t understand how I’m being secretive, I’m answering your questions, aren’t I?” Yelena made a small humming sound beside you, sipping from her water bottle, before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

”Okay then, Miss Transparency…” She started, setting the bottle on the bench gently, “What about the window?” You froze, and instantly your brain spiraled with questions on how the hell she found out about the window. You kept your cool on the outside, while the rest of your internal organs were twisting and malfunctioning on the inside trying to figure out how you were going to get yourself out of this one.

”What window?” You asked.

”The one in your room,” Yelena responded, leaning forward just a little bit to crowd your space, “Maintenance said you put in a request to fix it three days ago because there was a crack in the glass. He said it looked like someone took a sledge hammer to it. Kinda weird, yeah?” You blinked at Yelena, keeping your expression blank, like you were thinking.

“Ohhhh…That window.” You said, as if you had just remembered what she was talking about. You waved your hand vaguely, letting out a shaky laugh, which did absolutely nothing to cover the tension that began to seep through your muscles, “Yeah, no, it’s not that weird. I, uh…Accidently pushed my dresser drawer closed a little too hard and the wood slammed into the glass, kind of a freak accident if you ask me.” Yelena stared at you flatly, watching you flail while trying to come up with something believable off the top of your head. If you had time to actually prepare for the grilling you would’ve at least thought of something as back up, but this was just totally unexpected.

It’s not like you could’ve told them the truth anyways, because it just wouldn’t have sounded good, and it would’ve just put Bob under the spotlight once again, and he didn’t deserve that at all. Not when he was trying so hard to get along with everyone, which he was doing very well at until this point at least.

So you just laughed it off again, muttering something about needing to be more careful, before tipping the bottle of water to your lips to shut yourself up.

But your mind was already drifting back to that night, and you couldn’t stop it.

——————

Four nights ago was movie night.

Alexei had insisted on it—insisted being the operative word, because no one had really agreed to it in the first place.

He said movie nights were a “sacred ritual” from his youth, a tradition that brought people together, made them stronger, and unified the soul. And when someone offhandedly mentioned that Bucky had never seen Rocky IV, that sealed everyone’s fate.

“It is masterpiece,” Alexei declared, standing in the center of the living room with the case held high like a relic. You were surprised that he even had a DVD of it, but then again he had mentioned in passing it was one of his favourite movies.

“American propaganda, yes, but still…Very good representation.” He exclaimed, moving around the living room to locate the video player, as you all watched him.

So Rocky IV became the night’s reluctant feature, and any protests were quickly steamrolled under his booming enthusiasm.

The lights were off, the curtains were drawn, and the only glow in the room came from the TV screen—icy blue and gunmetal gray as the film’s opening credits began to roll. Everyone had found their spots. Yelena curled into one corner of the sectional while Walker was on the other, Bucky sat low in a beanbag chair with his arms crossed, Alexei sat right in front of the television with the reverence of a man watching live theatre…

And then there was you.

You tucked yourself into the corner of the couch with a blanket draped on top of you, leaning against a pillow for support because your shoulder was still giving you a little bit of trouble. Bob was beside you, but he was not close enough to raise suspicion as the both of you had separate blankets and weren’t really touching at all…Not yet, at least.

Somewhere near the halfway point of the movie–just after Rocky’s training montage–Bob shifted slightly beside you, adjusting himself with a slight turn of his hips. It wasn’t a big move, but it was noticeable enough to draw your eyes to him, then you saw his hand sliding beneath his blanket ever so slowly, paying attention to the others in the room, hoping that none of them would turn around.

Even through the terrible lighting you could see him beginning to flush, his pale skin becoming a gentle hue of pink which spread all the way down to the collar of pale green sweater, and below it. You couldn’t help but smirk at the sight, seeing how he tried to keep his profile composed, as he moved his hand with quiet purpose, sliding beneath your blanket in one quick movement, knowing that once he was under there nobody would know any better what was happening.

His fingers found your thigh beneath the covering, completely bare for him because of the flannel shorts you were wearing. The first touch was delicate, almost like it wasn’t even there, though you could feel the heat radiating off his skin as the pads of his fingers ghosted over the wide plane of your flesh. He was waiting for you to pull away, to signal to him you didn’t want him to do this here, but when that moment didn’t come, his hand finally settled against you.

He took everything slow, and moved with such care and purpose that you felt like you were going to melt into the sofa . His palm molded gently to the outside of your thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles, drawing goosebumps up to the surface of your skin. The touch wasn’t lewd, nor needy…It was intimate in one of the simplest ways possible. Just the grounding press of his hand against you, soaking up the heat of your body, letting it mingle with his own.

You felt your pulse begin to hammer in your ears, and your eyes flickered to the rest of the team, checking if they were still transfixed by whatever was happening in the movie, which they were. Nobody was looking. So you took this as an opportunity for yourself to make a move now too.

It was a gentle shift, just enough to let your blanket drape a little farther over the space between the both of you, until it overlapped with his. You ripped a page out of Bob’s book and slipped your hand beneath the threshold of the covering, before moving it towards him with the same stealthy patience he had just moments ago.

You found his thigh easily, resting your hand against the soft checker-patterned sleep pants he wore. The fabric was light and thin enough to allow you to feel every flex and shift of muscle beneath your touch, the way it twitched at first contact and relaxed when you dragged your palm against it. He cleared his throat gently, trying to mask the noise that was about to slip out of his throat unwillingly.

His thumb on your thigh had stilled completely in those moments, like you had pulled the plug on all his motor functions by just settling your hand on him in the most gentle way possible. Over the past week of being holed up together during your Bucky mandated break from training, you had learned that gentleness was the key thing that unraveled Bob faster than anything else ever could.

Your fingers slowly dragged upward with the lightest graze over the thin fabric, tracing the line of muscle you could feel there. You didn’t press hard, there was no need to, because you could already feel that he was burning under your palm, coming undone, shifting in his seat, like he wanted to get closer to you but couldn’t.

He was trying so hard not to breathe loudly, or to draw attention to himself by making an unnatural noise. His hand tightened on your thigh, giving it a small squeeze, like he was pleading for you to continue, but for you to also take it easy on him because he didn’t know how much he was going to be able to handle. He felt like he was going to turn into a puddle on the sofa, and the sweating and flushing that he was doing was only a prelude to that. You could feel the tension in his body, the way it practically vibrated through him, and it only made you want to touch him more.

You smoothed your thumb over the inside of his thigh, just above the knee, where he flinched. He sucked in a breath and immediately turned it into a cough, low and forced, like he was trying to dislodge something that was stuck in his throat–even though you knew it was just him trying to stifle a sound that he didn’t dare let out–squeezing your thigh again like it was anchoring him to whatever stability he had left.

You didn’t need more than this. You just enjoyed every morsel of connection you got from him, and revelled in the excitement that coursed through your veins from the small things you learned about him, like how easy he was to read, or how flustered he got from such little contact. Or how touch-starved he was despite all the late nights and quiet mornings you two were sharing up until this point. He was learning how to let himself go, but that didn’t mean he was used to it just yet.

By the time the end credits rolled and Alexei stood to stretch with a complaint about how Americans don’t know when to end a movie, Bob was already clawing at the opportunity to make his grand escape. His hand left your thigh, and reached for his blanket–not to fold it, not to hold it when he stood–but to clutch it, to replicate the grip he had on your skin moments before. You slowly removed your hand from him as well, making sure you discreetly brought it back into your area without anyone noticing.

Every motion he did was methodical, almost exaggerated in its effort to present itself as casual, like the both of you weren’t just touching each other's thighs beneath your communal blankets. You watched from the corner of your eye as Bob adjusted the covering over his lip, gripping the hem carefully as he shifted on the couch, leaning slightly forward.

He was shielding himself.

You could tell by the blush that began to deepen around his neck, and the way he couldn’t seem to look at anyone in the room–not even you–that he was trying very hard not to be obvious about the problem that was currently occurring below his waist. The one you had caused with just the gentle stroking of his thigh.

The realization made you heat up, but also smirk.

”I’m gonna…Uh…” Bob cleared his throat, attempting to cover up the way his words buckled under his voice “Head to my room…Start getting ready for bed and stuff, I had a good book I was getting into before…C-Coming to watch the movie.” He added, standing from the couch, keeping the blanket bunched in front of him with a practiced sort of shuffle that only he could execute with pure awkwardness. He said a vague goodnight and everyone responded in their own little way, as he moved towards the corridor that led to the makeshift bedrooms.

Your eyes followed his movements, watching when he made it out of everyone’s line of sight. He turned around, knowing that your eyes were already on him and mouthed a very light “please hurry,” before rushing down the hallway to seek refuge in the privacy of your room.

You waited exactly thirty seconds, which was long enough for the heat in your limbs to settle so when you stood up you didn’t have shaky legs, or draw attention to any of your actions, even though nobody was really paying attention in general.

Yelena was half-sleep, eyes barely open while she nursed what was left of her electrolytes. Walker had his head tilted back, and was snoring loudly. Bucky was sprawled out in the beanbag chair, and Alexei was still rambling, only now it was about how Ivan Drago’s story in Rocky is just misunderstood. So you took the opportunity to stand, and let out an exaggerated yawn, rubbing your eyes for added effect.

”Think I’m also going to head to bed too. I’m exhausted.” You murmured, which earned a small wave from Yelena, a grunt of acknowledgment from Bucky, and a pause from Alexei.

”Did you not like the movie?” He asked, and you smirked.

”Yes of course I liked it, I’ve just seen it a few too many times, but tomorrow you can give me the footnotes on how misunderstood Drago’s story is, for now though I’m off to bed.” He gave you a wide smile, and as you moved away from the living room you could hear him mumble something about you actually being interested in what he had to say.

You quickly made your way down the hall, feeling your heart racing as you made your way towards the room. You tried your best to not make yourself look suspicious but the anticipation was eating you up on the inside.

The second you entered your shared quarters and closed the door behind you, you felt it–that shift in the air, like the moment right before lightning strikes a tree, the static that ebbs and flows through the atmosphere, like a warning to those who are around. The only light that glowed in the space was the desk lamp, which casted golden shapes across the walls, and once you locked the door and turned around, your eyes fell on him.

Bob stood by his bed, the blanket was long discarded, and his sweater was removed, leaving him in a plain white t-shirt. His hands were fidgeting uselessly with the tie of his sleep pants, and when his eyes fell on you it was like he lost all the thoughts that were running through his head. The flush of pink on his cheeks hadn’t faded, if anything it had gotten worse between the time he left the couch and now, like the warmth had fully rooted inside him.

He didn’t say anything right away, he just opened his arms slightly, silently offering himself to you.

In a few quick steps, you crossed the room, taking up the space between his arms, pressing your hands gently to his chest, feeling the way his heart galloped beneath your palm. He cupped your elbows first, tentative and shy, looking down at you with those shimmering blue eyes that you had come to fawn over in secret, before letting his hands slide down to your wrists. You gave him a soft smile, tilting your head back a bit so he could lean forward to kiss you.

His mouth brushed yours once–tentative and silent, like he was asking a question–then again, with more confidence when you didn’t pull away, before fully pressing his mouth to yours. He kissed you like he thought he would never get the chance to do it again. Like he was memorizing the shape of your lips, or the way you sighed into him like you’d been holding your breath for hours while waiting for this moment to come. His hands left your wrists, you slid up to your jaw, the tips of his thumbs barely grazing the corners of your mouth

And you melted into him.

You’d been doing this dance for the past few nights now–experiencing these careful, burning moments together that never quite tipped over the edge–and neither of you seemed to mind. You didn’t need the act of sex to feel intimate with him, even though you still had those thoughts that raced through you from time to time.

Every night you got to learn something new about him–how his breathing changed when you kissed his throat, how the muscles in his stomach twitched when you trailed your fingers ever so slowly under the hem of his shirt, and how he arched subtly into your touch like he was too afraid to vocalize that he wanted more.

It was explorative, patient, and gentle, and that’s all the both of you needed to have a good time.

The kiss continued to deepen, as his lips parted for you, letting your tongue through the threshold. He tasted like fresh breath mints, like he had swallowed a few before you came into the room, which wasn’t an out of place thought at all–he typically did small things like that.

His hands skimmed down your neck, and over your shoulders, travelling down to your hips to anchor himself against you. He put a little more pressure into the kiss, feeling your body press flush into his, causing a small gasp to escape and vibrate against your lips from him. He pulled back for a moment, as your arms slid around his neck, guiding him down even more so he could bury his face briefly into your shoulder. He breathed in deeply, letting his lungs fill with the various scents that radiated off of you– the vanilla from your shampoo, the lavender from your perfume, and the sage that constantly stayed on all of your clothes in general–before exhaling shakily, tugging you closer to him.

He guided you backward with a quiet sort of urgency.

”Come here,” He whispered, the words came out so softly it barely made it past his lips.

He led you to his bed, with his hand pressed low at your back, fingers splayed out like it was steadying the both of you. When the backs of your legs met the edge of the mattress you let yourself sit, eyes still locked on his. He was still watching you closely, like you were ethereal, something that shouldn’t exist for him.

You bit your bottom lip, feeling how swollen it was just from the one kiss that you got, and brought your fingers to the hem of your shirt, slipping them under. Bob felt his chest heave for a moment, the beating of his heart only becoming more frantic, as he hung on your movements like it was a sacred text.

You peeled the top off slowly, revealing the curve of your waist, your chest, your shoulders in small increments–it was more than he’d ever seen at once from you. Once you riddled yourself of the article of clothing you threw it to the side, which left you in just a plain white, cotton bra.

Bob’s gaze swept over you modestly, almost like he was too shy to linger on one part of you for too long, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. You saw the way he struggled to swallow for a moment, gulping loudly from the way his throat closed from all the tension that was building up in the room, then you saw his hands move down to the hem of his own shirt.

He awkwardly shimmied out of the fabric, tugging it over his head, messing up his light brown mane of hair in the proces. You could feel your chest tighten, and your mouth dry up, seeing the expanse of skin that was exposed to you.

It was the first time he’d allow you to see him like this.

And god–he was beautiful.

His chest was broad and lean. He was dusted with freckles that went across his shoulders and collarbones, like they were constellations begging to be traced. There were a few scars too–old and pale, stretched and softened with time, because they certainly weren’t fresh. You wondered about each of them. Not necessarily the stories, but how they shaped him as the person you were falling for more and more every day.

He was flushed from neck to navel, the pink hue blossoming over his ribs and all the way up to his ears. His arms hung at his sides for a moment, allowing you to drink in the image, even though he was visibly curling in on himself a bit. You reached out for him, beckoning for him to come closer to you, watching as he sheepishly moved into your space now. Your fingers skimmed gently over his ribs, dragging slowly up the plane of his stomach and across the center of his chest. You looked up at him with a smile plastered on your lips

“You’re breathtaking Bob…” You whispered, seeing the way his eyes softened, hearing the sincerity that laced your voice when the compliment fell from you. He felt lightheaded from it, as you leaned in to kiss the skin just above his navel, your smile shadowing against the flesh.

“I think I’m gonna die.” He responded, choking on his own breaths.

”Now, now…Don’t die yet…You haven’t kissed me again.” That is what unraveled him, seeing you pull away from his stomach, looking up at him with those lust filled eyes that he had seen night after night.

He leaned down slowly this time, and when your lips met, it was warmer than before, like a supernova had exploded between the both of you. It started soft, like the last one, but it built. His mouth moved over yours with a kind of reverence that made your toes curl into the carpet beneath you. His hands skimmed down your sides, thumbs brushing along the soft slope of your waist as he kissed you deeper.

Then one hand drifted lower, tracing over your outer thigh. He paused just for a second to look at you, and when you gave the smallest nod, he gently urged you backward.

You let him guide you down until you back pressed into the mattress as he hovered above you, bracing himself on one elbow beside your head while the other stayed on your thigh, as you bracketed his hips with your legs. You could feel how hard he was trying to rein himself in, watching his shoulders tense when you brought him closer to you.

”A-Are you sure this is okay?” He whispered against your lips, his breath mingling with yours in the thin space between you.

”Bob,” You murmured, tracing your fingers along the freckles on his collarbone, “If I wasn’t sure, I would tell you.” His eyes fluttered shut for a beat, the words sinking into him like a weighted blanket, before he leaned forward to kiss you again, savouring the contact.

You felt the way he trembled just slightly above you, the way he braced so carefully against his arm, like he was scared of putting too much weight on you, or doing something wrong. His lips dragged over yours, warm and open, letting you taste the cool mint again as his tongue flicked out to meet yours when you deepened the kiss.

His breath stuttered as he exhaled sharply through his nose, attempting to keep up, but you could feel how overwhelmed he was already. Your hands slid over his back, fingers tracing along the soft lines of his muscles beneath skin that practically burned beneath your touch. You felt every ripple, every twitch of control that he tried to maintain, and the thought of it–of him holding himself back for you–made you want to pull him even closer.

He groaned softly against your mouth, almost like it was bordering on a whimper.

“Jesus…You feel so good,” He whispered suddenly, like he couldn’t keep it in, like it was something he had been wanting to say all week and it finally burst free. His voice cracked slightly with the confession, and his cheeks burned as he buried his face against your jaw to hide the heat crawling up his neck, realizing how stupid it must’ve sounded.

”S-Sorry, I just…I just-“ You hushed him for a moment, slipping your hand up his back slowly before curling your fingers into his hair.

”Bob…Don’t apologize. You feel good against me too.” You had barely let the words settle between the both of you, when you hooked your legs a little tighter around his waist and gently guided his hips closer to yours.

Bob’s breath caught in his throat.

His jaw slackening and his lips parting in tandem with one another, as his eyes locked onto yours like he was trying to decipher something written across your irises. You could see it in his face–the unraveling, the awe, the absolute vulnerability of someone who wasn’t used to being wanted like this. And yet, he was burning from the inside out.

“What…What are you doing?” He asked, his voice thin and shaky.

Instead of answering, you ground your hips up against him in one slow, aching press.

The noise he made was soft and strangled, caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan. His eyes fluttered shut for half a second, then snapped open again, and you were able to see the dazed glassiness that shimmered over them. You could see the way the new sensation tore through him, as a full-body tremor made his shoulders tense and his thighs flinch.

He didn’t move at first–he couldn’t. But when you tugged gently on the back of his hair and pressed your lips to his neck, he let go.

His hips rocked forward, not with force but with aching, desperate need, mirroring the movement you’d given him. Your bodies slotted together in a slow, tender rhythm, each motion sending a wave of heat in your abdomen. It wasn’t frenzied or rough—it was exploratory, intoxicating, and so deeply charged you felt like your bones were shaking.

You kissed your way up his neck, feeling his pulse jump under your lips. His hand was trembling against your thigh, while the other one gripped the duvet beside your head. You felt the shudder in his breath again, and the way his hips pressed a little harder this time, a little more urgently. You could feel the outline of him pushing against the thin fabric of your cotton shorts, and it left you breathless, just the thought of being so close almost made your heart stop.

The moment swelled around you–timeless, heavy, and sacred.

Then your fingers trailed down, slow as molasses, brushing over his abdomen and dipping lower, finding the waistband of his sleep pants.

The reaction was instantaneous.

His entire body went rigid, and his eyes snapped open, bright and wide—and in that split second, you saw it. That flicker of gold in his irises. It glinted like sunlit honey, like lightning flashing beneath the surface of a lake.

Then–CRACK.

A sharp, unnatural noise split into the room, and both your heads jerked toward the window, seeing the fracture that had webbed across the glass. It kind of looked similar to when a rock hits a windshield at full speed, only there was a larger impact point. You both blinked at the damage, before your eyes returned to his, seeing that the gold was gone, and he was back to his normal shimmering blue irises that you were enamoured by.

His mouth moved to speak, but no sound came out, then he looked down at himself, and froze. You followed his gaze, seeing a wet spot blooming across the front of his pants.

Then everything happened all at once.

He scrambled off of you, nearly toppling sideways off the bed in the process, and you sat up immediately, reaching for him.

”Bob…Hey…” You said, trying to get him to calm down a bit, but he was already moving.

”Crap…I’m-I’m so sorry.” His voice cracked, as he grabbed his shirt off the floor, pulling it on with frantic hands like he needed to shield himself from you, from the world, from his own embarrassment that floated up into his chest, causing him to shake a bit. He tried to cover up the wet patch as his skin turned a cherry red, spreading all the way over his face and neck. He opened his drawer so fast that it nearly flew off the track as he collected the first pair of boxers and sleep pants that he could find.

“Bob, it’s alright.” You murmured, watching him rush towards the door,

”I-I just…I need…I just need a second.” He whispered before bolting out the door so he could tend to himself in the privacy of the bathroom.

You sat on his bed, still breathless from the closeness, from the way his body had moved against yours, and from the crack in the damn window. But mostly, from the way he looked when he realized what had happened—like the sky had fallen on him. Your heart was aching in the way he reacted, and now that you were sitting alone everything felt amplified.

Your eyes drifted to the window again, staring at the crack that shimmered faintly beneath the golden wash of the lamp–splintering like lightning. Curiosity pulled you from the bed, as you shuffled closer to it, wanting to get a better look.

The fracture was intricate, jagged at the center with spider web veins splitting outward like a slow explosion. You reached up, hovering your hand in front of it.

No air came through, no whistling of wind, and no change in temperature.

You furrowed your brow and pressed your palm against the surface, feeling the cool solidity of the glass. It didn’t flex, nor did it crack even more with the pressure you placed on it, which made you even more perplexed.

You stepped back slightly, squinting at the window. It definitely wasn’t a regular one, it was industrial, reinforced, maybe even bulletproof. The thought made your lips part a little, as you tried to reconcile the softness of Bob–the sweet, awkward, blushing man who mouthed please hurry to you because he wanted to be so close–with the person who had just cracked fortified glass because he was so overwhelmed by your touch.

You huffed out a breath that was caught between awe and amusement, as you continued to stare at the jagged impact, until you saw movement in the glass, noticing Bob trying to sneak in, like you wouldn’t see him. You turned on your heels.

He stood against the door, fiddling with the hem of his shirt as you looked him over. He had changed into navy blue sleep pants, and his hair was clinging to his forehead–you assumed it was from him splashing water on his face to freshen up. He was holding onto a bundle of clothes–the ones he had changed out of–as his eyes scanned over you before dating away. You glanced down at yourself, suddenly remembering that you were shirtless, standing in your bra still.

His face flushed again, but this time it was threaded with much more than just embarrassment. There was remorse in there, maybe even a little bit of fear, like he was worried that you wouldn’t look at him the same because of what happened.

“I…” He started, voice hoarse, “…I’m sorry. Again. I didn’t mean to just…Leave like that, I just–” He swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t want you to see me like that. Or, I mean–you did, I guess, but–God.” He laughed breathlessly, eyes squeezed shut for a second. “I’m making this worse.” You shook your head gently, cutting him off before he spiraled any further.

“It’s okay Bob…Trust me you don’t have to apologize.” You said quietly, stretched out a hand towards him, “Now, come over here please.” Bob glanced down at the gesture, returning his gaze back up at you, hesitating for only a second before stepping forward, dropping the bundle of clothes on the floor. His movements were so timid, like a wounded animal coming over to look at the mess it made.

When he was close enough you leaned forward and wrapped your hand around his wrist. His eyes were wide and glistening as you tugged him toward you even more, his lashes trembling with the weight of remorse. Not just for bolting from the room or leaving you half-dressed and flushed on his bed, but for losing control…For being too much.

“I see those cogs turning in your head. Your brows are furrowing. Stop thinking for a second, and just look at me Bob.” You said, breaking through the thoughts that kept racing through his head, wrapping your arms around his waist. Bob let out a soft sigh, bringing his gaze down to yours. His hands hovered over your back for a moment before slowly coming to rest against your skin, holding onto you like he was afraid you were going to crack.

“…I truly didn’t mean to do that…” He murmured, motioning to the window, “I didn’t even think about it...It just happened.” You turned slightly in his arms, glancing back at the window for a split second, then returning your gaze back to him. You tilted your head up, brushing your lips softly against the underside of his jaw, feeling the beginnings of stubble.

”Pretty sure it’s bulletproof glass too, by the way.” He blinked down at you, his cheeks flushing a deeper red, confused at the statement, and at the way you were smirking up at him, “I must’ve really gotten you going.” You added, trying to lighten the mood. A groan caught in his throat.

”Please…Don’t say that.” He whispered under his breath.

”Why not? It’s kind of hot.” Bob’s eyebrows raised at your comment, letting out a quiet laugh–embarrassed, and flustered, but undeniably touched by the way you were trying to make light of the situation.

”You know…I think you should actually be a little freaked out by this at least,” He stated gently, pulling back just a little bit so the both of you could comfortably look at each other, “I mean…We didn’t even…Do anything and I…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, as he ran his hands along your back, “I’m just saying if I lost that much control just f-from grinding against you, what’s going to happen when we have sex?” He added, his voice laced with worry. You traced your fingers along his spine as you listened, feeling his chest rising and falling against you, the panic simmering underneath all the tension in his muscles. You leaned into him a bit more.

”Well…You don’t really use your powers all that much, Bob.” He raised his eyebrows at you, surprised by what you were possibly suggesting. You continued, gently brushing your thumbs along the hem of his shirt.

“Maybe that’s part of the problem. You’ve been bottling all that energy up without giving yourself a way to release it. Maybe you need to exhaust your powers a little–practice, push yourself in a safe space so you can figure out where the edges are. Then maybe…” You paused mid-sentence, reaching up to him to push his hair off his forehead, “You won’t have to worry about breaking any more windows.” He bit the inside of his cheek, feeling your fingertips trailing down the side of his face to hold his jaw.

“Or…” You added thoughtfully, “We could try some small exercises together. I know there are grounding techniques for people with telekinesis or energy-based mutations–things to help hone it and redirect it before it builds up too much.”

Bob was staring at you now like you were the only stable piece of land in a world that kept shaking under his feet. You ran your thumb along the slight roughness of his jaw, taking in the warmth of his skin.

“Either way,” You said, “We can figure it out together.”

His breath caught in his throat.

“Together,” He repeated, almost like he was testing the weight of the suggestion in his mouth, making sure it was real. His hands gripped you just a little tighter, like he didn’t want to let go, admiring the fact that you were even sticking it out with him.

“And maybe next time,” You whispered, pressing a featherlight kiss to the corner of his mouth, “You’ll crack something a little less expensive.”

That made him laugh for real this time–a breathy, bashful sound as he rested his forehead against yours. “No more windows,” He whispered. “I promise.” You swayed in your spot for a moment relishing in the silence, as your hearts thudded against each other like it shared the same rhythm.

“…Maybe just the bedframe,” He mumbled a second later–so quietly you almost missed it.

There was a pause.

Then his eyes went wide, his entire face lighting up scarlet as the implication hit him a split second too late. “Oh my god,” He breathed, “I didn’t mean—shit—I mean I did but I—”

You broke into laughter, the sound bursting out of you like sunlight, catching yourself against his chest as your shoulders shook. “Robert Reynolds,” You gasped through your giggles, “I didn’t take you as a person to make a sex joke like that…I like it.”

——————

Yelena snapped her fingers in front of your face.

”Helloooo? Earth to Y/N…You’ve been zoned out for like ten minutes, are you concussed or something?” You shook your head, snapping yourself out of your trance, noticing your palms were sweaty, and your pulse was pounding in your head.

”Sorry…I’m fine, I was just thinking about that last round in my head. Trying to figure out how I let my ass hit the mat again.” You lied, grabbing your water bottle, attempting to cool yourself down.

”Uh-huh…” Yelena muttered, clearly not buying it.

Bucky was watching you as well, his expression unreadable as usual, his elbow still propped on his knee. His eyes were sharper now, completely focused.

”Maybe we should wrap it up for the day, I’ve got to go pick up a few things from my old apartment anyways, the renters are getting mad that I haven’t swung by yet.” You looked over at Yelena, who stretched her legs out with a low groan.

“Alright, that sounds fine to me.” She responded, getting up from the bench, cracking her neck before walking to the lockers, leaving you and Bucky alone. You let out a soft exhale, grateful that the plug had been pulled. You were too distracted to go for another round anyways.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” You glanced up at Bucky, your eyes meeting his gaze. There was no judgement in his face, just quiet concern. You nodded.

”Yeah, I promise, I just spaced out.” He watched you for just a moment longer, like he was trying to see if you had any tells of a lie.

”Alright,” He said, turning to grab his towel from the bench, “But if you ever want to talk, you know where I am.” You gave him a soft smile.

”Thanks, Buck.” He lingered for a second longer, then gave a quick salute and headed off after Yelena, leaving you alone. You stayed on the bench for a few minutes, gathering your thoughts and swatting around the brain fog that clouded your mind, before finally standing, feeling your muscles groan in protest.

You collected your things and caught a quick shower before making your way back to your room, expecting to divulge the line of questioning that Yelena had for you to Bob, but when you opened the door he wasn’t there. Your brows furrowed in disappointment as you stepped into the room, noticing a little note on his bed. You dropped your bag on the floor, picking up the scrap piece of paper that had his messy handwriting scrawled on it.

“Meet me on the roof, wear a sweater.” You were confused about the sweater part, but you still dug around for one, slipping it over your head once you found one that wasn’t already worn.

———

The rooftop greeted you with silence, except for the low hum of wind and the muffled buzz of distant traffic below. You stepped out slowly, your sweater wrapped tight around your arms, the door clicking shut behind you.

Bob was already there, standing near the edge, hunched slightly, hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders curled in like he was bracing against the cold—or maybe against himself. The soft yellow glow from the rooftop security lights carved gentle shadows across his back, catching in his wind blown hair.

“You okay?” You called out, walking towards him, gaining his attention instantly. A small smile came up on his lips, as he wrung his hands together, like he was excited about something.

“I am now,” He responded, meeting you halfway. There was something different about him tonight, he still had that shy uncertainty about him, but it was like he was pushing it off a bit, replacing it with something more…Confident, “I wanted to show you something, if that’s alright of course.” He added stepping into your space, now close enough that his breath was fanning over your face. You tilted your head at him, squinting playfully.

”Are you going to crack all the windows from up here?” Bob let out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking his head as a pink flush creeped up the sides of his neck.

”I promised you I wouldn’t break any more windows, and I will keep my word.” Before you could press further, he stepped closer, closing the last inch of space between you, wrapping his arms tightly around your back. It wasn’t hurried or anything, just grounding, and it was done with intention. You inhaled against his chest, the scent of cold air and warm cotton surrounding you as he ducked his head and pressed a kiss to your lips–soft, and gentle, yet brimming with something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. He pulled back for one moment, before adding one more peck against your lips, a smile draped across his mouth.

His arms hadn’t loosened around you, and you could feel the steady thumping of his heart under your hands where they rested against his chest.

”Okay…” You murmured, brows lifting at him, feeling your cheeks growing hot under his stare, and from the gentle kiss he had given you, “Now you really need to tell me what’s got you in such a chipper mood. You’re smiling like you’ve got a secret, and it’s starting to freak me out.” Bob’s grin widened–shy, crooked, but deeply earnest. You squinted at him a bit, catching little flecks of gold sparkling in the blues of his eyes.

”Just hold still,” He whispered, voice hushed and warm, “And I’ll show you.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he tightened his arms around you, like he was locking you into place against his chest.

Then you felt it.

A strange, delicate lift in your stomach, similar to how it feels when you’re descending on a roller coaster, only just a little more tolerable. The pressure in your knees disappeared, your weight lessened…And your boots weren’t on the rooftop anymore.

”Bob…?” You said, your voice filling with panic.

”Shh, I’ve got you,” He murmured, eyes fixating on yours, “Just trust me.” He whispered. You took in a sharp breath, and nodded. The movement wasn’t fast or jarring. It felt like being exhaled by the Earth–like rising through a warm, invisible current. The wind tugged gently at your sweater, and your breath caught in your throat as you instinctively brought yourself even closer to him, not daring to look down to see how high up you were.

“Holy shit Bob, we’re flying…” You said, your voice shaking, caught between fear and awe.

”Well technically I’m flying, and you’re just one of my lucky passengers. My first and only to be exact.” He corrected jokingly, you smirked at him, continuing to look over his face. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, as the air around you thickened, warming against your cheeks despite the altitude change. You felt like you were suspended in a dream–held against him, hundreds of feet off the ground, with only starlight above you, and a glittering city below.

“How does it feel?” You asked softly, seeing Bob blink down at you, eyes soft and uncertain, “To have all this power…” You added, your hand slowly unraveling from holding onto his hoodie, splaying it across his chest instead, rubbing along the warmth with a soft smile draped on your lips, “To be able to do this–to lift me off the ground, to break windows without touching them, to float above the world like it’s nothing…” The way you looked up at him–half curious, half lust driven–made something buzz in his bloodstream, something golden and chaotic, and desperate for attention as he felt your fingers trailing up the side of his neck.

Bob swallowed thickly, his arms tightening around your waist even more, his breath hitching as he let out a faint nervous laugh before glancing down at you, seeing your face glowing softly from the city lights that reflected in your eyes.

”It’s…Intense. I constantly have this noise in my head, like it’s trying to break out, and I’m always on edge trying to suppress it…But when you’re around, and you’re able to block it…I have those moments of peace, and I love it…So much Y/N.” He emphasized, as your fingers curled gently into the collar of his hoodie, while your other hand cupped his jaw, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

”You know…I wish you could see yourself the way I do,” You whispered, your voice nearly lost in the hush of the night, “The way you handle everything, the way you care about being gentle, the way you hold back even when you could easily just let go…” You went on, looking up at him with such admiration it made him gulp down the lump that was forming in his throat, “You’re just incredible Bob…And I wish you believed that more often.” Bob’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, like he needed to steady himself from the weight of your words, and when he opened them again, they shimmered with something so raw and fragile it made your heart ache.

“No one���s ever said anything like that to me before,” He laughed softly, but there was no humor in it, just disbelief. “It feels like…You’re seeing someone I want to be. Someone I wish I was.” You reached up with your other hand now, pressing it against his cheek.

”You already are.” You whispered, a soft smile coming up onto your lips, as your eyes trailed over his face.

Bob leaned forward, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath warming your skin as it mingled with the air that kissed your face. For a long moment, he didn’t speak, he just held you close, taking in the night for what it was giving him so far. His fingers twitched against your lower back, like he was trying to figure out what he was going to say next.

“Can I ask you something…Kind of dumb?” Your lips quirked at his words, blinking up at him.

”There’s no dumb questions…Go ahead and ask.” He let out a nervous breath of a laugh, pulling his forehead off yours so he could get a better look at you, shaking his head a bit as if he was trying to psych himself up.

”I’ve been…Thinking for the past couple of days…And if it’s too soon or too much just–just tell me okay? I can handle it, I promise.” He started, stuttering through his words.

”Okay, “ You whispered, already feeling your heart climbing into your throat, seeing the way he looked at you with such hope, terror, and utter sincerity. He glanced away for a second, feeling his cheeks flushing hot.

“I was wondering if maybe–if it’s something you’d want–if I could, um…” He cleared his throat, then bit the inside of his cheek, finally whispering, “If I could make love to you tonight.” When the words fell from his mouth it felt like the sky was going to split open and swallow him whole, but he meant every word he said, and you could tell it was something that he wanted to make sure you wanted as well.

”I’ve been wanting to ask that for a while now, but I didn’t want to ruin anything or scare you off, or…” His voice faded, as he stopped himself from embarrassing himself any further, “God, I sound like an idiot.” He whispered. You shook your head, cradling his face in your hands, gently tilting his head down so you could look into those soft blue eyes.

”Bob…” You whispered, “You don’t sound like an idiot at all…You sound like someone who cares about me. A lot.” His lips parted like he wanted to protest, but the words never came. You leaned in, brushing your nose against his, “And that’s never something to be ashamed of.” His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as he trembled from the gust of wind that blew by the both of you, and from the nerves that prickled throughout his body.

”I just…” He started, swallowing another lump that began to form in his throat, feeling like he was on the brink of tears, “I’ve never done it like this before…Where it actually means something…Where I feel…So much that it scares the crap out of me.” You pressed your lips together tightly, removing one of your hands from his face.

”Hold me with one arm, I want you to give me one of your hands.” You instructed, and he obliged immediately, keeping you flush against him and giving you his other hand like you requested. You took it and brought it to your chest, laying it gently over your heart.

”Do you feel that?” You whispered, watching him nod slowly, his palm splaying flat over the pounding rhythm the shook the cavity of your chest, “That’s how I feel when I look at you…When you smile at me, when you hold me…When you ask me things like this, with all these nerves going through you…And that’s also how I’m going to feel when we make love tonight.” You added, feeling Bob’s breath hitch in his throat, and for a second he didn’t move. You thought you put him into shock, but then his fingers curled ever so slightly against your skin, like he was tethering himself to you.

”I wanna be good for you.” He replied, his voice breaking around the edges, “I want to be everything you deserve…I want to take my time…I want to see what you look like when you fall apart because of me, and I want to memorize every sound you make and every place you like to be touched and–and I want to hold you through all of it.” Your eyes softened at his words, feeling your heart folding at the edges from the way he said it with such trembling devotion, like he was offering you everything he had without knowing if it would be enough for you.

”I wouldn’t want it any other way Bob…” He breathed out slowly like he’d been holding it for minutes, like your answer reached someplace deep inside him he didn’t know was waiting to be filled. A small, shaky smile tugged at his lips.

“Okay,” He whispered. “Okay.”

You felt his arms shift, the weight of the wind returning to your skin, and together—slow and gentle—you began to drift back down. The city lights rose to meet you, the rooftop coming back into focus beneath your boots. He didn’t let go. Not even once. His hand stayed tucked between your shoulder blades, warm and steady, like he didn’t trust gravity alone to carry you safely.

The moment your feet touched solid ground again, you didn’t speak. You just stood there for a second, forehead still brushing his, eyes locked and dazed with something fragile and full and beautiful. And then you kissed him.

It wasn’t rushed–it wasn’t even desperate…It was just full. Full of promise. Of understanding. Of anticipation humming low in both your bellies. His hand cupped the side of your face so delicately it made your knees weaken, and when he pulled back, you didn’t have to say a word. You just reached for his fingers and laced yours through them.

“Come inside with me,” You said quietly.

And he followed instantly.

————

You left the light on before you went up to the roof, so when the both of you stepped into your shared quarters, the soft yellow hue of the lamp greeted you with open arms and warmed your skin almost instantly.

Bob closed the door behind him with a soft click, the quiet thud echoing between your beds like a held breath. You stepped into the space between them, turning to face him slowly, your hands sliding up to push your hair from your face. His eyes followed the motion, catching every shift of your body like he didn’t want to miss a second, his fingers fumbling with the edge of his hoodie.

“H-How do you want to start?” He asked quietly, his voice threadbare with nerves. All confidence from the roof had dwindled pretty quickly once the reality of the situation really settled in, and now he could feel his chest tightening from the thought of what was going to come next. You could see it in the way he fumbled with whatever he could get his fingers on, it was the most obvious tell of his. You stepped toward him carefully, and held your hand out like you normally did with him.

”Come here,” You whispered. Bob didn’t hesitate this time around, taking a few steps towards you until you could curl your fingers around the hem of his hoodie, slipping your hands under the soft fabric so you could touch his burning skin. His jaw clenched for a moment at first contact, his lashes fluttering at the featherlight touch you always used with him. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, letting out a shaky breath against your mouth.

”We don’t have to start any particular way,” You murmured, “Just be here with me…” Bob gave a slow, trembling nod, bringing his hands to your waist. You leaned forward a bit, pressing your lips against his, taking his breath away in one quick moment of time. You could feel his shoulders loosen a little, as he sighed into you, his fingers squeezing your clothed flesh gently, pulling your body closer to his. You broke the kiss first, removing your sweater quickly because you were growing warm extremely quickly, just like Bob you ran hot, but only when you were anticipating something, and this was definitely something you were looking forward to.

You threw the sweater to the side with a sigh, pushing your hair out of your face again as you adjusted yourself, seeing Bob’s eyes following your movements, and tracing over the skin that was revealed to him. The light camisole you wore hugged your figure just enough that he could make out the subtle shape of your breasts beneath it, and in the dimmed hue of the room he could see the way your nipples pebbled against the fabric. Before he could even stop himself, his fingers curled under the hem of the covering.

”Can I…?” His voice trailed off, looking down at you with dazed eyes. You nodded immediately, raising your arms up slightly, feeling the way he peeled the fabric up gently, wanting to drink in every inch of newly exposed skin. He slipped the camisole off you, throwing it to the side to join your sweater now, as his eyes returned to your bare chest.

For a second, it was like he didn’t breathe. His mouth parted slightly, and a stunned silence stretched between you before he managed to snap himself out of the trance your breasts had put him in, clearing his throat.

”You’re so…Beautiful. I mean–I already told you that, but seeing you like this–“ He cut himself off, looking down at himself, flustered, “Makes me feel overdressed.” You let out a small giggle, seeing the blush that crowded his face turn an even deeper red.

”Definitely overdressed.” You agreed, keeping your tone light, coaxing a nervous laugh from him. He ducked his head with a shy huff of breath, his hair falling into his eyes.

”S-Sorry. Didn’t mean to get ahead of myself, I just–“

“Hey,” You interrupted, reaching up to cup his face with both hands, forcing his gaze to stay on yours–his pupils already blown out from seeing your bare chest– as you ran your thumbs along his cheeks, “It’s okay…I like when you know what you want and ask for it. I also don’t mind being underdressed in front of you anyways. You don’t have to apologize, okay?” His lashes fluttered at you, as the tension in his shoulders melted just a little.

“Okay…” He whispered back, giving you a small nod, glancing down at himself. He pulled away from your touch, and with shaky hands, he reached for the zipper of his hoodie, tugging it down before peeling the garment off his arms and shoulders, letting it land in the soft pile of clothes that began to grow at your feet. You watched the slow rise and fall of his chest as he hesitated for only a second more before pulling his plain grey t-shirt off as well, letting it join the abyss below.

The second the fabric cleared his torso, your hands were on him–warm palms pressing against bare skin, tracing up along his ribs and over the planes of his chest, feeling the muscles contract beneath your touch, before bringing them up to rest at his neck. You pulled him down to you, fingers curling into his hair gently, as his lips met yours. The kiss this time was deeper–hungrier and desperate. He opened his mouth to you, feeling your tongue slip in, as your bodies aligned with each other again.

His hand slid up along your side, tracing over your ribs, until it found the curve of your breast, cupping it gently within his large palm. You let out a small moan of approval, your hips shifting slightly at the sensation and shivers that twinged up your spine. His thumb dragged over your nipple, circling it slowly before giving the flesh a soft and careful squeeze, not wanting to be too rough at first, drawing out a hum from you, and another gentle pull of his hair.

Bob pulled away from the kiss with a shaky smile, before peppering kisses along your jaw, and down your neck, carving out a wet path all the way to your chest, going to the breast that he wasn’t kneading with his hand still. His lips brushed over your nipple, testing, and teasing, waiting until you leaned toward him to close his mouth around it. A soft moan escaped the both of you, his breath warm and uneven against your skin as he sucked gently, his tongue moving in slow circles before fluttering along the peak. His other hand continued to palm and knead the other one, fingers teasing until both nipples were stiff beneath his attention. He switched sides, not wanting to neglect the other one, which earned another shocked gasp, feeling how more needy he was growing as he greedily sucked and nibbled. Your fingers laced deeper into his hair, trying to ground yourself when you felt your stomach somersaulting from the sensation of his tongue and mouth working in tandem together. Your words spilled out before you could really think–

“Jesus, Bob…” The moment you spoke he froze, pulling off your nipple with a soft, wet pop, lips shiny and slightly parted as he looked up at you. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes–God, his eyes–were wide and hazy, like he was drunk on you and the taste of your skin.

“Are…Are you okay?” You nodded immediately.

”More than okay.” You replied, as your fingers slid out from his hair to trail down his chest, moving with slow precision as you found the tie at the waistband of his sweatpants, keeping your gaze locked on his. You made quick work of it, undoing the knot in one swift pull before pushing at the fabric so it shifted down his hips, exposing more and more skin to you. He straightened up a little, taking his hand off your breast to push them off his legs completely, kicking them off to the side before mirroring your actions–going for your sweatpants too.

He bent down slightly to push them down your legs, and you took the opportunity to steal a quick kiss from him, catching him off guard. The both of you broke into soft laughter, easing your nerves a bit. Once the sweatpants hit the ground you kicked them off your feet, letting them be banished with the rest of your clothes.

Now in just your underwear, the air between the both of you was thick with anticipation. Your breathing slowed, and deepend, syncing with his as he took you in–really absorbing every inch of skin he could see, battle wounds and all–his gaze lingering everywhere. You let your gaze fall for a moment, catching the shape of him beneath the soft cotton of his boxers. His erection was unmistakable, full and straining against the fabric, the outline was thick and defined, which made you nervous, but also excited. The image alone sent a pulse through your belly, and made your toes curl.

When you looked back up at him, he wasn’t staring at your body anymore, he was watching your face. His expression was so open, so filled with awe and admiration that it nearly made your breath catch in your chest. He reached out, his fingers gently cupping your jaw, his thumb running over the skin, before leaning in to press another kiss to your lips, savouring the moment with a sigh.

Then, without saying a word his hand slipped from your face and slid around your back, while his other arm slid under your thighs, lifting you to him with ease. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck and legs around his waist as he carried you the short distance to his bed, throwing the duvet down to the foot of the bed, before lowering you down onto the cool sheets, letting the mattress form around your figure, pushing you up a bit so he could get on top of you.

Bob settled between your thighs with the softest exhale, like he was afraid to ruin the moment by moving too quickly. His knees sank into the mattress, feeling the way your legs guided him closer to you. His hands remained gentle–one braced beside your head, the other holding the side of your hip, absentmindedly tracing circles along it with his thumb.

You tilted your face up to him, and he dipped his head to meet your lips once again. The kiss was slower this time, deep with care and tenderness. You kissed him back with the heat of a thousand suns, your fingers slipping into his hair, pulling him a little closer as your body arched up into his. His hand on your hip drifted up your side, tickling your ribs with the ghosts of his fingertips, letting the intimacy of the moment wrap around you like a second skin.

Then, he pulled back slightly, just far enough to look at you–eyes searching, lips still parted, breath uneven against your mouth. He hesitated for a moment, his thumb brushing idly over your ribs before he finally spoke.

”I-I want to go down on you,” He said quietly, as if the words were sacred to him. His voice was shaky, but you could tell it was just from the nerves that were pulsing through him in those moments, “I want to…Take care of you first…Want to show you how much I’ve been thinking about this…How much I’ve been thinking about you…If that’s okay?” Your heart thudded so loudly in your chest you swore he could hear it. The look on his face–open, vulnerable–was enough to make your breath catch. His words wrapped around you with such warmth that it rooted deep in your body.

You reached up, your fingers curling around the back of his neck, as you whispered.

”That’s more than okay.” He swallowed hard, and then nodded, giving you a small kiss, before drifting down your skin, his lips reaching every inch of you, peppering wet little marks across you, committing every detail to memory. Your hands drifted to his shoulders, brushing across the solid muscles of his back. He kissed your chest, then your ribs, all the way until he reached the edge of your underwear. He paused, lifting his gaze to yours again, just to be sure.

You gave him a small nod, watching his fingers hook under the fabric. He pulled the fabric down your hips, and thighs, as you helped him by pulling each leg out for him. He let out a sigh, looking at your completely bare figure beneath him now, his bottom lip slipping between his teeth for a brief moment before returning to where he was moments ago, putting your legs over his shoulders.

Bob leaned forward, brushing his mouth along your inner thigh, peppering kisses along the skin, memorizing the taste of your skin, inching closer and closer to where you needed him the most. By the time he reached your core, you could feel your whole body pulsing against him, thrumming with anticipation and desperation.

When he finally brought his mouth to your core, he slowly licked upwards, wanting to savour the first time he got to actually taste you. The feeling of it caught you off guard, which drew a soft moan from your lips–broken and boarding on a whimper. His hands tightened at your thighs, holding you closer to him as he licked you again–more firmly this time–his tongue parting you gently, working up to circle around your clit without touching it quite yet. You closed your eyes tightly, reaching down to lace into his soft brown strands of hair. You could feel his eyes on you, watching every reaction that he coaxed out of you. When his mouth finally closed around your clit, your fingers in his hair tightened, hips rolling into him with a gasp.

“F-Fuck…Bob.” You choked out, and that was all he needed.

He groaned softly in response–just hearing your voice sounding so wrecked like that almost destroyed him–and he settled deeper between your thighs. He dragged his tongue in slow, deliberate strokes, curling it just right at the tip, then flicking it softly against you until your legs trembled around him. He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking gently, then swirling his tongue with practiced rhythm, giving you just enough then pulling back slightly to tease again, letting you chase the pressure.

Your back arched off the bed slightly, your breath catching in your throat.

”You…Holy fuck Bob…” You whined, not being able to find the words in your vocabulary because your brain was melting from the intense pressure that was building in your stomach. The way you said his name had him clutching at your thighs tighter, grounding himself as he buried his face against you more, like a man starved. He moaned softly, sending another wave of heat through your core, the vibration making you gasp. His tongue flicked, circled, and flattened, lavishing you with such deliberate devotions which drew you closer and closer to the edge.

He shifted slightly, and took one of his hands off your hip, bringing it between your thighs as he adjusted his other hand so it was splayed out along your belly. He traced his fingers through your wetness, dragging two of them along your entrance, teasing for just a second before gently slipping them inside. You bit your lip, suppressing a moan as you looked down at him, seeing how focused he was on pleasing you, his eyes glistening with such intensity that you felt like you were going to die.

His fingers moved slowly at first, letting you adjust to the slight stretch they provided, before curling them slightly, finding the spot inside you that made your back arch off the bed, crying out as your legs tightened around his head. He didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate, he just groaned again, like your pleasure was the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Oh my god–Bob–Bob please don’t stop…Don’t stop.” You begged, your voice breathless, and trembling on every syllable. Your fingers gripped his hair even tighter, as you felt the orgasm cresting with a pressure so intense it stole the air from your lungs. Your body was unraveling, and your muscles were tightening like a wire drawn taut. He felt it–he felt the way your walls began to pulse around his fingers, the way your hips started to jerk–and he doubled down, curling his fingers harder, sucking your clit in time with your shattering moans.

“Come for me,” He whispered against you, voice wrecked, barely audible but so sure. “Please. I want to feel it.” You broke apart beneath him with a cry, your thighs clamping around his head as your body seized, pleasure rocketing through you in waves so intense they left your limbs shaking. Your core pulsed around his fingers, your back arching off the mattress as you rode out the release, breath stuttering through sobs of ecstasy.

Bob held you through it, fingers still moving slowly inside you as his mouth gently eased off, switching to open-mouthed kisses along your thighs, grounding you, kissing you through the aftershocks. He watched your body tremble beneath him, his own breath ragged with awe.

Finally, when you dropped back onto the mattress with a long, shaky sigh, he pulled his fingers from you slowly, kissing your hip one more time before crawling up over your body. His skin was flushed, his mouth was wet and glistening with your arousal, and his eyes were glazed and dark with want–but there was so much tenderness in his face that it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, before pulling back to caress your cheek, his thumb running just below your eye.

”Are you okay? Did I–“ You cupped his face, and pulled him back down to you, kissing him again, interrupting the words that were about to fall out of his mouth. He let a soft moan against your lips, before you slowly pulled back.

”You did…Absolutely amazing Bob. So fucking amazing.” Bob’s breath hitched the moment you said it, and you watched the praise ripple through him like a tide, flooding his expression with something raw and deeply earnest. He looked almost overwhelmed, like he didn’t know what to do with that kind of affirmation, but he was appreciative of it regardless.

You gave him a second to breathe, brushing his hair back gently from his flushed forehead as he hovered over you, gaze still fixed on your face like he couldn’t believe you were real.

Then you tilted your head toward his ear, your voice soft and steady.

“My turn.”

Bob blinked, his lips parting slightly. “Y-You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” You cut him off gently, placing your palms on his chest and guiding him down onto his back. “I really want to.”

He let you maneuver him without resistance, collapsing onto the pillows as you crawled over him, straddling his thighs with slow, deliberate movements that kept his eyes trained on you. Your fingers trailed down his torso, grazing the firm lines of his chest and stomach, watching as his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

When you shifted lower, reaching for the waistband of his boxers, he let out a sharp breath.

“Wait—” He said quickly, sitting up on one elbow, using his other hand to catch your wrist. “I–shit–I want you to just–just use your hands, okay?” You blinked at him, a little surprised by the request and the sudden interruption.

“Why?” You asked gently. His face flushed harder, eyes dropping to the sheets for a second before he met your gaze again, voice low and a little sheepish.

”Because I’m gonna end up finishing too fast if you use your mouth..And I don’t want to finish unless it’s inside you.” He admitted, his breath unsteady. Your thighs flinched at his words, leaving you staggered. You weren’t expecting it, not from him. Not from soft-spoken, anxious, stammering Bob…But then again he had just given you the best orgasm in the world…So he did have a bit more of a wilder side to him that evidently he only reserved for you at this point.

”…Okay.” You whispered, leaning in to kiss him once more, before easing down his body again. Your fingers curled into the waistband of his boxers, and you eased them down his hips, eyes never leaving his as you exposed him to the cool air. His cock was thick and flushed, twitching slightly with need, already glistening at the tip with precum. The sight of him made your mouth go dry, and your stomach turn. You wrapped your fingers around him slowly, watching the way his jaw tightened at your touch, his head falling back against the pillow with a soft moan. Your hand moved in slow, steady strokes, twisting gently at the tip, your palm slick from how worked up he already was.

“Oh…Oh god you’re going to ruin me.” He rasped, breathlessly. You leaned over him, your free hand braced against his chest as you shifted to straddle his thighs properly. The weight of you over him made his eyes flutter open again. His hands went to your hips, as if just having you there made him feel steadier. Then without warning, he looked up at you with glassy eyes and spoke.

“C-Can I sit up against the headboard?” His voice was rough with need, but still gentle—like he didn’t want to disrupt the closeness, only deepen it.

You nodded immediately, helping guide him as he adjusted, both of you moving slowly so nothing between you was rushed. You cradled his shoulders as he shifted upward, his back settling against the cold wood of the headboard with a relieved exhale. The lamp’s soft glow painted his chest in gold, and his hair was a little messy from where your fingers had run through it, his mouth still parted as he looked at you with awe.

You straddled his lap again, keeping one hand wrapped around the base of him as he pulled you closer again. His head tilted forward and he pressed warm, open-mouthed kisses to your chest, lips finding your breast again like he needed it, sucking gently over the flesh, making sure to leave a mark before pausing to let his breath fan across your skin. All the while, your hand kept moving—slow, slick, steady. You felt him throb in your palm, the heat of him pulsing like a second heartbeat. You could hear him panting, but he didn’t tell you to stop, so you continued until he pulled back from your chest completely, his pupils blown wide with something molten in his expression.

”Y/N, spit in my mouth…” He whispered, “I want all of you…I want everything. I want you in every part of me…Please.” He added, his voice on the edge of a whimper. Your breath caught at his words, not from surprise or shock but from the vulnerability the words had to them. His need wasn’t crude…It was devotional, like it was the only way he knew how to show you how dedicated he was.

You nodded once, slowly, with your eyes locked on his. Your free hand came up to cradle his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly beneath his eye before gently tilting his head back, exposing his throat to you. He kept his gaze on you, wide-eyed and trembling as you leaned over him, still stroking his cock while doing so.

With your lips parted and breath warm, you let a slow, steady thread of saliva slip from your mouth–down past his lips and onto his waiting tongue. He didn’t flinch, he just accepted it with a shuddering breath, swallowing it right when it made contact. A flush bloomed even more across his neck and chest. You smiled down at him, seeing how satisfied he looked. He took a deep breath, then surged forward, one arm wrapping around your waist as he kissed you, open and warm, with his lips parting against yours like he wanted to thank you with his whole body.

You deepened the kiss, your chest pressing flush to his as he held you in his lap, the heat of his body radiating against yours like a shell. His hands roamed over your back, your waist, everywhere he could reach, but it wasn’t frantic—it was gentle and slow, like he was memorizing you by feeling alone. And then you pulled back, just enough to speak, your lips barely brushing his.

“I need you inside me.”

The words left you in a whisper, but they hit him like a lightning strike. Bob’s breath stuttered, and his eyes fluttered open to meet yours—glazed, dazed, and swimming in something so deep it made your spine curl. He nodded, a little frantic, the motion jerky as he grasped at your hips again, steadying you, grounding himself.

“You sure?” He asked, drawing his brows together, his voice hoarse, wanting to be sure you were on board with this completely. You nodded, kissing him one more time.

”Never been more sure.” You adjusted your hips with care, steadying yourself as you guided him to your entrance, the tip of him hot and slick against you. Bob’s breath hitched, his fingers flexing hard at your waist as he tried to hold himself still, trying not to rush you. You watched his jaw tense, his chest rising and falling rapidly as you slowly began to sink down onto him, inch by inch, until he filled you completely.

The stretch made your thighs tremble and your breath catch, and Bob let out a strangled groan that vibrated through his whole chest. His head fell back against the headboard with a soft thump, eyes fluttering closed as he murmured something that sounded like your name paired with the words oh my God. You sat there a moment, your hands planted on his chest, letting your bodies adjust, feeling the twitch of him inside you, the way he was already pulsing with restraint.

And then you began to move.

It was slow at first, just the tiniest grind of your hips forward and back, your slick heat stroking along his length. His eyes cracked open, dazed and glassy, like he couldn’t believe this was real. He brought his hands to your hips, guiding you gently, letting you take what you needed at your own pace, and in your own way.

You moved together like a heartbeat–slow, steady, with increasing intensity.

Bob’s hands slid up your back, then down again to cup your ass, helping you ride him deeper, pushing you just enough to make your breath hitch with every descent. His moans became more frequent, low and helpless against your skin, and he whispered your name like a prayer, again and again, until it bled into the rhythm of your bodies.

“God–you feel so good–so so good,” he rasped against your neck. “I don’t think I can–oh shit–”

Your hips were moving faster now, desperation threading into every motion. The room was filled with the sound of skin meeting skin, your quiet moans, and his ragged breathing. You felt like you were both on fire—burning, blindingly alive.

And then, suddenly, Bob shifted.

Without warning, he gripped your thighs and flipped you, your back hitting the mattress with a gasp. Before you could say anything, he was there—above you—sliding back into you in one fluid, aching thrust. You cried out, your hands gripping his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively, pulling him in closer.

Bob moaned softly, burying his face into your neck as his hips snapped forward with more force now, losing the gentle rhythm he had from before, exchanging it for something deeper, and more primal. One of his hands found yours and squeezed it tight, pressing it against the pillow beside your head, while the other shot out grip the headboard so he could brace himself.

And then the sound hit.

CRACK.

You barely registered it at first–you were too lost in the crescendo building inside your body, the way he filled you so perfectly, the way your name fell from his lips like he was worshiping you with every thrust. But his body shuddered on top of you, his hips jerking erratically now, the pace stuttering as he reached the edge.

“Oh God–God–Y/N–”

He moaned loudly, something close to a gasp punched from his lungs as his hips slammed into you one final time, and his whole body locked up. His hand crushed the top of the headboard–literally splintering the wood under his palm as he came inside you with a broken, breathless cry. You felt the wave of it, the way he pulsed deep inside, the warmth of him spilling into you, and it sent you hurtling over the edge too, your climax crashing through your limbs like a wave snapping every nerve awake. You cried out beneath him, your nails dragging down his back, your body seizing around him.

Bob collapsed, trembling, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, his breath hot and wild against your collarbone. His hair was a complete mess, damp and tangled and wild across your skin. He was heavy and shaking, still buried inside you, both of you locked in the aftermath–too breathless to speak. You could feel his heart pounding against you–where his chest was pressed against yours.

Then slowly, you felt him lift his head from your shoulder, his cheeks a complete crimson now, lips parted as he gazed down at you with those shimmering blue eyes again, like he was trying to comprehend what just happened.

In those moments he leaned forward and kissed you, like he was saying thank you, or maybe he was trying to determine if this really was happening. You kissed him back with the same softness he gave you, your fingers pushing his hair back from his face. He sighed, and pulled back from your lips, his gaze raising slightly. You could see his mouth drop open slightly, and his eyes went wide.

”…What?” You asked, your brows drawing together in confusion. He didn’t answer. Instead, he gently reached up and tilted your chin, guiding your gaze upward–and that’s when you saw it.

A clean, jagged split ran right down the center of the wooden headboard. Splintered and cracked like lightning had struck it from above. Your mouth parted in shock, and for a beat neither of you said anything.

Then you laughed.

It started soft–with disbelief and surprise–but quickly turned into full, breathless giggles that made your body shake. Bob buried his face in your neck again, groaning quietly.

“At least we still have my bed to move to,” You teased, stroking his hair to calm him down from the embarrassment he was probably feeling. “But maybe we should…I don’t know…Get things that don’t break so easily?”

Bob groaned again into your skin, and you could hear the shy smile behind it. “Y-Yeah…Yeah, maybe,” He mumbled, barely audible.

You could feel the heat creeping back into his cheeks.

“Though…” He added after a pause, voice muffled and sheepish, “If sex is always gonna be like that… I-I don’t think it’ll matter what it’s made of…” You smirked, pushing him off his shoulder so you could look at him–and the adorable way he immediately avoided your gaze. Your heart swelled.

“Sounds like a good time to me,” You whispered, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead before pressing a kiss to it.

Eventually, you cleaned yourselves up, and shifted to your bed, sliding in under the fresh sheets, tucking yourselves into each other. Bob curled around you protectively, your bodies bare and warm together, with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, nose buried into your hair. You fell asleep like that–saturated in the safety of each other, breath syncing, hearts still fluttering.

——————

The morning sunlight slipped gently into the room, illuminating the soft gold glow of the lamp you’d forgotten to turn off.

You were the first to stir.

Bob’s arms were still locked around you, holding you like he thought you might disappear. You turned in his embrace, resting your palm against his chest, letting your fingers trace lazy circles along his sternum, and the little scars that he had around that area that were barely noticeable. His eyes fluttered open not long after, blinking slowly until they found yours.

“Morning,” You whispered.

“Hi…” He whispered back, his voice gravelly from, as one hand moved to push your hair out of your face with the backs of his fingers. “You’re still here.”

You smiled. “Of course I am.”

He returned a smile back to you, cupping your cheek gently before leaning in to kiss you–sleepy and sweet, his soft lips barely moving, while his nose brushed against yours. He pulled back slowly, letting his thumb trace your lower lip. You kissed the pad of it, with a sweet smirk.

”I could stay like this forever,” He murmured, trailing his touch down to the side of your neck, taking in the image of you in front of him, making sure he would remember this moment. You tilted your head into his hand, staring up at him with your heart pounding against your chest.

”Me too.” He grinned, just a little. The kind of grin that was half love-drunk and half processing the events that happened last night, then you remembered what you were going to talk to him about yesterday when you came back to the room, before you found his note.

”Hey I was actually going to tell you something when I came back to the room,” You began, already laughing at the story, seeing the way his attention was on you, hanging off of every word “During training yesterday evening, Yelena and Bucky gave me the third degree abo-“ Just as you were about to tell him you heard Yelena’s voice coming from an already opening door.

”Y/N, missed tra-OH MY GOD! HOLY CRAP!” You jolted, the covers pulling up to your chest as Bob yelped and scrambled to sit up behind you, wide-eyed and clutching the sheets. In the doorway, Yelena stood with her hands over her eyes, then immediately turned and bolted out again.

”I KNEW IT! BUCKY I TOLD YOU!” She yelled. The both of you glanced over at each other.

”…I’m assuming they gave you…The third degree about us?” Bob asked, finishing the sentence you were about to say before the interruption.

“Yeah…” You whispered under your breath, trying to suppress a laugh.

[urmommysfavkisserrr]

Spoiled Rich.

°•☆•° - Paige Bueckers x Ex-Wife Reader (Brazilian)

°•☆•° - Even after five years of divorce, you can’t help but remember what life had been like before everything went to shit. With the blonde curled up in your bed, something about it all just feels right.

°•☆•° - Part Two of End Of Her Rope. Ya’ll, I swear this was supposed to be all cute and domestic, but then the angst just crept in...and now here we are.

°•☆•° - for those of you who decided to throw a fit the first time.

°•☆•° - 6113 words

Part 1 | Part 3

°•°•☆°•°•°•☆•°•°•°☆•°•°

That next morning, you woke up to a slightly warmer but empty bed. You brushed it off, assuming one of the girls had crawled in after a bad dream, then left early this morning when they got bored to go play with their toys or find a way to make some kind of mess, they always did.

You sighed, looking over at the alarm clock to find that it was way past drop-off time for school. 10:42 am. Guess it was gonna be another late day for the girls, which would end up with you having to argue out some dumb excuse with the principal.

But before you could move, your eyes shifted to the blonde figure standing in the doorway of the master bathroom, leaning against the doorframe and just watching.

She had stayed? It wasn't a dream.

"Don't..you have practice or something?"

A sly smirk appeared on the blonde’s face when she noticed your eyes on her. “You don’t remember last night, do you?” She asked, a hint of amusement in her tone.

Paige leaned against the bathroom door frame, her arms folded as she watched you with a soft gaze. She had been up and awake for some time now.

You just huffed, rubbing your forehead and shuffling to sit up. "I gotta get the girls to school.."

“Already taken care of,” Paige replied, pushing herself off the door frame and walking over to the bed.

She sat down next to you, a knowing glance in her eyes. She knew the kids were off to school already, and she knew you were still partially oblivious to the events of last night.

You furrowed your brows, still working on rubbing the sleep off your face as you sniffled. "..what?"

Paige couldn’t help but chuckle at the confused expression on your face. “I dropped the girls off at school this morning.” She explained, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “And before you ask, yes, I did get them there on time.”

"You didn't have to do that."

“Who else was supposed to do it? You?” Paige said, her tone slightly teasing. “You were passed out when I dropped them off this morning.”

"You could have woken me up.” You huffed out, looking around for your phone without really looking. You were too tired to care. “I have alarms, I just don't know why they didn't go off."

Paige shook her head and rolled her eyes playfully. “I tried waking you up this morning. You were dead to the world.”

She remembered her attempts to shake you awake, only to be met with unintelligible mumbling. “Besides,” she continued. “You needed the sleep.”

You just palmed at your face again, sighing, rubbing your eyes, fixing the hoodie you had slept in, and the stack of necklaces on your neck.

Most of them were gifts that Paige had helped the girls pick out over the years. Then, with one last huff, you put your chin in your palm, looking at the blonde. "I appreciate it, everything, I do, but I know you've got your own shit to take care of so don't feel like you need to stay. I get it. You can go"

“Ma,” Paige said your name in a hushed tone. “Shut up. I’m not going anywhere.”

She knew you. And she knew you were always quick to dismiss any kind gestures with claims that you didn’t need them.

Her hand reached out and gently tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “You were exhausted last night. The girls were fine, and I could handle dropping them off. Stop being stubborn and quit trying to get rid of me.”

"You're busy.."

“You really haven’t changed, have you?” Paige let out a soft laugh, recalling all the times that you had always put others before yourself. No matter the cost.

“I’m not busy,” Paige replied. “And even if I was, I’d still be right here. You need to take a damn break sometimes. You can’t keep pushing yourself like this, baby.”

Paige couldn’t help but look at you with concern. She had seen this happen before. You were stubborn and didn’t know when to slow down. You had always been this way. “When was the last time you did something for yourself?” She questioned, still keeping her voice soft.

“...Huh?”

“You heard me.” Paige raised an eyebrow, waiting for You to answer. She was serious, she wanted to know the last time You made time for yourself. “When was the last time you did something just for you? And not for the girls or your job. When was the last time you were selfish?”

You softly shook your head, still trying to shake the sleep while following the conversation.  "I...don't...I bought a coffee last week?"

“You’ve gotta be joking.” Paige rolled her eyes, clearly not amused. Buying a cup of coffee hardly counted as being selfish. And even that probably came with some sort of guilt after spending the money on yourself.

You shrugged a little. "The coffee machine here broke, and I needed a pick-me-up. So after I dropped the girls off, I got one and a donut. Then, after school, I felt bad and took them to get it too."

“Of course you did…” Paige sighed, shaking her head. It was almost like clockwork; You always put everyone else first. You just couldn’t seem to shake that habit of giving everything all the time.

“You, I’m serious.” Paige shifted her body, facing you. She took hold of one of your hands. She needed you to know that she was being serious. “You can’t keep going like this, constantly looking out for everyone but yourself. You need to do something for yourself sometimes. Not because it’s your job, or because the girls need it, or because it’s what's expected of you. I’m not kidding, you’ll work yourself to death if you keep this up.

The version of you that Paige used to know, back in college, would have found something you wanted and bought it without a second thought.

You would have been dressed to impress even if it was just a night at the bar or to a restaurant for dinner.

You were the most selfish fucking person you'd ever meet, and now?

Now, everything makes you feel guilty.

“You’ve changed since college, ya know?” Paige commented, noticing the difference in you. You were still gorgeous, but now you were just exhausted. You used to be so much more self-assured. 

But now? Now you feel bad about doing anything that wasn’t necessary.

“I miss that old you.” She said with a smirk.

You tilted your head slightly, a thoughtful look in your eyes. "That me had two kids."

“Which did a number on you, alright. I’ll give you that. But it’s not just that.” Paige let out a sigh, her hand still holding yours. “The girl I knew in college would never feel guilty over buying a cup of coffee.”

"She was a different girl. A very different girl."

“You’re still the same at your core.” Paige insisted. “You just…don’t take care of yourself anymore. You run yourself ragged for the sake of everyone else. You’ve turned yourself into a housewife and mother completely, leaving nothing for you.” Paige’s thumb traced over your knuckles. She wasn’t wrong.

You sighed, leaning to the side to flop yourself into Paige's lap. Head on her thighs.

Paige smiled softly, shifting her legs to make you more comfortable. She let out a soft sigh, her hands finding their way to your hair again. “You need to take care of yourself.” She said softly, running her fingers through the long, dark locks.

"Mhm"

Paige rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me any of that.” She scolded softly. “You know I’m right. You’ve dedicated your life to your kids and work. You have nothing left for yourself, it’s like you don’t even know what self-care is anymore.”

"What do you want me to do? Huh? You wanna take the day and pamper me like some rich bitch?" You huffed with a raised brow, still in the blonde's lap.

“What if I do?” Paige asked, her hands still playing with your hair. She shrugged with nonchalance, like pampering you was no big deal.

"I'm not letting you spend money on me. Money for the kids is one thing, but for me it's another."

“So you’ll go broke spoiling the girls, but you can’t allow me to spend one little cent on you?” Paige raised an eyebrow. She couldn’t help but shake her head in disbelief. It was like she was talking to a stubborn child.

"You don't do ‘one little cent’. You go overboard every time. I don't need that kind of money spent on me."

“Oh really?” Paige raised an eyebrow again, amused at your protest. She knew damn well that if she even got the chance to get you a gift, she wouldn’t hold back.

She knew your protests were pointless. You knew it, too.

"Yes."

“Are you sure about that?” Paige let out a soft laugh. Her free hand came down gently and took hold of your chin, tilting your head up so that their eyes could meet. 

“Because I could very much shower you with gifts, and it wouldn’t make a dent in that bank account of mine. So you’re wrong.” Paige shrugged, like she was completely unbothered by telling you she could, in fact, spoil the hell out of you.

"I don't need it.”

“But you still deserve it,” Paige said firmly. She was done listening to the protest. “You do everything for those two girls and your career. You don’t have anything just for you. It’s always for everyone else. Don’t you ever wonder what it would be like to just…let yourself be spoiled for a change?”

"Not really. The budget is for groceries and lunches."

“You’re impossible.” Paige sighed, exasperated. It was like talking to a brick wall. You was so damn stubborn in ways. No matter how many times she got the point across, you just wouldn’t get it.

“You won’t let anyone spend anything on you, yet you’d go to great lengths to spoil your kids. Can’t you see the issue here?” Paige reasoned again.

"I love my kids."

“That’s not the point, Ma!” Paige couldn’t help the rise in her voice. She didn’t understand why you didn’t comprehend what she meant. 

Her hand moved to hold your chin a little tighter, making sure you were hearing her. “You love, live, and breathe for those girls. But you don’t do a goddamn thing for you. You don’t have any sort of me time. You don’t even get a minute to yourself.”

You shifted your head slightly in Paige's lap, looking up at her with the same eyes the blonde fell in love with all those years ago. "..if you could spend the whole day, just pampering me, what would you do?"

That was a question Paige didn’t even have to think about. In the blink of an eye, she knew exactly what she’d do. She’d spend every waking second of the day doting on you.

Her head tilted, looking down at you and answering in a tone that was slightly above a whisper.

“Well..” She began, her fingers resuming the rhythm of playing with your hair. “Spa treatment, nails, hair, the works. And then I’d take you someplace nice to eat. Just the two of us.”

"And if I'd rather just stay in bed all day?"

“Well then, I’ll get room service,” Paige responded, her hand coming up to gently brush a stray strand of hair away from your face. “No kids, no cleaning, no work. You’d get to lie in bed all day, and the only thing you’d have to worry about is me taking care of you.”

"Room service? You mean DoorDash?"

“Room service, DoorDash, whatever floats your boat.” Paige chuckled softly, her fingers still gently running through the locks of dark brown hair. “Whatever the hell you want. I’ll get it for you.”

Your voice dropped to a small and vulnerable whisper. "...what if I just want you?"

That. That question caught Paige completely off guard. Her heart immediately fluttered in her chest, and she felt as if all the breath had been taken out of her lungs.

She tried to remain as calm and collected as she could, but damn. Hearing those words from your mouth…it made her heart want to burst. “Then you’ll have me.” She finally responded, her hand coming to rest on your cheek.

"Anything I want?"

“Anything in the world,” Paige responded without hesitation. She was a little surprised at the confidence in her voice. But it was true. If there was one thing Paige had been sure of forever, it was her love and devotion for you.

When they were back in college, Paige could and would have given you the world. And now, all these years later, it was still the same.

"...I did recently get a new dress, but I have no reason to wear it. A gift from my sister."

“Wear it for me,” Paige replied a little too quickly. Seeing you dolled up in a dress would be a treat.

"Yeah? You gonna take me out, Bueckers?"

“You bet.” She responded again, her confidence in full force. She was going to spoil the hell out of you with or without protest.

She was tired of watching you give yourself to everyone but yourself.

"hm.."

“Don’t hum at me,” Paige said, her tone still firm. She wasn’t going to let you say no to this. “No protesting. You’re going to let me take care of you for once in your life.”

"What about your agents and the fans? When they see us together, in public?"

“Who cares about them?” Paige raised an eyebrow.

“This isn’t about them,” She went on to say, her hand still cradling the side of your face. “It’s about doing something fun for yourself. It’s about you. Not them. Not me. You. For once. I’m gonna do something completely for you, and you’re gonna let me do it.”

"Paige.."

“Not a single word.” Paige hushed her again, now putting a finger to your lips to shush you. “You’re going to take a break and let someone take care of you for a little bit. And you’re not going to fight me on it.”

"..what if I just want to stay here and hide with you?"

“That’s even better,” Paige said with a smirk. As selfish as she was, getting to have you to herself for a day was something she wanted to do.

And now it seemed like there was a chance. “If you want to stay in, we’ll stay in and I’ll still pamper you.”

"Without spending thousands?"

“Oh, now hold on.” Paige had to refrain from rolling her eyes. Of course, you weren’t going to let yourself get spoiled without some form of protest.

She leaned down slightly closer, her tone still firm. “It’s gonna be a little expensive, babe.”

"Nah. We've got...food here." You didn't look too sure about that. Money had been tight lately, and you hadn't told Paige. The cabinets were uncomfortably empty, so most times she'd made food for the girls and just drank water or nutrient shakes. 

Don't tell Paige. Don’t. Tell. Paige.

"Yeah, we got stuff. And I'm sure I've got some old face masks lying around, and movies, and blankets. That's all we need."

Paige furrowed her brow, noticing the subtle hesitation in your words. She could sense something was off. “You sure you have the stuff? Cause I’ll just go out and-” She began, cutting herself off halfway as a horrible realization hit her. The realization of why you were being so difficult.

It hit her like a ton of bricks.

You were being difficult because of money.

Her heart dropped, realizing that you were trying to deny yourself getting the care you needed because you were struggling.

She sighed softly, her eyes moving to look down at you. “You’re not being difficult because you don’t want to be spoiled. You’re not allowing me to spend any money because you don’t have any money, do you?” She questioned softly, her heart twisting in her chest.

"I have money-"

“Not enough, though.” Paige cut in. She could tell by the way that you were avoiding eye contact that you were lying. It was obvious that things were way tighter than you were trying to let on.

“You..” Her tone was still soft, but now it was tinged with an almost pitying tone. ”You haven’t been telling me the truth about how bad it’s been, have you?”

"We're fine. We're handling it. Okay? The girls are happy, they have what they need."

“That’s not what I asked you. I asked if you’ve been telling me the truth.” Her tone was still firm, but still gentle. “The girls? Yes, the girls are probably happy. And they probably have what they need. That’s because you are going above and beyond for them.”

Paige took a deep breath. “But I’m asking you about yourself, baby. I’m asking if things have been bad enough for you to struggle to afford the necessities.”

"I'm fine. We're fine. Everyone is fine."

Paige shook her head, a mixture of both disappointment and sympathy for the woman in her lap. “Stop it. Stop saying that you’re fine. And stop saying that you’re doing just fine, because you’re not.”

She said firmly, her hand gently cupping your face. “That’s not true. And you lying to me about how you’re doing is making a lot of things make sense.”

Fuck.

You put your hands up, rubbing your eyes to hide them. So Paige couldn't read you anymore. "I don't need your pity."

“It’s not pity.” Paige shook her head. She could see how stubborn and defensive you were getting. “You’re not letting me take care of you because you don’t have the money to take care of the girls AND yourself, don’t you?”

Her tone was still gentle, but firm. And she was still trying to get you to uncover your face.

"The girls are fine-"

“Ma, stop. Stop this.” Paige said a bit firmer this time. She could see that you were getting more and more defensive and stubborn. “I’m not asking you about the girls. I’m asking you about you. And from what I’ve seen, you are not fine.”

“You’re not eating the way you should, you’re not sleeping-“ Paige started to list. “And you’re not doing anything for yourself. You’re putting all the focus on the girls, to the point where you won’t even give yourself the bare necessities.”

Paige took a deep breath. “Aren’t you even going to try to deny it? Or are you going to actually be honest?”

Her eyes followed the movement, watching as you sat up and hid your face.

“Don’t shut down on me.” She said softly. Her hand came to gently rest on one of your hands that currently covered her face. “Look at me.”

Your bottom lip quivered. "I dont need help."

That response made Paige’s heart drop.

“Ma..” She said softly, her heart aching in her chest. She gently pulled at your hand, wanting you to uncover your face and look at her.

“Please look at me,” Paige repeated, this time a little bit more desperately. “Let me see those pretty eyes of yours, baby.” She cooed softly.

That just earned a sob, like a full-on, real sob. You broke. Completely shattered.

The sound of your sob shattered Paige’s heart into a million pieces. She let go of your hand and quickly wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close.

“Shhhh…” She soothed, a hand rubbing soft circles on your back. 

“Hey… hey hey….” Paige’s tone was still soft and soothing. She was trying to keep her own emotions in check as she held you in her arms and rubbed your back.

“You’re okay…just take a breath..” she murmured into your ear, holding you a little tighter against her chest.

You melted into Paige, just absolutely breaking down.

“I got you..I got you..” Paige continued to murmur softly, cradling you against her chest.

Her chin rested on top of your head, her lips gently pressing into your hairline. She just held you in her lap, letting you have your moment.

"I wanted to do it…god, I wanted to be able to do it so bad..." You had managed to sob out, the sound twisting and ripping through Paige’s heart.

“I know you did, baby…” Paige murmured, her fingers gently combing through your hair. She knew it wasn’t in regard to the pampering anymore. It was so much more than that.

Her arms remained wrapped around you, holding you as tightly as she could. She hated seeing you so worked up like this, but it was clear that you needed to break. You needed to be able to let this out, and she was going to let you.

“Shhh….let it out….” Paige reassured you softly, her hand continuing to run through your hair.

Her fingers ran through your dark locks over and over again. She just kept repeating yourself, trying to soothe you.

“I got you…..you’re okay….I got you…” She held you as tightly as she could, trying to wordlessly remind you that you were safe here in her arms.

You just kept sobbing, harder and harder, till eventually you could barely breathe.

The sound of you sobbing broke Paige’s heart. She felt helpless as she just held you, listening to you sob and watching you fall apart.

“Baby..” She murmured softly, her arms wrapping a little tighter around you and trying to bring you as close as possible.

“Shhh…you’re okay….” Paige repeated again and again, just letting you cry it out. She hated how she wasn’t able to do anything more than just hold you, but if that’s what you needed in the moment, then that is what she was going to do.

You heaved, head shaking the best it could in the hold Paige had you in. Tears coating every inch of your face, pouring down like a waterfall. "I can't..I-I-I can't.."

Hearing those words made Paige’s heart ache.

She cradled you against her, her hand rubbing up and down your back as you continued to sob and break in her arms.

“You can…you are….” She replied softly, her lips gently pressing into your hair again.

“I’ve got you…I’ve got you…” Paige continued to repeat softly into your hair, desperate to keep you calm and stop your tears.

She continued running her fingers through your hair, her hand occasionally massaging the back of your neck.

The sobs eventually calmed into whimpers and sniffles, your body heavy and limp against Paige's. Exhausted.

You had calmed down considerably, your sobs and tears reduced to nothing but quiet sniffles. Paige gently took hold of your chin, tilting your head so Paige could see your face.

“There you are….there’s that gorgeous face of yours…” Paige murmured, hearing and feeling your sobbing, calm just a bit. She kept you close, your body still tightly clutched against hers. “That’s my girl…”

Your bottom lip still wobbled. Lips pulled into a small frown.

“Don’t go and ruin that pretty face. Don’t cry too much…can’t let you get all puffy on me…” Paige said with a soft smile, her thumb gently wiping away any remnants of tears from under your eyes.

“You’re so beautiful, you know..” Paige said softly, her hand resting against your cheek. Her thumb gently traced one of your tear-stained cheeks.

That made your eyes well up again. Even the simple words hit somewhere deep in your chest, causing an ache she’d been so hard to ignore to grow more intense.

“Oh….no….” Paige instantly noticed your eyes welling up, tears threatening to fall again.

“Hey..hey….don’t do that again.” She said quickly, her thumb running over your cheek, trying to wipe away tears that hadn’t even fallen yet.

"I'm sorry.."

“None of that..” Paige said, gently hushing you. She kept her hand against your cheek, her touch gentle and caring. “No apologising…there’s no reason to be sorry…”

"I ruined everything."

“No way,” Paige said firmly, yet still in a soft tone. She was quick to correct you.

“You didn’t ruin anything. You had a moment, and it’s okay. Look at me…” Paige gently lifted your chin so that your eyes would meet hers.

“You didn’t ruin anything, alright? It’s okay that you broke a little…”

"A little?" You scoffed, rubbing at your cheeks with the sleeve of your hoodie.

“Alright. A lot.” Paige said, a small chuckle leaving her.

“But it’s okay. You’re allowed to cry. You’re human, and you’ve been putting yourself under so much damn stress it’s a miracle you didn’t break down months ago. You have every right to cry, to break down, to be upset. But don’t you dare ever say you ruined anything.” Paige said firmly, her hand still holding your chin so that your gaze wouldn’t stray from hers.

"..I'm sorry."

“Why the hell are you sorry?” Paige said, still keeping your chin in her hand. Her tone was stern, wanting to know why you were still apologizing for breaking down.

You looked up slightly, just enough to finally meet the blonde's gaze. "I should have told you...accepted the money for the girls...I...they don't deserve to suffer"

“Mama…Come on,” Paige sighed and shook her head, finally letting go of your chin. “The girls are not suffering. They’re happy. You’re making damn sure of it. You’ve been doing everything you possibly can to make sure those girls don’t know you’re struggling, to make sure they’re taken care of.”

Paige’s hand fell away from your chin to grip your hip tightly. “You are not a failure. You didn’t ruin anything. You’re not allowing your daughters to suffer or whatever other bullshit you’re going to say next.”

"I-"

“No.” Paige cut you off. “No more of this. You’re gonna listen to me.”

She took in a deep breath and continued. “You are not doing anything wrong. You are a great mother. You have been busting your ass to make sure those girls have everything they could ever want. You’ve exhausted yourself. You’re running yourself thin.”

“You’ve run yourself so thin to the point that you’re literally letting yourself starve. You’re not feeding yourself. You’re not eating like you’re supposed to. You’re not sleeping. Your body and your mind are paying for it in the most awful way, and you just don’t see it. But I do. And now that I’m here, I’m not letting you run yourself like this anymore.”

"You have more important things than this..." Did she really? Her whole world was lying right in front of her, broken and messy.

That made Paige’s heart drop. She knew what you were doing. You were trying to push her away. Make her leave, even if it meant lying to herself.

She clenched her jaw, her hand tightening on your hip. “There is nothing more important to me than you.”

"Paige.."

“No, don’t you ‘Paige’ me. You’re going to listen to me.” Paige said, her tone slightly firmer than before. “You are literally on the brink of breaking. You are struggling. And your first instinct is to push me away? Why in the hell would I be anywhere else but here with you right now?”

"I'm not-"

“Yes, you are.” Paige gently shook her head, refusing to let you pull yourself into a self-pitiful spiral. “I don’t want you to tell me you’re not. I don’t even want to hear you think about it. You’re not going to try to pretend you’re not important because you’re the most goddamn important thing to me at this point.”

"I..I just.. I can't be what you want, what you need." And you truly believed that. Even after all these years, the things Paige’s agent had said to you echoed in your ears. That all you were and would ever be was a story. A star that burned up and was left alone in the dark. A burnt-out mom with two kids, who could barely pay the bills.

“Bullshit,” Paige said, her tone firm but soft. “You’re exactly what I need. You’ve always been exactly what I’ve wanted. You’re the one I’ve always wanted. You keep trying to push me away. You think I’m not going to fight to make sure you don’t? You’re stuck with me. For better or for worse.”

Paige didn’t want to let you look down and hide your tears away from her again. “You’re what I need. What I always needed. You’re everything to me, baby. You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.”

"Then why did you sign the papers?"

That made her heart ache. She still regretted signing the papers and leaving her. So much.

“Because I was stupid,” Paige said softly. “And young and scared and an idiot. I should have never signed those damn papers. I should never have left.”

Paige was so close to you now. Her hand still cupping your chin delicately, eyes glued on yours. Everything in her body was screaming to kiss you and hold you and never let go.

But she held back, wanting to make sure you were truly okay first. She needed to get you to break down, get you to get it all out. And then she'd kiss you. She'd do everything she needed to give you the attention and affection you were craving.

You didn’t say anything, just shuffled to put your head on Paige's chest. Tucked under her chin.

Without hesitation, Paige took the opportunity to wrap her arms tightly around you. One hand returned to gently playing with your hair, fingers lightly tracing over your spine.

It was almost as if she knew exactly what you needed in that moment to soothe you, to calm you.

There was a comfortable silence for a moment, just the sound of your sniffles and soft sniffles. Paige let you bury your head in her chest, not caring that you were crying on her shirt. The only thing that mattered to her was having you in her arms, holding you as tightly as she could, trying her hardest to silently show you how loved you.

“Don’t you ever doubt how damn important you are to me, alright?” Her voice was just as soft as her hand gently rubbing your back.

"It's been bad," You finally whispered. "The money.."

“I figured,” Paige responded, her hand moving from your hair to run along your back, rubbing slow soothing circles.

“How bad?” She asked softly, keeping you against her chest, holding you close and wanting to know just how bad things had gotten.

"..you don't want to know."

“Try me,” Paige responded instantly, one of her eyebrows raising. She had a pretty good feeling that she had a good idea how bad it had gotten. But she wanted to hear it from your mouth.

"The money you send goes to the girls, clothes, shoes, whatever's left over goes into a fund. The money from work goes to bills and food. They've been cutting hours."

Her eyes closed as she listened to everything you said. She could tell by the sound of your voice that this was hard for you to explain. That you felt ashamed.

Paige’s heart ached. How long had you been struggling like this and trying to do it all on your own?

That wasn’t gonna happen anymore.

She pulled you as close to her chest as she could and rested her chin on top of your head.

“God, baby…” Paige whispered, her heart squeezing in her chest as she held you tightly. It was hard to hear how much you were struggling.  How you let everything pile up on yourself without trying to get help in the slightest.

She took a deep breath, holding you a little tighter before asking, “How long have you been drowning?”

"...too long"

“Longer than you should’ve been,” Paige responded immediately. She was angry. Not at you, but at the situation. “You’ve been drowning for God knows how long, and you haven’t told me one damn thing about it.”

"You work hard for your money. Just because I'm some ex doesn't mean I deserve it."

“Don’t you dare say that.” Paige’s grip on you tightened. The way you said it pissed her off. “You’re not some ex. You’re not just someone I used to be with. You’re not a burden or a freeloader. You matter to me, so you deserve every penny I have.”

"Paige, please-"

“No,” Paige said firmly, her arms not loosening on you. “Absolutely not. You’re not gonna talk down about yourself. You were never just my ex. You’re so much more than that.”

"I'm not taking your money."

“Too bad,” Paige said firmly, pulling away a little bit to look down at you. One of her hands went to gently lift your chin, wanting you to look her in the eye. “You’re not going to fight me on this. You’re struggling and you’re getting my goddamn help whether you like it or not.”

"You could do good with that money-" You tried to protest. Paige shut that down.

“You’re more important,” Paige said firmly, her hand gently tracing your jawline. “I don’t care about that money. I care about you. I will throw away every single penny I have to take care of you if I have to.”

That made you shake your head again. "Paige-"

“No.” Paige quickly cut you off, still holding your chin up to make you look her in the eyes. “Don’t even argue. It’s happening. I’m gonna spoil you, and I won’t let you talk yourself out of it.”

"...One week. You get one week. Pay the bills, buy groceries, clothes for the girls, whatever, but that's it."

“Two weeks,” Paige responded immediately, her hand still on your chin. She knew you were being stubborn and trying not to let yourself be treated. You were so hardheaded, it was infuriating at times.

You shook your head, still rubbing at your eyes. "One."

“Two,” Paige said again. “And don’t argue with me on this.”

“One.”

"Two."

"One."

“Two, Ma.”

"Seven days. One week."

“Not a chance. Two.”

"One, or nothing. Take it or leave it."

If possible, Paige’s grip on you got even tighter as her eyes narrowed. She was a stubborn person by nature. But when it came to you, she was even more stubborn.

“You don’t get to say no.” Her hand moved from your chin to the side of your face and gently took your chin in her fingers. “Two weeks is what I’m giving you. And I’m gonna spoil you the entire time.”

"No-" you really were trying here.

“Don’t even finish that.” Paige cut you off again, her jaw clenching. She was getting frustrated, watching you try to deny yourself things. “Two weeks. Two. And you’re not gonna spend a dime. I’m going to spoil you as much as I possibly can, and you’re gonna let me, no arguing. That’s the only deal I’m offering.”

You shook your head, pushing Paige away. "I don't accept."

“Too bad. It’s happening.” Paige cut you off before you could finish your sentence, shaking her head. “No more arguing. No more denying yourself. I’m taking care of you, I’m spoiling you for two weeks, and you’re going to enjoy it. No more fighting it. Alright?”

"And what about your games? And practice? And your place?" You raised a brow, cocking your head. Your voice took on the same tone Paige had heard before, the one you used just moments before she’d deck someone in the fucking face.

Paige shook her head and scoffed. “I don’t care about that stuff. That’s not what my priorities are right now. You are. And the girls are. I’m going to use every chance I get to take care of you. So suck it up. You don’t get to tell me no.”

[darkmatilda]

𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐛 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: one trip to california, one bed, two people, dozens of increasingly absurd topics of conversation, and an uncountable number of internal monologues running through spencer’s head during the night spent under the same blanket with his unexpected, self-appointed roommate.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, one bed trope in stupid circumstances (with this trope the more absurd = the better cant change my mind), mention of spiders, 7k words of talking like trust me nothing happens here (okay they fight a bit over the blanket) (guess who won), spencer is down down bad bad, reader teaches him about skin care and is wearing his clothes, cucumber somehow becomes a topic of conversation, mention that they had sex before (intimate talk, finally confront that fact), they solve crosswords like an old married couple then get married buy a guinea pig name it gideon monroe and move to the countryside (they dont just kidding)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 7.3k

𝐚/𝐧: shoutout to my homegirl @nightfullofparadox for conducting complex research on the walls of her room and helping me determine whether hand cream feels sticky, greasy, or moist—such an important matter that without it, this fic wouldn’t exist. marathon masterlist

"...it was during the night of June 11 to 12, after nearly a year of preparing the plan, that they finally put it into action," Reid explained, with an unconscious hand gesture—fluid and natural—showing just how engaged he felt in the story he was telling. "In their beds, they left fake heads made of a mixture of toilet paper, soap, concrete, and hair from the prison barber shop’s trash. That way, the guards thought they were asleep when in fact they were escaping through an opening in the ceiling they had carved using spoons..."

The famous escape from Alcatraz was a topic Morgan and Garcia had some superficial knowledge of, while their partners—Savannah and Sam—had virtually none. And it just so happened to be one of the places they planned to visit during their three-day trip to California (actually, it was also the reason Spencer agreed to go with them at all), so he was thrilled by the fact that he could introduce them to this orally fascinating subject. And, as a bonus, make the airport check-in much more interesting.

At one point, Savannah sighed, taking a sip of the coffee she’d bought at the airport.

"I still can’t believe that the first place I’ll visit during my vacation is a prison," she said.

Reid shrugged. For him, visiting Alcatraz was far more interesting than lounging by a pool, but he decided not to judge and instead offer up some information that might change her mind.

"The island of Alcatraz is beautiful in itself," he noted. "In 1972, it became part of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area..."

He broke off, noticing the impatience with which Morgan kept glancing at his watch. His gaze was still scanning the airport, as if someone was missing. Just to be sure—not that he needed to, because he was sure—but just to be sure, Spencer counted the faces of his friends. Four, plus himself. As many as there were supposed to be from the start.

“I swear, if she’s late…” Derek muttered under his breath, gently shaking his head from side to side.

Spencer parted his lips, then closed them again, feeling at least mildly confused.

“Who?” he asked. “We’re all here.”

A laugh rang out...

A treacherous giggle escaping from Penelope’s mouth.

All heads turned toward her, which only made her laugh harder and prompted her to cover her mouth with her hand. Sam looked at her, caught by her smile; he seemed just as surprised as Reid—but in a slightly different way—positively intrigued, while a knot of foreboding twisted in Spencer’s stomach.

“What are you two up to, hmm?” Sam asked Garcia, his gaze moving from her to Derek.

A smirk formed on Morgan’s lips.

“We made sure Reid won’t get bored…”

“Well hey there, everyone,” came a voice from behind Spencer. He shut his eyes, unable to believe what was happening. He didn’t even have to turn around. “If any of you secretly manifested for me to be late, you almost got your wish. You wouldn’t believe the traffic…”

He still didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to—he knew exactly who had joined them. It was obvious just from the looks Penelope and Morgan were exchanging. Oh, he had been so right—he definitely wouldn’t be bored on this trip. He’d just end up going absolutely insane with irritation at least a thousand times. About 333.3(3) for each day of their stay.

“Just wait till Spencer finds out we booked them a shared room…”

His eyes flew open instantly—and so did his mouth, his throat suddenly dry.

Morgan burst out laughing but calmed him with a wave of hand.

“That part was a joke.”

A very unfunny one.

*

After a long shower and an even longer day, Spencer finally slid into the hotel bed. The hotel bed in a room booked just for him. To his great relief, Garcia’s words had indeed turned out to be a little silly joke, not something he actually had to live through.

Strange places usually meant trouble falling asleep, but that night, exhaustion worked in his favor—the first day of their stay in California was always meant to be the most intense one, strictly focused on sightseeing. His body was tired from walking, and his eyes were already beginning to close. A familiar heaviness and haze settled over his head, signaling that he’d drift off the moment it hit the pillow…

…but then came a knock at the door.

With a frustrated sigh, he got to his feet, having no clue who might want something from him at this hour. He didn’t even feel like forming a theory or guessing—he just opened the door, his face making it clear to the visitor that whatever it was they wanted, they’d better want it quickly.

The sleepiness left his body at once, replaced by surprise at the sight of the last person he expected to see from the trip. He almost groaned.

“Don’t even tell me it wasn’t a joke and we really are sharing a room…”

The woman shot him a glare, probably because of his openly displeased reaction. Not that she looked particularly thrilled herself—Spencer gave her a quick once-over, mildly surprised to see she was still wearing the same clothes from their sightseeing earlier, which might mean she hadn’t even made it to her room yet. Her expression, on the other hand—tense.

“Relax, pretty boy,” she said coolly, the nickname paired with a nod toward his not-so-cooperative post-shower hair and the sleepwear that, despite being neatly folded in his suitcase, looked a little crumpled.

Spencer awkwardly smoothed his hair a bit; not noticing, she continued—this time with more seriousness:

“As it happens, I need your help. It won’t take long.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to give in to the irritation. One thing that was constant in their relationship was that whenever they needed each other’s help, it actually took a long time. Let’s skip the fact that it could easily be cut in half just by removing their verbal sparring. And at least five minutes of convincing to do it at all. That step, Spencer decided to skip—he was too tired for that.

So he could either shut the door in her face, or help. He knew he wouldn’t survive the first one.

“Help with what?” he got straight to the point.

She looked at him a bit more kindly, like she was pleased with the readiness to act.

“I could go to literally anyone else, but since they’re all paired up I didn’t want to barge into their room all of a sudden, in the middle of the night,” she began, then sighed. “There’s a spider in my room. I won’t sleep with it in there, and I’m definitely not killing it myself. So,” she gave him a meaningful look.

Spencer hesitated for a moment before giving a verbal response, though he was aware that his expression probably gave a lot away.

 “Did you get a good look at it?”

“Of course not. Then I’d spend the whole night feeling like something’s crawling on me. But it was big and scary. Come on, before it gets away,” she tried to grab his wrist and pull him out of the room, but Reid skillfully avoided it.

For one simple reason.

“You know that in California the most commonly found venomous spider is...”

“Black widow,” she finished for him, suppressing a shudder at the very thought. “Especially fond of corners in apartments, like the edges near the baseboards. And according to the California Poison Control System, around 200–300 black widow bites are reported annually in the entire state.”

He couldn’t help that the little lecture complete with stats made an impression on him. She shrugged nonchalantly.

“Why are you staring like that, Mr. Genius? You’re not the only one who does research on places you’re visiting,” she replied. After a second of silence, she cleared her throat. “Okay, especially about the spiders in them.”

Reid sighed, still with one hand on the open door to his room.

The woman met his gaze. Her eyes, as if on command, softened and grew at least twice their size in an earnest, silent plea that felt like mercilessly kicking a puppy if denied.

“Will you kill it?” she asked.

If he stared at her for another minute longer, a halo would’ve lit up above her head and giant angel wings would’ve sprouted from her back—he had to break the spell, shaking his head. He already knew her manipulative techniques. But a witch’s tricks, no matter how beautiful she was, were still a witch’s tricks.

“Fuck no,” he replied. “What if it bites me?”

As he had expected, her convincing, innocent charm evaporated, giving way to a grimace.

“Better for it to bite me?”

Spencer’s arms shot up defensively.

“Well, from my perspective…”

“Move,” she suddenly commanded, cutting off whatever he was about to say. He straightened, his brow furrowed, not understanding. She made a sweeping motion with her hand, emphasizing what she meant. He felt a little as though some invisible force had actually pushed him aside, and he struggled to resist. The woman, with her usual confidence, looked him straight in the eye.

“Move, because I’m sleeping here,” she declared.

He blinked slowly and parted his lips wide enough to swallow a tennis ball. If anyone had just shot a tennis ball at him. Taking advantage of his moment of whatever it was, the woman gave him an ironic smile and simply bypassed him, not even caring that her hip brushed against him. Spencer somehow felt that fleeting touch all over his body, not just on that small part of him protected by clothes.

He needed to jam his hand into his own head to catch up with the situation.

“You’re not sleeping here!” he squeaked. With that voice, he wouldn’t stop even a kitten from wiping its ass on his pillow (and since he’d become a cat dad, that had happened a few times—he knew what he was talking about). Let alone a grown woman, a woman like her, from literally anything.

So, he took a deep breath, turned to face her, and said in a lower tone:

“You can’t sleep here.”

“Funny, because that’s exactly what I’m doing. Now close those damn doors.”

He felt that if he really closed those doors, he’d seal his fate. And it was exactly that thought that had terrified him when Penelope joked about it at the airport. Hesitant, he looked at her, not quite so clearly in the dim room, but still...he couldn’t deny it, she was attractive. In every way. Something she was well aware of and liked to use, making his face turn red and his mind fuzzy.

It was something Spencer could fight—but only for a short while. For the rest of the time, he became pathetically defenseless and exposed to her will, and like any person, he wanted to feel like he had some control over himself, over his own corner, room, bed, sleep.

He forced himself to take a deep breath and stay patient. Her arms crossed over her chest clearly saying she had already made up her mind. Still, he tried.

“Seriously,” he said with emphasis. “You can’t. There’s only one bed.”

He stated a fact, didn’t make it up—yet she scoffed as if he had just shared some controversial, completely unfounded opinion.

“It’s huge. You won’t even notice me,” she swiftly countered the argument.

He sighed, because on that particular point, she was right. The hotel bed was enormous. He looked at it with hesitation eating him from the inside, and finally, he broke and closed the door. As he turned to do it, he caught a fleeting glimpse of satisfaction on her face. He wanted to bang his forehead against the flat wooden surface.

Realizing he couldn’t stand frozen like that for the rest of the night, he finally stepped away from the door, slightly closing the distance between them. There was something expectant in her eyes.

“You’ll have to lend me something to sleep in,” she declared, watching his reaction with amusement. A reaction he tried to keep as unaffected as possible—but didn’t succeed very well. She gestured to her outfit. “Everything’s in my room. I didn’t even get the chance to shower when that monster materialized in it.”

He let out a sarcastic snort.

“What do you think,” he began, “how many clothes did I pack for a three-day trip?”

“Certainly more than necessary, you germophobe.”

Spencer should have felt offended by that remark, but somewhere at the edges of his mind, it flattered him a little. Because in truth, he had brought more clothes than necessary, and it was related to his aversion to germs. What he didn’t know was that she knew that.

“If anything, I’ll lend you something of mine tomorrow in return,” she murmured playfully, letting her gaze trail down the length of his frame, a gesture that instantly tightened the muscles in his stomach.

“I don’t think that would exactly fit my style,” he noted, swallowing as calmly as he could manage.

She shrugged slowly.

“You’ve got a decent waist. It would suit you.”

As she walked past him, heading straight for his suitcase, she poked him in that so-called decent waist with her fingernails, her hand moving like she was picking berries off a bush. Spencer actually jumped, rendered speechless, because first of all—what the fuck—and second, that hurt!

“I’ll pass,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing the assaulted spot.

He watched with a sort of sick fascination as she approached his suitcase and pulled out whatever clothes she deemed suitable for sleeping. It wasn’t the process or the act itself that triggered such a reaction in him—this inability to look away or even move—but her, in and of herself. So brazen she was practically unpredictable. And because of that, utterly captivating.

He only remembered that his body needed air to survive once his new roommate disappeared into the bathroom and the sound of the shower reached his ears. And really, it was at that exact moment that full-blown panic took hold of Spencer's back.

As they had already established, the only bed was huge—but still, it was just one. A flat surface not usually shared with random people, let alone people with whom you had such a complicated relationship. In order to even be able to move, Reid had to look at it from the opposite perspective. It was just a flat surface, a piece of wood, a mattress, and some bedding. The world wouldn’t end if he found himself under that bedding with her. Maybe he was even being heroic. Maybe there really had been a black widow in her room, and he, Spencer Reid, had to make this sacrifice for the good of humanity. For the good of one mind-blowing woman with never-flustered eyes who walked through every situation with unwavering confidence—even this one.

He realized he was still standing in the middle of the hotel room, completely frozen, and the sound of water from the bathroom had long gone silent.

To avoid humiliating himself right from the start, he hurried into bed. His thoughts tangled in chaos. It wasn’t like she was his guest or anything—he didn’t have to wait for her or make sure she had everything she needed. He had every right to simply lie down on his side, turn his back to her, and snatch a well-deserved and long-awaited sleep. And that’s exactly what he decided to do, though despite his heavy eyelids, his body and mind remained fully alert.

He heard the sound of the bathroom door creaking open, heard each of her steps separately, even heard the rustle of the duvet as she grabed a part of it to slip underneath. The mattress shifted. Just once. Which meant that if she had really gotten into bed, there would’ve been a few movements—signs of lying down, adjusting, searching for the right position. Spencer frowned and hesitantly rolled onto his back so he could look at her—and saw that she was frozen in a seated position, staring back at him.

He wanted to ask, a bit snidely, if something was wrong—but the words stalled in his throat at the sight of his clothes on her body, his loose t-shirt slightly revealing a glimpse of her collarbone and a few strands of hair still tucked underneath it.

In the end, she beat him to it, nodding slightly in his direction.

“We need to switch sides,” she said. He looked at her in confusion. “I mean, I prefer sleeping on that one.”

Spencer glanced at the ceiling for a moment, drawing a breath stripped of all patience into his lungs.

“What difference does it make?”

“Comfort. I always sleep on the right.”

“Oh, come on. This is my bed, and you’ve got…insane demands!”

“These aren’t insane demands. These are basic demands. You don’t want to know my insane ones.”

For a moment, their eyes met, and he pursed his lips slightly.

“You know what? I don’t think I can argue with that,” he muttered.

There was a flicker of premature victory in her eyes.

“So…we’re switching sides?”

“No.”

Saying that one simple word somehow made him feel more grounded in the situation. His brain was still in place, not melting and leaking out of his ears yet. Her chest rose with an annoyed sigh, and for a moment, she stayed quiet, locking eyes with him, giving him a chance to reconsider. And when Spencer didn’t…she simply turned her back to him and lay down on her side.

Without begging, or resorting to her usual tricks (let’s be honest—she always managed to find some), Spencer propped himself up on one elbow and stared at her back, his brows furrowed. That had gone surprisingly easily. So easily, in fact, that he didn’t feel the slightest satisfaction in having defended his rightful side of the bed.

He was just about to lie down in silence… when she let out a long, overly dramatic, loud, and thoroughly offended sigh. Yep—one short sound packed with that many adjectives.

He rolled his eyes at the sound.

“You can sigh all you want,” he muttered under his breath.

 He glanced at her cautiously, silently waiting to see if she’d say anything.

She didn’t.

He was just about to rest his head on the pillow again when the sound came back—just as overly dramatic and just as irritating.

“Fine. Take the damn side.”

His eyes shut tight, and a brief thought crossed his mind: he wasn’t going to cave to one of her whims. She’d survive one night on the wrong side of the bed.

Completely against that thought, his open palm smacked the pillow in defeat.

She immediately turned to face him with a smug little grin—and this time, it was Reid who sighed, though out of disbelief at himself. Thinking she’d get up and walk around the bed, he was left speechless, eyes wide, when she simply slid over him like someone crossing two shoelaces before tying them.

A knee accidentally jabbed him in the ribs, the ends of her hair brushed his face, and finally an elbow shoved him toward the left side all within, like, two seconds.

“How sweet of you to give me my favorite side,” she added with ironic cheer, the corners of her mouth lifting. She sat cross-legged on the bed, a gap between her back and the headboard, the blanket covering part of her knees. “You going to sleep now?”

Spencer, lying flat on his back and still recovering from what she'd just done, slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. His hand, acting entirely without the consent of his fogged-up brain, reached for the nightstand where he’d left a book—just in case he couldn’t fall asleep.

Before she showed up, he’d been ready to pass out the moment he hit the mattress. Now, though, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to. He was fully awake.

In response, he just shook his head and opened the book to his saved page. It was about Alcatraz. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her tilt her head to read the title on the cover, then pick something up—something he hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.

She squeezed a bit of white cream from a plastic tube onto the back of her hand. Catching his glance, she held it out toward him.

“Hand cream?”

Spencer gave her a completely blank, uncomprehending stare, like she was an alien visitor offering him some sort of high-tech ointment for immortality. And it wasn’t that the question itself was so outlandish. He was just fascinated by the escalation of it all. From inviting herself into his room and stealing clothes out of his suitcase to now sitting shoulder to shoulder in his bed and offering him hand cream.

He gave a slow shrug.

“Why not.”

She squeezed a bit of the lotion onto his hands, and after he rubbed it in, he waited a few minutes before reaching for his book again—because the thought of sticky fingerprints on the pages gave him the ick.

In the meantime, a dissatisfied grimace flickered across her face.

“All my skincare stuff is in my room,” she complained to him. “I had to use those hotel minis from your bathroom.”

She said it with such profound disgust that Spencer glanced at her over the top of his book, just as he was flipping the page, mildly amused.

“Poor thing. How ever did you survive?”

“Trust me, it took real sacrifice,” she assured him with a dead-serious expression. She picked up the hand cream again, examining the label with the air of someone reviewing classified intel. “Let’s see. Oh my god, there it is—Ethanol. Hello, instant dryness. Fragrance. Irritates, triggers allergies, wrecks your lipid barrier.”

She went on, listing off each ingredient in the cream with critical precision, offering lengthy commentary and open disdain for most of them. At some point, her monologue drifted into the category of skin-friendly ingredients—and that’s when Spencer realized he wasn’t actually reading anymore. He was just sitting in silence, eyes quietly fixed on her.

“And on top of all that,” she said suddenly, louder, pulling him out of the daze he'd slipped into. His open book lay face down on the blanket covering him up to the waist. “it just smells absolutely disgusting.”

Following her words, with some surprisingly genuine curiosity, he brought the back of his hand to his nose. And frowned.

“Smells like cucumber.”

“Exactly.”

“Cucumbers are actually a pretty nice scent.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Who in their right mind wants to smell like a cucumber?”

He felt obligated to defend the honor of cucumbers.

“Well, I bet there are plenty of people who like that scent,” he began, logically spreading his arms to the sides. She raised her brows at him, clearly not accepting that. “Otherwise there wouldn’t be so many cosmetic products with that exact smell. Personally, I don’t think it’s bad. It’s definitely refreshing.”

Her eyes swept over him almost evaluatively, up and down.

“I wouldn’t want to hear that kind of compliment.”

Spencer had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from commenting, but ended up doing it anyway.

“Oh, that’s new.”

“Hm?”

“You, not wanting to hear a compliment.”

She turned her face toward him, eyes narrowed.

“Are you suggesting I’m vain?”

Reid only slightly raised his brows and gave a brief shake of his head, leaving it open to her interpretation. After her question, he looked away from her, leaning out of the bed to place the book back on its spot on the nightstand. He figured it was probably time for sleep—another early wake-up awaited them the next day, and they’d already spent too much of this night talking. Surprisingly, Spencer didn’t regret it.

It means, he’d probably need an extra cup of coffee because of it tomorrow, but the whole thing was that after this conversation, he felt a knot in his stomach loosen, stress gradually leaking out of his entire body. Stress that had been there from the beginning, precisely because of what they were doing—sharing a bed.

A rather pleasant silence settled between them—finished, complete. Each of them focused on finding a comfortable position in which they wouldn’t be in each other’s way; no unfinished topic lingered in the air, no unpleasant words hung between them. The bed was spacious enough that, once they turned their backs to each other, they could almost forget about the other’s presence—but before they did, Spencer hesitated, lying on his back with his head on the pillow.

He caught her gaze before she had a chance to show him her back—he stopped her. She propped her temple against her palm, lying on her side, and gave him a questioning tilt of the chin. He swallowed nervously, gearing up to bring up something he had meant to say earlier but had forgotten.

“You’re going to leave early in the morning,” he said. It wasn’t a command or a request—more like…an opinion. Because he honestly thought it was the best solution, and assumed she’d agree. Her expression, however, remained unreadable.

 “I mean, before the others wake up,” he clarified.

Her shoulders gave a dismissive shrug.

“I’ll leave when I wake up and get myself together. I don’t care if the others are still asleep or already done with breakfast,” she replied.

She said it with a kind of simplicity that didn’t quite apply to the way Spencer perceived reality. Honestly, he felt like rolling his eyes.

“You know what they’re going to think about us?” he asked, rhetorically.

It seemed to him that she disagreed just for the sake of disagreeing, of doing things her own way, when in reality he hadn’t asked her for anything impossible or exhausting. Just for a possibly unnoticed exit from his room in the morning.

Still, she chose to answer.

“Two consenting adults having sex. Scandalous.”

For a moment, he stared at her in silence, then sighed. His head turned toward the ceiling.

“Okay, forget it.”

The mattress shifted—her movement. Or rather, her coming closer—not out of some sudden, unjustified need for affection, but to make sure her quietly spoken words were heard more clearly, a trace of irritation in them.

“Don’t act like some blushing princess,” she chided him, with complete seriousness despite everything. “We actually did have sex, Spencer. Did you forget?”

He was glad he had chosen to keep his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Just as the topic returned like a boomerang thrown nearly a decade earlier, one that had hit birds, planes, and several of his own downcast glances on its way back—forms of escape.

Her question wasn’t rhetorical; she waited for an answer, staring into his profile with a drilling gaze. Clever responses got lost somewhere in his tired brain; defeated by the effort of searching, he closed his eyes for a moment and went with simplicity.

“No.”

The reply came a moment later, but in its own way, measured—as if planned as well.

“So stop acting like it would be such a huge shame for you. The fact that you might be accused of sleeping with me,” she said coldly. Her hand, which had until then been supporting her head, dropped loosely onto the mattress. She pulled it toward her body and turned onto her back herself, no longer looking at him.

Spencer turned onto his side to look at her—or rather, at her profile—immediately after she said it. There was no pause, no uncertain hesitation, no nervous swallow paired with searching for something to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a jerk. In fact, he felt so bad about how she had taken his words that correcting himself came easily, driven by too much shame.

“I’m not saying it would be shameful,” he denied. “I just…maybe I don’t want people thinking things about me, about us, that aren’t true.”

“Then maybe you should care less about what people think,” she shot back.

“And maybe you should care more.”

She tilted her head slightly in his direction to catch his gaze—and hold it. Spencer felt a dryness in his throat, realizing she was waiting, without blinking, for the moment to say what she meant to say.

“Listen,” she began slowly. Her voice didn’t rise or lower; she didn’t break eye contact, but she also didn’t let him read too much from her expression. “We’re both adults. We slept together. It was nice. There’s no need to overanalyze it.”

She didn’t say it harshly, but it sounded like the end of the conversation.Spencer, however, couldn’t just leave it like that—something inside him made him speak up before that proverbial biting of the tongue could happen. It wasn’t easy though, not when his throat felt like a desert, and the question came out surrounded by a noticeable, nervous rasp.

“It was nice? Did…did you actually enjoy that?”

As he looked at her with his lips sealed and his breath held, she looked at him like he was an idiot.

“I’m not the type to fake anything.”

Lying still, he truly wished she would look away—let him free himself from her eyes and from what came not exactly because of them, but because of her. Her presence, her closeness, everything she had said. The memory he always punished himself for replaying, at least whenever she was near. He considered it deeply inappropriate.To feel someone’s touch again, to watch them uncovered while they stood right in front of you, maybe saying something, maybe asking a question.

Maybe lying in the same bed, in which she ended up only because of a small intruder in her own room, face to face, in the quietest possible silence.

Spencer gave in and turned his head away, cursing silently in his mind. But that still felt safer than continuing to meet her eyes. And when he did, suddenly the distance between their bodies seemed to grow, ever so slightly, even though physically they remained the same—on the same side of the bed. Only then did a flicker of sober thought manage to pierce through his mind. You won’t even notice me, he recalled her words and felt the urge to scoff. Even at the moment she’d said them, he’d suspected they wouldn’t hold true.

Sure, he could turn his back to her and draw some imaginary line between them, but that line was just an abstract concept, with no real application in their reality. He could not see her, but he still felt her beside him, and her presence seeped ethereally into his mind.

He somewhat regretted putting the book down, as he really needed a distraction. They still hadn't said anything to each other, but her gaze no longer lingered on him, making whatever had hung in the air between them in that brief moment start to fade away.

Reid moved his fingers aimlessly, trying not to appear paralyzed. And that's exactly how he felt, which made him incapable of falling asleep. Even his eyelids were no longer heavy. He heard a soft clearing of her throat. Okay, right after that, whatever had hung in the air was truly gone. Or rather, they existed on the plane of that aftertaste.

"You know," came his quiet, thoughtful voice. The silence between them had lasted long enough that a certain rasp had crept in, making Spencer have to mask a deep breath he suddenly took. "I don't think I can fall asleep without some mental effort. I miss my sudoku. Left it in my room, along with my skincare stuff."

"Talking to me isn't enough?" Spencer tried to joke, adding a little cocky tone to relax things, but god, it came out as the most awkward, pathetic thing he'd said, especially considering that his brain had shrunk to the size of a peanut over the last twenty minutes.

She spared him by not shooting him a look that said seriously? He shot that look at himself instead. Then he cleared his throat.

"Actually, I think I have some crosswords in my bag."

Her head turned toward him, eyebrows raised, silently asking what are you waiting for?

Spencer nearly jumped out of bed, almost tripping over his own legs, and returned moments later with a thick crossword book and a pen. Half sitting, half lying down, he immediately felt her shift closer to his side, her head resting on his pillow so she could see the filled-in squares.

Her finger tapped one of the boxes before Reid had even read the clue.

“Benzene,” she said.

Out of habit, he parted his lips to speak, then shut them—because, well, yeah. It was benzene. He dropped his gaze to the next clue, the answer flashing in his mind with a slight delay—but she said it aloud before he could. And that’s how it went every time, even though he was used to solving crosswords at near-record speeds. It happened because every time he knew the answer, his eyes drifted toward her, checking if she did too. And that alone was enough to smack his logic and focus square across the face, causing the delay.

He tried to recover, but there was no competitive spirit in him that night. So he just filled in the answers she gave, finding a strange kind of ease in the motion itself.

Force drawing objects toward each other, the next clue read. Of course he knew the answer—but he didn’t rush to say it. After all, she said she needed the mental effort to fall asleep; this was her shot. But no response came. Well, it was late. Maybe her sleepy brain wasn’t firing at full capacity anymore.

Then he felt a certain weight settle against his shoulder.

Spencer didn’t even need to look in her direction to know it was her head. But he looked anyway—because it felt so improbable he had to challenge both his eyes and his brain to a duel, just to make sure they hadn’t conspired to play tricks on him.

But no, it wasn’t a trick at all. She had really fallen asleep, letting her neck go slack, her temple landing right in that spot on his shoulder, the crown of her head brushing lightly against his neck and jawline.

Staring at her, Reid finally forced himself to blink when the air started to sting his eyes. The crossword book still rested in his hands, open, the pen between his fingers, and his lungs—at last—uncertainty drawing in air. Gently, so as not to jostle his body too much or… well, wake her.

He wondered if she’d yell at him if he woke her and told her to move. To go back to her half—the half she’d fought so hard for. But that thought remained just that: a curiosity. Spencer didn’t actually want to do it, though he couldn’t quite explain why. He, who usually shied away from touch. Yet this didn’t feel intrusive, awkward, or unwanted. It felt like a heavy blanket settling over the body on a cold, lonely night—something that wrapped around you with the soft weight of care and comfort in that dim, suspended moment just before sleep.

Though maybe, out of respect for her, he should wake her. After all, it wasn’t like she’d done it on purpose—her head had just drifted there…

Spencer pressed the back of his own head into the pillow with a sigh.

He closed the crossword book, set it aside on the blanket, and simply lay there—not trying to sleep, not trying to stay awake either.

It didn’t take long before the former won.

And it would’ve been very romantic to say that, come morning, they woke up in the same position—rested and refreshed, ready to take on another day of their trip, radiating energy and charm. That absolutely did not happen.

When Spencer woke up, it wasn’t even morning. Bringing his watch up to his face, he learned that exactly one hour and twenty-four minutes had passed since they’d fallen asleep—or rather, since she had. He, meanwhile, now lay pushed all the way to the edge of the bed, the knuckles of one limp hand brushing the floor.

He was literally one tiny movement away from falling off and slamming his head into the nightstand.

There was sand under his eyelids, and he was freezing. Disoriented, he forced his unbelievably heavy head upward to figure out why.

While he had been exiled to the very edge of the bed, she was lying comfortably on her side right in the middle, wrapped in their entire shared blanket like a cocoon—so tightly, in fact, that it took him a solid five minutes of analysis just to figure out which side her face was on. Eventually, he concluded it was turned toward him.

With a sigh, he reached for the edge of the blanket, hoping to claim at least a small portion of it for himself.

He couldn’t wrest the blanket free from her iron grip, no matter how hard he tried. A disbelieving huff escaped his lips—how could a sleeping body possess so much strength? And despite all his efforts, her slumber remained undisturbed.

He sighed. He was far too cold to give up.

After a moment’s hesitation about getting any closer, he finally leaned in to target the one part of her body left unguarded by the fortress—that is, the blanket. Gently, he pressed a finger against her cheek, with the kind of light pressure you’d use to test if dough had risen.

Her eyes fluttered open slowly, casting him a look that was first surprised, then thoroughly annoyed.

In a sleepy, groggy voice, she mumbled something that sounded a lot like what do you want?

“What do I want?” repeated Spencer, just as quietly as she had, but with more alertness. Their words were barely murmurs; if someone had stood in the doorway, they probably wouldn’t even have realized they were speaking to each other. “I want the blanket. You took all of it for yourself.”

“Because I’m cold,” she replied selfishly.

He scoffed in outrage.

“Guess what, so am I!”

At the count of fifty-eight, she stirred, then unwrapped her cocoon, lifting a part of the blanket so he could slip underneath. Her face showed nothing short of pure pity—divine mercy, even.

The woman didn’t answer him anymore, her eyes closed throughout the entire exchange. Reid shook his head slightly in disbelief, realizing… she had probably fallen asleep again.

He decided to wait a minute. Sixty seconds before he stopped being so nice and just took the blanket from her.

Spencer looked at her hesitantly, unable to move because, well… it would mean actually getting close. Almost falling asleep face to face, nose to nose.

“No, then don’t,” she muttered impatiently, already starting to pull the blanket back when Reid made the decision—before his brain had time to logically process it.

Once he was close, she let the blanket fall over both of them.

He couldn’t close his eyes, staring at her features blurred by the dark, even though he wanted to.

“Attraction,” she said, half-asleep.

His lips parted in confusion, unsure if he had imagined it.

 “W-what?”

A long moment of silence passed before she responded again.

“Force drawing objects toward each other. In the crossword. The answer is attraction.”

“Oh, right,” he confirmed, sheepishly.

Another stretch of silence followed—so long there was no doubt she had fallen asleep.

In the morning, he woke up first, struggling to make sense of the tangle of limbs they had become. Not cuddled, exactly, but complex, unarranged—labyrinthine. If he weren’t so sleepy, he might have been able to turn it into some sort of metaphor about…

“How late are we?” she pulled him out of his thoughts, sitting up with a yawn.

Her question, tone, and movements were all completely casual.

Still lying down, Spencer blinked up at her silhouette above him, trying to orient himself in reality. They had agreed to meet the rest of their friends at a specific time. He sighed, feeling the stiffness in his muscles, and slowly reached for the watch he had left on the nightstand, immediately sighing again.

“Very,” he said simply.

She adjusted his t-shirt, which had slipped partially off her shoulder.

“So I’m taking the bathroom first.”

He watched as she threw the blanket off her knees and her bare feet traced a path toward the bathroom. He followed her with a gaze that bordered on intrusive, and when he realized it, he flinched slightly. His head fell back onto the pillow at the same moment the door closed behind her.

He had just been hit by the kind of thoughts one can only face in a horizontal position.

For some reason, the room felt much quieter than it had when they had both been lying there in silence.

He fixed his gaze on the ceiling, simply not knowing what was happening to him. Once more, he replayed in his mind the way she adjusted his shirt on her body with a certain fluidity of movement, a nonchalance, a naturalness. A naturalness that, in its own way, hurt him when he thought about it too much.

The weight in his head was definitely not natural, the nervousness wasn’t natural, the way his breath changed when her face, in sleep, ended up too close to his—none of it was natural.

And yet, they had only shared a bed.

Before he could spiral fully into the rest of his anxious thoughts, a knock sounded at the door. A flashback from the previous evening flickered across his mind—when he had first been falling asleep and it had been her standing on the threshold. But now she was in the bathroom, so it had to be someone else—one of their friends.

He went to open the door and, just as he’d predicted, found himself face-to-face with Penelope.

“Do you even realize what time it is?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips. Spencer raised a hand to his forehead and rubbed it. After so many hours of quiet, her voice struck him as particularly loud. It helped wake him up—something he definitely needed.

“If you want to spend this day the way we originally planned, you better get dressed and do something about that hair, my dear…”

Penelope’s mouth suddenly fell open, her eyes widening as they locked on a point just behind Spencer. He instinctively turned—only to see his roommate stepping out of the bathroom, unaware of Garcia’s arrival.

She was still wearing his clothes from the night before, her hair damp from a morning shower, and yesterday’s outfit slung over her arm with the clear intention of returning it to her own room and suitcase.

Penelope only noticed her once both pairs of eyes had settled on her—his included—and she froze mid-step. She looked him straight in the eye, and he was sure they were both thinking the same thing—the conversation they’d had the night before.

“Oh my god,” Garcia squeaked, practically bouncing in place. She slapped a hand over her mouth, shaking her head as if to gather herself. “I mean hi. You. Two of you. I…see you’re not quite ready so…fifteen minutes? Great!”

Before leaving, she shot Reid a very pointed look—just a second long, but more than enough to make it clear that they definitely had something to talk about.

[abbygailfox]

This is so, so important.

The amount of posts I have read – especially during the last few weeks – about how people think that she has always been this way and she wrote Harry Potter with the intention of pushing her agenda onto children from a very young age.

I truly, honestly think that that's incredibly dangerous. Because it operates under the believe that people's believes always stay the same. It stems from a black-and-white mindset in which people are – in the most simple of terms – either "good" or "bad" and they always stay that way. That is not the case. People are never unchanging in their views. They are made and influenced by things that happen to and around them. Constantly. And usually that is even a good thing. We measure the ability of critical thinking by observing how someone reacts to new information. If we give people information that they did not have before, we expect them to reconsider their stance. However that also means that we need to check ourselves again and again and again. And to do that tomorrow as well. And next week. And next year. And every day that comes after that again. It's a never ending process.

Because human beings never stop changing. And we are so easily influenced. Mainly because of two things:

1) All of us – every single one – want's to belong somewhere. Some of us may enjoy being alone, yes. But no-one ever wants to be lonely. And people have done and will do horrendous things to prevent being lonely.

2) If we have power, we don't want to let go of it. Especially if we know what it feels like not to have any. That doesn't mean that no-one ever does. There are good people in this world. But our first impulse is always to hold onto what makes us stronger and harder to hurt. And power does that.

Number 1) is what makes it so easy for people to get caught up in even the most ridiculous, dangerous or hateful cults and why it is so incredibly hard to leave them again. Because as soon as you can push a "we against them" agenda, you are a part of the "we". You're part of a group. You belong. No-one in their right mind would want to leave that. The situation – of yourself or someone you hold extremely dear – has to be incredibly dire for you to leave everything you know behind, leave your entire social circle, and subsequently be helpless, lost, potentially without means and confronted with people who don't understand why you joined in the first place. Who will potentially make fun of you and exclude you.

Number 2) is what happened to Rowling, I suppose. I don't know Rowling and at this point I don't care to. But she also probably didn't just wake up one day and said: "Actually I like all this money and power and the platform I have now quite a lot. But if I help marginalised groups to get more power, I might loose some of my own. So let's hate on them instead." No. It happens in increments. Maybe one day she was asked to give up more money than she was comfortable with for "some charity". And she decided the cause wasn't worth it, because after all, it was "just trans-people" and wait a minute what have "they" ever done for her? Or for women in general? In fact, couldn't their mere existence be a hinderance to the progression of women's rights? And after all it's her money. She worked hard for it. They could have done the same thing, but they didn't, did they? Or something else entirely, I can only speculate. (I don't support any of that, obviously. I'm trying to show how you slip into this kind of thinking.)

The point is, non of this is noticeable in the beginning. All these processes are gradual.

No cult just knocks on your door and goes: "We have the most insane conspiracy theories out there, science is a scam, we won't allow you to take modern medicine and we will drain all our your financial means to a point where you are helpless without us. By the way, do you have any LGBTQIA people in your social circle? We don't condone those. But hey, we can provide you with people who will act like they are your friends. You know, to substitute the ones that you will inevitably push away, if you join us. Heads up though, if you try to leave, we will blackmail you." No racist (or at least very few) will just come up to you and say: "I have this theory, that white people are better than people of colour. Let me convince you of it." (And frankly most people are not self-aware enough to realise when they are being racist.)

It will always start small. It will seem reasonable and harmless in the beginning. Some of the arguments you might even agree with. And suddenly you are in too deep, to get out.

This is NOT – and I cannot stress this enough – meant to be any sort of excuse for Rowling. I think the woman and the bullshit she spews is truly vile. This is also not meant to condemn all people in positions of power, because there are counterexamples – even if they get way to little attention. There are rich people who give money to science. Silently and without a self-serving agenda. Famous people who speak up for all kinds of marginalised groups. Powerful people that do invest in slowing climate change. There are powerful people giving a shit, just as much as there are people in marginalised groups that hate on everyone else and buy into a "we against them" agenda. (It's never black and white).

And please don't misunderstand me. You absolutely have every right to be angry at the bitch. You *should* be fucking angry. At anyone who tries to hurt and invalidate you. You should be livid. I am too. Oppose hatred wherever you find it. Oppose every vile word that comes out of Rowling's mouth, every anti-human rights bullshit you hear. Not just from her, but from everybody around you. Protect yourself and others. Do whatever you need to do to cope, especially if people don't just attack your believe in everyone being treated equally, but if they hit you on a more personal level. (Frankly, I personally get twitchy when people burn books – no matter which ones – mainly because I am German and pictures like those do not have great connotations in my world. But everyone copes differently.)

However the point is, the focus of this conversation has turned to "Harry Potter" way too much. (Yes, it makes her money, but we're not about to stop that, at this point. And I'll leave the decision, if the work can be separated from the author, enough to engage with content that does not make her money, for everyone to decide for themselves. The debate has been going on since before Roland Barthes discussed it [yes I know he mainly meant the level of influence the authors bibliography had on the text, it's still the same argument, but with a different aspect], using multiple prominent figures as examples. That is something every single person has to decide for themselves and we cannot push our decisions onto others.)

What I am really trying to make you understand is: We all like to think about ourselves, that we would use our power for good if we had any. That we would treat all people equally and would use our money to further the cause of all marginalised people in the world. End world hunger, end poverty, end the patriarchy, the list is endless. But we do not know if we would do that. Because we are not in the situation to do so. We do not know if – on the road to power – we would have kept the same three friends, that call us out on behaving like an asshole. We don't know if we could have kept a hold on our humility and our worldview and our ability to still see people in positions of less power and feel the urge to help.

What I am really, really trying to say in this rant (and I know it is endlessly long and I apologise) is this:

Nothing in life. EVER. Is black and white. You are not on the "good side", because you once made a selfless decision. Other people are not on the "bad side" because they have power or money. And the borders are not clear-cut. There are so many shades of grey. You can always ALWAYS slip. And you probably won't notice. EVERY SINGLE PERSON on this planet is corruptible. And this is not meant to discourage you. I don't mean to paint our world and our society as hopeless, because they are NOT. You are not condemned to become some soulless creature that does not care a lick about others, simply because you get to a place of greater power. This is in fact meant to encourage you. Encourage you to call others out. Especially encourage you to call yourself out. Encourage you to listen, truly listen, to people when they tell you, that you're being an ass about something. Maybe they are wrong. But maybe they are right. You can be influenced. But you can also influence how you yourself behave and how you treat people. How you view people. Not just groups, but individuals also. Have the courage to be kind. To everyone. And have the courage to question. Yourself and others. Check yourself and your thinking. Always. And if you think this could never happen to you and you could never harm people or mentally sort them into groups to be stigmatised and thusly easier pushed aside… Check yourself twice!

ok im going to #seriouspost for a second here. I don't think Harry Potter is a manifesto. I think it was a flawed passion project that millennials latched onto because of the fantasy of sticking it to their mean teachers and arbitrarily categorizing themselves (hogwarts houses; it's the thinking millennial's astrology). I think the fact that the series got popular when and how it did was very much a product of its time.

I don't think Harry Potter is the biggest symbol of JKR's bigotry. I think the most flagrant sign of that was how she responded to critics. I watched her become radicalized in real time. I watched how she doubled down on her racism when she was called out for the ways she promoted her tragically mid fantastic beasts movies. I watched her chase marginalized teenagers with a double digit follower count off of twitter for daring to criticize her thought process, and no one with any kind of power standing against her because she was the one who was paying them. This isn't to say Harry Potter is without flaws. This is to say she really didn't give a shit about that. Getting rich and powerful is a hell of a drug, and she had enough sycophants that she had no reason to care about what her critics were saying.

She was convinced that she was a martyr; a voice for the unheard; a leader for the ages, so of course her detractors were the bad guys. And I think we should take this to heart. We should see this as an example of how easy it is to get radicalized; if you think of yourself as a paragon of virtue, you are going to think that whatever you see as good and right is an objective fact. Most people don't know this, but the majority of terfs start out as trans allies. You are not immune to propaganda! You are not immune to falling into dangerous ideologies!!!

This is why the most important thing you can do as an activist is to listen. Do NOT think you're above being wrong; do NOT develop a god complex; do NOT form an identity out of being right all the time. Involve yourselves in the groups you claim to speak for. Listen to trans women; share resources that help trans women; familiarize yourself with the diversity of experiences that trans people have and the struggles they face.

No, none of you are as bad as JKR because you don't have her money or her power. You will likely never have the capacity for harm she does. But check yourselves. Do not affirm yourselves into thinking you always have the moral high ground. Watch yourselves; humble yourselves; check yourselves for signs of cult behavior and internalized prejudice. You are always learning. You will always be learning. Do not allow yourselves to get a power trip from brushing off marginalized voices.

[syrecjh]

─ ✧˖°.🪐 Protector Since Day One

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ || katsuki bakugo x reader, pure fluff

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🎀་༘࿐

From the moment you two met, he was your shield. Even before the word “friends” could form in your minds, little Katsuki Bakugo had already decided you were his.

It’s funny how, from the very beginning, Katsuki Bakugo was always the one to stand up for you. The first time you remember him stepping in was during preschool, on a day that seemed like any other. You were just sitting there, minding your business, in the sandbox, building your little sandcastles. Maybe you were too shy to speak up for yourself, or maybe you just didn't want to make a scene, but there was that one kid—bigger than the rest, with a grin that said he knew no better than to pick on someone who seemed too soft.

He threw sand at you. You froze for a moment, unsure of how to react. But then you heard it.

“Don’t mess with her, or I’ll mess with you!”

It was a voice full of pure, undiluted rage—and it came from a small, fiery boy in the distance. You turned and saw little Bakugo storming toward the bigger kid, his fists clenched, his face already twisted into a scowl that seemed to warn the world to stay the hell out of his way.

And just like that, your world changed.

The bigger kid immediately backed off, the challenge too fierce to face. Bakugo was practically a walking storm. And in that moment, it wasn’t just about protecting you; it was about claiming you as someone his to look out for. From that day forward, everyone knew one thing: don’t mess with her, because he won’t let you.

You could see it in the way he looked at anyone who dared to get too close to you, or even look at you the wrong way. There was a quiet fury that bubbled under his surface, and somehow, without needing to say a word, he could make them understand: You mess with her, you mess with me.

You’d tease him for his rough edges, the way he hated people touching his stuff, his need to always keep everything just so. And while he’d roll his eyes at you, shove you away with a muttered, "Tch, annoying," you never once felt any less than special in his eyes. You were allowed to annoy him. You were allowed to invade his space. You were the one person who could poke fun at him, touch his things, and get away with it.

But the second someone else even thought about crossing a line, Bakugo was right there. Whether it was some kid at school teasing you, or someone in high school making cruel remarks, he didn’t wait for you to ask. He didn’t need to. Bakugo would march straight up to them, eyes blazing, and make it clear that they were the ones who had messed up.

You remember the countless times you’d watch him, mouth set in a grim line, as he walked toward someone who’d dared to make you feel small. You’d think to yourself, “Oh no, here we go again,” but deep down, you also knew it would be over just as quickly as it had started. You didn’t have to worry. Because Bakugo never left anything unfinished.

“Say it again. I dare you.”

His voice was rough but calm, and the person, whoever it was, always seemed to crumble under the weight of it. They didn’t have the courage to face him, and they certainly didn’t have the guts to make you feel bad again. Every time Bakugo would turn back to you after, his expression wouldn’t soften, not exactly—but you could see it in his eyes. There was a flicker of pride. He had protected you.

But it wasn’t just the big moments. It was the small ones too. The quiet ones. The ones no one saw. He would always be by your side in the lunchroom, sitting next to you with his usual scowl, but his presence was like a fortress. His arm would rest casually on the back of your chair, and though he wasn’t one for showing emotions in front of others, you could tell by the way he stared down anyone who even thought about looking at you for too long.

And even if he was acting like he didn’t care about the details, Bakugo always noticed. If you were too quiet, too lost in thought, he'd slide a snack over to you. If you didn’t finish your lunch, he'd make sure you did, even if it meant grumbling about it. His way of taking care of you, without saying a word. It was always in the little gestures that you’d realize how much he truly cared. You never had to ask for it, because he was already doing it. Always keeping an eye on you. Always keeping you safe.

The moments when someone would try to make you feel less than, try to take away your confidence—it was like Bakugo had an invisible radar for it. No matter how much you told him you didn’t need his protection, no matter how much you tried to handle things on your own, Bakugo never stopped. He’d swoop in, already knowing you needed him.

You remember the prom, a night that started off lighthearted, but one where someone decided to get touchy to you. You didn’t even get the chance to react and called the guy off when you heard him utter this words:

“Touch her again, and I swear to God…”

He was already there, his usual scowl now a dark storm that seemed to move the crowd aside. The offender’s apology was instant, almost panicked, and you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of gratitude and discomfort. He wasn’t just protecting you from others—he was protecting you from feeling hurt in the first place. The words didn’t even matter anymore. What mattered was that Bakugo had your back, no matter the situation.

And even after all those years, the bond remained the same. You still felt it. Even in the way he held your hand as you walked home, as if he were letting everyone else know that you were his and he was going to make sure no one ever messed with you. And though he never said the words out loud, you knew. The promise was always there. He would always protect you.

“Don’t mess with her,” he’d say to anyone. His voice would be calm, but there was that unmistakable fierceness in it. It was the same promise he’d made years ago, and it still held, unshaken by time.

From the sandbox to high school, to whatever came next—Bakugo’s protection never faltered. And every time you’d catch him watching out for you, you’d smile to yourself, knowing that this fiery, stubborn boy had been your protector since day one—and he always would be.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🎀་༘࿐

[getmeoutofhell]

Slashers Possessive/Yandere HC

Includes: jennifer check, horny the clown, billy loomis, stu marcher, ethan landry, bo sinclair, hannigram, thomas hewitt, jeepers creepers, art the clown.

Warnings: the title speaks for itself!! gifs are not mine credits to the owners.

ʲᵉⁿⁿⁱᶠᵉʳ ᶜʰᵉᶜᵏ:

She is extremely possessive of you. After all, she is Jennifer Check—whatever she wants, she gets, and that includes you. In public, she is very touchy and won’t let you go or even allow you to think about leaving her. She will go to great lengths to hurt anyone who makes her feel threatened when it comes to you. When she’s in her demon form, it gets even worse; she grabs your arm and drags you around in public, making sure everyone knows that you belong to her. While she knows she is attractive and could have anyone she wants, she only wants you.

ʰᵒʳⁿʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜˡᵒʷⁿ:

It depends on his mood that day, but most of the time, Archie tries to keep you close. He is someone who needs constant comfort; if you're not around, he becomes increasingly unstable. He is jealous and possessive, wanting you to stay with him at all times. Don't leave his sight, or he might harm someone you care about. He will feel bad for making you cry, but ultimately, he just needs you by his side. You are the only one who truly sees the real him, and he will always appreciate that.

ᵇⁱˡˡʸ ˡᵒᵐᵐⁱˢ:

He’s completely possessive, I’m sorry—well, actually, I’m not. Billy is full of ego and pride, and whenever you spend time around someone of the same gender as him, he feels as if you’re trying to make him jealous. He yells when it’s just the two of you, making it clear that he doesn’t want you to do that again. It’s not like you mean to upset him; he’s just very sensitive and fragile about it. Despite that, he does show you love in his own rough way in the end.

ˢᵗᵘ ᵐᵃʳᶜʰᵉʳ:

This poor boy is incredibly loving and caring. However, beneath that exterior, he does exhibit some controlling tendencies. He may not show it openly, but there are moments when you can notice a shift in his behavior, leading you to ask questions. He consistently responds with, "I'm fine," when, in reality, he is seething with anger. If you’re not careful, it might not be safe to be around him for long, and you'll find yourself stuck in an uncomfortable situation until he feels he can trust you again.

ᵉᵗʰᵃⁿ ˡᵃⁿᵈʳʸ:

I could go on for hours about how he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. This boy is a demon, I tell you. He’s very manipulative and jealous of everything you do. If there’s another boy around, he will get rid of him without hesitation; in fact, it’s a bit strange. His anger isn't rare, surprisingly; it's quite common. He does try to hide it, but it never really works out. You can see every time how the sparkle in his eyes disappears when someone gets too close to you. He may act shy, but he’s far from it.

ᵇᵒ ˢⁱⁿᶜˡᵃⁱʳ:

You can probably guess what I’m going to say, and you’d be right: he is possessive of you. He sees you as his property that he must protect and keep others away from, which even includes his brothers. He can get quite loud if he feels one of them is flirting with you too much. While he understands them, he doesn’t want them to overdo it. He’s a busy man, which means you’ll likely spend a lot of time at home until he feels comfortable letting you out. That could take weeks—if you’re lucky.

ʰᵃⁿⁿⁱᵍʳᵃᵐ:

These two work together to keep harmful (innocent) people away from you. They operate in a way that is very different from any other human. They communicate silently, ensuring that you remain unaware of what’s happening around you. In about a week or so, that troublesome person will be gone. Will is best at distracting while Hannibal excels in taking action. They try to keep you from noticing the things they do, even though you know all their secrets. It's no surprise to you that they behave this way, but you don’t mind it too much.

ᵗʰᵒᵐᵃˢ ʰᵉʷⁱᵗᵗ:

Speaking of Thomas, he is exactly what you would expect. What I mean is that he is very protective of you because he loves you so much. It’s not in a scary way, though. He will do his best to keep you at home, trying to shield you from his darker side. Besides that, he truly loves you. He often wonders why you chose him out of everyone. He struggles with self-hatred and tries to deny it. However, you love him for who he is and dream of becoming his wife/husband/spouse one day.

ʲᵉᵉᵖᵉʳˢ ᶜʳᵉᵉᵖᵉʳˢ:

What do you hope to achieve by trying to leave him? He will track you down and restrain you even more. He can always tell when you are lying, so don’t even attempt to deceive him. Jeepers is a hardworking man, and because of his hunger, he will be out of the nest most of the time. However, that doesn’t mean you will be free. He will ensure you have everything you need while he is out hunting. He won’t allow you to see or interact with another human ever again. If he finds you talking to or seeing anyone else, they will be gone.

ᵃʳᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜˡᵒʷⁿ:

If you and he are really together, he will likely be the least possessive. He’ll definitely protect you and may even try to distance you from people he feels you spend too much time with, but that’s just part of it. Art himself is like a walking time bomb; one minute he’s allowing you to go outside, and the next he’s keeping you cooped up in the house with him for the night. It seems to depend on whether he’s injured or not. He won’t try to hide his darker tendencies because he feels there’s no need to, and besides, he has better things to do.

[ghostedgwen]

can we have the marauders protecting reader who got drunk during a party and was being taken away by some boys or something? sorry if it's triggering!

note : oh my god, this ask had me rolling on my bed thinking of how I am gonna go about this - thank you so much for trusting me with this request! warning/s : themes of s/a, sensitive content, nothing graphic but heavy implications are there, the marauders are very angry - and protective, mentions of alcohol and parties

You don’t mean to get drunk. It’s not like you came to the party with bad intentions or a heartbreak to drink through - just a need to loosen the weight of the week off your shoulders.

The Hufflepuff common room is filled with golden light, music echoing off the stone, and warm, laughing voices that blend together into something safe.

Marlene handed you a drink, kissed your cheek, and said, “Have fun, yeah?” before disappearing off with Mary toward the exit. You hadn’t minded.

She invited you earlier but you weren't sure if you wanted to attend, you were reviewing your answers to the N.E.W.T.s exam that just took place - but figured it would be better to go party a bit than worry over it.

You arrived around 10 in the evening when the party had started around 7, and Marlene is off to guide a drunk Mary back to the common room where Lily will surely chastise them for getting drunk on a school night.

She was very much against you going, you supposed she was right to.

You remember dancing. Spinning in slow circles with a drink in your hand, head tilted back, lips curved into something that could pass for joy.

The burn of the alcohol made your skin feel warmer. Your arms looser. Your thoughts fuzzy around the edges. You remember boys - older ones = leaning over you at some point. Hufflepuffs you think, and at least one Ravenclaw, judging by the bronze-and-blue bracelet he had on.

They seemed kind at first. Too kind, maybe, but you didn’t notice. Not when they laughed at your jokes or kept filling your cup or told you you looked pretty, which felt rare enough these days to let your guard slip.

You only notice something’s wrong when they start steering you toward the back of the common room - where the hallway narrows and bends toward the dormitories.

“Wait,” you murmur, blinking slow. “I don’t - the exit is that way - ”

“You’re pissed,” one of them chuckles, his hand firm on your lower back. “You’ll just get lost. We’ve got a spare bed upstairs. You can lie down.”

“Or not,” another one says under his breath. You catch the tone before the words.

You freeze. “No - I need to go back.”

The laughter sharpens. You try to step back and bump into someone’s chest. Hands close around your elbows. They’re not hurting you, not exactly - but they’re not letting go. Not listening. There’s too many of them, and your limbs are too slow, and your head feels too full.

You open your mouth to say something else - anything else - when a voice cuts through the corridor like a blade.

The Marauders have taken up residence near the far wall - Sirius perched on the arm of a chair, James cross-legged on the floor with a butterbeer, Remus half-listening to a conversation about Quidditch stats, Peter already dozing lightly against a pile of pillows.

It’s been a good night, by all accounts. A perfect way to send off their N.E.W.T.s exams that they slaved over for months.

At least, until Sirius stills beside them.

His eyes narrow, expression twisting slightly as he tilts his head, watching something across the room. “Isn’t that ____?” he says finally, nudging James with the toe of his boot. “The other Gyiffindor - the one that’s always with Marlene and Mary.”

James looks up, squinting through the firelight. “Merlin, I forget she exists sometimes. Since when was she here?”

“I don’t know. But that’s definitely her.” Sirius’s voice is low now, distracted. “Thought she left already. with Marls.”

Remus follows their line of sight - to a dim corner of the common room, where you’re half-supported by a group of boys from other houses. One of them has his hand curls around your waist, another murmurs something close to your ear that makes you flinch slightly before laughing it off.

James frowns. “She looks. . .drunk, absolutely pissed.”

“She looks done,” Remus says quietly, and something sharp enters his voice.

There’s a beat of hesitation. The kind that stretches taut.

Sirius then surprises his friends when he hops off the chair.

James glances at him. “What's wrong, Pads?”

“We should go get her.”

Peter stirs beside them. “Wait - is she alright?”

“No,” Remus says - uncharacteristically looking like he's about to break something, already on his feet. “She’s not.”

The four of them move, a pack without needing to speak. James starts walking first - not running, not causing a scene. Just moving fast enough that anyone watching would sense something was wrong.

By the time they round the corner, they’ve already watched you try to turn back. Already seen you brushed off. Already watched someone guide you further, not toward the exit - toward the dorms.

That’s all they need to see. And then:

“Let her go.” James' voice broke into your struggle with the other boys.

It’s not loud. But it doesn’t need to be.

The boys pause. The one behind you lets go, not out of guilt - more out of instinct, like he'd been caught wrist deep in the proverbial cookie jar. Something in the tone makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

You turn your head - the corridor seems brighter now - and see four figures at the end of the hallway.

James Potter is at the front, wand in hand, shoulders squared like someone raised to command attention. Sirius Black flanks his left, wild-eyed and sharp-jawed, hands clenched into fists. Peter Pettigrew hovers behind, uncertain but alert. But it’s Remus Lupin who moves forward first - and he is furious.

You’ve never seen Remus angry before. Not really. You’ve sat in class beside him once or twice, heard him answer questions in that low, steady voice, seen him nod politely in hallways. But this - this is a different person.

He walks up without hesitation and steps between you and the nearest boy. “I said, let her go.”

“She’s fine,” the Ravenclaw mutters. “We were just helping her back. She can’t walk on her own - ”

Remus cuts him off. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

James moves in now, calm but firm. “Back off,” he says, voice levelled like a Prefect giving a final warning - the fact remains that he's currently Head Boy. “We’ve got her.”

“You don’t even know her,” one of them scoffs. “This is none of your business.”

“Wrong,” Remus snaps. “I'm a Prefect and James here is Head Boy, the welfare of fellow students is our business.”

There’s a flicker of movement - Sirius stepping forward now, lips curled in something that isn’t quite a smile. “Go ahead. Try saying that again.”

You feel like you’re swaying. Your knees are buckling under you, head too heavy to hold upright. You reach for the wall, but someone steadies you - James. His arm slips around your back gently, guiding you away from the others.

“Let’s not hex them here,” he mutters to Remus, who is still glaring at the boy who spoke up, like he’s imagining a dozen creative curses. “She’s our priority. We can duel them another day.”

Remus doesn’t respond. But he doesn’t lunge forward, either.

You’re shaking. You don’t know why. No one hurt you. They didn’t even say anything cruel. But something about it - the way you’d been cornered, touched, steered like you were furniture - rattles something deep in your chest.

Your eyes are burning. Your throat’s tight. You didn’t think this sort of thing would happen to you.

“I didn’t know,” you whisper, not sure who you’re talking to. “I didn’t think - ”

“Don’t,” James says quietly, steadying you again. “You don’t owe anyone an explanation.”

Remus still hasn’t looked away from the boys, but he speaks - his voice low, furious, directed to them more than you. “You knew what you were doing. Every step of the way. Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

One of the boys sneers towards your direction. “She’s the one who got drunk.”

“Yeah,” Remus breathes. “And you’re the ones who thought that gave you permission.”

James grips your shoulder more tightly. “We’re done here. Let’s get her back to the tower.”

They turn you around carefully, shielding you with their bodies. Sirius walks slightly behind - silent, but furious in the way his eyes stay locked on the boys until you’re safely out of sight.

You don’t say anything as they lead you through the corridors. You’re afraid if you speak, the tears you’ve been holding back will come flooding out.

And something about their silence - angry, awkward, but oddly gentle - makes you feel safer than you’ve felt in hours.

end. masterlist

choosing to end it here as I don't know where else to take this - feel free to send me more requests <3

[sirfrogsworth]

Falling into the AI vortex.

Before I deeply criticize something, I try to understand it more than surface level.

With guns, I went into deep research mode and learned as much as I could about the actual guns so I could be more effective in my gun control advocacy.

I learned things like... silencers are not silent. They are mainly for hearing protection and not assassinations. It's actually small caliber subsonic ammo that is a concern for covert shooting. A suppressor can aid with that goal, but its benefits as hearing protection outweigh that very rare circumstance.

AR15s... not that powerful. They use a tiny bullet. Originally it could not even be used against thick animal hides. It was classified as a "varmint hunting" gun. There are other factors that make it more dangerous like lightweight ammo, magazine capacity, medium range accuracy, and being able to penetrate things because the tiny bullets go faster. But in most mass shooting situations where the shooting distance is less than 20 feet, they really aren't more effective than a handgun. They are just popular for that purpose. Dare I say... a mass shooting fad or cliche. But there are several handguns that could be more powerful and deadly—capable of one bullet kills if shot anywhere near the chest. And easier to conceal and operate in close quarters like a school hallway.

This deeper understanding tells me that banning one type of gun may not be the solution people are hoping for. And that if you don't approach gun control holistically (all guns vs one gun), you may only get marginal benefits from great effort and resources.

Now I'm starting the same process with AI tools.

Everyone is stuck in "AI is bad" mode. And I understand why. But I worry there is nuance we are missing with this reactionary approach. Plus, "AI is bad" isn't a solution to the problem. It may be bad, but it is here and we need to figure out realistic approaches to mitigate the damage.

So I have been using AI tools. I am trying to understand how they work, what they are good for, and what problems we should be most worried about.

I've been at this for nearly a month and this may not be what everyone wants to hear, but I have had some surprising interactions with AI. Good interactions. Helpful interactions. I was even able to use it to help me keep from an anxiety thought spiral. It was genuinely therapeutic. And I am still processing that experience and am not sure what to say about it yet.

If I am able to write an essay on my findings and thoughts, I hope people will understand why I went into the belly of the beast. I hope they won't see me as an AI traitor.

A big part of my motivation to do this was because of a friend of mine. He was hit by a drunk driver many years ago. He is a quadriplegic. He has limited use of his arms and hands and his head movement is constrained.

When people say, "just pick up a pencil and learn to draw" I always cringe at his expense. He was an artist. He already learned how to pick up a pencil and draw. That was taken away from him. (And please don't say he can stick a pencil in his mouth. Some quads have that ability—he does not. It is not a thing all of them can do.) But now he has a tool that allows him to be creative again. And it has noticeably changed his life. It is a kind of art therapy that has had massive positive effects on his depression.

We have had a couple of tense arguments about the ethics of AI. He is all-in because of his circumstances. And it is difficult to express my opinions when faced with that. But he asked and I answered. He tried to defend it and did a poor job. Which, considering how smart he is, was hard to watch.

But I love my friend and I feel I'd like to at least know what I'm talking about. I want to try and experience the benefits he is seeing. And I'd like to see if there is a way for this technology to exist where it doesn't hurt more than it helps.

I don't know when I will be done with my experiment. My health is improving but I am still struggling and I will need to cut my dose again soon. But for now I am just collecting information and learning.

I guess I just wanted to prepare people for what I'm doing.

And ask they keep an open mind with my findings. Not all of them will be "AI is bad."

[bnnysweets]

˗ˏˋ THE CHAIN ˎˊ˗

capt. 1

guitarist!ellie x vocalist!reader

after years of dedication to establish the band and make the dream real, the long-awaited success was achieved. money, interviews, paparazzi, luxury and everything else, but what happens when your girlfriend goes back to her old bad habits and you are no longer willing to deal with them?

author’s note: english is not my first language. this is heavily inspired by fleetwood mac’s discography and history.

warnings: angst. drugs(alcohol, cigs, coke n heroin). cheating(?). mention of relapsing. ellie and r! are in a band with their friends.

it escalated quickly, ellie was invited to open another band’s concert, she would do a solo, when she asked if you wanted to go with her you turned down and said you wanted to rest. so ellie flew to the other side of the country with a bunch of newly succeeded rockstars, what could go wrong?

ellie would spend one week away, and on the fourth day your adviser, leah, called you: “did you saw it?” you were barely wake, napping for a little too long, but her calls always meant something urgent, “what? what u talking ‘bout?” she left a breath and you heard she whisper “fuck me” very quiet. “ellie was photographed in a strip club.” she said on a remorseful tone, like she didn’t want to be the one to tell you this. you were speechless.

ellie and you were dating for four fucking years, since you were eighteen. you created a band together with your friends, you grew up together and so did your relationship. both of you never had any problems regarding loyalty or anything like that, but since she started to do solos and she recorded a solo album, she was weird. she was acting like she didn’t need you, not just you but all the band, jesse, dina and abby. all of you sacrificed a lot for the band, especially you. you’re the youngest of them, you gave up of your dream of enter a university because of the band. ellie knew how much a major meant to you, but she still said the band would offer so much more to you. and now is looking like she didn’t even like to be in a band anymore.

you stayed silent, for a minute, but for leah sounded like a hour. “what the fuck?! where’s the pic?” you started pacing around the hotel room, “listen, i don’t think you should see-“ “wheres the pic leah?” you interrupted, controlling yourself to not scream at her. “…just open twitter and search her name.” she said exhaling a loud sigh. you put the call on speaker and looked for it. it was worse than you thought.

ellie was sat on one of that big couches, blunt on one hand and a whole whiskey bottle on another. she was on the middle of her, apparently, new friends, two of them with white powder on theirs noses. she was shirtless, with a calvin klein top under of a black leather jacket, she was manspreading with the biggest smirk on her face, clearly drugged. her eyes were empty, despite her grin, you could see how she was empty, hollow, nothing but a heap of ego. and the cherry on top? a almost naked girl on her lap, with her head on ellie’s neck, ellie’s hands were on the stripper’s hips. the stripper was only wearing a fucking thong. the table on front of the couch contains a bunch of bottles, two filled ashtrays, a lot of empty little bags and other ones with white powder and colored pills, you even saw a fucking syringe. you freaked out.

“are you there?” leah asked, all she could hear was yours sighs evertime you noticed a new detail on the photo. “what the actual fuck leah? what happened? did she say something to u? i can’t believe this shit.” you said, still swallowing all the feelings that invaded you. leah sighed too, “she didn’t say anything to me, just texted asking for a flight back.” “did you found?” you asked, “yes, she’s gonna be here by 2am.” “alright…yeah…alright. thank you leah.” you hung up before leah could say anything. ellie had went to rehab when you started dating, and you made your job to never let her touch anything other than weed again. but you couldn’t control her, she was a grown woman, if she want to do, she will.

you threw your phone across the room. you grabbed a pillow and screamed on it, until you couldn’t anymore. until your throat was sore. you walked to the little hotel kitchen and drank water, trying to calm down. you grabbed your phone, that surprisingly still working, besides the force of the impact, and opened the chat with jesse.

[kxsagi]

hiii i love your work so muchh

mutual period comfort with femlock :) pls and ty

like you’re both on your periods and everything Sucksss but you have her and suddenly maybe it’s not so bad. almost like you’re sharing your cramps somehow

any character is fineee but pls add kunigami, ness, and lorenzo

take your time and remember to stay hydrated :)

“𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢”

a/n: TWO FEM LOCK REQUESTS IN A ROW LET’S GOOO

ft. kunigami rensuke, ness alexis, lorenzo don, isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, yukimiya kenyu, itoshi sae, itoshi rin

kunigami rensuke (butch, quiet type, wears hoodies that smell like vanilla and fabric softener)

you wake up in pain and reach over, only to find her already curled up with her arm over her stomach, eyes barely open. 

she groans, “same,” and you two just lie there for a minute, syncing in agony. 

but then she powers through. gets up, makes hot tea, microwaves heating pads, and grabs you both painkillers like she’s on a mission. 

“we’re surviving this together,” she says, kneeling next to the bed like a knight. 

you end up wrapped in her hoodie, snuggled under her arm while she lets you rest on her chest. she strokes your hair and mutters, “hurts less when i’m holding you. i don’t know why. maybe you're magic.” 

ness alexis (soft smile, sharp edge, loyal to the bone) 

when you both get your period, she’s the type to smile calmly even as she’s clearly in pain. you can tell only because she’s gripping her tea cup a little too tightly. 

she notices everything. how your breathing changes, how you shift uncomfortably, how your brows pinch, and she’s already moving before you even ask. 

lays a warm hand on your thigh and asks, “do you want me to help with your cramps or just stay with you?” voice smooth, polite, affectionate. 

even if she’s curled up too, she’ll push through her discomfort to take care of you. her loyalty runs deep – if you’re suffering, she’ll shoulder it with you. 

“you always take care of me. let me do the same. it’s not a chore. it’s… you.” 

later, when you're lying together, she traces soothing circles on your back, her cheek pressed against yours. 

“it hurts, yeah. but i’m glad i get to go through even this with you.” 

lorenzo don (glamorous, high-maintenance, utterly unbothered unless it costs money or power)

period? disgusting. but unavoidable. she handles it like a luxury inconvenience. 

she orders expensive comfort food delivery for the both of you, fluffs the pillows, lights a designer candle, and throws herself on the couch with a groan. 

if you’re also on your period, she pauses and glances over at you. 

“... you too? great. at least now i don’t have to pretend to care about someone who’s not bleeding.” 

she only acknowledges people she thinks are strong or valuable, and she considers you top-tier. so if you’re in pain, you matter. 

wraps an arm around you, tugs you into her side, and pulls a blanket over both of you like a queen gracing her favorite subject. 

“money can’t buy a new uterus. guess we’re in this together.” 

even in the worst of it, she tries to make you laugh, her tone dry and teasing. 

“if cramps could be killed, i’d put a bounty on them. anything for you, baby.” 

isagi yoichi (supportive golden retriever girlfriend who keeps advil in every bag)

immediately checks your symptoms against hers and goes, “okay, so you’ve got cramps, i’ve got the mood swings. let’s divide and conquer.” 

does everything possible to help: heating pad, favorite hoodie, water bottle refills. 

even rubs your lower back because “i read that helps. i saw it on reddit. hey, stop laughing!” 

if you get emotional, she pulls you into her lap and just lets you cry. 

“you don’t have to be okay. we’re allowed to just suck for a while.” 

it’s a whole pity party, but you’re the guests of honor and she makes it feel safe. 

bachira meguru (goblin girlfriend who tries to fight period pain with silliness)

she’s literally like “we should name our cramps. mine is called agony. how about yours?” 

the two of you are groaning in bed, watching comfort cartoons, half-laughing, half-crying. 

she starts rubbing your tummy with both hands like she’s casting a spell. 

“begone, foul beast. leave my girlfriend’s body alone, you crusty uterus monster.” 

makes you both microwavable rice socks and insists you wear matching pajamas. 

she tucks you in, kisses your forehead, and whispers, “we’re a team. period pain has nothing on us.” 

yukimiya kenyu (clean girl aesthetic but will cry if there are no pads left in the house)

immediately syncs with you. it's a little creepy. 

she lights a candle, dims the lights, brings you tea in a ceramic mug, and says, “we are bleeding. the world must pause.” 

runs a bath for you both and sits behind you, massaging your shoulders while you rest your head back on her. 

you complain about bloating and she grabs your face. 

“no. you are glowing. you are the moon incarnate. you are allowed to be soft.” 

she lets you fall asleep in her lap while she scrolls through cute outfit inspo to show you later. 

itoshi sae (emotionally constipated but strangely intuitive, always calm, surprisingly sweet when no one's looking)

she doesn’t say much when she realizes you're both on your period. just raises a brow, tosses you the heating pad, and plops down next to you like, “guess we’re syncing now. cute.” 

makes you ramen and acts like she’s doing it for herself, then places your bowl on a tray with your favorite snack and hands it to you without meeting your eyes. 

will not admit to being in pain, but you catch her subtly pressing a pillow to her stomach under her hoodie. 

if you’re cuddled up against her, she’ll quietly shift to let you lie more comfortably and thread her fingers through yours. 

“don’t whine. just rest. i’ve got you.” 

when you fall asleep from cramps, she adjusts your blanket and kisses your temple so gently it’s like she’s worried you’ll wake up and call her out for it. 

itoshi rin (grumpy, sensitive, doesn’t know what to do with feelings unless she’s holding them in a blanket)

absolutely looks offended when the cramps start. the uterus betrayal hits deep. 

when she finds out you’re also suffering, it unlocks her most aggressive protective mode. 

doesn't know how to comfort you, so she does everything all at once: hands you a hot water bottle, brings water, sits at the edge of the bed and grumbles, “you should’ve told me earlier. i could’ve helped.” 

despite being in pain herself, she’ll rub your stomach and act like it’s no big deal. 

when you cry from frustration or pain, she gets flustered but holds you so tightly, you can hear her heartbeat racing. 

“i hate this. i hate seeing you like this… but it’s better when you’re here. for me, too.” 

eventually lets you lie on her chest while she scrolls through your messages, texting back your friends so you don’t have to deal with anything. queen of quiet acts of service. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[dramagodesss]

seventeen : old love

playin' the players

a/n : slowly getting my inspiration back— to my winscam girlies, this is for you. and for my winsbank girlies... stay tuned. next chapters boutta be... well i aint gon say it. you'll see when i post it 😛

The sun's still high in the sky, casting everything in a buttery gold glow. The beach is quiet, just the whisper of waves and the crunch of sand under bare feet. The crew’s a few yards off, cameras ready, but out of frame it feels like it’s just you two. or them.

Josie’s already laughing — something about Eddie’s attempt at skipping rocks turning into a full-on splash.

“you’re so bad at that,” she grins, shielding her eyes from the sun as she watches him fumble with another stone.

“you wound me,” eddie says, mock-offended. “i was trying to impress you.”

“well, try twirling me around or something,” she teases. “you’re better at that.”

so he does.

he catches her hand and spins her gently, her laugh catching the morning air like music. she nearly stumbles into him, and he steadies her with a hand at her waist.

they’re close now. breathing the same soft, salty air. she looks up at him, cheeks warm, and the sunlight catches in her hair like fire.

“you’re kinda dangerous when you’re like this,” josie murmurs.

“like what?”

“like… happy.”

eddie blinks. “you make me happy.”

her smile falters for just a second — something unspoken passes between them — but then he leans down and kisses her. slow. sure. like he’s sealing the moment in time.

it tastes like sunshine and sea spray and something that hasn’t fallen apart yet.

and the cameras keep rolling.

not that you two notice.

the day passes quickly.

on the picnic scene, eddie and josie sit tangled in blankets and pillows, sharing strawberries from a plastic container. they talk about nothing — books, dumb dreams, their favorite songs — but it's the way they look at each other that says everything. josie confesses she's scared of how much she feels for him, and eddie, half-laughing but sincere, tells her: “good. that means it’s real.”

later that day, they both find each other being filmed in the early afternoon, light pouring through the white curtains, josie wakes up first. she watches eddie sleeping beside her, peaceful and soft. there’s a brief, quiet moment where she touches his hair, smiles, then tucks herself closer. he stirs, murmurs something sleepily, and pulls her in without opening his eyes. it’s tender. intimate. real.

like that day when you climbed up to rafe's window.

the breakup is shot last, just before sunset — the same apartment, but now it feels colder, dimmer. the bed is unmade behind them. josie stands with her arms crossed while eddie, pacing, tries to explain himself. there's no yelling. no big fight. just raw emotion. she says she can’t trust him anymore. he says he wishes she could. when she walks out, eddie doesn’t stop her. the door clicks shut, and the camera lingers on his face — wrecked, silent, still.

and after all that long day of filming, rafe keeps his word and takes you out to dinner.

when you two get out of the restaurant, he asks you if you wanna come over to the aparment, where you've filmed all those scenes.

and, ofcourse, you can't say no.

so you end up curled on the apartment’s worn couch, shoeless, jackets tossed somewhere by the door. you’re both full, warm from food and the low hum of some old movie you’re not even watching.

when you shift to grab your phone from the coffee table, he stops you gently—fingers brushing your wrist.

you turn, brows raised. “what?”

he looks nervous. like something in his chest is rattling loose and he doesn’t know how to hold it in.

“stay,” he says quietly. “tonight.”

your breath catches.

he sees it, quickly adds, “i don’t wanna do anything. i just…” he trails off, then exhales, softer, more certain: “i wanna fall asleep with you by my side.”

you search his face. it’s open. tired. a little scared.

but there’s no expectation in his voice—just hope.

you nod slowly. “okay.”

his shoulders drop with relief, the tiniest smile tugging at his mouth.

and then—before you can think twice—he leans in and kisses you. slow and unhurried. not for the camera, not for the characters.

it's not josie and eddie.

it's just rafe and you.

his hand finds your cheek. yours tangle in his hoodie. the kiss deepens just a bit—warm and familiar.

when you pull back, his forehead rests against yours.

“you sure?” he murmurs, eyes closed.

you nod again. “yeah. i’m sure.”

and his biceps wrap around your body, pulling you close to his warm frame as he leaves a soft kiss on the crown of your head.

was this still all about that stupid bet?

taglist : @beewritess @davinashifts333 @lanasangelsz @littlefreak-liz @drewstarkeyswife0 @lalaloopsieparty @ethanthequeefqueen @wtfisastiles @angelicameron @moth-feeet @drewstarkeyswife-7 @hiphopstar @cokewithcameron @cameronsbabydoll @chillgal135 @ayy1234567 @pogueprincesa @isinpfortvdmen @iheartrosalia @luvrclub @yesshewrites1 @sideboobrry11 @espressh0e @mysticbby2009 @arianagreenblattfanxx10 @hwaaholic @aves05 @thecolorpearl05 @dreamybabbyy @wintercrows @lesbiana2 @chillgal135 @verycherryblossomhideout @daddyrafeslittleslut @pillowprincess4him @xoxobellamy @dylsdaily @at-todds-heart @nonbeliever1@rafes-honey @lilithblackkk @isktfguhn @rafecamssfavgirl @mirellef2001 @jennieonline

[sturniololuvz]

chris introducing his new girlfriend to his son, and hes like 4

“Chris…’s Girlfriend”

Chris had been stressing all day.

He wasn’t usually nervous. But this? This felt different.

Because dating when you’re a single dad is one thing — introducing your new girlfriend to your four-year-old son is another entirely.

So he’d cleaned the apartment twice, laid out snacks like it was a kindergarten birthday party, and practiced what he was going to say in the mirror more times than he’d ever admit.

And now she was here. Y/N. Standing in his kitchen, looking every bit as kind and beautiful as she always did.

“You okay?” she asked, noticing the way his knee was bouncing.

“Yeah. Totally. Just, y’know… introducing the two most important people in my life. No pressure.”

She smiled and reached for his hand. “It’s going to be fine.”

He nodded, exhaled, then called out:

“Buddy? Can you come here for a sec?”

Tiny footsteps padded down the hall.

A mop of curly hair peeked around the corner.

He looked at Y/N. Then at Chris. Then back at Y/N.

Chris crouched down. “Hey, this is my friend Y/N. She’s really special to me.”

His son blinked, very serious.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

Chris coughed. “Yeah, she is.”

The boy took a step forward. “Do you like dinosaurs?”

Y/N smiled. “I love dinosaurs.”

Another pause.

“Even the meat-eating ones?”

“Especially the meat-eating ones.”

Chris watched, barely breathing.

Then — the boy gave a small nod. “Okay. You can stay.”

Y/N laughed softly. “Thank you. I appreciate the invitation.”

“Do you wanna see my T-Rex? He roars.”

“I would love to.”

Chris stood there stunned, watching his son take Y/N’s hand and lead her down the hall toward his room like it was nothing.

She glanced back, eyes sparkling.

Chris mouthed, Thank you.

And Y/N?

She just smiled. Like she already belonged.

⸻It had been a few months now.

Y/N had slowly become part of the rhythm of their days — bedtime stories, dino puzzles, making pancakes shaped like T-Rexes (or at least trying to). She never overstepped, never pushed. She just loved — gently, steadily, the way only someone who truly cared could.

Chris noticed every time. And every time, it made his heart feel a little fuller.

Tonight, she was helping with pajamas. The little boy was yawning like crazy, one sock on and the other mysteriously missing.

Chris was in the living room cleaning up spilled goldfish crackers when he heard it.

“Mommy, can you help me with this?”

Silence.

A pause.

Chris froze.

He turned around slowly.

Y/N was crouched in the doorway of the bedroom, the little boy standing in front of her, sleep-drunk and tugging at his pajama shirt.

She looked stunned — not in a bad way, just like someone trying to process something huge.

Chris stepped closer, heart thudding. “What did you say, bud?”

The boy blinked, completely unbothered. “I said Mommy. Can she help?”

Y/N looked at Chris like she was waiting to be told it was a mistake — that this wasn’t her role to fill.

But Chris just walked over, knelt beside them both, and gently cupped his son’s cheek.

“You can call her that if you want to,” he said softly. “If it feels right to you.”

The boy nodded simply, content. “She makes the best pancakes.”

Y/N’s eyes welled up immediately.

Chris looked at her, tears creeping in too, and whispered, “You don’t have to say anything. But… if you wanna stay forever, I’m pretty sure we’re both all in.”

She nodded, wiping at her face.

“I already was.”

⸻

[adonisbeloveds]

Hi!! I wanted to ask if i could put in a request, but if ur not comfortable with it, it's okay! You dont have to do it. I was thinking yandere mains angst cuz the reader died and they feel like they failed to protect them. Again, if you're not comfortable with it or just dont want to do it, feel free to decline! there's no pressure on my end. I love ur writing style btw!

Yandere Main Toons with a reader who died.

Okay okay! I hope you mean't the main toons when they weren't twisted, and I LIVE for yandere and angst stuff omg so don't you worry and I'm glad you love my writing style! Also can you guys COUGH guess my fav toon ahahahhaha Reader is GN and uses they/them pronouns, and Vee, Shelly and pebble are all meant to be seen as platonic. Warnings: Yandere behavour ofc, Dandy keeps the readers body (he doesn't do ANYTHING weird with it, he just keeps it), self hatred, mentions of suicide, unhealthy coping mechanisms.

ASTRO

".....you're lying. Sprout please...you're lying.."

.He was in denial for a long while, even though he knew you weren't coming back a small part of him was still hoping, wondering if you were out there -- if you were just hiding and waiting for him to come to you and save you. .He blames himself so much, he knew he shouldn't of stayed back, that he should of convinced you hearder to let him come with others..what if you were nearly at the exit, what if you didn't have enough stamina to make it, if he was there he could of helped you. .What if you were hiding, cornered, crying quietly while you muttered his name -- hoping and praying he would come get you, come help you and make sure you wouldn't die or get hurt, if so why didn't the others help you? why didn't goob pull you close to him why didn't anyone help you. .Maybe you died to get away from him .He still blames himself, he blames himself so badly -- but some of that blame now goes to other toons, more specifically the toons who had the ability to help you.

"Astro, they aren't here anymore! THEY'RE DEAD!" "YOU WERE MEAN'T TO PROTECT THEM! AREN'T YOU THE OVERPROTECTIVE ONE!" .Everything that was in your room he put into his room, even to the smallest piece of paper that had nothing written on it -- and when I say everything I mean everything, even your trash that he never threw out. .He know's it isn't healthy and he knows the other toons are judging his coping ways, he just can't bare the thought of anything you had in your room being taken away. This is what was left of you and he wasn't going to throw it away, no matter how bad or unhealthy it was. .He has started dreaming about you, he use to share dreams with you -- but now he just dreams of you, and he uses these moments to play pretend, even if its for a minute or so. Seeing your smiling and alive face is enough to start fueling his delusions .At first he knew these delusions and dreams were simply that, but over time he started to wonder if this was actually you, that you survived and are still waiting for him out there, waiting for him to save you. .So then on he started his mission, he know's he couldn't protect you in that moment but this time, this time he's going out there and he will bring you home- "No." "What...what do you mean no." "Astro, you aren't in the right mindset to go out on runs. We don't want you to see a twisted version of them and willingly run into the arms of a twisted." "They....they aren't a twisted, they are still alone out there! I know it!"

VEE

"No...no wait WAIT-"

.She witnessed first hand your death, she tried running to you the moment she saw the twisted coming close -- but it got to you before she could, and the worst part is that you smiled. You saw her and you smiled. .Shelly grabbed her arm before dragging her back to the elevator, but all she could think of was the way you smiled at her, not even noticing the thing behind you -- or maybe you did and knew your time was up, and you smiled at her as a way of saying "It wasn't your fault, please don't blame yourself" .You two talked about this, about what would happen if one of you were to die -- and she promised, she promised you that she would always have your back, that you would always be protected and she failed. .Cause that's what she is, a failure. .Who cares if she can sing or host programs or show twisteds by their frequencies, cause what is all that tallent for when she couldn't even keep her promise and protect the closest person to her. .She handled her greif better than the others, she knew that you weren't coming back, no matter what she or the others tried to do. But just because she handled her greif better doesn't mean her coping mechanisms were the same. .She made dolls of you, and used the recordings of your voice to play pretend, even when she was sleeping she would play your voice and pretend you were there -- she would even tweak your voice to say certain things, and she would even listen to breathing to just pretend you were breathing and well. .Unlike the others, she went out on runs still -- but she was silent, only ever tapping her mic before going back to the corner. She couldn't bring herself to leave the foot of the elevator when it closes, especially when she see's your twisted form. .She likes to think she's strong enough to not run to your twisted form, but at this point she doesn't know anymore -- so she doesn't risk it, she just looks down at the ground the two of you use to walk together on and waits, what is she waiting for? .The elevator to open up again, or for a twisted to take her away like it did with you? "soon....soon we will walk the same path like we use to, my show star."

SHELLY

"They....what?"

.She's absolutely devistated when she found out, one of the only people to actually see her and not forget about her was gone. .She loses all her spark that she use to have, and just stays in her room. She can't bear the thought of looking at your room anymore, it only fuels her with fake hope and sadness. .Vee and the others tried to get her to open up about her feelings so she doesn't lock them away but it's already to late -- the only thing she allows herself was one of your plushies that use to be sold in the gift store. .She's cried herself to sleep every night, and usually doesn't talk to anyone, not even pebble or Astro. Astro has tried talking to her about her dreams of you -- and she's tried to tell him but she can never get past a few sobs, and the one time she did she almost threw up. .She blames herself for not being able to help you, but even if she wanted to she wasn't as great as the others -- nor did she have any special abilitys to help you. Leading to a deeper and darker pit of self hatred and pain. .She hasn't even bothered to go out on runs anymore, if she wasn't there to save you, and she can't save anyone with how weak and useless she is, than whats the point of going anywhere any more?

SPROUT

"COSMO, COSMO LET ME GO THEY- THEY ARE STILL OUT THERE! please..."

.He could see you out there, you were running as fast as you could -- but than one of the twisteds rounded the corner and go you -- and he saw it all happen. .When the elevator closed all he could do was go limp as cosmo brought him down to the ground and talked to him? He couldn't hear -- he couldn't see through the tears that he couldn't feel, he couldn't do anything...he didn't feel...there. .Once they arrived at the safe space he just let cosmo bring him to the medic -- he couldn't hear what anyone was saying, all he could do was remember you running, you turning the corner and you dying. .If only he fought cosmo harder, if only he was able to run out there to you, he wouldn't even care if he died because he would of died with you -- you wouldn't of been alone while dying. But that wasn't the case. .Were you calling out to him? Where you calling out to anyone? Did you try to fight or did you accept your death? Oh god he hopes you didn't do either...accepting your death and accepting that no one, not even him could save you -- or fighting until your last moment and hoping someone could come save you, hoping that he would come save you. .He doesn't know what's worse. .His personality took a whole 180 after your death, he usually stayed in your room rather than his own, hugging your pillow and pretending it was you, and that you were still alive with him -- even though he knows the truth .He doesn't have dreams, he's only haunted by nightmares of you dying over and over again -- he has seen the concerned looks Astro gives him whenever he leaves your room, but neither has talked about it .He has a grudge to everyone that was in that run, he not only blames himself but he blames the people that didn't try helping you, he blames cosmo for holding him back, he blames goob for not pulling you in even though you were behind a wall, and most importantly he blames himself for every reason and above. .The others usually hear Sprout talking to himself, crying to himself and so on -- they have noticed sprout not talking to anyone anymore, not even cosmo, and how he usually keeps himself locked away in your room. "I'm going on this run" "No you are not." "Why not." "Cause I don't trust you in this state to take care of yourself."

PEBBLE

"Pebble...they...they aren't coming back"

.Poor thing didn't know how to react, hearing that his favourite caretaker had died, that they weren't coming back to play fetch him with anymore, to sneak treats to him, to cuddle with him after a long day of playing, and how those moments were never going to happen again was heart breaking. .Every toon tried to help Pebble, trying to play with him, giving him treats and everything you use to do with him -- but nothing worked, he always had his tail low and never went on runs anymore, all he did was stay in his caretakers room with tears in his eyes. .Late at night the toons would either hear happy barking, or small whines -- this indicated whether pebble was having a nice dream about his caretaker, or a nightmare. .Even thought he can't talk to any of the toons, it's clear as day the poor thing blames himself for your death. He's usually the distracter yet he wasn't allowed on that run due to hurting his leg previously. "It's okay buddy! When I get back we can sneak some of cosmo and sprouts treats okay?" .Oh how he was waiting so patiently at the elevator door, tail wagging as he watched it ascend only to let out a confuse whine when he didn't see you there -- only to be told that you weren't coming back.. .Pebble has developed a habit of snarling at the toons, even going as far as full on aggressively barking whenever one of them went close to your room .The worst incident was when one of the toons tried to take your stuff out of your room -- it was almost like pebble went full guard dog mode as he harshly bit the poor toons arm, only getting off when their screams alerted the other toons who took him off their arm. When that happened everyone knew not to touch your stuff .Your death must of hurt him so much, enough to cause him to go feral at the even mention of your stuff being taken out of your room.

DANDY

"No...no no no no!"

.This wasn't mean't to happen, you were just talking to him when he came up with his shop -- he sold you med kits and everything....he wanted to deny it so bad but he can't. He watched it happen on his cameras, he watched you die and he couldn't do anything about it. .The moment the elevator left he ran, he ran as fast as he could towards you...maybe just maybe if he made it there in time you would be okay, right? .When he got there he tried to find a pulse or something, from your neck to your wrists to your heart -- he even tried to convince himself that you were breathing still, that your chest was going up and down -- even with how blurry his vision was and how hard his crys were, he wasn't going to leave you. "My flower, shh it's okay my flower, you will be okay I promise -- this is just...just a hiccup okay? I will make everything alright...come on, let's, let's go back home okay?" .You were so limp, he could feel the ichor where the wound was, but he didn't think about it, no. It's because you were....going to be fine, everything will turn out okay in the end and you will wake up and it will be fine. .He bandaged your wound and placed you in his bed, well 'our' bed as he likes to call it, he spoke to you while looking around for papers, papers to help you come back to him -- to help you out of this small hiccup. .And every night he would go back to the bed, get under the covers and fall asleep up against your chest, pretending he could hear your breathing as he smiled and said goodnight even if he cried himself to sleep, knowing deep down that you will never respond again. .If you were human you would of started rotting at this point, but you weren't and you wouldn't -- meaning he can play this game of pretend for the rest of his life, until he finds a way to bring you back to life. .At first Dandy still went in the elevator, still sold things to the others until he just, stopped. He stopping coming up, he stopped giving cards -- and the only reason is because he just couldn't care anymore, he had more important stuff to do -- like finding a 'cure' for you and spending time with you! And if you aren't out there anymore whats the reason to be handing out stuff anymore? "My flower! I'm back!" ...... "I missed you too! Don't worry I'll be there shortly, just need to put these papers somewhere safe" ...... "I will bring you back...I promise my flower."

[cap-trio]

No Grave Can Hold My Body Down (I'll Crawl Home to Her)

Summary: After a bad fight, Matt ends up in a coma. Unsure if he's going to make it or not, you decide to finally get something off your chest. It feels safer to confess assuming he most likely can't hear you, but when Matt wakes up, you find out you were wrong.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Tags: Angst, fluff, friends to lovers, love confessions

TW: Mention of a coma and hospitals

Word count: 4.5K | Read on AO3

You get the phone call on a Tuesday night.

It started as a typical day; you got up at 6:00 on the dot to get ready for work. Matt met you at your door at 7:30 to walk with you, despite your numerous protests you could make it to work fine on your own. Not to mention your apartment was out of his way by ten minutes. But he knew about the danger that lurked around every corner of Hell’s Kitchen and when it came to you, he wasn’t going to take any chances.

Foggy’s name lights up your phone. Nothing out of the ordinary, but things go south as soon as you accept the call. “Hey, what’s -”

“Matt’s in the hospital,” he interrupts. “He’s in a coma.”

The phone falls to the ground, and you ignore Foggy’s voice calling your name. You don’t care that the screen is definitely cracked. You have tunnel vision and can only focus on Matt. You hear Foggy repeatedly asking if you’re okay and that you’re still on the line.

Sinking to the ground, you pick the phone back up. “Sorry, I’m here. What hospital?”

After getting the address, you make it there in record time. You don’t even bother waiting for the elevator, instead climbing the stairs two at a time to floor five. The ICU.

Foggy and Karen greet you in the lobby. Both look disheveled, with fresh tears on their cheeks, dark circles under their eyes, and hair askew from constantly running their hands through it. “What happened? Is he…” going to make it? You can’t bring yourself to finish the question. If you don’t say it, you won’t accidentally speak it into existence. You don’t want to let your thoughts go down that path, but how can you not?

“Fisk got to him,” Karen’s voice is low. “We don’t know what Matt told them happened, or if he said anything at all.”

“He called me, and I knew this was worse than the other times. He could barely breathe and then he passed out. I called 911, then you guys. It’s just been a waiting game.” Foggy takes a deep breath. “All I could make out was something about Fisk and how he got the upper hand this time.”

It takes every last ounce of strength not to collapse to the floor. Karen notices and leads you over to the seating area. “When can I see him?”

“We aren’t sure; they haven’t left his room. No updates yet, ” Foggy replies. 

You were on a mission to get to the hospital as fast as you could. Now that you’re here, everything hits you like a truck. It’s a pain you’ve never felt before, like someone carved a hole in your chest, ripping out your heart like they were pulling weeds out of a garden, leaving you hollow. So hollow you can’t even cry. Everything is just numb like the switch controlling your emotions was flipped off. It’s like an out-of-body nightmare; you’re aware it’s not real, but you’re stuck anyway, forced to live in it. What you wouldn’t give for this to only be a fucked up dream. 

The three of you sit in the lobby, hands interlocked, waiting in silence. Between the fluorescent lighting beating down like the sun, the faint sound of heart monitors, and the receptionists carrying on conversations like you weren’t at risk of losing your friend, you knew you couldn’t handle it for much longer before going crazy.  

Maybe that would be okay though. It would prove you could still feel something other than the shell of who you were an hour ago. 

“Am I broken?” Your voice is just above a whisper. “Why am I not breaking down in tears? Or having a panic attack?”

“It’s a stressful situation. Your body doesn’t know how to respond, so it’s pretty much just…not. It’s normal to shut down, so I promise you aren’t broken,” Karen assures you.

“I’m at the same level. I don’t want this to be real, so my body is responding like it’s not. Like this is all some fucked up dream,” Foggy adds.

For some reason, Foggy’s words are what bring on the tears. Not a gut-wrenching sob like you had expected, but still something. “Shit, was it something I said?” He asks.

“No. Yes,” you let out a small laugh. “I was just thinking how grateful I am that you two are here with me. If I were alone…” You don’t finish the thought, and you don’t need to. They know exactly what you mean.

Karen pulls you in for a hug, shedding a few tears herself. Foggy tries to brush off how he’s doing the same. The receptionist notices and quietly brings over an extra box of tissues and gives an apologetic smile. The sound of the door opening separates you three in hopes it’s any sort of update, but they go to the other family waiting.

An hour passes. You don’t move from your seat.

Another hour. Foggy goes to the vending machine for snacks. You don’t eat.

The third hour is when the panic really starts to seep in. You don’t want to be one of those people, but you’re about to go to the desk and demand some sort of update. Instead, you pace around the lobby to try and release the nervous energy.

The sound of the doors opening again freezes you in your tracks. Finally, a doctor appears. “Murdock crew?” She calls out. The three of you race over, but she says, “It’s best if we sit down.” Nervous glances are shared. That’s a telltale sign things are most definitely not good.

“So, I’ll start by saying Matthew has improved since he first arrived. Vitals are almost where we want them, but he needs to stay in a medically induced coma while we continue working on him. I don’t want to make any guarantees as he’s still in bad shape. Matthew is suffering from a concussion, several broken ribs, and internal bleeding. The coma could last up to a month, depending on whether or not he shows signs of recovery.”

Whether or not. Her words ring in your ears. Or not. Or not. Or not. 

“But he’ll live, right? People have survived worse. He’ll be fine. Right?” Foggy sounds delirious, not that you can blame him. It’s not the update you guys were hoping for.

“Like I said, I don’t want to make any promises. I’m sorry I can’t give any definitive answers. Just know we’re working our absolute hardest.”

“Can we at least see him?” You beg.

“Not tonight, unfortunately. We’re hoping he’ll be ready for visitors in the next few days. We’ll keep you guys updated. For now, I recommend getting some rest and making sure you’re fed and hydrated. In stressful times, we tend to shut down and not take care of ourselves. We’ll call if anything changes, good or bad.”

Good or bad. Or bad. Or bad. Or bad. 

“Thank you,” Karen says with a small smile.

She leaves the three of you alone again. “I don’t want to go home,” you admit. If something happens and you aren’t here, you’ll never forgive yourself. 

“They don’t let people stay overnight,” Foggy sighs. “My apartment is the closest, why don’t we all head there and at least try to sleep?”

You’re all too exhausted to walk, so Karen hails a taxi. No one speaks, not even the driver. He takes one look at your group, mumbles a “sheesh” to himself, and starts the drive to Foggy’s apartment. 

He provides some pajamas for you and Karen while you all set up camp in the living room. Phones charging and on the loudest setting, you all settle into your positions for the night. Karen on the couch, you on an air mattress, Foggy on the loveseat. It would almost be a fun sleepover if not given the circumstances. Not to mention how empty it feels without Matt.

You weren’t sure you’d be able to sleep, but the fatigue kicks in and you can’t resist it any longer. Hoping to get an escape from this hell, you close your eyes and slip into an escape.

“We’re sorry. We tried everything, but Matthew wasn’t able to pull through. You’re welcome to come in and say your goodbyes. Again, our condolences. He was a fighter.” A painful sob comes from deep within you. You don’t even recognize yourself, everything feels raw and cracked. Grief fills you to the brim, like a thick smoke clouding your lungs, enough to leave you choking and gasping for air. You follow behind Foggy and Karen to say your goodbyes to Matt. The sight of him lying lifeless in the hospital bed sends you collapsing to the floor.

You wake with a scream. Foggy and Karen shoot up, immediately asking what happened. You can’t answer yet; your body takes a second to come back to reality and recognize it was just an awful dream. But it could happen, a twisted voice reminds you. 

“I’m so sorry. I was having a nightmare, and it felt so real,” you sigh. 

“It’s okay, we’re here,” Karen squeezes your hands. “I think we all had the same dream.”

Foggy nods in agreement. “Just wanted to get some rest, but here we are.” He chuckles humorlessly. 

No one knows what to say next. Nothing can be said to make anyone feel better; trying would be pointless. It would all just feel like one person is saying what everyone wants to hear when really, no one has a clue how this will play out.

“Maybe we watch a movie? It doesn’t seem like sleep is an option, and it might be somewhat of a distraction,” Karen suggests. 

It’s better than sitting in silence, especially when that silence invites dark thoughts to creep in, so Foggy fires up the TV and finds the most absurd comedy he can find.

Eventually, the three of you are able to doze off again by the time a second movie plays. No bad dreams happen this time, but the sound of someone's ringtone jostles everyone awake. The small amount of light peaking in lets you know it's sometime the next day, but everything feels disorienting.

Foggy answers and puts the phone on speaker. “Hello, we’d like to let you know Matt is ready for visitors. Our visiting hours are from 9:00 a.m to 9:00 p.m every day. If anything about that changes, we’ll reach out.” 

“Thank you so much,” Foggy says before hanging up. Everyone takes a few minutes to freshen up before catching a cab back to the hospital. Anxiety courses through you, though it's different from last night. You’re not sure what you're going to say to Matt, or how he’ll look; you feel entirely unprepared. Having Karen and Foggy with you makes it a little less scary at least.

Karen checks in with the receptionist, and five minutes later a nurse comes to let the three of you in. She pauses outside his door. “I want to warn you that he looks pretty beaten up. It won't be easy seeing him in this state, but having someone with him might be good for his recovery.”

She has everyone take a deep breath before opening the door. Matt looks similar to how he did in your nightmare, all bloody and bruised, hooked up to various machines with tubes. You’ve seen him after a fight before, even helped clean him up, but it was never like this. Not even what the nurse said could’ve prepared you. 

“What should we say to him? Anything that could make him wake up?” You ask.

“Hearing familiar voices is good no matter what. We recommend just telling him about your day, or maybe reading him a book he likes. Anything that feels right for you.”

None of this feels right, you want to scream. Instead you thank her for the tips. 

“I’ll leave you guys alone, but feel free to press that button if you need anything at all.” She gestures to a CALL button near Matt’s bed before slipping out the door.

It's silent at first while everyone takes in the sight of him. 

“Maybe tell him a story from college?” You suggest to Foggy. “It might be good to hear something familiar.”

He launches into the avocados at law story which has you and Karen laughing. You would’ve loved to have known them back then.

“I don’t think anything I say will top that,” Karen says. “I don’t even know what to say, anyway.”

Foggy assures her anything will be better than nothing, so she tearfully tells Matt how grateful she is for her and Foggy’s help during her trial. It moves you and Foggy to tears too, and everyone ends up a blubbery mess.

“Sorry to kill the mood,” she chuckles. “What’ve you got?” She asks you.

You decide to tell him about the first day he showed up at your apartment to walk you to work. How you weren’t expecting him at all, given that you’d only been friends for a few weeks at that point and he never mentioned he would be there. How even though you poked fun at him for it at first, he makes you feel safer and you’re lucky to have him.

“I didn’t even know he does that,” Karen says.

“I always thought it was weird when he’d be late for work when it wasn’t related to his…activities,” Foggy adds, not knowing if anyone outside the room could hear. “He really loves us all, huh?”

That brings on more tears. How grateful are you all to have someone like Matt in your lives?

“Alright, I think I’ve had enough crying for the rest of my life,” Karen laughs.

“I think it’d be good to talk about our day like the nurse suggested,” you say. “Not after we found out what happened, but before that.”

And that’s what the three of you do for the next week and a half, once a day and always together. Foggy brings up the idea of doing separate visits, suggesting it might be good for some alone time with him. 

Your first visit alone is awkward. Without Karen and Foggy to describe your days together, you aren’t sure what to say. It’s like trying therapy for the first time, knowing you have things to talk about, but being too scared to bring anything up, making it feel too real.

His progress has been up and down, worrying you that it might stay like that for months. Or years. And there is one thing that Matt doesn’t know about you, a secret you’ve acknowledged and thrown into a locked box, refusing to open it. The sick, dark voice from before warns you this may be the only chance you get to tell him.

“Hi, Matt. It’s just me today; we decided it might be good to spend some alone time with you. Uh, today was alright. We went to Josie’s, played some pool, and had a few beers. Felt empty without you though. I’m trying to stall here because I want to tell you something. Something big. But I’m terrified, and a wuss, so I have to do it while you probably can’t hear me or respond at all.” You laugh at yourself for being so ridiculous. 

“Well, here goes nothing,” you pause. “So uh, I’m kind of in love with you? Not sure why I phrased it like a question. I know I’m in love with you, and it scares the shit out of me. We’ve known each other for years, and I don’t know if telling you is worth the risk. I care about you too much to let some feelings get in the way. So yeah, that’s my secret.”

You’re not sure if you feel better or worse now that it’s out there. It feels good to get it off your chest, but nothing has really changed by admitting it. Matt will continue to be oblivious to your feelings while you have to continue carrying them around.

Exhaustion kicks in and you slump back in the chair. Just as your eyes begin to drift shut, you hear a groan and shoot awake. Matt starts stirring, mumbling to himself, and you watch helplessly before adrenaline kicks in.

“Nurse! I need a nurse!” You shout into the hallway. They instruct you to wait in the hall; on your way out, you see Matt’s eyes open and you let out a gasp. You swear you see him reach for you, but you’re also feeling a bit delirious so it could be your mind playing tricks on you.

You call Karen and Foggy with the news. Less than ten minutes later, the three of you are standing outside of his room, playing another round of the dreaded waiting game. You fill them in on the moments leading up to Matt waking up, purposefully leaving out details of the conversation.

Thirty minutes go by until one of the nurses comes into the hallway. “He’s awake and stable. You can come in and see him, but I’ll warn he may be slightly out of it.” 

Matt gives a weak smile as the three of you enter. “How do I look?” 

“Out of it, my ass,” Foggy laughs. “You look like shit.”

“Ouch. Aren’t you supposed to be nice to someone in a hospital bed? A blind man I might add.”

“Little too late to be playing the blind card,” Karen adds.

He turns in your general direction. “What’s your verdict?”

“I’m with these two. You’ve looked better.”

It feels good to be joking around like this again. Things certainly aren’t back to normal, but this is a step in the right direction.

“Even though you hurt my feelings, could we talk alone for a second?” 

Foggy and Karen exchange a look and turn to raise their eyebrows at you. You shrug, indicating you’re not sure what this is about.

“I better get some alone time too,” Foggy pouts.

“There’s plenty of me to go around.”

Your friends leave, and as soon as the door shuts you feel like you’re suffocating with anxiety. What could he want to talk about that he couldn’t say in front of his best friends?

“Can I ask you about something?”

“Of course. Anything.” Your voice shakes when you answer. 

“Earlier, right before I woke up, I thought I heard you say you’re in love with me.” 

Panic settles in hard and fast, like being taken under by a cold ocean wave when your back is facing the water, unexpected and unpleasant. 

Fuck. 

“That’s not a question.” Stupid. It's the only thing your brain can think of to say, trying to delay the shitstorm that’s brewing. 

“Okay,” his mouth quirks up into a small smile, trying to cover a laugh. He knows you well enough to know what you're doing. “Let me rephrase - are you in love with me?”

“I uh, no. I’m not. Must've been a crazy coma dream or something!” Your laugh that follows is too loud and brash to sound even remotely convincing.

“You’re lying.” There isn’t any uncertainty in his voice. He says it like it’s a known fact and not an educated guess. 

“Wow, I feel like I should be offended,” you huff. You’re not sure why you’re angry at him when he’s right. Or maybe you’re angry that this conversation is even happening when you vowed to take these feelings to the grave. “I promise I’m not.”

“You are.” The way he emphasizes the word sucks all the air out of the room. That one word makes everything feel different. It’s confirmation you can’t brush this conversation off. Matt isn’t going to let it go.

“Jesus Matt, can we just drop it? I told you, I never said it. I don’t know why you can’t believe me. And is this really the most important thing to be focusing on right now?”

“To me? Yes, it is that important. And I can tell you’re lying.”

You roll your eyes. He knows even though he can’t see it, because he knows you. “Because of what, my laugh? I admit I sounded weird, but -”

He cuts you off. “It was your heartbeat.” He’s frustrated that you can’t understand, as if this is some normal thing people can do, or like he’s mentioned it before and it’s something you just casually forgot. Like you would ever forget something like that. 

You snort at how unbelievable this situation has gotten. “My heartbeat? What the hell are you talking about?” 

Surely this is a weird side effect of the concussion. Maybe he’s hearing things now? Or he’s playing some weird prank on you? You should probably call the nurse back in.

“I can hear people’s heartbeat. When they lie, it changes rhythms. When you said you aren’t in love with me it got faster. So I’m asking you again, are you in love with me?”

“Matt, you can’t just brush that off like it isn’t the most insane thing I’ve ever heard! You expect me to believe you, especially when you can’t prove it? Look, I’m gonna call in the nurse and have her check your head because clearly, the concussion isn’t any better.” 

You reach for the call button but he grabs your wrist before you can press it. Warmth spreads across the spots where his fingers are touching you. Now is not the time you try to relay that message to your body. It doesn’t listen.

He lets go of your wrist and sighs. “Have I ever lied to you?”

“Yes. You constantly made up excuses when you’d show up to work with mysterious bruises or cuts. Not gonna work in this argument.”

“I didn’t realize we were arguing,” he raises an eyebrow. “But to be fair, that was only to keep you safe. Have I ever lied about anything else?”

“I don’t know, I can’t hear your heartbeat.”

Now he rolls his eyes. “I know you’re trying to avoid talking about it. But please know I wouldn’t make something like this up. After the accident, my senses got heightened more than what would happen to the average person. I know it seems like I’m an asshole for keeping something like this private, like I use it to take advantage of people, but I don’t. Even when someone lies, I don’t force them into telling the truth. It’s a blessing and a curse.”

He sounds exhausted, and can you blame him? Having to live with this gift, but knowing he can’t really do anything with it, would take a toll on anyone. 

But he’s also putting you in an uncomfortable position, despite claiming he doesn’t use it against people. “So why are you doing it to me now?”

“I’m sorry. We can drop it, but don’t you want to know why I’m so hung up on this? Why I’m seconds away from getting on my knees and begging you to tell the truth?”

Yes. No. Because admitting that makes this all too real. Too scary. It opens up a door you want to bolt shut because it allows too many what-ifs into the mix. What if things don’t work out? What if you work better as friends and break up, making everything complicated? You could write a whole book full of different scenarios.

But there is another possibility: what if Matt loves you too? 

It’s enough to make you want to unlock the door and throw it open. “I do.”

Time seems to stand still. You both know what’s coming, and it scares the hell out of you, but it’s worth it. He’s worth it.

“Tell the truth. Please, I want to hear you say it.”

You already did, you want to point out. But now isn’t the time to be a smart ass, not with the way his gaze is piercing you and the tension rising with every second unspoken. 

“I’m in love with you, Matt.”

Thump. Thump. Thump. The sound is music to his ears, better than any song he’s heard. If he wasn’t ruined by you before, he sure is now.

“I’m in love with you too.”

“Good, or else that would’ve been really embarrassing.”

He laughs. “Now was that so hard to admit?”

“Oh please! You didn’t give me much of an option.” You deepen your voice in a terrible attempt to mock him, “I’m Matt and I can hear people’s heartbeats, so I know when they lie. I’m in love with you too, but instead of saving time and saying that, I’m gonna make you do it first. Even though I clearly heard you before.” 

You both erupt into laughter; you can physically feel yourself getting lighter as the crushing weight of tension leaves your body. 

“I’m never going to get over hearing you say that,” he admits.

“I won’t either.” You pause, feeling a shift in the conversation tone. “I honestly never wanted you to know. I only said it because I was scared of losing you, and it was a cowardly way of getting it off my chest. I tried convincing myself maybe you also felt that there was always something more between us, but then I’d get in my head and decide you didn’t. Decided it wouldn’t be worth losing you if I said something and you turned me down, but then I thought I’d lose you in a different way.” Your voice cracks at the end, and you force the tears back in, hating that you’re making things serious again. 

“I’ve always felt it,” Matt confesses. “I never wanted to pressure you or make things weird if I misread the signs. Am I happy this is what it took for us to be together? Of course not, I pictured this moment a million different ways, and not one involved a hospital. But I am happy it happened. So unbelievably happy.”

“I am too. I’ve wanted this for years.”

“I really want to kiss you, but…” he gestures to his current state. 

“We can make it work. We’ll just be careful.”

“I’ll make it up to you when I’m healed,” he smirks. He gets a little cocky from how he can make your heartbeat quicken, and how intimate it is that only the two of you can experience it together.

“Such a tease,” you roll your eyes, leaning down inches from his mouth.

“You’re one to talk.”

And then his mouth is on yours.

His hands cup your chin while yours rests on his hip, careful not to apply any pressure. You can both feel the other holding back; his lips are just grazing yours, but it’s enough to feel like hot lava is coursing through you. If his lingering touches over the years left sparks in their wake, kissing him is like being electrocuted. It’s delicate and sweet and you’re overwhelmed with how right it feels. The only thing on Matt’s mind are you and more, but he knows this is just the beginning. 

So instead he focuses on the now, mentally adding this moment to a scrapbook of memories filled with you.

[rexhya]

any of your chosen oc’s who fancy reader, on valentine’s day, receive a typed love letter and their favourite chocolate —- of course they’re quick to assume that it’s reader right ? same initials marking the end lines ?! the same quiet, unassuming reader who barely holds eye contact with them telling them yes ! i love you too !!! but oh actually it’s NOT them, just someone with the same initials.. watch chosen oc go crazy over thatLMAOO

(tldr - [character] crushes on y/n, thinks they like them back but it’s a misunderstanding]

yandere!loser who is exceedingly when he receives a letter on valentine's day, it read the sweetest words he could practically imagine your voice he read it

Dear Claude,

I like you a lot! I write this letter to you in hopes you receive it and can return my feelings as well.

— Love, [XX]

Claude is in pure disbelief, he immediately writes back and says yes, slipping the note straight into your locker with his number on it, desperately waiting for a text, he never gets ones. (Aww, your problably just shy...right?)

The next day he's even more confused when you walk right past in in the hallways, did you not see him when he waved?

He trys again to catch you attention in the lunch room, you're sitting with your friends on the complete opposite side of the room when he walks the shameful distance to your table to ask you why you've been ignoring him.

Your friends get quiet not so subtly laughing at the image of Claude and his baggy clothes, but he's used to others and there comments, it was only you he cared about.

"That's not my handwriting, I didn't write that." you deadpanned, slapping the arm of your friend who began a trail of laughing voices that rung in Claudes ear. Tears pricked at his eyes as he exited the lunchroom.

"Oh, yeah, right, that totally makes sense. This doesn't even look like your handwriting." you save Claude the embarrassment and direct his attention to a girl who Claude now noticed was looking at him, "I think this came from her, Claude, sorry about that."

Claude jumped as you placed an hand on his forearm. You knew his name? He didn't have it in him to ask as he walked towards the tabled where the girl was sitting, her eyes visible lit up as he walked over, but he wasnt here to accept a confession.

"You, what's your name?"

"My name? It's-"

"Actually I don't care, because it doesn't matter. Don't ever consider contacting me again you hear me? Do you know how embarrassing it was to see her look at me so pitifully? Like I was a lost kid without his mommy?"

"I–"

"Fuck off, [Name] is the only person i'll ever want."

✦ ✦

Later that evening Claude stalked your social media pages as comfort, you looked so beautiful it made him more angry when he thought of that girl and how she tries to come between you two.

The only goid thing that had come of today was the fact you knew him, i mean you did have 3 classes together but you'd never looked his way, he had no idea. Oh god the way you'd said his name made him feel so hot inside.

Claude, Claude, Claude he was very aware of the rising boner he had from replaying the sound in his mind.

To his surprise he receives a message and lo' and behold its from you. He practically screams at the sight, and with shaky hands clicks to respond.

hey, how did it go?

He's confused, if you were asking how he was feeling he felt great, was the message meant for someone else? He clenched his hands at the thought, of course it wasn't. You had texted, him. He wouldn't miss the chance.

did what go?

Much to his delight you reply immediately.

you and XXXXX duhhh, are u guys dating now or what?

He scowls at the thought of the girl.

No, it was playing a prank lol

awwe, that's too bad, anyone would beclycky enough to date you 😕

Claudes eyes bulged from their sockets, his nails clicking away at a response. What were you implying, maybe you were in love with him after all?

fghdsasf, lol uhm yeah. i could say the same for u xx

Xx, God he has to marry you.

awe thx!! anyways i'm gonna be honest tge reason why i was asking is bc my friend thinks ur cute..i was wondering if she could have ur number?

He's accidentally smashed the computer before he gets a chance to respond.

[makeitmingi]

When Flowers Bloom In The Dark [Chapter 22]

Genre: Romance, Mafia!AU, Violence, Angst, Slow burn

Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Florist!Reader, Mafioso!Hongjoong, Mafioso!Seonghwa, Mafioso!Yunho, Mafioso!Yeosang, Mafioso!San, Mafioso!Mingi, Mafioso!Wooyoung, Mafioso!Jongho

Summary: When you appeared and wept at his mother's funeral, Hongjoong found himself wanting to find out more about you. A regular girl, who owns a flower shop in his territory and has a relationship with the mother that he hasn't spoken to in years, why hasn't he ever noticed you before?

[Warning(s): 18+ for violence, use of weapons, smoking, alcohol consumption, slight gore, gang affiliation, tattoos and character deaths. Minors DNI. This is a work of fiction and does not represent the Ateez members in real life.]

Word count: 3.3K

You felt nervous when you got ready to go to Hongjoong's place to work. The last time you saw each other and spoke, it was at your shop where Hongjoong confessed his feelings for you and you realised that you may have feelings for him too. You drank your iced tea with a soft sigh.

*DING DONG*

"Coming!" You put your mug down and went to answer the door. You felt your breath caught in your throat when you came face to face with Hongjoong.

"Hongjoong." For some reason, you didn't consider the possibility that he would come pick you up.

"Hey." He smiled at you.

"I'm almost ready... Come in." You returned a soft smile and stepped aside for Hongjoong to come in. Hongjoong bowed his head and removed his shoes, following you in.

"Sorry, I won't take too long. I just have some dishes I meant to clean." You hurried to the kitchen.

"Take your time, it's okay." He replied. Unlike last time, he didn't go to the couch, he stayed in the kitchen area with you.

"Can I help you? I can wash while you dry and put the plates back" He offered, already removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves before you could reply.

"With my dishes? No, no, Hongjoong. It's fine, really." You coughed, you really didn't expect him to offer his help. It almost felt wrong for him to be helping with dishes, he probably had people help with that but you felt bad for judging him like that.

"I can wash dishes, (y/n)." He chuckled.

"I'm already done. It's not much considering I'm one person." You laughed, putting them on the drying rack. They didn't have to be returned now, they could dry until you return home.

"Would you like some cold brew tea? The weather's quite warm today and it can cool you down." You asked.

"Sure. Thank you." He said. You moved to the fridge, filling one of your to-go mugs with the cold tea from the pitcher.

"Here you go." You held it out to him. He received the mug graciously and took a sip, nodding his head at the taste. You let out a sigh of relief and returned the pitcher.

"I was worried it might be too strong, I think I went overboard with the dried leaves." You giggled.

"Not at all. I have always been more of a coffee person but after drinking all the teas you made, you've changed me." He said.

"Don't flatter me." You playfully scoffed, finally able to let out the mental breath that you have been holding. Nothing has to change, you still can be comfortable around Hongjoong.

"Shall we go?" He asked.

"Yeah. Let's go." You nodded and grabbed your bag. Like the gentleman he is, Hongjoong held the box with all your gardening tools inside while you held the jacket he removed earlier. He unlocked the car and you tried to help him with putting the box in the boot. Then he opened the door for you to get in.

"Do you mind holding that for me?" He gestured to the blazer neatly tucked in your arms. You shook your head and he closed the door to go to the driver's side.

"Should we go for lunch before returning to the house?" Hongjoong asked, starting the loud engine.

"I don't know if we should be playing hooky." You shook your head.

"It's fine, I'm the boss and technically, your boss. So I don't have to work and I can say that you don't have to start work yet." He laughed and you giggled.

"Seonghwa might beg to differ." You pointed out. Hongjoong snorted but still drove to a place where you could both grab a meal.

"Here we are. Wooyoung says the sandwiches here are good." He said, pulling up into a parking space.

"Alright, only because you already drove here despite my protests." You chuckled and got out. You waited for Hongjoong to put the hood of the car up, trying to ignore the passing stares.

"Thanks, let's go." He jogged over to you and held the door open for you.

"Woah, I guess this is a popular place." You said, noticing how packed it was inside with people waiting around either for an empty table or their orders. There was no way you and Hongjoong would find an empty table so fast.

"We're definitely not getting a seat. It's fine, we'll just eat in the car." He stood beside you with a shrug, scrutinising the menu board with his hands into his pockets.

"Are you sure about that?" Your eyes widened as you turned to him. Eating in such an expensive car? What if you drop crumbs?

"Yeah, of course. It's fine, Mingi sends my car to get cleaned all the time." He grinned.

"Be careful." Hongjoong wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you towards him to prevent someone carrying a tray of drinks from bumping into you.

"It's crammed in here." He said. You blinked, feeling flustered at how you were suddenly so close to him.

"R-Right." You cleared your throat, taking a step back slightly. You never noticed how nice Hongjoong smelt. Wait, what?

"Have you decided what you would like to have?" He leaned over to ask you. You looked up at the menu, focused on that instead of whatever happened just now and what your intrusive thoughts were.

"Umm, maybe I'll try to breakfast sandwich with a strawberry lemondade. It looks good." You said. Hongjoong nodded and continued to look at the menu, a little indecisive of what to order. When it was your turn to order, you both stepped up to the counter. Hongjoong gave your order first.

"I'll have the chicken cutlet sandwich. No lettuce, no tomato, no onions. Oh! And a berry smoothie. We'll get fries on the side to share." He ordered, fishing for his wallet.

"I can pay, Hongjoong." You said softly.

"It's fine." He smiled back and tapped his card on the reader before you could pay, receiving the order ticket from the cashier.

"I momentarily forgot you don't like vegetables." You giggled, remembering how he asked for all the vegetables to be removed from his sandwich.

"Why waste calories on things that don't taste good?" He questioned back with a smug look.

"Vegetables are delicious, Hongjoong. And they're good for you. You're worst than a child." You rolled your eyes.

"You're getting very naggy with me, like Hwa. I don't like that. Stop hanging around him so much." He narrowed his eyes at you, making you laugh.

It took you to realise that Hongjoong was using his body to shield you from the crowd in the shop. You stood between the wall and him, with him angling his body slightly, his back facing the rest of the shop to prevent anyone from possibly bumping into you.

"Order #128!" The cashier called out your number.

"Why don't you go outside? I'll get the food." He gave a kind smiled, moving past you to go to the pick up window. You left the shop and stood outside to wait for Hongjoong.

"Thank you for braving the crowd." You giggled when you saw Hongjoong emerge.

"No problem. I guess we shouldn't have come right before lunch rush." He chuckled, letting you take the drinks so he could unlock the car.

"It's fine, wasn't too bad." You said and opened the car to sit inside. You assumed you were going to sit here in the car and eat but Hongjoong started up the engine.

"Aren't we eating here?" You asked.

"We're eating in the car but not here. There's no nice scenary." Hongjoong snorted and began to drive.

"Ah, we don't need a nice scenary, Hongjoong. It's fine to eat in the carpark." You giggled. Hongjoong continued driving, parking in a spot by a park. Once he found a parking space that didn't have that many people walking through, he put the hood of the car down so the both of you could eat.

"Here." Hongjoong took the drinks from you, removing them from the cardboard holder to put them in the cupholder of the front console instead. Then he dug your sandwich out.

"This is yours. And I got sides to share." He laid the paperbag down as protection and balanced the tray of tater tots on top.

"Thank you for the food." You smiled and unwrapped your sandwich to take a bite.

"Sorry." You apologised and held your sandwich in one hand so you could take your ringing phone out. Your eyes widened slightly when you saw that it was Seonghwa calling.

"Hello, Seonghwa." You greeted. Hearing his best friend's name, Hongjoong looked at your curiously.

"Hi. Considering you're never late and that Hongjoong isn't picking up his phone, I'm guessing he detoured to some place?"

"You've guessed correctly. Sorry for being late-"

"Hwa, I told her it's fine to be late. I was the one that dragged her out for lunch before going to the house." Hongjoong took your phone from you to speak to Seonghwa.

"Yeah, we figured. I just wanted to make sure that she's with you, just in case anything happened while she was on the way here. Like I told her, I know (y/n) is never late so it must be your doing. Don't take too long, we have a 3pm meeting later."

"Ah, there you go, nagging me again. I won't be late for the meeting, I promise. If there are any papers, just put them on my desk." Hongjoong groaned.

"Hyung! I wanna speak to-"

Hearing the others in the background, Hongjoong hung up. He smiled innocently before handing you back your phone.

"Are we in trouble?" You asked. Even if you sounded like you were joking, Hongjoong could sense the underlying worry in your voice. He shook his head.

"Even if we were, it's most likely me that's in trouble. Not you." He smiled and took another bite of his sandwich.

"Your food is very... beige." You pointed out.

"Alright, I get it. I don't eat vegetables. Enough with the teasing!" He growled, holding his sandwich away from you so you couldn't make fun of him anymore.

As you finished the rest of the food, you both spoke comfortably with one another. It was easy to find common topics to talk about.

"We should go to the house. We're already late and I don't want to be any later." You said, your uncomfortableness evident in your voice now. Hongjoong nodded, not wanting to stress you out any further. He drove to the house. Just as he pulled up to the driveway, Seonghwa and Yeosang arrived on their bikes.

"Where were you two?" Hongjoong asked as they climbed off. Seonghwa raised an eyebrow, was Hongjoong really in the position to ask them that?

"Mingi fitted new suspensions so we went for a test run. Where were you, hyung?" Yeosang asked back.

"We went for a quick lunch." You replied, a little too quickly.

"Next time, we can take you for a ride if you'd like, (y/n)." Seonghwa offered with a wink. You giggled and nodded along, unable to see Hongjoong behind you, whose eyelid was twitching slightly.

"Go park your bikes, don't block the driveway." Hongjoong said to the two, leading you into the house.

"See you later." You bowed your head to the two.

"Don't take up their offer to ride with them. They're racers, it's not safe." Hongjoong cautioned. Your heart warmed, realising this was Hongjoong sharing more about their lives with you.

They all raced, cars and motorcycles. If you were going to really be around more, it was something that you would have to get used to.

"You should go to work before you're any later tooo. You can put the tools down here. I'll bring them to the garden myself." You said softly. Hongjoong shook his head and followed you to the garden. He placed the box on the ground.

"Thank you, Hongjoong. Not just for this but for the lunch... And picking me up." You added, bowing gratefully.

"It's no problem, (y/n). I like hanging out with you." He smiled softly, placing a hand on the top of your head. You smiled back at him, feeling your heart race.

"I'll see you later?" He tilted his head. You nodded and gave him a small wave as he went into the building.

"Okay, calm down." You told yourself and let out a long exhale.

"Good afternoon, (y/n). Is it okay if I work in the gazebo?" San walked over to you and asked with a smile, his laptop and some files tucked under his arm.

"Of course. It's your house, San... I'm merely a visiting worker. You shouldn't ask me." You giggled.

"You know you're not just a worker here. Not to us." He smiled kindly and bowed his head before going to the gazebo to work.

You went back to work, pruning the surrounding hedges. They were growing well, looking healthy and providing a little 'fence' around that main garden bed.

"Yes! Hello there." You cheered when you noticed how some of the herbs in the box were growing well that you could harvest some. The rosemary stalks, lemon balm and sweet basil plants were ready to be picked. You stood up and went back into the house to get a bowl from the kitchen.

"Hey, (y/n). What's going on with that?" Wooyoung asked, seeing you emerge from the kitchen with a metal bowl.

"Some herbs can be picked so I'm gonna harvest them. Maybe the cooks can use some for cooking." You informed with an excited giggle. Wooyoung's eyebrows raised in amusement.

"Can I see?"

"Of course." You smiled and he followed you out. You bent down by the herb bed and began to harvest some.

"So what are all these?" He asked, deciding to bend down to be on the same height as you to get a closer look at what you were doing.

"Rosemary grows quickly and it's a sturdy plant so there's quite a bit of harvest. This is lemon balm, it comes from the same family as mint so it looks similar, great for making tea." You explained.

"Okay, I know this one. Basil, I learnt how to make pasta from the chefs the other day." Wooyoung smiled.

"Do you have an interest in cooking?" You asked.

"It's popular with girls... A skill I can show off..." Wooyoung said with a sheepish smile, his cheeks reddening in embarrassment as he admitted to you. For someone always confident, it was the first time you saw him so flustered.

"I understand." You hummed and finished collecting the herbs, putting them into the bowl. Wooyoung walked to see what San was up to while you headed back into the house.

"Here you go." You handed the chef the bowl full of fresh herbs.

"Wow, they smell amazing. Thank you, I'll definitely put them to good use." He smiled.

"I'm glad." You giggled and went back to work. With the garden slowly getting healthier, there was less maintenance for you to do now. It was a good sign.

"Oh! (y/n)." Hongjoong stopped on the staircase, looking up from his phone. When he saw you, the frown on his face dissipated.

"Hi." You waved, noticing he was in new clothes, a full suit that looked a lot more formal.

"I'm... heading out. How's the garden?" He asked, pointing to the front door where he was going to leave, coming down the last few steps so he could talk to you a little closer.

"It's going great, actually. I harvested some herbs with Wooyoung earlier to give to the chef. With the garden in good condition, maybe I'll only need to come once a week to water and maintain it." You stated with a proud nod. But Hongjoong didn't really like the idea of you coming less.

"Come over less...?" Hongjoong repeated the only part of your statement that he focused on.

"I mean, it frees up a day to do other things. Not work. Besides, it feels unfair for you guys to pay me when I don't have work to do." You shrugged with a giggle.

"You know it doesn't matter. I'll pay to have you around more." Hongjoong smiled, speaking honestly, making you flustered.

"Sorry, I have to go. I'll see you?" He checked his watch.

"Yeah, don't be sorry. Have a nice meeting." You smiled. He grinned back and walked to the front door while you went the opposite direction, going back to the garden.

"Where did you go?" Wooyoung asked, leaning against the pole of the gazebo where San was working.

"I-I was giving the chefs the herbs that we collected." You stuttered, leaving out the part where you spoke to Hongjoong.

"Then why are you stuttering? Did something else happen, hmm?" He sang as he teased you with a smug smile, leaning forward until his face was mere inches from yours.

"Don't bother her." San reached out to shove him. Wooyoung let out a cackling laugh. You didn't know if Hongjoong told the others about you and him yet. They were his brothers first so you were not in the position to tell them anything.

"I'm going back to the garden." You stomped away, wanting to get away from this conversation.

RINGGGGG

"Hello? Oh, Jihoon ah." You pressed the phone between your ear and your shoulder to talk to him as you worked. Hearing 'Jihoon', San and Wooyoung looked at each other.

"Woo, don't interfere. They're not officially together yet." San reminded, seeing the look on his best friend's face.

"I know that but I have to help the captain if there's competition, right?" Wooyoung scoffed.

"He can handle himself." San sighed.

"I'm not letting her attention be taken away by another man. I have to help my captain." Wooyoung declared, marching towards where you were talking on the phone.

"Well, leave me out of it." San mumbled with a shake of his head, looking back at his papers.

"Hey, (y/n)! Stop working! Let's go get some ice cream! It's so hot out." Wooyoung yelled, making sure Jihoon would have heard him.

"Yeah, I'm at work... It's fine, I'll call you when I'm done with work. Alright, Jihoon. Have a great day." You said and hung up. You shot Wooyoung an odd look, wondering why there was a need to shout when you were right there and obviously on the phone. But then again, Wooyoung was always chaotic and loud.

"I can't just stop and have ice cream. I'm working, Wooyoung." You raised an eyebrow.

"But you were on the phone~ And it's so hot out, you deserve a treat to cool off and as a 'good job' for all your hard work!" He gave you a thumbs up, putting his arm around you.

"Do I want to know why Wooyoung was shouting?" Seonghwa asked from the second floor, leaning down.

"Want ice cream?" Wooyoung asked back.

"Sure." Seonghwa shrugged and came downstairs. Soon, Mingi and Jongho also emerged, somehow having heard about there being ice cream to eat.

"Should we call San?" You asked, eating a spoonful of your ice cream, remembering the male working outside by the garden.

"I'll text him." Mingi said after he finished putting the toppings over his ice cream.

"Why are you all here suddenly eating ice cream?" Yeosang came into the kitchen, seeing everyone scattered around. San snorted as he scooped his ice cream but didn't say a word.

"Because it's hot out. When do we need a reason to enjoy some ice cream?" Wooyoung asked. But deep down, he knew he was going to hold this against the captain because he so owes Wooyoung a favour right now.

~

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